Opinion / Bereavements
Babongile Sikhonjwa: A Brother, A Legend, A Lifeline of Bulawayo's Spirit
2 hrs ago | 34 Views
Some people walk into your life and change it completely - not by force, but by the sheer force of who they are. For me, that person was Babongile Sikhonjwa. A brother not by blood, but by bond. Today, I say goodbye to a soul whose light lit the streets, stages, studios, and hearts of Bulawayo and beyond.
Our story began in 2000. A stranger showed up at the gates of ZBC one afternoon, holding a CD in hand - no appointment, no ID, just a dream and the determination to chase it. That man was Babongile. He introduced himself as coming from the UK, with a track called *uMaNcube*. I let him in, and that moment changed the course of both our lives.
He walked into the studio, looked at me, and laughed: "Finally I meet you. I thought I was going to see an old man - kanti nguwe bhudasi umncane so." We sampled his music live on air, and before my shift ended, we were already deep in laughter, creativity, and instant friendship. From that day on, we became brothers - not just in name, but in purpose.
Babongile didn't just exist in Bulawayo - he arrived. And when he did, the city's entertainment scene shifted.
From Visions Night Club to the Windermere Hotel, River Dance to Khami Bar, 747 to Cape to Cairo - Babongile wasn't just present in Bulawayo's nightlife, he was the heartbeat of it. A true showman, he could MC a wedding, hype a party, DJ a dancefloor, crack a joke on stage, and still find time to organize the next big event. His collaborations with Iyasa, Oskido, Omega Sibanda, and many others brought a new rhythm to the city. Whether it was music, performance, event planning, or just vibing in a beer garden, Babo brought flair, passion, and a fearless joy that defied explanation.
He was a singer, comedian, dancer, DJ, MC, stage manager, sound technician, businessman - a full creative powerhouse wrapped in one magnetic personality. Together, we created magic. We organized the Homecoming concerts every December - massive shows that brought the City of Kings to a standstill. Oskido once told us, "There are no better event organizers in the country than you two." We believed it. We could pull off anything - not because we had resources, but because we had trust, hustle, and an unshakable understanding of what the people wanted.
Our last major event was last year, when we called on Highlanders fans to boycott the Bosso game against ZPC Kariba at Barbourfields Stadium in protest against ZIFA referees. We raised the fine imposed on the club for the abandoned match against Simba Bhora. Another success - thanks to our bad-and-good combination.
Babo's loyalty and genuineness were unmatched. He was the first person to give me a platform on Bulawayo's Skyz Metro FM, during a time when many radio presenters had been instructed not to let me near a microphone. But not Babo. He stood by me. We hosted a show together, and tens of thousands tuned in. That was his gift - he turned resistance into resonance.
When I applied for a radio station license in Zimbabwe, it was Babo who sat me down and said, "Mdawini, you've wasted your money. They won't give you a license here." He was right. He understood the system - and he understood me. He always told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to.
We laughed through life. Like the time we tried sneaking whiskey into Hustlers Night Club, and I tripped, breaking the bottle and soaking my pants. Big bouncer Manu Mahaso and his crew kicked us out, and Babo just laughed: "Kwehlule Mdawini, asambe endlini." That was Babo - a man who could turn embarrassment into memory and failure into joy.
I left Zimbabwe for the UK in 2002 in a hurry - without saying goodbye to Babongile or anyone, not even my family. That's a story for another day. Even across oceans, our bond never broke. When I was in the UK, he'd call and say, "President Mugabe said don't forget your wheelchair - for in the UK you'll work your socks off." He was warning me how tough life would be. He never let distance dilute our brotherhood.
When I returned to Zimbabwe in 2010, it was like no time had passed. We continued to build, organize, MC, and uplift. When he survived a horrific accident at the Nguboyenja flyover, I stood by his hospital bed with Oskido. Even half-conscious, he scribbled a joke on paper, asking me to sneak whiskey into his drip. That was Babongile - laughter was his language, no matter the setting.
He was Bulawayo's son, Bosso faithful, and a walking festival. A storyteller, a connector, a fighter, and a protector. A man who left no corner of this city untouched. Every nightclub, every beer garden, every backroom stage, and every wedding floor holds echoes of his voice, his laughter, his spirit. I wish shebeen queens, nightclub owners, promoters, and bouncers had been given a stage at his memorial. They knew him best.
His death hit me like a hammer. I received the news while in Canada, and I broke. I cried the entire day, unable to understand how a man so full of life, so vibrant, so present, could be taken by something as silent as heart complications - especially after surviving the loudness of life, including car crashes that should have claimed him years ago.
But maybe that's the lesson. Life doesn't always make sense. But love does. I loved him. We all did.
Rest well, my brother Babongile Sikhonjwa. You gave us more than music - you gave us yourself. You lived your truth. You made us laugh. You made us dance. You brought us together. Bulawayo is quieter now. But your spirit?
I never imagined a world without you in it. I still don't know how to move through the days ahead knowing you're not just a phone call away. You were my partner in ideas, in hustle, in celebration - and now I walk alone. I wish I could have said more. I wish we had more time. I will carry your memory with me, every single day. I will honour your legacy, your energy, your dreams. I try to be strong, even when every breath hurts. It's loud in every one of us who had the privilege to know you.
