Scamming the scammers? Though a buzzing of charades, of tall tales, of puns, insinuations, accusations, lamentations, epistles, epigrams, bank statements, lawyers letters, Christian gospel choirs, ejaculating hallelujahs, political tracts, polemics, Afrikan Soul Rhetoric, violent sweats, the gnashing of teeth , circling vultures, woes that stun the souls of the living, the agony of balls and rectal spasms, sighs to cause the merciful gods to faint, and so much more, Allan Kolski Horwitz infuses the 419 epistolary form with the sonic intensity of verse.
I am Monica Maxwell from Libya. I was married to Late Jamil Maxwell of blessed memory who was an oil explorer in Libya and Kuwait for twelve years before he died in the year 2000. We were married for twelve years without a child. He died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days. When my late Husband was alive he deposited a substantial amount of money being millions of dollars with a Finance Firm in Accra, Ghana.
Since his death I too have been battling with both cancer and fi broid problems. Recently, my doctor told me I have only six months to live though what currently disturbs me most is my stroke sickness.
Knowing my condition I have decided to donate my dear late husband’s fund to either a charity/orphanage home or devoted God fearing individual that will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct herein. I want this organization or individual to use Jamil’s money in all sincerity to fund charity homes (motherless homes), orphanages, widows.
I took this decision because I don’t have any child that will inherit this money and my husband’s relatives are into radical organizations and I don’t want a situation where this money will be used in an Unholy manner. Hence the reasons for this bold decision.
I would like to off er you this fund as I have heard that you are such a God-loving person. As soon as I receive your reply, I shall give you further directives on what to do and how to go about actualizing this project. I will also issue a letter of authority to the Finance Company confi rming to them that the said fund has been willed to you and a copy of such authorization will be forwarded to you.
I can’t take any telephone communication in this regard because of my health and because of the presence of my husband’s relatives who are always around me. I don’t want them to know about this development.
Please do not delay in your reply as this will give room to other individuals or organizations who may try to illegally source these funds for unwholesome purposes. Until I hear from you by email my dreams will rest squarely on your shoulders. And please, may I request you to pray for me to recover as your prayers will go a long way in uplifting my Spirit.
Dear Mrs Maxwell
I am so pleased to have received your email. My heartfelt sympathies to you in these times of bereavement and sickness. You are a very brave and resourceful woman. If there is anything I can do to help, I certainly will. There are many organizations in my country that will be very happy to receive a donation of the kind you have outlined – there are many poor children who need assistance. It is so righteous of you to want to donate your late husband’s fortune to the underprivileged. In our time most people would hold onto it and carry it to the grave rather than benefi t those who truly need it.
God bless you, Monica – if I may be so bold to use your fi rst name but I feel very close to you, of course, in Spirit! Indeed, we are kin because I, too, wish to place the weak on the throne of almighty God and would not wish Mr Maxwell’s fortune to end up in the hands of the unholy.
I have never been to Libya but I hear it is a wonderful country led by an enlightened and pious man, your Field Marshall Gaddafi . Indeed, I would count myself greatly fortunate to have the opportunity to visit Libya and would appreciate your help in realizing my dream.
I await your response with great interest and anticipation. Be strong in your hour of suff ering. May the Lord reward your generosity with an easing of pain.
Mr Samson Botsotso
Dear Mr Samson Botsotso,
Thank you so much for your reply. May I tell you here that my spirit is now at peace because I have really found someone who is mature enough to give me rest of mind. You are the worthy one and I will hereby instruct the authorities to hand over everything to you.
I was a Muslim for so many years until the year 2000. It was only after the death of my husband that I received Christ into my life and saw the light and truth that is in Jesus Christ. It will surely interest you to note that I am hated and despised by my late husband’s relatives because I found faith in Christ and they are Muslims whom I even suspect are into some radical organization. You are really blessed by God and you have your children around you unlike me who never did have a child of my own or anyone to call my own. I now want you to know that I have more trust in you because I am dealing with someone who is a BORN AGAIN CHRISTIAN and who believes in our LORD JESUS Christ. My shoulder rests squarely on you to carry out this project to the successful end.
It is highly imperative that you travel down to the deposit company where these funds are deposited and sign off the release documents and begin work. Also, you should know that you will require a local attorney to work with you and put you through the legalities.
The amount involved is USD6.5 million. This money was deposited by my late husband in Accra, Ghana. You will be requested by the deposit company to be there in person. The lawyer that will undertake the legal aspect is also from Accra, Ghana and will give you guidelines and directives on what to do because he was there at the time of the deposit. He is also Born Again and even an Elder in the church.
Write me back quickly because I will be going for treatment – I am having pains all over my body. May the good Lord bless you and your family, and see you through in all your strivings and human endeavours.
Please be honest with me!
Thanks and again God bless you and your family. Am expecting your reply,
Mrs Monica Maxwell
Dear Mrs Maxwell
I could barely contain my excitement on receiving your reply. Indeed, you are a dove of peace, Mercy come flying into my troubled world! To think that you lost your most precious husband but have not lost your faith!
I must tell you that I, too, was once a Muslim, but am now a devout preacher of the Christian gospel. My family is an illustrious one; many imams and Holy Men were descended from the loins of the Botsotso clan, many madrassas graced by my forbears. But when the White Robed One, destroyer of the Twin Towers and the Five Starred Bastion of the Yanqui Merchants of Death, when he who wears a flowing beard like the Euphrates and the Jordan, commanded the pure sons of the Prophet to bring fire to the New Babylon, then I entered the desert to seek guidance from Allah.
Would sword against sword bring peace to the bleeding world of confusion and hollow stomachs? Or would this bold strike at the heart of the Enemy not cause even greater misfortune to befall the Sons and Daughters of Shem and Ham? Woe to us when Mighty Babylon smites to avenge his calamity, shame making him trebly bitter and vindictive! For are we not feeble? Bound as we are in the grip of necromancers and charlatans (saving your Prince Gaddafi, of course!).
