Pieter-Dirk Uys: 'I don't do jokes. I tell the truth'

The South African comedian Pieter-Dirk Uys made his name satirising apartheid. In his new show he tackles his country's attitudes to Aids. Some things are just too funny to pass up on

Since the defenestration of Mrs Thatcher (as she was then), political comedy in this country has been about as fashionable as voting Tory. Eschewing the impassioned ranting of the "Thatch' out!" brigade, British stand-ups have instead sought refuge in the comedy of "have-you- ever-noticed?" observation or "who-gives- a-toss?" cynicism. The difficulty of finding your front-door keys after 14 pints is about as controversial as comedy gets these days.

In contrast, the South African comedian Pieter-Dirk Uys's act is literally a matter of life and death. For the past year, he has toured some 160 South African schools using humour to make more than 300,000 children aware of the dangers of HIV and Aids. Over the next couple of years, he is planning to visit a further 800 schools with his show, Foreign Aids, an adapted version of which opens at the Tricycle Theatre in London on Friday.

Uys made his name during the apartheid era as just about the only comedian brave enough to send up the notoriously humourless regime. Dressed as Mrs Evita Bezuidenhout, a sort of South African Dame Edna Everage, he spoofed the more laughable attitudes of the "verkrampte" Afrikaner mentality. Evita's picture adorned the wall of Nelson Mandela's cell on Robben Island, she toyi-toyi'd with Archbishop Desmond Tutu and become known as "the most famous white woman in South Africa." There's no doubting Uys's right-on credentials.

Over here, preparing for the London run, the 56-year-old comedian is dressed all in black – right down to a woolly hat. "Without it, I look like William Hague," Uys explains. "That's why I keep it on." He is a twinkly presence, always keen to make mischief. "I love offending people," he declares. "It's very healthy, because it means they're listening. Equal-opportunity offence is what I hope for."

For all the worthy intent of Foreign Aids, however, is Aids really an appropriate subject for a comedy show? "No," says Uys with a wicked chuckle, "and apartheid wasn't, either. But I'm aiming to make people laugh at their own prejudices and help them understand things better. When you laugh at the absurdity of racism, you make fear less fearful. Now I'm doing the same with Aids. I don't tell jokes. I find the truth is funnier – especially when it is unpalatable. Remember, South Africa is the country that used to be full of people saying 'there are two things I can't stand about South Africa – apartheid and the blacks'."

Crass officials effectively write much of his material for him. "Last year, the Department of Health in South Africa gave away 40 million condoms," Uys continues. "But they had the bright idea of stapling them to instructions cards in the 11 official languages, so they ended up with 40 million death warrants." Over three decades working in the most trying circumstances – under apartheid, dressing up as a woman was enough to land a man in jail – Uys has learnt that comedy is an effective way to combat injustice. "Humour is a great weapon," he asserts. "It's an extraordinary leveller. You can counter all the misinformation with humour. We can, for instance, kill the urban legend that says 'rape a child and be cured of Aids'.

"People aren't victims if they react with humour. Look at Nelson Mandela. After 27 years in jail, he had every reason to come out with all guns blazing, but instead he used humour to heal. He's still here, and the perpetrators of apartheid aren't. Recently, a white policeman was caught with a screen-saver of Mandela's face morphing into a gorilla's. I could see certain black politicians dusting down their speeches about white racists. But Mandela just said 'you see, even gorillas want my face'. It defused the whole situation."

When apartheid was finally toppled, Uys feared that he might become redundant as a satirist. But, after a year off, he soon found many politicians reverting to type and providing him with a rich fund of gags. "Politicians never let me down," he beams. "The higher they climb up the pole of ambition, the more of their arses we can see." What really irked Uys was the fact that so many South African politicians seemed to be in denial about the extent of the Aids epidemic in their country. "They were saying things like, 'I'm convinced Aids comes from Venus and HIV comes from Mars' and 'my mind is made up – don't confuse me with the facts'.

"I don't want to sound like Julie Andrews, but I'm bloody angry about the mistakes that are happening through the politicians' carelessness. If we don't confront Aids, 70 per cent of our people will die, and we'll have a white majority government. In the old South Africa, we killed people; now we're letting them die. What's worse?"

So Uys took his complaint to the very top and performed Foreign Aids in front of the South African parliament. "There I was, standing up in front of all the politicians, saying, 'if you do not admit that this crisis is going on, we haven't got a hope in hell'. But I made the point through humour. I did a sketch showing that many kids believe that if you put a condom on a banana and place it on your bedside table during sex, you'll be safe. I got a standing ovation."

The comedian has been equally well-received in schools. From the off, Uys tells it to his audiences straight: "I say, 'If you play in the traffic, you're going to get knocked down. It's not uncool to say no; it's not uncool to stay alive.' You have to be direct about sex. If these kids make one mistake, they're not going to get a second chance. You can't afford to be polite. When the house is on fire, you can't genteelly ask, 'art thou within?' You have to shout 'get the hell out of there'."

The children tend to listen to Uys because "I'm not a teacher or an evangelist. I'm an entertainer with a box of tricks. I look for the 'mock' in democracy and the 'con' in reconciliation. I want the children who see my show to forget about fear. If just one remembers something that will save their life, that's got to be worth it."

The other reason Uys's show works is because he's so fired-up about the future of his country. "With apartheid, we thought that we were inexorably going off the edge of a cliff and that two million people would die. Who would have thought that it would all end in a huge party with everybody toyi-toyi-ing? We've turned what could have been 'Rwanda – The Sequel' into the most exciting democracy in the world, and that makes me proud."

Uys is all those things that so-hip-it-hurts British ironists sneer at: political, passionate, positive. But his enthusiasm is infectious. "Now we've got the greatest generation-in-waiting in history – if we can keep them alive. These children make me feel 15 again – they're enormously inspiring. My show celebrates the fact that we're in a good place – in just seven years, we've gone from apartheid to widespread democracy and education. I want to grow old in a country ruled by these kids. I tell them, 'don't let me go to your funerals all the time. Get your faces on the stamps and the coins. And I'll be happy to come and do your gardening'."

Pieter-Dirk Uys's 'Foreign Aids' is at the Tricycle Theatre, London NW6 (020-7328 1000) from Friday to 10 August