Rest in Power, Babo. We will carry you in every beat, every bottle, every stage, every cheer for Bosso.
Till we meet again.
Your beloved brother and friend,
Ezra Tshisa
Our story began in 2000. A stranger showed up at the gates of ZBC one afternoon, holding a CD in hand - no appointment, no ID, just a dream and the determination to chase it. That man was Babongile. He introduced himself as coming from the UK, with a track called *uMaNcube*. I let him in, and that moment changed the course of both our lives.
He walked into the studio, looked at me, and laughed: "Finally I meet you. I thought I was going to see an old man - kanti nguwe bhudasi umncane so." We sampled his music live on air, and before my shift ended, we were already deep in laughter, creativity, and instant friendship. From that day on, we became brothers - not just in name, but in purpose.
Babongile didn't just exist in Bulawayo - he arrived. And when he did, the city's entertainment scene shifted.
From Visions Night Club to the Windermere Hotel, River Dance to Khami Bar, 747 to Cape to Cairo - Babongile wasn't just present in Bulawayo's nightlife, he was the heartbeat of it. A true showman, he could MC a wedding, hype a party, DJ a dancefloor, crack a joke on stage, and still find time to organize the next big event. His collaborations with Iyasa, Oskido, Omega Sibanda, and many others brought a new rhythm to the city. Whether it was music, performance, event planning, or just vibing in a beer garden, Babo brought flair, passion, and a fearless joy that defied explanation.
He was a singer, comedian, dancer, DJ, MC, stage manager, sound technician, businessman - a full creative powerhouse wrapped in one magnetic personality. Together, we created magic. We organized the Homecoming concerts every December - massive shows that brought the City of Kings to a standstill. Oskido once told us, "There are no better event organizers in the country than you two." We believed it. We could pull off anything - not because we had resources, but because we had trust, hustle, and an unshakable understanding of what the people wanted.
Our last major event was last year, when we called on Highlanders fans to boycott the Bosso game against ZPC Kariba at Barbourfields Stadium in protest against ZIFA referees. We raised the fine imposed on the club for the abandoned match against Simba Bhora. Another success - thanks to our bad-and-good combination.
Babo's loyalty and genuineness were unmatched. He was the first person to give me a platform on Bulawayo's Skyz Metro FM, during a time when many radio presenters had been instructed not to let me near a microphone. But not Babo. He stood by me. We hosted a show together, and tens of thousands tuned in. That was his gift - he turned resistance into resonance.
When I applied for a radio station license in Zimbabwe, it was Babo who sat me down and said, "Mdawini, you've wasted your money. They won't give you a license here." He was right. He understood the system - and he understood me. He always told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to.
We laughed through life. Like the time we tried sneaking whiskey into Hustlers Night Club, and I tripped, breaking the bottle and soaking my pants. Big bouncer Manu Mahaso and his crew kicked us out, and Babo just laughed: "Kwehlule Mdawini, asambe endlini." That was Babo - a man who could turn embarrassment into memory and failure into joy.
I left Zimbabwe for the UK in 2002 in a hurry - without saying goodbye to Babongile or anyone, not even my family. That's a story for another day. Even across oceans, our bond never broke. When I was in the UK, he'd call and say, "President Mugabe said don't forget your wheelchair - for in the UK you'll work your socks off." He was warning me how tough life would be. He never let distance dilute our brotherhood.
When I returned to Zimbabwe in 2010, it was like no time had passed. We continued to build, organize, MC, and uplift. When he survived a horrific accident at the Nguboyenja flyover, I stood by his hospital bed with Oskido. Even half-conscious, he scribbled a joke on paper, asking me to sneak whiskey into his drip. That was Babongile - laughter was his language, no matter the setting.
He was Bulawayo's son, Bosso faithful, and a walking festival. A storyteller, a connector, a fighter, and a protector. A man who left no corner of this city untouched. Every nightclub, every beer garden, every backroom stage, and every wedding floor holds echoes of his voice, his laughter, his spirit. I wish shebeen queens, nightclub owners, promoters, and bouncers had been given a stage at his memorial. They knew him best.
His death hit me like a hammer. I received the news while in Canada, and I broke. I cried the entire day, unable to understand how a man so full of life, so vibrant, so present, could be taken by something as silent as heart complications - especially after surviving the loudness of life, including car crashes that should have claimed him years ago.
But maybe that's the lesson. Life doesn't always make sense. But love does. I loved him. We all did.
Rest well, my brother Babongile Sikhonjwa. You gave us more than music - you gave us yourself. You lived your truth. You made us laugh. You made us dance. You brought us together. Bulawayo is quieter now. But your spirit?
I never imagined a world without you in it. I still don't know how to move through the days ahead knowing you're not just a phone call away. You were my partner in ideas, in hustle, in celebration - and now I walk alone. I wish I could have said more. I wish we had more time. I will carry your memory with me, every single day. I will honour your legacy, your energy, your dreams. I try to be strong, even when every breath hurts. It's loud in every one of us who had the privilege to know you.
Rest in Power, Babo. We will carry you in every beat, every bottle, every stage, every cheer for Bosso.
Till we meet again.
Your beloved brother and friend,
Ezra Tshisa
Source - Ezra Tshisa
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