TUMI OSEI-TUTU (née MORAKE)
I studied dramatic arts at Wits University and gravitated towards stand-up comedy when I realised I had comic timing and a knack for coming up with outrageous ideas.
My boyfriend (now my husband) threw me in the deep end by making me part of the line-up for a charity show he produced, with an all-star line-up that included David Kau, Joey Rasdien and other big names.
I forgot about it and continued as an aspiring writer and actress. But two years later, the bug bit me again and Judy Jake, who was making waves in the comedy scene, introduced me to people who ran comedy clubs. The rest is history.
I always knew I wanted to be a performer. When my on-again, off-again love affair with acting became frustrating, stand-up comedy became my first love. I didn’t tell my family I wanted to do stand-up – it just happened organically.
When I started, my mother was impressed. Everyone else seemed confused.
It’s difficult for anyone to break into it. It is a little harder for a chick because we are associated with decorum, and stand-up comedy goes against that. However, if you go in there with the same hunger and seriousness as the guys, you are fine. You realise they are just as scared as you are.
I get my inspiration for my material everywhere, from conversations with people to my own prejudices and fears, and from this beautiful complicated beast called South Africa. Mainly I speak from within my radius. I have friends and family from around the continent and I get to see the world through their eyes. I always hope everyone is as tickled as I am about life.
People’s reaction has been generally awesome. I’ve seen men get a little thrown and then join the party. At the end of the day, my point of departure when I get on stage is not “I am woman, hear me roar”, it is rather “I am about to tickle you silly”. My favourite joke is this: “Wanna get laid? Crawl up a chicken’s ass and wait.” I read it somewhere years ago and giggle every time I recall it.
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MONIQUE NORTJE
I have always been a performer. I started dancing at the age of three (it was supposed to fix my flat feet ... that didn’t work). I became an Eisteddfod kid, studied drama after school and then became an actress and writer.
About seven years ago I auditioned for Joe Parker’s Improv comedy team, Improv Express, and got the job. This is where I started working with comedians. They all thought I should give stand-up a go, but I was terrified. Then about two and a half years ago, my good and extremely wily friend (also probably one of the funniest guys in the country), Melt Sieberhagen, entered me in an open-mic competition – without my permission. I won and I haven’t looked back.
I think the first time I made a crowd laugh so hard I had to give them a couple of minutes to catch their breath before I could continue, I knew I was hooked. It’s a powerful feeling to make people that happy.
I have always been a performer of sorts. I’ve been addicted to the immediate satisfaction of a live audience for as long as I can remember. I would have liked to have been a dancer, but my love affair with cheeseburgers would definitely have got in the way.
Comedy was not at all a difficult industry to break into. The guys have been extremely generous with advice and bookings. They have no problem letting you play ball with them as long as you can throw like a guy. The tough part comes in getting the audiences to accept the little Afrikaans girl with the potty mouth. I think that expectations are often lower when a woman walks on stage, but that just makes it so much more satisfying to blow them away.
My family have been awesome and so supportive. They come to watch me as often as they can.
Living in a funny country has given me inspiration for my material. Its citizens are incredibly diverse and colourful, its history and journey almost beyond belief and its politicians hysterical. The material writes itself.
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CELESTE NTULI
I fell in love with stand-up the first time I watched Richard Pryor. And when I watched the Kings of Comedy with Bernie Mac and Steve Harvey, I said to myself: “Well, I can do that.” I have always loved to talk and I love to laugh.
In 2005, I was walking around the CBD in Durban and I saw a poster for a comedy show. I knew this guy Sthe Khumalo on the poster. I called him up and it turned out that he was also looking for me. He asked me whether I would like to do stand-up comedy, and he gave me my first gig at a church. From that first gig, it happened by word of mouth.
That December, Monwabisi Grootboom of 99% Zulu Comedy show gave me my first professional gig. In 2009 I became a finalist on season two of SABC 1’s competition So You Think You’re Funny. A year later, I resigned from work and started to do comedy professionally, and went on to record my DVD, Seriously Celeste.
I’ve never seen it as a challenge to break into the comedy industry dominated by men. I’m more concerned about my work than the politics and gender. It doesn’t bother or worry me.
I’m used to working with men.
I grew up with a lot of brothers. I was a tomboy when I was growing up.
I’ve always had guy friends. Male domination is there, but I know although I’m a woman, I’m as much a comedian as the next guy.
But I find that people do get surprised by the things I say on stage, purely because I am a woman.
Women love me. I’m humbled by that every day. Some see me as a good voice for them, but they must remember these are jokes I’m telling.
When I told my family that I wanted to be a comedienne, obviously there were concerns about stability and security. I come from a big family of different strong characters, with different dreams and goals and ambitions.
We are eight siblings, so I guess my mom could lose one to comedy and still manage, being left with seven proper kids.
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MEL JONES
I was the class clown. From an early age, I enjoyed making people laugh. It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside to know that people felt happier because of something I said or did.
I always knew that I wanted to be in entertainment, but it wasn’t until my late twenties that I discovered that there was even a remote possibility that I could get into stand-up comedy. Once I’d tried my hand at my first open-mic slot, I was hooked.
I performed to a sold-out crowd at Spier in Stellenbosch six weeks after I started doing comedy. It was the most terrifying yet rewarding experience. I remember standing on stage delivering my material as if it was the most natural thing to do and all the while I held the mic so tight I thought I might break it. The crowd were awesome.
Comedy is a difficult industry to break into regardless of your gender. You could be doing open mic for years without being paid. Until you are in the right place at the right time with the right amount of funny material, it can be unforgiving.
I do think that people expect a lot less of you as a woman comic. It’s almost as if they don’t expect you to be too funny, so you have to work a lot harder.
My material is very observational. It can come from witnessing something funny, to experiencing something funny. I speak about past relationships a lot. I’ve learnt over the years that you can flip almost anything into funny material. As long as it’s relevant to the audience, they’ll be willing to come on the journey with me.
Although there are more amazing females doing comedy now, we’re still a minority. We have to dispel the myth that women aren’t as funny as men.
My family are supportive. They were excited when I started pursuing my career.
People often ask me to tell them a joke. It must be the only profession where people ask you to work at the most random times outside of your office hours. But I spend a lot of time around comedians, so there’s always a lot of funny in the room.