IB Kamara opens up about not seeing his mother for 15 years and how it created gulfs around intimacy.
It starts with clothes. Kamara talks through off-white denim, a found top, Jawara Allen's hat, clogs, and black gloves, the kind of outfit he reaches for at home without overthinking it. Bella keeps that image in play while asking how someone with so many titles names himself. Styling, creative direction, magazines, videos, music: he does not seem eager to tuck it all under one clean label. He talks instead about using whatever medium is in front of him until it can hold the full version of him. The morning ritual part feels small at first, then starts to matter. He protects that time and calls it selfish; Bella hears it as the thing that steadies the day. There is a sweet little charge in that exchange. He describes filling himself with happy energy so the world has less room to knock him around, which makes the turn toward religion land naturally. Bella brings up his line about going to church every Sunday before becoming an atheist, then asks what replaced God. Kamara's answer is freedom. He grew up in a religious household where self-expression was not allowed, except for singing in church from age four until fifteen. The rest stayed hidden. After moving to the UK at sixteen, he followed the medical degree his parents wanted, even as it felt more and more like a prison. Dropping out at nineteen is told plainly, but it lands as the moment art stopped having to sneak in through the side door. By the end, he is in the body again: sweaty, percussive, maybe topless, with drums, electronic sound, and Bella ready to take the EP into her morning shower ritual.
