Shining bright

It wasn’t dancing that first captured the heart of the, frankly fabulous Johannes Radebe, best known for his mesmerising moves on BBC One’s Strictly Come Dancing competition (this year, his role in the show changed to co-presenter). “It was the sparkles that got me,” he tells me, referencing the sparkly waistcoat he fell in love with that was worn by a ballroom dancer in the community centre near his home.

Unlike other dancing genesis stories I’ve come across, his wasn’t a childhood epiphany involving Fred Astaire, nor a pushy mother who spotted prodigious talent in her toddler. No, Radebe was just a boy from Zamdela, a township outside Sasolburg in the Free State, who was looking for his friends when he wandered into the local recreation hall and found a couple demonstrating ballroom and Latin dancing.

“I went up to the man wearing a silver waistcoat and tail jacket and said, ‘What do I need to do to wear that?’,” Radebe says, laughing. The answer that came back was simple: stick around and learn to dance. So he did.

In hindsight, it’s tempting to turn successful lives into neat narratives of destiny. Radebe’s story is different. “It was a complete fluke,” he insists. But he’s taken that fluke and run, or rather, danced with it. There were years of training, competitions his family could barely afford, jobs washing cars and dancing in shopping malls, cruise ships, South African dance championships and two seasons on our own Strictly Come Dancing. He joined the British show in 2018 and steadily transformed himself from a professional dancer into one of its most recognisable personalities.

At 39, the boy who wanted the sparkly waistcoat has effectively been handed the keys to the sequin cupboard. Radebe, as co-host of the show alongside Emma Willis and comedian Josh Widdicombe, cements his place in British hearts as the BBC’s juggernaut enters its 24th season. It’s the first three-person presenting team in the programme’s history, and for South African viewers there’s a pleasing amount of local talent involved: Motsi Mabuse remains on the judging panel while South African Latin champion Lethabo Monametsi joins the professional dancers.

Anyone that looks like me and can relate to my story will realise that it’s also possible for them.

The promotion has flummoxed Radebe. “I couldn’t have written the story for myself,” he says. “From a boy in Zamdela, dreaming but thinking that a world stage was out of reach … I’m just very proud. I’m pinching myself.”

Of course, dance wasn’t simply an extracurricular activity for Radebe. It became, he says, his “refuge”. He’s spoken about being bullied as a boy for being effeminate and about the economic obstacles facing a talented black ballroom dancer whose family didn’t have the money to send him gallivanting around the country to competitions.

But he persisted, eventually becoming a multiple South African Latin champion, dancing professionally overseas and finding his way onto Strictly and notable acclaim. One standout moment was in 2021 when he was partnered with The Great British Bake Off winner John Whaite. They became Strictly’s first all-male competitive pairing and reached the final. There was predictable muttering but soon that was overwhelmed by their chemistry and skill as they rapidly became seen as simply two men dancing exceptionally well.

Radebe doesn’t claim too much credit for the normalisation of the same-sex pair. “I’m happy to be a small part of making viewers more tolerant,” he says. “John and I understood that we’d play that little part, but I realised the impact of it after we did it.” There were doubts about how audiences would respond. Instead, “we’ve opened up conversations in homes about what’s possible in this world” — with a Viennese waltz and a good amount of Swarovski glitz.

Radebe says he never set out to be a role model. Now he accepts that visibility comes with obligations. “Anyone that looks like me and can relate to my story will realise that it’s also possible for them. Nothing’s out of reach.”

His question now is: “What can I do for others that are coming behind me?” That person is Monametsi. “We love her,” he says. “She’s the personification of joy.” More importantly, he says, she’s brought something recognisably South African into the UK Strictly family: “She’s demonstrated Ubuntu.”

His advice to her is refreshingly free of show-business guff about believing in yourself and reaching for the stars. “Darling, enjoy this ride. It’s not afforded to many people … It can absolutely change your life for the better.”

Radebe has been doing a lot of changing lately. He made his West End debut as Lola in Kinky Boots, a role he’d wanted for years, winning praise for a performance requiring him not merely to dance but act and sing in towering heels. His memoir, Jojo: Finally Home, was published in 2023, and he’s built a successful solo stage career. Earlier this year, asked to name his greatest achievement, he didn’t choose Strictly, the West End or any trophy. He chose building his mother her dream home.

Now presenting has replaced dancing on Strictly. Instead of communicating with his body — one raised eyebrow now contains his emotional range, and the autocue presents a different challenge.

He admits he’s not naturally a broadcaster. The producers knew that too. When he was first approached, he was told: “We wouldn’t give you this job if we don’t think you could do it. We want to afford you an opportunity to walk into the room and give it a go.” He did, and he immediately got the job.

Subsequently, he took classes and was trained by the BBC. “They know how to make great telly,” he says. “I was in good hands.”

There’s one obvious big perk to changing sides. After years of smiling bravely while judges dissected his choreography, Radebe will now have a microphone. “We’ve changed roles, Andrea,” he says with relish. “I cannot wait to hold them accountable.”

Infamous Strictly judge Craig Revel Horwood should consider himself warned. Then again, Radebe concedes, “Craig is brutal, but he’s right most of the time.”

Lastly, I ask Radebe who he thinks about when he walks onto that floor, no longer standing behind a celebrity partner but at the front of the whole enormous glittering enterprise. Suddenly he’s emotional. “My mother. My family,” he says. “I’ve dedicated my life to them ... and everyone back home, because I didn’t think this life was possible.”

He returns to the little boy in Zamdela who thought “there must be more to life than these streets”, and then wandered into a recreation hall and saw a man dressed in sparkles. “I want to honour that child,” Radebe says.

There will be consolation in giving up the weekly competitive dancing. “My bunions will be resting, definitely,” he says with a smile. The feet are getting a break, but Radebe, I suspect, is only getting started.