‘I could sing with them, but not eat with them’

In her autobiography, Marah Louw writes about her past, especially in entertainment

WHEN television came to South Africa in the mid-1970s, and like everywhere in the country, racial segregation was the order of the day at the SABC: there was a whitesonly channel and a blacks-only channel.

I wish I could laugh, but it was not funny. Most of the programmes were old movies from overseas and some not-so-funny comedies.

Because we didn’t know any better and had no say in the programming, we could not complain.

Then a few years later, towards the beginning of the 1980s, the SABC started investing in local productions like live music shows and some low-budget local movies for television.

People were happy because we finally had TV in South Africa. My manager informed me that the SABC was doing a music programme for TV and they were interested in having me take part with a big band conducted by Gerry Bosman.

I had never heard of him, but I was looking forward to the show.

An appointment was made for me to meet Gerry, who turned out to be a kind man. He welcomed me and introduced me to another singer named Eve Boswell.

Apparently she was a famous singer among the whites with a famous Afrikaans song called Suikerbossie.

I was curious to know why they had chosen me for this show, and my manager told me in confidence that besides having a famous profile from all the productions I’d done, my name and surname worked in my favour for the whites-only channel. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but I was determined to break through those doors.

Segregation

On the first day, rehearsals took place in a big room at the SABC building. After a couple of hours with the big band, we broke for lunch and I experienced the real meaning of segregation. There was a canteen on another floor, but it was for whites only. The toilets for whites were nearby, but the toilets for blacks were in the basement. When I asked where to go for my lunch, I was told to go to the SABC radio building, which meant going outside and walking to the next building, standing in the long queue and eating there. It was preposterous. I was allowed to perform with these white people, but not use their canteen or sit at a table and eat with them.

Because of the time it took me to get my lunch, I’d get back late to rehearsals every day. The conductor was not happy with my tardiness and I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or angry. I explained to him how segregation was affecting our work relationship, but I was not going to allow it to derail my determination to one day be part of the change in this monster corporation with its draconian rules.

The next day, Gerry and Eve arranged for my lunch to be brought to the rehearsal room. Eve brought hers too so we could eat together. This did not mean I had changed the status quo, it only saved me from a long walk. We had two weeks to rehearse. The show costumes were specially designed for me and the dancers at the SABC. On the day of the recording I was a nervous wreck. I had only four songs in the whole programme – three of them on my own and a duet with Eve: Stevie Wonder’s Ebony and Ivory. At the end of our performance, the audience gave us a standing ovation and we hugged each other for a job well done. The show was pre-recorded and, after a few months, it was televised on the SABC’s whitesonly channel. The part where Eve and I hugged at the end of our duet had been edited out and only the bows were shown. I didn’t suspect any sabotage until many years later when I visited Eve in Durban, and she told me how our performance with the big band was almost derailed when the SABC bosses found out I was black. They had assumed from my surname that I was coloured.

Under apartheid segregation, coloured people got preferential treatment because they were deemed to be superior to black people. Coloured people were accommodated on the whites-only channel while blacks were not. A decision was made to edit out our hugging because it would upset the white viewers. Eve had even been reprimanded for touching me.

As if my dark skin, was going to rub off on to her! She never told me who reprimanded her. Much as this disgusted me, I was not surprised – this was apartheid. It made me more determined to keep kicking down those doors.

This is an extract from It’s Me, Marah, an autobiography by Marah Louw, published by Jacana Media at a recommended retail price of R250.

With a career spanning over 40 years, Marah Louw is counted among South Africa’s musical and entertainment industry royalty, and has a powerful and memorable story to tell.

This book is the reader’s frontrow ticket to the joys, sadness, triumphs and setbacks that have been part of this legend’s life.