Shao shocked

The second lesson from this election is that either Basotho cannot be trusted or they are just unpredictable. Either way, they will disappoint and leave you with a sore heart.

They will invite you to a party to feed you one chicken wing, a spoonful of rice and a small cup of khemere. Then they will proudly ask if you are full.

They have just done that to one Chinese blada.

Zheng Shao, Zheng Shao, Zheng Shao. Where are you my blada?

Someone give the man motoho to soothe his pain. Mop his tears if you wish. Whisper something kind into his ears.

“Soli my blada, the pipolo love you vely much. Be stilongo. A chance of you will come fast fast. Five years small small time too much.”

Shao needs the therapy now that he has been well-clobbered.

He said the people of Ha Tsolo pleaded with him to enter the race and promised to deliver him to parliament. They attended his rallies in hoards and cheered him on as he said ua utloa. “Basotho

Pele!” they screamed, as they swallowed his free food and wore his T-shirts. Yet when the results came Shao only had 123 votes.

He must quickly learn to say ‘Lekholo le mashome a mabeli a motso e meraro’ to confuse his Chinese friends when they ask how many votes he won.

Otherwise, he will have 123 branded on his face forever. Shao has since found a way to explain his defeat. He claims his votes were swapped with those of the RFP candidate who won the constituency.

That’s a fong-gong excuse. As fake as a Chinese Adidas shoe called Abbidas that comes with a warning ‘not to be worn six times’.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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