Indeed, my sojourn in the desert caused me to be visited by the Holy Spirit, groom to the Virgin Miriam, mother of the Infant Yeshu – he, seed of the House of David, seed of the judges and the anointers of kings. Deep in the wastes of the Kgalagadi, the Holy Spirit impregnated me with the faith of the Infant Yeshu and I was purified – still loyal to the memories of the Prophets Moses and Muhammed, but now a loyal subject of the Christ, the most powerful, all-seeing Shepherd and Rock of the Ages.
My dear Mrs Maxwell, I swear your late husband’s fortune will be put to excellent worth in my god-forsaken country, where even as I write, the degenerate Musselmen and Hebrews are converting our sons and daughters to their soulless creeds, their consumer Edens, their Hollywood heavens. I swear, by all that you and I hold sacred, to put poor, magnificent Jamil’s fortune to the service of these poor children, to save them – body and soul – and to take for myself the barest essentials, the absolute minimum for my own survival so that I can carry out this task. Rest assured that his millions, left wandering lonely in the world (while rapacious relatives conspire to defraud you), will be safe in my bosom. So fear not and forthwith put me in palaver with my Brother Lawyer in Ghana (once the English traders’ Gold Coast! Curse those slavers!) Let God’s work be done, delay is a sin. And may He spare your pains, my most generous Mrs Maxwell. Such a sweet name! Like the fragrance of a Beduin bride.
I await your most explicit directive being your most obedient servant,
Mr Samson Botsotso
Dear Mr Samson Botsotso,
Thank you so much for your mail with contents well understood.
All you have to do is to contact my late husband’s lawyer in Ghana where the funds were deposited in a security company. Tell him that I directed you to contact him to assist in the release of the investment. In the meantime I have also copied this message to him.
His Name is Barrister John Pam.
His firm is John Pam & Associates, Accra Ghana.
Fax: +233 21 504105
Contact him and gather other information you might need about him and this project because he was my Late Husband’s lawyer who witnessed and signed the necessary documents when the fund was deposited in Accra, Ghana. I will be praying to remain alive to supply you with all the information needed to accomplish my late husband’s dream. I am so afraid that if I die without accomplishing his plans there will be a war between us over there in the spirit world.
Please try and let me know when you are going to make contact with the lawyer. Tell him you are making an arrangement to go to Ghana so that both of you will go to the security company and clear the fund. Try and call him on the phone now. Send information so that everything will move fast. Meanwhile open the attached document. You will see the certificate of deposit of the fund.
Get back to me as soon as you write to the lawyer.
Thanks and God bless you and your family.
Mrs Monica Maxwell
My beloved Mr Samson Botsotso,
How are you? Hope fine.
I am still waiting to hear from you if you have been able to contact the lawyer as I directed you.
Get back to me.
Thanks and be blessed.
Mrs Monica Maxwell
Oh, my dear Monica,
I am in turmoil!
A thousand apologies for not yet contacting the honourable solicitor you have appointed for this noble work. A thousand more! But I have been caught up in a great conflict, a great strain – a bosom Struggle comrade (and what a bosom she has!) has been accused of corruption. She, who has been a sister to me (and more) over long and difficult years, works in an organization for the homeless that solicits funding from the Holy Churches in the United Kingdom and in Taiwan (where the Yellow Race holds high the banner of cheap thrills and other bargains). To allege her spending monies donated for the homeless on the purchase of a Limousine! I am so distraught at this vicious and unfounded attack upon my comrade-in-arms. Like you, she has all her life served the suffering masses of our earth, the multitudes whom God has afflicted and for which He has yet to offer a convincing explanation . . . now what have I said! How can the great Compassionate Lord who gave us his Only Son be responsible for Evil? Surely poverty, disease, ignorance and murder are the work of the Foul One who lurks within the Temple, tempting us daily with flesh and gaudy fortunes. (And to think Satan sometimes wears the priestly cloth, fondling little boys behind the altar, leching their suppleness, massaging their little things with Vaseline and wine.)
Ah, my dear Monica, I know in my bones that you too have experienced this horror, is that not so? Take your late blessed husband’s relatives who work for the terrorists and polluters, who serve their false gods and propagate their fantasies. Have they not alleged that you are a cunning, manipulative Whore who seeks to defraud them of their rightful inheritance?
Of course, you face this onslaught bravely. I am confident you will not buckle and hand them the fortune to be bestowed upon the children of my beloved country, so fair and yet so suffering! And I, their faithful emissary ready to travel to Ghana at a whistle’s notice, to set forth in a humvee to the Palm Fringed Land of Chief Nkrumah and his million martyrs in the struggle for Afrikan redemption.
For I know you, too, will be there in Accra, risen from your sickbed, to take my hand at the airport Duty Free. My precious one, you will allow me to honour you thus in the name of the suffering little children of Katlehong and Kraaifontein, of Diepsloot and Phutaditjaba; a jewel fit for the Queen of Nuba.
Good heavens! It is time for evensong! I must run! I will address the honourable solicitor later this night and have him instruct me.
Your most loyal and obliging,
Dear Mr Samson Botsotso,
Thanks for your mail. But I am disturbed – a few minutes ago, Brother Pam told me that he has not yet received any message from you.
