Babongile Sikhonjwa — The Ndebele rockstar who turned everyone into family

PATIENCE MUSA  

There are people whose laughter arrives before they do, whose presence is a broadcast in itself, warm, insistent, impossible to ignore.

Babongile Sikhonjwa was one of those people.

He wore many hats: DJ, MC, comedian, promoter, cultural mainstay, joy whisperer, glee guide, smile smith, gift spotter, hope restorer, rainbow keeper.

I could go on endlessly.

To those who knew him best, he was simply Babo — a friend who carried rooms on his shoulders and a voice that made strangers feel understood.

The news of his sudden passing in the early hours of Sunday struck like silence in a room he had lit for years. Disbelief. Denial. How does someone who has always been there vanish in a moment? How does one reconcile a world without Babo in it?

For me, the grief cuts especially deep. I have known Babo for over twenty years. We first met more than two decades ago when I had just started singing with Mateo and Friends. We travelled to Bulawayo to perform, and there he was — wide-eyed, brimming with passion for the arts, and impossibly kind. That was the beginning of a friendship that never let go. From that day forward, Babongile became our familiar face in Bulawayo: our guide, our support, our joy. He arranged shows, ensured accommodations were comfortable, showed us the city’s best spots, invited friends to join, and always, always did it with a smile.

Later, when I worked with Kelly Rusike and Jazz Invitation, he was the same: our contact, our emcee, our introduction to every stage. What struck me most was his love for people — all people — and the way Bulawayo loved him in return. If anything happened in Bulawayo, the answer was always the same: call Babo.

I have countless stories about Babo. The whack show organised by a club owner in Bulawayo with the shockingly bad accommodation that Babo rescued us from. The wild drive to Triangle to perform at a golf club, only to run into the police — and thank God they knew Babo.

Some of my fondest memories are of the NAMA Awards. The first year the awards came to Bulawayo, we were only given the red carpet, not the main stage. I remember Babo turning to me and saying, “Patience, let’s take this.

They’ve only given us the red carpet, but we can make it the best red carpet ever.” And we did. The following year and a few years after, we were asked to host the main stage. He was funny, wise, respectful, kind — and always, always a joy to work with.

Then there was my 40th birthday. Babongile had an entire celebration organized at Red Café, complete with flowers and a crowd ready to sing.

He ensured that night would be unforgettable. He could have kept celebrating through the weekend if I’d allowed him. That was Babo: generous beyond words, with a gift for making every individual feel seen, special, loved.

Professionally, his journey was remarkable.

At Metro Skyz FM, I thought, they don’t know what’s coming.

And they didn’t.

Later, at Star FM, he became a beloved voice on the After Drive show, transforming airwaves into living rooms, making listeners laugh, think, and feel heard. He promoted, uplifted, and inspired effortlessly.

As an MC, comedian, and promoter, he built platforms. He gave artists their first stages, rallied crowds, and celebrated their growth. At Red Café in Bulawayo, he turned ordinary nights into unforgettable experiences, weaving the city’s cultural fabric with music, humour, and boundless generosity.

Celebrated media personality Zandile “Zaza” Ndlovu said it perfectly:

“He laughed hard and loved hardest. He was one of a kind… Raw and unfiltered. That was Bubbles for you… You had the last laugh and got us good. You touched so many people in different ways… Lala ngukuthula, Spinatshi wami.”

And Hugo Ribatika a media personality added:

“You were good at your craft. I pray you rest easy brother. I know you’ve got them in stitches up there laughing at your jokes. The host with mostest. Till the next time, Bro…”

Messages of condolence have poured in from across Zimbabwe. Artists, colleagues, institutions, and fans alike describe him as irreplaceable. Journalist Chengetai Murimwa said:

“He was a man full of love, warmth, and an unwavering passion for people. With his signature humor, he always called me ‘My Shona friend,’ a reminder of the friendship we shared across cultures. His impact will never be forgotten.”

To his family, and to those of us who counted him as one of our own, this loss feels immeasurable. The world is a little darker, a little quieter, a little less funny without him. Yet in the stories we share, the laughter we remember, the love he poured into every room, his light continues.

Rest well, Babongile Sikhonjwa. Thank you for your laughter, your wisdom, your generosity, your friendship. Thank you for making the ordinary extraordinary, for loving people so fiercely, and for leaving us with memories strong enough to carry us through the silence.