Struggles, Music, and Self-Discovery

So, picture this: me, a kid with a pen, thinking poetry was the deepest thing ever. I used to write verses that made me feel like Shakespeare’s long-lost cousin.... you know, the broke one from Africa. That was the start of it all. Just me, some paper, and way too many emotions for one person to handle.

But as time went on, poetry stopped being enough. I started getting curious about everything else artistic. One minute I’m writing poems, next minute I’m trying to paint feelings, sing moods, rap philosophies. It was like I’d opened the creative Pandora’s box; and every form of expression was screaming “try me!”

Then music happened. Oh, music. That one didn’t just knock; it broke the door down. Suddenly, every sound in my life became a beat: teaspoons in cups? Hi-hats. Thunderstorms? Heavy bass. Birds in the morning? Straight-up background vocals. I swear, I started hearing rhythm everywhere; even in arguments. Someone would be yelling at me and I’d be thinking, “Damn… that’d sound cold in a verse.”

Growing up, I was raised on the gospel of hip-hop. Nas, Mos Def, Common,... those guys had me in a lyrical chokehold. I was that kid walking around Kigali thinking I was from Brooklyn. Then the 2010s' Kendrick Lamar came along and messed up everything; in the best way possible. Suddenly, rap wasn’t just bars, it was poetry that could slap. That’s when I realized, “Yo… I kinda wanna do this.”

But see, going from poet to rapper wasn’t as smooth as I imagined. I thought I could just hop on a beat and spit my poems. Wrong. My flow was so stiff it sounded like Siri doing spoken word. I kept trying, though, calling my poems “raps” like I was convincing myself it was working. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

So I decided to go deeper; learn music properly. “How hard could it be?” I thought.

Ha! Enter the guitar. The first time I tried playing one, it felt like holding an alien artifact. My fingers wouldn’t listen, the strings mocked me, and my ego took a massive L. Learning it was like learning to walk again; except this time, the floor was lava and my fingers were crying.

And look, I’d love to say it was all cute, motivational montage moments from there, but nope. Some days I was inspired and locked in; other days I was ready to turn my guitar into modern art; by smashing it.

The frustration led me down darker roads. I started numbing myself, drinking, smoking, pretending it was part of the “creative process.” It wasn’t. I was just lost.... like, season finale lost.

Then relationships started breaking too. Friends, lovers; I was pushing people away without meaning to. Misunderstandings everywhere. I’d ghost people, overthink texts, isolate myself, then wonder why I was lonely. Classic artist chaos, right?

But through all that, something kept me going. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was the tiny voice that said, “Bro, you’re not done yet.” Every time I hit rock bottom, I found a new layer of honesty in my music. Every heartbreak became a lyric, every hangover an opportunity for a raspy voice.

And somehow, all that chaos; the failures, addictions, love, loneliness... started forming my sound. It wasn’t clean or polished, but it was me. I learned that art isn’t about perfection; it’s about reflection. About turning the noise in your head into something you can dance or cry to; sometimes both.

Now I’m still learning, still figuring out where this road leads. But at least I’m walking it with a clear vision, total conviction in my art, and a story worth telling.

So yeah, that’s how poetry turned into music; and how art in general almost turned me into a crazy person. Would I do it all again? Absolutely. Just maybe with a bit less tequila and a better guitar tuner.