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Tuesday 01 March 2011

Jou Ma se Kinders - Kuli speaks out


People are fascinated by me probably because I say the things no one else would dare to say”

Agent provocateur

Kuli Roberts’ name is like a swear word to the folks on the Cape Flats and the punch line of a naughty joke to others. Fashionista, femme fatale, TV presenter, famous-for-being-famous, trouble maker and motor mouth. She has been called worse. But Kuli is also mother, lover and one tough cookie as assistant editor of a newspaper. SOUL asks her to trace her journey from the little girl who got teased to gossip queen of Mzansi, love across the colour divide and those alleged catfights with Uyanda. In her most candid interview ever, Kuli welcomes us in her bedroom. Will the real Kuli Roberts please get up…

You and your partner live here with the kids?

No, I don’t have a partner.

I’m confused. I spoke to you the other day and then you were romantically involved with an Afrikaner?

I’m still with him. He’s overseas. But I don’t like talking about him. Look at my puss! (Kuli pours a glass full of Oros with the one hand and gestures in the direction of her cat with the other.)

Yes, I’m bra-less. It’s the first thing that comes off after work. Auntieee!!!

(Kuli in turn calls her helper and children.)

I need the photo albums!!! My son and I have been watching a lot of Absolutely Fabulous – the British TV series. He says I remind him of Edina.

You live in suburbia but looking at your vast collection (books, DVD’s, tobacco of dubious origin, pictures and perfumes) you’ve created a Bohemian sanctuary.

This is my home where I come and relax. I get everything in bulk. My grandparents owned many supermarkets, see. I had a very exciting and fantastic life. I had everything to my disposal. I could just walk in and take whatever I want at any given time and [if] anyone says anything to you, you just give them the look! (She cocks her eyebrow.) That’s why I think I’m a bit of a brat. It’s not that I feel entitled because I never had. I feel entitled because I had. And I can’t see why I can’t have it. It comes from being exposed to… being one of the few black people in the township driven to school in a luxury German car.

Even though you grew up during apartheid it was a charmed life?

Well, yes and no. My parents were overseas so all the comforts in the world don’t compensate for the absence of your parents. My sister Hlubi was with them. I stayed back here with my grandparents.

You raised yourself?

I was a reader. With family there or without them, half the time I didn’t even notice. I was always with my nose in a book.

Whenever one reads about you it is about your diva antics as opposed to your personal life. You’re like a cartoon character.

Who I am? People don’t care. They just want the crap.

What is your very first memory ever?  

My primary school in Langa. I lived on Washington Street. Walking across a field and there was fog. It was beautiful. You couldn’t see in front of you. I was in Sub A. It was very beautiful but also very scary. It was the allure of the unknown. Maybe that symbolizes that I’ve always wanted to venture into things.

Did you venture into the wild side of things as a teenager?

I was just into myself, making clothes. Not drinking, not smoking, not partying. I only lost my virginity at varsity. I was a late bloomer and happily so. You don’t have to start early with these things because there is no cut off time! I had a great childhood.

You’re a journalist. By training?

Oh no! I have a degree in history and politics from the UCT. I was meant to be a political analyst.


Underneath the façade of the ball breaking, tough talking, issue-stirring drama queen must lay someone who isn’t truly immune to criticism hauled at her?

I’m a comedian. I’m on stage. My column at the tabloid is a platform for me to say and do as I please. Recently I wrote how much Eugene Terre Blanche and Julius Malema have in common. Julius Malema scares me in the sense that some people may take his comments as literally meaning to incite violence. Surely no one in their right mind would do that? Anyway, when you’re in the spotlight your persona is switched on.

Is there a big difference between this persona and the real Kuli?

Kuli Roberts and Nomakula and me as a mother are three separate entities. I mean I come home to be me. I open my drawers and I’ve got my PVR and my books. I play various roles. As a journalist I’m a messenger. Some people may say a messenger from hell! (Kuli giggles naughtily.)

Have you had bad experiences in your everyday life because you’re “that Kuli Roberts woman”? I know you’ve made a lot of money of selling your I HATE KULI T-shirts…


Do you think that you might be who you are today because of those emotional scars?

 Oh yeah! I’ve learnt. When you’ve been taunted you’ve gotta learn to look after you because no one else is going to stand up for you. Although my siblings and my parents have always been around.

