The Story Behind the Song
The Prophet Problem
Ten years on the road. Built something from dust with weathered hands. Survived fire they’ll never understand.
But when I sit among family and old friends, there’s this silence in the air. Like I’m still that reckless kid, not the man who made it here.
“No Honour” came from the specific pain of being unseen by the people who should know you best. They memorise your failures, catalogue your mistakes, but can’t fathom that you’ve changed. That the wounded boy became something different.
A prophet gets no honour in his hometown. Jesus said it. I’m living it.
The Homecoming That Never Happens
The opening verse sets the tension:
“I’ve walked through fire they’ll never understand / Built something from the dust with these two weathered hands / But when I sit among them, there’s a silence in the air / Like I’m still that reckless boy, not the man who made it there.”
It’s not that they’re malicious. It’s that they knew you “before.” And people struggle to see past that initial impression. You’re frozen in their memory at your worst, your weakest, your least formed.
“They speak around my journey, past the scars I carry deep / Ask about the surface while the substance stays asleep / Ten years on the road and they still see me as I was / Never asking how I changed or what the distance does.”
The Zulu as Truth-Telling
The Zulu call-and-response became my private acknowledgment of the gap:
“Ngiyabona, ngiyabona / Kodwa abangiboni” (I see, I see / But they don’t see me)
“Ngiyakhula, ngiyakhula / Bangisho phakathi kwabo” (I’m growing, I’m growing / They keep me in the middle [stuck])
I see my own growth. I know who I’ve become. But they refuse to update their perception.
The Rap as Recognition
The rap section validates what everyone in this position feels:
“Listen, a prophet gets no honour where he lay his head at night / The ones who knew you broken can’t imagine you in flight / They memorised your failures, got ’em catalogued and filed / Can’t fathom that the wounded boy became something wild.”
There’s also the inverse problem:
“Your family want the version that don’t threaten what they know / Your day-ones get uncomfortable when you outgrow the role.”
Because your growth implies they could grow too. And if they’re not ready for that, your evolution becomes an accusation.
The Solution: Feed the Hunger
The second verse shifts to acceptance and strategy:
“So I learned to feed the hunger in the eyes of those who seek / Give the gift to open hands, not to those who call it weak / There’s a freedom in the foreign, in the faces that don’t know / All the versions of yourself you had to shed to finally grow.”
Strangers don’t have preconceptions. They meet you as you are now, not as you were then. They lean in, pay attention, and receive what you offer without the baggage of shared history.
“Can’t be Moses in your mother’s house, gotta lead a different crowd.”
That line came from the realisation that sometimes the people who need what you carry most aren’t the ones who’ve known you longest.
What It Means Now
I still feel this tension every time I go “home.” The expectation is to be the old version. The discomfort when I’m not.
But I’ve made peace with it. Not everyone is meant to witness every season of your life. Some people knew you for a chapter, not the whole book.
The pain softened when I stopped needing them to see me. When I focused on feeding the hunger in eyes that were actually open.
The Universal Thread
If you’ve outgrown your origin story and the people in it can’t see you clearly, you’re not alone.
It hurts. It’s lonely. There’s grief in being unseen by people you thought would champion you.
But here’s the truth: you don’t need their validation to keep walking. The work speaks. The growth speaks. The transformed life speaks louder than its silence.
“Ngiyahamba, ngiyahamba / Ukukhanyisa kude” (I’m walking, I’m walking / To shine far away)
“Ngiyabuya, ngiyabuya / Bangasaboni na?” (I’m returning, I’m returning / Will they see or not?)
Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. Either way, you keep walking.
Listen to “No Honour” and give your gift to open hands.
From the album Ancient Roads
