Tunde Odesola

Three occupants of a black Mercedes-Benz were heading to work on a good Friday morning. One was the driver, another was the aide, and their oga patapata. They came to crawling traffic on George Street in Ikoyi, Lagos, en route to Obalende, their office. The Federal Secretariat was at a touching distance.

Suddenly, a hail of gunshots rained on the black Benz like a hundred stones from the devil’s sling. Then the tyres screeched away. Then silence. Rivulets of hot blood trickled from the heads and torsos of the driver, the aide and General Murtala Ramat Mohammed. This was February 13, 1976, the first bad Friday I knew.

The second bad Friday was on February 18 of the following year. I had bounced off to St Paul’s Anglican Primary School, Idi-Oro, Lagos, in the morning, having celebrated a quiet birthday a day before. Except for the khaki-wearing planners of sorrows, tears and blood, no one else had a foreboding of what lay ahead in the day.

My class was in full session on the middle floor of the school’s two-storey wing when the news broke and shattered peace and learning. “Soldiers are attacking Fela’s house! Lagos is on fire!”

Yeepa! Fela’s house was a stone’s throw from my school. Before the teacher finished passing the information to the class, she had grabbed her bag, just as the school bell sounded, summoning everyone to the assembly ground. Exhibiting no emotion, a fair-complexioned, slim and fatherly teacher, Mr Mayungbe, disclosed the reason why the school was closing abruptly, strictly warning pupils to head straight home.

He said pupils whose homes were around Fela’s house in the Moshalashi area should wait behind for their parents and guardians to come and pick them up. Subsequently, our class teachers brought out the registers containing pupils’ addresses, calling those whose houses were not around Fela’s house to head home. My name was called. I jumped out, my bag slung across my back and headed towards the gate.

MORE FROM THE AUTHOR:[OPINION] Chimamanda: The Stethoscope As Hangman’s Noose (1)

At the school gate, I thought it was a betrayal to go home and not witness the injustice soldiers were inflicting on the beautiful white house of my hero; the house located by a bend, the house whose architecture I beheld and ogled at during incessant truancy trips. So, I headed to Fela’s house located on No 14 Agege Motor Road, Idi-Oro, where thousands of soldiers were deployed to destroy a harmless civilian, his family and livelihood. Yes, livelihood, because the house had a recording facility. It also had a free health clinic. This was during the military regime headed by General Olusegun Obasanjo, an Egba man like Fela. The barbaric soldiers threw Fela’s 78-year-old mother through the window of the storey building. And she died.

To weigh in on the supremacy fire raging between Fela’s son, Seun, and Afrobeats star, Ayodeji Balogun, popularly known as Wizkid, the aforementioned background from the eyes of a little boy sheds light on the indomitable spirit of the Abami Eda, and why his legacy as the founder and father of Afrobeat is forever encased in gold.

Without ever meeting Wizkid, I wrote a two-part article titled “The god that cut soap for Wizkid” in THE PUNCH more than two years ago. The articles, published in the month of September 2023, extol the humility of Wizkid’s mother, Mrs Morayo Balogun, and the grace upon the life of her superstar son, Ayodeji.

On Friday, May 19, 2023, in a public show of shame, Seun slapped a police officer on the Third Mainland Bridge. I penned “Seun Kuti’s double-edged slap” to criticise Seun’s arrogance and stupidity. Seun’s action on that day exposes the impunity men and women of power and influence inflict when relating with people they consider lower on the social rungs. Fela, despite his avowed stance on human rights advocacy, reportedly fell short on that account on a number of occasions. Neither is Wizkid a saint in this regard. Nigeria’s big men, more often than not, exploit the weakness in law enforcement to get away with any crime. A power monger called Wasiu Ayinde disrupted a flight and attempted to stop a plane from taking off; instead of a time in jail, he was given an award. Because he was close to President Bola Tinubu.

Let’s be clear from the outset, please. This article is not a magisterial judgment on who is right or wrong in the Seun-Wizkid fight. Mark my words – Seun-Wizkid fight, not Fela-Wizkid fight. To place Fela on the same pedestal as Wizkid is to compare the storm in a teacup with the roar of the Atlantic. Igi imu jinna si ori, the distance between the nose and forehead is far. It is arduous for the fingerless fellow to thread the thread through the eye of the needle. Fela is the creator, Wizkid is the creation.

A product of the University of Ibadan and the Imperial College, London, where he specialised in Sound Processing, octogenarian music producer, the legendary Odion Iruoje, is renowned as the producer of Nigeria’s first true pop music with his collaboration with the teenage sensation band, Ofege. Iruoje, who produced a series of Fela’s first hits, including ‘Jeun Kooku’, ‘Beautiful Dancer’, ‘Alijonjokijo’, and ‘Ojuelegba’, gave an insight into how Fela created Afrobeat.

MORE FROM THE AUTHOR:[OPINION] Osimhen: The Arrogance Of A Ghetto Hero

In an interview on popular online media, Agbaletu TV, Iruoje, who read Industrial Electronics and Control Systems, said Fela came to one of the foremost recording companies in the country, E.M.I, upon returning from England, where he recorded an unsuccessful album, ‘Won Fe Gba Aya Wa’, with E.M.I. in London. The sound guru described Fela as a troublemaker whom E.M.I London didn’t want to deal with.

“When he came to me, he said, ‘Mr Iruoje, I have a new sound now, and it is called Afrobeat’. I told him what sound do you have that I have never heard before? I didn’t understand what he was saying. I told him there’s no sound you are going to play outside Highlife. So, I went to audition (him). Goodness! I couldn’t believe it when he started the horns. I have never heard such a horn arrangement in my life. No one ever did that – plenty of horns – the arrangement, ha! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I have never heard such a sound before. I said we have to go to the studio.

“In fact, the MD (a white man) came to my audition, he was listening to it, he said, ‘Mr Iruoje, please, can you get this man into the studio before he changes his mind?’ I said no, I have not finished with the rehearsal, he (the MD) said no, no, please, Mr Iruoje, you know he is very unstable, he could change his mind. I told the MD that Fela would not change his mind on me.

“The MD and I did not believe him when he first came to announce that he had a new sound. But he said, ‘Odion, come to the Shrine and listen to it, and see what few changes you want to do to it, and I went, we did a few changes. His rhythm guitar was (new), and first-time of his time, then he added tenor guitar and lead guitar. So, Fela had more guitars than the regular Highlife band. The regular Highlife band had only one guitar and bass, but Fela had all four. Fela influenced Juju bands because they started introducing tenor, rhythm and other guitars.”

On Fela’s flip side, Iruoje described the political activist, culture advocate and social crusader as a troublemaker, whom recording companies did not want to touch with a long pole. Because he gave E.M.I. London troubles over royalties, Iruoje was told by the authorities of the E.M.I branch in Nigeria not record Fela.

“If he signs a contract which states that his royalty would be so much (amount), that is what he signed before going to the studio, once he goes into the studio and the song starts selling and becomes a hit, he would say, “That song is no more N80 o, he wants to get N100 or N200. At times, he would snatch the master tape,” Iruoje said.

If told he signed a contract, Iruoje said, “Fela would say, what is contract? Contract is ordinary paper. That music is more than what is in the contract. He would snatch the master tape now, (and say) he was not going to release it. He (would say) we had to change that. Maybe, at times, I may not be in when he’s making the trouble, when I come back, they would say, “See what your man is doing o. He has taken (the master tape). Then I would send somebody to call him. He would come to my office because he respects me.”

To be continued.

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola