It’s glossy. It’s crisp. There’s a lot of expensive wine and the celebrities are steeped in riches. But its stars are frivolous, and there’s very little substance in Netflix’s first African reality TV show.
Premiered in April 2022, the seven-episode show follows 10 African celebrities as they navigate the intricacies of their cosmetic friendship in Johannesburg, South Africa. The series stars Khanyi Mbau (South Africa), Nadia Nakai (South Africa),
Naked DJ (South Africa), Annie Macaulay-Idibia (Nigeria), Andile Ncube (South Africa), Zari the Boss Lady (Uganda), and Swanky Jerry (Nigeria) as its main stars. They are supported by 2Baba (Nigeria), Diamond Platnumz (Tanzania), and Kayleigh Schwark (South Africa).
Co-creator Peace Hyde, says the show aims to “show a different part of Africa…a cosmopolitan Africa.” The show sure attempts this, taking us through 7 hours of glitz in the shimmering aesthetics of the Johannesburg highbrows. The fashion is superfluous, the stars are famous, and indulge in orgies of luxury. But they have relationship issues they must wade through, and they do this in the shallowest way possible, condemning the show to the abyss of colorful banality.
The show utilizes all the negative tropes of reality TV as a vehicle to drive its plots, blowing trivial disagreements into full-blown confrontations for dramatic effect while making little effort at striving for genuine moments of vulnerability. The show opens with Khanyi, a South African TV personality whose description of herself makes her look superficial.
She gloats about her vanity and lets the audience know that she lives within the richest square mile in Africa. Most of the other female stars show a similar side of themselves, while the male stars are just interested in navigating their relations with their baby mamas and mistresses. The female stars are prone to constant bickering and are diabolically gossipy.
The show goes heavy on furthering gender stereotypes about friendship, conflict, and reconciliation. The men have a conflict and resolve it almost immediately, while the women never really let go of the bad blood. One may argue that this is a reality TV show meant to reflect the realities of their real lives, but anyone who watches Young, Famous & African will see through the carefully constructed plot that robs the show of authenticity.
Throughout the show, there’s a constant reference to Africa as a country. Nadia Nakai is, for example, introduced to us as one of the leading rappers in Africa, even though she’s very little known beyond South Africa. The show holds up its stars as
continental stars rather than regional household names (with 2 Baba and Diamond Platnumz as exceptions), giving the illusion that all African celebrities just need to live in a city in northeastern South Africa. Troubled relationships form the centerpiece of the show, with all of the stars dealing with different complexities in their relationships. These conflicts are confronted with trivial efforts, especially by the male stars who prefer to just be men while leaving the trouble of resolution to their female partners. In the show, the women bear the burden of a wobbling relationship while the men just play golf and admit to being arseholes.
The show utilizes negative tropes of reality TV as a vehicle to drive its subplots, while making perfunctory gestures towards genuine vulnerability. EfikoScore: 6.5/10
Sports presenter Andile Ncube serves as this season’s voice of reason, often willing to intervene, listen, and when there’s a need to, offer advice whenever there’s a conflict between the stars. He serves as the de-facto counselor and holds this role well enough with an impressive degree of emotional intelligence. But even he has his blemishes—trying to instigate an intimacy with his friend’s old flame at a party he invites his both baby mamas to. Zari Hassan is delightful to watch sometimes—the quiet grace with which she diminishes others with her presence. But she uses this power (that she’s very much
aware of) to walk over anyone who gives her the slightest chance to, especially Annie Macaulay-Idibia.
The show’s only emotional tug comes via Annie Macaulay-Idibia, whose screen-awkwardness provides the viewer with a genuine glimpse at an actual vulnerability. Annie, who on her best days is hardly a decent actress, flounders any attempt to wear a veil over all the flaws that make her human.
At Khanyi’s ball, she’s unable to hide her judgment of Khanyi’s parenting and blurts this out at the slightest chance she gets. She wears her insecurities on her sleeves, and even though she tries, she fails in her attempts to wear a facade of indifference. The show’s most heartbreaking moment for me is when 2 Baba halfheartedly acknowledges his marital irresponsibility, and Annie crumbles into a cry of relief. That’s how you know how much it means to her to have her partner of one billion years finally acknowledging the damages that his actions have done to her. Otherwise, Netflix’s first attempt at an African reality TV show is nothing more than a satisfying guilty pleasure.
