Online Reporter
Zimpapers Arts and Entertainment Hub
Renowned comedian Carl Joshua Ncube has penned a moving tribute to his late friend and fellow creative, Babongile Sikhonjwa, reflecting on decades of laughter, rivalry, and brotherhood.
From their early days in the UK, where adventures were born out of music and travel, to their return home in Zimbabwe, where they worked side by side in the arts, hospitality and entertainment scenes, the two shared a bond that was as deep as it was dynamic.
In his tribute, Ncube recalls the many roles Babongile played in his life—competitor, confidant, partner-in-crime, and ultimately, family.
Through memories of fireside conversations, comedy routines, and their dream podcast, Old Bulawayo Men, Ncube paints a heartfelt portrait of a man whose warmth, humour and creativity touched many lives.
Below is the full text of the Facebook post on Ncube’s fan page.
The idea for a podcast was simple: two old guys, sitting on a park bench, complaining about the world. We called it “Old Bulawayo Men,” and it was a project born from a lifetime of shared memories with my dear friend, Babongile. Now, with him gone, I find myself thinking back on those memories, and the remarkable man who was my friend, competitor, and partner in crime.
My friendship with Babongile goes all the way back to the UK in the late 90s. I’ll never forget my first trip outside of London to see a Mafikizolo show. The concert itself didn’t quite work out, but the real fun was in the journey—the thrill of buying the cassettes and listening to them as we traveled. It was the first of many adventures we’d share.
From Competitors to Co-conspirators
Life brought us both back to Zimbabwe, and our paths crossed again in an unexpected way. We were both working in animation, the new frontier for storytelling in our country. I was working on Nyaminyami, while Babongile was creating a music video with Nqobizitha Mlilo. It was a time of immense creative energy, and it was a gift to be building something new alongside him.
That creative spark led us to another venture, where we found ourselves as friendly rivals. Babongile ran The Red Bar and I ran Carne Casa, a restaurant next door. We were literally competitors. But it was an enjoyable time, a true “iron sharpens iron” dynamic. I’d often be empty while his place was absolutely pumping, a testament to his knack for creating a vibe that was so quintessentially Bulawayo.
The murals and design of The Red Bar made it the place to be, and I always directed people there, happy that my friend had created something so special.
Babongile was a master of his craft, whether it was running a bar or telling a story. We celebrated great Zimbabweans through stand-up comedy, where our routines would often roast people or playfully explore the differences between Shona and Ndebele cultures. We were controversial, and I always felt I handled the criticism worse than he did. I’d take things personally, but I never once heard him rant or complain. He could complain, and somehow, make it sound funny.
A Fire and A Friendship
Babongile had a way of bringing people together. I’ll always remember the day we cooked a whole sheep on a spit in Richmond. He called me up, and we spent the day cooking, networking, and talking around the fire. It was a simple joy, a moment of connection that felt both timeless and precious.
Another memory I hold dear is from the early days of moving to Harare. My house was empty—no furniture, no stove, no fridge. So, we made do. Babongile and I had warm beers and ramen by the fire, with my one-day-old bacon. It was awesome. We just talked all evening, in the glow of the fire, in an empty house that felt full of friendship.
One of the last memories I have of him is one of profound empathy. I had gone to Star FM to be on his show, and he was struggling with a painful leg. After the show, he offered to call me an inDrive, but then offered to drop me off personally, no matter how long his shift ran. I chose the latter. We drove all over Harare looking for medication, and I even gave him my spare walking stick. It was a moment that summed up our friendship: two “Old Bulawayo Men” looking out for each other, even when one of them was in pain.
In his final days, he reached out so we could build on our relationship. We went to Samuriwos for some township tourism, drinks, and a braai. I appreciate that he made the effort to connect, to continue building this bond. I’ll cherish the memories of him and his family. I’ll never forget our last wine tasting, when his nephew Michael and son Qobo came and spent the day with me. They were a testament to the man he was, as Nelsy later called him to tell him how amazing his son and nephew were.
There is a hole in the world where Babongile used to be, but the memories of our time together are a comfort. From our crazy podcast idea to cooking by a fire, to the simple act of a drive, he was a true friend. His spirit lives on in these stories, and in the hearts of those of us who had the honor of knowing him.
