If, as literary scholars argue, there are only a handful of stories in the world, then Trésor Riziki’s is one of the oldest: the hero’s journey.
It has all the elements of an epic — reluctant departure, impossible trials, unlikely allies, profound loss and a triumphant return. Running through it all is the redemptive power of music.
He shares his story with an audience at Wanted’s Wine & Executive Club at Fairlawns, and for a moment it feels like an ancient banquet, a bard weaving an old tale of courage.
Our own banquet is memorable too: exquisitely paired dishes from Fairlawns’ new executive chef paired with award-winning wines of Cavalli Estate, presented by winemaker Rianie Strydom.
The Congolese-born songwriter is both bard and protagonist, taking us back to where his odyssey began: Goma, in the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo.
“It breaks my heart that most people know Goma only because of war. For me it’s one of the most beautiful places on Earth. I tell people to imagine something between Cape Town and Monaco. With the right leadership, it could become one of Africa’s most spectacular cities.”
I always felt my dreams were bigger than my hometown. Not because Goma wasn’t enough, but because something inside me kept saying, ‘Go.’
— Trésor
Even his name seems prophetic. Trésor means “treasure” in French, a gift bestowed by his mother on her third child and first son.
Today it is difficult to imagine that the songwriter who has worked with everyone from Zahara to Drake grew up in what he describes as an ordinary childhood. School holidays were spent running barefoot between villages with cousins. Music, however, belonged to him alone.
“I was the first. Everyone else in my family of seven siblings became doctors, accountants and professionals. I became the culprit. Church gave me drums and guitars and, without anyone planning it, music became my life.”
By 16 he had lost both parents. Around him, conflict continued to shape eastern DRC. Inside him, another force was gathering.
“I always felt my dreams were bigger than my hometown. Not because Goma wasn’t enough, but because something inside me kept saying, ‘Go.’ I didn’t know where I was going. I only knew that if I stayed, I’d always wonder what might have been. I left without saying goodbye because I knew my family would try to stop me.”
He travelled through Rwanda and Burundi before boarding a train across Tanzania. He fell seriously ill, was robbed and lost his passport. He crossed a crocodile-infested river into Malawi, holding his clothes and guitar above his head.
“That journey changed everything. I sold my clothes to buy the next bus ticket. I could not wish that experience on anyone. It stripped away every layer of who I thought I was until all that remained was faith, resilience and this belief that somehow I would keep moving forward.”
The journey that should have taken days stretched into six months.
“I had no idea where I was going. I was just moving with the wind,” he says.
Durban was never the destination. It simply happened to be where the road ended. He arrived as a refugee with almost nothing.
“I worked as a car guard. I worked as a security guard. At night I’d spend almost all my salary in internet cafés looking for phone numbers of producers, record labels and publishers. My English was terrible. But every day I called again. People began recognising the guy with the French accent who refused to stop phoning.”
Melodies are like invisible birds. Some days I get lucky enough to catch one, and some days I don’t. Whenever I overthink a song, it becomes less interesting. The best music arrives naturally
— Trésor
Eventually producer Rod Nichols invited him to bring his battered guitar to a Durban café. They recorded together that same day. Soon afterwards Trésor formed the band Maisha. Within months they were opening for Eddy Grant.
He recorded an EP, printed 100 CDs and caught overnight Greyhound buses to Johannesburg, sleeping wherever he could. Writing songs for Zahara led to his first national tour and, eventually, enough money to return to Congo after six years.
“I came back completely broke. But I saw my family. That was worth every cent.”
Then came the album that changed everything. Awards, platinum records, international tours and collaborations with some of the world’s biggest artists followed.
Yet he still speaks about music with almost mystical reverence.
“Melodies are like invisible birds. Some days I get lucky enough to catch one, and some days I don’t. Whenever I overthink a song, it becomes less interesting. The best music arrives naturally.”
Even working with Drake became another lesson in surrender.
“They’d send me an idea on a Wednesday and say, ‘Can you finish this?’ I’d say, ‘Give me another day.’ Eventually I recorded my vocals on the Thursday, and by Friday the album was out, and the song was one of the biggest in the world. That’s the beauty of music. One day it’s just an idea in a room. Next it’s travelling across the world.”
Today his ambitions stretch well beyond music.
On a 225ha farm in the Cradle of Humankind, he is creating what he hopes will become Africa’s first globally recognised wellness and hospitality brand — one rooted in African design, nature and healing. Fittingly, it is called Goma.
“I love South Africa. This country has been incredibly generous to me. The global wellness industry is worth trillions of dollars, yet Africa barely features in that conversation. I want to build something that comes from this continent — something that celebrates our nature, creativity and way of welcoming people.”
Sunday Times Lifestyle
