There was a time in history when Nigeria exported only oil, cocoa, and crude, while talent fled on one-way tickets. Today, our most striving export does not come from pipelines or plantations alone, it comes from sound. It is Afrobeats, a rhythm that dances across continents. The pulse of a nation that refuses to be lulled, and the soundtrack of a continent insisting on its place in history.
Before the planet heard “Afrobeats,” Nigeria’s sound had already begun to travel through many rivers. And as the beats echoed, we remember that the world may own the stage, but Africa owns the rhythm. In the 1940s and 1950s, highlife hovered in from Ghana. It was then given an incredibly unique Nigerian twist by legends like Rex Lawson and Victor Olaiya, who used trumpets and guitars to sing of love and liberation.
By the 60s and 70s, a restless new rhythm was born: Fela Anikulapo Kuti’s Afrobeat, a fiery fusion of jazz, funk, and African percussion, laced with political thunder. It was more than music; it was a revolution in sound and spirit into the 80s. An intentional drumbeat reminding the world that Africa will not be silent. In this paradox lies our power and the ability to convert pain into beauty, and scarcity into rhythm.
Afrobeats is more than escapism; it is Afropower. The likes of Ebenezer Obey, King Sunny Adé, Sir Shina Peters, Bright Chimezie, and Wasiu Ayinde were also trending in the 80s and 90s as they brought the modern era of highlife, juju and fuji music, using Yoruba and Igbo rhythms into national anthems of entertainment and delight. Shortly after, hip-hop and R&B touched down in the most clear and sentimental tune with local styles to create a new hybrid.
The voices of multi-talented singers like Plantashun Boiz, Remedies, and Styl-Plus carried youthful vibes into the new millennium where legends like 2 Face Innocent Idibia aka 2 Baba the “microphone general” and our own illustrious son Timi Dakolo, the great nation maestro were born. Out of all these rhythm layers, the Afrobeats era of the 2000s and 2010s sprang up big. This time around, they magically and neatly borrowed from highlife, infused and inherited from juju, remixed Fela’s Afrobeat, and added global hip-hop and dancehall to the mix.
What began in Lagos smoky studios is now shaking arenas like mass protest wrapped in melody, joy concealed as survival, and rebellion disguised as rhythm in the cities of London, New York, Paris and around the world, contesting the dominance of Western soundscapes. Afrobeats has become more than music. It is a tremendous language without borders. Decades of rhythms, each generation leaving its note, until the world had no other choice but to listen.
When artists like Davido, Burna Boy, Flavour, Tiwa Savage, Wizkid, Tems, and Simi, to mention a few, whisper truth, they are not just performing; they are also negotiating space for Africa in a world too eager to always stereotype her. Yet the absence of light in our homes becomes the spark for a lyric; the frustration of the street is transformed into a beat that forces even the oppressor’s child to dance.
Afrobeat shifts culture. It creates a billion-dollar industry where governments failed to build. It empowers a new generation of African storytellers to say: we are not waiting for recognition; we are claiming it.
✍🏽 William Z. Bozimo
Veteran Journalist | Columnist | National Memory Keeper
