On the subject of writing, author Ta-Nehisi Coates says in an interview with the Atlantic: “Writing is an act of courage, it’s almost an act of physical courage… you sit down to write it[an idea] and almost always, what was brilliant before is somehow not so brilliant when you go to write… and so, you fail. And if you’re doing it correctly, the translation of what you hear in your head, what your idea is in your head, onto the page will almost always come out really badly when you first write. But what you have to do is give yourself a day, go back, revise over and over again until you get to something that is, at least, maybe 70% of what you wanted to do. You try to go from really bad to okay to acceptable… I’ve always considered the entire process about failure.”

Asked what his advice was to the young, aspiring writer, prolific Kenyan author and academic, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o had, for an answer, only a single, simple sentence: “write, write, write, and write again. And you’ll get it right.” Stephen King has often recounted his beginnings—how, for all the rejections he got, he pounded a nail on the wall and would hang them up. By the time he turned seventeen, the nail fell because of the many rejection slips he’d hung. So, he got a bigger nail. “If there’s any, any secret that I know to succeed,” he says, “it’s that, if you don’t succeed, get a bigger nail.”

What these three successful authors speak of—as have many other writers, movie stars, athletes, musicians, lawyers, doctors, taxi drivers, philosophers and academics—is the conventional idea of the process. The process of beginning from unknown territory, waking up everyday and honing the craft, again and again and again, without any guarantee of a creative breakthrough, just going at it, and failing, again and again until, at some point, something clicks and the days of practice finally count for something. Or sometimes, based on our goals, nothing comes of it. This guaranteed persistent failure, Coates believes, is why many people don’t write. “It’s depressing in that way,” he says. The antidote, he resolves, is perseverance. This is, of course, true for writing as it is with any other artistic endeavor, and life in general.

Much has been said about Artificial Intelligence(AI). Doom has been spelled on the musician, the writer, the lecturer, the graduate and, among many others, the junior developer. It has been said that AI has democratized content creation, of which, frankly, it has… but at what cost? Many AI creators have labelled AI as just another tool, a function for the human to enhance their day to day. However, I recall similar sentiments posed for the romanticization of social media’s utility functions. Those that reject this presentation of AI are, without nuanced discourse, reduced to mediocre luddites.

“They fear change,” it is said.

“Times are changing, embrace the new or sink!”

“Once they see the benefits, they’ll come around!”

Though I’m someone in the technology space myself, with a meagre software development experience to my name, I lack enough knowledge and expertise to diagnose the now and foretell what the future looks like. As a writer though, I’ve a huge contention: AI is robbing the writer, and creative, of that process—a necessary process from which, for the longest of time, great things have stemmed from.

Writer and research assistant to Ryan Holiday, Billy Oppeinhemer, shares a great question Alan Jacobs, humanities professor and author, has. “For this writer excited about how much of their writing they’ve been able to outsource to AI. For that one eager to outsource his research. For this woman who likes to watch movies at 2X speed. And for that one who loves how fast ChatGPT can summarize an entire book. ‘My question,’ Jacobs writes, ‘about all this is: And then? You rush through the writing, the researching, the watching, the listening, you’re done with it, you get it behind you—and what is in front of you? Well, death, for one thing. For the main thing. But in the more immediate future: you’re zipping through all these experiences in order to do what, exactly? Listen to another song at double-speed? Produce a bullet-point outline of another post that AI can finish for you? The whole attitude seems to be: Let me get through this thing I don’t especially enjoy so I can do another thing just like it, which I won’t enjoy either… I say: If you’re trying to get through your work as quickly as you can, then maybe you should see if you can find a different line of work. And if you’re trying to get through your leisure-time reading and watching and listening as quickly as you can, then you definitely do not understand the meaning of leisure and should do a thorough rethink.”

In consequence to AI’s removal of this friction—the process by which artists create profound art—AI slop mars our screens. Where one would sit with their art, revise, rinse and repeat, now, with a single prompt, an album of over twenty songs, a book of over twenty chapters, art resembling that of Picasso himself, can be created. To speak on the sheer amount of inauthenticity that AI creations have, particularly in the arts, is probably beyond the point. Just recently, Anthropic settled with authors in a lawsuit, with support from the Author’s Guild, for using copyrighted books to train its large language models. They settled for $1.5bn. Suno, a music AI company, was also sued for alleged copyright infringement by Universal though eventually striking a partnership. A plethora of similar cases are bound to soon follow; for the biggest contention that lies with AI creations is it being trained on real human effort and yet, no credit can be given to billions of such creators.

There’s a general dissatisfaction, a feeling of being fooled, when people come to fall in love with a musician only to find that their music was AI generated. Hence, upon encountering beautiful art, music, writing, and videos, the question: “Is it AI?”, is, of late, evoked. One would think quality justifies the means. It hasn’t been so! Many felt robbed after discovering that the viral Xania Monet and Sienna Rose, weren’t “real”. People would like to know if it’s AI or not? The hunger for such a distinction cannot be overlooked. Why? Well, and I’m guessing here, because we attach value to the process. But, I digress.

One thing we learnt from Big Tech’s failures with social media battling for monopoly of people’s attention without the user’s knowledge of the psychology involved behind such plots was that: laws that govern such advancements will always play catch up. Thus, as governments scramble to find their footing around this, or as the tech capitalists begin to rule the information age, I—the writer and AI consumer—am left to the liberty and mercy of self-regulation. It is in this breath that I lament the death of the process.

There’s something irking about the need for speed, the need to automate all, and to self-hack everything. This, I distaste. Not because it is an unfair advantage. No. Personally, to be tried and tested, going through the rejections, understanding that “progress is a magnitude of consistency” — that is the essence of creativity. “And interestingly,” says author Andy Crouch in a conversation with Jay Kim titled, Spiritual Formation and AI, “as AI has been rolled out by the various companies that have commercialized it, almost all of them are using some little iconography that represents like a little magical moment, like these little starbursts… or, sometimes, a literal wand to your writing and boom, without any effort, without you becoming a better writer it’ll just make your writing better. And we think: That sounds like the life I want. I want a life of minimal difficulty, maximal effect where I get to see things happen without myself having to be, kind of, deeply changed for them to happen.”

“I think writing should be hard,” says Coates, in another interview with Big Think. “...At the end of the day, the people I wanna read are people who would be socially dysfunctional if they weren’t writing. I wanna read people who need to write… People who’re halfway doing it should go work on wall street, or whatever…” These sentiments come across as a hard line, but I’ll have to concur with Ta-Nehisi here. Democratising access and lowering barriers of entry seems close to a utopia. Just as YouTube removed monopoly on content distribution, allowing individuals to create empires outside the need of mainstream networks, AI seems to promise the same, or so we believe. As a creative, I’m however afraid we’re breeding creatives that are halfway doing it.

Regardless of how shiny AI is, the process remains shinier, and necessary!

For March, this is The Pen and Pulse’s meditation.🫡

As always, thank you for reading this free publication.

Amavaka(cowards) is a song by BET award winning South African artist, Sjava, that speaks about self-doubt, where oftentimes, juxtaposing our present reality with our dreams, we feel as if everything is falling apart, we’re not where we wish to be, and, in adjudicating ourselves, we distaste our previous efforts, decisions, progress, and status quo. In the song he says:

Ngay’buka es’bukweni ngay’zonda
(I looked in the mirror and hated myself)

Ngathi “uwena omosh’ impilo yami” ngaz’khomba
(I said “you are the one ruining my life” and pointed at myself)

Ngizahlulela
(Judging myself)

Ngidlisa inqondo yam u-poison
(Feeding my mind poison)

Ngiy’tshela ukuthi ngiyahluleka
(Telling myself that I’m failing)

Kanti I’m on the right track
(Whereas, I’m on the right track)

“The aim of the message,” he says in an interview, “ is for people to resist applying unnecessary pressure on themselves.” He gives the example of a traveler. Assuming they’re travelling to point C from A, and they’ve only just reached B, with arrival at C still unclear and uncertain. Lamenting the unknown distance of C without acknowledging the distance they’ve travelled would be akin to feeding themselves poison.

Canadian psychologist and author, Jordan Peterson, in his book, 12 Rules For Life, expounds it like this: “No matter how good you are at something, or how you rank your accomplishments, there is someone out there who makes you look incompetent…Inside us dwells a critical internal voice and spirit that knows all this.” Worse, because “we have become digitally connected to the entire seven billion,” “our hierarchies of accomplishment are now dizzyingly vertical.” As is evident in Sjava’s lyrics, this internal critic condemns our efforts and is prone to make one doubt the value of their endeavors.

When we were young, it was necessary that we compared ourselves to others. Youths are neither individual nor informed. Not enough time has passed to accrue wisdom for the development of standards. And without standards, there is nothing to aim at; there is practically nowhere to go and nothing to do. “As we mature,” writes Peterson, “we become, by contrast, increasingly individual and unique. The conditions of our lives become more and more personal and less and less comparable with those of others.” Therefore, once we’re adults, we’ve become singular beings with our own “particular, specific problems—financial, intimate, psychological, and otherwise.” In this context, comparing ourselves to others must come with caution, or effectively, not at all.

On why people feel poorer, less productive, and generally worse off than they really are, writer Billy Oppeinheimer, in his weekly newsletter, quotes Dr. Laurie Santos(professor of psychology and cognitive science at Yale University and a leading researcher on happiness and fulfillment) who says: “The problem is that one of the ways we evaluate pretty much every situation is that we don’t do it objectively, we do it relatively.” We evaluate our financial status, productivity levels, relationships, intelligence with even richer, more productive, more seemingly romantic, and more intelligent people. “This is just a fundamental way we evaluate stuff in life,” Dr. Santos continues. “We don’t do it in objective terms. We do it relative to those around us. And that can have a huge hit on people’s perception of their happiness levels, their stress levels, and their overall satisfaction with their lives.” Here, Peterson goes on to say: “We live within a framework that defines the present as eternally lacking and the future as eternally better.”

Making the album, Isibuko(mirror), where the song Amavaka is found, Sjava says the songs were mainly dedicated to him; “It was more of like, I’m talking to myself,” he says. Amavaka’s meditative lofi beat encapsulates the reflective mode he was in during the song’s creation. For me, celebrating—or, rather—turning 28 years brought with it the ever so loud internal critic, relentlessly questioning and presenting its noisy case. On Grounding, another song on the album, in a heartfelt conversation between Sjava and his mother, his mother expresses concern that he hasn’t married and hasn’t started a family yet. She notes that his “sun is setting” yet he still has no children. On track 8, My life, Sjava presents a firm warning not to envy the glitter and gold we see on the “Gram” because what’s mooi van ver is often ver van mooi—an Afrikaans idiom that translates to, “beautiful from afar, but far from beautiful.” Okay, this is not a Sjava review or masterclass; I digress. The point, however, is: oftentimes, life ushers us to such moments of introspection. How we talk to ourselves and the metrics by which we weigh our efforts are fundamentally important.

What is important is moving forward, Sjava further reflects. The pace—usually because it doesn’t often happen at our desired pace—is not so much a problem as is how we adjudicate our progress relative to our past and present selves. Because, untrained, our internal voice is mere smoke and mirrors, obscuring the true essence of our being.

And, because we perceive and experience the world in our own idiosyncratic manner, as far as comparison is concerned, we settle at Peterson’s 4th Rule:

Compare yourself to who you were yesterday, not to who someone else is today.