It must be challenging being a single mother and in the media. There is a stereotype of mothers in the entertainment industry. Women who compensate for a lack of parenting by smothering their children with gifts. Do you plead guilty?

It’s about balance. How often do you see me at events? I use my soldiers. I have to be an involved parent. I know that I have to be seen a lot because I’m a brand and a face for the paper but I need to be involved with these kids. I’ve even taken my kids to work with me. If I’m not at work I’m home. Home is my sanctuary. If only I could sleep for a day to recharge!

It sounds like you spread yourself thinly. What do you crave most?

A husband.

No! Really? Why!

I do. The other night my son had a migraine and could hardly see. I had to phone my mother and my ex mother-in-law in England but if I had a husband he would say “hey babe, it’s going to be ok.” So there I was flicking through medical books. I’ve got seven dogs and three dogs! If I had a husband he would say “don’t get them”. I’ve made a lot of crazy decisions. He would have stopped me from buying a house when I already had one. It’s about partnership and support. But if I had a husband he would live in the house next door to me. That would suit me perfectly. I don’t want a man who is going to say “where’s my dinner.” I want a guy who is my mate, who is comfortable with me. Maybe I should marry a gay guy? Anyway, I need my me time. It’s draining to be me. I talk too much! And I give, give, give so much of my energy.

Because you are all over the place some people may assume that comes from drink or drugs. Do you have a problem? 

Nooo! I don’t drink during the week! I drink Oros. I don’t take any drugs, never have. Drugs are for the poor, the pathetic and the directionless.

We will never see you in rehab?

No, for what? I can honestly say to you I don’t even know what cocaine tastes like. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t think black people come from that. This is me generalizing again.

The signs are there that drug use is on the up for wealthy blacks.

I think I’m naïve. Like I was naïve about sex and drinks and smoking at school. My drugs are my perfumes, my movies and my books and my shoes.

And your passion for fashion which landed you a job presenting What Not To Wear. That was where most of the public were exposed to your sharp tongue. (Those who didn't know who you were probably wants to take you to court now after that column about the coloured people.)

I am a bit of a bitch! Most of my colleagues hate me. I expect people to know what they are paid to do. I’m a rapid person. I’d like my kids to be the kind of people who move. The pace [at which] you walk says a lot about the kind of person you are. I find that many people I meet aren’t driven. That upsets me a lot. Work is a place we spend a lot of time at so it’s got to be enjoyable. That said I’m big on apologies. If I do something wrong I apologise. And I cry easily. I don’t go out of my way to hurt people. I believe I’m very honest.

You’ve got a heart like a marshmallow…

I don’t like people like me. They are not going to teach me anything about me. I won’t get anything fresh and new. Of course I get burnt but that’s how you learn. My first car was stolen after I decided to take a pregnant cashier from Pick ‘n Pay and her boyfriend to dinner. They ended up taking crashing my car in Pretoria-West. I’m not saying all tellers are like that!

Who are your friends?

I’m a loner. I love my space. When I hang onto you I hang onto you for dear life. But 99% of the time I do my own thing.

Is Khanyi Mbau a good friend?

Khanyi is not a friend in the crazy, psychotic sense that some people consider friendship. She is the kind of friend that I like, who I see when I choose to see.
I like people at arm’s length or they demand favours. You can’t be accessible all the time. I learnt that from Khanyi Dlomo-Mkize. She’s a lady. And one day I want to be just like her! ...Just for like ten minutes. I’m also very fond of Uyanda.

That’s news to me. I remember being on a cover shoot and she was upset about insulting SMS that you sent her. You called her Pinocchio because of her nose surgery?!

I dig Uyanda! I never had a problem with her. It was just a thing that escalated. I thought those SMS were funny. I was angry with her because I felt that she was exposing something [about her personal life] that shouldn’t have been exposed but then it wasn’t my business. But I don’t want to open old wounds and say anything that will upset her again. The problem with me and Uyanda was that everybody loves a bitch fight and so much so they made it m-u-u-u-ch bigger than it really was. If I hated that much I wouldn’t have modelled on Uyanda’s ramp show.

Still, according to a gossip blog you implied that Uyanda thinks going to events and being on TV a few times makes her a celebrity.

