ruin

THE Nineties might have been ruled by boybands and girl-bands, but life at the top of pop could be tough.

And it was probably worse for the girls, as putting on extra pounds, dating the wrong guy or, heaven forbid, having a baby were hugely frowned upon by management teams.

New BBC documentary Girlbands Forever, the follow-up to last year’s three-parter about boybands, delves into an era where record companies had less regard for duty of care, days off or mental health.

It features members of Atomic Kitten, Eternal, Sugababes, Mis-teeq and Little Mix, providing insight into what it was like being in an all-female group in the Nineties and early Noughties.

The dream was to replicate the success of the Spice Girls, the all-conquering icons who sparked the girlband explosion.

And record labels invested millions in a bid to find the next big thing.

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But as the Spice Girls’ rivals All Saints found out, the pressure became unbearable.

So much so that when founding member Melanie Blatt informed managers that she and bandmate Nicole Appleton were pregnant, both were told to abort their babies.

The reason? They had just cracked America with No1 hit Never Ever and momentum could be lost.

Melanie, 50, explains: “I hadn’t been with my partner for very long, it was definitely a bit of a surprise It wasn’t people congratulating us. It was more like this look of dread and worry and the realisation that things are going to change.

“We flew to LA and at [airport] LAX our manager, he was behind us, was telling us to abort our babies.”

She added that her bosses told them they were “going to ruin everything” and “it was the end of the band”.

Melanie ended up having her baby with her partner, Stuart Zender, the bassist for band Jamiroquai.

‘Vomiting in toilets’

But Nicole, who fell pregnant with then boyfriend Robbie Williams, did not, which Melanie admits caused issues with their relationship.

She explains: “Nic and I had been best friends since we were 11. We took pregnancy tests in a hotel in Canada and spent that whole night discussing bringing our kids up together. It was one of the best nights ever.

“And it’s not really my place to talk about it, but unfortunately . . . it was a very uncomfortable situation because I kept mine, she didn’t. That was a really tricky part of my and our existence.”

All Saints, which consisted of Melanie, sisters Nicole and Natalie and main songwriter Shaznay Lewis, were always deemed a “cool version” of the Spice Girls and were far more rock ‘n’ roll.

Whereas Victoria Beckham, Emma Bunton and Mel B found love with a footballer, an R&B singer and a dancer respectively, the All Saints girls dated rock stars, with Nicole marrying and having a son with Liam Gallagher.

Melanie says: “We were turning up to kids’ TV shows on a Saturday morning without having one wink of sleep. We looked fine, just a bit of vomiting in the toilets prior to CD:UK.”

After two albums, All Saints split in 2001, a disparity in earnings between Shaznay and the rest of the band being a major factor.

By the end of their existence as a group, Melanie says they “hated each other”.

She adds: “We’d fallen out, it was hell, it was ‘separate’ everything.

“It was just ridiculous but literally one of the proudest moments of being in that band was calling it quits because we didn’t stay for the money. We wanted to be done, we didn’t want to be with each other any more and we made that decision.

“We were in control. We were supposed to go on tour and we gave the money back and I’m so proud of that. That’s one of the only decisions we were all happy to make together, telling each other to f*** off.”

• Girlbands Forever begins on Saturday at 9.20pm on BBC Two.

Little Mix

AS girlbands moved into the 2010s, life did not get any easier, with social media now to contend with.

With Little Mix, Perrie Edwards, 32, bore the brunt of the online abuse due to her relationship with One Direction heart-throb Zayn Malik.

She explains: “Social media was dark, especially back in the day.

“Me and the girls used to get a lot of stick. Things we would wear or how we would look, people would pick us apart.

“You’re hurting enough as it is, never mind everybody having an opinion on it. Everyone wants to know your business and everyone feels like they have ownership in that.

“You can’t escape it. So you may as well sing about it.”

Life in girlbands was relentless, so Little Mix lasting ten years was a monumental achievement.

But Perrie, below, admits she almost quit when she was at her lowest ebb ahead of a gig in Las Vegas.

She says: “I didn’t want to go, I was so exhausted. I tried getting out of the trip and when I got there, I started experiencing panic attacks.

“I didn’t know what was happening at the time, I’d never experienced a panic attack.

“I ended up in a hospital. I didn’t want to let the girls down. They had to do it without me and I hated it and I really resented myself for it.”

