For nearly two decades, Johannesburg has been home to one of Africa’s most vibrant celebrations of hip-hop culture, the Back to the City Festival. Since 2007, it has grown from a vision sketched in a small Newtown store into a sprawling cultural hub that unites artists, dancers, producers, graffiti artists and fans from across the continent. This year, the festival marks its 19th edition under the powerful theme, “Power in Numbers”.
I spoke to Osmic Menoe, the festival’s founder, widely regarded as a pivotal figure in South African hip-hop, to trace the journey of Back to the City, explore what this year’s edition holds and understand his philosophy as a custodian of the culture.
When Menoe reflects on the early days, he takes me back to a time when hip-hop in South Africa was largely misunderstood, both commercially and socially.
“I’d owned a store in Newtown called Ritual Stores,” he recalls.
“And this is obviously an era when hip-hop was not really a sustainable platform. These kids in the corner doing all these random things. Even the store I created was very weird because now and then it would get raided by police; they thought it was a drug spot.
“Everybody was confused because the building would have graffiti on it. There’d be these weird people coming down, you know what I mean?”
It was precisely this sense of marginalisation that sparked the creation of the festival. Menoe’s vision extended beyond music. He wanted to build a hip-hop economy, a sustainable ecosystem where artists could feed themselves and carve a living from their passion.
“The beauty about hip-hop is that it’s multifaceted,” he explains. “There are the dancers, the graffiti artists, the producers, the rappers. And then in all of that, we’ve got this element that we call knowledge of self, self-healing.
“Then you’ve got the entrepreneurial part of the culture as well. So, it had all these elements and my thinking was always like, this thing is a tool. This thing is a way of life.”
For Menoe, the festival was a means to channel the cultural and economic potential of hip-hop into something tangible. “Because, if you look at America, it’s evident what this tool can be used for. The festival starts under that umbrella. Fast forward and it’s shown the importance of what consistency also means. And what happens when like-minded people gather. The big change is that we get taken seriously.”
He gestures toward the festival’s present-day partnerships, highlighting how brands that once had no connection to the culture now want in.
“Sunlight wants to showcase at the festival. Brands you would never associate with the culture are recognising: ‘We need to be there.’ Twenty years ago you couldn’t fathom it. So, I think that’s the change.”
This year’s theme, “Power in Numbers”, guides the festival’s philosophy.
“Look at our numbers,” Menoe says. “The reason this festival gets recognised this year is because of our numbers. Imagine if you rallied your community, or your homies, for change. The key is power in numbers. Young people often don’t understand what that can achieve.”
The festival’s scale is staggering: 100 artists, 20 DJs, 40 graffiti artists and eight producers, supported by 120 clothing stalls, 20 food stalls and 15 activation zones. But Menoe stresses that the value isn’t just in size; it’s in connection and opportunity.
“Our themes have always been intentional,” he explains. “African by Nature”, “Freedom of Movement”. Now it’s “Power in Numbers”. We’re showing young people that, when we come together, corporates and government see us. They recognise the power of our collective.”
One of the festival’s hallmarks is its ability to bridge the underground and commercial spheres of hip-hop without compromising either.
“So, the thing with us is, there’s no word like balancing,” Menoe says. “We don’t see it as commercial versus underground. Hip-hop is a whole.
“For example, our 10K Challenge is a competition for young, undiscovered talent. Big Zulu came through that competition and is now a big commercial artist. That’s the natural progression. The graffiti artist collaborating with a clothing brand, the big artist collaborating with a commercial partner; it all forms this unity, this economy.”
Over 19 years, Menoe has witnessed generations of artists grow alongside the festival.
“All of them. Each and every one of them. AKA, his first music video was shot at the festival, at the building where the store was. Pro Kid, Riky Rick, there’s pictures of them looking like children at the festival.
“Because there weren’t a lot of these movements at the time, everyone gravitated towards it and they understood the mission — empower everyone. The more festivals like this happen, the more people sustain themselves. That’s how we see success.”
Despite being called the “Godfather” of South African hip-hop, Menoe is careful to deflect the title. “No, no, those are dangerous things. The godfathers are people who have been doing this since the beginning. My role? I’m just a tool in the toolbox. I’m here to serve. Hence the hip-hop museum, hence all the work we do with the festival.”
The South African Hip-Hop Museum has been in development for six years. It aims to document and preserve the culture, highlighting the contributions of the pioneers who toured Europe and America, corresponded with early hip-hop originators and laid the groundwork for today’s scene.
“We’re moving,” Menoe says. “There’s a 10-day music-writing camp where we select kids and partner with the Department of Sport, Arts, Culture and Recreation. The physical space is still under construction, mostly funded from our pocket, but the city has given us the space and the blessing to execute the vision without pressure.”
For Menoe, both the museum and the festival serve a common purpose: sustainability and preservation.
“The awards are about celebrating each other. The museum is about preserving what we’re doing forever. In 20, 100, 500 years, five, four generations after, people will get to see what a generation from 600 years ago was doing. That’s important.”
This year’s edition features local heavyweights like Cassper Nyovest and international artists like Lupe Fiasco. Menoe frames the curation as a balance of education, exposure and entertainment. “The international artists are always about education; showing the other side of the culture to the younger people.
You’ve got your big names like Blxckie or Cassper, but we also bring underground guys who need the platform. The same goes for DJs, graffiti artists and clothing creators. Hip-hop is not just the rapper. It’s the dancers, the clothes, the graffiti; the culture. We’ve got 140 young kids selling and making sneakers, hats, clothing; that’s the festival.”
Yet the glamour of the stage belies the behind-the-scenes grind.
“The biggest challenge will always be money,” Menoe admits. “This year alone, we were about 7 million under. Raising sponsorship is tough, especially because of our vision. And people don’t always understand what we’re trying to do. But do they see the festival when the stage is up? Yes. Behind the curtain? It’s hell.”
Looking forward, Menoe is thinking beyond entertainment, aiming to harness hip-hop as a vehicle for social impact.
“I think the social aspect is now important. How do we use hip-hop to get into communities? We’ve got drug problems, crime problems, unemployment. How do we use this thing to create social change, education and health initiatives? Suicide is a big problem. Hip-hop can be a healing mechanism.”
The festival already incorporates elements of this vision, including a morning launch of Hip Hop as a Healing Tool, a book that examines how the culture can educate, inform and inspire. Menoe elaborates, “Imagine Cassper coming to your school, telling you to eat your vegetables, exercise, drink water; the coolest person telling you healthy habits. That influence lasts. We’re trying to instill those little things now, so they resonate later.”
After 19 years, Menoe is both reflective and forward-looking. He doesn’t dwell on personal accolades, instead framing his work in terms of collective impact.
“The vision is happening,” he says. “People are feeding themselves from this thing. Now it’s about the next 20 years — social impact, community building, mental health, education. That’s the new vision.”
Walking through the festival grounds, it’s clear that Back to the City is more than a concert. It is a living archive, a school, a marketplace, a stage and a gathering point — a place where creativity, entrepreneurship and culture collide.
For Menoe and the thousands who have grown with him, it is both a celebration of hip-hop and a blueprint for what a culture can achieve when it is nurtured with intention, persistence and heart.
“Hip-hop has always been a tool,” Menoe reminds me. “It’s a way of life. And when you see it at the festival, in the museum, in our educational programmes, you realise the possibilities. That’s why we do this — to show the power of what we can build together.”
For 19 years, Back to the City has united South African hip-hop and founder Osmic Menoe reflects on the festival’s culture, impact and vision
