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Category: Entertainment

Reasons to revel, causes to come together, and, of course, music that makes you move. Discover the events that beckon the world to our borders and the artists whose beats know no bounds—right here, with our curated collection of the best in African music, events, and entertainment.

Art

Luju Festival 2025: Where Soul, Story, and the African Future Converge

5 min read

Set against the rolling hills and golden light of Eswatini, the Luju Festival is more than a date on the cultural calendar it is a living, breathing celebration of African creativity, heritage, and vision. On this particular year, me and my Fifty Four mag team enjoyed it as one of the most transformative and unforgettable festival experiences of our lives.

From the moment we arrived, the energy in the air told me it wasn’t just another event. Beyond the music, the food, and the fashion, it was the way the Luju team welcomed us with open arms, held space for us with care and intention, and made us feel instantly at home – every moment steeped in generosity, cultural pride, and joy.

I had the privilege of experiencing it all alongside my dear friend Mathilda Molokwane. Sharing the festival with her made every moment more meaningful, from the laughter between events to our shared awe as we watched the magic unfold and the pride involved in showcasing Mathilda’s incredible work. We thus enjoyed an opportunity not just to attend but to amplify the brilliance of African creatives like her in a space where storytelling isn’t just celebrated but necessary.

What sets Luju apart is its programming, an artful blend of performance, discussion, and cultural exchange. Beyond the music and runway moments, the festival carved out space for deep, strategic conversations about the future of African creativity, food systems, and general entrepreneurship.

The fashion panel (themed “A Return to the African Future”) brought together an exceptional lineup featuring Thula Sindi, Jay Jay Worral, Maureen Masingue, Phumzile Ntuli, and Sithembila Masuku: all sharing invaluable insights on scaling creative businesses and exploring how entrepreneurs can grow through operational intelligence, strong relationships, disciplined strategies, and well-built operating systems. The discussion touched on creating intentional distance between the brand and customer to build aspiration, tapping into new markets, using technology (including AI) to access critical data, and positioning businesses to attract investment.

Other sessions went far beyond fashion and delved into sustainability strategies, the importance of data access for making informed decisions, and the role cooperatives (e.g., Vukani Bo Make) play in empowering local communities – conversations reminding us that cultural work is inseparable from economic license.

Credits: Mathilda Molokwane
Credits: Mathilda Molokwane

Some of the biggest moments centred on ancestral intelligence – mostly deep wisdom carried through generations – and we explored the significance of seeds as a source of life and living organisms within our cultural worldview. There were also conversations about ancestral innovation in the foods we eat, forage, and grow and urgent reflections on the detrimental impact of genetically modified seeds and (ultimately) food in general.

We spoke of Africa’s indigenous foods, many of which grow wild along our coasts and in the veld, and the need to return to organic farming rooted in our traditions. This was tied to the medicinal value of natural herbs in addressing today’s unprecedented health issues as well as the link between food choices and climate resilience. Coastal foraging, whether with respect to seaweed or edible ocean plants, for example, was celebrated as both ancient knowledge and future opportunity.

Equally moving were discussions on ancestral practices and rituals involving clay and vessels, including how they can restore our relationship with the land, embed meaning into our food rituals, and allow for spiritual communication between people, objects, and nature. Clay, likewise, is a metaphor for grounding, planting, and reconnecting.

The disconnection many feel today was also acknowledged, souls displaced from the land where they were born due to work, school, and migration, as a reminder that we’re not separate from what we eat. In traditional thought, our diets go beyond sustenance as indeed part of who we are.

Credits: Mathilda Molokwane

 

When the sun began to set, the sky was painted in hues of gold and rose as bonfires were lit, music floated through the breezy night air, and the moon rose to watch over us. I’ll never forget sitting under the stars, feeling the drums in my chest and knowing I was part of something timeless.

Then there was Sipho “Hotstix” Mabuse, my favourite performer of the weekend who danced on stage like the young man he’s always been at heart. Watching him, phone in hand, from the edge of the stage was pure joy. Not just about capturing a legend, it was about being in the moment while celebrating the vitality and spirit of African music as well as a living legend.

The rest of the weekend was a mixture of sensory joy: live music moved through our bones, food told a story of heritage in every bite, and fashion blurred the lines between past and future. Everywhere we looked, we saw evidence of the tireless work of the organisers, the dedication of the crew, and the unshakable passion of the artists and volunteers.

