Two big fat lies about Ramaphosa give rise to a big fat question — how did he make all his money?

An impression that President Cyril Ramaphosa, unlike other ANC cadres, was untarnished by corruption or unethical conduct helped propel him to the top job.

His minders were so successful in selling this lemon that he was hailed by some as a messiah who would save us from the barbarians at the gate.

Gwede Mantashe assured us Ramaphosa was a man of means and therefore wouldn’t steal from us. Which seems to suggest that Jacob Zuma pilfered because he was poor, a fact that somehow escaped the party when it elected him in Polokwane and stoutly protected him during those nine wasted years. Politicians always play us like a fiddle.

Two big fat lies were employed to sell Ramaphosa. First, he was a new broom that would sweep clean. (And there was a lot of dirt to scrub.) But no, he’s been part of the furniture since the ANC was unbanned more than 30 years ago, rising to be its secretarygeneral, leading its delegation at Codesa and later helping to craft the constitution. After his ambition to succeed Nelson Mandela was frustrated, he remained a member of the national executive committee. He was at Zuma’s side as his deputy as the latter went on a corruption rampage. In other words, Ramaphosa was at the scene of the crime.

Contrary to his protestations, he knew what was happening, but decided to look away. He was an insider through and through and therefore complicit in all the wrongdoing. If indeed he was napping during the earthquake, he was not qualified to be anywhere near the government, let alone lead the fight against corruption.

The other lie is that he’s an ethical person, untainted by scandal. This led people to believe he’d be a corruption buster. But that lie was exposed early in his presidential term, when he also showed he doesn’t mind telling a fib or two to get out of an awkward situation. He told parliament tall tales about his relationship with Bosasa and the amount and nature of the donation Gavin Watson made to his CR17 campaign. He also gave an undertaking that if his son, who appeared to have been the conduit for the donation, had done anything improper, he’d frogmarch him to the nearest police station himself.

He had apparently travelled to Uganda for his son’s wedding, but claimed not to have met Watson, who was part of the entourage. If you believe that, then, as the Americans would say, I have a bridge to sell you. Later, however, Ramaphosa had to write to the speaker retracting most of what he told the National Assembly. The Bosasa debacle has had legs not so much for the act itself, but because he was disingenuous. What got Richard Nixon into trouble was not so much the Watergate break-in itself, but the cover-up.

Ramaphosa doesn’t seem to have learnt any lessons from Bosasa, if Phala Phala, his latest entanglement, is any guide. This story is unreal, even hilarious. A president has umpteen dollar bills stuffed into a sofa; the money gets stolen and he buys the silence of the thieves. It’d make a gripping novel. It’s a man-bitesdog story. But of course this is a problem of Ramaphosa’s own making. Good governance demands that all his business interests should have been put in a blind trust on assuming office.

The fact that he didn’t do so again points to his duplicity. He told an ANC conference in Limpopo last year that people often forgot that he was a farmer. No, you’re not a farmer. You’re an elected president, and you must behave as such. We deserve better from you.

Three years on, the Phala Phala shenanigans are still shrouded in secrecy and intrigue. Ramaphosa won’t take us into his confidence, hiding behind lawyers. That’s the behaviour of somebody with something to hide. In politics you have to be open and honest with people if you want to earn their trust. Former president Thabo Mbeki, an early supporter of Ramaphosa who seems to be souring on him, this week asked a question that’s on everybody’s mind: “Are we not dealing here with money laundering?”

It’s a staggering thought. Ramaphosa shouldn’t be putting a country already fatigued by presidential scandals through another episode of embarrassment and uncertainty.

For a man committed to eradicating corruption, he hasn’t done much to clean the Augean stables. He has instead decided to make common cause with the morally bankrupt. This week he was asked about the fate of Noxolo Kiviet, one of the latest additions to his unwieldy cabinet, who’s been referred to the Special Investigating Unit by Fort Hare University for alleged crookery in the manner she acquired her degrees.

He’d wait for the SIU report, he said.

We know what happens to reports when they land on his desk. They die. She should be fired. Perhaps Ramaphosa can plead ignorance in Kiviet’s case. No such defence applies when it comes to Zizi Kodwa. The Zondo report recommended last year Kodwa be suspended from his deputy minister post due to involvement in the EOH imbroglio; yet there Ramaphosa was this month, wearing a satisfied look as chief justice Raymond Zondo confirmed Kodwa’s appointment as minister of sport, arts & culture.

He not only made Zondo eat humble pie, he was showing the public the middle finger. How can anyone be so tone deaf, so duplicitous? It boggles the mind.

Ramaphosa’s somewhat cunning and slippery character begs a few other questions: like, how on Earth has this man — who’s so indecisive, devoid of a backbone, can dissemble at will and, it now appears, is not incorruptible — been able to accumulate so much wealth in such a short time? Was it all kosher?