Ugandan comedian, Joseph Opio, was among those who basked in victory at this year’s Emmys (annual awards that honor the best in American prime-time television programming) for his role on Comedy Central’s late-night talk and satirical news television program – The Daily Show (TDS).
The Daily Show won the Outstanding Variety Talk Series category beating Late Night With Seth Meyers, Jimmy Kimmel Live! and The Late Show With Stephen Colbert.
For a decade now, Opio who formerly hosted the political satire talk show LOL on Urban TV, has been on the writing team for The Daily Show during the time Trevor Noah filled the presenter’s chair.
While accepting the Emmy during the awards gala in Los Angeles, California last week, Noah acknowledged Joseph Opio and David Kibuuka (both Ugandans), the two Africans who followed him to TDS.
“I start by thanking the crazy Africans who followed me to this country. David Kibuuka, Joseph Opio, thank you so much,” he said.
Opio did not just follow him. He also made sure the African perspective was represented on the show. Whether it is the 2016 Ugandan Presidential election or the infamous 2017 brawl in Parliament or the migration of Ugandan grasshoppers or the comparison between Donald Trump and Idi Amin. Be it a 2017 tweet by Trevor Noah where he mentioned he wanted Sula’s Rolex in Wandegeya, which stoked excitement among Ugandans online. The common denominator for all these stories is Opio. His Ugandan background.
In an exclusive interview with Plugged, Opio talks about his fascinating first meeting with Trevor Noah, winning an Emmy, being the only Ugandan active on the New York comedy scene, and the taxing effort that goes into bringing The Daily Show to life.
Weighing in on Uganda’s stagnating comedy scene, he diagnoses the problem – failure to write fresh material – derailing standup in Uganda as simply a result of a market that does not value comedy.
This is the first time you’re winning an Emmy for your work with The Daily Show (TDS). Making Trevor Noah the first Black man to lead a show to victory in the category Outstanding Variety Talk Series. As a Ugandan, how does this feel for you?
It’s kinda surreal. I mean, I have got no right to even come within a 1,000-mile radius of an Emmy. A Primetime Emmy is the most prized accolade in television. And only the very best in American showbiz ever get a chance to touch that golden statuette. I was born and bred in Uganda. Technically, I should be vying for the Galaxy Zzina Awards or Buzz Teeniez award. Instead, I’m on the Emmys stage, holding the same award that’s been won by such iconic artists like Bruce Willis, Dave Chappelle, Elton John, Eddie Murphy, John Legend, Zendaya and Donald Glover. It’s the stuff dreams are made of. The kind of insane “someone please pinch me; I must be dreaming” scenario that rarely happens in real life.
How many Episodes have you written for TDS so far?
I have written 1,178 episodes. Plus two spin-off TV specials: Remotely Educational and The Yearly Show 2017.
In accepting the award, Trevor gave credit to you and David Kibuuka, the Africans who followed him to TDS. Tell us how your paths crossed and how you came to join TDS.
Trevor and I met on the New York comedy circuit. We bumped into each other performing at the Comedy Cellar. And we hit it off immediately. Mainly because we shared so much in common: We both love football. We both love comedy. And we were two Africans grinding away in pursuit of our American Dream. I remember the first night we met, we sat and talked from 8PM to 5AM. Or as some therapists might call it, “trauma bonding.”
But we had such an enjoyable time exchanging thoughts and comparing notes. So much so that we hang out at the Comedy Cellar every night, from 8PM to 5AM, for four weeks straight. We instantly realized we had the same comedic sensibility. Fast forward to three months later and Trevor got hired to host The Daily Show.
He invited me to join him. He thought that, as a fellow African migrant and recent transplant, I could provide the outsider-looking-in perspective that would distinguish The Daily Show from other late-night programs airing on American TV. 1,178 episodes and one Primetime Emmy later, I think I can safely say I haven’t done such a shabby job.
What did Trevor’s departure mean for you? Do you feel like the African story is told aptly on the show?