 

More than a professional milestone, this Luju partnership shines through as a cultural and personal gift affirming our Fifty Four mag mission: to champion African voices, preserve heritage, and tell the stories that remind us of who we are.

I left Eswatini with a heart full of gratitude, a mind brimming with new ideas, and the unshakable feeling that it was one of the best festival experiences I’d ever had in my 30 years of existence. Swaziland owes us nothing because the Luju team gave us everything.

Luju, thank you for the soul, the story, and the future. Until we meet again, may your colours stay bold, your music stay loud, and your spirit remain unshakably African.

Credits: Mathilda Molokwane
Art

The Last Ranger: Screen Review

8 min read

Wildlife and animal poaching have been around for far too long, and honestly, normalised since we were kids – even if we didn’t realise it back then. Think about it…

How many of us grew up watching Cruella De Vil plot to skin dalmatians? Or Clayton in Tarzan, pretending to protect Jane while actually planning to poach gorillas? Or Percival C. McLeach in The Rescuers Down Under, who made poaching look like just another adventure?

These characters were obviously villains, but their actions were introduced to us so early and casually that we kind of just accepted them as part of the story. The message was there, sure, but we weren’t exactly encouraged to think about the real-world version of things like this – or our ability to do something about them. It was simply “how things were.”

All of that is changing. Today, awareness around poaching and wildlife conservation is growing fast. People are realising this isn’t just something that happens far away; it’s real, and we do have a say in it.

Enter The Last Ranger, a powerful South African short film that dropped last year and has earned an Oscar nomination. It’s a reminder that we all play a role in what happens to our wildlife. The question is: Which side of the story are we on?

 

“We all have a role to play in conservation – it just looks different for each of us.”
David S. Lee, actor and The Last Ranger filmmaker

 

Felicia at Q&A

The internationally praised film is rooted in truth and tells a deeply emotional story of loss, resilience, injustice, poverty, and how badly some governments have failed their people. Set in the Eastern Cape during the COVID-19 pandemic, the story centres around Litha (played by Liyabona Mroqoza), a young girl with a huge love of wildlife and family – something that becomes clear within the first few minutes.

Litha comes from a modest background. She’s raised by her father and grandmother, who – like many other families in the region – are hit hard by the pandemic. Tourism comes to a halt, and with that, any income her father had made carving wooden souvenirs. He tells her he has to leave home to find work but doesn’t say where. Litha’s grandmother, meanwhile, isn’t exactly thrilled with the girl’s independent spirit and tells her she’s “too wild to be under her hair,” pushing Litha to act on her own.

The Last Ranger Cover
Liyabona Mroqoza (Litha) and Avumile Qongqo (Khuselwa)

Wanting to help, Litha grabs her father’s wooden rhino carvings and heads out to a nearby lodge in the hopes of selling them. On the way, she bumps into Khuselwa: the last ranger still patrolling the area and monitoring the wildlife that remains. Litha quickly learns a harsh truth: the lodges are closed and won’t be opening anytime soon.

Seeing how disappointed she is, Khuselwa invites her along on a ride to see real rhinos in the wild – an offer too tempting to refuse. 

Khuselwa and Litha connect pretty quickly as they ride across the landscape in her jeep. Their relationship feels open and honest from the start. Litha’s never used a video camera before, so when Khuselwa flips the screen and she sees herself for the first time, it’s a sweet, innocent moment that really captures her childlike wonder.

As they drive through the bush, Litha is wide-eyed while taking in all the wildlife around her. She learns the English word for “giraffe” and even sees a rare white rhino up close. One of the rhinos, Thandi, is familiar to Khuselwa. The two women keep talking as they sit in the jeep near her, with Thandi quietly listening in and just going about her day.

Things take a sudden turn, though. Thandi starts acting strangely – almost like she’s dancing – which is when it hits Khuselwa that something’s not right. The calm moment quickly shifts into something more serious, and now it’s up to Khuselwa to protect both Litha and Thandi from whatever danger is unfolding. What had started off as a beautiful moment turns into something much darker when poachers show up and suddenly throw Litha and Khuselwa into a life-threatening situation.

Lindy G via Unsplash

The Last Ranger is a powerful reminder that so much of what we encounter today – like safaris and the concept of poaching – didn’t just appear out of nowhere. These ideas really took shape when colonisers came in, took over the land, and disrupted how communities had lived with nature for generations.