She adds: “When you’re in a group dynamic, even though you’re going through stuff individually, you can’t just be selfish so I kind of put a brave face on a lot of time.

“I didn’t want to let the team down.”

Eternal

ETERNAL had a No1 smash hit with I Wanna Be The Only One in 1997, but their looks soon became a concern.

Founding member Kelle Bryan, 50, reveals: “People were always voicing concerns about my weight and about our weight as a band. Stylists would come along and say, ‘This doesn’t fit you, this doesn’t fit you’.

“We’re talking about an era where being a size zero was popular, so they sent us away to this place in the countryside where they were able to control what we ate.”

Atomic Kitten

WHILE on the 1999 Smash Hits Tour, Atomic Kitten’s Kerry Katona fell for Westlife singer Brian McFadden, but was ordered not to date him by management.

Kerry, 45, says: “They all went absolutely f*ing apes**t. I remember [Westlife manager] Louis Walsh saying, ‘I don’t like you, you’re trouble’.

Bandmate and best pal Natasha Hamilton, 43, adds: “It was definitely bad for the brand. Not from my point of view but from the label and management. They said girls can’t be seen with one of the boys in the biggest boyband in the UK because fan jealousy is a thing.”

Mis-Teeq

BEING an all-black group who rose up from the “underground scene” in 1999, Mis-Teeq felt they were discriminated against and given fewer opportunities.

Su-Elise Nash, 44, says: “We weren’t invited to the same premieres. Some magazines wouldn’t consider us for the cover because they didn’t think three black girls would sell.

“Our struggle to get there was definitely not as easy as it would have been if we had one white member or we’d all-white.”

Sugababes

WHEN Sugababes founding member Mutya Buena gave birth to her first child aged 19 – while the band were working on their fourth album – there was no let-up.

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Mutya, now 40, quit the group that same year in 2005 and was later diagnosed with post-natal depression.

Record label exec Darcus Beese says: “I remember standing in my kitchen trying to talk her down. I had no concept of post-natal depression. I would ask questions now like, ‘How’s your mental health?’.”

I’d come for the sunrise but I quickly discovered three things that can ruin even the most beautiful moment

It was just gone 5am when I arrived very tired and ready to tackle a scenic sunrise hike at one of the UK’s most popular peaks. But looking around, it appeared I wasn’t the only one who had this marvellous idea — despite the time, the car park was starting to fill up.

I could make out the faint glow of iPhones as early risers emerged from cars, clutching coffee and camera tripods, shivering in the dark. From here, the route to the summit of Pen y Fan, the highest peak in south Wales, is one of the most straightforward ways to the summit and is often described by locals as a “motorway”, so it shouldn’t have been a huge surprise to find myself surrounded by other keen walkers.

Pen y Fan rises 886 metres (2,907 ft) above a landscape of rolling high hills. It’s one of several flat-topped summits in the area, and the dramatic peak was once a mountain for the committed: avid hikers, the British Army on training exercises and reluctant school kids dragged up for the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award. These days, it attracts anyone with a phone and a sunrise, with viral social media clips turning the picturesque summit into a must-visit backdrop for selfies.

Interest in the UK’s beauty spots has surged since Covid-19 restrictions began in 2020, when an hour’s exercise was a brief escape from lockdown life. In recent years, reports of national parks, beaches, and hiking trails being overrun with crowds, litter, and queues have become almost routine as more people head for the hills, clutching their smartphones.

We set off from the car park in the dark, joining the steady stream of hikers snaking up the trail. The ‘motorway’ path was well-trodden and wide enough in parts to accommodate the crowd without too much jostling. My companions, seasoned hikers with well-worn gear, moved with practised efficiency, while I kept pace, observing the scene unfolding around us.

The trail was a mix of gravel and uneven stone, occasionally slick with dew, and the dawn light had not yet hit the high, rolling green hills, verdant valleys, and grassy mountain plateaus.

Headlamps and iPhone lights dotted the landscape like fireflies, and it was hard not to slow down and take in the absurdity of what felt like hundreds of us all crawling up the same path, multiple dogs running loose, phones flickering, and me, trying not to become part of someone’s Instagram Live.