For February, this is The Pen and Pulse’s meditation.🫡

As always, thank you for reading this free publication.
Aluta Continua, beautifully so.

Three brothers: Phiwe, born in Zimbabwe, the other two, Elijah and Chinedu, born and bred in the everything-happens-and-you-can-be-anything-you-wish-to-be America. As fate would have it, Phiwe finds his way to the U.S. There, he meets and lives with his brothers, together with their mother. The mother, having left home when Phiwe was only a year old, gets to see and be with all her sons, twenty-one years later. Five years have passed. Phiwe and his brothers, in a bittersweet voyage, journey home. Finally, for the American brothers, of home, they get to put context. For Phiwe, it’s an emotional homecoming. Bittersweet and emotional because, although the boys are eventually making it home, their mother no longer lives among them.

In this 37 minute, mini documentary, Phiwe attempts to bottle the feeling.

First, his own desires to share their story are an existential angst. “Given the democratization of content,” he says, “ everyone can just create anything now and, for most people, it comes from a position of self-importance.” He worries, beyond his own motivations, if such media can find resonance. Be that as it may, the story is told and published.

Second, Imvelaphi(origin)—the notion of exploring one’s identity through traditional, historical and, among others, birthplace themes—are what the American brothers get to contend with. While Zimbabwe is foreign to them, as is the family they meet, they’re presented with a huge sense of belonging. “Being born elsewhere doesn’t matter.” echoes one of their sisters. “You need to know where your other family is. It’s important to know your family, your culture and tradition. And no matter where you are or where you’re going, just know you have a home, back home with your family.”

Elijah reflects differently, or beyond the immediate questions of migration, home and loss. “While it’s good to see family,” he reflects, “it’s also good to exchange culture. The things I might have found a priority before coming here, I might have a different lens on them, seeing how other people live and seeing the things that they prioritize.” Here, I believe, Elijah speaks directly to the question of America or Americans being divorced from the whole world. A trip around Bulawayo’s CBD, to the village, and the mighty Victoria Falls, challenges whatever world view the American brothers have. Perspectives are reshaped, possibly, for the better.

All this done, largely, in memory of their mother. For those at home, seeing how grown the boys are, find comfort and their hearts are warmed despite not getting the opportunity to send off their daughter, mother, aunty, sister, and granny. But also, hopefully, for those who will watch, this is done with the hope, of course, that resonance may be found. Well, and the mere fun of doing it—documenting a trip back home, to the motherland, to Zimbabwe.

Phiwe is my name and, I present to you, as it were, my echoes from home.

Compliments of the New Year.🎆🧨🎆🎇

And, as always, thank you for reading this free publication.
Aluta Continua, beautifully so.

In Ubuhle Bendalo, a song about reconnecting with nature and finding peace away from the chaos of modern life, BET award winning artist, Sjava, begins with this meditation: Impilo yasemadolobheni inok’vala inqondo(City life has a way of closing the mind). Here, he acknowledges how exhausting city life can be—the hustle and bustle of places like Johannesburg, all prone to disconnecting one from their true self. This feeling, I confess, for the past five years or so, I’ve felt immensely. Having gracefully departed my home, Zimbabwe, for the glorious American cheese and fast food, life never felt like it could stop, pause, take a break, and begin, again, anew and energized.

Though hard to admit, the alternative life—being at home, lacking much opportunity for bettering one’s self, city-induced stress is, unfortunately, a thing. I found, too, that being an immigrant in a foreign land like the U.S coupled the former diagnosis with its own stress. Many cite loneliness once abroad. Others, just failing to acclimatize. For fear of this sounding like complaining, we acknowledge these unfortunate life happenings, but, rather, dwell on Sjava’s initial city life diagnosis, which, for immigrants or otherwise, is universal.

The remedy, Sjava suggests, is returning home. Home, for our artist in question, is Bergville, a small town in KwaZulu-Natal(KZN), remote and far from the city, characterized by mountains, water streams and the typical village identities. I write this from home, after meeting with grandma, my cousins, the cows and goats, driving in the village dusty roads, catching a ride in the beat up Honda Fit that roars and coughs with every gear change, eating authentic sadza and beef stew, and, above all, communing in IsiNdebele, my mother tongue. While it has been long since I left, everything feels familiar, slow, calming, peaceful, and just right.

Ngiyajabula ukuba sekhaya ngibuke ubuhle bendalo (I am happy to be at home and look at the beauty of nature), continues Sjava, proclaiming the beauty of being home again. KZN is synonymous with many villages in Zimbabwe, mine included. Thus, in Sjava’s words, I find resonance. Looking forward to my homecoming, I wondered what it’d feel like. The feeling of familiarity, like I were home just yesterday, like I never left—that was somewhat ironic. I don’t know what I expected, but what I got was unexpected still. In all this, Sjava’s Ubuhle Bendalo spoke to the heart of my emotions. Being home, as Sjava says:

Kuleth’ ukuthula kuthoba inhliziyo(It brings peace and soothes the heart)
Ngikhohlwa ukuhlupheka(I forget suffering)
Nenkinga zomhlaba(And the problems of the world)

The lyrics, as they go on, become a prayer of gratitude. He marvels at the world as a finished masterpiece, noting the simplicity of life in youth, back at home, when, as young boys, they played like calves, the parents still alive. “Impilo ayikholula emazweni lasizama khona—life is not easy in the countries where we’re trying”, he says. “Uthando nenjabulo kulapho esazalwa khona—Love and happiness are where we we born.”

To all this, by Sjava, we’re exhorted to go home, “siyokhothwa idlozi s’phinde sibuye sozama”. To go home, and get spiritually rejuvenated, then, we come back and try again. Of course, for many, home is city life, it’s all they’ve known—the flats of Johannesburg and high-rise apartments of Manhattan. The metaphor, throughout the song, I believe, is that: because, life moves really fast, it is of paramount importance that we take time for ourselves, to breathe, pause, reflect, rest, take in life, accepting and being grateful for what is, hoping and striving for more, and thus, coming back, with more energy and zeal to try again, and again, and again.

It’s been less than a week since I’ve returned, but the feeling is more than surreal. I pray that we can all feel and experience the peace that Sjava speaks of. That tranquil exuded by nature. That momentary forgetting of all our sufferings, and the problems of the world. All this, because, we’re human, and we need, dearly, a massive break.

As always, thank you for reading this free publication.
Aluta Continua, beautifully so.

Spotify Wrapped season is upon us. Our timelines are flooded with favorite artists, best albums, ridiculous listening minutes, and the absurd amount of genres we obliviously consume. The weird and unexpected tastes of people I know have been amazing to witness. You think you know someone until they share their playlist. The revelations: shocking.

Note: Apple Music Replay, or whatever YouTube and others have, are intentionally not mentioned. I not only prefer Spotify, I judge and am prone to discriminate against Apple Music users. For what reason, you ask, in utter disgust and offence, oh you Apple music user, cursing, with every vein and artery in your body, at my holier-than-thou, self-righteous, I-esteem-myself-highly stance. Simple: we like what we like.

I kid. Of music streaming platforms, to each their own. And, as I have a personal rule on reading, “read what you like; none should be judged on the subject of their literature but by the content of their character.”

In the final Episode of The Pen And Pulse Podcast’s first season, my guest, Sharon Matongo—co-founder of Charity Drive Zimbabwe, a graduate of Columbia Law School and, a Kofi Annan Changemaker—poses the question: In a world characterized by information overload, where ideas I hold are already echoed by other people out there, as a writer, why should I add to the conversation? This, she asks, as an extension to the question: why do I write?

My off-the-top answer ran all over. My convictions, however, were clear. I’d no illusions about the attempt at writing. Regardless of what I thought, or how intimidating the existence of a more profound, well articulated, marketplace of ideas was, what I felt, or found interesting, I’d to pen down. Else, at night, laying down to rest, thoughts of not indulging the paper would haunt me. The thought of someone out there having already expressed, in a deeper way, an idea that interested me, was no deterrent.

I’ve soon learnt that there exists a billion unique life experience combinations. There’s a plethora of music genres, artists, philosophies, and many other variables, all amplifying similar narratives in different perspectives. Largely, all expressions reflect how we personally experience the world. While I’m forever inclined to judge hard rock fanatics(Because, why? Have they ever heard of Whitney Houston?)I understand that we consume art that mostly resonates with us. Given a similar beat and lyrics, say on love, I’d still pick J Cole over Kendrick. Yes, the implication is intentional. When my brother recommends podcasts to me, while the topics of conversation would work, “It matters the packaging,” I always say. Again, all this, because we like what we like. It seems, therefore, that no two people can express an idea the same, especially if building from their experiences. And no one person resonates with everyone. Which is what my guest on the podcast goes on to state.

“...there’s a group of people that exist that is only connected to you,” she says, “like a unique set of people that exist that will only hear conversations from you as a source.” From this lens, freedom to create manifests, at least for the creative willing to reach out and just create, regardless. Thus, in a congested idea space, writer Austin Kleon says to the creative in his book, Steal Like an Artist: “If we’re free from the burden of trying to be completely original, we can stop trying to make something out of nothing, and we can embrace influence instead of running away from it.” For Kleon, nothing is original. For me, even if an idea were assumed original, if it interests me deeply, I feel obligated, at least to myself, to share my perspective on it.

So, why do I write?

Of all the forms of self expression, how we experience and share our realities, writing compels me more. Cliche? Maybe. But, frankly, for the longest time, I’ve felt it is the Pen that gives life to my Pulse. And, on which ideas to share and which to shy away from, because, well, they’ve been said already, with this meditation, maybe there’s no question at all.

In full awareness that I may be judged… I present to you my 2025 Spotify Wrapped:

I’ve written previously on the Private School Amapiano king—Kelvin Momo and Sjava on here:

As always, thank you for reading this free publication.
Aluta Continua, beautifully so.

On the question of the consequential good and bad of social media, at least in the early stages, it was assumed the technology was neutral. In fact, that’s what social media companies had us believe. Facebook, for instance, was just a tool for connection, as is a car for transportation; people could, thus, choose to use it well or with malicious intent. Frankly though, it did connect us more than ever. However, as technology evolved, people began to realise that the initial promise was, indeed, false. Instead, as a former start-up founder and Google engineer, Tristan Harris, notes: “There’s a whole playbook of techniques that get used to get you using the product for as long as possible.”

“...the hot new technologies that emerged in the past decade or so are particularly well suited to foster behavioral addictions, leading people to use them much more than they think is useful or healthy,” writes computer scientist, Cal Newport, in his book Digital Minimalism. “...Compulsive use, in this context,” he states, “ is not a result of character flaw, but instead the realization of a massively profitable plan.” And this, dear friends, is the problem. I felt a long time ago that— while I was attempting to build healthier habits with my social media use, Instagram, TikTok and Twitter in particular—I wrestled with a greater unknown force. “It’s not about usefulness,” declares professor Newport, “it’s about autonomy.” My failures to log off and ‘touch grass’ whenever I so wished, reinforced, more and more, the uncomfortable realisation that I’d lost control.

The year 2023 was my turning point. During Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s house, I noticed many were glued to their phones. Coming from a country naturally big on community, this scenario was sad. Of course, conversations were had here and there, but then back to the screens. Having recently encountered Netflix’s hit documentary, The Social Dilemma, my mind was ripe with explanations of the scenes unfolding before me. Yet, everyone seemed happy. Generally, I felt miserable. I couldn’t understand why no one seemed to care that we were being manipulated into being glued to our screens. Feelings of anxiety; a need for social approval; and the usual comparison had intensified. Then, I knew a lot was wrong with me and possibly, the engineering of social media.