Before colonisation, hunting was a way of life for many African communities – whether for food, cultural rituals, or simply to live in balance with nature. Once colonial governments took control, however, they introduced “preservation” laws that made it nearly impossible for local people to hunt on their own land. Suddenly, what had always been a way of life was deemed illegal. Colonial powers, meanwhile, were free to hunt for sport, sell animal products, and create luxury safari industries. So, what was once normal and necessary became “poaching” – but only when done by locals.

Fast forward to now, and not much has changed. Many of those colonial laws are still in place or only slightly rebranded. Conservation efforts still too often ignore the people who actually live closest to wildlife. On top of that, governments in many regions don’t provide proper support or alternatives – especially during hard times like the COVID-19 pandemic when tourism (a major source of income) dried up. So, for some people, poaching becomes a means of survival: not because they want to harm animals but because they’re left with no other choice. 

The Last Ranger Still 2

“Poverty can betray even the deep love we have for animals and our own communities.”

Peter Egan, actor, conservation advocate, and Helping Rhinos patron

At the same time, rangers – like Khuselwa in the film – are stuck in the middle, trying to protect wildlife but often underfunded, under-protected, and at serious risk not just due to wild animals but also armed poachers and organised crime groups that see wildlife as profit. Many governments don’t invest enough in enforcement, anti-poaching programs, or efforts to track down and hold powerful poachers and trophy hunters accountable.

That’s the real issue here: the whole system still favours outsiders. Westerners can fly in, pay huge fees, and hunt endangered animals under the banner of “conservation” or “sport.” Meanwhile, the people who’ve lived with and respected these animals for generations are criminalised if they try to fish or hunt for food.

In the end, this isn’t just about wildlife – it’s political. The term “poaching” itself has colonial roots, the practice used to strip local people of their rights and justify the takeover of land and animals by outsiders. Colonisation and poaching are tightly connected, and unless we begin addressing that same history, the same old power dynamics will continue to shape conservation but with new branding.

Litha mourns Thandi

CITES and the Fight Against Poaching

Back in 1973, 80 countries signed an agreement called the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (“CITES” for short). The goal was to control and limit the international trade of endangered animals and plants. From the beginning, some African species, like rhinos, were already on the protected list.

Fast forward to 1990, and African elephants were officially added. That meant trading ivory for commercial purposes was no longer allowed, which had a massive impact: ivory poaching dropped off fast and became more manageable. The same couldn’t be said for rhinos, unfortunately, still heavily targeted by poachers ever since.

On-the-Ground Anti-Poaching Efforts

Beyond those big international moves, powerful grassroots efforts took shape across Africa. Take Helping Rhinos, for example, this group playing a big role in founding The Black Mambas – the all-female anti-poaching unit that inspired The Last Ranger. Their story really resonates with rangers like Khuselwa and many others on the front lines.

“I would die to protect wildlife.”

Sergeant Felicia Mogakane, member of the Black Mambas anti-poaching unit

Community-driven projects also focus on transforming former poachers into protectors of wildlife. John Kasaona, a key figure in this space, works in Namibia to help set up community conservancies (protected areas run by locals). He discusses how many people in his region used to poach just to survive, either to eat or earn money for their families.

Liyabona Mroqoza (Litha) and Avumile Qongqo (Khuselwa) copy

When Kasaona spoke at TEDx, he shared a bit about his own background. He grew up under apartheid, with only white citizens allowed to hunt, farm, and use natural resources. Anyone Black who tried to do the same was labelled a poacher, fined, or thrown in jail. As he put it, “We were not regarded as responsible enough to use wildlife.”

Kasaona’s approach? Hire the people who know the land better than anyone (former poachers) and show them how wildlife can actually benefit their communities, a true game-changer in Namibia.

The Bigger Picture

The Last Ranger helps shine a light on how international laws like CITES team up with local efforts to fight poaching. Stopping poaching in Africa isn’t just about laws, however, but also comes down to creating real opportunities and respect for the people living alongside wildlife.

In the end, it’s about balance. Protecting animals and supporting communities is the only real way forward, tasking us with ensuring both people and wildlife can live side by side safely.

