“I believe that words are already there, and it’s just a matter of choosing the perfect ones to express exactly what you’re feeling.”
— Jabulani Majola
Written by Hlengiwe Mkwayi
When I greet singer-songwriter and storyteller Jabulani Majola over a video call, the first thing he does is flip his camera to show the rain pelting down over a grey Cape Town skyline. We’re clearly not in the same city; me in a randomly picked fast-food stop in Joburg and him, not warm, and not rushing anywhere either; “I’m kind of homebound,” he laughs, “but one can’t stay in the house too long, because you’d starve to death.”
This kind of grounded honesty is exactly what defines Jabulani’s work; tender, unfiltered, and intrigued by the mundane. Raised in rural Greytown, KwaZulu-Natal, in a large family of 26 siblings, his early life in a pastor’s household immersed him in the language and sound of worship.
Jabulani’s 2023 debut as Jabulile Majola, named in honour of his mother, charts an emotional and spiritual journey that is shaped by memory, faith, and the pursuit of identity. Across this conversation, we speak about the weight and power of names, how stories from childhood continue to echo into his lyrics, and how Biblical verses like Matthew 6:33 still anchor him in times of uncertainty.
In preparation for this sitting, I did a deep dive through your Instgram and came across a character, if you will, that you embodied called Da Upright Citizen. Who is he and what was/is his mandate?
I’ve called myself a lot of things over the years, but I liked the sound of that one. It spoke to someone who’s basically upright, someone who wants to be a positive influence in the country. I’m a very patriotic person. I love South Africa with all my heart. For me, being Da Upright Citizen means choosing to be that person; the one who stays resilient, who stays upright in how they move through the world, despite everything, the good and the bad.
But more than anything, it just sounded right to me. It felt like a good phrase and I think it represents someone who’s about community, about being, I don’t know… righteous, I guess.
Do you think the names you’ve called yourself in the past are any sort of markers of the different seasons you’ve lived in?
Each name reflects a certain way of packaging the place I find myself in. For me, the identity of what I create isn’t necessarily based on how people receive it, it’s based on what I think of it. It’s like when you’re writing a book. Each chapter has a title that captures the essence of what that chapter is about. That’s how I see the names I give myself, as markers of meaning in a particular moment.
Then there are also phases of exploration or rather, experimentation, where giving things titles becomes a way of playing. It’s through that playfulness and lightness that I actually stumble on the more serious truths. Like Da Upright Citizen; that came out of one of those experimental phases. Or that “Liefie phase” I had once. All of that was part of the creative play. And I like that. That sense of freedom to shift, try new things, and then land on something real.
You and I both seem to understand names as a powerful form of mark-making. My name Hlengiwe means redeemed, which enables me to boldly, confessionally sometimes to my detriment, navigate life knowing that ngahlengwa from the moment I was born; I like to read this as a kind of anchoring.
What inspired your current performance name, understanding that it also belongs to your mother?
So again, I think names carry a lot of weight. They make a definitive statement and give something a sense of identity and purpose. There’s a deep intentionality behind naming things. Jabulile Majola is the only thing I know about my biological mother. That name is all I have of her. And calling myself that came from a place of healing. We all come from somewhere and we all carry a past. It takes time to reach a place where you can really see who you are and begin to accept what’s happened, whether it’s fortunate or filled with pain.
For me, it became part of my healing journey, even within my faith. Because faith isn’t without questions. In fact, I believe faith requires questions. It’s those unanswered. or sometimes answered, questions that stretch and deepen faith. I had a lot of questions: about who I could’ve been if I had known my biological mother, why my life unfolded the way it did. And I had to go through all of that and wrestle with it, to finally reach a place where I could choose hope regardless of having felt rejected and unloved. I choose to step into the light. And God, in His sovereignty, gave me the grace and the strength to keep walking in that decision.
I’ve always seen faith as a staircase where you don’t see the steps ahead. It’s not this clear, well-lit path. Faith is walking in darkness, trusting that with each step, something will be there to meet your foot. It’s not knowing how many steps there are, it’s just believing they’ll appear as you keep walking.
So naming myself Jabulile Majola came from that place of freedom, of self-acceptance. This is who I am. This is what I’m choosing. And this is who I’m becoming.
Your EP is titled Isitifiketi which translates to “Certificate”. We know this as an official document that proves/affirms/verifies a truth. Furthermore, depending on its context, it grants one access to a space or permission to do something. What inspired the EP title and what do you hope this certificate you have in hand gives you access to?
There’s something I really love about the idea of a certificate. In this case, I’m speaking specifically about a birth certificate. When you hear stories of young people who’ve never had a birth certificate, you start to understand just how important it is. At first glance, it’s just a piece of paper. But it’s the thing that allows the government to recognize you as a citizen.
More than that, a birth certificate is like an introduction. It says: this person exists. It introduces someone to their community, to society, to a country and even to the world. That’s why I called the EP Isitifiketi. It carries that same sense of provenance; this idea that something comes from a specific time and place.
Storytelling has always been deeply embedded in how I grew up. I loved hearing stories , whether it was older people sharing memories or just speaking among themselves. Even casual conversations felt like narrations of oral histories. So I wanted the music on Isitifiketi to reflect that. Not necessarily to describe exactly what it was like growing up, but to borrow the ways people spoke; their tone, rhythm, and phrasing.