Fast forward 2025, with more intention, resolve and exposure to literature and content supporting evidence against the modern day algorithm, I deleted Instagram, Twitter and TikTok for good. Well, with Twitter, maybe not for good, but I can confidently state that the hours spent on social media dropped astronomically. As a creative myself, a line from Austin Kleon’s book, Show Your Work, forever echoes in my mind: “Don’t show you lunch or your latte; show your work.” This, to me, reiterated Cal Newport’s solution to our social media addiction. Cal suggests many alternative ways to rid ourselves from the screens: practicing solitude, setting social media hours, complete social media detox, embracing boredom, replacing scrolling with books, going on walks, and deleting social media apps from the phone, among others. At the core of these alternatives, however, is intentional use of social media. This is where those who argue for social media being business models for others find resonance. Because, there are, as already noted, undisputable benefits to all this new technology, social connection included. But, if all were good things, this conversation wouldn’t exist. Understanding, at every particular moment, why we are logged in, becomes of paramount importance. This is probable rationale that eradicates doom scrolling—just existing on the apps because we crave that dopamine spike whereas there are many other things, healthier even, that we could be doing.

In an interview on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, a more mature Tristan Harris, there to warn about the dangers of unregulated AI on humanity, begins with what went wrong with social media. “ So, in 2013,” he says, “I was at Google. I was a lot younger, and I was a design ethicist. I basically realized, when I saw all of my colleagues on the bus scrolling Facebook constantly, that the incentives were the thing that was going to determine the world that we got. The incentive was the race to maximize eyeballs and engagement. Whatever sticky, whatever gets people’s attention, whatever salacious. You run children’s development and self-image through that. You run politics through that. You run media through that. You run information and democracy through that.” Once one understands, as Harris says, that all this is done with the goal of market dominance, the need to own as much of the global psychology of humanity, it’s difficult not to be alarmed.

Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner make clear in their book, Think Like a Freak, that human behavior is driven by incentives. Understand incentives and the underlying system becomes visible. From this lens, we also understand how autocrats get and keep political power, as illustrated by the authors(Alastair Smith and Bruce Bueno de Mesquita) of The Dictators’ Handbook. “Politics,” they write, “like all of life, is about individuals, each motivated to do what is good for them, not what is good for others.” By looking at social media’s profits and incentives, as is now becoming of AI, too, the goal remains as the need to maximise one’s attention given to the apps. “And if you affect attention…,” emphasizes Harris on What Now? with Trevor Noah, “you affect where all of humanity’s choices arise from. And what is better for winning the ‘attention economy’? “...a more addicted, outraged, polarized, narcissistic, validation seeking, breakdown of truth, breakdown of democracy’s trust and society. All of these things, unfortunately, are direct consequences of where the incentives in social media place us.”

You’re likely to see an Instagram story from me, a retweet, a TikTok like, or whatever new ways of keeping us feeling like we’re more engaged and better off on these platforms than our immediate realities. Don’t call me out for a false preacher, the do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do type of guy. I’m human, and, like all of us, sometimes, vain. But, in all this, I found more reason to be off the apps. And as the years progress, I hope to be off completely and find better ways to exist. Because, ultimately, it’s not only a fight for autonomy against the tech giants. It is what Cal Newport points to in Digital Minimalism, the question tackled by Aristotle in Nicomachean Ethics: How does one live a good life?

In the context of social media and AI, where attention is psychologically manipulated for profit, where regulation is left to the level of the self, how, then, does one really live a good life?

Note: For regular readers of this publication, thank you for your support. If you were enjoying any of these musings, sorry I left. I hope I’m back. But, assuming for this you care, I’ve been writing, because, as the streets say: the grind never stops.
I never got to Thank you all for my first milestone—a 100 subscribers. Where it was once a void, a small community has formed. To many more milestones.
For the aspiring writer, like me still, don’t fear the page and sharing your thoughts. The writing can(will) always get better, we just have to keep at it.

As always, Aluta Continua, beautifully so.

In his book Making Sense of God, Presbyterian pastor and author Timothy Keller makes the case that: even in a modern, secular age, art—music, in particular, provides a powerful, almost ineffable glimpse into a realm of meaning that seems to transcend the purely material world. “There are times when we are ‘hit’ with such experiences of overwhelming beauty that we feel forced to use the term ‘spiritual’ to explain our reaction,” he writes.

Keller extends this as an invitation to skeptics, making the case for the existence of God. I wish to do no such thing. Yet, I stand with those who have, at some point in their lives, sensed the nearness of something—perhaps Heaven itself—through great music or profound beauty. Of course, one may argue that transcendent quality of art is subjective. Because some individuals feel that art connects them to a deeper, more meaningful reality does not objectively prove that there is a metaphysical realm behind these experiences. True. But, that's beside the point.

Picture this: It’s 1AM, you’re in bed and still awake. Sleep eludes you. Your mind rages with questions about what was, what is and what could be. The thought of what lies in the distant future, also seemingly beyond your power, scares you. Anxiety creeps in. It’s the feelings of inadequacy—thoughts of never amounting to anything and never reaching full potential that are unbearable. Thoughts of regrets and mistakes also whisper from the void. Romanticization of the past, settling on the better days being gone—when you were young, dangerous and free—is a common thought thread. Fears of being alone and never finding true love. What of promises made to the self? Yes, those haunt the inner man too—thinking you cannot even show up for yourself and commit to that which will create the better version of you. I believe these are demons, because the night is loud and they threaten your existence, when all you desire is, but to lay your head, be at peace, and hope to try again tomorrow. Then, as has become tradition on days like this, you cue your favorite song on the speaker, and an aura of tranquil envelopes the room. A feeling that: something is right in the world, abounds.

For me, Ikhaya Lam by Kelvin Momo, released in 2023, is that ultimate track. Featuring Babalwa—hailed the queen of Amapiano, and Yallunder, it remains my favorite to this day. But it is Yallunder’s voice, that angelic, soul-stirring sound, that brings me closest to the feeling Keller describes. Ikhaya Lam is a prayer. In it, Yallunder pleads with God not to leave her side, acknowledging that without Him, she is without strength. She asks for light to illuminate her path. And in her voice, in those haunting, reverberating notes, I find what I can only describe as the presence of something greater.

But now, that voice is no more.

Yolanda ‘Yallunder’ Nyembezi, one of South Africa’s great vocalists and whose work I’m in awe of, passed away on March 13, 2025. This is my tribute to her. To an artist who, unknowingly, became part of my nights, my moments of stillness, my search for solace and who brought me closer to that sense of “Heaven”. Whenever I need motivation, something to fill the silence, or a soundtrack to punctuate my highest and lowest moments, Yallunder’s graceful collaboration with Kelvin Momo never fails me.

Evidently, when Amapiano was taking over the world, I gravitated towards the Private School Amapiano—a more refined, soulful and jazz-infused variation of the sound. Unlike the club-heavy anthems that define mainstream Amapiano, Private School Amapiano is introspective, deeply emotional, and often spiritual. It is, at least for me(and I will take no rebuttal for this), standing as the genre’s equivalent of Beethoven, Mozart, or Vivaldi. It’s the kind of music you’d hear in the end scene of a Roman epic film like Gladiator, where the protagonist cradles a fallen loved one, beholding up into the heavens, and wishing for a miracle, or a reason for the tragedy having befallen them.

Yallunder’s voice was one of Private School Amapiano’s defining sounds. Whether on Langa’elihle, Ikhaya Lam, Intyatyambo, Ndinovalo, Bawo, or Imvuselelo, she carried something rare—something that felt like a bridge between the earthly and the divine, something testament of art as evidence of the transcendent.

I recently turned 27 and it solemnizes life to think that Yallunder, at a promising and budding stage of her career, only 30 years old, has departed this earth. While there’s comfort in knowing that she got the opportunity to share her beautiful music with the world, touching and blessing many hearts, as Soulful fans, our hearts are broken. Through her music I knew her and it is through her music that she’ll live on. She has multiplied and will continue to exist in our hearts.

So, who is your Yallunder?

What is that song that makes you glimpse the eternal, that makes you feel like, just for a moment, something beyond this world exists?

Do you flirt with the transcendent, or affirm it even? My only hope is that you have, at least once, been swept up in joy and wonder by a work of art.

To the universe, I say: May her soul rest among the stars.

• It has been a while since we spoke, dear reader. First, thank you for 90 Subscribers. I’m 10 subscribers shy of 100. We’re slowly and surely approaching that first milestone. Please share this publication, restack, retweet and help me get to a 100 subscribers.
  About my absence: I definitely have been writing, well, almost everyday, but nothing to post here. I’ve been working on pieces for publication. However, It is my wish that I share something here at least once every month, and if God wills, that’ll be the case.

• The podcast is on halt. I’m still doing a lot of work underground and will be back, soon and better.

• My all time favorite song(I will not be accepting any judgement):

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Aluta Continua, beautifully so

In his 1882 book, The Gay Science, German philosopher, cultural critic and poet Friedrich Nietzsche popularizes the concept Amor fati, a Latin phrase meaning “the love of one’s fate.”

“I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who makes things beautiful,” Nietzsche writes. “Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse the accusers. Looking away shall be my only negation! And, all in all, and on the whole: some day I wish to be only a Yes-sayer!”

As humans, we have a proclivity towards assigning logical explanations to why things are. Without those reasonings, we sink into anxiety and the crippling fear of uncertainty. We want to believe we are in control, that we fully understand our reality, and that life follows a discernible pattern.

For this reason, religious, philosophical, and scientific frameworks have long served as ways to make sense of an unpredictable world. Whether through divine will, logical deduction, or empirical observation, humans have consistently sought to construct narratives that bring clarity to life's uncertainties. Yet, as Nietzsche suggests, perhaps the true path to peace is not in explaining everything, but in embracing it all—without resistance, without regret, and with absolute affirmation.

Back home, traditional healers are the norm. Like psychics, they claim to posses power to read that which is unknown to the average being. Some of the richest institutions across Africa, are prophetic churches. Regular main stream churches without the same miracle appeal have seen a rapid membership decline. I believe that most, if not all, of these prophets are frauds. The very existence and prosperity of these oppressive so-called spiritual institutions is a testament to our relentless quest for answers. We are driven by an insatiable need to explain what is and why, searching for meaning even in places that exploit our uncertainties.

But, to what end?

At 23 years old, I lost my mother to cancer. It was tragedy in its rawest form—unforgiving, irreversible, and utterly devoid of reason. Coupled with the grief was a desire to understand, why. She had left for the US when I was two years old. And the same year we reunited— me flying from Zimbabwe to the majestic land of cheese and fast food, five months after my landing, she took her las breath.

"God does things with a purpose at his own time.” This was the overall church rationale. Others said at least I got to spend some time with her. A part of me was grateful and understood the world where it was all God’s perfect orchestration, given her condition, He made sure we reunite at the eleventh hour. However, through all this, I did question God. I questioned the universe. I interrogated life itself : Why couldn’t I have lived with her a little longer? Why did it have to be me and my brothers? Sure, maybe it would make me stronger but how?

