There is a reason why a group of lions is called a pride.
Words by Alex Gwaze (Curator)
Questions by Alex Gwaze and Joanne Peters (Image Coach, Philanthropist)
Pride often gets a bad rap, mistaken for arrogance or ego. But if more people carried pride in themselves and where they come from, we might have a stronger foundation to resist the vices of the world — the shortcuts, the compromises, the hard moments. For Nicholas Muchinguri, better known as P.O.Y (Proud of You), pride is what keeps him going.
A two-time Zim Hip Hop Award winner — taking home Best Album and the People’s Choice Award — P.O.Y is an all-rounder who has been nominated across multiple categories including Best Video, Best Producer, Best Album, Best Promoter. The Hip Hop Basement inducted him. Into their Hall of Fame for what peers described as his “selfless contribution” to the genre and “creating timeless hits.” That “selflessness” has helped him build a career from the early roots of the underground to becoming the foundation for the next generation. In his world, the name Proud of You is not sentimental, it is a declaration of survival. It’s the audacity to celebrate yourself and your city. It’s essentially a benediction. And he has a lot to protect.
Early on, P.O.Y realised that hip-hop could be more than escape — it could be architecture for a community. He began designing not just songs but experiences: pop-up shows, mixtape collectives, collaborations with venues and photographers — spaces where art could become communal. “Curation isn’t about gallery walls, it’s about who you bring together and what that says about the culture”, they say. That ethos birthed his signature project, Bigger Than Hip-Hop (BTHH), a festival that began at Amakhosi Cultural Centre in Bulawayo to ., a grassroots gathering that began at Amakhosi Cultural Centre in Bulawayo that has morphed into a fully fledged annual festival. Over the years it has grown into a sanctuary for both raw and established voices from AWA Khiwe to ASAPH Afrika, Indigo Saint, Young Reece, Psychotek, and countless others who have shared the BTHH stage.
In a fragmented music scene, P.O.Y is a unifier — linking the sacred establishment, middle careers, and experimental futures of Zimbabwean hip-hop. His lexicon includes loyalty to the culture, fierce independence, and love for his city. He is the bedrock: an unrepentant lionheart who doesn’t just rap. He builds.
JP: When you first started freestyling at Plumtree High, did you ever imagine those bars would turn into full songs?
POY: Initially, when I was just freestyling, it was because at Plumtree there were always a lot of talent shows. At first, I didn’t think of turning it into full songs, but as time went on I realised I could say more than just randomly mixed rhymes. I realised I could tell a story and get a point across. I remember one of my first songs was about being at the show and meeting Mr Cheeks, who was the lead rapper for The Lost Boys (laughs). But after school, I met a guy called Bongani Ndlovu. His dad was the principal at Hillside Teachers College, and he had a recording studio where we started playing around with international beats. Then I met Langa Maplanka from high school, and he used to make his own beats, so we started going to Bongani’s studio together. That’s how we fully transformed from just freestyling to giving people music. Back then, there was no internet, so everyone knew you by word of mouth.
AG: Almost fifteen years later, you’re still at it. In fact, it’s like 15 years since your debut album, 15 Minutes of Fame.
POY: 15 Minutes of Fame! That was a statement my older brother always used to say as a joke: “Everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame, then you’re gone.” Even after recording the album, I remember we used to send CDs to radio stations. I remember DJ Peter Johns was the first to play a single off the album called “Stand Up and Fight,” a motivational song. Through that, I learnt that I could put subliminal messages in the music to say things that can’t be expressed in direct conversations such as your beliefs, your own experience, and other people’s experiences — by packaging them in a more artistic way.
JP: Do you have a favourite verse from your catalogue, the one that still gives you chills?
POY: Yes, I do have a favourite verse! It’s on a track called “The Range.” My father was a magistrate, so we used to move around a lot. We started staying in Rusape, then we moved to Harare, Gwanda, Hwange, and finally to Bulawayo, to a place called Rangemore. I was sitting in Rangemore with no plan, seeing girls in the hood becoming prostitutes, dead babies being found on the side of the road. My friends Nkululeko Tshuma and Ray died one after the other. In the hook, I say: “Let me take you back to The Range, you can see what I’ve been through / Hard times, no fucken lights / If I die tonight, would you hold my hand / Would you shed those tears / Would you pour a little liquor on the floor for a nigga?” The chorus goes into life and death at that time. Artistically, I still feel the best work comes from hunger — the more comfortable you become, the less people resonate with you.
AG: “The Range,” interesting. Bulawayo isn’t just a backdrop in your songs — it’s a character, a witness, sometimes even a wound.
POY: You nailed it! Sometimes being in Bulawayo can be a wound. It brings memories of my mother and brother; they passed away at the same time. That’s a painful memory that lingers in my head every day. There are many survival lessons I have learnt along the way. Sometimes you have to find a means to an end, survive — not just in Bulawayo, but in the whole of Zimbabwe, especially the creative space. I do a lot of different things to stay afloat while still finding time to push the art, which is something I adopted very early on and have built on that foundation.