As we crested the final rise, the line of hikers slowed to a crawl, everyone funnelling toward the summit marker. The Pen y Fan cairn, a large pile of stones that has stood since the Bronze Age, marked with a National Trust plaque and topped by a trig point, was already commanding attention. People had formed an orderly queue, patiently waiting for their turn to stand beside it for a photo.

Even in the soft pre-dawn light, it looked like a scene from a theme park: polite shuffling, polite muttering, everyone clutching phones and cameras, some even doing little TikTok dances.

Watching the strange scene, it was hard not to think about the meteoric rise of ‘TikTok travel’, the phenomenon of visiting somewhere not to discover it, but to make the place a backdrop for your own carefully choreographed content.

Don’t get me wrong: I love a good selfie. But queuing for a picture, or orchestrating an hour-long photoshoot solely for social media, is not something I have patience for.

And yet, despite the absurdity of it all, the sunrise we had come to see was spectacular. The first golden rays of light struck the ridges, catching the Llyn Cwm Llwch lake in a soft, golden glow and providing expansive 360-degree views of the surrounding countryside, including the Black Mountains, Carmarthenshire Fans, and the Cambrian Mountains to the north and west.

A thin mist lingered in the valleys below, and a “dragon’s breath” cloud inversion spread across the landscape, curling around the peaks like smoke and catching the sun’s pink-and-gold light. Even the most devoted TikTokkers paused for a moment just long enough to gape at the extraordinary panorama.

The way the glacier-carved peaks glowed, the soft light spilling over the valleys, and the atmospheric ‘Dragon’s breath’ are why Pen y Fan draws so many, why we brave the crowds, and why, inevitably, you find yourself taking a quick selfie, trying to preserve the moment without letting it slip away.

I’d come for the sunrise, but I quickly discovered three things that can ruin even the most epic mountain moment: crowds, dogs running wild off lead, and litter. None of them is enough to spoil Pen y Fan entirely, but together, they’re a reminder that our growing love for the outdoors can have unintended consequences.

I’m also self-aware enough to know I’m part of the problem. I came for the same thing as everyone else, a photogenic sunrise shared with my hiking pals.

I could have chosen one of the many quieter peaks or valleys scattered across Bannau Brycheiniog (Brecon Beacons) — there’s no shortage of them. But here I am, trudging up the most popular route with everyone else. The lure of dawn light is hard to resist, even when you know exactly how crowded it’s going to be.

As I sipped my coffee and surveyed the summit, it was impossible to ignore the consequences of Pen y Fan’s popularity. The cairn, once a quiet marker of the highest point in south Wales, had become a pivot point for human activity.

Every so often, discarded rubbish or a stray dog poo bag would catch your eye, small but persistent reminders of the mountain’s rising footfall.

Even the Central Beacons Mountain Rescue Team has had to intervene, “downing tools” during training sessions in the National Park to clear up litter, including disposable barbecues, something they described on social media as increasingly common and, heartbreakingly, unnecessary.

Another complication was dogs off-lead. Bounding freely, they sometimes disappeared from view entirely, prompting panicked calls from their owners and, presumably, even more posts in local hiking Facebook groups about missing pets.

On a slope like Pen y Fan, it’s a worry: not just for the dogs (which I love to be clear) but also for wildlife and the growing problem of erosion and mess along the most popular paths.

For all the talk of crowds and chaos and poor pet management, though, I know most people who come here care deeply about the mountains.

I’m a member of enough hiking groups to see how much affection there is for these astonishing landscapes. Most walkers are respectful; they don’t drop litter, keep dogs close, and tread carefully. A small minority spoil it with blaring music, buzzing drones, or abandoned dog poo bags. Perhaps that’s why this behaviour feels so jarring; it isn’t the norm.

What’s needed isn’t less enthusiasm, but more awareness. Simple, consistent reminders of how to “leave no trace,” and a bit of encouragement to explore beyond the same three or four photogenic peaks, might go further than any warning sign ever could.

Of course, awareness is easier to preach than practise when the sunrise forecast looks promising, and so, here I am. It turns out that it’s easy to grumble about the crowds until you realise that you’re one of them. And maybe that’s the paradox of places like Pen y Fan, they’re loved to the point of being over-loved.

Mallam Abakar and his two sons leave their home in Gyawana, Lamurde Local Government Area of Adamawa State, northeastern Nigeria, at 5 a.m. every weekday. Thirty minutes later, they arrive at the farm, and each one of them takes a position.