Please send your message to this address: Johnpam2002@yahoo.com
Mrs. Monica Maxwell
Dear Brother John
I address you on behalf of the suffering children of Azania. We have waited many years for a Hand of Deliverance. And this Hand, the giant hand of Mrs Monica Maxwell (may her Fingers be blessed) has taken hold of our scrawny, wart-infested paws, and squeezed them and said:
“Rest easy, little children. Your hour of salvation is near. I, Monica Maxwell, the very one who lives in the most esteemed and teeming Republic of Libya, land of gas and glory; I, widow to the righteous Mr Maxwell, the said gentleman who was an athlete and a warrior; bequeath to you a fortune built up not from the arms trade or the oil trade or the trade in Chadian slaves. No, my fortune, wrested from sweat and blood, from the sale of cashew nuts on street corners and the sale of chicken heads and gizzards; my fortune I hereby bequeath to you, poor African children; glue sniffing street orphans scourged by sex-tourists and the greedy winds of change – the same that seized our savannahs, our forests, our plains, our gorges, our mountain ranges, our rivers, our streams, our wells, our grazing land, our ore deposits, our gold deposits, our coal deposits; then shipped them back to the icy empires of the north.”
But I get ahead of myself, dear Brother! As you know, Ma’am Maxwell cast off her dear dead husband’s false faith and embraced our True Gospel. Now day and night she staves off his conniving relatives, securing the sacred fortune, defending us from these ogres who terrorize our good friends, the honest Abes, hard-working Gringo preachers who wish to see the Messiah at last return to Zion; not to forget my children, all of them survivors of bio-war, the Sinking Plague, the wasting sickness spread by multinational pharmaceutical companies and their lackeys.
To be brief, good brother John, I have been directed by the said indomitable lady to secure your trust, directing me to Accra, there to liberate the stash. I await your direction!
Yours in the Struggle to End African Impecunity,
The Right Honourable Samson Botsotso
Attn: Mr. Samson Botsotso
Thanks for your email; I will start by introducing Myself.
I am Barrister John Pam of John Pam & Associates Accra Ghana, the attorney to Late Jamil Maxwell who deposited his family treasure with a Deposit Company (Global Trust Securities in Accra Ghana).
The only requirement needed for the completion of this Project is to change the old documents, which are in my late client’s name to your name. From my calculation this will cost a total of US$6,700. With the new documents I will move to the Security company to calculate the demurrage. I will give you the amount to be paid to the company before collection.
Open the above attachment to view the old deposit documents. These will be changed so that you will be the new beneficiary.
Please contact me as soon as you are ready to carry on with this project. You can reach me on my direct telephone number 233-244-710144.
I wait to hear from you soon.
Yours in Service
John Pam & Associates
No 16 Motorway Lapaz, Accra – Ghana
Tel: 233 244 710144
Dear Samson Botsotso,
Thanks for your mail. I was in contact with my lawyer yesterday evening; he informed me that he sent you the old documents of my late husband’s deposit as well as the procedure for getting the consignment out of the deposit company. Please get back to me regarding the progress of the project and your discussion with my Lawyer.
My Brother, I advise you to be in Ghana before the end of next week so that John Pam Esquire will take you to the security company for collection of the consignment.
I wait for your confirmation. Remain True to our Magnificent Task,
Mrs. Monica Maxwell
Dear Brother John
Many thanks for your prompt and enlightening response, I must, however, request a number of clarifications. Firstly, when came you to New Knowledge? When did you see the Lethal Light? I ask this because, since joining the Sacred Church, I have vowed to only make business with the Newly Born.
Now my good and true friend, Mrs Monica has assured me of your similar status but to tell the God’s own Truth, the tone of your letter was quite hostile and cold as if this is not a transaction of the Holy Spirit to save souls but a dirty deal done in back alleys by conmen. Now I take her words to heart. Indeed, if she has chosen you to perform this mission, you must be a good man who serves the people and makes them happy. But why then have you chosen cold words and harsh messages for me? Surely you can spare a few words of encouragement for another humble servant? And do you take me for a moegoe? Of course I understand that it will cost much moola to change the names!
The Late Jamil was truly fast asleep. How could he have thought the circumcized would not try and usurp his divinely inspired fortune? How could he leave his beloved Monica adrift in a sand of sea sharks? No, dunderheads and tiger sharks! You know the tiger sharks that have amaKhulu faces. Not to speak of the Greeks and Lebs, and their stinking east Med cousins, the pale-faced, shameless Israelites.
Yes, Brother John, I am more than a little put off by your commercial crassness. Oil me with a little of the Lord’s lubricant before inviting larceny. I will find the dollars. But first I need to taste the Lord’s sweetness on your tongue. Delight me with your dark Ghanaianess; let your drums beat me into the Trance that makes a man give up everything before receiving Everything.
I await confirmation that you are a true Christian gentleman, verily a knight of Madam Monica’s brigade, a true Crusader ready to slay the veiled dragon. Only then will I come to Accra.
Yours in multiple and excitable expectation,
How are you and your family? Hope fine. Please I want to know if you have been able to sort things out with the lawyer. Get back to me.
Mrs Monica Maxwell.
My dearest Sweet Monica
Again, a thousand thank you’s from the bottom of my pitiless and pitied heart! Forgive my familiarity but it feels as if we have known each other since before the Dawn of Time, there in that joyous garden before the slimy serpent dazzled Eve with his shiny coat, his baubles and his bubble bath. Your offer of Christian help and hard currency keeps me ejaculating hallelujahs. But, alas, I must report a hiccup, a very loud hiccup that is your Brother John. Indeed, dear Heart, his crass instruction so like a devil cold barrister!
Not a word about our Awesome Lord who was nailed up for all our sins; not a word about the twelve dastardly apostles who accompanied Him on his journeys through the leper infested, whore-ridden villages of the Galilee, and then, when it came to crunchtime in Jeru, abandoned him to the shaven, syphilitic Romans; and not a word of mercy for sinners like myself who strayed, but then were saved by sweet singing Monica’s tender songs of redemption.