AG: Just hearing parts of your background, your name — Proud of You — feels almost prophetic, like a mantra. What or who are you proud of?
POY: (laughs) Funny story. My name actually started in high school. I’m allergic to pollen, so my eyes would go red. Everyone would call me Poy, slang for weed (laughs). I ran with that for a while. The name P.O.Y (Proud of You) came about as something that was a constant reminder to myself: when you rap, we are proud of you and what you do, what you represent. I don’t believe in being quietly proud. Maybe you may not get exactly what I mean in my lyrics or art, but what I represent isn’t pride as such — it’s more about having no fear to stand for who I am and what I’ve lived.
JP: Founding the Bigger Than Hip Hop movement (BTHH) turned you from artist to architect. That’s definitely something to be super proud of openly (laughs). Did you ever imagine you’d be building platforms and curating?
POY: (laughs). Yes it is. Thank you. I am very proud of the festival. Curating space is something I love doing as it gives me the opportunity to use all our ideas. Collaborate. It actually started earlier, in my mind. Bigger Than Hip-Hop was something I always envisioned while I was still at school, working behind the scenes in production and stage management for talent shows. Having so many doors closed on me pushed me to want to have something that was for hip-hop culture. I’m setting up platforms that are not only here for today but will exist long after I’m gone.
AG: BTHH is more than an annual show. There’s been mentions of mentorship, collaboration, mixtapes, community-building. Tell us more — sell it, make it bigger!
POY: (laughs) Okay, okay. Let me spell it out. Bigger Than Hip-Hop is a hip-hop lifestyle initiative founded on the principle of each one teach one. It’s about showing that hip-hop is not just African hip-hop artists emulating what they see internationally, but a vehicle to express ourselves from our own perspective and to push our principles and ideology. My aim is for it to continue being a platform that impacts communities positively, keeping urban youth occupied in creative activities rather than rampant substance abuse. Hip-hop has always been a platform for artists to perfect and sharpen their performance and skills while working for the betterment of the community. We hope to take raw talent, mentor them, and develop them into seasoned artists through experience. From the streets to the stage, to the community, to their own homes, with the blessings of God.
JP: Wow! You are stepping into the leadership role with ease. But I know you are also a great collaborator. From working with the late great Cal_Vin to Blaqs and Asaph Afrika, you find a balance.
POY: Thank you. Well, yeah, you know, I’m also a very big giant in my own right. I’m one of those individuals that the industry and some people would rather try to pretend I don’t exist or choose not to acknowledge all the work I have put in. Nas once said, “People fear what they don’t understand, hate what they can’t conquer.” For me, leadership has always meant leading by a hip-hop principle called “show and prove,” so most of the time I don’t do too much talking. I just put in the work. Work with who wants to work, you know. I have done things that, at the time, I was always the first one to do, though they may not have been documented.
AG: I remember, that infamous night at the Zim Hip Hop Awards — five nominations, zero wins. How did that moment reshape your relationship with validation and legacy?
POY: (laughs) You had to go there (laughs). That was after I dropped The Realest album. I was very active all year. To have five nominations and no wins at all as an artist — it always hit hard. I used to think what counts are the numbers and awards, but as I grew from that experience, I don’t really look too much into awards anymore. I focus on making more relatable songs that resonate with my core listeners. I switched the focus to growing trust and building a great product for the niche market that buys. I want to highlight those who invest in our product, as opposed to aiming for the masses, who will comment, congratulate, or hate depending on random information or their feelings.
JP: That switch, in my opinion, worked. You are a 15-year veteran, even a Hall of Famer, with a deep catalogue, and you’re still active. So, lastly, if a 16-year-old hit play, hearing P.O.Y for the first time, which track should they start with?
POY: i would urge any person listening to P.O.Y for the first time to find a song from Blood Money Jacob called “KILLER.” I think that song really exudes my whole bravado, my hustler’s spirit, and my lyrical ability. But before we go, thank you for this opportunity to talk to each other like this. I believe as long as God keeps blessing us with the gift of life every day, we should keep pushing the envelope till we get to a stage — even here in Bulawayo, in Zim, Africa — where a kid can wake up and have all the machinery in place for him or her to make a living from art and creativity. I respect what you guys are doing. God bless you.
P.O.Y’s success isn’t measured in airplay or endorsements; it’s seen in the artists who find a home in his orbit. His collaborations and events create spaces where emerging and established talent thrive together, shaping the culture as one. In a world where trends shift constantly, P.O.Y remains anchored by his people, his purpose, and his craft. He doesn’t chase the moment — he does the groundwork of cultural preservation for the next generation.
Follow P.O.Y at @poyzan1
MUD Journal 