Before Sephonono had a name, before the melodies found their voice, there was a dream—a quiet, persistent dream that had been with me since Mmasonoko my debut album which began to crystalise in 2019. I remember sitting in a recording studio in Johannesburg, notebook open, scribbling ideas that felt more like whispers than songs. At that time, I didn’t know what the album would be called, or even what it would sound like. All I knew was that I wanted to create something authentic—music that carried the warmth of Botswana but spoke a universal language.
Johannesburg was my choice because it’s a city of rhythm and energy, where cultures collide and creativity thrives. I imagined recording with musicians who understood jazz but weren’t afraid to experiment, letting the city’s pulse guide the sound. The plan was bold, and I was ready.
Just as the pieces were coming together, the world changed. Borders closed. Studios went silent. The dream I had nurtured for years since Mmasonoko my debut album suddenly felt out of reach. I remember staring at my notebook, wondering if these songs would ever leave the page.
But the hardest blow came when I lost someone who believed in me from the very beginning—Orack Chabangu my publicist and promoter in South Africa. He was more than a colleague; he was a friend, a champion of my music. His passing from COVID-19 left a void that words can’t fill. For weeks, I couldn’t even think about the album. It felt like the dream had died with him.
Yet, in the quiet of those days, I realized something: music is resilience. It’s how we honor those we’ve lost. So I kept writing. I turned my grief into melodies, my tears into harmonies. Every note on Sephonono carries a piece of that journey—a tribute to life, love, and the people who shaped my path.
As if the pandemic hadn’t taken enough, fate struck again. My brilliant collaborator—the legendary Steve Kekana—passed away. Steve wasn’t just an icon; he was a friend and a mentor. We had recorded two duets together, songs that were meant to be part of something bigger. They remain unfinished, frozen in time, like a conversation that ended too soon.
His voice, his wisdom, his generosity—they left an indelible mark on me. When Steve died, it felt like the music stopped. For a while, I questioned whether I could go on. But then I realized: the best way to honor him was to keep creating. Sephonono carries his spirit in every note, even if those duets never made it to the final tracklist. They are part of the story, part of the heartbeat of this album.
Just when I thought the worst was behind me, fate tested me again. During a period of relentless load-shedding, an electrical surge hit the studio. In seconds, the equipment was damaged—and the recordings we had worked so hard on were wiped out. It felt like watching months of dreams vanish into thin air.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough, tragedy struck again. My recording engineer “Braa Chilli”—the heartbeat of the sessions—suffered a debilitating heart attack. He was more than a technician; he was a creative partner who understood my vision. Seeing him fight for his life while our project lay in ruins was devastating.
For a moment, I wondered if this album was cursed. But deep down, I knew I couldn’t give up. Music is my calling, and every setback was shaping the story that Sephonono would eventually tell—a story of survival, love, and unbreakable spirit.
Slowly, piece by piece, the dream came back to life during 2025. New sessions, new energy, and a renewed sense of purpose. Sephonono became more than an album—it became a testament to resilience. Every track tells a story, every note carries the weight of what it took to get here.
Through every setback—the pandemic, the loss of dear friends, the wiped-out recordings, and the heartbreak of seeing dreams crumble—there was one constant: my husband, Richard. When my spirits were utterly destroyed, he never gave up. For six long years, he carried the dream when I couldn’t. His persistence, his belief in me, and his unwavering love kept this vision alive.
Sephonono exists because of him. This album is not just mine—it’s ours. Every note is a testament to his strength and his faith in my music. Today, I dedicate this album to Richard, my partner in life and in dreams. Thank you for never letting go when I almost did.
My Dedication
“To Richard—my rock, my dream keeper, my love. This album is yours as much as it is mine. And to those we lost along the way—your spirits live in this music.” Nnunu.
Nnunu Ramogotsi: Africa's Jewel 