Indeed, gracious Mona, until I have confirmation that I am dealing with a True Christian I cannot take another step forward towards the pot of gold that glitters for my orphans (two of whom expired this very afternoon for lack of medication, five of whom this very afternoon had palpitations for lack of wholesome food, three of whom this very afternoon were assaulted by other street urchins and defiled, nine of whom this very afternoon were struck by lightning for yelling untruths in chapel, seven of whom this very afternoon were blinded by the glue they sniff, ten of whom this very moment were run over by sports cars when begging outside deluxe eateries).
Please, please, gracious Lady, please open Brother John’s heart so that he feeds me meat fit for Jesus. Only then will the certificates of deposit truly flash before my fabuloused eyes.
Dear Brother Samson,
Bless you for your mail and confidence. Know beyond all shadow of Satan’s chin that Barrister John Pam is my family’s personal lawyer for more than nine years now and since the time I first knew him he is a true Christian and Elder in the church. I do not understand why you said he needs deliverance from the Muslim tide. What was your discussion with him? Please, get back to me immediately you receive this mail with your direct telephone and fax address for easy communication. Finally, I advise you as a thoroughly Born Again to work as a brother with our Legal Practitioner there in Accra, Ghana. I pray to the Almighty God for appointing you to handle this project with the glory and the interest of Mankind. Get back to me if you have received the old documents as I instructed.
May you be assisted in all your dallies and endeavours.
Mrs. Monica Maxwell
Mona, I mean my dear Monica,
Things are hard for me right now. I have not slept for three days. I lie awake shivering: will I be equal to the task your Perfect Intelligence has given me? Will I be able to handle the treasure for the little children? I tell you, my Sweet, the thought petrifies me. For I, Samson Botsotso, am not a pure man. I have a dark and dangerous history. To you I will confide, but only to you. But please do not tell the lawyer, that Brother John with his harsh words! I beg of you! Do not discover me to him with his certificates that frighten a poor man like Samson Botsotso who sat for seven long years in Babylon’s dark jail because of his righteous anger.
Yes, yes – pure Mrs Maxwell! – you are dealing with a sinner who, before he was blinded by the Light, repossessed and shot a gentle old lady (fat, rich bitch that she was!) in the foot when she kicked the panic button and clawed me in my Special Place. For I was founder of a Movement that cleansed the corporates – damn those carping capitalists pissing in our stew! Only Libya is a beacon of good sense and government in our suffering Africa. But hey my gang was fearless!
We confronted the White Race over and over again in their banks and at their restaurants. We took from the scum and gave to the little African children. And never once did Samson Botsotso keep the loot for himself. Never! Always the division of the spoils was done in my bedroom at the motel. And always I changed my underpants when we divided up the loot – hands were clean, nothing on my breath save healing malted fire of redistribution.
But rest assured, precious Angel with golden wings. I am frightened of your wrath so I leave the city tonight for a far and cold place where I will purify myself in readiness for the journey to Accra. God be with us – you on your sick bed, I in a cave where the wolves and jackals will sniff me. Send me your strong and mobile words. They will guide me through the coming days when, deep in the great desert (once home to giant paranormal creatures), I wrestle with my scheming ways.
Now you know my secret, will you still believe in me?
Always your brother and confidential agent,
I have been waiting for your mail ever since Brother John sent on the papers. What is happening? Please let me know. Day by day the vultures come closer to my ailing body. Night by night I hear their beaks being sharpened.
Mrs Monica Maxwell.
Dear Brother Botsotso,
Thanks for your email. By the Saints who go marching all the way to unnamed Swiss banks and other shelters for the sick and ailing, I am a seriously serious Christian and Elder in the church. I know everything God has put together will never be destroyed by the power of the Evil One. Therefore I strongly believe with trust and understanding we will live to see the end of this transaction as we are helping our sister in Christ whose late husband’s relatives have reduced to next to nothing.
The only thing we require to move this business forward is for you to urgently send the US$6 700 which I will use to get the documents changed into your name. Please send this money through Money Gram or through Western Union Money Transfer or Thomas Cook or Mister America or any other means known to Man, Woman and Child with the information as stated below:
Name: John Pam
Address: Accra Ghana
Text Question: For what?
I await your urgent response upon receipt of this mail.
Yours in Service,
Barrister John Pam (Esq.)
I am returned; seven long days and nights in that barren strip we call the karroo. Not a donkey cart in sight, never a limousine. Nothing but wastes of veld littered with black meteors and sunken gullies where the tortoise and the springhaas leave their tracks. And there, under an overhang, chilled by winter, I shivered before the devils sent to torment and tempt. How I wailed aloud to my Redeemer, called out to Him to save my unworthy soul! Alas, dear Heart, instead of visioning hot soup and delousing for the kids sucked from the rubbished labyrinths of sin, all I could dream of was you! You and your divine form so richly lavished upon a misery such as myself! Your fountainous breasts dripping mother’s moola and other succulent potions of herb and magic mushroom. How I lusted for you, sweet, surrender!
And then, my dearest, deadly Mona, you allowed your silky robe to slip – kaalgat on stilettoed heels! And, without a word, kissed my cheek and disappeared under the steamy waters of my good friend Comrade Bebble’s jaccuzi until I thought you were drowning and pulled you out, then threw you on the Wonderbed and plunged deep within your scented palace, buried myself till dawn when the chamber maid brought a pot of Uncle Tom’s special babbalas brew.
I, unworthy one! Yea, pure Lady, despite being locked in battle with the Radical Mahomeddans, despite being the loyalist ally of your Field Marshall Goering Gaddafi, patron of oilfields and other spumes, I dreamt of defiling you with my dripping organ. And now I beg forgiveness, beg obliteration, for I fear the worst even as I instruct my bank manager to prepare the $6 700 to change late Jamil’s name. (Yea, he promises it will be done by weekend’s end.) Though I swear to save the little children, the desert phantoms show me deflected by the devils in my glands. Help me, saintly Missus before I betray your hope! I await your calming words. Indeed, there is but one means to avoid such scandal: join me here in Azanian lands once the stash up there in mighty Accra is liberated from Global Trust Securities. Come and make me strong! Hold my hand once the deed is done! (How I dream of that metallic box in which the ducats shine!)