Liyabona Mroqoza (Litha) and Avumile Qongqo (Khuselwa) copy
References:

 

ThoughtCo, A Brief History of Poaching in Africa, 2020
Kindred Films, The Last Ranger, 2024
SOAS, Poverty, Poaching and Trafficking: What Are The Links?, 2024
The British Journal of Criminology, Responses to Wildlife Crime in Post-Colonial Times. Who Fares Best?, 2020
TEDx, How poachers became caretakers, 2015
Taylor & Francis Online, Neo-colonialism and greed: Africans’ views on trophy hunting in social media, 2019
Culture

The Power of African Music: A Story of Identity, Empowerment, and Collective Memory

4 min read

African music is not just an art form but a system of communication, space for healing, and tool for building community. Across the continent, music functions beyond entertainment. It is deeply embedded in how people express identity, cope with trauma, celebrate life, and pass down stories and values. In many African societies, music plays a central role in everything from religious practices to political resistance.

What makes African music so powerful is its ability to hold multiple meanings at once. A rhythm can carry history. A song can serve as a political statement. A dance beat can unite people who speak different languages. For many Africans, music offers a way to reclaim agency – especially in contexts shaped by colonisation, migration, and cultural suppression.

Mike Vanschoonder Walt via AdobeStock

One of the strongest examples of music as empowerment is seen in the post-independence era. As African nations gained sovereignty, artists used music to articulate their hopes, fears, and visions for the future. Beyond the creation of new genres, it was about reclaiming narratives, celebrating heritage, and resisting ongoing forms of cultural domination.

Genres like Makossa, Bikutsi, and Assiko (all from Cameroon) became significant during this time. More than musical styles, they’re cultural responses to the complexities of modern African life.

Steward Masweneng via Unsplash
Proper Quality via Unsplash

One of the strongest examples of music as empowerment is seen in the post-independence era. As African nations gained sovereignty, artists used music to articulate their hopes, fears, and visions for the future. Beyond the creation of new genres, it was about reclaiming narratives, celebrating heritage, and resisting ongoing forms of cultural domination.

Genres like Makossa, Bikutsi, and Assiko (all from Cameroon) became significant during this time. More than musical styles, they’re cultural responses to the complexities of modern African life.

nice m nshuti via unsplash
matt benson via unsplash

Different musical styles offer unique ways to respond to social change and urban life. Makossa, originally developed in the city of Douala, is closely linked to the rise of a modern, confident African middle class. Drawing from traditional rhythms but embracing the influence of global genres like funk and rumba, Makossa didn’t just grow into a popular sound but ultimately reflected mobility, aspiration, and redefinition: its expansion from local dance halls to international airwaves making it a sonic symbol of African cities transforming in real time. This style allowed Cameroonians – both at home and abroad – to experience a sense of connection that transcended location, with “Soul Makossa” by Manu Dibango tagged as one of the most sampled tracks of all time.

Bikutsi, meanwhile, serves a different function. Rooted in the traditions of the Beti people, it’s fast-paced, driven by percussive beats and provocative lyrics, and known for addressing social issues, taboos, and gender dynamics. Historically played by women in community gatherings, it became a tool for expression (and even defiance) and transitioned from village ceremonies to urban nightclubs over time: evolving in sound but not purpose. The style still gives voice to the oft-unheard.

 

Assiko, on the other hand, carries the rhythm of rural resilience. Emerging from Bassa communities, its structure is simple. Its expression? Anything but. The music is typically performed with acoustic instruments and a sharp, driving beat that relies heavily on improvisation. What sets Assiko apart is how it draws attention to the body, not just as a dancer’s tool but as a storytelling conduit. Every jump, spin, and stomp is an assertion of presence. It’s music grounded in lived experience – raw, real, and communal – as a clear reminder that tradition isn’t static. It adapts and survives through movement, spontaneity, and shared participation.

Altogether, these genres show how music helps people navigate complex histories and present-day realities as living archives housing stories of migration, colonisation, resistance, and innovation.

African music also plays a central role in healing, both individually and collectively. In societies where therapy or formal mental health services are perhaps not widespread or culturally accepted, music offers a socially integrated method of processing emotion. Drumming circles, praise songs, and mourning chants are all examples of music’s utility in managing grief, building resilience, and reconnecting with others.

African music continues to evolve in today’s globalised world. Just as digital platforms introduce traditional sounds to new audiences, young artists blend hip-hop, electronic music, and more into ancestral rhythms. Yet, at its core, the role of music remains the same as a space where African people can see and define themselves and find one another.

