If you don’t die, you’ll never be celebrated: The story of Diamond Platnumz and a country that loves in secret

TANZANIA: SOMEWHERE on the eastern edge of Africa, nestled between the Indian Ocean, Mount Kilimanjaro, and a thousand WhatsApp groups, lies a country bursting with music, wildlife, and opinions that expire faster than milk.

That country is called Tanzania. A land of paradoxes, where we clap loudest when you’re no longer around to hear it.

In that wonderfully confusing country lives a young man who has done what few humans – and maybe some angels – dare to dream.

Born Nasibu Abdul Juma Isaack on October 2, 1989, in Dar es Salaam, everybody calls him Diamond Platnumz.

He is Tanzania’s biggest music superstar and a pioneer of modern Bongo Flava.

He rose to fame with “Kamwambie” in 2010 and has since built a musical empire, including WCB Wasafi label, Wasafi FM/TV, and Wasafi Bet.

Last week he was awarded the YouTube Creator Award, specifically the Diamond Play Button, after his channel hit 10 million subscribers!

A multi-award winner and Netflix reality star, Diamond blends music, business, and influence, making him a towering figure in African pop culture.

Elevating Tanzanian music to global heights, he stands as the highest-selling artist from East Africa.

His music has transcended borders-filling stadiums all over and captivating audiences in music venues throughout Europe, Asia, and America.

In today’s world, Diamond is more than an artist-he’s a brand, a movement, and a symbol of what African youth can achieve when they dare to dream big.

Diamond has done it all: From selling mitumba and borrowing studio time to being the most subscribed YouTube artist in all of Africa.

But alas! In Tanzania, the louder you succeed, the quieter we clap.

Take his recent feat: performing live at THE London’s Royal Albert Hall (google that).

That was not just a show; it was the Tanzanian Independence Day remix.

Swahili lyrics echoed through royal pillars that usually host orchestras and posh folk in tuxedos.

But who was on stage? A boy from Tandale with swag, a chain, and a microphone.

If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.

Then came Summer Jam, the largest live Hip Hop music and culture celebration in America, taking over New York with some of the biggest names in Hip Hop on one stage!

Many consider it the most iconic Hip Hop show in the world, and it’s BACK for its 31st year as THE platform for Hip Hop’s biggest superstars.

Diamond joined some of the biggest names in Hip Hop to take the stage on Friday, June 20, 2025, live from Prudential Centre in Newark, NJ.

The stacked lineup included chart-topping stars A Boogie, Gunna, GloRilla, Muni Long, Asake, Ayra Starr, Ja Rule and Friends A Tribute to Irv Gotti and more.

People shouted “SIMBAAAAA!” in accents we didn’t even know existed.

And what did Tanzanians back home do? Opened group chats to discuss whether he should settle down, go back to Zari, or buy trousers that reach his ankles.

Why, Tanzania? Why are we like this?

Let’s compare for a moment. In Nigeria, when Davido sneezes, people tweet “God bless you, OBO.”

When Burna Boy eats jollof rice, CNN covers it.

In Ghana, Sarkodie could drop a 10-second verse and Accra would go into a public holiday.

A fan on Instagram, tired of all the shade on Diamond, finally lost it. @rotmic_24 screamed:

“Watoto wa TZ wanakuchukulia poa sana ila hawajui kua unatutebea sana kimziki bongo.”

Rough translation? “Tanzanian youth take you so much for granted, but they don’t know you’ve carried our entire music industry on your shoulders.”

Diamond responded like a sage in a Kung Fu movie: “They’ll only appreciate you when you die…. If you wait for respect now, utangoja sana. Just do your job… and chew Super Glue.”

Chew. Super. Glue.

That phrase is now officially the Tanzanian proverb of the decade.

We don’t say “ignore haters” anymore. We just say “meza gundi.” Or just glue your mouth…

But while his haters are busy scrolling, Diamond is busy flying.

His YouTube Play Button for 10 million subscribers was handed to him in New York.

That puts him in the elite league of African artists. And he did it all in Swahili, not English, not French. Pure Bongo.

