AFROCENTRIC: CREATING MOMENTS OF NOSTALGIA IN THE CITY
In the heart of Cape Town this September, Nostalgia, an artist-led organization championing emerging talent, proudly presents Afrocentric—a transformative cultural experience designed to unite African black cultured artists, elevate authentic expression, and rewrite the narrative for creatives in South Africa’s music industry.
Afrocentric is not just a concert; it is a movement, a soulful gathering of voices and visions aimed at breaking long-standing barriers that have held back young African artists for too long.
Afrocentricoffers an immersive journey through African artistry, bringing together music, storytelling, and provoke a art community dialogue. More than a concert, Afrocentricincorporates panel discussions, pop-up activations, and community storytelling, turning each performance into a narrative of identity, resilience, and unity.
Afrocentric was born out of a creative crisis—a recognition that artists in Cape Town often face underpayment, undervaluation, and systemic barriers that hinder their careers. Afrocentric seeks to be the change. We believe African art deserves more—more respect, more support, and more platforms. Afrocentric embodies a collective uprising where artists support artists, communities invest in culture, and industry gatekeeping is challenged.
Afrocentric is more than an event — it is a movement born from Nostalgia, dedicated to honouring African roots while shaping the future of culture, art, and music. It’s a celebration of identity — where artists, creatives, and communities come together to share stories, rhythms, and energy that reflect the richness of Africa. And it’s a turning point — a space that redefines how we gather, connect, and uplift each other through creativity and heritage.
Closing gaps that live in our city and honoring those that bring us art. On September 27, 2025, Afrocentric will culminate in a landmark meeting of art experience designed to honor and elevate African artists of all disciplines with an atmosphere of unity, storytelling and cultural celebration.
Dnemas
Nostalgia was born out of a need - a need to celebrate art, a need for connection, a need to be seen. A need to assemble and bring about collaboration within within the art scene amongst artists of all caliber and forms of all creativity. Back in February of 2023 Dakalo ‘Dnemas’ Nemauluma, Karabo Bokaba, Kethiwe Kunene and Isulam the Guitarist put together a braai and invited all the people that they knew, with Dnemas having the idea of inserting art into the mix.
What came from that was a collision of different artists and forms of art in one space, enabling them to show themselves in a united and harmonious front.
“It's the people who make nostalgia what it is because that's what the focus is - to form a community and a place where one is able to find a remedy for all the parts of oneself which feel as out of place. It’s where you'll find inspiration to to push a little bit further from where you are into the next step.”
“Nostalgia is striving to tell a story that will live on through every single person that hears it and plays a part in it.”
“We are a memory alive. We honour heritage. We honour depth. We walk in futurism. We gather in community. We move with timelessness. We align with spirituality. We live in generosity and we rise as a movement and that is what nostalgia is.”
“We want to create moments in time that are captured to be relived later and we want people to look at everything about us and feel nostalgic - to have this feeling of home, to have this feeling of familiarity, to have this feeling of going back to something that was to the core of something, to going back to the roots.”
“Feelings… about being an artist in CPT”
“Being a (black female) artist in Cape Town feels like an uphill battle — not just against industry norms, but against the very structure of the city that claims to be a cultural hub. It often feels like the venues, and by extension the city itself, are working against upcoming creatives. From the lack of consideration for artists and their craft, to the ways we're being pushed out — whether it’s through unaffordable accommodation or the sheer difficulty of navigating the city without connections — the message is clear: we’re on our own.”
“I moved to Cape Town just before the pandemic, full of excitement and hope. I had watched from afar, seeing the promising moves of fellow artists were making in the scene and I believed it was the right place to launch my music career. But the reality I found was different. What looked like a thriving creative community from the outside turned out to be fragmented and often exclusionary on the inside. My hope quickly turned to disappointment and concern.”
