By Phakamisa Mayaba
This writer has a few thousand online followers and friends — in real life, barely a handful. So what does this mean? Well, in theory, if I post links to my scribblings on my various social media accounts, they should be read by a few hundred people at the very least. This wouldn’t happen if I shared my work with my real-life chums.
The same would apply to videos, live streams, and online footprints. This is the promise of social media:  throw it out into the algorithm, and cross fingers that people – lots of people — will not only get to see it, but also engage with it.
It’s the new gamble, and one that many people out there are taking. But, as with all gambles, few of them will take home any appreciable winnings, and fewer still will hit the jackpot, leaving the riff-raff punters scrambling for the crumbs that fall from the tables of the high rollers. But if there is one undeniable factor, it’s that for the most part, everybody has a chance to give the dice a go and win, even those who cannot afford the R10 000 chips.
[ Editor’s note: For all you readers out there who – like myself– don’t have a clue how people make money from social media, AI has this to say about it: ‘Influencers make money by promoting brands through sponsored content, earning commissions via affiliate links (pay-per-click/sale), creating and selling digital products (courses, e-books), offering exclusive content via subscriptions (Patreon, Substack), running their own merch/product lines, getting platform ad revenue (YouTube), doing public appearances, and offering consulting services, thereby diversifying their income beyond just posts.’ And some of them make millions. … ]
Mziyanda Apolosi, popularly known as Dabane, in the middle of a story on his Facebook page. His videos about his life as a grown man still living with his mom have garnered him a loyal following.
Indeed, social media have ushered in a sort of democratisation of opportunities in a world of skewed class and social dynamics. This is not to suggest that it has eliminated these Marxist inconveniences, but it has substantially offset them to a point where a Ghanaian lady in a modest hut with a mobile phone and some sort of data connection can compete for online attention with foreign trust fund scions and Chanel-clad supermodels – in fact, just about anyone in the world.
And yes, there are plenty rags-to-riches stories, from Facebook through to TikTok and Instagram. Every day, these beneficiaries are ‘making their bag’, and taking exotic holidays to prove it.
So I couldn’t help but wonder if my colleague Destine Nde’s beautiful recent piece on children with misplaced dreams of online fame (see Tilting at windmills: Don Quixote and today’s internet hopefuls) wasn’t just a tad too cynical. I agree: the obsession of young people with their phones and other devices can be very annoying.
But did peasants of yore not react in the same way when their children started going to school and reading books rather than working on the land? And did those parents who could afford PCs in the 1980s or 1990s not feel that games like Doom and Leisure Suit Larry were corrupting their children’s minds? Don’t even get me started on how some people must have pulled out their hair at the introduction of television in apartheid South Africa.
Siyabulela Skelem Bholokoqoshe (with specs) … his true-life crime videos have gained him significant traction in the content creation space. Source: Facebook page.
Innovation, and, by default, new ways of doing things tend to have that effect on society. But’s  often those who first embrace those innovations – the so-called early adopters – who tend to use them to best advantage.
Let my put my head on the block and say, most of South Africa’s IT industry is still run by white kids whose parents splurged on PCs when this was an almost unattainable luxury in black communities. (Also, remember that owning a PC was and is one thing, but gaining access to the internet was and remains another – still a far greater obstacle in black communities than many people realise.)
Anyway … Like school, or any human endeavour, to find out what works on social media you need to put in the hours. Consistency is key.
I agree with Destine that, while many young people aspire to become influencers, or want their videos to ‘trend’ or go ‘viral’, very few will succeed. But – as demonstrated by many ‘viral’ videos – ‘internet ‘fame and fortune’ doesn’t necessarily entail being the funniest, the best dancer, the best singer, the wittiest, wisest, smartest, and so forth.
You can also make it quite swimmingly by being the big-toothed ‘idiot’ who’s always always tripping over things; the 40-year-old Xhosa guy who still lives with his mom and fights with his young siblings over the groceries; the teenager providing dubious street advice; or the white dad who tries to foist 1990s rap lyrics on his indifferent teenage kids.
These are usually videos shot on an ordinary phone, often poor quality, but they have something – factor x – that still attracts a following. Therein lies the key: there is an undeniable appetite for the guy-or-girl-next-door who doesn’t wear any makeup, does his or her laundry in a plastic bucket, cooks in a cast-iron pot in the yard, and has siblings with no shoes whose only makeup is a frosting of dried snot.
It’s relatable for the millions of other people experiencing tough economic conditions, but also attracts the attention of those who are curious about life is like in other countries, or on the other side of the tracks.
Unlike Don Quixote – the simile invoked by Destine — these content creators are not looking to depict themselves as heroes, bur rather to show themselves to the world just as they are. No filters, no long words, and definitely no ambitions of being the next chivalrous knight.
And there are ways to get there — consistency, finding an engaged audience, and respecting the community rules. It’ll take a lot of time and effort before you’ll earn enough gwaap to buy an ice cream at Shoprite, but there are unemployed people in Colesberg and elsewhere whose social media commitments enable them to buy the monthly groceries.
Township lads whose music – produced in shanties and on half-broken laptops – are blowing away listeners in Europe and Asia. School kids are passing courtesy of online tutors. Single moms are selling buckets of homemade cookies and chilli sauce to people across the country.
These are not thumbsucks, by the way, but real-life success stories I’ve encountered on my infant journey through the socials.
Initially, I’d assumed that everybody was on these platforms hoping to hit the big time. Instead, I discovered this this was just one of an assortment of motives. These socials are an exceptional, cost-effective marketing tool, especially if you’ve got the personality. They are cheaper than designing and printing a batch of fliers. They get the message out quicker and to more people than an e-mail. And they enable you, through a combination of video, text and editing tools, to properly and creatively market your business, whether big or small.
Most importantly, they signify the new casino of opportunity that has opened up. Here, both you and the house can win. And Ubuntu – that is, having the backs of your friends and followers by engaging with their content — might mean you all win together.
Of course, along the way you’ll encounter a whole bunch of Don Quixotes trying to make a name for themselves. The trick is to know why you’re there, and not to let the unsavoury characters lead you astray.
While you’re at it, learn enough to act as a reliable guide for the kids, because at the end of it all, this technology was created with them in mind, and will play a major role in how they navigate their futures.
Besides this, as a parent, you need to protect them against the trolls, traffickers and other sickos who hide behind fake profiles, eager to pounce on unsuspecting children. It’s the least a parent can do.
FEATURED IMAGE: Two late-night doomscrollers in the editor’s household, complete with energy drink. (Riaan de Villiers)
This is an edited version of an article that first appeared on Phakamisa Mayaba’s website, Eparkeni. Used with permission.
Great response Mayaba.