Let’s break it down: This is a man who grew up dodging potholes and debt collectors in Tandale.

He didn’t have a godfather in politics or a cousin in immigration.

Just a voice, ambition, and cheekbones that deserved their own Instagram filter.

He hustled his way from zero to global. Collaborated with Ne-Yo, Rick Ross, Koffi Olomide, Davido and others.

He founded a record label that birthed Rayvanny, Harmonize, Zuchu, Mbosso.

Basically, he’s the Bongo version of Motown and Netflix combined.

Yet somehow, when he trends, we hear, “But he dated so many women.”

Look. Let’s be clear: Diamond’s love life could be its own telenovela.

But so, what? Name one pop star without drama.

Even Bob Marley had a love triangle, and he’s on currency notes now.

We demand moral perfection from a man who literally said he chews Super Glue. Let’s be serious.

He’s not your pastor or sheikh. He’s not your auntie’s dream son-in-law. He’s a global artist. Let the man live.

In truth, we Tanzanians suffer from a strange illness. It’s called silent patriotism.

We love you, but only in secret.

We’ll dance to your music, use your lyrics in Instagram captions, cry to your heartbreak songs, but the minute someone says you’re a legend? We pretend we’re in airplane mode.

Why?

Because deep down, we’re allergic to seeing someone from our own neighbourhood become great. Especially without our permission.

Sadly, this isn’t new.

Long before Diamond, some stars carried Tanzania’s musical pride across borders.

Mbaraka Mwinshehe, the golden voice of dance music, flew our flag high in East and Central Africa before perishing in a car accident.

Salum Abdallah, another legend in the genre, met a similar fate.

Their music inspired generations, but their names are mostly whispered during oldie radio specials or nostalgic bar talks.

And who can forget the iconic Bi Kidude of Zanzibar, the rebel with a coconut shell and a drum?

Or the legendary Sitti Bint Saad before her?

Pioneers of taarab and women’s voices in music, yet they only trend on Women’s Day, sandwiched between shoutouts to beauty queens and cooking tutorials.

These were artists who built the very foundation upon which today’s Bongo Flava stands.

And we let their legacies collect dust until death forced us to remember.

This habit of waiting until someone dies to honour them must stop.

We can’t keep holding national grief concerts for people we never celebrated while they were alive.

Let’s change that.

Let’s start with the government. Hello, Mr. Ministry of Culture? Yes, we see you tweeting about heritage days.

But did you know you have a walking, singing, Swahili-rapping UNESCO treasure named Diamond Platnumz?

Give this man a national medal. Let him have lunch at the State House without needing an invitation.

Rename a highway. Heck, build a Diamond Platinum Museum in Tandale. Entrance fee: one TikTok dance.

Because while you’re busy planning conferences on youth empowerment, this man has already empowered half the youth in Dar with jobs, dreams, and beats.

Instead of obsessing over his bling, talk about his brilliance.

Let’s celebrate him now, while he’s alive, performing, trending, and slaying.

Not with tributes after tragedy. Not with funerals that trend. Not with regretfilled hashtags.

Imagine the same Tanzanians who now roast him, crying in the future: “He was our legend…”

Jamani, please…

Right now, Diamond is our musical passport.

He’s the reason Swahili has rhythm in Lagos, Dubai, and Paris. The reason Tandale now appears on Google Maps.

So, this Sunday, put on your headphones. Play “Koma Sava,” “Jeje,” or even “Baba Lao.”

Dance in your kitchen.

Celebrate a boy from Manzese who became a beast on stage.

And if anyone asks, “Why are you celebrating Diamond?” Just say: “Because he’s a living legend. Because he told me to chew Super Glue.

And because waiting to love someone after they die is the most Tanzanian thing we need to stop doing.”

Simba, keep roaring. One day, even the silent ones will join the chorus.

You’ve earned your crown.

Now let’s just make sure we aren’t the footnote in your royal story.

Long live the Simba of Bongo Flava.

Tanzanians, start the applause. The world already has.