God Knows: ‘My brother says we're not culchies. We are. If I throw a stone, I hit a cow'
The biggest culture shock when we moved to the UK was how protective my parents suddenly became. That's not to say that I lived in the safest neighbourhood in Zimbabwe – I knew the perils of going out when it was dark in certain places – but as a kid I was lucky to have family all over the place, and I'd be able to walk to my uncle's house an hour away without needing to hold my parents' hand.
In that way, moving to Sheffield was so shocking, because suddenly my parents were so protective. I think it's because in Sheffield at the time, there was a young Nigerian boy who had been stabbed. It was all over the news, and I think it was a racial attack, which just made my parents think: let's not even leave this up to chance. That all changed when we moved to Shannon. Finally we could just roam around and be kids again. I grabbed that and ran with it.
Shannon was the first planned town, and because of that, it just felt so safe from the beginning. There was a real sense of innocence that the kids in the UK didn't seem to have. That said, this was around the time of 9/11, so there was a fear in the air, which did lead to discrimination and microaggressions. In Shannon at that time, a lot of people had never seen black people in the flesh before.
READ MORE
A lot of people used to sing Jamaica's Got a Bobsled Team or Gangsta's Paradise to me. It's because Cool Runnings and Dangerous Minds [the films in which they feature] were on TV pretty regularly. When people would sing them to me instead of saying hello, I was kind of like: Okay, nice to meet you too. But I started to get it, because the same thing happens in reverse to missionaries in Zimbabwe. People sing Sting or The Police's song to them. I think it's supposed to be a term of endearment, and anyone could forgive that. But these are the kinds of things that stick with you.
[
God Knows Jonas: 'I'm 100% Irish but I'm also 100% Zimbabwean'
Opens in new window
]
I also got a lot of people mentioning Mugabe, the Zimbabwean president at the time, to me, even though I was just 11.
There's the other side that is rarely spoken about. I think a lot of the discrimination black people faced in Ireland around that time came from the likes of ads from Oxfam and Concern. The only image Irish people would have seen of black people, or Africa, were the clips of kids with flies in their eyes. The world wasn't globalised the way it is now, where you can see a wealthy African kid do a dance on TikTok. It's the same way we see
Gaza
now. That kind of thing is a learned behaviour, rather than coming instinctively, so there is hope for us all.
Music is a way of life where I'm from. We love music so much that we don't have a problem if someone's playing loud music next door. Music is life, because we come from a place of deep poverty, so that distraction was a very welcome and loved thing. My uncle, Cde Chinx Chingaira, was a famous musician. He was regularly number one, and in movies. He actually played Connolly's of Leap, which is something I only found out when I played recently. In Africa it's really normal to know the big songs from all the different countries. Like, even today, I can tell you the biggest songs from Nigeria, The Ivory Coast ... I find it weird that we don't know music from Sweden or Norway unless something really cuts through.
My Irishness, for me, comes from pride of place. It's not based on a maroon passport, I'll tell you that now. I love being Irish. I love living in Ireland, especially the countryside. My brother was arguing with me on this recently, saying that because we live in a town, we're not culchies. But I was like, we are absolutely culchies. If I throw a stone, I can hit a cow. That's culchie. It's a compliment to me and not to him; that's because a stigma does exist. But I think everyone should love where they're from.
I realised that when everybody was telling me to move to England or America because I rap, and that doesn't really happen here. But then I was like, why don't we make it like Bob Marley and those guys made Trenchtown? Or how Wiley and Dizzy make being from east London? I'm hoping that one day people get to be like, Yo, Co Clare gave us Denise Chaila, and Limerick gave us Strangeboy and Citrus and Pellador. I want people to be proud to say, 'That's my neck of the woods'. Because I think sometimes we don't embrace our own things, and we really, really should.