Can we talk about Paulinski, as you affectionately refer to your wife? You recently got married and I’m keen to know how you two met.
I met her in 2019 and it was online, on Instagram. We were introduced through mutual friends. She knew about me through some of her friends from Canada who were missionaries here. At the time, I was writing a lot of poetry, experimenting and expressing myself in different ways. Honestly, there’s nothing I haven’t written… except a cheque!
She was meant to come to one of the events I was part of, but she wasn’t really interested in me like that. She followed me on Instagram, and I just assumed she was someone I’d seen at one of the events. I didn’t ask who she was or think much of it at first.
But when Pauline and I started talking, we just really connected. We had similar backgrounds, a shared way of seeing the world, and most importantly, we were both deeply rooted in our faith. At the time, I was working with a Christian organisation, and so was she. That gave us a lot to talk about, and honestly, we just never stopped talking. It wasn’t until about three or four years later that we officially decided to pursue a relationship. One of us basically said, “Hey, I don’t think we should just be friends anymore, let’s be intentional about this.”
From the beginning, the intention was always marriage. It wasn’t just a “let’s see where this goes” kind of thing. We both felt that strong sense of purpose, something shared and aligned that could carry us forward.
In a separate interview, you spoke about Woza Mntana and how it initially starts as a father-to-child narrative, but then, as the writing evolves it takes on a more romantic tone. Could you speak to that shift in the narrative and moreover, where we can spot Pauline in it?
What inspired the song actually came while I was on a mission trip. I remember looking at my friend’s daughter, just a few months old at the time, and being struck by the beauty of the relationship between a father and his child. It made me reflect on that kind of love; a love that isn’t often sung about. We hear love songs all the time, mostly centered around romance, but rarely do we hear songs about a love that truly takes care of someone.
There’s something deeply moving about a parent’s love for their child. A child is vulnerable and defenseless. They don’t know what could harm them; they’d walk into a fire without knowing it would burn them. A parent, in a sense, thinks for the child, protects them, gives of themselves fully. That kind of love is all-in, selfless, and gentle. That’s the energy I was tapping into in the early part of the song. But by the time I got to the second verse, things shifted. My romantic relationship with my partner, Pauline, was starting to grow and naturally, that love began to shape the song.
It remained romantic, yes, but I still wanted to carry through that same essence; the idea of being deeply cared for in a relationship. Being held, in a way that mirrors that parental tenderness. As I began performing the song, I found myself reflecting more and more on what it actually meant. And something clicked: many of us have come to a place in life (through heartbreak, rejection, trauma) where we feel undeserving of that kind of love that is pure and kind.
Some people genuinely struggle to receive care. They brace themselves, thinking a person is going to leave eventually, or that it’s is too good to be true. But what if there’s a love that actually stays? A love that doesn’t demand or deplete, but gives from a place of fullness? That’s the invitation of Woza Mntana, to ask, Where is your heart? and Are you open to receiving love that is not trying to take from you, but simply to be with you, to care for you?
Ultimately, only God can give that kind of love because He gives from who He is, not from what He needs. And we, as people, need to receive that kind of love in order to share it with others. That’s the heartbeat behind the song.
I’d like to throw some rapid fire phrases, as drawn from some of your song lyrics. Please offer back what comes to mind when you hear the following:
“Ngicela kungabi noyedwa ofela ngaphakathi”
Thando Zide comes to mind; just the way she approached that… it wrapped the whole song so gently and so intentionally. There was a softness in it that really stayed with me.
“Kune moto ebomvu esingayazi”
It comes from a story, or stories, that we grew up hearing as kids in KZN. Funny enough, most people from KZN still carry the same belief. There were people we called “o’valelisa.” At the time, child abductions were a harsh reality in certain regions and this was something that actually happened, not just stories to scare us. The term referred to those people translates to “those who make you say goodbye.”
The elders used to constantly warn us, especially because we walked or ran to school every day. I went to a rural school, so this was part of daily life. They’d say, “Never take a lift from a man driving imoto ebomvu [red car] or black car with tinted windows.” And so imoto ebomvu is a very significant image tied to that fear we had as kids growing up. You just never went near a red car because it screamed danger. That’s what imoto ebomvu means to me. It’s more than just a color or a car; it holds the weight of childhood warnings, real threats, and the instinct to survive.
“Zonke izizwe zibabaza ubukhulu Bakho”
One of the most real lines I never understood as a child, because I didn’t think about it that way. But growing up, I’ve literally seen all nations magnifying the Lord’s name. Whether it’s on social media or in real life; even when I sing the song live, I see people doing exactly what the line says.
In connection to the last phrase that pulls from a spiritual perspective, what is a scripture you live by?
It’s Matthew 6:33, “Seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things will be added to you.”
It’s a verse I don’t always get right, to be honest. But I truly believe it’s one of the most profound principles. God hasn’t hidden Himself from us. When you read what He says in His Word and actually live it out — that’s faith. And faith, for me, is in the doing. When you implement it, you begin to see the fruit. When you seek first the kingdom of God, everything else really does start to fall into place. All things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.
I always picture it like this: trying to chase after all the little things in life is like trying to catch baby chicks. They scatter and are quick, they’re all over the place. But if you just catch the mother hen, all the chicks follow. Now imagine God as that mother hen. If you seek Him first and not the things, everything else follows because it’s all found in Him.