“One of the biggest shocks was how little space there is for uniqueness on a larger scale. In the underground scene, fresh, genre-defying sounds are embraced and celebrated — devoured like Sunday lunch. But the moment you step outside of those circles, it's as if the industry only wants what's safe, what’s trending. Once a particular sound is embraced by the mainstream, it gets replicated and recycled until it loses all meaning. Meanwhile, the original sounds and voices — often marginalised artists — are overlooked, again and again.”
“There’s also a critical lack of accessible music education and infrastructure for indie artists. If we had more educational opportunities — workshops, mentorships, or even basic guidance on the business side of music — we’d be in a much stronger position. Navigating this industry blindly can be fun and freeing at times, sure. But it can also be dangerous. There’s only so far you can go without proper support, knowledge, or a guiding hand. I’ve done the research, I’ve asked the questions — but without someone experienced in my corner, there are things I still don’t know, and that lack of clarity can stall your growth.”
“Workshops where indie artists can truly learn and build — with the help of experienced professionals like A&Rs, managers, and publishers — are not just wanted; they’re essential. This kind of practical engagement could shift the whole ecosystem and give upcoming artists the foundation they need.”
“Then there’s the issue of performance spaces and the treatment of artists. The responsibility for unfair experiences often falls on both sides: venues and artists. Clear communication, contracts, expectations, and boundaries must be laid out before any gig happens. From promotion and preparation to how artists are treated on and off stage — this is about mutual respect and professionalism. And both sides need to do better.”
“Cape Town has the potential to be a powerful cultural force. The talent is here. The innovation is here. But until the city starts truly supporting its creatives — especially those of us who don’t fit into neat boxes — we’ll keep having to fight for the space to simply exist, let alone thrive.”
“Cape Town is beautiful, no doubt. The kind of beauty that makes you pause—the mountain against the ocean, the sharp light that makes colours feel alive, the pulse of diversity that meets and overlaps in one city. But for me, a mixed-race artist of black and indian heritage, the paradox of being an artist here is this: it is both the steepest climb and the stillest ground—a tension that demands strength yet births momentum. Art has always been more than creating for me. It’s a way of searching for the extraordinary within the ordinary—like the curve of a petal, the glow of light on a flower, or the quiet rhythms of daily life. When I sit down to design or plan a brand, when I sketch, or when I pour myself into a strategy session, I’m not just producing. I’m searching for clarity, for truth, for a way to express what has been stirring in me.”
“There are mornings when I rise early, before the weight of the world presses in, to spend time with the Creator of heaven and earth. That rhythm—seeking Him first—has become the anchor of my initiative. It is the foundation before I create, whether that’s building brands with purpose, helping others discover clarity, or exploring my own artistic voice. And in Cape Town, I have seen the beauty of this path. There is light in the creative community, spaces where artists of colour are finally being spotlighted, and moments where I feel seen for the authenticity I bring. When someone resonates with my work, it is more than validation—it is confirmation that what God placed inside of me is meant to be shared.”
“But I’d be lying if I said it’s always easy. Cape Town carries its unspoken hierarchies. At times, I feel the weight of needing to prove myself twice over—being mixed, being a woman, being young, being a Christian. The jokes, the dismissive glances, the lack of clear systems—these chip away at you if you are not firmly guarded in Spirit and in truth. In the Art world, there is another tension: the demand for work that fits a certain gaze, often self-centred, often commercial. It can feel like the industry wants your creativity but not your truth, your talent but not your voice. That pressure to shrink, to fit in, or to soften the edges of who you are—that is real”
“But God is teaching me that justice is not fought the world’s way. Justice, His way, is about alignment—about standing firm in the truth that I am who He says I am. My initiative as an artist in Cape Town is not only about building a career; it is about walking in love, in wisdom, and in light. It is about showing that equity is not charity—it is Kingdom order. Equity means we don’t beg for space. It was always ours by design, and we create it. We fill it with excellence, with gentleness, with creativity that carries the fragrance of Yahweh. True equity is not token inclusion—it is the restructuring of platforms so that every voice carries weight, every vision is honoured, and every artist is seen as an image-bearer of the Creator. Judgment, God’s way, is not about tearing down but about exposing what must be healed under His light.”