In conversation with Kate Demolder. This interview is part of
a series
about well-known people's lives and their relationship with Ireland. God Knows' album A Future of the Past is out on September 26th. He plays Sounds From A Safe Harbour in on September 12th in Cork City
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Irish Times
3 hours ago
- Irish Times
Tullamore Show in pictures: 60,000 visitors take in livestock and agri showcase
Held in Butterfield Estate in Tullamore, Co Offaly, the Tullamore Show attracts an estimated 60,000 visitors, with 700 trade stands showcasing the agri sector, home industries, farm produce, forestry, farm machinery and more. The event is held annually on the second Sunday in August and features the FBD National Livestock Show, showcasing various breeds of cattle and sheep. Having a laugh: Katie Lordan and Chloe Hegarty, from West Cork, with Nohoval Titan, a Belgian Blue Calf, at the Tullamore Show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Peter O'Rourke with Killoneen Vicki in the Charolais Young Breeders' Class at the Tullamore Show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Sophie Farrell, from Carrigallen, Co Leitrim, with Hilltop Valentino, a pedigree Charolais. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Registered Connemara Brood Mare class entries at the Tullamore Show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Visitors enjoy taking in the animals at the Tullamore Show and FBD National Livestock Show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Peeping in at the judging going on in the Horticulture tent at the Tullamore Show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Crowds watch proceedings at the Tullamore Show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Mike and Kristina Feeney, with Philp Larkin (centre) and Padrig Larkin (right), all from Galway, at the show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Odhran and James Anderson, from Ferbane, Co Offaly, at the show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Entrants in the best dressed ladies competition. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times Martin and Angela Pollard, from Dundrum, Co Tipperary, dancing at the Tullamore Show. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill/The Irish Times
Irish Times
4 hours ago
- Irish Times
Ex-RTÉ meteorologist Joanna Donnelly cites stress and worsening conditions for exit
Meteorologist Joanna Donnelly left her high-profile forecasting role in Met Éireann because of the chronic stress she experienced in ever-deteriorating work conditions, she has said. Ms Donnelly was a regular fixture on the weather forecast for a decade, having first joined Met Éireann in August 1995. She concluded her last televised broadcast on the RTÉ Nine O'Clock news on April 21st last by stating: 'And that is my last forecast ... goodnight and goodbye.' She stressed that she had excellent colleagues at Met Éireann. However, she said the workplace was overly controlling and that restrictions were even placed on her volunteer work in the community. This included having to ask for permission every time she visited a school to talk to students about science. The Dublin native noticed a change in work after she published a book in 2018. The first time she was disciplined was when she wrote on her social media that she had bought a particular brand of hairdryer second-hand and had loved the results, she said. She was also disciplined after she judged a science competition without permission. READ MORE In hindsight, Ms Donnelly, who also appeared on Dancing with the Stars in January 2025, believes that all of the restrictions left her permanently exhausted and stressed. [ Mystery surrounds Joanna Donnelly's sudden departure from RTÉ weather forecasting role Opens in new window ] 'It [the stress] was going on for a couple of years. I spent a fortune at the doctor. Taking bloods. Was it post-viral? It was stress and I didn't know, which is shocking,' she said. Ms Donnelly said that being employed by Met Éireann was her dream job and that she never imagined she would leave it. 'Nobody else could imagine me leaving either, and I think that was part of the problem. I kept saying 'You can't do this. This is not right. This is not the way to treat people.' 'But they thought 'What is she going to do?' It is very hard to leave. I was traumatised.' The DCU graduate believes there is an overly stringent interpretation of the Civil Service code of behaviour in Met Éireann. She adored her job and says she was never nervous on camera. 'I am flying in front of the camera. I always took every single weather forecast I issued 100 per cent seriously. I always did due diligence. 'But it was things like if I wasn't explicitly on shift assigned to a media role, I had to get permission to answer a query from a newspaper about the weather. Which often left newspapers and radio going elsewhere for their soundbite.' She said whatever her next job is, she hopes to be able to use her voice on the subject of climate change. 'I am going to use my voice going forward on that message of climate change,' she said. 'Where blame should be sent to and definitely not to the farmers.' Meanwhile, when contacted, Met Éireann issued a statement stating the national forecaster is a line division of the Department of Housing, Local Government and Heritage . 'As an employer, the department has a duty to its employees not to disclose any information of a personal nature, and accordingly, the department does not comment on any matters related to individual members of staff. 'As a division of a Civil Service Department, all employees of Met Éireann are civil servants. Civil servants are obliged to work within certain standards, under the Civil Service Code of Standards and Behaviour. The department, and Met Éireann, also have a policy on media and social media. 'Civil servants have recourse to the Civil Service grievance procedure for complaints such as those mentioned.'
