South Africa was supposed to be the upgrade. With Holland feeling like a concrete jungle and my mom being South African-born, we decided to settle nearby Cape Town.
After Ghana, I was hungry.
Not just to rap — but to build.
I didn’t want to be the lone wolf with a mic anymore.
I yearned to create a pack.
And I did.
We landed, and I hit the ground running.
Studio sessions. Street cyphers. Beats banging my bedroom to sh*t.
It didn’t take long — I recorded everything.
Over 300 tracks in a few years.
Woke up with music. Went to sleep with mixes.
This wasn’t a hobby. This was war.
I attended 2 music colleges,
Leaving the first due to ‘differences’ and graduating from the second.
While studying, there came even more studio sessions.
Then, TV appearances.
Live performances.
Radio airplay.
People started recognizing me.
Not just in the scene — in public.
It was surreal.
So I built a label.
Twelve artists.
All fire. All hungry.
I didn’t just record them — I produced them, designed their covers, marketed them, drove them to gigs, performed alongside them.
We were a squad. A wave. A movement.
But here’s the thing about movements:
If you’re not careful, they move against you.
It started small.
A few comments behind my back.
A little side-eye at rehearsals.
They said I wasn’t focused enough on them.
That I was making it all about me.
And they were right — and wrong.
I was trying to do everything.
Run the label. Push the brand.
Keep us heard, seen, visible, moving.
But I was burning out.
And the moment I slowed down to breathe, they turned.
Jealousy crept in.
Egos flared.
People I had poured into — who I’d believed in when no one else would —
started talking like I owed them more.
To add on, life kept dishing more on my already filled-up plate:
My long-term relationship fell apart.
My girl left and went back to her ex.
My father lost his job.
My mother left the country to go work in Holland.
And just like that, the whole foundation cracked.
No label. No love.
No family support.
Just me — alone with my gear, my songs, and the echo of everything I’d built falling down behind me.
I remember standing in my room, looking at beaten up computer after all it had endured, thinking:
What was it all for?
I had the stats.
The tracks.
The applause.
But inside, I was hollow.
Drained.
Done.
So I stopped.
Not with a bang.
But with a silence.
A deep, aching silence.
And in that silence…
I heard something new.
It wasn’t music.
It was a whisper.
A pull.
An invitation to go deeper than bars, deeper than beats.
To find the part of me that I hadn’t recorded yet.
Chapter 4: Hip Hop, Meet I
Ghana was where everything flipped. Up until then, I’d been the outsider — always watching, always adapting. New countries, new classrooms, new codes. But this time, something shifted. Maybe it was the start of highschool. Maybe it was the energy — raw, alive, unapologetic. Or maybe, it was Abigail. She [...]| Play | Cover | Release Label |
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