A day in the life of a Radio3 presenter in the 90s Felix NganjoMutemi, on a Monday afternoon presenting Monday Crunch Time, 12-3pm on Radio 3. standing in for James Maridadi
A Monday on Radio 3 – The Crunch Time Shift (12-3pm)
Monday.
Crunch Time day.
The slot is 12 to 3pm, but for me the shift starts long before the “On Air” light comes alive. At Radio 3 in the 90s, nothing was plug-and-play. Everything had to be curated, screened, cued, timed, signed off.
The station opens at 5am. Breakfast runs four hours. Every other daytime and evening shift, including mine, is three hours. And the last presenter pulls the late shift from 8pm to midnight.
But the truth?
Every presenter’s day begins long before stepping into the studio. Mine began 72 hours ago with first selecting the music to play and signed off by senior producer.
The Passion That Fuelled Us
People today will never understand how deeply we invested in radio. More than 80% of the music we played came from our own collections, bought with our own money. We didn’t just collect music- we hunted it.
There were legends who kept us supplied with imports.
Chedz. Batanai Gardens
Pound Sterling (RIP).
Reliable men with contacts abroad who could place the freshest jams, rare 12-inch remixes, and UK/US imports into our hands before the rest of the country even knew they existed.
Being the first to spin a new remix on Zimbabwean radio?
That was gold. That was adrenaline.
That was why we did it.
And then there was SpinAlong Records, the biggest distributor in the country. Our man there was Mujay, the Senior Manager
Every Thursday afternoon, without fail, I called him.
“Hey Fidza, ndeipi? Come to the office. I’ve got the new Kenny Lattimore and Joe.”
Before he even finished the sentence, I was already on my way.
Armed to the teeth with fresh R&B, ready to make my Monday Crunch Time explosive.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I subscribed to Richmond Records in West London, a company specialising in pre-release compilations—soul and R&B tracks scheduled for release six weeks ahead of the global market.
It was expensive.
It dented my pockets.
It required sacrifice.
But passion made it possible.And that is how I justified my tag line:
Felix Nganjo – Nobody Plays More Soul.
Because I didn’t just play the music.
I invested in it.
I lived it.
I curated it with care and obsession, always staying ahead of the pack.
The Build-Up to Crunch Time
By Monday morning, I’ve already carried, packed, sorted, and memorised my entire playlist. My PRS form is complete—every song title, composer, performer, duration, play count, and timing carefully written out. This form is the skeleton of my show, the proof that what I play is legitimate, cleared, and royalty-compliant.
With my music bag—vinyl, cassettes, reel-to-reel tapes, later CDs—easily weighing close to 10kg, I arrive at Pockets Hill. No modern presenter will ever know that feel: pressing the weight of music against your hip as you climb the stairs.
I greet the security guys. They know the Monday drill.
“Ah, Felix, Crunch Time today?”
I smile. “Yes, it’s that day.”
The Ritual
First stop: the Pigeon Hole at the back of the studio.
Even though I phoned in my list over three days before, I still double-check. You don’t want surprises an hour into the programme, when a reel is missing or a vinyl has a scratch that wasn’t there last week.
I inspect my LPs, test-wind the reel-to-reel, label the cassettes clearly, and arrange everything in the exact order of my playlist. Crunch Time must run tight, no dead air, no panic, no mistakes.
Then I check the Commercial Log, A paper list of all commercials to be played and time slots, its also called the traffic schedule:
Which ads are playing
On which cartridge
At what exact minute
That log is law. Miss a cartridge and the phones explode in the Marketing Department Office.
11:50 AM I am ready as ready can be. To take overate midday.
Musi Khumalo, the Ladyboss, signs off before my show—always wishing me the very best. The studio is warm with her energy, carrying the soft trace of her sweet feminine perfume. The equipment hums gently in the background, like a living creature breathing as I prepare to take over the airwaves.
I set down my music bag.
I line up the LPs next to the turntable.
I place the reel-to-reel on its machine and mark the counter.
I load my cassettes.
I check the first three commercial cartridges and place them in reach.
In those ten minutes, I build my battlefield.
At 11:59, I slip on my headphones.
One ear on, one ear off, my signature.
The final commercial ends.
The red light blinks.(red light means mic is on)
12:00 PM Crunch Time Begins with midday news.
12.05 “Good afternoon Zimbabwe . . . this is Felix NganjoMutemi with your Monday Crunch Time on Radio 3. Let’s kick this week into gear.”
The turntable spins.
My first song drops cleanly.
I exhale. and music engine is cruising on all 6 cylinders now.
The calls start almost immediately.
“Felix, play that song that goes—ah I don’t know the name but it says mudiwa something something!”
I laugh quietly, write notes with one hand, cue the next reel with the other.
This is the routine; swivel chair moving up and down the groove on the floor as I battle for speed and accuracy.
Balancing Act
I keep my eyes on everything:
The vinyl needle (please don’t get stuck)
The reel counter (don’t overshoot)
The commercial log (play the right cart, at the right time)
The request line
The playlist order
The clock
A presenter in the 90s was a multi-armed creature.
A modern presenter doesn’t know this pressure ballet.
Today software crossfades smoothly, runs ads automatically, builds playlists by itself.
But back then, we built everything by hand.
And yet, despite the chaos, my voice stays calm each time I open the mic:
“Stay tuned, Zimbabwe., No body plays more soul Crunch Time rolls on.”
Three Hour later
2:59 PM The Finish Line
The final song fades.
I let the last note breathe- never cut music abruptly unless emergency.
I press the mic button.
That’s it for Monday Crunch Time with me, Cetris Paribus, All things being equal I catch you on Friday for Soul Spectrum. Stay tuned for the Mr Kool Kudzi Marudza coming up shortly. Have a great week, Zimbabwe. Goodiee Byee
I sign off.
I breathe.
My body realises how tense it has been for the last three hours.
I gather my vinyl, reel, cassettes—my soldiers who fought the battle with me.
I fill the final PRS entries.
I sign the log.
I slip out quietly.
Another Monday conquered.
Another Crunch Time delivered.
In this digital era, presenters can build a show in an hour no cart machines, no reel counters, no vinyl needles, no library calls. The software does the compilation, the timing, the transitions.
But in the 90s?
We crafted radio.
We earned every second on air.
Thats how we created magic on radio, driven by passion fuel we were unstoppable on Radio 3 in the 90s.
By Felix Daniel Mupariwa NganjoMutemi the StoryTeller
About Author