Ah, dear Lady Maxwell, the little African children smile to know of your command. Some even do the hoola-hoop. And I remain ever more, your admirer, though weak in all things save Love for you and the Heavenly Father,
Your devoted servant,
To the Noble Solicitor who Serves the True Faith
Oh, Brother John, I beg forgiveness for doubting you. I was unwell, my head fevered and filled with monsters! How could I have dared to think you bent and crooked, a despising man who uses our Saviour’s Holy Name for unclean ends, who twists the words of the Good Book and claims to wage war against the Unbelievers and the Capitalists but secretly visits their temples by night to spill the blood of baptized souls.
Forgive me, righteous brother who blesses the tabernacles of Accra where Mighty Nkrumah once trod, bringing fear to the hearts of the White Devils of Whitechapel. Even the Boers down here trembled at the thought of a proud Black Man striding to do battle with the rotten forces of colonialism and neo-colonialism and democratic centralism and proletarian dictatorship and all the other Euro tricks.
Brother John, thy will be done! By week’s end my bank will process the moola. But be advised, a special code is needed to facilitate the transaction. Only when the word ‘procrastinate’ appears in a communication from me will you know the deed is done. And then I will await the flow from you of those delicious millions. How my little African children tremble at the thought of the treats they will provide! So stay strong and shifty, my good barrister; keep up thy good work for the virtuous Mona.
Your joint defender of Holy Spam, comrade collaborator,
The Right Honourable Samson Botsotso
Dear Brother Botsotso,
May the Almighty bless you for your confident effort to take care of this project to deliver the children of the most High God. My Brother, I always knew you would come right – even though the Desert Furies bent your mind. I pray you all power. I am sorry for the delay to respond to your mail. That was because I have been in the Hospital for medical treatment.
Please try to send the money through any fast means of transfer. My days are few and I tremble for the little children. How Jamil’s memory craves confirmation of their salvation. I must tell you that his relatives commit gross and grosser deeds as the hours tick their way across the tock. Truly I fear, Brother Bot – they will strip me of my robe here on my dying bed and fill me with dark seeds; such are the snarling looks they give me when they visit. Even the nurses, who are all stout and tested Azanian sisters giving shining service to the Islamic Republic, were in shock and horror when witnessing their glowing fangs.
God will protect you my good Brother for your confidence.
Fondest wishes and sisterly kisses,
Mrs. Monica Maxwell
Dear Missus Maxwell, forgive me!
Praise you my Sister! To think I allowed Satan to twist my mind, lust so perverted that I ignored your illness! I pray for your recovery. May your body again become as beautiful as your mind!
How glad I am, that despite my sins, my dark excess, you have again chosen me to deliver the little kiddies from abuse. And will I fail you? No, a million times no, dear widow of that Tripolitan wizard! I, Samson Botsotso, caterer for little African children, pledge nothing but pure thoughts. Yo, madam – put me to the test! Once again I beg of you to join me here in our Holy Work. Join us in Renaissance, in African Union, in All Africa Song Festival, in World Cup fever! Let the vuvuzelas sound!
Come and be the director of these Pink Scorpions, Missus Maxwell, and work side by side with me to redeem the unfortunates! (I run away with myself visioning your divine form beside mine as we scald the alleys of the Inner City where the makgoshas, the prossies, dwell and the Black Fellahs from Igboland parade white lines.) But to return to the task at hand! This very week my asset manager, Dominee van Heerden, will have wangled the transfer. As you are aware, we must use hitherto unknown means to export the hard earned foreign exchange our miners and automakers rake in. So forgive us, but it will take the Dominee at least another two days to complete the education of certain officials. In the meanwhile I count upon your fortitude. Patience, dearest Princess, will reward us all!
And lastly, Moan, I offer yet another multitude of good wishes (a veritable shoal of prayers) for your full and blissful recovery. Be whole and hearty! And on that issue, without being too forward, pray tell which organ is afflicted by dread disease. I have friends in the profession who might be of use. Spare parts are available here from the finest laboratories, morgues and shebeens. Indeed, a prime expert, Comrade Mephistopheles Bebble is readily available to fly to you at any time with whatever section, cross-section or side-section you require.
Bear all this in mind as I wish you everything of the rainbow best.
Your ever admiring Sammie
How are you and your family? I want to let you know that since the death of my late husband and my continuing sickness, I have nothing more in life than fasting and praying. In fact, it was only after a one month fast, while searching for my gold ring inside Late Jamil’s briefcase, that I found the documents proving he deposited assets with a foreign company. It just goes to show how when we sacrifice for the Lord, He pays us back not tenfold but by the thousand!
Please, I need to know if you have been able to contact the lawyer? Get back to me. I beg you, Brother Samson, the time is running and I am out. Please, please, send the little money Barrister Pam requires for the transfer. The honourable man is chafing in various places and is making dark noises now that make me shiver over my dry crust.
I long for confirmation of the project kicking off with you at the steering,
Ever respectful and fearful,
Mrs M Maxwell
To Mrs Monica Maxwell, My Rock, my Anchor
I praise JAHweh and his Only Immaculate Son – the rest of the family being misbeggoten and mischievous chancers – for sending me such a one as you.