Looking back now, a lot of my internal suffering would’ve been alleviated if I had the power to accept reality as is. I know, sounds absurd, preposterous and inhuman to experience such tragic death and just accept it. Actually, it feels impossible as I state it. But as a principle, it’s valid.

Things happen to us, by people and by the world. Many of which we don’t have the power to control. In the words of renowned Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie:

“Be courageous enough to accept that life is messy. Your life will not always perfectly match your ideology. Sometimes even your choices will not align with your ideology. Don’t justify and rationalize it. Acknowledge it. Because it is in trying to justify that we get into that twisting, dark, unending tunnel of lies from which it is sometimes impossible to re-emerge whole. Be courageous enough to say, “I don’t know.” Ignorance acknowledged is an opportunity. Ignorance denied is a closed door, and it takes courage to admit to the truth of what you do not know”

So, today, dear reader, I prescribe Amor fati. It is in this acceptance that we can make space for living fully in the present. Not everything has to be understood to be meaningful. Not every loss needs a justification, and not every love requires a reason. Some things simply are—and that, in itself, is enough.

I must admit, sometimes these perspectives feel abstract and divorced from reality. Even when Nietzsche profoundly presents it; it feels like bull. But, Perhaps true peace comes not from knowing all the answers but from being okay with the fact that we never will. Some things just are. The river flows. The seasons change. People come and go. The universe expands with no obligation to explain itself. And maybe that’s the point—life was never meant to be fully understood, only lived.

To live with amor fati is to welcome life as it unfolds, without resistance, without resentment—only with open arms, open eyes, and an open heart. Because in the end, acceptance is not giving up; it is waking up.

• I wrote an article for the Brittle Paper Magazine, Please check it out
  Adulting in Foreign Lands |Phiwe Mhlope| Creative Non-Fiction

• If you’re not subscribed to the podcast yet, you’re missing out. More Exciting content coming: Writers, Authors, Young Change Makers and African politics lovers.
  The Pen & Pulse Podcast

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Aluta Continua, beautifully so

A pinch and punch for the dawn of February.

February is my birthday month. It is also Black History Month (U.S & Canada). But, most importantly, it is the month of love. To quote the viral Kabusa Oriental Choir,

"Valentine is coming,
Where’s your boyfriend?
You’re sitting at home,
lonely.”

Seriously though, whenever I think about love, I always come back to the words of psychologist and Holocaust survivor, Viktor Frankl: Love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. We all need love. We all want love. In our quest for fulfilment in this life is also the quest to be loved and to love. To be loved deeply and without condition.

However, if you ask me, this love thing is the rarest of emotions to find. And to those who have it, it’s of paramount importance that they nature it as if it were a seedling daring daring to become.

I also strongly believe that love must be sought diligently. Because, again, as Frankl puts it: love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence. However, above all, the love of one’s self aids the quality of love we can give.

When love finds us, or the prospect of it—in those early stages of romance—it consumes us like a furnace blasted to burn gold. We lose ourselves in its engulf. Possessed, we may forget who we are and that love burns us. To love ourselves protects us from the toxicity of love. We know when and when not to let down our walls, which at some point, if the love is genuine may need to come down. We know our worth and thus, what not to compromise in the name of love. While the pursuit of love requires risking being hurt, as in faith requires risking disappointment, knowing one’s values protects us from losing ourselves in the process.

In self-love arises boundaries. Its easy to give freely without losing self-worth, without risking humiliation. When we love ourselves, we can embrace the knowledge that not matter what happens, you remain worthy, whole, and enough. Above all, when we love ourselves, we love others from abundance not from lack.

So, in this month of love, I prescribe self-love—not as a substitute for love from others, but as its foundation. Love yourself enough to know your worth, to set boundaries, and to give love from a place of wholeness, not desperation. Because the best kind of love—the one that endures, that nurtures, that truly fulfills—begins with the love you give yourself.

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Aluta Continua, beautifully so

When recording Seasons—a song for the Black Panther Soundtrack, BET Award winning Afropop artist Sjava had a dilemma.

“I didn’t know what to talk about until the last day,” he says in an exclusive Apple Music interview with Ebro.

“I was so confused… Do I do it in English so that the whole world can understand or do I choose the feeling more than the understanding of what I’m saying?”

Eventually, on the last day of recording, he went with the feeling delivering what would be among one of his biggest verses and songs of his career. Today, Sjava is hailed also as one of the most authentic artists South Africa has ever produced. His Zulu raps and traditional-to-modern aesthetic embodies the rich culture of South Africa, of the Zulu people, something that he doesn't shy away from embracing.

Like many Spotify users, I questioned my 2024 wrapped. My top five songs and top five artists seemed inaccurate. But I wouldn’t know how the algorithm works or maybe I wasn’t paying attention to what I was listening to. However, having Sjava as my most streamed artist of the year got me questioning: What is it about him or his music that draws me in?

Responding to the question on his decision to don a traditional Zulu outfit to the 2018 BET Awards, Sjava said:

"I went to the Metros [Metro FM Music Awards 2017] wearing a black Brentwood [trousers], a leather jacket with no shirt on. I also recently attended the SAMAS [South African Music Awards] in my traditional Zulu wear, imvunulo, and on both occasions I was made a joke of.

"What people don't understand is that when I attend these big events wearing imvunulo, it is because where I come from, in Bergville, there's a kid that's making music who goes to Shembe—that kid has always been told he can't make it in the industry because his hair is different and he has a beard. So when he sees me looking like him, he is assured that he does not have to change for anyone.

"At the same time, I also represent my people from Malvern Taxi rank. My mom used to be a vendor here, for many years. I practically grew up on Jules Street. I have to represent those people, because they played a huge role in making me who I am today. They are a big part of me. So, everything I do, I do for people."

Growing up around a grandfather who had a strong sense of culture and tradition, I came to appreciate what most young people would deem archaic and probably retrogressive. Also, inevitably so, my grandfathers’ old school playlist stuck with me. Sjava is the bridge that connects my grandfathers’ world with mine. When called to the occasion, he drops hip hop rhymes and bars like his life depends on it or, as the Twitter streets say, like rent is due.

Whilst many hip pop artists were trying to sound American, he took his American hip pop influences and his home town music love to create his own sound—a fusion of African pop, Hip pop, Maskandi(traditional Zulu music) and contemporary R&B. Coupled with his custom made traditional Zulu outfits, he defined his own lane and became a critically acclaimed success.

Beyond the music, I believe I fell in love with the Story. In the beginning of his verse to Seasons the black panther soundtrack feature, Sjava introduces the song with a disclaimer:

“...Insizwa uma ina-thirty five kthiwa is' indala
( If a man is now 35 they say he’s old).

Laph' eng'phuma khona maw'phuma khona bathi aw'fiki la
(Where I come from, they say when you come from there you don’t make it that far.)

Ngyamangala uma ngi-la
(I’m amazed that I’m here.)

Bebathi ng'yophelel emoyeni, beba right
(They thought I would just disappear into thin air. They were right.)

Manje ngiy'nkanyezi…
(Because I’m now a star)”

Sjava found success at an older age. On the come up, he was ridiculed for hanging around young hip pop boys—a move deliberate in building his music career and friendships. At 35, with a Kendrick Lamar endorsement and feature, he can’t believe he made it that far, given where he’s coming from.

To me, he’s a success story closer to home. Because, oftentimes we are fed success stories of other people—people in Hollywood, CEOs in Silicon Valley and rich kids who had every opportunity to fail and still get access to try again. Stories close to home—the African success story—are far from our day to day reality. As Sjava echoes, being seen on the world’s biggest stages by a kid from the same neighbourhood he was coming from makes them believe in the possibility of that reality.

Of course, it is possible to love an artist without knowing their come up story or even relate to any of their struggles. But to justify my Spotify wrapped, which I initially wasn’t in consensus with, it has to be bigger than just what my ears first heard. Yes, that’s how sacred occupying the number one artist spot on my Spotify-wrapped is. It comes with such great responsibility for the artist—who, by the way, doesn't even know I exist—to prove themselves worthy to be at the upper echelons. Otherwise, what are we even doing if we’re not esteeming ourselves highly in our private spaces, daily lives and in our day dreams?

Consequently, I adore what Sjava has managed to build, following unconventional lanes and choosing not to look like or as the world prescribes for him.

If you stick around, I’ll tell you about the pathway to heaven that Kelvin Momo provides with his Private School Amapiano.

So, who’s your top artist for the year and how did you pick them for that spot?

This week on the Podcast:

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Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua, beautifully so

A new year is upon us.

And in the true spirit of New Year’s, allow me to philosophize on life with the hope to impart a few lessons I’ve picked up over the years. You’ve probably encountered most of these ideas. But, in the words of the Preacher in Ecclesiastes: nothing is new under the sun, thus, it’s always worth repeating. Also, a disclaimer: I usually shy away from sounding like I’m prescribing advice or life solutions. I don’t feel best placed to do so and I fear sounding like your typical toxic positivity-motivational-speaker-self-help gurus.

So, I write this, conversing with myself on what is to be done—as far as I’m concerned—to make this life a little more bearable.

🔷Find God or some version of that: A conception of the divine, the highest form of God or a pathway to ‘righteousness’.
It is known amongst alcohol researchers and alcoholism literature, universally agreed upon by all parties—religiously affiliated or otherwise, that the most reliable treatment for alcoholism is religious transformation. For addicts, the highest form of God is that addiction. It possesses you like a spirit does a spirit medium, such that all goal pathways point towards feeding that addiction—pleasing that god. Substituting incentive structure with a positive one, because we function on incentives in general as humans, translates the aim to a form of good and all our desires shift themselves to serve that incentive. And what better incentive structure than God? If not God—the Christian God, then something similar. In essence, one should keep one's aim upward and follow the most righteous path there is for oneself.

🔷On Goals and New Year Resolutions.
Have goals, big goals that scare you. Write them down. Then create everyday systems towards them. Anxiety and stress arise from our knowledge of inadequacy, hence the desire to run from our everyday lives. Of course, this assumes you’re not in the most extreme of places, say, war-ridden areas, or suffering through the gravest of illnesses. However, in all cases, it’s always possible to conceptualize some goals and everyday systems to make one’s life better at the moment, to make tomorrow better than yesterday.

Dopamine surges and anxiety relief abound when we reduce the distance between us now, and our future goals. Do something small every day. Record it down. Repeat. Repeat until there’s a chain of success. Then Repeat. That’s where great novels come from, great businesses, running marathons and great bodies. Not from one action. Or action, casually every other day when the weather or the body so desires. No. Progress is a magnitude of Consistency.

🔷On Success.
After goals comes the idea of success. In the grand tapestry of life, I believe it matters where you were born, your educational background, parental influence, opportunities, the environment, genetics, identity and everything that makes us unique. It matters in how we define success for ourselves, with the understanding of our origins and environment. It matters to define success in isolation, free from comparison with others whose behind-the-scenes we don't know. It matters to know when not to judge ourselves harshly and when we’re not better than our yesterday selves.

However, while we may not want to think about it, the reality is that our efforts can be inconsequential to how our lives ultimately turn out. Inconsequential in the sense that what we aim for may not be no matter how hard we may have worked.

Luck is a thing. You can create luck. And luck can come upon you unawares. You want to be the person who knows how to identify and manufacture their luck. Regardless, you always want to be prepared when the day of opportunity comes, and that’s through constant showing up and patience.