Why would I say something that obvious? It’s written by a wannabe.

This blog said you think she looks ridiculous following a bunch of white people. You have to admit, it sounds like a Kuli quote...

How many white people do I have following me – I marry them. It’s possible that I made that comment. I probably did. I probably didn’t. But... I didn’t mean it the way people take it as a race thing. I contradict myself all the time! Half the people who come to my house are white so I have every right to write that. At the same time I wouldn’t write that. I’m allowed to play!

Would you consider yourself a role model? Many young women think being controversial is the pathway to fame because of stars like you.

If anybody wants to be me all they must do is to try and be brave. I’m not brave at all. I just try. And be as cool as you want but don’t forget your God please. Always pray.

You’re religious then?

I’m a spiritual Christian. I don’t go to church. But God and I are good. I pray, we chat. I read the Bible.

How about traditional African customs? 

I’m looking forward to my son’s circumcision ritual. My kids are African as well as Welsh. I raise them in both contexts. 

What are the most important values to you?

Love. Forgive. Be proud and work hard. And don’t worry about what the next person thinks of you. 

Wednesday 20 January 2010

Sonder styl, soesji of Steve


Fashion Week – die herfs/winter 2009 program. Dit voel asof die skedule al vier maal verander het en teen die hoeveelste BBP en Media akkreditasie vorm wat ek kry, het ek lus en e-pos die neurotiese bemarkingsmeisie:




AG WAT, AMERICA, [Regtig. Haar naam is America. Bid jou dit aan as Afrikaanse mense hulle kinders na plekname begin vernoem] VUL DIT SOMMER SELF IN



In Johannesburg gebeur daar elke 2, 7 of 13 minute iets. Gewoonlik iets onwettig. Een daarvan is modeskoue. Dit sou waarskynlik elke 3 minute gebeur het as die program nie altyd ’n halfuur laat was nie. Kan al die liewe fashionistas nie maar hul skêre uit mekaar se rug trek en die politiek vir die politici los nie? Dan hoef ek net twee maal per jaar nuwe skoene te koop. As die organiseerders dit nog die moeite werd gemaak het vir ’n mens om jou bolla op te klits vir die affêre.



By die internasionale modeskoue kry diegene wat in die voorste ry sit geskenkpakkies vol luukse bederfies op hul stoele. In die stad van goud bederf hul jou sitplek met tydskrifte wat al laas maand van die rak af is.



(En pamflette. Klomp daarvan. Iemand moet die polities modieuse klerebedryf laat weet dat gemorspos nie groen is nie en dat daar bome afgekap word om die oorgroot confetti te maak wat net onder die pawiljoen by die Sandton Konferensie sentrum bly lê lank na die laaste ontwerper sy buiging gemaak het.)




By die internasionale modeskoue kry jy soesji en skemerdrankies. Hier kry mens fruit chutney tjips en Weense worsies.


Of so hoor ek want ek daag toe 10 minute laat op vir die eerste vertoning so ek het die trots Suid-Afrikaanse vingerhappies gemis.




Koester die media, mense! Hulle is die spreekbuis wat die man op die straat laat weet wat is nuut, waar sonder jy nie kan klaarkom in jou lewe nie. Viennas op tandestokkies is nie een van die dinge nie.



Gepraat van goed wat verby hul rakleefperk is. Hoe stief is die media nie met Oom Steve nie! Gee die man krediet vir sy kreatiwiteit. Hy het selfs sy sporadiese stoelgange as koerantopskrifte ingespan. En dan, minder oorspronklik, gevolg in die voetspore van deeltydse hartdokter en voltydse woerwater oorlê Chris deur sy bedspringery en parkeerarea-vryery te boekstaaf. Die nuwe stomende biografie verkoop blykbaar soos soetkoek. My laaste asem. Of so iets. Ek gaan stem in die volgende munisipale verkiesing vir wetgewing wat sulke siele verban na die eertydse tronkkolonie Nieu-Seeland. Want nie alle kwynende sterre het daardie sweempie waardigheid om dit uit eie keuse te doen nie.



Maar terug by Fashion Week.



Of nee. Ek vertel jou môre.



Ek wil nou die hoofstuk oor die Brooklyn parkeerarea en die showgirl lees….