Every comedian must possess impeccable timing. And I think Trevor timed his exit from The Daily Show to perfection. Don’t get me wrong: The Daily Show remains the dream gig for 99% of professional comedians. But Trevor is too gifted to just be a late-night host. After seven years, he had outgrown the show. Even worse, taping The Daily Show every day was keeping him divorced from his one true love: standup comedy. Now, was it easier to platform African stories with Trevor captaining the ship? Of course. Will it be more challenging with him gone? I doubt it.
For one, as an African writer, it’s part of my job to champion African narratives. The onus is on me to pitch African stories and convince whoever replaces Trevor that African voices are worth hearing and African perspectives deserve airtime on American TV. But two and most importantly, The Daily Show team is like the Avengers of comedy: they are the best and brightest minds in late-night satire. If there’s a story worth telling, better believe they will sniff it out.
What goes into prepping for TDS for you?
Since The Daily Show satirizes current events and pop culture, you must be a news junkie to thrive at the job. You must read a ton, keep track of trending news and generate fresh, original, unique insights as the stories break. On top of that, you must also be a human joke machine that can sling punchlines on demand. There were many times during the Trump presidency when the show was locked and ready to tape at 6PM. But then, at 5:30PM, Trump would fire someone from the White House. Or start a Twitter beef with some NATO ally. Or worse, a mass shooting would happen. Suddenly, we had to rip up whatever script we had written the whole day.
All the blood, sweat and tears poured into that script? Suddenly irrelevant! And you don’t even have any time to lament that wasted investment. Your only mission is extracting as much comedy gold as possible from the unfolding tragedy. Because the clock is ticking. And in 30 minutes, the show will be taping in front of a live studio audience. Oh, and after you pull off that minor-miracle, there’s still no rest for the wicked. You must start working on next day’s show.
As Trevor put it, making The Daily Show is like planning a wedding. But without the fun climax of going on a honeymoon. You’re thinking like: “What will the weather be like? Who are the guests? What are you gonna wear? Who’s gonna make a toast? What’s everybody allergic to? Who’s sitting where? Which drunk uncle should be kept far away from the bridesmaids?” Then, the wedding happens. And you go like, “Alright! We are doing another wedding tomorrow.” You never rest on your laurels. You can’t afford to. And, for me, that’s part of the enduring appeal of the show. I’ve written 1,178 episodes but it never gets boring.
Last year was a tough one for writers in the U.S. in the wake of the WGA strike. How did this impact TDS and what individual lessons did you draw?
Late-night programs went dark the moment the strike was declared. So The Daily Show was off air and on the front lines immediately. And for almost five months, we refused to create a single episode until Hollywood producers accepted our demands. The strike was an eye-opener. First and foremost, labor needs a union. Capital seeks to exploit labor. It’s the nature of the beast. And a union is the most effective bulwark against this exploitation. Without the solidarity of a union, labor has no fighting chance against the might of capital. Which means workers can never get what they truly deserve.
Critics may argue that TV and film writers are greedy. That they were already rewarded so handsomely. But writers are the jet fuel that powers the multi-billion-dollar behemoth that’s Hollywood. And they deserve a fair share of the pie. If Netflix is exploiting my work to reap obscene profits, I deserve a cut. If a Disney CEO can earn hundreds of millions in executive bonus without adding a spoonful of value to the creative process, then the writer who singlehandedly created the characters that built Disney into a powerhouse deserves to enjoy the fruits of their labor. No one has ever paid to see a CEO sign a cheque. But audiences pay every day to enjoy the magic created by writers. It breaks my heart that Ugandan artists don’t have robust labor unions. If capital is the equivalent of wolves, then artists with no union are poor, defenseless sheep.
There hasn’t been a new episode of TDS since December 14. What has this meant for you?
