"Savings or Current?"

It's quite difficult to be (consistently) patriotic as a Nigerian. On some days, it's much easier and we're able to celebrate huge wins collectively—often cultural recognitions such as Grammy wins or World Records. These aren't necessarily insignificant, but pale in comparison to the ways in which it's difficult to be patriotic.

Micah Johnson described "the paradox of black patriotism" as the double consciousness of black American patriotism in the modern era marked by publicised police killings. In the same way, it's difficult to be patriotic in light of the nation's economic difficulties and regressive social values. It's particularly more layered observing this whilst being in the diaspora but having strong roots home.

For those unfamiliar with Nigeria's economic and sociopolitical history, it is awfully complex to say the least, and impossible to fully cover here. However, some context is necessary. Politically, I could point to how ethnoreligious biases determine voting behaviour and influence the lack of political ideology. Socially, I could draw on the colonial mimicry which reflects in our obsession with paternalism—this is all-encompassing and affects everything from workplace culture to domestic dynamics. Economically, I could point to our preference for excessive hedonism and splendour underscored by a collective myopia. It's all very loaded to say the least.

This is a redraft of a titular essay I published 2 years ago which critiqued our political leaders' shortcomings. Although it's valid to demand more from elected representatives, there's little point in regurgitating a played-out rhetoric. Accountability and acknowledgment of shortcomings is not nearly sufficient to improve things economically. I'm concerned with a sustainable plan going forward given the modern age, and a way out (and forward) which utilises our unique strengths. Hence, "Savings or Current?" seems apt.

For whatever reason, many Nigerian banks and fintech providers use the dual-account card system. Unlike elsewhere, this means both current and savings accounts can be accessed using a single card. As such, we're normally asked this question "savings or current?" before making a payment–often daily spending e.g. retail, hospitality. I've always found the process interesting because it often requires split-decision answering. In the same way, perhaps it's worth assessing our current capacity, if we're similarly relying on our (psychological and economic) reserves, for how much longer, and whether we should be at all. Simply: it appears time is running out.

As usual, some context. Our youth unemployment rate is amongst the highest globally at 42.5%; inflation is averaging +25% month-on-month; and 70.7% of the population is projected to be living in poverty in 2025. This is underscored by a currency rapidly declining in value and rising petrol costs—affecting trade and cost of living. Our external debt growth of +300% should be most concerning of all. All things considered, however, we have somehow found it quite easy to compartmentalise. The 'Detty December' phenomenon in particular embodies our ability to forego crucial reflection and long-overdue austerity for an unrelenting jollity characterised by Shallipopistic crooning. Yet, a progressive decline on multiple fronts over a decade is a cause for concern, especially as neighbouring countries such as Kenya, Ethiopia and Rwanda are set to surpass us in many ways.

Can a good degree of our socioeconomic and sociopolitical gaps be attributed to colonialism? Certainly. The colonial legacy left deep structural imbalances and extractive institutions that continue to shape our economy. But we're well over a half century since independence, and many of our wounds now appear self-inflicted. The focus should be on forging a path ahead rather than dwelling on what lies behind us, as other former colonies have done over the last two decades.

I believe our significantly young population and growing technology ecosystem presents numerous possibilities for economic growth centred around a tech-driven and tech-enabled economy. However, the investment required first and foremost isn't necessarily simply fiscal, but a collaborative effort at policy- and citizen-levels. Of these, there's a dire need for aggressively ambitious targets beyond the challenges being solved. By 'aggressive ambition', I refer to goals which transcend incremental improvements to existing problems and instead reimagine what's possible.

We need a more coordinated national strategy that's both state- and market-led but involving citizens towards a shared goal. We needn't reinvent the wheel, but lean into our strengths in financial technology infrastructure while pursuing more ambitious aims beyond the existing services. The opportunities for fintech should focus more on 'for Africa' solutions and 'by Africa' solutions, rather than merely replicating Western models with local adjustments. The data suggests we're more than capable, and such goals are not only realistic, but achievable. After all, excellence is already embedded in our genetic makeup; we simply needed to actualise our potential.

