Big Brother- Your nature will surface

By Sebidde Kiryowa in South Africa

IS the Big Brother Africa (BBA) Revolution house all it’s cracked up to be? Well, that depends on what your expectations are.

When I learnt that I would be spending 24 hours in the BBA house on my visit to South Africa last week, I was not sure what to expect but I was certain of one thing: I did not want pictures of me butt-naked in the shower beamed over the continent.

So, after a cozy Wednesday at the Garden Courts Hotel in Sandton City, it was time to head on into the infamous house at the Sasani Studios in Lyndhurston, Thursday morning.

There were 11 of us — journalists from across the continent. We had fraterned over dinner the previous evening.

So, it was safe to say, we had a good head-start in the socialising department (or so we thought), a luxury housemates are never afforded before entering.

But first were some ground rules — we were to leave our phones, cameras, watches, calendars and anything that remotely connected us to the real world back at the hotel.

We instead packed a small bag each, with a towel provided by M-Net Africa, our host.

Upon arrival at the studios, we were taken into a small room in which BBA Revolution series director, Lawerence Lurie, briefed us.

We were not housemates but rather media mates, he said. As such, we would be privileged to carry notebooks and pens into the house – another indulgence he would not allow real housemates.

We all had our photos taken and name tags attached to them. That, apparently, was to help the production team identify us while inside the house.

We were told there would be diary sessions but that we would not be filmed in the bathrooms and toilets.

Phew! We were allowed to swim during our stay in the house as long as we had swimming gear.
And food? That would be provided but we would have to cook for ourselves.

At this point, we handed over all our belongings to the production team and were told we would find them inside the house. No one enters the house with their stuff.

Finally, we were led outside to a podium where artistes perform during those live BBA eviction shows. In front of us was a black wooden door with its paint corroding away.

The arena below it is where the live studio audience stood. It looked smaller and less imposing than it actually does on TV.

Maselo, the audio guy and his team helped us wear our microphones and receiving boxes. We were to wear them at all times inside the house except when bathing, swimming, or in bed.

We were finally led into the house one by one to give us the real feel of a housemates entering.

Inside the courtyard, the first thing I saw was the lawn and the lush garden. In the right hand corner lay a patio, bedecked with couches. In front of this was a semi-circular plunge poor.

All great but much smaller than they appeared on TV. Going through the front door, I was mesmerised by the stark contrast between the rickety door I saw outside the house and the futuristic interior complimented by African artifacts and animal skins.

The floor was polished wood and the ambience ritzy. Yet it felt and looked cramped for the so many of us.

We quickly dashed through the house like frisky kittens, checking out everything from the toilet, bathrooms to the single “dormitory-styled bedroom”.

We would have to sleep in the same bedroom as the girls. There is only one.

There are speakers all over the house so when Big Brother talks, you will hear him from anywhere in the house or compound.

The cameras are all over, some apparent whereas others are behind huge single-way glasses that appear as mirrors in the house.

Remote-controlled cameras kept panning, probably zooming in on a particular activity or individual. I never saw any of the miniature ‘lipstick’ type though.

All microphones in the house are hoisted on metallic holders in the ceiling.

Then there is the store room and diary room which are kept locked by an automated system at all time save for when Biggie wants to admit a housemate.

Do you get the feeling you are being watched in the house? Certainly; especially in the first few minutes of your stay.

That is probably why one of us stuffed toilet tissue in the lens of the camera in the toilet.

What is shocking though is how fast that consciousness wears off. Within no time, we were at our naughty best.

Soon after we collected our bags from the store room, we drank all the juice in the fridge. Then Biggie invited us to the food on the dining table and we raided it like starved hyenas.

Now I understand why housemates snog each other or fight “on TV.” It is hard to hide one’s nature long enough.

In the short time we stayed in that house, there was already tension. This Namibian chick who was all touchy about people invading her space accused me of using her lotion without her permission only I was about the seventh suspect.

Then she had to apologise when she realized it was actually the Zimbabwean fellow who had used it after his own was misplaced. She was also quite bossy.

The Kenyan babe, in a rather subtle way, ensured none of the boys ate without showering. Well, she was in
charge of the food.

Talking about which, there was a lot of drama during its preparation. We failed to operate the stove and decided to cook the rice in a microwave!

Since we could not prepare gravy, we had to make to do with grilled steak and sausages!

In most of the kitchen work, the guys restricted themselves to the less technical tasks — slicing tomatoes and washing dishes while the ladies plunged headlong into the culinary challenges.

Then there were the conversations. We were not restricted on what to say in the house since our stay was not going to be televised.

So, we had very heated, candid and rather graphic discussions on sex, politics, and religion.

One of the girls, at 22, said as a born again, she was saving herself for Mr. Right. No prizes for guessing what the guys told her.

Everybody had their turn in the diary room. Some to be psycho-analyzed and others tasked with chores.

But we were not to leave the house without doing a task. Hours into our stay, we were led out into an open arena where we were told to wrap rope nooses around our waist and pull tight.

The task was to disentangle ourselves. Thereafter, we had a sack race. I paired up with Phemelo, the chick from Botswana.

I had to tie my left leg to her right inside the sack. We then had to leap all the way to the finish line. The first pair to reach the finish line was supposed to blow the kudozela.

As if it was not bad enough that we came last, it was easier to leap over a 10 metre-long wall than get a sound of that thing!

We also had a taste of those grueling morning exercises. In all, we had had fun. Yet, I had had as much as I could take in a confined space.

Any longer and Biggie would have been entirely responsible for my mischief.