“I remain because I know my work isn’t only mine. Every design, every study, every brand I help bring to life—it is part of a bigger story. It is about offering light to those who feel unseen, about choosing love over fear, about releasing Art that reminds people of beauty, truth, and resilience. Cape Town may not always make it easy, but it makes me honest. It pushes me to depend on God, to refine my voice, to stand when silence would be simpler. And maybe that is the real initiative of an artist here: to create in the tension, to carry both the weight and the wonder, and to keep pointing upward—not to each other, but to love one another as He loved us. Because in the end, my Art is not just about me. It’s about all human lives that matter. To be human is to embody justice—to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. My Art is, and always will be, about justice, judgment, and equity—God’s way. “
“What does Afrocentric mean to me?”
“I think identity is at the center of being, and Africa sits in a very interesting and beautiful place. Literally and figuratively. Creatively, the world hasn't seen what we have to offer, or we are only remembering what we have to give. I believe it's our essence in how we create, how we move, how we express, how we think. And mostly how we show up. It's a language that transcends the native tongue or foreign. It's a knowing. It's an outpouring of compassion. The ease of making the most out of the little. It's being African.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to reduce my struggles as an artist solely to being a Black artist. That separation, while important to highlight, doesn’t fully capture the reality.”
“In truth, art, especially music — sits at a disadvantage. We have the product, but no real shop to sell it in. The music is the product, the venue is the shop. And if we think about it, the shop owner needs us more than we need them.”
“The question then becomes: how do we start selling our product — through music, performance, or other creative avenues — without depending on the shop? Creating temporary merchant stands is one way, but I believe we need to move as a collective of artists. Not divided by colour, because that just creates another layer of separation — something Cape Town already struggles with.”
“So, my struggles aren’t Black struggles. They’re business struggles.”
How would you define a 'creative'?
“I would define a creative person as someone with a mind that can see in the future, someone who can envision "art", a life or a project and bring it to life.”
What about your heritage inspires your art or artistic voice?
“I'm inspired by our way of doing, thinking and living. The language itself is poetic. Music/Art is a huge part of my heritage. The face drawings, the chants to invoke the spirits, the clothing!!! It's just amazing.”
What do you think we as South Africans contribute to the Afro-Diasporan landscape?
“That’s a powerful question. South Africans play a very distinctive role in the Afro-Diasporan landscape because of our unique history, cultural expression, and resilience. A few key contributions stand out:"
Music & Dance
“Genres: From kwaito to amapiano, gqom, maskandi, and South African jazz, our sounds travel widely. Amapiano, for example, has become a global diasporic connector. Rhythm & Movement: South African dance styles (pantsula, gwara gwara, amapiano grooves) have become part of the global lexicon, often shaping TikTok trends and diasporic youth culture.”
Storytelling & Resistance Culture
“South Africans contribute a tradition of using art as a form of resistance. Our struggle songs, spoken word, and theatre show how culture can challenge oppression while affirming identity — something the diaspora resonates deeply with.”
Spiritual & Philosophical Contributions
“The idea of Ubuntu (“I am because we are”) has influenced Afro-Diasporan philosophy, providing a framework of collective identity, kinship, and healing. Traditional practices, rituals, and cosmologies add to the wider African spiritual archive that diasporic communities draw from for reconnection.”
Visual Arts & Fashion
“South African designers and visual artists bring in aesthetics rooted in beadwork, textile traditions, and township creativity. These have become inspirations in global Afro-diasporic fashion, photography, and fine arts.”
Political & Social Influence
“The anti-apartheid struggle became a symbol for the Black liberation movement worldwide. The legacy of Mandela, Biko, and many others fed into diaspora struggles for dignity, freedom, and identity. South Africa’s democratic transition showed what reconciliation efforts could look like, even though imperfect.”