My sweet Lady, I will make it my business to raise you up from your deathbed and make a pilgrimage to our Rainbow Nation. To stand with you in front of the African Parliament and feel the breeze of change blow away the fetid stench of corporate resource frenzy and their local hand maidens – such bliss! But please hurry now, dear Giant and sort out that Barrister Pam, smarmy John who still pokes eyes at me and demands I deposit bucks as a matter not of urgency but of utmost necessity – he cries that Foul Ones are preparing to forge my signature and grant one of their number access to Poor Jamil’s deposit.
Hurry, dear one, hurry! I know he is in an agony of balls and rectal spasms wrack him hourly waiting for the document fees. But as you know fools well, it is unholy to demand usurious fees – we must leave that to the Israelites and Fallen Christians who have invaded the banks and unit trusts and are baking moola as if Global Warming is a fiction.
Who can tell where this will end? Only the True One can smell the rats and He has appeared to me in a dream bearing a little hedgehog clad in white with a red flag. That poor suffering creature bristled at the thought that I cough up before Brother Pam relates the conversion of the Deposit of Late Jamil’s Holy Stash. So call the bastard to order and let the orphans forthwith prance!
My fondest kisses and a little hug for dyin’ ol you who lights up the sky for depravity,
Blessing you fountainously,
Dear Brother Sampson,
The way for both of us is the Way of Unfailing Trust and Courtesy; only planted on the Rock of Truth can we go forward. And so dear Brother, down there, where all things are plated with platinum, it grieves me to be the one to announce terrible and most shocking news.
I have heard from iridescent sources that this Monica woman, who has given me the task of processing the transfer of Late Jamil’s fortune into your name, is hatching a plot with her kinfolk (scurvy Tutsis now trying to take over the roast gorilla market in Kinshasa). She intends visiting you in Azania once the liberation has taken place and sweet talk you into surrendering the loot. She will propose unholy matrimony to tempt your loins and swear to be your most fowl-roasting and corn-cobbed wife so long as you register her as a trustee of the little-orphaned-African-children’s organization and split the moola along the line of her impundus.
What a brazen hussy who harried poor late Jamil into an early grave! Indeed, Good Brother of the Nailed One, it is reported that the secret autopsy performed on him by the Chief Slicer of Baganda revealed a contorted, forked tongue not to mention a severely swollen Private. Such witchery is not limited to her region, mind you, but extends all the way past the tropic of Amin.
You see – she lies! Late Jamil never intended his Fortune to land in her lapdancing lap! He knew her to be a wanton schemer – like so many of her tribe! And purposefully and comprehensively and unadulteratedly declined her position as NUMERO UNO heiress. Indeed, in his Late and Lofty Wisdom, Jamil deliberately inscribed this warning: that only a noble and spiritual leader located in the arid bosom of the Continent have access to the Stash, and that such a Warrior be located under the Southern Star and not wear false teeth. That I know to be a perfect description of you, Brother and certainly not of Monstrous Monica who I further believe did not ever consummate any Union with Late Jamil because she has the vaginismus and he couldn’t get inside to make sure she was his in the sight of Most Mighty and Firm Lord.
I know all this will come as a shock to such a placid one as thee but God never fails and He will never fail us towards successful conclusion of this transaction. Though there are dread-locked signs of her importunity, I know we will outwit the twat and make good Late Jamil’s intent. After all, he was my most earnest drinking (yes, in the bosom of the Islamic republic, in the rosy part of the full moon, we took a tipple or four) buddy and confidante – even after I was called before the Grand Council of Dahomey and shat upon for overloading camels (convoys of the Trans Sahara baring all manner of legally justified goods), he did not forsake me or turn his back on me or his arms or any of his inner organs (even the messiest continued to greet me); the Man was a singular knight of courtesy, emblem of Good Manners and Loyal Lip when it came to Friendship.
Yours in Service offering encouragement – I will thoroughly tell you that I have been in special prayers for you, asking God to make His intervention to speed up this process of aiding our little buggered children.
So Brother forward to me the money as I have started applying for the documents needed. I wait for your urgent confirmation.
Forward with Christ the King and other Luminosities of the Solar System!
Your ever devoted,
Barrister John Pam
O my sweet Sister!
How can I face you who has been wrestling with Death, polluted in your innermost self by the devils sent to destroy you! I speak of mighty Jamil’s scurvy crew – how they made juju on you. And now you are wracked by filthy spirits; garbage of their minds stuffing your nose, blocking your windpipe, staunching your arse. My poor Mona! Heartfelt wishes for their successful exorcism. But should the local necromancers
in your employ fail to unseat these devils who have sent you to hospital and misdirected the surgeon’s scalpel, I, Samson, hero of sieges and scams a plenty, will come to your bedside and drive out the swine. Give me the word and I will land off the coast of Tripoli (ejected on a torpedo by one of our new Arms Deal submersibles) and together – ah, yes, at last together, Mona – we will parade along the promenade once I have cleansed you of Jamil’s tribal genetic disorders.
But how can I come to you?
How can I leave my poor children to fend for themselves in the hostile alleys of Little Harare, Little Yaoundé, Little Dakar and Little Nairobi? Indeed, here, in the heart of my beloved Jozi, we are overcome by the Very Dark descending from the Equatorial Regions of the Centre-West. To think they know nothing of the merits of fair play and democracy and take our jobs and women with casual impunity.
Yea, dear, precious Monica, we are become prisoners in our own homes, hostels and shopping malls. Wherever we turn they cut us down with their big white teeth, their ravaging smiles. How can I leave my precious little orphans alone for even one day when such peril lurks?
Indeed, again I fail you yet again, my Sister. But my silence over these long weeks was because of a terrible affliction, an accident that only a Dark God could have planned. I was taken prisoner by the Police Service, ma’am. They rolled me up against a wall in Sun City because I was preaching. I was offering the Word but the Police Service said I was selling the little children (all virgins, every single one – God Bless their budding breasts!), they said I, Samson Botsotso, son to Imams and other Walis, now disciple of the Most Loved Son ever to grace these Terrestrial Zones; the filthy minded SAPS said I was peddling DIRTY DRUGS! I mean, can you believe it? They said I was corrupting their pure Sotho and Zulu nations.
