Before print, before
journalism, a young inquisitive girl once had a dream, a dream to roam around
the world with her journal and a camera, to witness its beauty, and reflect it
to itself. A geologist, a climatologist and so that one day in future, she would
look back and say “I was there.”
At the age of thirteen,
her mother took her to a national Xhosa radio station (Mhlobo wenene) once
situated in Umtata, and supposedly as part of the family vocation; you know
those once-in-a-while or “Christmas” vacation trips black parents do, yep, something
of that nature. Inspired by the voice of Asanda Magaqa, a national Vodacom award
winning journalist, the dream was disturbed. She became obsessed with broadcast
journalism. Why not? With her strange
curiosity, it fitted her just fine. She thought. And so the dream of being
a researcher, a script writer (and later on an editor of TV or radio news scripts)
began.
She held on to that
dream, and yet still cosseting her passion for literature, flooding her mother’s
cabinet(s) with thousand novels, something that constantly got her into trouble
because a space for “significant” adornments (as her mom would say) was needed,
but her books stood in the way, prohibiting the likes and interests of other
members in the family.
Such selfishness, but she
really couldn’t bear the thought of having them put away, not thrown, but
simple put off “sight”, away from people to see the beauty of how they’d line
up, so beautiful and inspiring. Yes she bragged about them. But then she had to
obey the house rules (with “those” words coming out of a Xhosa mother in a
burst of passion, a “yes mama” was inevitable), hence she’d lose at times. And no
don’t get me wrong, she had nothing against her daughter’s obsession with books
(and granted the fact that she inherited that from her), she loved it, but a
space for her "guests' plates" was required. You know the kind right?
The ones that only see daylight when there are guests over!
But still, despite her
mother’s Tarzan ways, she kept on surrounding herself with libraries full-time,
something that brought spark into her life. She was like a child in a candy
shop.
At the age of seventeen
after her matric, she got accepted at the Nelson Mandela University (not an
institution she had in mind, and let alone, a journalism one (nope), but at
least), and so you can imagine the eerr well “excitement”…? Anyways, keen and
inquisitive as always, she held on to that
dream until this other day, after receiving her excellent second year results
she was required to choose between print and broadcast. She had always known
about this, that one day, in her third year, she’d have to choose, but given
the fact that she’d always been certain about broadcast, she saw no reason to
contemplate.
But something changed
that day, something she never anticipated, but was always there. A passion for
writing, something she’d discovered while doing her second year, but never
bothered to pay attention to. And now confusion consumed her. She contemplated
the thought, asking family and friends, but a “choose what makes you happy”
line was all she could get.
She went further and
asked her role model, someone who inspired her, and a definite reason why she
chose journalism; Asanda, telling her about everything and nothing, the
personal blog, and face book notes she has, and finally a good response was received.
“I can tell you straight away that print is the better of the two, especially
since you want to write. People who are writers in broadcast don’t experience
the same growth as those in print.” And so the print journey commenced,
shattering everything that was once there: broadcast, and to her surprise, that
never bothered her.
And now she dreams of
being a successful writer, writing hard news stories (something she really has a
passion for). Be an editor of BBC news or somewhere in the states, but she
would really love to go to UK, her dream wonderland. But then, she can’t just
pack up and leave, leaving her country starved, and deprived of watchdogs, even
if she becomes successful, she will not. Change begins at home. She well knows
that.
She wants to own her
own publication company. And it doesn’t end there. Apart from working with hard
news stories, she still dreams of writing a book, and not to brag, but a good
writer is what she is. When it comes to putting her anger, sadness and anxiety,
including life in general on paper and pen, a good outlet for her, she does exceptionally
well.
I know I possess a
talent, and I am willing to go wherever it leads me. I have a hungry brain,
always keen to learn new things. A vending machine is what I’m not. I surround myself with diverse
people, just to learn new things. I have become ambitious, not that I have
never been, but it has become intact, and improved. I seek to learn, and I
yearn to change the world with my writing (and a contrary to the popular stereotype
that only groupies choose journalism. I didn’t gravitate towards my career
choice to be low, as I find such people so low and not a 0°C is a contest.
As the saying goes, “Fish have to swim. Birds have to fly. And
journalists have to go.” where people are suffering, I
must be present, and reflect humanity to its action. Half a bag or less of peanuts
is what I live to earn, and I’m not necessarily bothered, and I guess that’s
how ridiculously intoxicated I am by my career. I want to witness the history
and say “I was there.”
Wow!...yeeman ndiyaphela...good(and that's an understatement) writing my friend.
ReplyDelete(",)!... Thank you chomam!!
ReplyDelete