Some leaders are announced by loud campaigns, billboards, and motorcades.
Others arrive quietly… with a piano.
I know this because one of them woke me up with one.
It was sometime around 1993 or 1994 in Kabwe, in the quiet Dallas area at the KCC Jim Ford Retreat Centre. A week-long international Christian conference was in full swing, and by day four I had reached the stage every conference musician eventually reaches: total exhaustion.
(Pictures by GNC Studios)
I had been responsible for all the music and singing the entire week.
And let me confess something honestly.
I was not only tired; I was also gloriously “high on nshima.”
You know the kind of conference meal schedule where breakfast is heavy, lunch is heavier, supper is heroic… and your body surrenders to sleep like it has signed a peace treaty with the mattress.
And there I was, sleeping deeply in one of the chalets.
Then something strange happened.
I heard a piano.
Not just any piano, a piano that sounded so good I genuinely thought I was dreaming about myself playing it. Even stranger… I could swear I heard my own voice singing along.
Half asleep and half confused, I opened one eye.
The piano was still playing.
Now slightly annoyed, I jumped out of bed wondering who had dared to invade the instrument without permission.
But at the same time… I was also curious.
Because whoever it was clearly knew what they were doing.
So, I rushed to the hall.
And there he was.
A young man about my age at the time stood confidently behind the piano, medium build, big presence, dressed in a sharp black suit, white shirt, and black tie. His curly hair was generously treated with enough gel to make any 90s gospel musician proud.
I know that look very well.
Because I had the exact same hairstyle myself.
Some habits… never fully leave us.
But what struck me most was not the suit.
It was the confidence.
This young man carried himself like someone who already understood two things about life:
Who he was.
And why God had put him on earth.
At that moment, the reason I had rushed into the hall disappeared completely.
That young man now is Pastor, Evangelist and State Council, a political candidate Boyd Jones Ngosa, popularly known as BJ Ngosa (J33).
We introduced ourselves and quickly discovered something remarkable.
He had been brought to the conference from Ndola by a white missionary woman he lovingly called his mother figure.
My story was almost identical.
I had been brought from Luanshya by Mom Debbie, just like BJ as I was under the care of a missionary couple who became family to me, Mom Debbie Peterson and Papa Phil Peterson, people I still proudly call my spiritual and physical parents today.
And just like that, before the conference had even ended…
A lifelong brotherhood had begun.
Later that evening, during the service, I gave BJ an opportunity to promote his first project or rather album he was carrying called “Daddy Lord.”
Let me be honest with you.
When he started singing… I almost forgot that I was supposed to be the musician in charge.
The sound was bold. Professional. Different.
At that time, hearing a Zambian gospel artist produce music at that level was rare.
I remember thinking quietly to myself:
“God… I think I’m ready now.”
But BJ also did something unforgettable that day.
He gave me a free cassette tape.
And I must say this publicly.
That was the first and last free tape I ever received from him.
After that, even when I later collaborated with him and featured on two songs on one of his projects…
BJ still sold me the CD.
Full price.
No discount.
That day I learned two very important things about BJ Ngosa.
First, he is a man of excellence.
Second, he understands business very well.
From that moment on, we were no longer just colleagues in ministry. We became family. His late brother Mathew Ngosa, our brother MHSCRIP, and Hezzy Jones Ngosa all became part of that extended brotherhood. Over the years BJ and the brothers would travel for ministry and would often support me and my music work whenever they are in the United States with me.
Life has a way of moving quickly.
Years pass. Responsibilities grow. Callings deepen.
BJ eventually built a beautiful life with his beloved wife Jubilee, whom he proudly mentioned everywhere he went. Together they shared a bond that everyone around them admired.
But life also brought a tragedy that no man should ever have to carry.
In a heartbreaking road traffic accident just a short distance from their home, BJ lost both his wife Jubilee and their young son Schulel within the same week.
A mother.
And her little boy.
Gone within days.
It was the kind of loss that shakes even the strongest faith.
Yet anyone who has watched BJ closely knows something remarkable.
The pain did not make him bitter.
It made him deeper.
Stronger.
More compassionate.
Today, BJ Ngosa continues to serve as a Pastor, Evangelist, community voice, and mentor — a man who has spent decades walking with people through prayer, music, counselling, and community service.
And now he feels called to serve in another space:
Public leadership.
Some people chase positions.
BJ responds to callings.
And if there is one thing I have learned about him over the years, it is this:
He is not the loudest man in the room.
But when he decides to act…
Things move.
I am not a gambler.
But if I were, I would confidently push all my chips to the middle of the table for this man.
Because I know him.
I know his heart.
I know the storms he has survived.
And I know the kind of leadership that grows out of a life like that.
So, if the good people of Kabushi are looking for leadership that blends faith, resilience, wisdom, humor, and real-life experience…
Allow me to take you back to that afternoon in Kabwe when a piano interrupted my nshima-powered sleep.
Because sometimes in life…
The music that wakes you up
is not just a song.
Sometimes…
It is the quiet sound of a leader arriving.
And Kabushi,
BJ Ngosa might just be the wake-up call worth listening to, and follow..