They held me for the longest time and I was shitting myself. Then an officer asked for my identity. And the man was very frank. He tells me to shut the fuck up and sit down. Then he tells me I need to find two thousand in cash. I must make a call and raise it.
How was I delivered? The Lord Himself made a plan. After all, I have been doing very nicely lately with a new girl child delivered to us from the heathen – poor girl treated with utmost cruelty and contempt by Unwashed Idolaters; I have kept her very, very close with me well after the midnight hour with most good results – she now obeys and gives good service to Her Lord.
So it was that the Holy Spirit made the Police Service to wait and wait and wait, till they got tired. No money from me and the cell was full and they kicked me out and that is why I have not written these many days. Forgive me! But know that tonight I meet my man, Van Heerden – the service fee required for transfer will most imminently wave across via Electronic Instruction.
Meanwhile, gentle Queen of the Derricks, God bless and make you to be strong against the devils. Praise be the Name of our Christ who died on the Roman Cross while the Hebrews spat at him, and sought to save a robber by His Side – and Him, their greatest prophet!
Your son and Eternal Support,
Samson Gulliver Botsotso
Is this still you, Samson?
I cannot believe this is the same saint who brings little orphaned children to the climax of morning’s glory, who tends them like a bearded gardener, he who snips the dead wood, the thorns, and prunes the rough streets. How you have changed Holy Brother! This voice of Gulliver astonishes me, affrights me, makes my old knees tremble. Wherefrom the gutter words spewing across my hospital gown? To be short, my Brother, if you make no deposit with Esquire Pam by noon tomorrow we will have no choice but to offer this unforgettable and unforgivable giveaway to another loving organization that truly cares for its kindred and other spirits and does not delay.
Your ever-loving, Ma’am Maxwell
I get your drift. The bitch has been bugging me for ages. I mean all this jazz about Jamil and her being thick when the News I’se gets is that she wasn’t even numero two, nevermind Number One. She wuz a lowly number five! on the Man’s night chick list and only called upon sparingly – that’s how stringy she wuz!
No, brother, we must ice her out with serious snuff. De bitch deserve to croak but we must preserve our non-violence streak and keep it cool. She will hang herself with her own tow rope. Just let her pull and pull and pull. No way she must suspect we two be sussed. No way! She must slumber on in rehab, let her days be full of sweet dreams that blunt her to our new-found plans. Yo, let us, who see beyond the Borders, come together and out-vixen her that takes us menfolk for thick Dicks; clear cut show her what gives when a bitch gets out of line, I mean, into THE LINE OF FIRE.
So, Brother, before she hatch and have her plan, quickly you pay the $6 200 and change the account to my name, make it fast as fast can be. Then we split Late J’s stash and together, as One Blood and Brain, make a fine contribution to the little children. I see them now as I write these words in the dormitory where they sleep; I see their little heads, all muddles in the Universe. And I know only one such as you, a learned Brother in the Law, can make them to stand upright. We leaders of the Black Management Forum will make the White Devils foreswear their Games of Chance. We will put the little African orphans on the front pages of the world and make them pay.
Sharp, my bru. I look forward to the Move. Here the details:
Account holder: Little Abandoned African Orphans in Christ, King of the Hoop
Bank: Baas Bank Limited Holdings
Account Number: 7777777
Yours forever in the Struggle against Female Domination
PS. Check u once the deal gone thru. Got a lekker little pozzie near Ulundi. Come hang for a couple.
We are together as one in this – Praise Be that we see eye and eye about De Bitch with her flapping boobs that smother a man. We will take control and make the Little Children smile in relief now that we are taking over and making a good ending from a bad start. I agree we split Late Jamil’s collection of oily monies. And we will make Action Plan for its distribution far and wide to Unfortunates and other species. The only problem is that I have cash flow constipation as we speak – my clients, all Israelites and Chinamen, they are ignoring invoices and supplications, even court orders and dead dogs at their front doors.
I have not been paid for many months and my family members are eating cocoa leaves (not as good as coca, what can I say?) and I cannot put up the $6 000 right now so I beg you, brother, to make this transaction go smooth, deposit some bucks pronto so we can both do our good in this Post Colonial Globalised dispensary.
Please, brother, if you can’t make the full amount just pay over $4 000 and I will negotiate a reduced fee from the brokers and the other stooges. Let us go for it, brother! She will never know that you and I take 30% each and leave the kids a cool 40% to make it kosher. Give me the details of your private bank account I will see to it that you get your cut straight away, my brother! Just send over the 4 g’s asap.
Yours, ever thoughtful and a Proud Black Man, Jonny
You take my breath away! What a solution! WE will definitely cook this goose! Let her rot in hospital while we fix the kids. No doubt bout it, Bro – we’se on the winning track. The only snag is that I do not have even one g in the kitty. Funds are so low, bro, the kids have to eat leftovers from my plate. Last night we even had to take away the dog food and divide the bones between the brats. Were they howling!
Is there no way you can pop up the cash for now? I will pay you back once the transfer has taken place. I swear this by Almighty Jehovah who, to defend the Temple from apostasy and other maladies of the Infected Brain, smite the Philistines and the Amalakites – not to mention the Sumerians and the Persian hordes.
Come on, Brother! Secure the stash and we will make honourable division as you have spelt out – such a fair and right division makes me cry, the simplicitness of it!
I await your confirmation. And will send my PRIVATE banking details asap.
Check u soon in sunny Azania!
How cheering to get your communiqué though I see I was waiting and waiting and now it is in vain.