Language & Identity
“Our multilingualism (11 official languages, plus township hybrid languages like tsotsitaal) contributes to diasporic discussions about hybridity, code-switching, and identity. We also embody the tension of being “African yet global,” which is a key diasporic experience. South Africa gives the diaspora a rhythm, a philosophy, and a memory of struggle. We bring both the pain of history and the joy of creativity, offering ways for Afro-descendants across the world to imagine freedom and belonging.”
Outside of movements like Nostalgia, how do you think artists - or the community at large - can put their effort into furthering the recognition of Black voices in the city, outside of the current infrastructure which exists?
“I think we need to recognize the role we can play, collaboration is always pivotal”
“To be a queer Black artist in Cape Town is to exist at a complex intersection of breathtaking beauty and deep-seated contradiction. The city sells itself to the world as a rainbow mosaic—a vibrant, liberal hub at the tip of Africa. But for those of us living in the margins of that postcard image, the path to cementing ourselves in its entertainment space is a constant navigation of unseen currents and unspoken barriers.”
“Within the industry, the barriers become more nuanced but no less solid. There is a curated version of "Blackness" that is often deemed palatable. It’s a version that can be rhythmic, powerful, or soulful, but often within expected genres—a certain kind of house music, hip-hop, or traditional performance. To be a queer Black artist is to constantly challenge that box. Our art is inherently layered; it carries the weight of our history, the rhythm of our present, and the fluidity of our identity. This can be met with confusion or tokenism. You are sometimes invited into spaces not for your talent alone, but to be the "diversity," the checkbox that proves a venue or producer is inclusive. You feel the pressure to represent an entire community, your artistry reduced to a demographic.”
“The queer community in Cape Town’s entertainment scene, while a lifeline, has its own hierarchies. It can often feel dominated by a white, affluent aesthetic that operates as the default. The "gay scene" is frequently marketed around a specific, commercialized image that doesn't always make space for queer Black expression, which might be more rooted in township culture, alternative fashion, or different sonic landscapes. This creates a sense of isolation, of not being fully at home in either the predominantly Black straight spaces or the predominantly white queer spaces. You find yourself code-switching not just your language, but your entire demeanor, calibrating your authenticity to fit into rooms that were never designed for you.”
“Yet, it is from this very intersection of struggle that our most powerful art is born. Our existence is resistance. Our perseverance is creativity. We are forced to be innovators, to create our own tables instead of waiting for a seat at someone else's. This has given rise to underground ballroom scenes, independent queer art collectives, and DIY music platforms run by and for our community. We cement ourselves not by fitting into the existing structure, but by building a new one alongside it—one that is more vibrant, more inclusive, and more authentically Capetonian than what came before.”
“The cement is still wet on our path. It is a path we are laying down ourselves, one gig, one performance, one curated event at a time. It is not easy, but it is forging a legacy of undeniable resilience and breathtaking art that truly reflects the complex, beautiful reality of this city.”
How would I define a creative?
“Someone who uses their likes/hobbies/emotions and skills to make something out of nothing. Everyone can bake a cake, but it's the taste and look of the cake that matters. For me as a dj, it's about telling a story through sound. Blending music that tells a story”
What about your heritage inspires your art or artistic voice?
“I'm from Mokopane in Limpopo, and that identity never leaves me — it's in my ears, my instincts, and my style. The rhythms, traditions, and my circle of family and friends shaped how I understand music. The people from my hometown love coming together and it's a closely knit town which has always helped me understand the dynamics of connecting to your audience. Even when I'm playing in Cape Town, I carry that influence with me.”
What do you think we as South Africans contribute to the Afro-Diasporan landscape?
“Flavor! The landscape is great, but we make it better through the beauty and struggles of our past experiences that influence the art, music, dances and culture of the industry. You look at the genre likes of kwaito, jazz, gqom to amapiano that we’ve created which resonate deeply with freedom, protest, joy, and survival . The art mirrors the the soul of the country.”