Makossa, Bikutsi, and Assiko remind us that music is not just part of African culture – it is culture. In this way, identity is not only preserved but continually reimagined.

References
Masterclass, Makossa Music Guide: A Brief History of Makossa Music, 2022
Trans Atlantic Cultures, Makossa, 2022
China Africa, Bikutsi: a musical genre from the equatorial forest of Cameroon, 2021
MDLBEAST, The History of African Music: A Harmonious Journey Through Time, 2024 
Scientific Research, The Effective Power of Music in Africa, 2015
African Art Times, The Beat of Africa: Exploring the Diversity, Peculiarities and Complexity of African Music, 2025


Entertainment

“Where the Water Meets the Womb”: DemiMa’s Sonic Journey Between Legacy and Liberation

4 min read
DEMIMA by Tolu Elusade

There’s a stillness to DemiMa’s presence that makes you want to lean in, not because she demands the room but because she tends to it like a garden. It’s a kind of quiet confidence that doesn’t announce itself but resonates long after. Maybe it’s the echo of her grandfather’s piano or the eThekwini sea winds. Maybe it’s her London grit softened by meditative grace. Maybe it’s all of that.

“People ask me who I am behind the scenes,” she says, her voice warm but grounded – like someone who’s made peace with the weight of many things. “There’s not really a ‘behind’ and ‘in front’ anymore, though. I live close to the core. What you hear in the music – that’s really me. A revolutionary raised by revolutionaries, my intention to present solutions to my community for a better future.”

Born into the Mseleku family – South African jazz royalty – DemiMa could’ve leaned into expectation but chose to dance with it instead. “There were moments,” she admits, “where I felt the shadow of it. The weight. You know, people project legacy onto you, but you’re still figuring out what’s yours. I never felt trapped by it and now see it as a seed, not a ceiling.”

What a seed it is. Her sound doesn’t cling to genre so much as it stretches across various – electronic soul woven with jazz curiosity, peppered with ancestral textures and meditative breath. It feels both intentional and improvisational, like a prayer meeting polyrhythm. Sound like a contradiction? DemiMa’s okay with that,. her life built on beautiful dualities.

“I always say South West London gave me the tools, but eThekwini gave me the spirit. London sharpened my ear – it’s diverse, it’s messy, it’s urgent – but Durban taught me how to listen. Like really listen: to space, to silence, to land. That’s what anchors me.”

That anchor is evident in her EP Duality Pt. 2: Peace, a deeply meditative body of work that resists the urge to rush. “I wanted to create a space where people can rest,” she explains. “There’s so much noise in the world, and even more pressure to be seen, to produce. This project was about allowing stillness to speak.”

Finnian Hadiep via unsplash

Stillness, of course, doesn’t mean stagnation. DemiMa is in motion, collaborating with legends like Madala Kunene, opening for Thandiswa Mazwai, and curating “The Sanctuary” at the We Out Here festival. When asked what she’s learned from those encounters, she pauses.

“You know what struck me?” she says with a smile. “They’re deeply grounded people. Especially Madala; —he carries history in his fingertips, but is light with it. Working with him reminded me that mastery isn’t about doing more. It’s about doing less, with more presence.”

This philosophy extends to her sound therapy and wellness work. For DemiMa, music isn’t just performance – it’s medicine. “Sound is vibration,. and vibration shifts energy. So for me, the studio, the stage, the yoga mat… They’re all temples.”

Finnian Hadiep via unsplash

She speaks like someone who’s done the inner excavation. Not hurried. Not performative. Just… honest. “I think we’re moving into a time where artists don’t have to choose between genres, between cultures, between healing and hustle. The next wave of electronic soul, of jazz, will be global, bilingual, and emotionally intelligent.”

There’s no grandeur in the way she says it. No sell. Just conviction and the kind of quiet clarity that makes you feel safe even as you’re asked to stretch. Maybe that’s what makes DemiMa who she is – not the legacy, not the genre-bending, not the buzz – but the fact that she makes space.

Not just for herself but for the rest of us to exhale too.

DemiMa stands as a quiet revolutionary rooted in jazz legacy, shaped by global rhythms and guided by spiritual intuition. With a deep commitment to healing through music, her projects like Duality Pt. 2: Peace and “The Sanctuary” speak to an artistry that’s not only about sound but restoration. DemiMa isn’t just crafting music; she’s building sanctuaries, one breath, one note, one moment of truth at a time.

