Journalism 101

As a younger writer in the grandest cake-shop of this great land of ours, I visit nice conference rooms, muddy farms and notorious ghettos to gather the ingredients for our irresistible masterpieces.

Our cakes – like this one I’m writing right now – bring you truth. Sometimes a bit of entertainment; but always truth. But baking in this cake shop is time consuming and sometimes downright irritating when we’ve got the rest of Cake-land breathing down our necks. Is it our fault if we’ve got the secret ingredient; the best minds and passion?

In this column, I’ve been yapping to you for many weeks. You know things about me that not even my mother does. So it’s about time I give you a real peek into my life. Listen to the life of a not-so-important journalist. Let me give you a slice of my culture with loads of sugar coating.

Let me deal with you first. I don’t think you readers really appreciate what I do for you. I’ve taken off my shoes to plough through mud, most likely mixed with cow poop; I’ve climbed trees, jumped walls and I’ve even run from a few dogs just to get you the most accurate information. And what thanks do I get? I am accused of fabrication. Heck, once my colleague – who sits next to me by the way – fell overboard while getting you a story.

Yes, hold the applause. And hold the disdain as well, in fact, keep it. It’s a good thing that my colleagues and I are the most forgiving people on earth. It’s also a good thing that you, the people, are our dearest friends. We know how frustrated this country can get you sometimes.

Every time I attend something held by the state, I become frustrated myself. Do you know how exceedingly difficult it is to grasp what certain officials are trying to say? They always have so much to say and can never get to the point! A few years ago I attended the closing ceremony of a media training workshop. The state official who attended started to rant about his honeymoon and the basket making industry. What the heck???

Then there was this time, while covering the floods, that I had to take my pants off. Trust me, I had no choice and people didn’t mind seeing me tramp around in a t-shirt. I fell right into mud! The nastiest, ickiest, foulest mud you can think about. The jeans just had to go!

More recently, I stood through an assault of ganja smoke just so I could get some much needed information. The guy looks at me and he goes: “Yo, this is meh first spliff fuh de day. You want a puff or what?” Perhaps I’m still high from inhaling all of that. What else could explain me writing all of this?

Don’t worry though. Not all my days are like this. Most days, I spend hours on the phone gathering information and then hours in front the computer getting the ingredients together. I slurp on a few cups of coffee, try to limit the cookies and drink and pretend that I’m making a healthy choice when I opt for non-frosted cake.

So I sound like a little terror don’t I? But I hope you see that working in the grandest cake shop is no easy task. Getting the truth never is. Being a journalist – and I don’t mean some watered-down writer – is not an easy task in this great land.

Oh, did I introduce myself? I can’t remember, but I have to run. I’ve got lots of baking to do!


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