Starship Election: Space 1999

SUNDAY INDEPENDENT, 6 JUNE 1999

THE DEVIL HAS all the best tunes, M-Net has all the best sport, but the SABC – bless ’em – had the 1999 elections. I woke at 7.45 on Tuesday morning and turned on the telly, just in time to hear Vuyo Mbuli say: “The time is now 6.45.”

Vuyo, looking neat and shiny as a newly peeled egg, was the left prong of the Election ’99 broadcasting trident; Nadia Levin, looking confidently bouffant, was the right: but the real star of the show was the IEC centre, lurking in the background with screens flickering and counters turning, like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. It has been a long time since an SABC production had such a lavish set, and Vuyo and Nadia weren’t about to let the moment pass unnoticed.

“Here we are in the very hub of the elections,” said Vuyo, for the first of many times.

“Yes, Vuyo, this is indeed the very hub,” agreed Nadia.

“Everyone here has a chair,” marvelled Vuyo, as the camera panned over rows of empty seating.

It was true: even Graeme Hart, the weather guy, had his own chair. Unfortunately, he didn’t have his own microphone. His voice was like the faraway grumble of an approaching drought. When they did manage to mike him up, his voice was sombre in its appreciation of the magnitude of his meteorological contribution to democracy. Bereft of visuals, he was forced to make the climate come alive with facial expressions.

Fortunately for Graeme and viewer alike, the weather was fine. He hunched unhappily in his chair, blazer ruffling about his neck. There is nothing more poignant than a weather guy without his synoptic chart.

Nor was Vuyo inclined to let the humiliation end there. “I’ve been watching Graeme for years,” he announced jovially, “and he always does it standing up. Maybe Nadia can discuss with him what it’s like to do it sitting down.” If she had, I would have lodged an official complaint with the IEC. Wisely, the broken Hart made subsequent appearances squarely on two feet.

The SABC’s was an ambitious operation, with outside units, roving reporters, even the odd bar graph. Yet more impressively, the presenters have picked up an international tip or two: they shrewdly adopted the CNN strategy of spending far more time telling us what in-depth coverage we’re getting, than actually providing coverage itself.

Mind you, there wasn’t much coverage to give. To the great satisfaction of everyone who isn’t a journalist, the elections were as marrow-achingly boring as elections should be. Still, Vuyo soldiered forth undaunted.

“We’ve had some exciting moments already,” he enthused. “Just now we saw Bantu Holomisa cast his vote!” As a highlight, it was meagre pickings, but we watched it over and again throughout the next hour, in glorious slow motion. Oh, wait a minute, that’s not slow motion, that’s the normal speed at which people vote. I can think of very few people who could make the act of dropping a slip of paper into a cardboard box look interesting. Grethe Fox, maybe, and Walter Matthau. John Cleese, if he did that funny walk. Marthinus van Schalkwyk and Bantu Holomisa? No.

For variety, the studio kept optimistically crossing to Jessica Pitchford in a helicopter. “What does election day look like from the air?” Nadia asked from the very hub of the elections. Jessica chattered away, but she must have been borrowing Graeme Hart’s microphone. We sat staring at the skyline of Pretoria, hearing only the mocking whirr of rotor blades. From that vantage point, election day looked much like any other. A cloud drifted by, but I was inclined to ignore it.

Eventually Jessica’s voice crackled into life: “We’re flying over the IEC, the very hub of the elections …” Down in the very nerve centre, Vuyo and Nadia had developed the unpleasant habit of crossing for regional updates.

That left those of us in Gauteng in the company of what appeared to be a pair of dressmaker’s dummies in air-stewardess’s uniforms. They were identified as Paula Slier and Noxolo Grootboom. Noxolo was the one whose lips had to be manually operated by the sound engineer; Paula was the one with the pop-eyed manner of a trout who’d been stunned by a blow from a grizzly bear. They eyed the camera in rubbery silence, as though afraid it might make an improper advance.

Embarrassingly, due to a technical glitch, the viewers could hear all the instructions the producer was murmuring into Paula and Noxolo’s earpieces. Political analyst Sheila Meintjies stopped speaking. Paula goggled at her piscatorially.

“Thank you, Sheila,” crackled the producer’s voice.

“Thank you, Sheila,” wobbled Paula.

“Now you, Noxolo.”

“Thank you, Sheila.”

Finally they could take it no more. “Let’s cross to Jessica Pitchford, our eye in the sky.”

There followed the familiar sound of rotor blades, then: “Yes, hi, we’re flying over the IEC, the very hub of the elections.”

Every so often, a music video was played. It was always a song called “The Rainbow Nation”, rendered by two Spur waiters in black pullovers. Their accompaniment was a reedy tune picked out on an E-Zee-Play Organola. Their names, if you can believe it, were Bobo and Kellam. “The world is awakening,” they crooned, as though masked intruders were tampering with their ingrown toenails, “to a global fee-ee-dom!” By all that’s holy, who could like that song?

Back to the studio. “I really like that song,” said Nadia.

Oh, there were wondrous times in the very hub of the elections, but by the time Vuyo and Nadia moved over to make space for Alyce Chavunduka, the fun was draining away. Without Vuyo’s shiny dome to light the way, it all became a little dreary. There was simply no news worth reporting. By Friday, the circus had left town. “Welcome again from the IEC,” said Vuyo, “a very hive of activity.” I could take a hint.

When a hub is no longer a hub, it’s time to leave.