Culture

On the Edges of Light

5 min read

Across the vastness of our continent, the arrival of election season rarely has a singular meaning. It might signal the hopeful whisper of democracy to some, yet to others it arrives like smoke before fire: thick with anxiety, memories of betrayal, and the muffled dreams of those still waiting to be seen. During these times, to vote, to choose, and to hope out loud isn’t always a right written in ink but instead a privilege won in blood and prayer. This is especially true for those who live within the quiet constraints life imposes too early: the poor, the silenced, and the ones whose names are misspelled or never learned. Their realities are hidden beneath the heavy cloak of systemic invisibility as a garment stitched long ago by the Western gaze and worn still, even under the tropical sun.

My Father’s Shadow, the feature directorial debut of Akinola Davies Jr., walks into this fragile and luminous terrain as a film not merely to be watched but felt and understood in the gut before the mind. With its world premiere slated for the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, Davies Jr.’s offering does not arrive quietly and lands as a resounding echo across time, oceans, and borders – both geographical and artistic.

Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù , Lead Actor, My Father_S Shadow

It’s not just a moment of celebration for one filmmaker but instead a collective breath held and finally exhaled by an entire continent. The film stands as the first Nigerian feature ever selected to screen at Cannes, under the prestigious Un Certain Regard category. A historic gesture, it’s a line etched into the record books of global cinema and carved in the language of vision, resilience, and bold storytelling. This inclusion means the strength of the African Giant’s film industry is no longer merely whispered in the corridors but amplified on one of the world’s most esteemed stages.

Davies Jr. follows in the footsteps of titans Souleymane Cissé (Mali), our own Sana Na N’Hada (Guinea-Bissau), Emma Benestan (Algeria), Rungano Nyoni (Zambia), Mo Harawe (Somalia), Nada Riyadh, and Ayman El Amir (Egypt): artists whose work emerges not just from scripts but from memory, land, and the breath of people often misrepresented or not represented at all. Nigeria now joins this lineage not through assimilation but instead an insistence on truth.

Funmbi Ogunbanwo

Set during a single day in Lagos during the tremors of the 1993 Nigerian election crisis, Davies Jr.’s work is a semi-autobiographical meditation on return, rupture, and reconciliation. Folarin (played with textured restraint by Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù of Gangs of London and Slow Horses) searches for a home through sons, memory, and the chaos of a nation on the brink. In this way, the film isn’t only a story but a homecoming of sorts: for fathers and sons, for lost languages, for African cinema itself.

The story, which Davies Jr. co-wrote with his brother Wale Davies, reveals an intimate family bond threaded with history. Their earlier work – Lizard, honoured with the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance as well as a BAFTA nomination – already highlighted the pair as storytellers to watch. My Father’s Shadow, however, reaffirms their purpose: to create not just content but cinematic soul. Alongside Fatherland Co-Producer and CEO Funmbi Ogunbanwo, the Davies brothers craft a story about what it means to reclaim authorship over African narratives from within and on their own terms.

Wale Davies, Co-writer and Co-founder, Fatherland Productions

So, what does this mean for the future of African cinema?

Cannes (as with so many other global institutions) has offered limited room for Nigerian voices for decades, especially in its official selections. The stories of our continent, particularly those from Anglophone regions, are often relegated to the periphery and celebrated only when filtered through palatable lenses or tokenised under universal themes. Yes, we’ve honoured the triumphs of Touki Bouki, La Noire de…, and others. Too often, though, such victories are bound by the Francophone experience. This My Father’s Shadow moment, an invitation to stand at the centre rather than the edge, is long overdue.

The film is a declaration that Nigerian cinema is not an anomaly but part of a greater movement as a rising tide, proof that we can no longer confine African stories to streaming platforms, independent circuits, or Western tropes. They deserve cinematic grandeur, global distribution, and a space in the international conversations that shape the future of film.

Yet, this moment also reflects the burden of independent filmmaking on the African continent: one carried by artists who craft beauty out of scarcity. With minimal resources, little structural support, and often no institutional backing, these filmmakers persist and carry generations in their cameras. We must therefore ask the following question, not of the filmmakers but of the world: why are such bold, poetic, and politically and artistically rigorous films still rarely afforded wide release or serious investment?

