Passion, affirmation & the pressures of journalism

I must have been 19 years old when Anothile Kuboni and I walked from the Benmore Campus of Varsity College to submit our scanty CVs and a cover letter requesting to complete our experiential learning at Primedia Broadcasting.

I still remember quite vividly looking up at the building and scanning the boards with all the stations’ names on them and feeling like I was about to live my dream.

I don’t quite remember how the rest of the excursion went – I blocked it out since we didn’t get the callback, and both of us ended up working through those hours at other organisations.

In 2009 I landed at the SABC – it would be disingenuous if I pretended that that wasn’t the result of my well-connected Dad making a few phone calls.

It was also in that moment that he taught me one of the most valuable lessons in life. He said:

“Your surname may get you through the door, but it’s your hard work that will keep you in the office.”

Essentially, he asked a few people to take a chance on his daughter, and then left it to me to prove to them that I was worth it. I did my best, but now that I am older – I realise that that experience turned out to be more than just an internship, it was about a lot more than clocking hours and earning my stripes.

I was moulded there – as a budding journo, wet behind the ears, I went through the hands of some of the best in this industry. The subtle ones, the quiet ones that silently do great things and demand nothing in return – no accolades, not even the fleeting recognition in their spaces . The ones many have forgotten.

BoNtate Lehana Tsotetsi, Crosby Amos, Zola Ntutu, Gladwin Masitenyane – Snuki Zikalala and Tommy Makhode were there as the guides and voices of reason. I can still hear Bhut’Zola shouting at me from his office, and Makhode telling me to drop my voice a pitch because I sounded too young for the prime-time bulletin (he would say this jokingly before he chuckled and congratulated me on me effort. But those who know me and listen to my reports on the radio can tell his unsolicited advice stuck nonetheless).

But hear me out…there was this crazy bunch that pushed me hard while I shadowed them on stories or at the desks. They would make my head spin with envy as I watched them finesse this business of telling stories- and then they would take me and Nandi Modise out for drinks at a bar in Melville - where we would debrief, reminisce, laugh it out, and then plan for the next day.

Young and unsure of how I fit in in the big city – from the plaas life in the North West – Gillian Pillay, Yolisa Njamela, Asanda Magaqa and Unathi Batyashe looked passed that shy mess and took a chance on me.

They invested their time, shared their talent, instilled their passion and moulded me. They made me love the work, appreciate its impact and respect that I was merely a vessel with the immense duty and privilege of portraying and relaying the human experience in all its gore and glory.

This week, as I ponder on my fate in this industry, and nearly a year after we last spoke, I got a text from my great mentor – Yolisa Njamela.

She affirmed me; she reminded me why I am here…why I left, and then came back when Mahlatse Mahlase offered me a lifeline.

Ironically, these days newsrooms sap the passion out of many of us. The way in which we do news is no longer fulfilling and purposeful. But a lot about this has to do with the way the public consumes news too. Fake news, false ‘reporting’ on social media and the constant vilification of media are at all-time high. The other day I watched how, in a heavily charged situation, journalists on a story in Kliptown were called ‘witches’ - immediately placing a target on their backs. Most were female - and yes, in a country where the GBV stats look the way ours do, this matters.

The profession has been diluted,infiltrated by imposters who misinform and cast doubt on the real ones. It’s a love-hate relationship that I have with the work right now. It’s a dark place with some glimmer of hope that always twinkles just at the right time - and keeps me for another day.

I guess this might as well be a diary entry…I am just venting, I suppose…but maybe next time I will talk about how Sheldon Morias, Katy Katapodis, Lebogang Nthate and Hitekani Magwedze said “MURDAH THIS THING CALLED REPORTING” – and sent sheepish ol’ me on a trip to Zimbabwe during a whole coup!!!

I tried…with plenty of cheerleading from Tara Penny, Thembekile Mrototo and Lerato Hoffele to stay motivated…I still try.

Crux of it? I love what I do, I love who taught me how to do it (including my lectures at VC – Vanessa Banton, Claire Barnes, Benjamin (don’t remember his last name) and Biljana Brkic). But these days I find myself frequently questioning if I still have a place in traditional media. The industry fails continually to reinvent itself while safeguarding the very principles that earn it the respect and rank it should hold in society. I’ve seen too many of the good ones go, and too many of the young ones misguided or overlooked. I’ve been caught in far too many blank stares that just seek to push numbers, scripts, Twitter posts …and lose the essence of storytelling.