He says that growing up, he had a rather salty relationship with his dad. His dad was the typical African dad. Those fathers who expected everyone to be on their best behavior when they returned home When he spoke, you obeyed. You'd never say anything back. You were never allowed to hold an opinion, and in case you did, you kept it to yourself. Not like in our days, where we have the audacity to scream, "I hate you!" and run to your room and slam doors. He paid fees, and you went to school. He said you'd study medicine, and you said "Yes, dad!" only to discover, during one of your attachment periods, that you hate what you do and end up hating the people you do it with, and the only thing you want to do is stand in front of crowds with a guitar in your hands and a crowd shouting in your direction. We are seated in this spot, under some shade, on a sunny afternoon, the kind of afternoon that makes you think, ‘What if the sun had moved an inch closer to eart...
Everything eventually becomes a tale to tell.
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