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LAILA STEELE: SENIOR SUBEDITOR
Getting a newspaper to print by deadline every week is no mean feat. It’s a hugely collaborative effort that is often pressured and constantly shifting.
Once reporters and news editors file articles that are ready to publish, the process of filling scores of blank pages with engaging, interesting, factual news is carried out by a small, mostly invisible, team of designers, copy editors (also known as subeditors, or subs) and proofreaders. These behind-the-scenes folks are the last line of defence between a reader and their news.
We pore over every detail, scrutinising copy for factual errors, inconsistencies, omissions and myriad other minutiae most people outside a newsroom never consider. You won’t see our names on any of these pages, but everything you read today has been processed by people who take pride in their work.
We sometimes get it wrong (remembering the difference between pallet, palate, palette and pallette is a favourite of mine), but we always do our damnedest (or is it damndest?) to get it right.
I’ve been a sub at City Press for almost 10 years, and when I tell people that I’m a journalist, most assume I’m a reporter and generally seem quite disappointed to hear that I’m “just” a sub, but this is a career that takes years of practice, patience and perseverance to be proficient at. A subeditor will not win a Taco Kuiper or Sikuvile Journalism Award, but a few subs were part of that story that brought the award home.
MDUDUZI NONYANE: COURT REPORTER
Being a journalist at City Press requires more than chasing weekly scoops and breaking down discursive news for a range of audiences. It’s about having an eye for unique storytelling elements that shine the light on issues that affect ordinary people.
I have been a part of this dynamic newsroom for a little over a year, in that time delving into and reflecting on shocking and inspiring stories, none, perhaps, as infamous as the murder trial of former police sergeant Rosemary Ndlovu, who executed six family members and benefited from R1 million in life insurance payouts.
The trial resulted in Ndlovu being handed six life sentences. It put the spotlight on an unprecedented killing spree and exposed loopholes in the claims system of insurance companies.
Ndlovu’s was a compelling trial to report on, mainly because of its human interest aspects. I could not have imagined such a thing being possible, had I not covered the story.
Reporting this modern-day tragedy meant that one had to find a “different angle” from that echoed in other newsrooms, using the editorial attitude that City Press is acclaimed for.
We are not afraid to infuse our expertise when reflecting on subjects we are accustomed to. After all, City Press is known for its daring reportage and hard analysis of any issue.
PALESA DLAMINI: DIGITAL CONTENT CREATOR
Growing up, I would allow those older than me to encourage me to walk to the shops with them, purchase newspapers and force me to look at the advertisement section.
I won’t lie, I still have no idea why. But to my, and their, surprise, some years later I found myself front and centre of the weekly creation of one of the most prestigious publications in South Africa – City Press.
Initially, all I wanted to do for a career was be a social worker, as journalism was not on my radar.
I guess it’s true what they say: “Labadzala ngibo labatiko [The elders know best].”
Once I’d accepted the tide of life having brought me to the newsroom, I did not imagine that one of my stories, one into which I poured all my passion, would not be published.
It was going to be a day to remember, I thought, as Alexandra was burning – literally. The year was 2019, and the residents of Gomora were protesting for electricity, housing and municipal services.
It was not the reality of the oldest township in South Africa being engulfed in flames that aroused in me a deep desire to personally bear witness, but my journalistic interest about this buzzing location, which observed 11 decades of existence this year, drove me there.
While a lot of what happened on that fateful day remains locked in my subconscious somewhere, what I do remember haunts me to this day.
A man took my cellphone and deleted all the images and evidence I had captured on it, evidence which showed him and his accomplices torching a house, before setting me and my cellphone free. They warned me to kindly drive away, I obliged.
I had to go back to City Press in tears, without a story. And the trauma of losing a story that day? Well, I did better in later years.
Where else besides on the field of journalism could such a bizarre incident have taken place?
Luckily, City Press has always encouraged me to do what I think is best for myself on the field, and on that day, the best thing to do was walk away.
SETUMO STONE: SENIOR POLITICAL REPORTER
City Press has been a part of my life since primary school, in the former Bophuthatswana homeland.
The old man at home, a man who was passionate about politics, was a former activist in the Transvaal mine workers’ unions, and he read the major newspapers every week.
In Grade 4, the school principal then, the late Joe Mokgothu, made me stand in front of a class of Grade 6 pupils and name the newspaper publications I had read. City Press was on that list.
So, joining City Press in 2015 felt like a trip back in time. The late former City Press sports editor Sbu Mseleku, whose articles I used to enjoy in school, welcomed me. He always joked that the only time I ever wrote him a sports story was when a pretty woman was involved.
Joining City Press was an easy decision. I consulted some of the most respected names in the industry and everyone assured me that under the guidance of the “lowly newspaperman” Mondli Makhanya, my chances of growing as a political reporter were phenomenal.
This Makhanya has never set foot in Nkandla, and he did not draw the architectural structure for the alleged bunker in that country that is definitely not part of KwaZulu-Natal.
More than seven years later, the journey continues, and one can only be proud to be a part of this legendary brand called City Press.
We lost some soldiers along the way and we will cherish the memories forever. Rest in peace, dear brothers Ngwako Modjadji and Dumisane Lubisi.
SIZWE SAMA YENDE: SENIOR REPORTER
City Press was the first weekend title I read when I was in high school. In Daggakraal, a village near Volksrust in Mpumalanga, it was not delivered (it still is not), which meant I had to read the paper every now and then when a relative happened to go to town. I developed an attachment to the title and kept hope that my byline would one day be on its pages.
In 2006, I was working for African Eye News Service, a news agency in Mbombela, when I received an offer from a daily newspaper to start its first Mpumalanga bureau. On the other hand, I had an offer from City Press to work in the Polokwane bureau in Limpopo. I chose City Press.
I could have started working for City Press three years earlier, but I lost out on the job because I did not have a driver’s licence. I vividly remember then editor Vusi Mona saying: “The job is yours, but it would be a disgrace to have a City Press journalist being mugged while waiting for a taxi to do a story.”
I still did not have a driver’s licence when I got the second chance in 2006, but I was in the process of getting it. They were patient with me this time around. I worked in Polokwane for three years, felt homesick, and took a government communications job in Limpopo, which was much closer to home in Mbombela. Two years later, I got another City Press offer to work in Mpumalanga. I did not hesitate.
When I arrived in April 2010, the politics in Mpumalanga were a stark contrast to Limpopo. Mpumalanga was volatile, and the excitement about the World Cup that year was overshadowed by corruption, hit lists and political assassinations.
I was in hell for a good three years, covering these stories. I was targeted like vermin. I was almost shot by a man who had waylaid me at home. Those days, I survived driving a car with severed brake cables and lived with constant telephone threats and insults. It was a short period that felt like a lifetime, and at one stage City Press hired bodyguards for me. I could pen a thick memoir about all the events, maybe I’ll title it Eerie Assignment.
In Limpopo, I could write a damning story about a politician and still find myself sitting opposite them in a coffee shop, having an open discussion about it – but not in Mpumalanga. I am just grateful I survived.
City Press is a brand I have followed since I was a teenager, and I dreamt of working nowhere else – and here I am.
