There’s things in life that don’t ask for permission to matter, they just happen to.

Music is one of them.

You don’t even have to be a music person. You don’t have to understand  it (or the language) or go out of your way to find it. Somehow, it will find you. In the most random places. At the most unexpected times. Music happens to you in moments you didn’t even realise were becoming memories.

One minute you’re just minding your business, and the next? A song comes on and boom you’re not here anymore. You’re there. Back in a moment. Back in a feeling. Back in a version of yourself you didn’t even know you missed.

That’s the thing about music. it doesn’t just play.

It takes you back

Now here’s the twist: I’m not even a music fanatic.

I’m not the kind of person who wakes up and presses play before brushing my teeth. Silence in the morning? I love her. Umsindo ngowani eksen? But I’ll never sit here and downplay how powerful music is because when I do listen, I feel it.

And what I appreciate most about music is that its relationship with memory and its culture. It’s story telling. 

A song doesn’t just play, it transports. You know that moment when a song comes on and you go, “Yeyiiiii ingoma leyi!”

Exactly that.

That’s how I build my playlists, by the way. About 80% of the songs I download are because I heard them somewhere-at a party, in someone’s car, at an event and I wanted to bottle that exact feeling.

Case in point is ZWOTHE KEYS my latest addition, and current obsession. All because of a recent random night out where a friend insisted the DJ plays “Prayer for the Nation.” She even walked up to request it. The song dropped… and yeah, I got it. Immediately.

Next thing? I’m Shazamming. Downloading. Spiralling into the artist’s catalogue like I’ve been a fan all my life.

That’s how music gets me. No warning.

But music isn’t just about vibes it can be deeply intimate.

There’s a moment in the song The Blessing by Kari Jobe and Cody Carnes where they sing:

“May His favour be upon you and a thousand generations

And your children

And their children…”

I don’t know about you, but in that moment? I feel cosmic things shifting. Like generational burdens are loosening their grip. Like something bigger than me is at work.

Then there’s Janet Manyowa with Zadzisa. When she sings:

“Imi makati ndirimukundi

Imi makati ndiri wenyasha 

Imi makati ndiri wemberi…”

Ayyyy Demet mhan 🥹. I’m not just singing. I’m believing. Fully convinced that yes, I am that girl. Favoured. Anointed. Covered.

That’s the beauty of music.

It doesn’t just reflect how you feel but it can change how you feel. It makes faith louder. Joy deeper. Pain lighter. It gives you the audacity to believe things might actually work out.

And sometimes, it just brings people together in the most unexpected ways.

This part is what inspired this whole post actually. Last Thursday night was supposed to be a quick “hi-bye” situation at a friend’s house but turned into a full-blown “we’re-closing-the-place” moment.

And before you judge me, yes, it was a work week, but I was off work that week so please Felicia cut me some slack.

What struck me that night wasn’t even the drinks or the people, it was the music.

How it brought life in the room…also kudos to babe’s sound system. 

How it connected strangers.

How it turned a casual link-up into something memorable.

We listened to different types of music, from Lovemore Majaivana, to piano, to Dj Cleo to Hulungende.

Then Mugove by Leonard Zhakata came on! 

Haaa. Weh. Mah!

If you know, you know.

Suddenly it’s no longer a chill vibe. People are up. Singing like they wrote the song. And I’m there with my wring lyrics but fully present in the moment.

And it reminded me of something I’ve seen so many times before; how certain songs belong to a culture, a people… but somehow still transcend all of that.

Because just like Mugove does that to one crowd, Sista Bettina by Mgarimbe does the exact same thing to another.

And yet if you put either song in the room, and watch what happens, 

Everyone still sings.

Everyone still dances.

Everyone still loses it.

Music doesn’t ask where you’re from. It just asks, “Can you feel this?”

Because at the end of the day, music isn’t about perfection.

It’s about participation.

It’s about memory.

It’s about connection.

It’s about feeling something—anything—in a world that sometimes moves too fast for us to sit with our emotions.

So no, I’m not a music fanatic.

But I get it.

Music is more than sound.

It’s time travel. It’s therapy. It’s culture. It’s community.

It’s that one thing that can turn a random Thursday into a core memory.

And honestly?

That’s magic.

Love & light 🧡