Outside of movements like Nostalgia, how do you think artists - or the community at large - can put their effort into furthering the recognition of Black voices in the city, outside of the current infrastructure which exists?
“We have to build and uplift spaces that exist outside of the usual systems of control. Things like pop-up events, street jams, backyard sessions, and township parties hold real cultural power. If we keep looking to galleries, institutions, or clubs for approval, we box ourselves in. To truly elevate Black voices, we need to focus on community-led projects, shared ownership of creative spaces, and partnerships that value purpose over prestige. Just as importantly, we must document our own narratives , this would be through video, sound, and writing, like Nostalgia does, which in return might help to protect them from being lost or watered down.”
How would you define a 'creative'?
“I reeaallly believe, like deep in my soul, that a creative person is not just someone who makes things, but someone who listens deeply- to the world, to the silences, to the unsaid. For me, being a creative is not only about the output, but also about a way of being. It’s how you observe, how you hold tension, how you sit with discomfort or joy long enough for something honest to arrive. A creative is someone who notices. Who documents. Who disturbs and soothes, sometimes at the same time. Someone who holds memory with care, and understands that the act of making is also an act of witnessing.”
What about your heritage inspires your art or artistic voice?
“So, I carry a dual inheritance, Kenyan and South African and both come with their own forms of rupture, resilience, joy, colour and rhythm. There is something deeply generative about being shaped by multiple geographies, each with its own way of naming grief, joy, survival. My heritage inspires my practice. My work tries to hold both of them. I often ask myself, what do we inherit that we don’t speak about? What lives beneath language? The intergenerational knowledge, the unarchived, the overlooked beauty of the domestic and the mundane. So really all of this becomes material in many ways even if it doesn’t show up in my work overtly.”
What do you think we as South Africans contribute to the Afro-Diasporan landscape?
“South Africans bring a unique tension to the Afro-Diasporan conversation. A proximity to liberation that is still unfolding, still contested. We contribute a deep lexicon of resistance, one that is both formal and informal. We bring an awareness of how colonial and apartheid logics continue to dress themselves in new clothing and an insistence that healing cannot happen without structural reckoning. That “Bring back the monneeeyyy. Bring back the land” type of energy. But we also bring beauty, multiplicity, and again- memory. Our contribution is not just historical, it is sonic, visual, and theoretical. It lives in our art, our language, our archives, our humour, our refusal to forget. Our celebration of diversity, true diversity that can be found nearly everywhere. We value the everyday human and understand that together is better than alone. Even if at times it doesn’t seem that way, that is truly the heart on the ground. We just really THAT girl!”
Outside of movements like Nostalgia, how do you think artists—or the community at large—can put their effort into furthering the recognition of Black voices in the city, outside of the current infrastructure which exists?
“Recognition cannot only happen inside formal institutions; it must begin in the everyday. I think we need more spaces that aren’t curated for spectacle or beauty alone, but for presence. Spaces where Black artists can experiment without the pressure to explain or earn their money back. That means investing in grassroots ecosystems like community studios, artist-run residencies. It means valuing Black curators, archivists, and cultural workers who do the invisible labour of holding context. We also need to expand our idea of what “the city” is, like beyond the traditional white cube/galleries and performance venues. The city is also the street vendor, the family WhatsApp group, the taxi rank. If we’re serious about recognition, we must also honour the spaces where Black voices have always been present, even if they weren’t always visible. Or cool.”
How would you define a 'creative'?
“A ‘creative’ to me is someone who’s not necessarily a professional in the industry, but one who embodies it. Whether in music, art, fashion or even food. There’s creativity in all aspects of life if we look close enough.”
What about your heritage inspires your art or artistic voice?
“There’s quite a lot of art appreciation I grew up around, a strong sense of ‘welcoming’ and inclusion – varying in different styles of art and that is something that has allowed me to not just conform to a specific style. It encouraged me to embrace my uniqueness.”
