“Goethe Institute journalism” refers to a situation where lengthy press releases and briefs from news sources snake their way into news reporters’ email accounts at almost measured intervals. It is a term that was coined by creative but idle-minded journos who refused to call it “press conference journalism” because that sounds dull and unimaginative. But the problem with Goethe Institute journalism is that personally, I sometimes go for as many as two solid weeks without logging into my email accounts, because who still uses outdated modes of communication like Google andYahoo! Mail in this day and age when everybody seems to have conspired to be on the extremely useless Facebook and Twitter instead? Useless in the sense that because of them, my news contacts no longer want to communicate to me by email, which they now consider backward like a khaki coat. And what’s this thing where by people you have interviewed for a story in the papers ask if you’re on WhatsUp so they can copy you some pictures? What, in the first place, is WhatsUp? But not all journalists are averse to Goethe Institute journalism, at least going by the numbers that flock to the institute’s Kiyovu home whenever they have yet another media event. Perhaps it has something to do with the Gateman, who is certainly a different breed from the ones who man entrances of posh restaurants and hotels. While the typical hotel askari will shamelessly ask you where you’re going as you walk into a facility that is obviously an eatery, the one at Goethe just smiles and mumbles something to the effect that “you’re welcome”. At an Asian eatery in Nyarutarama recently, when the gateman asked where I was headed as I walked through the gate, I told him I was here to try the Shisha, and duly asked if it was on the menu and whether he wanted to join me. He just smiled in a weird way and granted me access, although I was already in anyway. And for work, not shisha. What is shisha all about, anyway? But a fine gateman alone is not good enough to attract a loyal following of journalists. What one needs is something with the power of light to draw moths. For the case of the Goethe Institute, that something is actually a someone –a smiley young lady I have only known by one name -Lydia, who I gather is the personal assistant to the director. It is rumored that whenever Lydia smiles, the singular act renders the presence of EWSA and its electricity meters, and all bulbs and fluorescent tubes in the building useless. But enough of Lydia, since I do not have any issues with her at the moment. On the contrary, my beef is with her employer, the Goethe Institute itself. Why go by such a name that is so tough to crack, so elusive to nail? Imagine asking the moto taxi chauffeur to drop you at the Goethe Institute, and the resultant attempt on his part to get the word right. Usually, it will take about three minutes of repeating the word “Goethe” in different ways before the moto eventually starts to click. One thing I know for sure is that it is not pronounced “Goat” like everyone seems to do. That sounds crude.