The ones who stay longer are usually the most successful.

🔷On happiness and pleasure
I’ve come to the conclusion that happiness is an abstract concept. The modern cancer that terrorizes society is easy dopamine. Yes, you’ve heard about it everywhere. We’re all locked to our phone screens and TVs. There’s overabundance and easy access to pleasure. Cheap and meaningless sex. Pornography. Alcohol. Processed food. Drugs. All kinds of drugs one can ever imagine. The pleasure from all these outlets has never been easier to access. And that is a pandemic.

What I’ve learnt is that pursuing pleasure or seeking happiness for its own sake is detrimental. The highest fulfilment comes from pleasure that arises as a by-product of work and sacrifice. To attempt to define happiness outside this context is criminal. Pursuing something hard, challenging or life-altering—responsibility, work, working out, parenting, meaningful relationships—is more fulfilling than the easy-to-access, false sense of fulfilment. And there lies real pleasure and happiness.

🔷On Books, reading and writing
As a general rule, I believe no one should be judged for the literature they choose to read. We want people to be able to read initially. Read what you love until you love reading. Don’t feel pressure to read the classics or the bestsellers. Read a little every day. Find time in your busy schedules. Deliberately carve time and protect it. When you love reading, then begin reading hard books. It won’t make you rich. The mind needs it. Thus, attempt it for its own sake, to uncover life’s hidden gems and to seek truth.

If you could write your thoughts down frequently, do so. It declutters the mind and makes for better processing much like a computer refreshing or offloading things from its memory(RAM). It doesn’t have to be writing a book. Maybe a journal. Or ‘to-do’ lists. Shopping lists. Random rushes of inspiration. It all counts.

🔷On Politics
I haven’t fully fleshed out a personal philosophy on politics. I’m a very interested party in politics, as should everyone I believe, especially the youth. But, what I’ve learnt and have taken to heart is echoed by the authors of The Dictator's Handbook:

“Where politics are concerned, ideology, nationality, and culture don’t matter all that much. Politics is about getting and keeping political power. It is not about the general welfare of “we the people.” Like all of life, it is mostly about individuals, each motivated to do what is good for them, not what is good for others.”

In that context, unless you’re at the epicenter of policymaking, or directly in government, try removing any attachment with individuals within the political arena. It’s hard, and also close to impossible because politics shapes how our money, education, families and successes can be oriented. However, it is important to understand your position in the grand theatre—how much power or influence you have, and also seek knowledge on who has the final say in what eventually happens regardless of popular votes or memorandums. This helps in managing expectations. And managed expectations equal fewer disappointments when things don’t turn out the way we hope they will, which, in politics, is almost always.

Unless you have a huge reason to or a calling from God knows where, refrain from being a hero. You'll die for a false cause. Exist within a collective. Even revolutions cannot survive unless many people buy into the resolve. I hope you're not attempting a revolution. But if you are, Viva la revolución.

Don’t follow individuals or singular identities. Subscribe to superior ideology regardless of whom or where it stems from. Ideas tend to outlive individuals. Group identity and solidarity can be toxic and, eventually, cult-like.

NB: My political resolve is largely informed by a strong context of Zimbabwean politics, and Africa in general. Although with a little understanding of American politics as well.

🔷Finally, when all is said and done, strive to find the good in the bad and the joy in the hard. Our paths are unique, as they should be, and therefore deserve to be treated and interpreted with respect for their individuality.

Chill and have fun. Easier said than done. Well, I pray we all find that balance of making all this a reality.

Compliments of the New Year. 🎆🎁

SOURCES:

• I read first about the idea of incentives from Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner.

Please checkout the Podcast Latest Episode: Available to stream also on Spotify and apple Podcasts.
New episode coming out Friday

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Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua, beautifully so

“Progress is a magnitude of Consistency.”
—Billy Oppenheimer

Hey folks, to close out the year, here’s a list of some of my favorite books, music, movies and shows that stood out throughout. Enjoy and don’t hesitate to plug me with what moved you this year.

📚Books

• Animal Farm by George Orwell.

  • I read this book in High School and re-read it this year. With an understanding of the nature of politics, particularly Politics of a country like Zimbabwe Orwell’s Animal Farm finds more resonance.

  • Its is an allegorical novella that critiques totalitarianism, depicting how a group of farm animals overthrow their human owner to establish an egalitarian society, only to see it devolve into a dictatorship under the pigs.

  • Relevant references:
    —NoViolet Bulawayo on George Orwell: ‘Animal Farm sent me foraging my childhood’
    —Zimbabwe's obsession with Animal Farm as novel gets Shona translation

• The Dictator’s Handbook: Why Bad Behavior is Almost Always Good Politics by Bruce Bueno de Mesquita and Alastair Smith

  • This book offers a pragmatic and cynical analysis of politics, emphasizing that leaders—whether in democracies or autocracies—are primarily motivated by staying in power. Simply put, it shows how politics is less about ideology or morality and more about practical strategies for retaining power.

  • Again, coming from a toxic political landscape like Zimbabwe, the book found great resonance with me.

• Dopamine Nation by Dr. Anna Lembke

  • Explores how the pursuit of pleasure and avoidance of pain in a dopamine-driven world leads to addiction and unhappiness, emphasizing the need for balance and self-restraint to find true contentment.

• Digging Stars by Novuyo Rosa Tshuma

  • A book that explores the remnant complexities of colonialism, racism whilst navigating the realities of what it means to be American. In the same breath, it shows that no people have a monopoly on astronomy or knowledge about the cosmos.

• Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity, and Poverty by Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson

  • Must be read with a very open mind and sensitivity to current realities of the Global world like Chinese economic rise and nature of oppressive regimes be it historical colonialism and now.

• Who Will Bury You? And Other Stories by Chido Muchemwa

  • Special Mention: One of the few African literature, short story books I have enjoyed in a while. Finished all stories just yesterday(Dec 28 2024).

📰Newsletters

• Six at 6 by Billy Oppenheimer.
  This was my favorite weekly Newsletter throughout the year.

• Meditations on Migration by Allen Matsika
  This publication explores Allen’s journey as he returns home in Zimbabwe to raise goats and write after 10years in the US. I enjoy it as someone who recently moved to the US. It’s a taste of home while I’m away from someone with a perspective of where I’m at.

• Austin Kleon’s Newsletter: New York Times bestselling author of five books: Steal Like an Artist; Show Your Work!; Keep Going; Steal Like An Artist Journal; and Newspaper Blackout.

🎶Music

• Not ashamed to say, The Private School Amapiano King—Kelvin Momo carried me throughout the year. He released 3 albums in one year, each with more than 15songs. Who does that?
  —Find my reviews of his albums here:

  • Beyond Amapiano: Momo's Kurhula

  • Beyond Amapiano: Kelvin Momo's Sewe

• While I wanted Kelvin Momo to top my Spotify Wrapped, Sjava came top, which is still fine given how much I respect his versatility and authenticity.

  • Sjava is an multi award winning Afro pop artist. His music is a blend of hip-hop, R&B and African pop styles. He sings and raps entirely in Zulu, writing emotionally resonant sounds about relationships and family matters, and his songs show a commonality between contemporary R&B and trap with traditional Zulu musical forms. He appears on Kendrick Lamar’s curated Black Panther soundtrack. He does it for me.

  • I played his album Isibuko many times this year.

• Notable Mentions: These are the artists or music I discovered this year, or listened to a lot, or are just my all time favorites and made the playlist,

  • Cleo Sol, Sade, Jacob Banks, Odumodublvck, Black Sheriff, Nutty O, Burna Boy, Asake, Tems, Tyla, NiteFreak, Snoh Alegra, Masego, IAMDB, J Cole.

• My Spotify Private School Amapiano Playlist & other soulful music I love:
  

  
  

📽️Movies & Tv Shows

I got into a lot of jazz this year and loved me some jazz fused movies.

• Sylvie's Love: a summer romance with a saxophonist who takes a summer job at her father's record store in Harlem; when they reconnect years later, they discover that their feelings for each other have not faded with the years.

• Ma Rainey's Black Bottom: Viola Davis and Chadwick Boseman are just too good in this movie as is the whole cast.

• The Underground Railroad: I’m a huge Thuso Mbedu fan and she nailed her performance here.

• The Office: My forever feel good comfort show.

• Abbott Elementary: Quinta Brunson created a sitcom that’s hilarious and nostalgic of the Office but stands out in it’s own way.

• Cunk on Earth: a comedic mockumentary series featuring Philomena Cunk, a hilariously oblivious and deadpan presenter, as she embarks on a satirical exploration of human history and culture, blending absurdity with surprisingly insightful moments. Very hilarious!

🚨Updates:

• I launched a podcast: The Pen and Pulse Podcast.

  • It’s a show that seeks to amplify young African voices at home and in the diaspora but with a strong focus in those in the literary space. But not limited to writers, also influencers and academics in culture, politics and life in general.

  • I put up a invite form if you know someone who may want to come on the show or if you wish to be featured on the show

    

• This publication will undergo a rebrand next-year. I will be re-naming it to “The Pen and Pulse”. Stay tuned for why and the new content!

As always, Thank you for reading this free publication.

Please leave a comment and share. You can connect with me on Instagram and Twitter. Or for just $4 a month, consider being a paid reader.

Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua, beautifully so

Greetings on a Tuesday evening, at-least where I am.

I found a poem I wrote back in 2022, I thought I’d share it here as the year begins to wrap up and we take stock of what is.

I’m afraid of the dark.

It’s the silence for me.
When the world outside reveals the realities from within.
When the false joy salvaged from others lived experiences vanishes.
Safe to say, the night is the dark knight.
It is the dragon within,
feeding from the silence and having never been more alive.

I fight with the inner man.
Trying to make amends for the wills not wheeled in to action.
That only the angel of sleep may sweep me out of my reality.
Where the heart and mind don’t torment me for the dreams I’m afraid to pursue,
And the promises I made to the self but fail to keep.

But Speaking of dreams.
Could it get any better than this.
You’d hope Disney land takes a chill pill,
But no,
It’s just an extension of my reality.
Where the imagination is more alive.

My nightmare is free will
And in the dark,
In solitude
I’m haunted

As always:

Thank you for reading this free publication.

Please leave a comment and share. You can connect with me on Instagram and Twitter. I’m a different person altogether there.

Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua, beautifully so.

It is said of Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire(today’s Democratic Republic of the Congo) that he once told Rwanda’s president, Juvénal Habyarimana, “I’ve been in power in Zaire for thirty years, and I never built one road.” Why? As he explained to Habyarimana, “Now they are driving down your roads to get you.” 

Indeed, when Joseph Mobutu came to power in 1965, Zaire had about ninety thousand miles of roads. Thirty-two years later, when he was finally deposed, only about six thousand miles remained, just enough to sell goods and not enough to make it easy to get to Mobutu. Throughout his rule, before being overthrown by Laurent Kabila in 1997, Congo experienced almost unbroken economic decline and mounting poverty. He created a highly oppressive economic environment. The citizens were impoverished, but he and the elite surrounding him, known as Les Grosses Légumes (the big vegetables), became fabulously wealthy. 

Naturally, wouldn’t everyone, particularly our leaders, want to build prosperous nations and societies, economically or otherwise? 