Five-year-old Isiaka sits at the entrance, guarding a wide bed of ripening rice. His older brother, Abu, stays in the opposite direction. Their father settles near their makeshift shelter, his gaze sweeping across the entire field. 

Isiaka and Abu clutch pieces of zinc and wooden sticks to make a sound. Day after day, the boys repeat this routine, standing guard over their father’s rice field as if it were a battlefield.

By 6 a.m., the team is on high alert. As the father patrols the edges of the field, the boys pound their gongs and shout fiercely, driving away swarms of quelea birds before they can descend.

The quelea species native to sub-Saharan Africa is the most numerous bird species in the world, with a peak post-breeding population estimated at 1.5 billion, according to the Centre for Agriculture and Bioscience International. Known as the red-billed quelea, this small weaver bird is notorious for its attacks on small-grain crops. It is a major pest throughout much of sub-Saharan Africa and can cause significant economic losses.

Across Nigeria, the recurring quela bird invasion of rice farms remains a great challenge to farmers, especially those in Adamawa, Taraba, Sokoto, Jigawa, and Yobe. The invasion is noted as one of the reasons driving food shortages in these regions, as the dangerous parasites are capable of wiping out hectares in minutes during every invasion.

The family that watches

Mallam Abakar has been cultivating rice for more than a decade. Apart from the recurring flood, farmer-herder clashes, another challenge he faces in the region is quelea bird invasions. 

The first major invasion in Adamawa State was reported in 2016, when the birds swept through 12 council areas, destroying crops worth millions of naira. Since then, the birds have repeatedly unleashed large-scale devastation, pushing rice farmers in the region into crippling losses.

“The birds come every year. In the last few years, we noticed a decline in their invasions, but this year, they are back with full force,” Abakar said. 

HumAngle gathered that the birds usually appear at the end of July and stay until October. As early as 6 a.m., they start hovering above the fields, attempting to descend, prompting farmers to chase them away in an effort to protect their crops. 

The birds are scarcely seen in the afternoon, as they retreat to nearby sugar cane plantations for rest. However, around 5 p.m., they re-emerge in their thousands, and farmers resume their vigilant watch. 

Local farmers say the birds are highly sensitive to sound, often targeting unguarded farms. 

Flying in a swarm of thousands, they descend, settle, and can strip a hectare of rice in minutes. The birds are attracted to mostly rice fields, especially those nearing maturity. They feed by sucking out the milky sap from developing grains or plucking out fully ripened seeds. In addition to feeding damage, their rapid wingbeats shake the plants, causing seedlings and grains to fall to the ground.

To keep them away, the farmers patrol their farms, and since they can’t be everywhere at once, they set up dummies to create the illusion of a human presence. Sometimes they tie strips of leather or plastic across the farms. When the wind blows, the strips flutter and mimic movement, which discourages the birds from descending. Farmers also hit gongs to scare the swarms away or alert neighbouring farms that the birds are on the move. 

Mallam Abakar said he and his children only rest when the birds leave the fields in the afternoon. The family has set up a small tent on the farm, where they take shelter from the scorching sun. There, they pray and share meals before returning to their watch. 

Shaking his head repeatedly, Abakar told HumAngle, “It’s draining. Imagine doing this every day before harvest. We get tired, and sometimes it feels like we should just let them be.”

However, he cannot ignore the birds, as he is a full-time farmer who relies on his farm yields to cater for his family. In a good year, he usually harvests around 20 bags of rice or more. However, in recent times, he has endured repeated tussles with the birds.

“There was a certain year they wiped off my entire rice field,” Abakar recounted. “It was devastating, and since then, I’ve been on guard.”

It was after the birds wiped off his rice fields that he started bringing his children to the farm to assist in scaring the birds away. 

“We don’t wait for them to attack before we start defending,” Abakar said. 

Tiny birds, huge losses 

Bernard Ramson, a 40-year-old rice farmer in the region, who also works as a private security guard, told HumAngle that the quelea bird invasion on his farm left him depressed. He started farming in the region last year and enjoyed a bountiful harvest in April after taking part in irrigation.

“We started sighting the birds around July, and by August, their numbers tripled,” he said. 

