This Women’s Month, I want to do something that feels deeply personal and necessary. I want to honour a woman who has walked through fire and still somehow manages to sparkle — not in spite of the flames, but because of them.
A woman whose name carries weight, rhythm, grace, and power. A woman who is not just a rapper, not just a star, but a living, breathing testimony of what resilience looks like.
That woman is Nadia Nakai Kandava — Bragga. Where do I even begin?
Maybe I start in 2014 or 2015. Bryanston Shopping Centre. I was working for Doctors Without Borders, signing people up for monthly donations. There she was — this already-established name with a larger-than-life aura. But what struck me wasn’t the fame or the face on posters. It was her spirit.
She signed up without hesitation. No attitude. No barriers. Just a beautiful heart and an energy that was both powerful and soft. I never forgot that moment. In fact, it’s one of those quiet memories I’ve carried with me all these years.
Since then, we’ve both been on journeys that haven’t been easy.
We’ve survived the kind of loss that threatens to silence your entire being — the loss of men we deeply loved. She lost her partner, Kiernan “AKA” Forbes, in the most brutal, public way. I lost my father, my anchor, in a way that left a scar no one else could see but I still feel every day. And yet, here we are. Breathing. Creating. Healing. Not because we’re superheroes, but because we refused to stay broken.
Nadia, I see you.
I see a woman who was never meant to survive this industry — an industry that devours women, that questions our value, our worth, our femininity, our choices — and yet, you’ve not only survived, you’ve conquered. You’ve built an empire in a world that was never designed for women like us.
You’ve dominated a male-dominated hip-hop scene, blazed through fashion, television, business, and now, you’re showing us a new version of you — spiritual, soft, rooted in your ancestry and healing. That’s growth. That’s art. That’s womanhood in motion.
We’ve both known the sting of public scrutiny. The whispers, the blogs, the comments, the side-eyes. The pressure to be strong. To be composed. To be something more than human. But somehow, through it all, we’ve stayed human. And there’s something sacred about that — about not losing your softness in a world that demands steel.
I look at your evolution, and I feel inspired. From “Mixtape 101” to chart-topping singles, to international stages, to sitting in rooms where only kings once sat — you didn’t just step into your power, you owned it. And that’s not just inspiring — it’s necessary.
As for me, I’ve carved my own path too. I am now an award winning activists, leading a feminist, survivor-led organisation that works to end gender-based violence. And recently, I launched my very own company — Dulaza Brands and Media — a women-led, survivor-driven content house that produces world-class media in all of South Africa’s official languages.
It’s a dream born from pain, powered by purpose, and led by women who’ve been through hell and are now building heaven for themselves and others.
Our staff are GBV survivors who are reclaiming their stories, building economic independence, and writing a new chapter in their lives — and I believe that working with women like you could be part of that healing revolution. Imagine what it would mean to have you as one of our flagship clients. Not just as a celebrity, but as a collaborator. A sister. A woman of business. A creative visionary.
Because that’s what you are, Nadia — a businesswoman. A creative architect. A brand in motion. And I would be honoured for Dulaza Brands and Media to work alongside you, to build something powerful, something deeply rooted in womanhood, art, and economic liberation.
You see, this blog isn’t just a tribute. It’s a love letter. From one woman to another. From one survivor to another. From one creative force to another. It’s my way of saying: I see you. I honour you. I believe in you. I celebrate your softness, your brilliance, your hustle, your heartbreak, your bounce-back, your everything.
You are not just inspiration. You are impact. You are history in the making. And I hope you know just how many of us — women watching from the sidelines, women creating from the trenches — are rooting for you every single day.
So here’s to you, Bragga. For the albums. For the healing. For the tears you shed in silence. For the loudness of your laughter. For the risks, the raps, the reinvention.
For showing us that we can be beautiful and brilliant, sexy and spiritual, broken and whole — all at once.
May this Women’s Month remind you that your journey matters. That your story is worth telling. That your life is a mirror where so many of us see our own light.
And may you always, always know — you are loved.
