Joe Blog

MAKHULU

There are some stories that do not end. They breathe differently as time goes on. They shift their weight, they bruise softer, they wait for you at the door with open arms. Makhulu is one of those stories. Four years after releasing his debut album, Muneyi returns to the work that made him. Not to repeat it but to listen again. To sit inside it. To offer it back to the people, with the grace of hindsight and the tenderness of becoming. This is The Makhulu Tour. A homegoing. A remembering. A refusal to let sacred things be forgotten.

When Makhulu was first released, it was a quiet revolution: an offering rooted in the language of Tshivenda, braided with the wisdom of grandmothers, born of longing, care, and the ache of holding memory in the mouth. Now, Muneyi carries that offering from city to city, like a calabash filled with warm water and salt. These performances are not concerts in the conventional sense. They are gatherings. Altars. Opportunities to sit with the voice of a boy and his grandmother. To hear the echoes of home in guitar strings. To grieve softly. To remember aloud. You will hear “Mbebo Yo Shashata,” “Mbidzo,” and “Tshifhiwa” like you’ve never heard them before, lighter in some places, heavier in others. You will witness a man in conversation with his past, and perhaps recognise something of your own story in the space between the notes. “Makhulu taught me that stories are also prayers,” Muneyi says. “And I have been praying ever since.”