Akinola Davies Jnr – Photo Credit Sali Mudawi

Perseverance shown by artists like Davies Jr. is not an exception but instead the very rule by which African creatives have always survived. The hope, likewise, is that this milestone flings the door wide open as something more than a symbolic one-time invitation, beckoning additional transcontinental voices – from Bissau to Bulawayo – to walk through and be heard.

Just as My Father’s Shadow stands tall, it also reminds us of what is still missing: networks, funding, spaces, and systems that root African films in the continent beyond exports for validation. It is not enough to arrive. We must stay. We must be seen by our own.

The 2025 Cannes Film Festival will take place from 13-24 May 2025. May this year mark the beginning of something lasting, not just for Davies Jr. but for the generations rising behind him who carry their shadows and light in equal measure.

References:
Unruly, A Historic First: Akinola Davies Jr. Brings Nigeria to Cannes with My Father’s Shadow, 2025
CNN, Nigerian cinema in the spotlight as ‘My Father’s Shadow’ to premiere in Cannes Film Festival first, 2025
Afrocitik, Seven African Films Selected for the 2024 Cannes Film Festival, 2024
Deeds., African Cinema Scintillates At Cannes 2024, 2024
Entertainment

Celebrating the Soul of African Jazz

5 min read

South African Mpumi Dhlamini speaks rapidly, his energy reflecting a life filled with multiple passions – music, fitness and studying. 

Once a promising football player, he left the sport, realising it was his father’s dream, not his. Now, he’s a sought-after music producer, a multi-instrumentalist, a nutritionist and a personal trainer. 

His insatiable thirst for knowledge sets him apart. He approaches instruments with an analytical mindset, believing muscle memory and repetition are key to mastering them. Yet his initial motivation for learning an instrument was simple – romance. 

Mpumi says, “At the National School of the Arts in Johannesburg, I realised no one would take a recorder player seriously, so I needed something else.”

Following his time at Drakensberg Boys Choir, he enrolled at the arts school, where studying two instruments was mandatory. Voice was one, but piano was off the table – Grade 8 exams had to be completed before matric (the final year high school exam in South Africa), and he hadn’t started. He refused to play the recorder and warned his mother he would fail. But failure wasn’t in his nature. Determined, he taught himself piano faster than the formal curriculum allowed. 

He says, “I worked hard. I didn’t have a piano at home, so I practised at school. I co-wrote the school song and released my first album three years after starting piano at 17. My sports background made me hyper-competitive in a healthy way. Jumping to Grade 7 piano in two years seemed impossible, but I went straight to Grade 8 and released an album a year later.”


 

With trumpet and voice as his foundation, he explored orchestral percussion, mastering marimba, xylophone and timpani. But none were chordal instruments. So, he taught himself piano and learned saxophone melodies while working on his debut album. “That was good enough for me. Then, I added bass, accordion and more. I’ve lost count. My approach is multidisciplinary.”

Celebrated multi-instrumentalist and award-winning producer

Now, nearly two decades later, Mpumi is a celebrated multi-instrumentalist and award-winning producer. A self-proclaimed outlier in jazz, he’s never followed the conventional path. 

Mpumi says, “There’s a sound people call African jazz – I don’t know what that means, and I don’t identify with it. I want my music to compete on a world stage.” 

His style is a hybrid of digital and analogue, often featuring over 40 instruments and 100 vocals in a single song. His skills as a sound engineer allow him full creative control. “I mix, master, design my artwork – I do everything. This way, I execute my vision without inconveniencing anyone.”

 


His career follows a three-year cycle: performing, producing, directing for TV, and film scoring. His credits include Afro-soul vocalist Lira’s award-winning Celebration DVD, albums for South African singers Lulu Dikana, Brian Temba and Wanda Baloyi, and musician Sphelelo Mazibuko. He has also composed for film, animation, and even the Zulu-dubbed SpongeBob SquarePants. 

He says, “When the music industry slows, I pivot. When another sector does the same, I move again. This year, I want to consolidate everything and build a team.”

Despite his workload, he prioritises efficiency over long hours. 

“Nobody sleeps more than me. I get nine hours a night. Yesterday, I was scoring a play, The Picture of Dorian Gray, which I’m approaching like a film score. I also compose for Sesame Street and Takalani Sesame. I can create 40 songs for an episode in two hours. I work fast, so I get to rest more. A six-month task? I finish it in three weeks, then take time off.”