No fooling, Sam, I got no cash flow whatsoever – the mighty Niger and the raging Kongo is but a trickle in my banking. What can I do? These diamond merchants don’t cough and I am left stranded with secretaries and partners to support. To keep going we recycle paper from the dumps and I haven’t eaten out for months – not even as far out as my mother-in-law’s place as we can’t afford the fare. So brother, I cannot afford even $4 000. But if you can chip in $3 000 I will make a plan for one g. Love you for your devotion. Thinking of our hopes for the kiddies and their happiness here and now and in the hereafter.
Your professional representative in Accra – Capital of Afrikan Independence,
How worried I am! No word from you for these many weeks and time is running and I hear only yesterday Jamil’s clan are closing in – they met the bank manager, a sweaty, lousy Ashanti, who promised to help them change his name to one of their own if they assist his sister to get a Green Card and buy his son a taxi. The bastard agreed because he doesn’t like me and my incorruptible ways. I refused his demand ages ago and play the game by the Good Book that tells of Honesty and other fantasies.
Friend who is Goodness Itself – why not just put in $2 000? I will cover the rest once my mother-in-law dies – which is any day. Just 2 000 and we will be home and dry. Imagine the celebration! Ok?
Johnny Pam, your eternal chum in Accra – Capital of Afrikan Soul Rhetoric
Dear Mr Botsotso
This letter serves to inform you of my gross disappointment in your failure to secure the release
of my Beloved Late Jamil’s fortune still trapped in the vaults of the Al-Baraq Bank of Accra
Ghana. For months now I have over-heated in hoping for your positive contribution to our
Noble Work – it seemed so promising when first you undertook to help Save Souls but now I see
you are all hot air and puffy nonsense. Also I have caught strange noises coming from Jon Pam
Esquire relaying fears of your integrity and other stuff.
So Mr Botsotso, I give you one last chance to prove you are a man of God. Send the $6 200
instantly and we will still secure the millions my poor late dear Jamil sweated years to filch for
posterity and little orphans. Come, Sir! Be a man of Christian worth. As a reward for your Good
Sense we will offer you a private commission worth $2m. Not a bad deal in anyone’s terms!
Ever devoted to Mother Africa and her numerous Orphans who require Charitable Lubrication,
Ms M Maxwell (Widow and Trustee)
Ok Brother just make it $1 000 and I will sort out the balance.
hey, mun, who you fooling? We have such a neat scheme running an you messing about.
jus $300 for a poor ghanaian patriot who sweats for justice!
Dear Brother Botsotso
I have fate-making news. Only yesterday a speeding car with hooligans from some peace-keeping force (they all wore berets and chewed garlic and were bearing away several hungry young women) laid Johnny Pam lower than low. The speedsters took away his fibia and other organs to such an extent that he could not breathe or eat or keep up a correspondence. And his dying word was your name! God Rest Johnny Pam, a close chum who lived in Accra Ghana! He spoke so highly of you it is embarrassing. He said you are a justice fearing man who does plenty of good in the world and beyond. He swore you are the person to take this tragic and altogether tearful project forward.
For I am Barrister Thomas Kazella, lawyer to late Mr Morris Thompson who lost his life in a plane crash involving Alaska Airline’s Flight 261, which kissed the ice on January 31st 2000, including his wife and only daughter.
Mr Morris Thompson aged 61 was one of the state’s tallest natives and a giant of a business leader. How he expanded the people’s chances to make life sweet! There was nothing about fruit machines and flies he did not know. All this you are very free to verify from the web link below for more information and clarification about his socio-economic status until his timeless death:
Now listen to this: just a few hours before the crash (while we were walking out of prayers at the Cathedral of our Black Faced Lady), he disclosed to me his account status, which amounted to $15.5 million (Fifteen million, five hundred thousand United States dollars). He also handed over to me some vital copies of documents regarding this fund trapped at a finance house in EUROPE. I was at the last burial rights on February 5th 2000 to pay my final respect to Late Mr Morris Thompson. There I made thorough inquiries about his relatives but discovered no one really knows about this fund – not even that side of the family that live in Rumania.
Since then, I have made successive attempts to get his next of kin and also the kith to come forth and claim the fund but to no avail. Of course, as personal lawyer to my late client, I cannot in any way claim it unless someone overseas does so. And just two weeks ago, I received a routine notification on very sharp paper from the finance house concerning this fund. The officials, who have scarfaces and shampooed beards, issued a devastating warning: if no relative come forward immediately, they will hand it over to the nation’s treasury account being an unclaimed fund. This is the agreement they have reached at the company and in terms of international guidelines. Yes, Brother, this is now serious! Can you imagine Late Morrie Thompson’s finance going to the northern bears? White scum who still stick it to us with grossful impunity and other maladies.
Now owing to his daughter having also perished in that fatal air crash, I want you to stand in as the next of kin. Like I said earlier, I have the necessary documents to place you as the beneficiary. Be informed that upon successful transfer of this money into your account you shall have 35% of it as your share – the rest goes to a fund for poor women who were stricken with boils when they could not afford to say no to successful government and business men.
Knowing from Brother Pam what a reliable Christian person you are (who also has mercy on animals and insects and certain types of vegetables) and how you helped him to sort out a vast problem and keep little children hale and happy, I know you will give a good and hearty response. Remember, it is just the two of us in the know! Once you send me your assignation, we will have opportunities galore to celebrate appetizing deeds.
Yours, being no one else
Barrister Thomas Kazella
Legal Equity Law Firm (Attorneys and Solicitors)
Direct Tel:+44 792 613 7085
Allan Kolski Horwitz lives in Johannesburg where he tries to make art, politics and hedonism function without creating mind/body overload. He’s a founding member of the Botsotso Jesters poetry collective, and the editor of the literary journal Botsotso.