My favourite part of Idols so far: We are in Botswana when this fellow walks into audition room. He is going to do a dancehall song of his own composition. He introduces himself and begins a session of banter with the judges.

But he is not speaking in normal English. He insists on talking in strings of deep Jamaican patios. At first the judges laugh and play along, but after his performance, which wasn’t that good, they have to ask why he won’t speak normally.

He replies in patios.


They ask him if he has ever been to Jamaica.

He says, in patios, that he hasn’t, but him friend dem a teach him.

They ask why he talks like that. He replies, needless to belabour, in patios.

Angela Angweny, that unnatractive hag, that hideous crone, that repugnant harridan of a judge, asked, in one last desperate attempt to get him, “How do you speak to your mother?”

And just before he disappeared through the door him-and-him replied, “In Setswana.”