We cannot all find escape in music. Afropop has pushed the gospel of hedonistic escapism for so long that it sometimes comes off as the default to this chimera of a genre. But we cannot all glide away to a land of unlimited booze, Bacchanalian lifestyles, and steamy, mid-tempo rhythmics. Fun being fundamental also means reimagining sunny skies devoid of pleasure-seeking endeavours. Warm hugs that do not deny life’s persistent horrors but give space for laughter as the world burns. This is what Teni’s latest project, The Wellness Package EP, wraps into its 20-minute run time of apolitical, sometimes generic axioms. In another universe, she swaps titles with UK nightingale Raye, and the EP is instead named These Songs May Contain Hope. Or even simpler, Hope.
Miss Teniola Apata’s new age teachings did not spawn in a vacuum. In a sense, contemplative albeit surface-level music is rather second nature for the singer, the same way her place as a pop Avatar is indisputable. Her debut project, Billionaire EP (2019), most popular for its titular song, solidified her playful brand of Afropop, closer to the Kizz Daniel and Tiwa Savage school of innuendo use, slang-heavy verbiage, and infectiousness, yet distinctively lighthearted. But before that, there was Uyo Meyo, Yoruba folk music resonating all the way to the 2019 Headies, where Teni won the Best Vocal Performance (Female) and Best Recording plaques, in addition to her 2018 Rookie of the Year title.
During the lockdown, she teamed up with DJ Neptune for the 4-track EP, The Quarantine Playlist—far from her best work—with the middling Lockdown pre-empting the Teni we hear on Wellness Package. There are records of this new age ilk on her two albums , 2021’s WONDALAND (HUSTLE, DAD’S SONG), and 2023’s TEARS OF THE SUN (YBGFA, Apala), personalised expositions—as with the pair of DAD’S SONG and Apata about her late father, Brigadier-General Simeon Apata—about life. But for the most part, she’s stuck to her pop sensibilities, occasionally branching out to genres like jersey club (No Days Off), house (Maitaima) and funk (Deela and Genio Bambino’s Patience Ozokwor). There was also that novelty Christmas is Here EP in 2023.
What Teni offers as a wellness package here is nothing we haven’t heard before. In fact, if you swap out her messaging with those of enlightenment movements and liberal soothsayers mounting pulpits on Sundays, there isn’t much of a difference. Teni is the wise Umi of Mos Def’s Umi Says and Tim Lyre and Joyce Olong’s NYE (Everywhere). And Umi says you should free your mind in favour of positive thoughts. Umi says you should awaken your soul, never sleep, and never be carried away. Umi says to cry no more because a celebration dwells on the horizon. Umi says you should be wiser, aided by modern day Magi from the East—the South-East. Umi says you shouldn’t worry about tomorrow, aided by yet another wise man from the South-East, although on a different song. Umi says do not bow to money. Umi says that life is ephemeral—here today, gone tomorrow, and perhaps never truly lived when you worry.
You’ve heard all of these things before; in denser form, no less, when you include leftist hip-hop. Still, The Wellness Package shines as a repository of these messages for ‘how’ they are told. Teni’s synergy with producer DeeYasso, who produced 5 of 7 tracks, enables her to diverge from her regular Afropop without sounding forced. In fact, only one track is distinctively Afropop, the Spotless-produced Wuru Manya (feat. Chike), a convergence of Amapiano log drums and elements of South African gospel. It’s also ironically the weakest draw on the EP, Teni singing about how she “done palansa” “done wuru manya” as she prays to remember her way (It works in service of the song, anyway). Throughout this EP, the younger Apata sister dances across styles without missing a step, hopping straight from jazzy Yoruba folk (Meditation) to Highlife (The Cavemen-assisted Wuru Manya). And it’s gripping enough that one wonders if she shouldn’t transition away from mainstream pop altogether; she’d give alternative acts a run for their money, for sure.
How else does Teni share this message of hope, you ask? A Yoruba adage on honesty propels Panam Percy Paul-esque reggae harmonies as she reaches for ‘higher synergy’ on Meditation, elevating the song’s rather weak central sentiment. On Face Front, she offers another side of Fido’s Joy is Coming, less celebratory, more affirmative of a bright future, as she pleads with her audience to wipe their tears. She confesses to feeling overwhelmed sometimes, a personalisation that was lacking on the EP, but still implores us to be optimistic without being overly preachy.
Teni seems to have attended the same school of pragmatism that prompted Adekunle Gold’s It Is What It Is (“Money no dey bring happiness, na when money come I realise oh/But I no be hypocrite, I dey pray make you get your own too) as she exhorts (“They say money don’t change anything, but money make the world go round/And if you don’t learn anything, learn how to make it somehow”) on More Money, following up the viral 2025 record, Money, where she sang about preferring tears in a Bentley. Unlike before, she accedes to the entrapments of wealth while still praying for a better quality of life for fans. Someone please tell Asake that this is a healthier way to sing about wealth, stripping self-absorption to fine shreds.
The Wellness Package is preachy yet unpatronising. Most importantly, it sounds incredibly good! This might seem like such a minor detail until you have to suffer through an hour-long exposure to self-proclaimed conscious music that sounds like diarrhoea. You can’t listen to Wise and not come away rejoicing at the confluence of sounds. Sikiru Ayinde Barrister would be proud of Teni. Victor Uwaifo would be proud of Benjamin and Kingsley of The Cavemen—as they would be proud of themselves for repurposing melodies from their 2021 track, Selense. Wise is our generation’s Time Na Money inspired by Magicstickz’s pseudochoral magic. Ignore the corny anecdote about ‘letting the spirit lead’ in the song’s final seconds.
And what about lead single Zion? The obligatory Teni love song highlighting late career Badoo’s Jigga flows. Music that’s uniquely Nigerian, as only a Nigerian Christian would think to use Biblical Zion to represent safety in romantic relationships. What about HTGT (Here Today, Gone Tomorrow)? What about Spellz lacing Teni’s calls to enjoy life with boisterous trumpets? What about the night, tangible passion in her voice as she sings about the anxiety of having no clarity? Life might be tough, and everything might be burning to the ground, and the country might be in ruins, but for heaven’s sake ,look around you. There’s still hope. And even if it’s just a smidgen, latch on and pray that the road leads you home, potholes notwithstanding. An objective analysis of the project presents another truth many artists need to accept: some concepts are too weak to stretch to LPs. Give us that EP and go on with your day.
It’s not lost on this writer that the singer offering all of these platitudes shared a viral moment with First Lady, Oluremi Tinubu, at the 9 March, 2026 International Women’s Day celebration at the Uyo Township Stadium. This is such a Nigerian thing to do—singing about not dwelling on one’s worries while you dance with the leadership who called for the celebrity class to ‘support’ the Government’s efforts since the Akara yarns didn’t spin well. Everything really is political at the end of the day, even apolitical warm musical hugs. Even quietness as the country burns.
To hope or not to hope? Teni says to hope. Teni says new age affirmations are a way out. Teni, our wise Umi wants you whole just by listening to The Wellness Package EP. This is one of the best projects you will listen to all year, and if you’re willing to separate the art and the artist—as most sadly will—even better. Sunny escapism for these sad, last days.
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