The Nandos Plot

The chicken fast-food chain’s latest television commercial, riffing on the World Cup, satirizes stereotypical Africa yet risks reproducing the very tropes it mocks instead.

Ghana, who has qualified for the World Cup in South Africa, playing the Czech Republic in the 2006 World Cup in Germany (Wiki Commons).

The South African fast-food chicken chain Nando’s, which has, of late, also become very popular in Britain, has always been known for its striking TV commercials. They usually manage to combine a quick-off-the-mark, topical sense of the news with a particularly South African brand of wit and irony. Take, for instance, their ads last year featuring a ventriloquist dummy made to resemble the leader of the ruling party’s youth wing, Julius Malema, which made the ANC Youth League so angry they called for its withdrawal; Malema, on the other hand, just wanted Nando’s to pay him for defaming him.

But I’m not sure Nando’s latest commercial hits the mark.

The ad shows a diverse cast of South African women going topless to make the visitors feel more at home with the expected African stereotypes. The ad is narrated on-screen by a white man dressed in what is supposed to be a “Zulu traditional” outfit.

Tapping into the foreign interest in South African culture around the upcoming football World Cup, it is ostensibly aimed at satirizing the stereotypes that overseas visitors to the country might bring along with them. The desire to see ‘authentic Africa’ (so clearly portrayed in the spate of ridiculous ads now emerging on TV screens around the world) is clearly lampooned by the caricature of a hapless white guy in ‘ethnic’ dress. He is making fun of the old colonial trope of bare-breasted African women who were, of course, always stared at and photographed purely for anthropological reasons.  So far, so satire.

But is it just me, or does there come a point where the audience is nudged into sharing his point of view — where the gaze shifts from mocking the stereotypical white pervert to quietly reproducing it, inviting us to see the topless women as sexualized objects ourselves? At that moment, the satire seems to falter. The tone isn’t sustained, and what began as a sharp critique starts to feel a bit cheesy rather than genuinely funny. Or maybe I’ve just watched too many of those European football ads with empty savannahs, and it’s clouded my judgment.

Further Reading

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