The show is organizing a splashy relaunch on February 8. As a result, we haven’t released new episodes on TV. But we have a vibrant presence online. And we have been producing content for our millions of followers daily. We have also been shooting and preparing various ever-green segments for when we return on air. On a personal level, this hiatus has been a blessing in disguise. It allowed me to recharge my creative batteries. And a bit like the WGA strike, it gave me a golden opportunity to flex my standup muscles by hitting the stage every night.
You’re an active standup comedian who is always doing gigs and on the road. Yet TDS is an equally time-intensive venture. Is it easy finding a middle ground?
Middle ground? You make it seem like it’s the Israel-Palestine crisis. It’s always a delicate balance when you have a job and a side hustle. But I love both The Daily Show and the art of standup. If The Daily Show is where I go to work, then the standup stage is where I go to vacation. And while it might seem hectic from outside looking in, reconciling the two has never been a problem at all. I laser-focus on The Daily Show during the day, drop into New York comedy clubs at night and hit the road to tour on the weekends. Think of it like this: If a guy really loves a girl, it doesn’t matter if he’s busy dismantling a nuclear bomb or scrolling through TikTok; he will make time for her. He will never bluetick her on WhatsApp.
You had a number of shows in London in September last year. First time you were performing in the U.K. What was it like? Did you find the audience easier or harder?
As a Ugandan, it was kinda freaky making the people who brutally colonized my country laugh. But the whole experience was like a dream come true. As for the audiences, here’s how I look at it: Laughter is a pretty universal language. And a professional comic has one job: tap into the audience’s comedic wavelength. And make jokes that resonate with them. In fact, experience has taught me that audiences are the same all over the world. The moment they buy a ticket to come see your show, a fascinating relationship dynamic is established: they owe you nothing. And you owe them everything.
No comedian, however talented, is entitled to the audience’s attention. You have got to earn it. And then spend every moment on stage trying to retain it. As a pro comic, I couldn’t just export my American jokes into the U.K. I needed material that would be relatable to British audiences. So, I did my research and wrote a brand-new set that was U.K.-specific. And therein lies the beauty with standup comedy: there are no shortcuts to success. Put in the work off stage and you shall reap the laughs on stage.
In a very competitive standup industry like the U.S (which is pretty much the benchmark globally), what does a Ugandan comic like you do to stand out? And what topics do you tackle mostly in your sets?
It’s simple: you need to be the funniest to keep getting booked. Elite comedy is cutthroat in that way. Every line-up has four or five comics. And everyone on that line-up is bringing their A-game. It doesn’t matter if you come from Uganda or America or Uranus, no comedian wants to be the weakest link. Otherwise, you will get blacklisted since no comic wants to follow the comedic equivalent of a sedative.
As the only Ugandan active on the New York comedy scene, it’s easy for me to stand out. My life experience is exotic. My accent is memorable. And my perspective is unique. If three Americans tell a Kardashian joke and I also tell a Kardashian joke, mine will have an angle and a flavor the audience will never have anticipated. As a personal rule, I think no topic is taboo or strictly off-limits. I explore everything from geopolitics through relationships to the minutiae of life. As long the subject matter can illuminate the human condition and challenge received wisdom, then the comedian in me will always look for its funny edge.
What’s the biggest standup gig you’ve done to date?
I have been lucky enough to perform at most iconic venues. From the Comedy Cellar to Gotham to multiple theaters across America. I have also attended “Just For Laughs” in Canada and the Montreux Comedy Festival. But gun to my head, the biggest room I’ve performed so far is the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C.
Back home, comedy is still playing catchup with music. It has failed to stand on its own as an offering and be commercially viable. Central to the problem is the culture of comics not writing new material. Any tricks you might want to share?
It’s kinda unfair to compare comedy with music. Music is easy. Comedy is hard. Musicians have beats, backup dancers, a live band, DJs and depending on their budget, sometimes even fireworks. In comedy, it’s one man, one mic! That’s it. No gimmicks. At a music concert, revelers want to sing along to your classic hits. In comedy, fans will try to lynch you if you recycle a joke. No one ever attends a comedy show hoping they can recite every punchline back to the comedian.
