Journalism was dying. Everyone was worried about what might become of the Fourth Estate revered for its vibrancy and independence. Well, not everyone. Media owners weren’t complaining.
Every month they hauled in millions of shillings in advertising revenue. The private sector was doing wonderfully well. Mass unemployment meant labour was cheap. A messenger’s job attracted thousands of applications from master’s degree holders.
Betting companies spent millions of shillings a month in ads wooing poor people to wager any little money they had. Media owners laughed all the way to the bank.
The government smiled in quiet satisfaction. A dead press would be a blessing.
Although media houses raked in millions every month, mass unemployment in the country meant they cared little about the welfare of their workers. There were thousands of jobless journalists out there willing to work for peanuts. Why pay more?
Nearly all media houses hired reporters on annual contracts without any benefits other than a measly salary. Correspondents were paid per story. Many of them relied on the “brown envelope” to survive.
No one lasted on a job for more than a few years as journalists hopped from one media house to another in search of greener pastures. A few lucky ones got better jobs in corporate communications or in NGOs.
Something stirred inside the heart of the nation’s most prominent TV journalist, Keff Joinange. Amidst the crisis, media houses paid a few celebrity journalists fabulous salaries and benefits that most reporters could only dream of. Keff was among them.
One afternoon, the celebrated TV journalist called up his boys: digital guru Dennis Thumbi, radio king Maina Kangemi, TV star Dennis Ugari, Lennox Kakai of Mwenye Nchi TV and Larry Madodo of Beebs Radio.
Keff insisted they meet not at their usual spot at the five star Sankara but at Mutugi’s Bar and Restaurant in Dagoretti Corner. Mutugi’s had an old reputation as a hideout for radicals.
Keff’s boys were baffled by the invite but dutifully turned up that evening.
“Well, guys, here we are,” Keff roared in his famous baritone. “We will have a drink,” he announced and beckoned a waiter, a large woman in a white blouse and black skirt with a missing upper tooth.
“This is strange, Keff, why lie aki ya nani,” a stunned Maina Kangemi protested as the round woman ambled away to bring the drink Keff ordered.
“See, folks, we are the cream of the media industry,” Keff said, ignoring Kangemi. “We enjoy life. We deserve it. We work for our big money. We are doing pretty fine,” he burst into a huge laughter that shook his entire being.
“But…” He was interrupted by the waiter who brought a mzinga of KC.
“Come on guys! What kind of a joke is this?” cried out Larry Madodo. Lennox Kakai shook his head as he stroked his chin in dismay.
Keff opened the mzinga, poured himself a drink and gulped it, his face turning into a mask of agony. He swallowed hard.
“Look, boys, we don’t have all night here,” he said, recovering. “I have been thinking about the crisis facing the Fourth Estate. Our own brothers and sisters in the profession are suffering. All of us know that.”
“It is a free market. You negotiate,” cut in Dennis Thumbi.
“It is up to you to work harder and earn better”, Dennis Ugari agreed.
“Nope,” Keff said. “You understand the hopelessness in this country. Employers have become gods because there are no jobs.”
Kakai laughed out loud and swallowed a double tot of KC without a grimace. “My man, what do you want us to do? Share out our salaries?”
“No, no. We must talk to the media owners and the national union of journalists to agree a deal for better terms of service for all scribes. I mean all,” Keff said firmly.
The back and forth went on for a while. In the end, the boys decided to call a meeting with the journalists’ union and the media owners at Mutugi’s.
The tycoons at first resisted the proposal. They argued the huge costs would put them out of business.
But eventually, they struck a deal. A document detailing better terms for journalists was signed by the parties. All scribes would be put on a competitive salary with specified allowances and family medical cover.
“Oh my! I can’t believe this is happening!” Keff bellowed. “We have saved the Fourth Estate! Cheers, guys! Cheers!” He gulped a double tot of KC before passing the mzinga around.
