Camagu I am Ntshinga, Inspired by Today

Camagu: A Jazz Memory from the Community

It is in times like these that I become. When I find myself in these spaces, I am reminded of who I am and what I stand for. Some memories rise without asking — memories shaped by Jazz, by people, by moments that never truly leave me. Tshezi Came through, I came we happy.

I am known in these spaces, even when I stand alone, and I have always respected moments like this — events that are bigger than any one of us. My background in Computer Science, my research journey, my work — they all play a part, but I know they are not the whole story. I was raised through many families, many influences, and through them I came to give myself to the Mighty Soul Jazzmen.

Even when challenges came — when things did not go as planned, when attendance was low, when I was not even officially part of the event but still present through heart — I stayed. I remember moments of uncertainty, of being held up by kindness, of not letting go even when things felt heavy.

And then slowly, I saw my people come.

I saw Mano, one of my favourites in this Jazz space. I saw the Northern Areas heroes I grew up admiring. I saw a man who once brought me Nestlé chocolates standing in awe of our small exhibition. I saw trust placed in me by Lubabalo Luzipho, who allowed me to be part of something meaningful.

In that moment, I realised again: life without Jazz music is a mistake — truly.

It is in these gatherings that I remember why we do this. The stories we share, the hugs, the presence of legends and loved ones — it is not just an event, it is a continuation of something sacred.

I will not name everyone, because the love is too wide, but I must honour those who held the space — the staff at Mendi Arts Centre, Phumla and the entire team, the organisers, the bands, Judah, Mano, Manny, Buzani, Nomabaso, Ma Lawu, the Ntshona family, Tshezi, Rasta and Twin, and all the elders — abaTata and the queens — who reminded me that this culture is alive.

To those I have not seen in a while, to Lawu Mankomo, to Nozuko — akukho mntu ubuza nto, siyabulela. This was not my event, but it is part of my journey. It is healing. It is a reminder that what we carry is real.

I stand here grateful — to Chris, to the archives, to the books we place on pedestals, to the Soul Jazzmen through Lubabalo Luzipho, to Sakhi, Nompozolo, Asanda, Bam — and to every spirit that walked with us.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I am in tears because I am happy. I am blessed to be part of this culture.

And with this, I pay homage to everyone in my community who came to support this. I even forgive those who came late. As I expressed in my earlier monologue about Big T, I am not the dying type, as I was at Rhodes University.

I remember how the International Library of African Music (ILAM) stood opposite my department. I cried when I saw Prof Diane. I remember Elijah Madiba — a man I used to sneak out just to watch work. I was not a student there, yet I spent most of my time in that space, learning through presence, through sound, through culture.

Today, I think about that connection between Computer Science and ILAM — and how close those worlds were, even when I did not fully understand it then.

And now I see how it all connects.

I thank Tata ka Zazi, Thuthu, and Langa, and the Ntshinga family for makin this run in my veins.By Tata ka Zazi I mean Me.

Most of all, I surprise myself.

Camagu.

Written by admin