To date, Mpumi has three and a half albums, but he won’t count his latest, a self-titled remake of his past work, as his fourth. He’s reimagining his music as he transitions to a new sound – more classical, rooted in the 60s, yet diverse. 

He says, “This album blends East African influences with Mongolian sounds and Japanese melodies. I sing in Venda and Wolof. The cultural diversity will surprise people. I might drop another six albums this year – I’m sitting on over 50 unreleased albums. I just need to close this chapter of my sound.”

You can experience his music live at the Diamond City Jazz Festival in Botswana on 29 March 2025. For the first time in his 18-year career, he will perform his album exactly as recorded, without compromise. 

 



“Rehearsal time and musician availability have always been challenges. My music has a million sections, and it’s tough for players to remember every part. This time, we started prepping two months in advance, which I’ve never done. Finally, my music will be performed the way it was meant to be heard.”

How does he stay motivated? He answers, “Self-inspiration. People ask me what I listen to. Ironically, I don’t listen to jazz. I listen to hip-hop and everything else.”

Jazz greats and young musicians share the stage

The Diamond City Jazz Festival celebrates a shared cultural heritage, bringing together artists and audiences in a collective love for jazz. The lineup includes festival director and jazz legend Sipho “Hotstix” Mabuse, tenor saxophonists McCoy Mrubata and Steve Dyer, and trumpeter and saxophonist Bhudaza Mapefane. They will perform alongside rising stars like Mpumi, vocalist Nono Siile, singer-songwriters Azana, Jordan Moozy and Mpho Sebina.

Sipho, a pioneer of South African jazz, continues to inspire generations with classics like Burn Out. McCoy blends Cape jazz traditions with modern sounds, while Bhudaza’s soulful saxophone and deep Sesotho jazz roots add richness to the mix. Steve, a master saxophonist and flautist, rounds out the lineup with his signature versatility.

Beyond performances, the festival offers mentorship sessions, allowing emerging artists to engage with industry legends, refine their techniques, and deepen their understanding of jazz’s cultural significance. This initiative reflects the festival’s mission to nurture new talent, honour musical heritage and connect generations through jazz.

 

The Diamond City Jazz Festival, Botswana, 29 March 2025

Tickets are available at Webtickets for Botswanan Pula (BWP) 300. The festival takes place at Bojanala Waterfront in Botswana on 29 March 2025, from 9am to 11:30pm. 

For more information or sponsorship opportunities, contact Nono Matuwane at +060 444 5376 or Rapula Kegopilwe at +267 75 783 070.




Culture

Hollywoodbets Cape Town Street Parade 2025

1 min read

Cape Town came alive on 4 January 2025 as the Hollywoodbets Cape Town Street Parade filled the streets with vibrant music, colour, and energy. More than 75,000 people gathered to witness over 20,000 minstrels and 22 troupes weave through the city, from the historic District Six to the lively Bo-Kaap. Ghoema beats echoed through the air, sequins sparkled in the sunlight, and the spirit of the Kaapse Klopse lit up every corner.



The Purple Mile buzzed with excitement as performers dazzled in beautifully crafted costumes, and the Grand Parade, with City Hall standing proudly in the background, became a hub of music and dance. This was Cape Town in full celebration – a city honouring its heritage and uniting people through rhythm, colour, and joy.



This year was especially significant as it marked the 21st anniversary of the Kaapse Klopse Karnival Association. Every performance reflected months of hard work and creativity, highlighting the deep-rooted pride of the local communities in preserving this iconic tradition.

Cape Town once again proved why this event holds such a special place in the city’s heart – a vibrant, joyous display of unity and culture that continues to inspire.



Follow future festivities, up-to-date news and all things Klopse via their social media channels:

Image credits: Karriem Salie and Niyaaz Adhikarie

Entertainment

Breaking Barriers Through Song

1 min read

In a world where stories of resilience often get overshadowed by the noise of daily life, the Ndlovu Youth Choir rises above. Their journey from the rural village of Moutse in Limpopo, South Africa, to the world’s grandest stages is not just an inspiring story, but a celebration of breaking barriers and transforming lives.

What started as an after-school programme for orphaned and vulnerable children by the Ndlovu Care Group has evolved into an international sensation, captivating hearts worldwide. Since its beginnings in 2009, the Ndlovu Youth Choir has rewritten the possibilities for African youth, showing that even in the face of adversity, hope can not only survive but thrive.

(read the full story in issue 08)