Pope John Paul II practically died on television last week. The death triggered phenomenal world media coverage from Rome. But ours fell short; terribly short.

The first indication that we were going to be left far behind came during the night of Saturday last week. Every media house that mattered was already jamming Rome or speeding across time zones to get there. Soon, a street leading to St Peter’s Basilica was a media-exclusive zone, jammed with dozens of live broadcasting vans, their satellite dishes jostling for air space. And the final countdown to the pope’s last breath began, on television.

Out here, in our local TV stations, it quickly became apparent that all journalists had gone home, leaving no one behind to break the news to a country of at least six million Catholics that the Pope visited an unprecedented three times. The technicians silently switched from showing the country unexciting late-night movies to the live broadcasts on CNN, BBC and Sky News.

And so it was from international channels that we began to watch what turned out to be the biggest funeral in history. It began with live pictures of how John Paul’s wide popularity in life created on his deathbed a logistical problem for a legendarily conservative Vatican. People streaming into St Peter’s Square, the sight looking more like a swarm of bees than a flood of human pilgrims.

It was clear that these were moments that no one had scripted. That night, the world watched the small group of Vatican officials improvise on the steps of St Peter’s Basilica, as they repeatedly looked at each other to decide what to do. We watched when, without ceremony, an archbishop announced the pope’s death to the crowd, and turned again to look at his colleagues who looked back at him with blank faces, no one knowing exactly what to do.

It was because of such unprecedented scenes that even news anchors moved to Rome. So that at the head of the hour when the camera traditionally swings to the studio, cameras swung to anchors stationed in the Vatican’s front yard, where they had deserted their home studios to be. Agreed, we are still far from the kind of technology and money it takes to broadcast this way. And yes, it made no economic sense to send out Kenyan TV crews to Rome. But it was still no excuse for the sloppy, armchair journalism that began to play itself out when the country woke up in the morning.

It was Sunday, and President Mwai Kibaki came down from State House to attend the first of several funeral services for the Pope at Nairobi’s Holy Family Basilica. As expected, our TV crews were there. When the service neared conclusion, the mix of TV and radio crew rushed out in their characteristic frenzy. In record time, they had planted cameras on the front steps, ready for the Presidential entourage. But that is as far as journalism went.

This columnist was standing in front of the audience as President Kibaki shook hands with Archbishop Raphael Ndingi Mwana a Nzeki and began a slow stride down the steps of the Basilica.

Now, Kibaki’s gait is loudly different from that of his predecessor, Daniel arap Moi. The former President’s public face and walk was always forbidding for reporters. When he came out of a building, Moi strode like a soldier, casting only stern, furtive glances in the direction of the Press. It was quite a task to interrupt that gait with a microphone and a question. But Kibaki is different. He walks in the slowest motion. And he furnishes everyone on his way with a broad smile. Besides, while he is in church, his security stays respectfully out of the way. It is less abrupt and Press accommodative. There was every opportunity under the sun to stop the President with a decent question. But our reporters totally missed it. It took like 100 years for the President to walk that brief 30 feet from the Basilica steps, past the gaping Press and into his limousine. And no one gathered the courage — as if sharp journalists should care about courage here — to ask him a single question.

The people entrusted to tell the country were a timid bunch. Not one of them looked prepared for the task. That entire lot will be all gone before another pope dies, and they didn’t wake up to do their job. What would they tell the country at news time? They would read the stiff, colourless, official statement faxed to newsrooms from the Presidential Press Service; when they had all the time to interview a president whose mere public appearance is news!

But the goofs didn’t end there. That Sunday evening, during prime time news, an awkward scene streamed into our living rooms. It was the picture of a KTN commentator broadcasting from the front pews of Holy Family Basilica — dressed in jeans. "You'd think she was covering war!" one newspaper editor remarked.

Ok, there is absolutely nothing wrong with going to church in jeans. But it is not for nothing that journalists dress the part. They must blend in with the crowd. The last thing an effective reporter wants is to stand out in a crowd. It seriously impedes their news gathering chances. Dressing the part also evokes respect among news subjects. Our KTN reporter may not have known these simple, practical facts, but it didn’t even look like she had been watching the acceptable international dressing standards that played out all week on TV. Every reporter in Rome came to our living rooms dressed more than formally. They were all in funeral black. It’s what everyone around them wore. They may not have been mourning the Pope but they clearly knew it as a rule of thumb that if in a formally dressed audience you’re the only one dressed like a bum, you stand out like a sore thumb.

But nothing compared to Radio Ramogi’s Friday morning goof. The channel allowed a thoroughly simplistic discourse on why Catholics were "worshiping" the Pope, a dead Pope for that matter. The station missed the entire point, betraying a serious ignorance of news values and world affairs.

Any respectable journalist knows that "impact" is an unbeatable news value. Editors and producers choose to broadcast an event simply because it affects a sizeable portion of the audience. Well, the leader of 1.1 billion people for over a quarter of a century had just died. And Radio Ramogi saw no "impact". Over 200 presidents and monarchs were heading to Rome. Flags were flying half mast, even at the head of the Arab League of Nations in Cairo, to mourn the passing of the man most credited with rewriting modern history — bringing down communism, apologising for the excesses of the 12^th Century crusades, a Catholic leader building bridges by praying in a mosque and a synagogue. And Radio Ramogi wasn't bothered to look like the only mad man at the marketplace.