Irish Times
4 hours ago
- Irish Times
A Year at Kylemore Abbey: Clarkson's Farm with rosary beads will leave you nun the wiser
The title of The Hills Are Alive: A Year at Kylemore Abbey (RTÉ One, 6.30pm) is obviously intended to evoke images of Julie Andrews , aka the singing nun from The Sound of Music, gambolling over Alpine meadows at full throttle. But while Andrews may have become TV's most famous wimple-wearer simply by warbling The Hills Are Alive this wistful documentary is a more meditative affair – which doesn't quite do what it says on the tin. RTÉ has pitched the Hills Are Alive as telling the story of a community of Benedictine nuns as they 'battle to save their castle monastery and their centuries-old way of life' – but the focus is largely on Kylemore Abbey itself, today a booming tourist spot and biodiversity centre. Some viewers will consider this a let down. We were promised Sister Act in Connemara , yet the three-part series is in the main about the challenges of running a small rural business dependent on attracting a steady flow of tourists. In other words, Clarkson's Farm with rosary beads. READ MORE Still, as a cosy watch, it ticks the boxes with a gentle efficiency. A Year at Kylemore Abbey isn't going to send anyone's pulse sky high – but, then, isn't balmy, calming viewing exactly what you want as the weekend draws to an end? The nuns are a thoughtful bunch, though there is a temptation to read between the lines when Sister Genevieve Harrington diplomatically explains that living with other members of the order is like being shacked up with your family. 'There are times when you fall out of love. All your goodwill and forbearance is tried and tested,' she says. 'In any relationship you have made a decision to love. Love is a decision. It's not a feeling. It's the people God has placed you with and not the ones you would have chosen for yourself. So you learn to get along.' Her smile never wavers though her eyes are briefly full of mischief: the Lord may move in mysterious ways but he is clearly an old hand at helping you get on with awkward housemates. [ TV guide: the best new shows to watch, starting tonight Opens in new window ] Kylemore Abbey, a Benedictine Monastery built on the grounds of Kylemore Castle, by Pollacappul Lough. Photograph: Betend A/ Andia/ Universal Images Group via Getty Images Elsewhere the series is more formulaic and at moments verges on advertorial (no surprise given that Tourism Ireland co-funded the project). Coach-loads of American tourists are disgorged at Kylemore, built in 1868 by Manchester textile magnate Michael Henry and taken over by the Benedictines in 1920, who operated a girls school on the site until in 2010. Backstage, the nuns stay busy, overseeing the production of bespoke Kylemore scented candles – though the indefatigable Sr Harrington is more dubious about plans for nun-shaped chocolates. The Benedictines are a closed order and, just like Cork hurling supporters since the All-Ireland final, spend much of the week in silent contemplation. They generally only speak to each other at weekends or during one of their regular board game nights – which, disappointingly, turn out to consist of Snakes and Ladders rather than Warhammer or Secret Hitler. The life of a nun in the 21st century is one of calmness amid a world of chaos and distraction. That experience is captured by this documentary though you wish it had a little more pep in its step. Early on, it settles into a formulaic groove and, much like its pious subjects, it just can't shake the habit. The Hills Are Alive: A Year at Kylemore Abbey is on RTÉ One, 6.30pm, Sunday
