The wokeness of Olamide’s Wo

At the very worst, the song was—still is—an apologia for sexual abuse, seeing how the protestations of whatever girl Olamide was portraying was swept aside as fantasy, the sort of story that might be told by moonlight on the Olympus. At the very best, 'Story for the Gods' throws up legitimate questions of power, consent and boundaries in this age of ubiquitous porn. It was, too, utterly danceable, one of the slew of consecutive hits that cemented Olamide’s place in the firmament of Nigerian pop.

And now we have 'Wo'.

We’ve been here before. To reiterate, let no one tell you only some music is woke. They lie. All music is woke. The task of analysis—if it is so inclined—is to distill the unique wokeness of every song, to determine which music critiques or reflects its context and how. The former usually is on the nose, blindingly obvious—most Fela songs, the occasional 2Baba song, one Tekno song. You have to squint to assay the latter; tough, when the subject of your squinting pings about like water molecules in a boiling kettle. Squinting done, just how much 'Story for the Gods' reflected prevalent sexual attitudes towards women was laid bare.

Perhaps, beset by ennui, Olamide was attempting to evolve his sound, transcend and round out his edgy urban image, a legitimate yearning for any artist, transcension being a statement of growth. The problem is his audience is not particularly forgiving of change. They may demand it, but the weight of its reality often exceeds the burden of expectation.

2017, thus, has not proven to be the year for a man who famously declared every track from a YBNL acolyte a hit back to back. Re-enter Young John, the producer around whom many of those hits (including 'Story for the Gods') revolved, Young John whose rambunctious, uncomplicated percussion has always proved the perfect complement to Olamide’s hardboiled, streetwise lyrics.

'Wo', because of Young John, has returned Olamide to his moment. 'Wo', a meme in its own right, is utterly danceable, reminiscent of a skin Olamide wanted shed. 'Wo' has inspired a rash of “amateur” dance clips, the most imaginative of which typifies the very idea of an internet meme: the Chelsea dressing-room videos remove an element of culture from its context and graft it onto another context, creating sheer delight.

While 'Wo' doesn’t scream misogyny like 'Story for the Gods', there’s still a moment—a brief moment—where it reflects its bona fides. No, this is not about 'Wo'’s video, the video’s cast, its communitarian ethos, its lack of glitter and excess. This is about the first line of the song’s refrain. "Wo/Won ba e wi nibi" is an allusion that will be immediately familiar to many women. "Look, you’re being spoken to."

It is coded language, muted outrage. Sometimes it terminates as verbal harassment disguised in reformative language: be normal, don’t be deviant. Or don’t play the fool, you naughty children; don’t be irresponsible, as 'Wo'’s refrain goes on to say.

Most times “Wo/Won ba e wi nibi” is an explicit demand for compliance, a challenge to a woman’s agency tinged with a whisper of violence, a forerunner and harbinger of molestation. Comply, or an unspeakable thing may be visited upon you; if not now, then maybe later. It is in many ways the rhetorical equivalent of the routine molestations—the graspings and gropings—visited on women in places like the Yaba market.

It’s quite clear too, that a conversation—if it can be called that—requiring the code must have progressed some way. The exchange, always mediated by an eager minion, usually proceeds between a man, some sort of urban overlord, and a woman he is relatively or absolutely unfamiliar with. A pass—such as “f’owo ha mi lejika/make we go into my car/baby girl je ka jiga” (hook your arm around my shoulder/let's have some fun)—would have been rebuffed as in “o fe ma fi mi buga” (she wants to use me as buff for her ego), an unacceptable defiance requiring the intervention of the minion. "Wo/Won ba e wi nibi" is the inevitable backlash, the pushback that usually doesn’t end well for the dissenter. Let order be restored.

This is not to say Olamide himself is misogynist. Separating the product from its creator is an exercise in clarity, as is steeping the product in the social circumstances of its production. Like 'Story for the Gods', 'Wo' alludes to misogyny. To varying degrees, both songs simply reflect and call to our attention underlying societal attitudes that require a reckoning.