On a nippy Friday night in May, I leaned on a sturdy tree in the backyard of Moto Republik. A tumbler of colour-changing gin and tonic in one hand, I was a back-bencher of the Dodger Dome, a mini amphitheatre they often host events in. The 50 pax + dome was brimming with a very young audience of artists and college students that I hoped had mostly paid to watch the $5 show titled New Skool Comedy. As a Comedy fan, more so a Zim-Comedy fan who spent years around the up-coming and successful comedians before the herald of TikTok skits, I like to consider myself a fellow in the art form’s struggle for relevance, quality and sustainability. As a young adult, I was engulfed in Comedy, hanging around many a comedian, watching their processes, listening to their debates, ambitions and strife.
Watching a handful of these acts for the first time, I chuckled a fair amount at the 5-minute sets. While my fingers and neck numbed to the cold in the crowded backyard, it was the warmth of hope that surrounded me. Back then, not many would support up-and-comers this way. Well, as a comedian quipped to me once, indeed journalists, bloggers and fellow comedians would show up, but the paying audience was always a rolled dice. That evening, some cadres of the comedy struggle were there too, watching the new wave like an investment. As the show wrapped up, I was reminded of Tinaye Chiketa’s upcoming show. A promise to attend was made, but as always, life and work had diverted my attention; as he promoted the show through a brief set, I renewed the commitment.
On Saturday, the 6th of June, I walked into the ancient Reps Theatre foyer, where I was met by Hypenation’s fancy-schmancy new ticketing gear just in time to purchase the ‘last ticket’ due to capacity concerns. We were off to a winning start, a sold-out show for a Comedian who had worked so hard for a long time was welcome news. To my glee, the ushers quickly whisked me to the very front. Having forgotten how ridiculously tiny the theatre seats were, I squeezed into a lucky aisle seat. The Reps was indeed full, save for a few occasional middle seats. I secretly prayed that at least 50% of the 400+ pax were paying patrons.
Getting there is a bloody feat.
Shoko Festival by Magamba Network annually hosts Comedy Roasts, which I often try not to miss, and it’s probably one of the three times I’ve seen Reps spilling into the patrons in the name of Comedy. Second, being Kandoro, who has since moved on to bigger venues, and third, now being Tinaye Wayne Chiketa. There’s been more, of course, but while Tinaye has been both a Skit and Stand-up Comic for a while, the risk of hosting a show that hopes to garner the bottoms of nearly half a thousand people at a fee raises the stakes a bit. Particularly because there hasn’t been much circuiting, i.e., there is none (more on that later). This success translated the popularity of YouTube shows such as Gazaland Police Station into proof that people are willing to pay to watch him. While the profit & loss of such an endeavour is more volatile, the big W from this is the great turnout and its overall execution. Thousands of miles away, simultaneously, Nigel Tha Slick Pastor was doing the same in Leicester, UK.
Tinaye’s set was interesting to watch. His debut show, titled ‘Nothing to Hide’, had him both vulnerable and funny. He took it there a couple of times, from religious references to political commentary. My only gripe was that our time with him was short, a mere 30 minutes. To bring it home, the jokes that tied in with where people know him most, the Gazaland Police Station series, were a nice touch. He was confident but fragile, I guess, as someone ready to confess a few burdensome things. Ending with a tribute to his dad, the crowd roared in applause and a standing ovation.
Scanning the room and listening to Neville, the host for the evening, it was clear that not only had the demographic changed, but so had the material, quite drastically. The jokes were very localised, mostly well-received and predominantly in Shona with the odd sprinkle of English. Back in circa 2012, comics seemed to have had an unspoken understanding that to reach the goal of international success and appeal, they needed to speak in an attainable language, English; they needed to be globally relatable, and this meant throwing out the less palatable contexts, i.e., zvinomakisa. I guess this might explain why many Zimbabweans are conflicted by Learnmore Jonasi’s occasionally self-depracating material. Dare I ask, has Comedy been at a standstill in the last couple of years because it was… pretentious? Would this explain the lacklustre support? Perhaps the eloquence and cool-kid club appeal left out a massive market that simply couldn’t relate. No skin off comics like Carl Joshua Ncube, whose pioneering run probably set the pace and scale for many comedians to come. Given the average Zimbabwean’s obsession with skits, funny influencers, and memes on TikTok or Facebook, it’s clear we appreciate comic relief. Honestly, the material almost writes itself because…what even is this country?
But would the average Tinashe pay for it?
King Kandoro flipped this question on its head. The Cross-Samora palatability. His charming delivery blurs the very real class divide of North versus South Samora; the authenticity romanticises him as a ghetto adjacent hero. Someone to root for, even if you don’t relate to him. Like a friend from the other side of town whose way of life fascinates you. Thanks to a shitty economy, there’s a Diasporan Market of 3 million + Zimbabweans all over the world willing to pay top dollar to listen to jokes that resonate with home in a language they’ve missed hearing. Using what I coin, the Zimfest-effect King Kandoro wins gold for touring this circuit, growing his brand both locally and arguably internationally. A format that comics like Nigel Tha Slick Pastor are starting to follow, with equally positive results. For a country that has been going through a massive class adjustment, Kandoro’s Social Commentary is like kibble for the average diasporan. On the other hand, at a time when stand-up comedy was somewhat of a snotty affair, Simuka Comedy’s Doc Vikela did this first by bringing comedy home by using mostly vernacular with witty impersonations and solid punchlines. Doc’s wit is now reserved for the occasional one-man show and more often for better-paying MCing and Influencer work. Damn, I miss the circuit.
I have a dream for a Zim Comedy Renaissance, with way more spaces for comedy clubs and laughter. Where Comics can practice, suck, go home, write better material and try again. Where young comics can share new material that tests boundaries and build their brands to fill up spaces like Reps Theatre, Alliance Francaise, Celebration Centre or HICC. It’s a dizzy dream, but perhaps if Zimbabwean stand-up comics don’t have enough spaces to practise their craft they need to make them! To do that, comics will need to bring comedy to the people in different formats. Crowd work in bars, for example. Cleaner material for churches, even. At this point, I’m spitrolling, no bad ideas, so figure it out! An honorary mention goes to Moto Republik and Magamba for doing their bit to hold space for the new talent. All I know is there’s no better motivation to write better jokes than trying to be funny in a very well-lit bar. The theory is, the more people watch stand-up, or rather, in this case, the more people are force-fed stand-up, the more likely they’re willing to pay top dollar for a good lineup, the more comics practice, the better quality of their sets and hopefully the quality of income too. It’s a dream, so let’s keep it moving. There’s Hope for Zim stand-up comedy yet.
