A loaf of bread and storm in a tea cup
Photographer Lungisani Mjaji says he was not compensated after Albany used a video of his niece on social media
Regardless of a misperceived historical “kvetching” between these two groups — black folks, a generalisation, and their Jewish cousins — the two have had cultural parallel times, spilling into contemporary times leaving us all, practically, the richer.
Growing up in the village and township, young dandies used to refer to attire as “Joowish”.
I’m reminded of this as I scratch my head in search of a more popular English borrowing of a Yiddish word the hip-hop nation refers to as “beef”. “Kerfuffle” is the word I’m looking for.
I have recently come across a special kind of kerfuffle around a beaming little girl, Lethukukhanya Mjaji. Her name roughly translates into let the light in. Little “Lethu” or “Khanya ”— age not given — has an uncle, a fiery and creative young man and technical college student, Lungisani Mjaji.
His name connotes one who fixes, sorts or untangles knots. Our Lungisani doesn’t seem to repair much though and he claims the reason is because he’s not at home in the English language. He might be right. And that is not his fault.
Lungisani is a fledgling photographer and who knows, perhaps a future videographer or DoP [director of photography]. Now Lungisani is a “disgruntled photographer” whom Sunday World claims is “kvetching” about promises the food brand Albany made to him and his family, but never cared to fulfil.
Just the other day Lungisani was fooling around when he made a video and shot some stills of his niece Lethukukhanya. Dressed in a navy floral dress, short little kinks for hair, giving out a toothy smile, what my children refer to as a “gummy bear” joy, “Lethu” is clutching, with both hands, an Albany loaf of white bread.
The photo is ooosh-pootjie-pootjie charming. Totally wondrous. Her smile can beam light into a perpetually load-shedded village.
Her uncle posted the video clips and the photos in which her smile “lit” the internet and little Lethu went viral, or did she? All this happened last winter, July, specifically.
The story has re-entered our attention — and for million others for the first time — because of the Sunday World outlining the uncle’s displeasure.
“I do not want to say that Albany used my niece or my work for their gain. But they reposted the pictures on their social platforms. A token of appreciation would have greatly helped,” he said.
“I am not very good with the English language. But in the meeting with Albany they said their policy doesn’t ‘align’ with the pictures I took. The pictures did not display signs of health, according to them. I assumed then their target market was someone from Sandton.”
Shots fired. Boom!
Social media went, as they say, ape-sh**. As already demonstrated by his photos Lungisani is not without a sense of the dramatic freeze-frame, nor freeze phrase.
He revved on. “Let it be known that they gave us nothing. Nothing. But from their ordinary employees sympathetic of our plight, we received only five loaves of bread, blankets and gas stove.”
“Let it be known.” “Our plight.” Ah. This young man’s sense of Shakespearean farce is admirably formed, facility in English be damned. For its worth, Albany’s parent company Tiger Brands released a statement.
“We were deeply moved by the beautiful video and images captured by photographer Lungisani Mjaji, which shows his niece and the experience of a bread run transformed into an unforgettable moment through the lens of childhood innocence. We were honoured to gain permission from Lungisani to organically reshare the video on our social media platforms, so that more people could experience this moment at a time when we all need a little upliftment.”
Turns out Albany is not the only brand in the photographer’s crosshairs. Apparently he had repeated the product placement stunt with a Bokomo brand box of cereal.
The company was swift to offer him a year’s supply of cereal but, apparently, he showed them the heave-ho. But it is the bread brand “snub” that rankles. What can be learnt from this?
Mirth aside, this is a case study on the perils of insta-fame, the ethics of corporate care, sometimes known as “social responsibility”, not to be confused with selfserving philanthropy and child exploitation.
It is easy to see Lungisani as a victim. He is not. It’s also easy to see him as a two-bit hustler starving his niece of much needed cereal proteins in pursuit of two shillings and a megawatt beam of fame. What, a year’s supply of cereals dude? But that’s still a clouded reading of the drama.
There is no easy way out of it, particularly because there is a historical precedent of exploitation in the country and on the continent. But there are also lessons to learn from this, namely: as much as “the socials” can be, and often are, harnessed for greater good, social media is dangerous.
It is dangerous even for digital natives as well as citizens in developed polities.
Among its pitch black follies is how it bestows us with unearned authority, false sense of arrival, disregard of experience, lack of inhibitions, disregard of editing and guidance, gullibility, and propensity for crowd sway.
Social media, therefore, can easily be a kind of Blue Magic Blow. Or digital nyaope. Depending on the character whose fingers are dancing on that keyboard, it can also change lives. In the “Albany Child” case; it is obvious that Albany did not commission the photographer. And besides, the brand had no prior plans to redirect their campaign with a focus on children in the rurals, or anything that specific.
Therefore, neither Lungisani nor Little Miss Sunshine were mugged. That’s just one way of reading it. The other is that Albany is gaining some traction as a food company whose products resonate with the masses. That is inextricable from the entire drama.
We will never know how many loaves moved from the shelves due to this photograph. Perhaps not many. It’s neither here nor there. It is actually free branding. Many companies gain a lot from free branding, and black folks are totally unquestioning in regard to gifting brands a free run.
Though this does not apply here, it behoves us to remember how callously dedicated we are to brands that don’t care a bit for us.
Not so long ago the company producing Savannah cider had the audacity to issue a statement saying they are not in favour of the drink’s ubiquity in amapiano — read “township”— joints: speakeasies, clubs, and so on.
The point alternative and underground street marketers have been making is that established brands actually gain resonance and brand visibility and durability brownies without paying dosh for it.
Sure, the company made a thing of paying the child’s family a courtesy visit. However, it would not hurt Albany’s agency to quietly invite the photographer and Little Miss Sunshine over for fresh slices and a hot cuppa, offer them a bursary, invest in equipment or pay for the child’s kindergarten. That is called corporate care and awareness.
Of course, they will claim they can’t compensate everyone who puts an Albany plastic in the hands of a toddler and they will be right. But care is a symbolic gesture, not mass charity.
What about the little child in the photo? Did she give consent to all this? This is not an editorial news piece where consent is not always obligatory. This is different. There is also a historical precedent here.
For too long, Western anthropologists, marketing departments, artists and government functionaries have ventured into the villages, townships, squatter settlements and so on in search of an Xfactor, sometimes to affirm their notions of the “native condition”.
More often than not their mission was a one-way mission: to take and not give back. They would produce all kinds of material and leave the poor natives, never to return. Voters know this practice very well. I must hasten to say, recognition and appreciation for those from whom we take is not only monetary.
If we care enough, we would not wait for a kerfuffle in a tea cup.