Barefoot Through Life: An Innocent Boy's Journey
I was born in Kasane, a bustling town that served as a lifeline for those of us from the neighboring villages. Like many children of my generation, the reason for my birthplace was not out of choice but necessity. Kachikau, my home village, lacked maternity facilities, and so my journey began in Kasane. However, my earliest memories are firmly rooted in the dusty paths and communal warmth of Kachikau.
Growing up, I was an innocent boy surrounded by my family: my father, my mother, my twin younger sisters, and my older brother. Life was ordinary yet challenging. My father was a man whose anger often boiled over, manifesting in physical abuse that cast a shadow over our home. This culminated in my mother’s painful decision to leave. She fled to Kasane with my twin sisters, seeking safety and stability. My brother and I, however, were left behind, bound to face my father’s wrath without her shielding presence.
For my older brother, life became an unrelenting storm. While I was somewhat spared due to my age, he bore the brunt of my father’s anger. Eventually, even my father recognized the untenability of the situation. He decided to relocate us to our grandmother’s care in Parakarungu, a small village brimming with the rhythm of rural life. There, amidst the fields and the constant hum of community, we experienced the raw beauty of village life—farming, fetching water, and navigating the simplicities of existence.
Yet, life in Parakarungu was far from idyllic. Our grandmother, though kind and loving, battled mental illness. Her condition left her incapable of providing consistent care, and my brother and I often found ourselves fending for our own survival. Nights were filled with whispers of longing as we thought of our mother and sisters. The desire to reunite with them became a burning resolve.
One early Monday morning, with hearts full of hope and determination, we packed our small bags and set out to find our family. At just 8 years old, I followed my 11-year-old brother as we navigated the uncertainty of our plan. We made our way to the hiking stop, our first step toward Kasane. But word of our departure had spread, and soon an unknown man was sent to bring us back. Fear gripped us—we knew returning home would mean severe punishment. In a desperate act of defiance, we evaded him, leaving behind our bags and running through the shrubs, our bare feet pounding the earth with each determined step.
Fate smiled upon us when a kind stranger stopped his car and listened to our tale. With empathy and generosity, he offered us a ride to Kasane. That evening, we arrived at our destination—exhausted but exhilarated. The reunion with our mother, our grandmother on her side, and our twin sisters was a moment of pure, unfiltered joy. The journey had been arduous, but the embrace of family made every step worthwhile.
Two weeks later, my father came to fetch us. He found us at home with our maternal grandmother, and we had to leave with him. On the way to the hiking stop, we passed by my mother’s workplace. My father stopped to have a conversation with her, while we were ordered to continue moving forward. On the way, my brother and I agreed to hide in some bushes. My father searched for us but to no avail. We waited until it was dark and went to our uncle who stayed in a different ward. However, he returned us back to our mother’s place.
The next morning, a family meeting was gathered. My father was present, and he was told by the family that they would not allow him to take us. After the meeting, my brother and I stayed with our mother and our maternal grandmother. Though life remained challenging, it was also filled with small moments of happiness and security that we had longed for. My mother worked tirelessly to provide for us, and our bond with our twin sisters grew stronger as we adjusted to life together again. Occasionally, the shadow of my father’s absence loomed over us, and I found myself wondering what life could have been like if things were different. Yet, in our small, bustling household, we found a sense of unity that gave us the strength to move forward. Each day brought its trials, but it also brought the promise of a better future, one built on love, resilience, and hope. Despite the hardships, I thrived in school, becoming one of the brightest students in my class. I passed my Primary School exams with flying colors, earning admiration from my teachers and peers. Outside the classroom, my passion for football was undeniable. Though I had a small frame, I played with unmatched determination. On the field, I commanded respect—no boy dared to mess with me in the playing area. Football became my escape, a place where I could channel my energy and find joy amidst the challenges of life.
Despite my passion for football, the injuries kept piling up, and my family began to fear for my health. By the time I was in junior school, I was advised to refrain from football activities altogether. The thought of giving up the sport I loved left me feeling lost, unsure of what could replace it. But my mind soon turned to something else that had always been there: music.
Even before football had taken over, I had always been a poet. Writing words was second nature to me, and now I realized that I could merge my poetic expressions with music. The transition from poetry to rap was smooth—it felt like an organic extension of myself. I began reciting my poems over beats, creating my own rhythm and flow. Rapping became my new outlet, one that allowed me to express everything I had bottled up.
When I moved to Francistown to study for my BGCSE at Mater Spei College, the world of music opened up even further. I was exposed to a variety of recording techniques and methods that expanded my skills. The hostel became my studio, where cyphers and rap battles were a regular part of daily life. Those impromptu sessions refined my talent and pushed me to elevate my craft. I wasn't just rapping for fun anymore—I was honing a skill that would become a cornerstone of my life.
In 2011, my journey led me to Limkokwing University in Gaborone to study for a BSc in E-commerce. The city brought a sense of possibility—an environment full of opportunity, but also one that came with its own set of struggles. Music was now my primary focus. With determination, I saved up my allowance to buy professional recording equipment, hoping to build a future where I could merge my education with my passion for music.
But Gaborone, despite its promise, was not easy. The relatives I had initially stayed with in the city kept passing me around, and I found myself struggling with a sense of displacement. The city didn’t feel like home yet. I eventually ended up in a rural village called Ramaphatle, where I felt even further removed from the life I was trying to build. It was here that I made a decisive choice: I needed to be in the heart of the city if I was going to chase my dreams.
With resolve, I moved to Mogoditshane, where I rented a small room. The hustle was real, but I knew it was necessary for my growth. I focused on finishing my degree while continuing to develop my music. That small room became my sanctuary—a place where I could study and record, pushing through the hardships to create a future where I could blend my passions and ambitions.
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