What do you think we as South Africans contribute to the Afro-Diasporan landscape?
“We contribute in a lot of ways and in a lot of spaces without even realizing it. I need us to see ourselves more and recognize the value we have
Outside of movements like Nostalgia, how do you think artists—or the community at large—can put their effort into furthering the recognition of Black voices in the city, outside of the current infrastructure which exists?
“I’ve seen a few black spaces being created in and around the city. I’m yet to dive into them but I see the work they put in and its impact. Spaces such as the Sunday Show by The Niche Network; The Soul Oasis; and The Jazz Cult – I’d love to see the growth of these movements and spaces. Outside of that, I think there’s room for us to start showing up more for each other. Attending and supporting in numbers. A lot can come from it.”
“Moving from a small town to Cape Town was more than just a change of scenery it was a leap into a world I’d been dreaming about since childhood. As a Black artist, I carried not only my voice but also the hopes of finding a space where creativity could flourish, where I could finally be seen and heard.”
The Good: A Home Among Creatives
“Cape Town gifted me something I’ll always be grateful for, a community. For the first time, I felt surrounded by people who spoke my language, not just in words but in rhythm, melody, and soul. Singers, songwriters, photographers and producers who poured themselves into music the same way I did welcomed me in. Suddenly, I wasn’t just creating in isolation I was part of something bigger. That sense of belonging, of being recognized and validated in my artistry, was powerful. It reminded me why I chose this path in the first place to connect, to share stories, to turn experiences into sound.”
The Bad: The Trap of Covers
“But Cape Town also has its shadows. For two years, I got caught up in the cycle of jam sessions and cover songs. At first, it felt exciting the rush of live performances, the thrill of applause, the hope that recognition would eventually translate into opportunities. But over time, it became clear that singing other people’s songs was a trap. I realized that while covers may keep you visible, they don’t always allow you to be seen. When I finally shifted to performing my own music, I noticed how different the journey became. The same rooms that celebrated me for covers grew quieter when I shared my originals. It was a hard truth in Cape Town, recognition often comes faster when you echo familiar voices rather than daring to share your own.”
The Lesson: Reclaiming My Artistry
“Despite the challenges, those years taught me something vital: my artistry cannot thrive in the shadows of someone else’s work. The applause for covers never compared to the fulfillment of singing my own truth. Even when the reception was mixed, performing my music meant standing in my authenticity. Cape Town tested me. It gave me community and belonging, but it also forced me to confront the cost of recognition. And through it all, I’ve learned that my voice, my story, my songs are worth more than fitting into anyone else’s mold.”
Jarry Pitboi
“Spaces for black artists are at this liminal point where two truths are living at the same time. It’s like the old vs the new. The old has this way of gatekeeping and only allowing opportunity to specific individuals through social politics. The new which exists at the same time is allowing for a more collaborative and progressive approach to the creative industry, it’s more community based. It depends on which world you choose to exist in that will define how you view the creative industry.”
How would you define a 'creative'?
“Someone who chooses to create something out of inspiration/experience whether it positive or negative.”
What about your heritage inspires your art or artistic voice?
”I think my accent is the biggest thing, rapping in the same accent as I would speak to someone, it makes it easier to communicate myself and my ideas.”
What do you think we as South Africans contribute to the Afro-Diasporan landscape?
”Authenticity and Orginality especially in genres outside of hip-hop.”
Outside of movements like Nostalgia, how do you think artists—or the community at large—can put their effort into furthering the recognition of Black voices in the city, outside of the current infrastructure which exists?
“By exploring more spaces that facilitate the upliftment of black artists in the city. Also by valuing talent & hardwork over social politics”
Be sure to check out Afrocentric this Saturday at The Woodstock Hub, and come be a part of the movement.
Not only is there some crazy talent on show, but also some powerful conversations to be had, conversations which will last long after the event itself