For example, Lagos and Accra have become incredibly popular vacation spots for tourists, particularly around the December period. I previously proposed a tourist digital identity initiative that would integrate with our existing fintech infrastructure. This kind of solution could help manage tourism flows while capturing much-needed foreign exchange—demonstrating how our existing strengths in digital identity and payments could be leveraged for broader economic benefits.

Three of the four major Nigerian fintechs are now developing solutions for the diaspora, in a current state whereby remittances are more useful than ever (due to weakened currency) and amidst a juxtapositional migration to-and-from the country in pursuit of new beginnings. Governance issues aside, I suppose on a psychological level, some of the colonial legacies may affect our relatively 'small thinking' and focus on piecemeal solutions. Perhaps it's time to adopt more global ambition (albeit not reckless) as espoused by our Western counterparts rather than focusing solely on issues affecting Africans.

Despite existing policy efforts, a truly transformative tech-first approach would require several ambitious initiatives. Beyond the ongoing AI revolution and predicted robotics boom, I expect a paradigm-shifting evolution in fintech which transcends basic payments infrastructure as we know it. Given our burgeoning capabilities in both traditional and decentralised digital finance, perhaps we centre our ambitions on powering an already integral part of the global tech ecosystem and global economy in the same way China has positioned itself as a world-leader in e-commerce.

The dual-account system is a fitting metaphor for Nigeria's economic dilemma. For decades, we've been relying on our savings—exhaustible oil resources—without developing sustainable current income streams. However, it appears we've drawn down our reserves without investing sufficiently in renewable sources for growth.

Perhaps now is the time for a broader strategic vision that extends beyond fragmented digital services, but truly cutting-edge and unparalleled financial technology which has use cases across healthcare, agriculture and more.

To answer the question "savings or current?", the answer for our nation must increasingly be "current"—building sustainable revenue streams through innovation, education, and strategic investment. Our savings, both literal and metaphorical, certainly won't last forever.

Ode to Kalakuta

Fela Kuti's 'Yellow Fever' is one of my favourite songs of all time. It's not his most popular, nor is it his most political, but it carries a core social message nonetheless, as was often his style—whether through comedic call-and-response or masterful storytelling.

I came across Fela's discography almost a decade ago and found great relief in his music—especially as a teenager also questioning authority. [1] Despite his various creative successes, Fela's activism remains central to his legacy. He was a symbol of sociopolitical resistance in a country where it was uncommon, and at a time when it was—and still is—desperately needed. 

I recognise music is generally less overtly political these days simply as it's become more commercial. In our case, many Nigerian artists are now signed to global record labels, and therefore "have a lot to lose". Yet, it's worth remembering Fela attained international success through his political activism. After all, he famously performed 'Teacher Don’t Teach Me Nonsense' at the Glastonbury Festival in 1984 in an era before digital streaming. 

Our songs once challenged government structures, criticised police brutality, and cautioned against enduring colonial legacies. [2] Current lyricisms stand in contrast—centred on splendour, pageantry, and sensuality. On the basis that Afrobeats typically rewards conformity and not individuality, of course most artists adhere to the status quo. The people yearn for escapism—likely borne from political and existential fatigue—thus the artists deliver without questioning. However, the cognitive dissonance is only helpful to a point, and can only go on for so long. The times may have changed, but the themes which Fela addressed remain highly relevant—including our prolonged desire for escapism in "Shuffering and Shmiling". 

Perhaps the answer isn't for every artist to become the next Fela—such expectations would be as limiting as they are naive. Rather, it's recognising that music has always been a mirror to society, and our current reflection reveals as much about our collective state as Fela's once did about his. The question remains whether contemporary artists will eventually find their own ways to hold up that mirror with the same unflinching honesty, or whether the escapism will continue to serve as both our comfort, and ultimately, our cage.

[1] I likely listened to the "Zombie" album for a month straight. I still know the lyrics to many of the songs.

[2] Not to be confused with the contemporary Afrobeats.

African Intelligence

Afrobeats has grown exponentially in the decades since its origin. Multiple artists sell out arenas globally, the genre consistently garners billions of streams each year, and the Recording Academy recently created a new category specifically for African music.

