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The Nappy Thief

The Nappy Thief

by Montle Moorosi / 11.02.2010

“Poverty is no vice, that is the truth. I know that drunkenness is also no virtue, and that is even more so. But destitution, my dear sir, destitution is no vice, sir. In poverty you may still preserve the nobility of your inborn feelings, but in destitution no one ever does. For destitution one does not even get driven out of human company with a stick; one is swept out with a broom, to make it more insulting; and justly so, for in destitution I am the first to insult myself. Hence the drinking!” –Marmeladov in Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

Heh, heh, heh… fucking Zimbos, so, so dumb… Who steals nappies? Wet back hobos shouldn’t be having children, why don’t they have the brains and consideration to at least wrap a barbecue flavoured Simba chip packet around their dicks or shove a chamois cloth up their vaginas so our legal system and drivers at robots don’t have to take care of these blind oil faced crumb snatching, smash and grabbing, border jumping bottom feeders.

So there I was in the Hillbrow Magistrate Court and morbidly surprised and disappointed at how clean it is compared to the vessels of blood, guts and subpoenas jammed into the place. The cops and the public prosecutors are cracking jokes amongst each other.
“They kicked him in his face like baahh!! Ha, ha, ha!!”
“Since when is heroin an ‘inappropriate substance’ to be caught with?” Said the dark toned public defender in exasperation, she had oh so kindly and in an un-introducing manner let me sit in her office because she’s so chummy with my attorney. My attorney then says to her:
“How are you going to defend your client if you’ve already decided he’s guilty? You have to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“That’s why I’m going to leave it till Monday… God I hate my job.” She says before leaving the room.

My attorney is six foot tall, shy, apparently meek and from Limpopo, but what is most noticeable is that he suffers from small village, big town “I want to save the world” syndrome and God bless him for it, and the side effects of malleable ethics, of course. As I wait for my case docket to be transferred from the Parkview Police Station I become strangely fascinated by the sight of a skinny, dark, chipmunk-looking man appearing as if he was on the verge of giving birth to a 50 pound St Bernard puppy. I step into courtroom 4 before the policeman closes the door to hear, as the negroes would say, “what is up with that nigga?”

Scissors Dlamini (Surname has been changed) is what my white friends would say is, “shitting bricks”. Despite what his savvy name may suggest, Scissors Dlamini is not that street smart. If crime was sex Scissors would be the guy who mops the private booths at Adult World, if not a deaf and blind peeping tom. Scissors is a repeat offender for shoplifting. Only three days ago he stole a bottle of hairspray and got caught when he decided to run in the direction of the Hillbrow Police Station to make an escape from the pursuing security guards. Today he sits in front of… God I fucking hate my life, how the fuck did I end up here? Alone as usual… but do let me finish… Scissors sits in front of a magistrate. The magistrate has a face that very apparently has been withered, depressed, compressed and even angered by the wooden benches, paper work, the eternal procession of South African reality and forever waiting for the lunch break. Her cheeks dropping to the floor like a dead bulldog, the magistrate pages through the docket while the young black female public prosecutor reads the charge in a jovial Sandton kugel accent, as if she were singing along in her car to her favourite Rihanna song.
“Your Honouuuurrrr! The accused was arrested three daaays ago for the same charge and was given a suspended sentence, the court asks that the accused be given a sentence of one year and be charged under Section thirrrty siii-eeiix”.

The judge looked at the prosecutor like everyone in the court room did, the same look a layman would give to an albino with Down Syndrome, a look of bewilderment and pity directed at the prosecutor more than Scissors Dlamini, but of course they know what remains of his fate.
“Sec-tiooon thirrrty siii-eeiix” is when an illegal immigrant is caught doing a crime and is sentenced to imprisonment in a South Africa prison and once his sentence ends he is then deported back to his country, and no one ever makes it out of Section 36, well, unless you have an attorney like mine, maybe… If you can afford one. The Magistrate lifted her head and her sagging flaps of skin off the floor.

“Mr. Dlamini the court has given you many chances and the fact that you were caught three days ago for the same charge not only tells me that you don’t respect the courts and the law but you also have no regard for this country and its people, after your sentence is done you will be deported back to Zimbabwe according to Section 36.”
The court interpreter then translates the message to Scissors; he then excreted his brick as his face slumped to the cobra polish soiled floor.

No one even mentioned that this time around Scissors Dlamini was caught stealing nappies. I know theft is not right, but there have to be some kind of leniency for someone who is so broke and backed into a corner that he needs to steal nappies for his kid.

And as for me? What about me? My destitution is mental, I drink, I drive, I wait in line at Home Affairs and I’m middle class, so of course I bribe. Here’s to you Roman Dutch Law, cheers! And speaking of cheers, despite Scissors leaving behind a starving child without diapers at least in prison he can finally enjoy and understand the depth and field that the Cheers sitcom theme song imparts:
“Sometimes you wanna go, where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came, you wanna be where you can see the troubles are all the same, you wanna go where everybody knows your name.”

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  1. lfd says:

    Nice style of writing. Well-informed, original and funny.

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  2. Moose says:

    Thanks Mahala. Sometimes reality is truly a sorry state of affairs, but I don’t know anyone else that covers it like they should… keep it up 🙂

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  3. rettambuli says:

    You complacent drunk-driving fuck! You xenophobic turd…goodish article.

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  4. gender mender says:

    rettambuli – i suggest you go to http://www.dictionary.com and check out the word ‘irony’

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  5. @ gender mender says:

    i suspect deeply that rettambuli is a friend of Montle and hence the diction and tone…

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  6. wipneusie says:

    This disposition to admire, and almost to worship, the rich and the powerful, and to despise, or, at least, to neglect persons of poor and mean condition, though necessary both to establish and to maintain the distinction of ranks and the order of society, is, at the same time, the great and most universal cause of the corruption of our moral sentiments. That wealth and greatness are often regarded with the respect and admiration which are due only to wisdom and virtue; and that the contempt, of which vice and folly are the only proper objects, is often most unjustly bestowed upon poverty and weakness, has been the complaint of moralists in all ages.

    – Adam Smith: The Theory of Moral Sentiments

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  7. anastassia says:

    our cities are like arid land. you cant farm a pavement.
    if we dont realise that one of the only ways to bring the true potential of a city’s life out is by supporting the culture that it spawns – and by culture i mean art theatre and music, we dont keep depression away and if we dont keep depression away, we become poor of heart and person. a happy poor person is more likely to make work than a sad one. same goes for the wealthy. depression is a natural side effect of city life, now if we could just kick it there would be none of this third world first world bull.

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  8. Kontlap says:


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  9. cunt rag says:


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  10. DR PACHANGA says:


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  11. artofkawaii says:

    Can Zimbos still be wetbacks since they dont swim here? By the way I very likey. Noice one.

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