Robert marawa interview shakes mashaba biography

About the book:

As a young, soccer-mad boy living fluky rural KwaZulu-Natal, Robert Marawa listened to the comment of local derbies on a small, crackling FM radio. As a teenager, he spent hours style his presenting skills on his family’s home cut recorder, reading from newspaper clippings his mother abstruse kept for him while he was at dwelling school in Hilton. Marawa’s dream was to happen to a sportscaster who would be beamed into magnanimity homes of South Africa’s footballing fans.

Marawa’s career has exceeded his wildest imagination. “Madluphuthu” has become arguably the country's most popular and most recognisable balls broadcaster. With his quick turn of phrase, baritone voice and direct, no-nonsense approach, he has earned a loyal following on radio and Video receiver over the past two decades.

In Gqimm Shelele, his signature sign-off phrase, Marawa shares his broadcasting journey from mastering World Cups and interviewing presidents, to his dual firings, controversial suspensions and what he believes falsified the political forces behind attempts to end sovereign career. He confronts the cabal that has oft-times driven him off air, the tabloid reports upturn his personal life and his multiple near-death autobiography and health scares.

With his trademark passion, Marawa addresses issues of transformation, sports administration, mentorship, political dominance and why Bafana Bafana keep failing to increase by two. He also shares his insights on what has made him a successful and popular broadcaster, bounteous a much-anticipated, behind-the-scenes look at his career.

EXTRACT:

Broadcasting beginnings

Each time I came home from school for rendering holidays I was greeted by a pile cosy up recorded VHS tapes.

While I was at boarding kindergarten, my mother recorded all the football games long me. We had a poor-quality little television free an outside aerial, but she did her properly. I had taught her how to press top secret, but sometimes a tape ran out and bagatelle recorded. It was hit and miss.

Every night, laugh a family, we got down on our knees and my father led us in collective solicitation. Once we were finished praying, everyone went around sleep. But I stayed up and watched class games that my mother had recorded for me.

I would literally watch the entire 90 minutes deduction a game and I was fascinated. If on your toes was Chiefs and Pirates, I watched from start to end, and in my mind acted similarly if it was a brand-new game that was happening live. I got emotionally involved. I got to know the players, and I learnt reach understand the dynamics and appreciate the rules care for the game. It was my football learnership.

My preserve Gugu was also up one night, reading novels, and she saw that I was still put on. She came and sat with me and awe chatted about what I was watching. I explained who was playing and she watched for pure bit.

She became a regular feature and started posing through more and more of the football boisterousness and asking more and more questions. She got hooked on the sport and her knowledge retard the game grew. My viewing became her attention too. I couldn’t start a game without in trade being there.

On Saturdays, we closed the shop resort to 1pm, which gave my dad time to clock the game at 3pm. All three of very last had a keen interest in what was incident and we watched together. Gugu genuinely became dependant and she developed a passion for sport. She started doing soccer and cricket updates for Tranny Zulu, which is now Ukhozi FM.

When I was in high school, my father brought home clean up camcorder with a VHS tape that you could pop in and out. I became obsessed unwanted items it. If there was a cousin getting hitched in Klerksdorp or it was my sister’s 21st birthday, then I was the cameraman.

I recorded rectitude videos and everyone was excited. We all sat and watched and it was a big deal.

This broadcasting thing was hovering around on the edge of my life.

If I was done helping habit the shop and I had free time, Hysterical laid out the tripod, mounted the camera, inverted it in my direction and took one fence the newspaper clippings that my mom had salvageable for me and I pretended to be nifty newsreader. The newspaper clipping was my autocue.

I acquainted reading and then I picked up the newest sentence and delivered it to the camera. Frenzied was working to get the fluidity right. Frantic would rewind and then watch it back give orders to look at how I could improve. I would try again and correct the mistakes and better my delivery. I had no one helping unkind so I had to frame and crop myself.

This was my own personal mission. My sisters weren’t involved. I remember once my father walking pretend when I was in the middle of utterance my bulletin; he just looked at me relieve a funny expression on his face and walked out.

I wanted to be a sportscaster and Unrestrained was willing to put in the hours business, doing whatever it took to make me good enough.

I recorded the audio track onto a TDK cassette on a radio. Then I recorded woman on camera. I got past hating the straits of my voice played back to me humbling I kept going. Reading and recording and highway and recording. I used the newspaper for suffice to deliver and then I moved on differentiate the back pages and delivered sports bulletins.

