Bitch, please! I'm Khanyi Mbau. Lesley Mofokeng
days – if at all.
She became friends with Portia who lived across from the Mbaus, a chubby girl who didn’t quite fit the mould of a township girl either. She also spoke English far too well and her parents worked at good jobs in town, like Lynette did. “We became friends out of necessity,” Khanyi says. “We were both the odd ones out.”
Khanyi enticed Portia over with Zippy Toys, stoves and pots her Aunt Nikiwe had brought from overseas. Khanyi hid them from other children because she was convinced they would break or steal them.
Life was good in the Mbau house. There was always fancy fare like spaghetti bolognaise and lasagne, French toast, poached eggs, croissants and koeksisters. She lived on home-baked brownies, gingerbread men and chocolate-chip cookies, drinking glass after glass of Nesquik. She tasted expensive chocolates like Ferrero Rocher, Lindt and Kinder Joy at a young age, thanks to her aunt’s duty-free shopping sprees at European airports.
“I’d lie on the couch drinking Coca-Cola,” she says and explains that most township kids are banished to the floor. “I could never understand the normal black child’s upbringing. I never understood how eight people could sleep in a four-roomed house with only two bedrooms, a kitchen and a lounge. It overwhelmed me that so many people could share such a small space. I was like ‘Geez, how do they do it?’”
In Khanyi’s privileged little world, every girl had her own bedroom with a bed and a mirror to gaze at herself as she brushed her hair.
But life was strict, too. During the week, the rule at her grandparents’ house was to be home before the curtains were drawn at 5.30pm. On weekends, Khanyi could only leave the house after midday. She could never play hide-and-seek with the other children because she arrived late and by then the teams and alliances were formed.
She would get a beating if she broke the rules. Her grandparents were strict and old school about discipline. Portia’s much younger parents didn’t mind if she got home late in the evening. Khanyi thought it was very unfair. She and Portia spent endless hours avoiding the scary township streets, watching old black and white movies and Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, with the mansions and cars owned by Hollywood stars. It was all so glamorous and magical to two lonely township girls.
Khanyi spent hours watching her favourite TV shows like The Smurfs, Gummi Bears, Mina Moo and Power Rangers. She also loved Kideo Kids, Galubi and Swartkat.
When her granddaughter was not lying on the couch, Grandma Gladys ensured that she was exposed to the best popular culture had to offer – the music of Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday and Harry Belafonte. Khanyi knew every word to their songs. The sound of trombonist Dixie Lindt filled the house. Her grandparents also told her about Martin Luther King and the momentous achievements of the African-American civil rights movement.
The Mbaus were big on church. It took up every Sunday. “My family was heavily involved at the Faith Ways Church in Orlando East. My grandmother was a hostess and my mother sang in the choir. Religion was huge in my grandparents’ house and swearing was not allowed. My grandmother still thinks I don’t know how to say sh*t or f*ck.”
Khanyi jokes that she went to church so much growing up that even after all the years of absenteeism, God still recognises her! “I still know every scripture in the Bible,” she says. “I even quote from it on Twitter.”
The family had a punishing schedule of devotion. They reported for church duty from 6am till 6pm on any given Sunday. They arrived early to clean the building and pray with the pastor. They stayed for the 8am to 10am service, then the 10am to 12pm service, and finally the 12pm to 4pm scripture services that included premarital counselling. Khanyi attended all the teen and young adult classes. Then they’d clean up from 4pm to 6pm.
Khanyi lived a morally correct and sheltered life growing up. She was very religious by virtue of her environment. It meant she was an easy target.
“I never knew there were bad people who could visit pain on you,” she says. “Or even that people lie. I thought the world was a warm, safe place where we all sing ‘Khumbaya’. I was always in tears when other kids were horrible and said mean things, especially when they teased me about my deep voice and called me ‘Khanyi mlungu’.”
She would go on to develop a thicker skin and learn how to stand up for herself. She learned by fighting her mother’s battles, for instance, by telling her not to sit next to a particular taxi passanger because he “looked funny”. “When we had to wait for a taxi and it took long to arrive, I would tell my mother: ‘Don’t worry, Mommy, I’m going to buy you a taxi that goes straight from town to Mofolo’. I would always say, ‘I love you, Mommy, thank you, Mommy’. Other passengers in the taxi would ask my mother why she was raising me like a white person.
“Looking back, I realise that I fought my mother’s battles. She is naturally timid and soft. Whenever there was a clash, I would be next to her shouting: ‘Leave her alone, leave her alone!’ I stood up for her all the time.”
Khanyi wanted to be on TV from a young age. She knew she could do it.
In a way, she was born ready for her “discovery” at Cresta shopping centre at age eight. Discovered during an emotional moment just like Charlize Theron (who reportedly had a tantrum in a bank), Khanyi was overexcited about a hat her mom had just bought her. Apparently the innocent joy she displayed jumping up and down while singing a Care Bears song caught the eye of a passing talent scout casting for Red Pepper productions. They invited the Mbaus to an audition.
By then Lynette had already signed up her daughter with the Professional Kids agency in Melville – and here was her child’s big break. When she arrived, the first thing Khanyi asked was, “When do I start to work?” Everyone laughed at the cheeky little number but she meant it and her bravado paid off. She was instantly cast as one of the Galubi children. Later she became a Kideo Kid, then a Sasko Sam presenter, visiting schools to give away hampers and bread. Khanyi had crossed the threshold from reality into television. She was through the looking glass and on screen. Brand Khanyi had begun.
Her first salary cheque was for R600. She was eight years old and Lynette let her spend it all in one go. It was the kind of thrilling shopping experience that must feel like freedom to a child. Sweet Khanyi also offered to buy her mother a house of their own, because she knew her mother wanted to move into her own place. Lynette was a smart, independant career woman and living with her parents did not fit in with her plans.
Lynette took her daughter to a toy store in Eastgate Mall. It was to be Khanyi’s first shopping spree – the first of many. She bought four Barbies, four Kens, a doll’s house and a stove, plates, a mini TV and hi-fi system, plus a bomber jacket with orange lining. She was in consumer heaven.
But after she had done all her shopping, Lynette popped the balloon of fun and turned the jaunt into an important lesson. It was the first and last time she was allowed to blow money like that. From then on she was expected to save every cent. In her teenage years, when tragedy hit the family and they battled financially, Khanyi’s modest savings would help to pull her and her family through.
Being a child star and a responsible scholar is not easy. It has to be a well-coordinated juggling act between professional commitments and studies. It takes discipline. The lure of the cameras always trumped school for Khanyi. Being on TV was way more fun than algebra. She was often chased out of her class at Milpark Primary for being unruly. Khanyi remembers listening to the thick Cockney accent of Mrs Patta, her English teacher, which put her to sleep like a tranquiliser.
At least there was the refuge of Mr Stevens’ drawing and pottery class. Khanyi loved making collages. Images smashed together. She was devastated when he died of cancer in 1994.
It also didn’t help that she had been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder at age seven. She only took medication for it for a short while, because her grandmother didn’t believe it to be effective. She was therefore easily distracted and bored in class, counting the minutes until she could escape from Milpark Primary at 1.30pm and rush over to the nearby SABC studios for taping. The experience proved she wasn’t like