However, Afrobeats has changed significantly, leaving most long-time listeners of the genre with mixed feelings about this. Why? Afrobeats is quite personal to our culture, and the trade-off between authenticity and commercialisation feels antinomical. The evolution of any genre is inevitable, but this becomes trickier once it becomes a trade-off between authenticity and mainstream appeal. I'm not surprised by this and I'm sure others aren't either. Nigerian culture has generally become more popular over the last two decades, with our film, cuisine, and art gaining traction in global spaces.

Therefore, it makes sense that Afrobeats follows suit within the ongoing globalisation of Nigerian culture. Although this increased exposure should be a good thing, I remain sceptical. Our artists are more able than ever to achieve market-fit due to this increased recognition, playing a critical role in cementing our positioning as the 'cool kids' of Africa. However, it is worth noting that this rapid growth was not serendipitous or purely random.

For the longest time, the core lever for Afrobeats' commercialisation has been through features and collaborations with other artists. On the surface, it's a seemingly innocent 'quid pro quo' which promises growth for both parties. Instead, I feel it's been an exploitative dynamic akin to the resource extraction observed in former colonial states. We could discuss the symbolism of Wizkid's 'collaboration' with Drake on One Dance, where his voice can barely be heard. Or, perhaps Beyoncé's The Gift which featured primarily Afrobeats artists and yet conveniently included no African countries on the tour.

One could argue that the tables seem to have turned, as we now see many Afrobeats artists featuring foreign artists on their own projects. Case in point: global acts like Justin Bieber, Nicki Minaj, and Chris Brown have been featured on multiple Afrobeats projects over the last 5 years. I believe the initial quid pro quo stands, but we falsely believe we're in the driver's seat. Afrobeats is trendy, and this time it conveniently benefits the foreign (primarily American) artists to be featured within the genre, instead of vice versa.

I am not as concerned about all aspects of Nigerian culture losing their authenticity. In many cases, some degree of cultural synthesis can be beneficial. Nollywood, for example, could benefit from raising its standard to match the production quality of its counterparts. Likewise, I've long dreamt of Nigerian-fusion dishes which are finally becoming possible through increased exposure. However, I am primarily skeptical regarding the influence of cultural convergence with Afrobeats due to the propensity for its assetization.

Assetization is a key aspect of technoscientific capitalism wherein non-financial mediums are transformed into financial assets which allow for investments and subsequent returns. Therefore, the newly converted asset becomes a mechanism which can be controlled, traded, and capitalised through the revenue stream.

Many art forms have been commodified for centuries, and music is no different. However, music has become easier to both commodify and assetize due to its low barrier to entry for consumption and increased accessibility through digital streaming services. We've seen this happen through increased vehicles for investment within the music industry, primarily through the artists' catalogues and royalties. Over time, the artists' output becomes the means for rent extraction, both in the short- and long-run.

My concerns regarding Afrobeats deepen with the influx of labels such as UMG, Atlantic, DefJam and Warner Music which have all signed, partnered with, or acquired Nigerian record labels or artists. Given Afrobeats' growing global popularity, and Africa's increasing recognition as an emerging market in terms of technology and culture, I wouldn't be surprised to see artists like Rema or Burna Boy sell their catalogues over the next 7-10 years.

This isn't inherently problematic, as the process is voluntary and requires artists' consent and the artists stand a chance to benefit. However, this is especially significant given our colonial history riddled with exploitation and control. For many of our artists, global success represents far more than growth, but the shattering of barriers and the creation of pathways for future stars. It signals a bold representation of our country, despite its tumultuous past and seemingly bleak future. Even though Fela partnered with labels such as EMI and MCA, he would be rolling in his grave if he saw our artists signing away ownership of their catalogs. I'm aware this hasn't happened yet, but it looms on the horizon–is Afrobeats yet another resource to be extracted, or even worse, appropriated?

Altering our sound for mass appeal is bittersweet in itself, but signing away ownership of our music raises profound questions about who truly owns our culture. While the financial incentives are evident and enticing, the artists are obliged to hold onto what we can still call ours. We must remember that this isn't a level playing field, and the rules which apply to our global counterparts carry different implications for us. Lest we forget, these were our literal masters less than a century ago, and the word means something very different to our people. The word carries a weight of history that we cannot ignore.