Apparently, not. As the authors of The Dictator’s Handbook illustrate: Where politics are concerned, ideology , nationality, and culture don’t matter all that much. Politics is about getting and keeping political power. It is not about the general welfare of “we the people.” Like all of life, it is mostly about individuals, each motivated to do what is good for them, not what is good for others. 

From this lens, we understand the nature of autocrats. Investments into anything other than that which keeps them in power is but a waste of resources. For this reason, autocrats or would-be autocrats would rather pay the army more wages, service their internal allies in a mountain of cash, than build public infrastructure to aid service delivery for the general populace. All this, of course you know, is in exchange for loyalty. And thus, a symbiotic relationship forms, where money and resources are channeled to a few elite and iron arm of the state, and in return, the incumbent is protected and kept in power. 

Zimbabwe, in the context of this phenomenon of kleptocratic rule, is often beloved by literary scholars as a befitting example. For me, this is unfortunate, for obvious reasons—being born and bred there. And, as fate would have it, or as a consequence of migration, I got to witness the US election first hand. Thus, drawing parallels is inevitable, although warranted. What is comical to me, a sentiment also expressed by an old friend of mine, is how as Zimbabweans, for the most part, it seems we have been desensitized to our suffering. Or maybe it is only to be human; that you only snap out of the gravity of your oppression once exposed to something better. Here, my friend says for him it was traveling to South Africa from Zimbabwe, and every time while there, he would get a sense of what is possible and the somewhat disillusionment of his own experience at home. Likewise, from the American election, the same feeling emerges—democracy is functional in the United States. 

To the extent of ideal democracy, maybe American democracy is not so functional, but juxtaposed with the Zimbabwean democratic project, it works far much better. And here’s why and where the lesson to impart is: because to get and keep power in the United States, for all we know, there’s a massive respect for the voter and the protection of the vote, leaders are incentivized to invest in proper democratic processes and transitions of power. In Zimbabwe, or a many other states in the African region and the world at large, the opposite—election violence, missing ballots, weaponized community leaders, election results manipulation, military tanks in the street, post election citizen protest, refusals to step down, unrepentant abuse of state institutions, and worse off, coups, is true and often the norm. 

Beyond the politics of identity and personality cult, seeing how election results can come and be announced in real time was a refreshing and beautiful thing to witness. All this not to hail America as a perfect democracy. No! In any case, there are no perfect ones. Only those that don’t unapologetically suppress the voice and will of the people. Also, it cannot be a question of resources but rather, of political will. From this, I lament the way elections are conducted in my country. It would be a shame if in the coming years, nothing changes. 

However, all hope is not lost. 

On October 30, Duma Boko of the Umbrella Democratic Change (UDC) won the general elections, ending the Botswana Democratic Party’s (BDP) 58-year rule since Independence. President Mokgweetsi Masisi conceded defeat, acknowledging the UDC's victory. In a smooth transition, Boko was inaugurated as president on November 1, 2024, marking a historic shift in Botswana's political landscape. Given the scenes at the Inauguration where leaders and opposition leaders from Africa were present, the future of Southern Africa, and that of Zimbabwe in particular, looks bright.

In isiNdebele, we say, 'okuhle kuyabukwa'—that which is good is to be admired. For my people, who have long held a traumatic relationship with elections, we watch the achievements of others with admiration, hoping that one day, we too will share in this experience.

SOURCES:

• I first read about Mobutu in The Dictators Handbook by Bruce Bueno de Mesquita and Alastair Smith.
  The Mobutu story is also extended and explored greatly in Why Nations Fail by Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson.

Thank you for reading this free publication.

Please leave a comment and share. You can connect with me on Instagram and Twitter. I’m a different person altogether there.

Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua, beautifully so

For the past year till date, I have been attempting to do one exact same thing every morning without fail.

When the year began, it was working on my book. The goal: two pages every morning. Although not always consistent, I did celebrate seven day streaks regularly. Today, I boast of a 16 chapter unfinished first draft, with at least seven pages each. Emphasis on ‘unfinished’ and ‘first draft.’ Initially, the whole book Idea was gravely intimidating. It still is. Looking at a book on the shelf, nice cover art, carefully formatted text and the fresh smell of paper, nothing is as daunting. Unless exposed to the authors’ process, heeding to how the perfect-looking book came to life, it remains abstract and undoable. 

Lately, because my book writing is on hold, and having fallen into the abyss of excessive calorie consumption without working out, something I had been previously doing almost every day, I decided it’s time I wake up early and get some exercise. Now, this I have never done before. Never an early riser on personal volition. Only in boarding school, woken up by the 5AM bell or whistle. And even then, I struggled. Boarding school is routine; wake up and bedtime are cast in stone schedules, as are meals, study time, play time, et al. The time to do whatever we wanted under minimum supervision at the dormitories was also scheduled. Suddenly, in my young-adult years, the impossible has to be attempted—when the 5AM alarm goes off, jump. Well, the results are in and, at the time of this writing, I clocked a four day streak. 

After about two months, I finally jumped out of bed and, dripped in my white Chucks or Adidas running shoes, I hit the gym. However, in all my probably procrastination planning—printing out habit trackers and trying to limit screen time before bed (because, as my mind whispers to me everyday in utter betrayal: how am I sleeping when Instagram Reels and TikTok are just there), you know; the modern war—thinking about a time where I was now doing it perfectly killed the slightest motivation and belief of ever achieving that possibility. It was, and still remains, as if constantly imagining myself at the peak of my desired routine, at the end goal; holding my finished book in hand, or staring at a Hercules figure of myself in the mirror, body of an Immortal, a six pack waiting to be a thirst-trap on Instagram(Oh Yes! I’m vain like that), is a cancer to the very pursuit of that end. 

In the introduction to his book Will, Will Smith details how his dad made him and his brother, Harry build a wall. Everyday, for nearly a year after school, they’d both head to his fathers’ shop to work on that front wall.  Weekends, holidays, vacations and through the summer, they worked, mixing the concrete and laying the bricks. One day, he says, they were in a mood, dragging their feet and grumbling, “impossible this” and “ridiculous that.” “Why’d we have to build a wall for, anyway? This is impossible. It’s never gonna get done.” When his dad overhead him, he threw down his tools, marched over to where they were yapping. He snatched a brick out of Will’s hand, held it in front of them and said, “Stop thinking about the damn wall! There is no wall. There are only bricks. Your job is to lay this brick perfectly. Then move on the next brick. Then lay that brick perfectly. Then the next one. Don’t be worrying about no wall. Your only concern is one brick.” 

As much as he hated to admit it, Will says, he began to see what his dad spoke of. Whenever he focused on the wall, the job felt impossible. Never-ending. But when he focused on one brick, everything got easy. “I knew I could lay one damn brick well….”, he thought. Nearly a year after they had begun, they mixed the final pile, filled the final bucket, and laid the final brick.  As they stood on each side of their dad beholding the majesty of their new family wall, their dad said, “ Now, don’t y’all ever tell me there’s something you can’t do.”

The lesson, which can’t be further dumbed down, is also in what Ryan Holiday, best selling author of Ego is the Enemy, The Obstacle is the Way and Stillness is Key…, said when asked about where books come from. “ You sit at your desk, everyday for almost a year, writing at least one page, then, in no time, you have a book. That’s the secret.”  It is the same advice that got me trying to sit and write at least two-pages every morning.

Am I sounding like your typical toxic positivity gurus yet?

Well, even though this is wisdom carried on from the olden ages, employed by the world's greats, it can never be overstated. Consistency is where it’s at. Celebrities say it all the time. Authors too. The great sportsman. The now famous Youtubers. It’s everywhere. I know this. And you probably do too. However, time and again, we need that constant reminder, a rejuvenation of the mind. And, we must note, feeding fire firewood doesn’t take away the identity of the fire being fire, pun intended. Likewise, consistently drinking from this well of the ‘consistency’ rhetoric  is no sign of  weakness. To remain consistent, focusing on each day as it comes, separating it from the overwhelming weight of the future goal is of the essence. And, maybe, grace in the face of God and the universe may be found. 

On days where the routine is heavier, maybe almost everyday, or just traversing through this life in my young adult years, my mind teleports back to that defining day where Will felt like he was building the Great Wall of West Philly and, there I’m reminded: There is no wall. Just bricks. And my only task is to lay each brick perfectly, then move on to the next one. Lay that brick perfectly. Then move on to the next. And, if done right, at the end of it, will be a wall. 

Else, Aluta Continua; the struggle continues, beautifully so.

HERE’S WHAT I’VE BEEN JAMMING TO LATELY:

In all his majesty, the King of Soulful Amapiano, for the second time in one year, graced us with another album; Jazz Cruise Series Vol.1 Album Review coming soon.

Thank you for reading this free publication.

Please leave a comment and share. You can connect with me on Instagram and Twitter. I’m a different person altogether there.

Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua, beautifully so.

One of my grandfather, khulu's most prized possessions, an emblem of his glory days working as a chemist, was his thirteen-inch, solar-powered Telefunken black-and-white TV. At our village residence, it sat in the middle of the living room, its back a huge black box marred with many repair incisions, telling a story of an undying spirit.

Mind you, color TVs were already a normal part of our lives, and my life too. I’m not ancient. I watched colour TV at boarding school and my uncles all the time. But because Hyde Park Methodist Village wasn’t electrified, black-and-white TVs were the most apt option. Unlike color TVs where we could watch satellite channels and movies on DVD, here we were limited to whatever our only national broadcaster fed us. The youth soon dubbed the Zimbabwe Broadcasting Corporation the "Zimbabwe Boring Channel," a fitting critique of its uninspiring content. However, as a village boy on school holidays, that black-and-white TV was my only alternative to boredom and my connection to world trends. For my grandfather, it was the news. For my cousin Lelo, it was Telemundo shows and Nigerian movies. For my cousin Muzi, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Wrestling were his picks. And, for a time, it sufficed.

Recently, after reading through a character analysis of Michael Scott, the world's “best boss” in The Office, I found myself reflecting on the idea of community and friendship. Portrayed by Steve Carell, Michael is an over-the-top character who, beneath the inappropriate jokes and lack of self-awareness, yearns for acceptance, love, and a sense of belonging. He tries, in his role as boss, to create a “family” where he feels connected, but his desperation for friendship often backfires, leaving him heartbroken.

Khulu’s Telefunken TV has come to represent, for me, what Michael Scott lacked growing up: meaningful relationships, genuine camaraderie, and a sense of belonging. This old TV—literally and metaphorically—was a gathering point, a symbol of shared experience. When the Independence Day parade was on, a family favourite, or events like the Zimbabwe International Trade Fair and national concerts, the family gathered in the living room: me, my three cousins, my sister, our helper, and friends from the neighbourhood. Together, we watched in awe as soldiers marched in the parade or as dancers and musicians displayed their highest form of showmanship. Kids sat on the floor (unless one of us dared the couch, risking a shoe thrown their way), while the adults chuckled and chattered on the sofas.

Sunday at 5 PM was wrestling night, and by 4:30, me and my friends from next door and others from the block, made certain to be bathed and ready. "No dirty feet in the living room," Gogo would remind us. During the FIFA World Cup, khulu’s friends Tshuma and Gumede would join us, jolly into the night, supporting teams whose real colours we couldn’t even see—just grayscale shades on the TV. Friday nights were for movies. My cousin would bring his friends over for action films. It usually got awkward during love scenes, and I had to pretend to close my eyes while khulu and gogo(grandmother) complained about how explicit these "white people" movies were.

