“Eat your kos.”

“Huh?”

“Knowledge of self, brother.”

“Oh, okay. Awe… but do you wanna chow or something? I don’t have any kos on me.”

“Nah, G. It’s the one thing you will always have. If you look the right way, KOS is Knowledge of Self, and it will always be present—if you can quiet your mind and let the insight unwind.”

Damn, this homie’s tapped in, I thought after inviting Conway to join an amateur jam I had organized at the UCT memorial site. As a key member of Concrete Apostles/Outdoor Raw I wanted to try see if I could learn more about him and his active role in the scene. After the session, we took a stroll down to the Baxter Theatre and parked off under that magnificent elephant of a tree, its roots protruding and grooving both below and above the surface.

We wove our way through the labyrinth of organic paths, shaped by the tree’s insatiable quest for growth, and found ourselves easy-lumming in the sanctuary of nature. Here, we sat for hours discussing Conway’s personal philosophy and journey in becoming a multidisciplinary artist. Throughout his work lie deep hip-hop rhythms that hold it all together.

Within the container of hip-hop and breaking, Conway has shapeshifted, discovering his own sub-style called flexpression—a mind-bending technique shaped by his unique body language and ability to contort and adapt to new spaces. This echoed his journey growing up in Bonteheuwel, a place where gangsterism and drugs consume many but not all. Through the templates and teachings of hip-hop, Conway found himself and crafted his stories with courage and care. Later, he would get involved in profound projects, retelling the forgotten stories of our ancestors—the Khoi-San—and the epic battles they fought with the Dutch. Dance became a medium of research, a conduit of history, and an embodied symbolic mastery.

Later, I connected with Barry and the rest of The Concrete Apostles at the session. I was overwhelmed by their confidence and excellence. From a young age, I had always been obsessed with breaking and often found myself spinning, stacking, and weaving my body in search of new language—or rather, a forgotten language my mind and body yearned for.

Step up and be seen. In that light, you will see yourself. It’s intimidating, for sure, but the only real obstacle is you and the barriers you place upon yourself through limited beliefs.

Each member, spectator, and participant in hip-hop is there to amplify the vibe—to hype each other up and to learn. It’s one of the most inclusive spaces I’ve come across, and it only gets better when you offer genuine moments of self-expression.

When you step into the cypher, something magical happens. Real magic is where we meet our shadow—our deepest insecurities and fears. In a battle, your only real opponent is yourself. The person across from you becomes a vessel, as do you for them, reflecting the self in the deepest sense—beyond the facade we wear in day-to-day exchanges.

As the elders say, “Each one, teach one,” and the flame continues to pulsate as each generation co-creates within the patterns passed down from ancient ancestral lines.

To break is to recreate. To recreate is to appreciate what has come before while digging deeper and offering up new arrangements—new ways of expressing key ideas that keep us connected. To give the community direction and purpose, to exchange stories, and to pay homage to the creative force that animates the bass of Ubuntu’s heartbeat.