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By Chinonso Ihekire
The philosophy of an African music great like Fela Kuti is that music in Africa is for revolution, not for enjoyment. Though clearly not an approach and ethos that the majority follow, it’s an essential mentality to hold within.
In the landscape of contemporary African music, where the enjoyment, party and lifestyle tropes of Afrobeats now often dominate the airwaves, there are more introspective sounds, provoking music that carries the revolutionary idea of Fela, that pierce the veil of escapism. Mostly to jerk listeners back to reality for a bit.
“Yawa” by TMJ, a Nigerian musician, does that. Frustration finds an open faucet in this song that serves as a bridge between the local grievances of a Nigerian and a broader, more global existential exhaustion. The title itself, a Pidgin English term for a crisis, mess or trouble, acts as a recurring alarm bell throughout the song.
The production of “Yawa” combines the complexity of Jazz, the urgency of Afropop, and traditional African sounds, making the song’s experience feel like a call to action or a reminder of conscience. TMJ passionately sings like he has a megaphone, tightly gripped in his palm and firmly held to his mouth, to tell listeners to confront the “yawa” that constitutes their modern existence.
This song is rooted in a specific Nigerian fatigue: the experience of growing up in Nigeria and realising that the passage of time does not always equate to progress. For TMJ, it is a lamentation of a country caught in a loop. The decadence and systemic corruption that the musicians of his childhood sang about, the same issues that sparked the protests of Fela Kuti or the biting critiques of Eedris Abdulkareem, remain the popular headlines of the present day.
This stagnation creates a unique kind of psychological friction. It is the frustration of seeing a nation’s potential perpetually deferred by the same recurring patterns of ethnic and tribal bigotry, religious differences, disunity and corruption. No matter where you go, run or “japa” to, Nigeria’s unique problems never really leave you. How could TMJ not mention it in his song? How could “Yawa” not exist?
Singing in Pidgin English, the lingua franca of the Nigerian street, ensures that TMJ’s message is grounded in a reality that reflects the unadulterated truth of the people, where the weight of this stagnation is felt most painfully.
However, the genius of this song lies in its refusal to remain confined by geography. TMJ positions himself not just as a Nigerian artist, but as a global talent and musician, an observer who recognises that the disorganisation he sees at home is happening, small or big, in various forms across the globe.
His cry of “Yawa dey ooo” identifies a common thread of discord, disunity and the general entropy of modern urban living that he sees wherever he goes.
This is a potent reminder of music’s role as a social tool. Throughout history, music has served as the first responder to social decay, providing labels for frustrations that are often too complex for regular political conversations. Music has not always been just for entertainment; it has been a church, a courtroom, a market square, a newspaper, a protest, etc. TMJ tows this line by using “Yawa” to document the current climate of global unrest. He makes the song danceable yet deeply uncomfortable in its lyricism. But clearly, the private frustrations of many listeners are validated by it.
Towards the end, TMJ suggests that we must ensure to confront our issues and find a way out of the mess. This is a soundtrack for the modern malaise. It’s also a wake-up call: while the same things people talked about many years ago are indeed still happening, getting comfortable with them is a no-no.
In the hands of TMJ, “Yawa” is a call for more necessary conversation about the world we have built and the one we are currently enduring.