Looking back, it wasn’t really about what was on TV. The social gathering was all that mattered.  Those TV-watching sessions were where impromptu counselling happened, where we were given cautionary advice, and where character and vision were molded. Friendships were invested in, and it didn’t matter whose child you were—if you were in khulu’s house, you got both the beating and the treats.

Reminiscing about khulu’s TV makes me lament how friendships, community, and a sense of belonging in the status quo seem to vanish, particularly in the Western world where individualism is promoted. In a conversation with Trevor Noah, the author Simon Sinek notes that addiction, loneliness and depression can be solved by genuine friendship. Trevor echoes the same sentiments, adding that, while we invest in our health, romantic relationships, and finances, we rarely invest in building and sustaining friendships.

The question I ask myself is: who are my friends? Not acquaintances, but true friends—the people toward whom we feel emotional responsibility.

In today’s world, having something like khulu’s TV—a gathering point—is no longer sufficient. As Simon and Trevor suggest, we must be purposeful about investing in friendships. It’s not enough to assume that childhood friends or colleagues will naturally remain close. There’s a need to reach out, be present, send gifts, plan gatherings, build trust, and repeat the process. Otherwise, we risk becoming closed off, resorting to harmful coping mechanisms, or ending up like Michael Scott—desperate for acceptance, yet cynical about the world.

In a world where individualism reigns and loneliness is an epidemic, it’s not enough to rely on life’s circumstances to commune. Building and nurturing relationships must be deliberate. Akin to the TV needing constant repair to keep functioning, our friendships desire maintenance and care. Or, our friendships must exist.

So, as I reflect on my past, I challenge myself—and all of us—to ask: what are we doing to keep our communities alive? Who are we reaching out to? How are we building trust and showing up?

Because, in the end, it is through the intentionality of creating our “Telefunken TV” moments that desperate acceptance seeking is shunned, where friendships and community are not just memories but a living, breathing part of our lives today. 

THIS PODCAST EPISODE ENCAPSULATES THE PROBLEM OF INDIVIDUALISM IN DETAIL:

CHECK OUT MY LAST ARTICLES INSPIRED BY MY LATE GRANDFATHER:

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Please leave a comment and share. You can connect with me on Instagram and Twitter. I’m a different person altogether there.

Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua, beautifully so.✊🏾

On 9 August 2024, eight months after a record-breaking twenty-seven-track masterpiece, Kelvin Momo returned with another triumph: Sewe, a thirty-track album, rich in soulfulness and tranquility. In this work, he cements his status as the often lauded King of Private School Piano; embodying the essence and ultimate expression of the subgenre.

Characterized by its seamless integration of deep-house and jazz melodies, Private School Piano is a unique and distinctive sound. Soft and mellow, it offers a calming and soulful experience that may suffice for healing and spiritual enrichment. Its versatility qualifies as lounging music, setting it apart from mainstream Amapiano. When dancing to it, the aim is never to sweat.

Sewe emerges as a natural continuation of Kurhula, Momo’s previous giving. “Kedi Jazz(Intro)” and “Jazz Cruise” introduce the album with his signature jazz-infused rhythms. Void of vocals, this pair establishes the album’s mood where the listener is invited to reflect and connect with their emotions without vocal dictates. Tracks like “Imvuselelo,” “Hamba Nam,” “Joy Ride,”  and “02 July,” create this pseudo-safe space where the listener can confide in Momo, the musical therapist, before the instrumental transitions into vocal bliss. These silent instrumentals speak volumes in their own right, forming a quiet dialogue between the artist and the listener. 

In tracks like “Imvelaphi,” “Ubizo,” “Imvuselelo,” “Qaphela,” and “Umdali,” the vibrant rhythmic patterns of percussion—featuring shakers, drums, bells, cymbals, and flute—combined with African chants and whistling, vividly capture the essence of traditional African roots. Vocalists Phila Dlozi(a name meaning ‘the ancestor must live’), Yallunder, Mthunzi and Nia Pearl inject the melodies with an authentic cultural resonance that connects them deeply with the tribal rhythms. Additionally, the theme of divine praise, prevalent in Momo’s projects, is evident here.  In “Umdali,” which spans 10 minutes and 20 seconds, Phila Dlozi, Sykes, and Mthunzi offer a prayer, expressing that “it is God who guides our paths, and His word brings hope and blessings.” Similarly, “Themba” is a testament to unwavering faith and trust in God, while “Hlala’nam” echoes this sentiment.

Only two songs fall under the 5-minute mark in the album, while many extend up to seven, eight, and even nine minutes, showcasing an expansive and immersive listening experience.

Stixx, Mzizi, Nia Pearl, Yallunder, Sino Msolo, Makhanj, Xolani Guitars, TBO and Babalwa are familiar favorites on Kelvin Momo projects, having previously worked together on hits that epitomize ‘soulful Amapiano.’ Babalwa’s voice paired with Momo’s production is a formula for success, as evidenced by tracks like “Amalobolo,” “Ikhaya Lam,” “Sukakude,” “Pholisa,” and “Maye Maye” from previous works, as well as “Qaphela” and “Langelihle” from Sewe. “Got The Feeling (Interlude)” features A-Reece, a notable South African hip-hop artist, providing a compelling break from the Amapiano style and highlighting Momo’s range as an artist.

Xolani Guitars' string work deserves special mention. While Sewe lacks the violin and saxophone—key features in Kurhula and Amukelani, the guitar takes center stage in this project. “Funani,” featuring the once-celebrated Queen of Amapiano, BET Award-winning Shasha, is delivered with a soulful arrangement that leaves a lasting impression. Xolani strikes again in “Love Potion” as he’s previously done with “Jazzeneo” in Momo’s Private School and “Tintsumi” in Kurhula.

True to the authenticity of township life, Sewe’s recurring themes include friendship and family dynamics, love and relationships, gratitude for life and success, praises to God, conversations with our forerunners, answering to our callings, the hustle and hard work, and keeping faith and hope alive. 

As the album unfolds, Momo transports us to the townships of South Africa; the birthplace of Amapiano. “Hamba Nam” is reminiscent of the old school Deep-house. In “Joy Ride,” “Dona Dona” and “02 July,” Momo pays homage to the genre’s roots: that old school Amapiano where the frantic piano playing shines. I find myself mimicking the piano with my fingers, face squinted and head nodding to the serenading tune. Toss, a fresh face on a Momo project, delivers a Kwaito touch to the album in “Momo 2.0.” Imagine Mandoza or Spikiri on an Amapiano beat, Toss is them personified. “Bonga,” with Sam Deep and Nvcho, a song about gratitude, is also an ode to the hood, blending the piano with sgija elements, adding another layer of fresh dynamism. 

Despite his music having earned global acclaim, including a nod from Drake, Momo still aims to further bridge the gap for international crossover. In “Why Do You,” “Afraid,” “Got the Feeling” and “Bone ke” Momo marries hip-pop and R&B soul-type beats with English vocals and rare Amapiano artists. This fusion of sounds pushes the boundaries of Private School Piano, creating room for greater global reach while staying true to his Amapiano roots. The track “Bala,” featuring SYKES released prior to the album, delivers a powerful finale, concluding the album with a memorable impact.

Sewe stands as undeniable proof that Kelvin Momo truly embodies Private School Piano. Yet, whether it surpasses the brilliance of Amukelani and Kurhula is still a matter of debate. The pressing question for top artists is always, "What's next?" It will be fascinating to see how he evolves and redefines his sound, especially with hints of a future EP featuring rapper A-Reece. In the meantime, take a 3-hour and 20-minute drive and immerse yourself in the grandeur of Sewe—it’s an experience worth savoring.

CHECK OUT MY LAST REVIEW HERE:

Thank you for reading this free publication.

Please leave a comment and share. You can connect with me on Instagram and Twitter. I’m a different person altogether there.

Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua✊🏾

At an event that Trevor Noah attended, he recalls people having interesting and dynamic conversations, conversations on complex topics. He says, during a podcast conversation where he shares the story, that every few minutes someone would start their opinion with the disclaimer:

“I would never say this in public but…, or I would never say this if I were being recorded, but…”

This, to Noah, was fascinating, that so many of us have ideas and opinions about the world that we live in, that we are either unable, unwilling, or too scared to share. “And I thought to myself,” he continues, “if we cannot have conversations about difficult things, if the conversations themselves are now the difficult things, then what hope do we have of fixing the difficult things.”

In the present context, Trevor’s sentiments resonate strongly. As young people, we are consumed by fear of voicing our opinions about important issues that will shape the status quo, our future and that of our kids. 

The Robert Mugabe reign had a similar character. The general populace feared voicing opinions about what could constitute a better Zimbabwe. There was an active ploy to silence any voices, dissenting or otherwise that sought to re-imagine Zimbabwe vis a vi other prosperous nations. Such opinions could easily be labelled as unwelcome criticism of the government. To quote my primary school principal, “You’d be becoming too big for your boots.” And that was an unwritten but universally acknowledged criminal offence one could be charged for. Acknowledged only because we knew it existed regardless of how we felt about its existence.

Unfortunately, as is in many parts of Africa and the world, Zimbabwe’s government today seems to be resurrecting its former mechanisms to silence any prominent dissenting voices.  

During the Mugabe rule, we knew to hold conversations about politics incognito. After surveying where you’re at and who’s around, you lowered your voices and proceeded cautiously to analyze and comment on how the government was faring. At the village, my grandmother would always shout at me and my cousins to lower our voices during the 8 PM Primetime news segment on ZBC. “Voices travel at night,” she’d say. “They might be listening to us.” We knew who they were, and we knew of cases of activists; young and old, disappearing into the void of political suppression.

In the past year or two, there was a warning against people who took public platforms on different levels of society to speak 'ill' about the government of Zimbabwe. Such persons of interest, activist or otherwise, were termed agents of the Western imperialist paid to undermine the gains of Zimbabwe’s democracy. Because of a deficiency in nationalism, they needed to be handled accordingly. 

Addressing a public lecture at Rhodes University in South Africa, he, one of the biggest political critics of the Zimbabwean government and the ruling party, challenged young Zimbabweans in South Africa and the rest of the diaspora to go home and fix their own country.  His call was punctuated by a reference to the youth protests in Kenya, who, in taking to the streets, demanded a scrapping of the controversial finance bill proposed by their president, William Ruto. 

While such a challenge was accurate; that there’s no one coming to save the young people of Zimbabwe, and Africa in general, the question I ask is that of pragmatics. How do young people imagine a ‘better’ country for all, where opportunities are plenty and, amongst a gazillion things, students can find jobs to sustain themselves post-university studies? How do they envision ‘better’ when there’s precedence of silencing such voices? 

It still feels very unsafe to project thoughts about a different trajectory than the one being pursued by the ruling regime. Because your idea might be sound, and garner traction then, the next thing is you’re labelled an activist. It's a very slippery slope. 

Even as I write about the woes of my beloved country, I fear for whoever reads this blog. If the establishment wishes to label such rhetoric as treason, my journey back home, whenever I so choose to visit, may not be a smooth one.

Consequently, we tweet in metaphors. On public platforms, we rise and speak cautiously, censoring our speeches. We thread lightly on our blogs. In the WhatsApp groups, in school corridors, comic stages, the voices are calibrated with the Zimbabwean government in mind, being careful not to offend those in power. We employ satire and sarcasm to cope. Many a young person, learn, dream, see possibilities, and think bigger but retain any opinions. We refrain from speaking out.

