When a headline lacks clarity, who will read the story? Take a look for yourself at some latest examples.
The Star
October 12: “Projects ignored, counties splurged on staff in ’19-20”
Two things throw you off: “splurged” and “19-20”. Splurged. You just don’t know what that means. Even if you do, it’s like meeting Omgadi in Bangkok — Omgadi is the dude you grew up with in Kakamega. You won’t know the dude. Because the brain doesn’t place Omgadi in Bangkok. How often do you meet “splurge” in a headline? In newswriting, the wordsmith deploys simple verbs, verbs as clear as rainwater. You want to communicate. Not confound. “19-20” in the headline is just meaningless. And unnecessary.
October 11: “A tale of two weddings: Customary, church nuptials for Maasai brothers”
Okay, you may read that story. But what’s “Maasai” doing in it? Think, would you write “Luo” if the brothers were from Homa Bay? We don’t think so.
The Standard
September 18: “Unless BBI fails, Raila may not be in 2022 ballot”
You’ll read that headline twice. Then again. Then still wonder what it means. Why? Because “unless” and “may not” create mental speed bumps. They’re forcing you to figure out double uncertainties. Look, in a headline, a reader’s brain doesn’t want to go into top gear.
October 12: “Don’t you lose sleep over Uhuru, Ruto ‘tiff’”
The word “tiff” throws a monkey wrench into that headline. It stops reading. It’s certain to create a frown. An odd word has lost you right off the gate. You’re forced to wonder if you should read on. That’s because a tiff is a noun, defined as a slight argument between close friends — or lovers.
But for a reader who doesn’t get it quickly, the word’s location throws you off. With the comma after “Uhuru”, you’re not expecting a noun at the end. Try replacing “riff” with any verb. “Don’t lose sleep over Uhuru, Ruto warns”. See what we mean?
Daily Nation
October 12: “Odimtaani back and bigger!”
Who in the world is Odimtaani? If you don’t know, you don’t know. You must read the story to find out. Or just not bother. But you read the story and find out that, oh, it’s not a “who”. It’s a “what”. Turns out Odimtaani is a play with the word Odibets, the betting firm. Ah, now you know. How would they have helped you out in the headline? A qualifier. Kimathi Street, please find a qualifier somewhere, will you?
October 12: “Voiceless girl mothers: A litmus test of our commitment to gender equality in Africa”
That’s a heading for a book. Or an academic thesis. Not a newspaper story. Find a verb, preferably a startling verb to drive that headline, and we just might read the story.
People Daily
October 12: “Who will shine in Poland?”
What’s a Polish story, one that sounds so bland, doing in Kenya? Well, if you didn’t know that the Word Athletic Half Marathon is underway in Poland, you’d be lost. Lesson? Don’t assume the reader knows every bit in every genre of current affairs.
October 11: “Omondi’s brother wins Jubilee nomination in Kahawa Wendani”
Who is Omondi? Would a reader in Mumias know? We don’t think so.
So, headlines are like a good road sign. A good road sign tells you where you’re going. If a headline looks like Nairobi’s Doonholm interchange (it’s a maze with no signs; except for those who learned painfully, no driver knows where any exit is going) sorry, reader, you’re on your own.