Comics need to produce new material to survive. It’s be creative or be doomed. Problem is, the Ugandan comedy industry is faced with a tragicomic catch-22: it’s not professional because there’s not enough money. And there’s not enough money because it’s not professional. It’s this protracted staring contest between comedy and commerce. And one side has to blink first.
Some critics might argue that the onus is on comedians to take the initiative. And I get that. There’s never any excuse not to write new material. Especially in a small comedy market like Uganda where the comedy fanbase is narrow. When I was in Uganda, I wrote a new TV show every week. At The Daily Show, we air a new episode every day. So long as life keeps happening, there’s always material waiting to be harvested.
Of course, some visionaries like Timothy J. Nyanzi are trying their best to alter the status quo by encouraging comedians to workshop fresh jokes each week. But to be fair, Ugandan comics have no incentive to release new material. That’s why I decided to relocate. In America, top comedians command $1m per gig. Netflix pays Dave Chappelle $20m per special. If you’re a comic in America, you know if you put in the work, you shall also reap similar dividends. But if you’re a young comedian at Wallet Pub Kabusu, you don’t have the same motivation. It’s the reason Cristiano Ronaldo hires a fitness trainer, a psychologist and a full-time nutritionist. But a striker at Kyaliwajjala FC drinks and smokes during half-time. One is incentivized to see his body as an asset that’s gotta be in peak physical shape. The other? Well, not so much. Comedy consumers get exactly what they pay for.
I was the first Ugandan to have a weekly satire show called LOL on Urban TV. LOL should have revolutionized Ugandan comedy. But since I left, Uganda has failed to create another LOL. It’s not like Uganda has ever run short of comedy fodder. From the just concluded NAM Summit to the Pastor Bugingo saga to the constant drama in local showbiz: it’s every comedian’s wet dream. But because there’s a vacuum on TV, Ugandans have to log into Twitter to get their satirical fix. It’s the clearest sign that Uganda doesn’t take the business of comedy seriously enough. To slightly misquote the legendary Liverpool manager, Bill Shankly: “Some people believe comedy is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.”
The natural progression for comedians in the U.S and UK is to write for TV/film as well as acting. Have you considered this yet?
Yes, of course. Standup is meant to be a launchpad, not the moon in itself. From Eddie Murphy to Jerry Seinfeld to Chris Rock to Kevin Hart: the “standup stage to TV to Hollywood career” remains a well-beaten path. In America, you haven’t really made it as a comedian until you have your own TV show or Hollywood film. That’s the only metric they use. I’ve got a few exciting projects in the works. It’s just a matter of time. But Insha’Allah, sitcoms and movies will be my next pit-stop.
There has been an exodus of some names in Ugandan entertainment industry, leaving the country for the U.S. and Canada in pursuit of greener pastures. What would you consider the easier entry points for an African creative into these advanced industries?
The best advice I have for them is to hit up the local creative hub. I was lucky to land in New York — the Mecca of comedy. But in America, almost every city has a creative scene. If you’re good enough, word will always get around. There are very low barriers to entry here. All you have to do is prove you have what it takes.
In what ways has living and working in New York impacted your work ethic?
I always had a pretty solid work ethic. During its two-year run on Ugandan TV, I singlehandedly wrote, hosted, directed, edited and produced every episode of LOL. But still, the hustle in New York is in a different orbit. This city is like the Ground Zero of comedians with a dream. It has the most comedy clubs per capita. And it’s not rare for a comic to perform six, seven shows in one night. Every comedian here brings the fire. And that energy can get super- contagious.
You don’t want that comedian you once shared a stage with to be winning an Oscar tomorrow. And you’re still a writer at The Daily Show. It’s like playing at Barcelona. You see Messi training every day and you start thinking, “hey, maybe I can also make the Ballon d’Or shortlist next time.” But if you’re playing at Kyaliwajjala FC, you will never dream beyond winning Kakungulu Cup or the Bika Bya Baganda shield.