For months, Bernard tended to his rice farm, applying pesticides and weeding by hand. With less than a month to harvest, he was counting down until he arrived at his rice field one morning to find it destroyed. The birds had drained the milky sap from the ripening rice, leaving behind husks and wasted seeds. 

“I was expecting over 20 bags of rice, but I ended up with half a bag. I was so disturbed to the extent that I was bedridden for days,” he said. 

Bernard has not returned to the farm since the incident. He said the sight of the farm devastates him, and the loss has even disrupted his work routine, making him unable to cope. 

He attributes the loss to his tight schedule. “Farmers who can’t wait all day hire people to watch their farms 24/7 and scare the birds away, but as a security guard who shuffles between work and farming, I wasn’t always available, so the birds took advantage of my absence and wreaked havoc on my farm,” Bernard said.  

While they also damage guinea corn farms, he said, rice farmers suffer the most severe losses.

“I’ve seen people hitting gongs and walking around their farms. Others spread nets on the farm to trap the birds, but even that is not sufficient because some of them end up escaping from the net,” he said. While he is still grappling with the loss, he intends to resume farming next year, and this time, he said, he’d be prepared. 

HumAngle spoke to some farmers in Garin Overseer, another community battling with the invasions in the Lamurde Local Government of Adamawa State. 

Richard Pwanidi, a 35-year-old who inherited his father’s farmland, has erected a makeshift shelter on the farm. There, he and his brothers take turns warding off the quelea birds in the night. He had lost a significant portion of his rice crop to their invasion. 

Richard said that though all mechanisms were in place to drive the birds away, the invasion had cost him a lot. 

HumAngle observed leather strips tied around his farm, dummies placed in front of each rice bed, and his brothers constantly patrolling the fields, creating the impression of human movement. These strategies are similar to the ones adopted by other farmers in the area. 

“We beat drums, we screamed when we saw them approaching, but it seems they were already used to it, because despite the effort, they flew into my farm, descended, and did their thing,” Richard said.  

He lost three beds of rice to the birds, as did his brother on the same day. 

Richard is currently carrying out an early harvest due to the invasion. Even though his rice crops require a week or more to fully ripen, he said he’d rather harvest them now than lose everything to the birds. 

According to Richard, farmers in the region are tired. “We are not talking about five or ten thousand of them. We are talking about thirty thousand and above, descending at once,” he said. 

‘Overlapping schedules’

After witnessing the devastation, HumAngle consulted Bethel Clement, a conservation biology scholar at the A.P. Leventis Ornithological Research Institute, University of Jos, Plateau State, on why the invasion persists. “The issue continues because farming schedules overlap with Quelea migration. Altering rice production timing to avoid this overlap could drastically reduce damage, though local constraints such as water availability may limit such flexibility,” he said. 

The conservation biologist also said that while chemical spraying is widely used, it harms ecosystems and is unsustainable. He recommended more integrated measures, including synchronised planting and early harvesting, organised community bird-scaring, habitat management to reduce roosting near farms, and encouraging natural predators such as kestrels and owls through nest boxes and perches. These approaches, he said, balance food security with environmental protection and offer farmers long-term resilience.

‘We need help’

In 2020, the sum of  ₦13 billion was approved by the Federal Government to tackle the quelea bird and other pest invasions across 12 affected states in Nigeria, including Adamawa, Bauchi, Borno, Kebbi, Sokoto, and Taraba. Four years later, the Federal Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development flagged off the project in Kebbi. However, the affected farmers in Adamawa who spoke to HumAngle said they have yet to benefit from the intervention.

“I’ve been farming rice in this region with my late father since I was a boy, and I’ve never witnessed any aerial spray of chemicals facilitated by the government. We heard that money was approved by the government for aerial spraying, but we’ve not seen it so far,” Richard said. 

He added that the only support they received was from Savannah Sugar, a private company that sprayed chemicals around farms in Gyawana, Garin Overseer, Opalo, and other areas, approximately ten years ago. “[After the company spread the chemical, the birds vanished for like three years before they returned,” Richard added.

HumAngle contacted the office of the Adamawa State Commissioner for Agriculture and Rural Development for comments on the state government’s planned response to the invasion, if any, but received no reply at press time. 

Richard believes government intervention could prevent further losses. 

“We need help,” the farmer said.