I THOUGHT about Mosebenzi Zwane last week, a few days after Elon Musk’s Space X rocket carrying Facebook’s first satellite exploded at the space station at Cape Canaveral.I imagined him waking up, shifting to the edge of his bed in his purple Y-fronts, wiping his hand down the front of his face, reaching for his phone lying on the table next to a jar of camphor cream and glancing at the notifications. Rockets. Space.Then I imagined the whooshing sound this information made as it passed over his ears and eyes. Gone.If you’ve never been to Warden in the Free State, where Zwane lords it over the long-suffering peasantry from a pinkish-gin palace, then permit me to latex-glove your suspense: it’s a festering bog, where very little works and even less makes sense.It’s the type of place you leave, puzzling over what the town symbol should be before settling on the icon of a broken handle on an ageing public toilet.Zwane was a massive fool even before he mischievously claimed to have secur...

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