Online Reporter
Ezra Tshisa
THERE are people who 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 the year 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. When he did, the city’s entertainment scene shifted. From Visions Night Club to Windermere Hotel, from River Dance to the backyards of shebeens, he brought a style, charisma and fire that couldn’t be copied or contained. 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 organised the Home Coming concerts every December, massive shows that brought the City of Kings to a standstill. Oskido once told us: “There are no better event organisers in the country than you two.” We felt it was true. 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.
The last major event we did was last year, where we called Highlanders fans to boycott attending a Bosso game against ZPC Kariba at Barbourfields Stadium in protest at the unjust treatment of Highlanders by ZIFA referees. We managed to raise the fine which was imposed on the club for the abandoned match against Simba Bhora. It was 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 across stations had been instructed not to let me near a microphone. But not Babo. He stood by me. We hosted a show together and the results were record-breaking when tens of thousands tuned in. That was his gift — he turned resistance into resonance.
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 fellow bouncers 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 from across oceans, our bond never broke. When he survived a horrific accident at the Nguboyenja flyover, I stood by his hospital bed with Oskido, and even there, 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. He was 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 would have loved to see shebeen queens, nightclub owners, promoters, and bouncers being given a stage at his memorial service to say something about Babo. Those are the people who knew him better than anyone.
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 perhaps 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, and 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 are 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 friend & brother
Ezra Tshisa.
“This tribute is an extract from a post shared by Ezra Tshisa on his Facebook page.”
