32 Days of Christmas: Day 31
You sit with a cold Minute Maid in your hand, telling yourself you are not a drunkard. Not yet. On the table sits a six-pack of Guinness, two iced Guaraná Smirnoff cans, and enough water to keep the whole place honest. Around you people cluster in twos and fours, doing the things only night allows: laughing too loudly, stealing kisses, dancing, pausing between sips to talk about how the year has treated them. The couples in twos irritate you most, because you are here alone on Christmas Eve, with no one but your sister who can barely coordinate her two left feet.
You arrived early because this night has been circled on your heart all year, like the return of Jesus Himself. You wish you had come with someone particular, so you would not keep noticing the lovers around you, but life has recently knocked you flat. You have neither the energy nor the courage to invite anyone. Besides, the one you want would not even enjoy this kind of music. So you sip your Minute Maid and wait.
It is 10 p.m. The main act has not yet arrived.
Instead, Elly Ooko and Angie Kolelo warm up the stage with graceful voices and tight choreography. Seeing them live, you realize how much bigger people feel outside social media. Angie is light on her feet and powerful in her vocals, giving BV Band that balance women have long fought for. She is also light skinned. Nyi onagi (Luo women) really are blessed. Elly, meanwhile, comes across as a humble young man with a bright future ahead of him. He is on a solo music career path himself. They are joined by the known Mali ya Mungu, alternating between guitar and vocals. He is exactly as you imagined him. Even as curtain raisers, they are electric. They prepare your spirit for the main event.
And then it happens.
A short, bearded and impeccably dressed man steps onto the stage, and your heart leaps. This is what the entire miserable year of 2025 has been leading to. You take a sip of water to steady yourself. You do not let your smile get too wide either; the last time you shared such excitement with the people around you they shut you down hard. So now you stay quiet, but inside you are bursting—like a dog wagging its tail at the sight of a bone.
It is Johnny Junior: wuod Orondo, wuod Nyasega, Papa Mbuyuyu. We Luos love to praise people by their roots, by who raised them and where they come from. I have always found that tradition deeply beautiful.
The crowd erupts when John takes his place. It is not the largest audience, but it is more than enough. Enough to send a thrill through your entire body. Luo rhumba today belongs to one man, and that man is John. We once had Musa Juma, the late great legend. Now John carries that torch alone, and we adore him not just because he is ours, but because he is truly gifted. He is humble, soft-spoken, and elegant. He avoids noise, both online and in real life. He simply makes music and goes home. No drama. No theatrics. His dancing says it all—simple, gentle, sincere. Like his songs, it is shy but honest. It is who he is, not something performed for cameras or clout. And that is why you love him.
No one knows it, but you are his biggest fan in the crowd. You tuck your phone deep into your pocket so nothing distracts you. You chose your seat carefully; close enough to see every move, far enough to rest with a drink between songs.
Then the speakers burst alive with the popular Nyasakwa. Goosebumps rise on your arms, not from the cold but from pure joy. Soon comes Amor Sweet Love, with that line—“Barrister Mbom, salimia Professor Ikaristus”. You have no idea who those people are, yet you grin like you do. Meanwhile MK Bangonga’s electric solo guitar cuts through the air, slicing straight into your soul, holding the whole venue captive. Nobody wants to leave, not even the security guards, who also sway in pairs to the slow rumba. Beneath it all, Owigo Magingi plucks the bass guitar to anchor the rhythm, the tallest man in the area quietly holding everything together. You can only hear his prowess if you’re keen enough.
As the night warms and everyone rises to their feet, MK Bangonga proves, again, that he may be the finest Congolese guitarist alive by launching into the intro of your favorite song, Rading’. You want to drop to your knees and thank God that you are living this moment, not just hearing it through headphones in your lonely room.
Johnny, Papa Mbuyuyu himself, sings with raw devotion to his friend Daniel Rading’. His left hand rubs itself as his eyes close, the veins in his neck standing out beneath his hat. Sweat glistens on his brow. This is work, just as Musa Juma once told us. Music is not easy, it is labor. And John shows it with every note. Elly and Angie are behind him to support him, sending greetings and love to osiepe (friends) of BV Band, their voices lifting the room even higher. And I must say this, Elly was outstanding on the remix of Nyayimbo. I haven’t been able to get his voice out of my head. Go listen and tell me I am wrong.
Buana BV Band’s rhumba is pure juogi (witchcraft). It pulled John all the way back to Karachuonyo to honor his friend Steve Biko Odidi. When he sings of Biko and Kataliko answers in Congolese dialect, your feet move to words you do not even understand.
Months ago, I discovered one of John’s earliest songs, George Ja’Sare. I should have been born earlier. His voice was clearer then, his chin smooth, his belly barely there. This was probably back when he was still in Musa’s band. I cannot imagine the joy of those who have danced to him all these years. I have only seen him live once, and I am still ecstatic days later.
Music is a refuge for almost everyone. No matter the genre, it speaks the truths our deepest selves struggle to say out loud. Somewhere out there, a musician who knows nothing about you or your story still manages to make you feel relevant, as though someone else is walking the same road. When that music you love begins to play, the world falls silent and it becomes just the two of you—your story and the song.
That is what people mean when they talk about timeless music. Some artists create sounds that never age, music that will still sweep you off your feet years from now as if you are hearing it for the first time. When you listen to music like John’s, songs made only for hype and TikTok trends lose their shine. They feel hollow. Irritating even.
I want music that moves my soul, where the guitar is pure and played with passion, and the voice sings like a bird. Not noise obsessed with drugs, bodies, or violence. I want rhythms that make you want to dance with your real partner, not your secret one. I may be Gen Z, but this kind of music weakens my knees. It has changed the course of my life. This is the music of our land.
I take my hat off to BV Band and Johnny Junior. I am complete now. In Luo we say, mae e polo (this is heaven).
I have been itching to write this since Christmas Day, filled with the same childlike excitement I felt that night. I wanted it to be my final highlight of the year. A big part of me even wants to rewrite it in Luo, because English cannot fully carry the joy.
But for now, this will do.
✍🏽Reagan.