My F*k, ANC!

Six years ago, South Africa was gifted a national treasure: a shaky cellphone video of Marelize Horn trying to ride a bicycle on an otherwise empty rugby field. Empty, that is, except for the one goalpost she somehow managed to ride directly into.

Her mother’s now-iconic expletive, “My f*k, Marelize!” didn’t just capture a moment. It captured a mood. It was the soundtrack to our national psyche: frustration, disbelief, and helpless laughter, all packed into a single wheezing gasp.

But what we didn’t know then was that Marelize wasn’t just a meme, she was a metaphor.

And that the African National Congress (ANC) would become her spiritual successor.

Because if there’s one thing the ANC does better than any governing party in the democratic world, it’s to find the only obstacle in an open field, charge toward it blindfolded, and crash loudly, while insisting that it was part of a “transformational” agenda.

We can begin with the latest face plant: the failure to secure a trade agreement with the United States. After months of muddling through negotiations, South Africa now faces punitive 30% tariffs, a direct gut punch to exports in agriculture, steel, and automotive manufacturing. Tens of thousands of jobs hang in the balance. The ANC’s response? A shrug, a press conference, and a vague promise to “look for other markets”.

This didn’t come out of nowhere. Washington made its position clear: stop embracing terrorist regimes; stop weaponising international courts for ideological battles, and maybe we’ll keep talking.

Instead, the ANC doubled down, rolling out the red carpet for Iran; hosting Hamas delegations in Pretoria; and leading the charge to drag Israel to the International Court of Justice for the crime of not lying down in the face of terrorism.

And then they act shocked when the US administration stops taking their calls.

The impact on South Africans is significant. Because while the ANC performs its geopolitical pantomime, the trains don’t run; electricity is a part-time service; crime has gone full Mad Max; water is rationed, when it arrives; hospitals are death traps; policing is optional; and youth unemployment hovers among the worst in the world.

In three decades, the ANC has not only failed to transform the lives of the disenfranchised, it has turned the country into a dysfunctional playground for corruption, cadre deployment, and empty slogans.

And every time it all goes wrong, it blinks in disbelief, as if the goalpost leapt out at it.

That’s where the metaphor ends. Because Marelize was trying to stay upright long enough to become an au pair in the Netherlands. The ANC, meanwhile, is hellbent on steering South Africa into diplomatic irrelevance and economic ruin. All while waving a victory flag and shouting, “See? We’re still upright!”

Except we’re not.

The ANC has hit the goalpost. Repeatedly. And it has taken the rest of us down with it.

If ever there was a phrase that captured the state of the nation, a slogan for this bizarre, broken moment in our democracy, it’s this: My f*k, ANC!