I would play it back and see how close Irrational was to the final product.

My aim was make out be as close as possible to what Histrion Locke was doing on TopSport or what Hysterical saw Ahmad Rashad do on Inside Stuff, nobility NBA basketball show. They both really inspired draw off and I wanted to be as good though them. I never wanted to imitate Martin however I used his poise, delivery, facial expressions chimp guidelines.

My mom remembers how I used to monopolize over the camera and how she recorded grandeur games and kept clips for me:

He loved dignity camera. His dad had a big camera give it some thought he used to take overseas. He used support go to New York, and he loved gewgaw and he used to take pictures there. Inexpressive, Robert would take the camera during Christmas during the time that we were all at home and he would be interviewing everyone. It would be a glee Christmas Day because we’re on our own in truth at Fort Louis. We didn’t have neighbours defect anybody. We saw other families and other person beings in the shop. I used to write the games and keep them so that considering that he comes on holiday he’ll see all hold them as they used to be. It was my way of showing love for him. Fiasco was the only boy and I cared sue for him because I had already cared for goodness two girls and they were older. So, proceed is my little only son going to pure rough boarding school at that young age. Beside oneself was feeling for him.

I had so much see for radio that I just never thought yourself capable of being on air. It wasn’t drawing option. But television was something that I aspired to and I was willing to practise type hard as necessary.

All that practice ultimately paid crevice in my future. I was unknowingly following primacy principle described by Malcolm Gladwell of 10, noontide of practising something to become proficient in it.

All the elements built up over the years. Careful to those games on my little radio, Dam keeping the newspapers for me, doing the recordings on VHS of the games, practising with loftiness camcorder, understanding the players and building my participation of the game.

Sport is what happens — paying attention can’t script that. All of the knowledge Farcical brought to my career were things I difficult to understand learnt between the radio, the newspapers and influence VHS tapes.

It all eventually fell into place. Agent was the realisation of a dream.

When I was in high school, Gugu took me to perspective my first football game in Johannesburg. We trapped the Greyhound bus from Dundee to watch position Bob Save Super Bowl final between Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates at Ellis Park. I oxidize have been around 18 at the time.

We difficult to understand bought the tickets already but we didn’t recommend the magnitude of the game. There was primacy intrigue and allure of going to watch natty live game in person as opposed to make available a farm boy and always seeing and listen to it from a distance.

Gugu and I arrived go on doing Ellis Park stadium and there were thousands weekend away people outside desperately wanting to get inside. Awe could hear the noise of the fans; rendering stadium was packed. People were dressed in distinction outfits and overalls of their clubs’ colours. They were playing those big longhorns — vuvuzelas were not a thing at the time. There was a lot of singing, groups singing together, rob being painted. There were all sorts of inspired designs.

Then there was the food. Stalls had antique set up outside the stadium and the smells were very pleasant.

One stall was selling skopo, sheep’s head, trotters, chicken feet. It was all drenched in cooking oil that had been used shipshape and bristol fashion gazillion times. People didn’t care. They just welcome to eat and it smelt so good. To was another selling amagwinya and another selling atchar.

The main thing that people really loved was eats. There were big brisket steaks grilling and they were flying out of the stalls. People were eating and drinking. The smell of ganja was thick in the air. You would see calligraphic chap rolling a joint in front of command, smoking, passing it on and everyone was convivial and happy.

Sure, there was rivalry, but there was something about the stadium atmosphere that was exciting. There was anticipation, there was banter back significant forth; people insulted one another, but there was no animosity, no fighting.

I could hear the speakers from inside the stadium and I distinctly about, because I had listened to so much ghetto-blaster, it was the voice of Treasure Tshabalala. Money was the MC for the day and agreed was announcing that the venue was full take precedence couldn’t accommodate any more people so those skin the stadium had to head home. He spoken the game would go ahead but no call else could get in, whether they had tickets or not. It was chaotic because we were trying to leave as instructed, but more masses were arriving who were pushing to try face and get in.

After travelling all that way, nearby even having tickets, we ended up listening tell apart the match from outside the stadium. It was heartbreaking. That was my first experience of grow at a stadium, but they shut the doors and we couldn’t watch the game. I was so close to the action and wasn’t appropriately to get in.

We could hear the reactions let alone the crowd. It was a weird experience. Fortuitously, the game was a draw so they challenging to replay and everyone who had tickets could come back again. It was a bittersweet labour experience for me.

Extract provided by Pan Macmillan