I OPEN MIC
Comedian Tumi Morake got censored at the Saftas, but here she is — uncut — on Nkandla gags, drunk nannies & punching bum-pinchers
One comic came up to me backstage and warned me to be careful. He was deep into government pockets
T FIGURES that Tumi Morake is no fan of authority. She was raised by her grandmother in Thaba ’Nchu, Free State, after her activist parents were jailed by the apartheid government for treason. She studied drama at Wits — and hosted this month’s SA Film and Television Awards (Saftas). She lives in Kensington, Joburg, with her husband and three children.
I recently fired my nanny on the spot.
She was drunk while watching my children. You don’t mess with my children. It’s either I fire you, or I assault you.
My first paying gig was at Carnival City.
I was convinced I’d done badly, because it was month end and I was in the middle of Brakpan performing for drunk Afrikaners. And then they invited me back.
I was excited but scared to co-host the Saftas, because you’re censored.
There’s government money there [the Saftas are organised by the National Film and Video Foundation, which is funded by the Department of Arts and Culture].
When I walked onto the Safta set, and saw how amazing it looked, I wanted to make a whole Nkandla upgrade joke.
But then I cracked it at rehearsals and they said: “Nothing that has anything to do with the president can be said on this stage.” And I’m like, “C’mon!”
When the best soapie won, I actually wanted to say . . . “The results are in. They’ve been counted. They’ve been audited. Thuli Madonsela would be proud.”
And they were like, “No! Nothing to do with Thuli! It implies Nkandla!”
There was a time that I’d crack certain jokes and people would tell me how brave I was.
And I wondered, are you complimenting or threatening me? One comic came up to me backstage and warned me to be careful. He was deep into government pockets. You know what I said? I said, “My father was in jail for treason. My mother also did time. So trust me, I refuse to be censored.”
Unless you’re paying me not to say certain things, then I won’t say them. When I do club gigs, it’s gloves off. When you do corporates, you sell your soul to the devil. I like to talk about things that are close to the bone.
Like with Nelson Mandela. If you could hear the backstage jokes between comics . . . Yet they won’t say them [publicly] because, oh . . . it’s Nelson Mandela, and he’s right up there with Jesus. There was a time I wouldn’t tolerate jokes about child rape. But this is a real issue, and if it needs to come up, it must come up. You need to ask . . . are you doing it for shock value, or making an intelligent comment? I once had my arse pinched in public, and I punched the guy.
Do you know how many people reprimanded me? In fact, somebody asked me why I thought I was special. They said it’s called ukupantsa — when a Zulu man pinches your butt. So now there’s a word for it, it’s suddenly like, OK? It scares me to raise my daughter in a country like this. Last year I performed at the Edinburgh Festival — and cried when I realised how comfortably I could walk home from work at 3am.
If I were mayor of Joburg, I’d force all the parks to provide security joggers for female joggers. Ellen DeGeneres and Wanda Sykes are my comedy icons.
And it’s just a coincidence that they’re both lesbian. I wanted to be Joan Rivers when I grew up.
It’s all about how she delivers a line. You can repeat it cold, and it just won’t sound the same. Our government has a department for women, children and people with disabilities.
I find this insulting. What is it about being a woman that makes you the same as a disabled person, or a child? Show me the common denominator. I got kicked out of university because I couldn’t afford the fees, so I found a job with a clown agency.
I had to dress up in a massive bear suit at the height of Joburg’s December heat, and take care of rich kids. The girls were the worst, one even yanked me around. I had to threaten her — a little blonde thing with no front teeth. I bent down and hissed that if she did that again I would kill her. Then I shot back up like nothing had happened. The closest I’ve come to death was being hijacked at gunpoint.
I got through it because my childhood taught me to be fearless. Somebody tried to rape me when I was growing up. He held my neck and blocked my air passages, but I had this sixth sense that I was going to be OK, and fought back. Another guy came to my rescue. If South Africa was run by comedians, we’d write a daily tickle fest into the constitution.
Just imagine, living in a South Africa where everyone had to be tickled once a day. Stress levels would fall by 80%. —