“Where the Wind Comes From” Review: Amel Guellaty’s Coming-of-Age Drama is Tender and Confrontational
13 hours ago

Dark Mode
Turn on the Lights
In a way, this unspoken creed of non-violence in rap is a testament to Hip-Hop’s enculturation into Nigeria, and a marker of the contextual differences between the genre as practiced here and its American origins. It is also a function of the demographic that major Nigerian rappers have been culled from—older, university-educated men often converted from the 9-5 workforce or with demonstrable businesses on the side.
In a snippet shared by Dxtiny on Twitter, the underground singer is performing his latest release, a song about demanding payment from a debtor. For some reason, most likely relating to publicity, he thought to provide the video with a violent turn by wielding a rifle as he delivered his lines. It may only have been a promotional video, but it is emblematic of a time in Nigerian music when artists are more keen to embrace needless gangsterism, and in some cases, violence. And between Odumodublvck’s outbursts on Twitter and Burna Boy’s recurrent spats with other celebrities, most recently with Cubana Chief Priest, this behavior looks to have extended beyond lyrics and into the singers’ lives.
Interestingly, the Rap genre, which is where violence often resides, is characteristically temperate in Nigeria. Even beef among rappers lacks a lethal edge, with muscles more often flexed over harmless benchmarks like bank balances and women. Sure, there are the occasional vague allusions to violence: Ruggedman muttered “Don’t let my dance tracks misguide you, I’m a double edged sword, I won’t hesitate to slice you,” in response to Mode 9 in their much publicized beef. But these threats are few and far between, and characteristically do not get close to realization. A few more dirtier battles have been fought across rap history, from Kelly Handsome’s skirmish with Wande Coal (indeed the entirety of Mo’Hits’ roster) in 2009 to MI and Vector’s industry shaking battle in the late ‘10s. These were deeply personal, hard-fought battles lasting years and spanning several tracks, but it is significant to note that these artists steered clear of direct threats to bring harm to their adversaries.
In a way, this unspoken creed of non-violence in rap is a testament to Hip-Hop’s enculturation into Nigeria, and a marker of the contextual differences between the genre as practiced here and its American origins. It is also a function of the demographic that major Nigerian rappers have been culled from—older, university-educated men often converted from the 9-5 workforce or with demonstrable businesses on the side. This is in contrast to American Hip-Hop, which young, black men stumbled into as an escape or extension of their crime-plagued, underprivileged communities. Nigerian Street Pop is staffed by a similar demographic, so it is the genre more likely to relate with crime and fierceness. Dagrin was fueled by this spirit, or at least his artistry—his megahit Pon Pon Pon not only features multiple gunshots effects, but Dagrin remarks on how his weapon is an indispensable accessory: “Anywhere ti n ba n lo mo fe ma lo pelu ibon.” Its video, too, was an allusion to gangs, featuring multiple extras masked in bandanas and wielding handheld weapons.
Olamide, his spiritual successor, borrowed many of these ideals, especially with his earlier work. Off his debut album, Voice Of The Street was a barreling standout, an introduction to the streets where patience and grace were in short supply and an AK 47 was not out of place. Over the next few years, a number of other tracks leaned into his darker side, and by extension, the darker side of the streets: Goons Mi, Eyan Mayweather, Abule Sowo. They were grotesque narrations, but it was the reality of any man who was raised in harsh conditions.
Other artists weave in bits of gang culture into their portrayals of their artistic personalities. Rema’s HEIS was powered by Rema’s confidence, which often bordered on the aggressive. Ruger has carved a niche for himself as the honey-tongued gangster between his pirate-inspired eyepatch and lyrics like “Strapped up with the guns and the swords and things/ Bring hell to anybody wey try test me” on Asiwaju.
With some other artists, though you cannot tell where acting a persona ends and real life begins. Odumodublvck has, in his short time in the industry so far, crafted a personality of gangsterism and needless violence. Declan Rice, his pivotal single, was founded on ideals of doggedness and aggressiveness much like the Arsenal midfielder’s playing style, but nothing about it was especially sinister. When his debut album arrived, it brimmed with all the quality he had promised, but a number of songs—like Shoot And Go Home, Saint Obi or Blood On The Dance Floor—left a bitter aftertaste due to their violent nature. It is refreshing to have new characters in the scene, but what happens when that persona is a danger and bad influence?
What happens when these personas exist outside the studio? Burna Boy is known for brilliant music and record-smashing achievements, but over the years he has also acquired a reputation for violence. In 2017, he was declared wanted by the police in connection with the robbery another artist, Mr. 2Kay had suffered. In 2022, Burna Boy was again involved in another incident after policemen attached to him shot two individuals at a nightclub in Lagos. Burna Boy’s team denied his involvement in both incidents.
It does not bode well for the future of Nigerian music when its current stars do not present the best role models. It may point to why younger artists like the gun-wielding Dxtiny are comfortable to incorporate violence into their music. Unhealthy trends should be nipped in the bud before they become an unhealthy culture; we as an audience should be vigilant to the artists and art we platform so that we do not crown gangsters kings in Nigerian music.
0 Comments
Add your own hot takes