TELEVISION: Bafana Khumalo
SOMETHING new has been happening on Monday evenings on SABC2. I, as a black South African, have been recognising myself on the small screen. It is not exactly my life, but it calls to mind a painting I have seen around me all my life. All this from Gaabo Motho.
One has had to look toward the likes of Bill Cosby for surrogate images of blackness. This is due to a lack of South African stories. And if there ever were any South African stories, they were inevitably reflected by an American or British mirror; a township thug was reincarnated as a black American youth – complete with a permanently attached shoulder chip.
Gaabo Motho is different. It is rooted in this back yard we call South Africa. Set in a Pretoria township, the series revolves around the life of a teenager who, having grown up in America, returns. It is through his interactions that writer Gomolemo Mokae tells us about ourselves. The family is relatively affluent – they own taxis and a supermarket – but is still rooted in its Africanness.
I recognised myself in the first episode, which showed the family watching the great walk-out at Victor Vester prison. I too had watched Mandela’s release, had felt the feelings that Mokae wrote into the scene. Rooted in contemporary culture, the script is peppered with barbs, like when the family is waiting for the kinsman to return. They mistake him for an African-American. He twangs away the confusion: “I’m not who you think I am, folks. I just here for the Radio Metro (job) interview.” Ouch.
Apart from the recognisable South African types and situations, the teleplay has an activist component. Mokae is unashamadely trying to change current attitudes about Africanness. For example, a group of girls using images culled from rap videos and boys-in-the-hood movies, try to impress the young protagonist. Then they realise they have a better chance of impressing him by getting him Kenyan clothing as a gift.
Some of the acting is below par and it’s because of this that far too many fine moments are lost. Like when one of the characters tells a well known joke about a nurse getting arrested for carrying a subversive book. Written inside is: “This book is dedicated to all ANC workers.” The ANC in this case stands for antenatal care workers – but the actor fluffed the lines.
My greatest problem with the general execution of the project is that it sometimes lacks energy. While you might like what you hear, you might want to switch off because of the way it is said. So, while the viewer might agree with pearls of struggle wisdom like “liberation now, education later” you will hate the way the actress says it. She seems to take a full breath and deliver the line before moving on to something else. Acting by numbers.