Though remaining silent may seem like a fashionable choice, it is unfortunately becoming a normalized form of oppression. Silence is not always the solution, but when faced with the threat of state repression, it can seem as if all hope is lost and speaking out is not of the essence.

But to what end?

If throughout history, those who were silenced by oppressive regimes or capital conceded, all revolutions that gave birth to the acknowledgement of human rights and democracy would not have succeeded. It was the youth that fought against the government of Ian Smith in Zimbabwe. The youth of South Africa rose against the apartheid regime. In Nigeria, it was young people who protested against police brutality with the hashtag EndSARS. Recently, Kenya felt the energy of young people’s aggrieved voices. 

This is not a call for any uprising or protests of any sort. I don’t think I have that capacity anyway. The point, however, is that, as young people, we cannot afford silence. 

All is not lost. Drawing from history, we must prevent the normalization of such silencing tactics from being the norm. We’re forever tasked with attempting to imagine better for us and our future generations. 

It is with this sentiment that I salute the young people held as political prisoners in Zimbabwe right now, their crime: a simple desire for a better nation for all and not for the few elite alone. I feel challenged to speak truth to power, because, to say publicly that I wish for a better country than the one my grandfather died lamenting over its postcolonial demise should not be a crime. 

While there may be better things to pursue, I always believe that the pursuit of bettering our lives and that of the people around us is closest to the highest meaning we can ever desire and attain from this life. Young voices should speak and paint a picture of a better possible world.

As Trevor Noah observes, the hard conversations must be had without fear of silencing or suppression.

Silent voices need not be silent any more. 

First, a special s/o to for keeping us updated on what is happening on ground in Zimbabwe.

WHAT I’M READING:

• Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity, and Poverty :Been enjoying this book, recommended it to a friend and we may be starting a discussion centered around it. The aim is to understand, not just the politics, but the world around us through the lens of literature. Stay tuned if you wish to be part of that conversation.

• Animal Farm by George Orwell: Read this one in high school, been fun revisiting it with a more analytic adult mindset.

WHAT I’M LISTENING TO:

• SEWE: Kelvin Momo’s fifth studio album, a delivery of soulful Amapiano (my favorite) Review coming soon, watchout for that one as well.

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If you loved it please leave a comment or share your favorite part on social media. Don’t forget to check out my Instagram and Twitter. I give updates of exciting news on there.
Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua✊🏾

Between Gwabalanda and my village; Hyde Park Methodist is a long, ripe and hard footpath that one must traverse to get to either side. On average, it takes about twenty minutes to get to Gwabalanda bus stop where kombi’s, taxis to town rank and head back to the CBD. Sadly, this path through the bushes is robber infested. Many have suffered stabbing injuries and death after gruesome attacks whilst heading home. However, being one of the few pathways to get to the City, villagers of Hyde Park have not abandoned it. They’ve instead found creative ways to travel like walking in large groups and not walking at night.

It is for this reason that my grandfather, Khulu, always carried a stone and advised me to do the same when walking alone especially if I was carrying groceries or had a lot of money on me as I used to sometimes after collecting what mom would have sent by Western Union there. You know; the diaspora remittances.

The odds were almost always against him, especially at his mature age, as they were against many of the women and children who dared to walk alone. Uncle Sali carried a small pocket axe that he confesses once saved his life as he came back from work one night. I doubt some of his stories though. He comes off as a main character cast out of an action movie who survives an attack of four robbers against one. Needless to say, being armed with some form of weapon down that path is common amongst travelers, and maybe a necessity too.

Khulu’s rationale behind carrying a stone, in his own simple words, was: “Indoda ifa izamile, a man must die trying.”

Regardless of whatever threat was facing him, despite the odds, if he fought back and stood his ground, to him, it was commendable. That was his simple advice, which the current state of my life is excavating from the archives of my memory.

No matter the odds, if it is worth fighting for, I should fight!

See, the problem is that the Khulu who taught me this was a one time occurrence of the younger and very energetic version of my grandfather. The one I knew and learnt from more, was a rather stoic and graceful old man who cared not about the trivialities of life. If we slept with food in our stomachs, irrespective of what it was, the day was a success.

This latter version of him was, beyond old age conventional wisdom, a response to the harsh economic conditions that had worsened as he grew older. Having grown up in colonial Zimbabwe, sometimes he’d brag about having a job, a steady salary, a bonus at the end of the year, quality stores to buy his suites and how the food quality today had deteriorated from the olden days. He concurred that British rule was unjust however, all his reminiscent stories lamented how post-independence, before the white’s who were unwilling to share land were kicked out of Zimbabwe, the economy was thriving; cheese and Coca-Cola were at highest quality.

He had hoped all his life but that hope faded with age.

In the fullness of my youth, I became him: greatly content and grateful with the little I had, so much to a point that the desire for more ceased to exist. And that is the vexation of my soul. In corporate America, or living in America, where opportunities are forever dangling before me, this modus operandi doesn’t serve me anymore.

After graduating college and getting my first ever paycheck, enough to pay bills and keep me afloat, my gratitude overshadowed any desires I had. Because I knew not having much, affording became more than enough. In utter obliviousness I refrained from knowledge about salary negotiations, saving and investing. As long as I had a steady paycheck from a solid 9 to 5, all was well. Sure, all could be well, and gratitude for this status quo was called for, but that gratitude becomes a danger when it turns to comfort.

“We tell people to follow their dreams,” echoes Trevor Noah in his memoir, Born A Crime, “ but you can only dream of what you can imagine, and, depending on where you come from, your imagination can be quite limited.”

I employ this sentiment to excuse my unwillingness and reluctance to fight my way up the echelons of the corporate ladder and wealth. Because, it was unheard of. I never recall as a young kid dreaming about driving fancy cars or living in mansions or vacationing in the Bahamas on a Yacht. I recall my visions were always in the confines of what I believed we could afford or seemed possible. Maybe I did envision fast cars from watching Hollywood movies, but I was conscious about the feasibility of those visions.

A different world, marred with a plethora of opportunities and possibilities is today presented to me. Akin to a table laid before me, full of every type of food you can think of, and all it takes is a desire to walk to the table. It's not about the obstacles in the way, those are constants in life, but just the desire to take more chances.

My rage against oppressive systems increases everyday. The fire to fight against what my grandfather hoped would be better but still isn’t is blazing. In the same wavelength, I believe, now more than ever, is time that the young Khulu in me surfaces to fight for the liberation of the self. Emancipation from mental slavery, opening my eyes, my efforts and strengths to the possibilities that lie in the distant horizon. Not to shun gratitude for what is, for what I already possess, which is a blessing and honor, but to summon the fight for what could be. It is an angry ambition to live at the highest possible potential juxtaposed with the world around me.

If not the trajectory of steady growth, upward mobility and the extension of ability that gives meaning to this life, then what does?

When all is said and done, whether faced with death, the question that will be asked of us is if we tried or not?

Because, as Khulu would always say, indoda ifa izamile.

If you loved this please leave a comment or share your favorite part on social media. Don’t forget to check out my Instagram and Twitter. I give updates of exciting news on there.
Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua✊🏾

Because of my relentless search for answers and solutions to my young adult predicaments, questions like how to self-actualise in a foreign land, how to navigate relationships(romantic or otherwise, how to guarantee my family back home a richer life, how I can aid the fight against poverty at home and in the broader Zimbabwean and African context, I have found that my perspective on life, has become more cynical and judgemental particularly towards wealth and wealthier people in the upper echelons of western society. 

In a pathetic sense, I feel like those people who say in the comments when, when financial or fitness gurus or motivational speakers are being interviewed that:

“Well, it’s easy for you to say, you don’t work 60 hours a week.”

“If only you had kids to drive to school and work two jobs.”

“You sound like someone speaking from privilege because if you grew up in Africa you would know it’s not that easy.”

True, in many ways, those grievances are legitimate, however, they don’t give at least half the gurus the benefit of the doubt; to disagree with them in the context of what and from where they’re saying whatever they may be articulating, sometimes, that involves constructing context and putting nuance for ourselves around and into that which we’re consuming. Frankly, it is our lived experiences that dictate how we view the world and the counsel we get about it. 

In my perpetual search for answers, discovering that there are strong structures set in place to hinder the prosperity of African nations, systems inherent in American politics to keep the general historically marginalized populace excluded from the wealth of the nation, and systems embedded in the veins of Zimbabwean politics anchored by the strong iron arm of the army to keep a few elite wealthy and the masses suffering, my outlook on life has grown cynical. And the more I read, the more I listen for a deeper perspective, likewise, my resentment of unjust establishments and the evil elite grows. 

Maybe this is the weariness that King Solomon cautioned against, in the book of Ecclesiastes 12:12 in the Bible saying, “...of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” 

With a friend during the week, we were lamenting that because of growing up in Zimbabwe, we can still recite some passages of what transpired during the First and Second World Wars. Names like Georges Clemenceau, Franz Ferdinand, Mussolini, and Mao Tse Tung, are more branded in our memory than those of the Ndebele and Shona Kings. We know about the Great Depression and the Prohibition Act more than we do the Zimbabwean constitution. At school, we were told that it was easier to learn and pass Western history than our indigenous history. We hardly learnt about our first president Canaan Banana and his ascent to power yet we know about Woodrow Wilson, Hitler, Abraham Lincoln and Cecil John Rhodes. The glitches in this reality are endless. 

Having spoken about the balance between acknowledging and being grateful for what I have while working to attain more, this time it goes deeper into trying to find the balance between what I can fight for or against without leaving the self tattered and how to play the status quo. The balance is accepting that at times, even with conflicting beliefs and reservations about what is from what should be, at the end of it all, the game must be played. 

But what is the game? 

Back home, buying a ‘cold drink’ is the modus operandi of doing business. If you want faster services like, say at the passport office, or getting your driving license it is common to leave ‘imali yedrink, drink money’. Even with the police, it can sometimes( with a ninety-percent chance) get you out of trouble. Your values can be against such normalized deviances in society but, in a setup like Zimbabwe, resistance or reluctance can mean a delay in services that are due to you but deliberately withheld to create a facade that the only solution is buying that cold drink. That is the game; acknowledging that some fights are not won at an individual level, maybe not always, and personal peace in such cases, must also be protected. 

In essence, the game is about finding a sustainable way to live and make a difference, balancing activism with self-care, with the hope that the efforts put towards what we stand for lead to tangible improvements for the self, the communities and the ideals we care about. With this approach, I believe, we can navigate our dual identities and aspirations, contributing to a broader fight against systemic injustices while simultaneously finding fulfillment and peace. 

Not agreeing with the nature of oppressive systems should not mean engaging recklessly in that conversation or acquisition of knowledge. It means, that while I may not agree with the way the US economy is structured or the way the Zimbabwean government is set up, I don’t need to take a stoic approach to my finances or my existence. I must learn the game of money as it is played in the broken system. I must learn the legal ways of acquiring it and keeping it. The same applies to all other ideologies unpalatable to me, and maybe to you too.

This has been my journey to self-actualization in a foreign land. 

So, Aluta Continua- the struggle continues, but maybe not every day. 

If you loved this please leave a comment or share your favorite part on social media. Don’t forget to check out my Instagram and Twitter. I give updates of exciting news on there.
Until next time:

Peace✌🏾 and love 💓.

Aluta Continua✊🏾