“Catch am! Hold am! Slap am! Chase am!” Those were the words that energetically echoed into Fela Anikulapo Kuti’s well-worn wired microphone. He continued to fiddle with and unknot the clumsy wire until the end of his rehearsal of the remarkable and thoughtfully controversial “Authority Stealing.”  Yet for a song so direct, provocative, and still painfully relatable years later, his demeanour was devoid of agitation. The tender chorus of his wives – his backup singers – cocooned his signature raspy, voice-of-the-voiceless tone with their unforgettable ad-libs: “Catch am, catch am, e be thief! Catch am, catch am, e be rogue!”

Throughout the rehearsal session, as the audience’s eyes adjusted to his blue underwear riding dangerously beyond the jurisdiction of his waist, his index and middle clung ever so slightly to a joint – or, as the locals call it, igbo – known for its calming, soothing effects. After it slipped from his fingers and violently crashed to the floor, both fingers knew they couldn’t let go again. From that moment on, as they had done before and would distinctively continue to do until Fela passed, they clenched tightly.

Decades later, Afrobeats – distinguishing itself from its progenitor, Afrobeat, which Fela pioneered – not only inherited the instrumentalism and je ne sais quoi of Afrobeat, but also, its sacred stash of weed. A muse if you may, that many would argue has served the genre and its evolution fruitfully over the years, especially now.

In the early 2000s, weed’s involvement in Afrobeats was a reflection of Nigeria’s attitude towards the substance. On Prof Linkin’s 2003 track,  “Jogodo,” he raps about how getting caught by the police means you’re headed straight to Kirikiri Maximum Security Prison. Similarly, in Danfo Driver’s “Semsimilla” released the same year, the line “if you be army or police man, we no go open the door” captures defiance, even as the song celebrates weed. It doesn’t shy away from telling the story of fear and caution around the usage of weed. Today, with strains like Loud, Arizona, Colorado, and Canada widely available in Nigeria, the deference that older performers showed towards the criminalisation of weed has faded. It’s almost nonexistent now, as weed is now a norm and its scent, a familiar smell to all.

The proliferation of weed culture within contemporary Afropop is perhaps best exemplified on Burna Boy’s 2022 global smash record,‘Last Last’. With its searingly infectious hook, “I need Igbo and Shayo,” the track not only dominated the Billboard U.S. Afrobeats Charts – spending eight weeks at #1 and 74 weeks in total – but also highlights how inseparable weed is from the fabric of Afropop, woven deeply into its creation, sound, cultural aesthetics, and identity.

Beyond Burna Boy, many Afropop artists have increasingly embraced cannabis references as part of their artistic identity. Weed is now a recurring motif in lyrics, almost a marker of initiation into the culture. For instance, Fireboy DML solidified his place in the genre’s unofficial “Igbo Smokers Hall of Fame”with the unforgettable line, “I done dey smoke igbo,” from “YAWA” off his latest album, ‘adedamola.’

Another artist whose relationship with weed has evolved publicly  is Blaqbonez. In an interview with YouTuber, Korty EO, three years ago, the rapper and Afropop artist claimed he doesn’t smoke and never has. On his sophomore album ‘Young Preacher,’ he reiterated this on the track “HOT BOY,” saying, “Incase you don’t know, I no dey smoke igbo.” Fast forward to 2023, and there’s a noticeable shift in his stance. In “BAD TILL ETERNITY” from his third studio album, ‘Emeka Must Shine’ he sings, “smoke igbo for my sanity,” suggesting a more nuanced relationship with cannabis.

Global star, Rema, also falls into this category. While it might seem as though the rave lord couldn’t wait to announce his newfound dalliance with weed, it wasn’t always like this. In 2019, the award-winning singer tweeted “I don’t drink or smoke but what I inhaled that night took me to Mars!”  In 2022, he’d later again tweet, “If Big Wiz [Wizkid] pass the blunt, I’ll smoke.”

While talking about weed may seem cool on records and social media, the reality on Nigeria’s streets is far from glamorous. Marijuana remains illegal, despite Nigerians being its highest consumers in Africa. Recently, the #Smoke-Free Nollywood campaign by the National Film and Video Censors Board (NFVCB) even reinforced their stance against promoting smoking in films and music videos. As a young person in Nigeria, you’ve likely been stopped and searched by the police at some point, and accused of possessing marijuana. What starts as a routine stop can easily derail your entire day. However, instead of ending up in federal prison as the music once suggested, today you’d probably just need to post bail.

Despite endless crackdowns and frightening cautionary tales, many Nigerian creatives, like singer-songwriter Buzz* remain undeterred. With one of the biggest songs of the year, bearing a weed-inspired title, Buzz has no intention of quitting. He loves it, regardless of how many jabs other artists like Adekunle Gold might take at substance use. Contrary to the idea that smoking weed makes you study or work better, Buzz doesn’t see it as an elixir for inspiration. “It enhances it, something I call 3D reasoning,” he tells The NATIVE. “The varied experiences people have with weed also shape how they interpret weed-related content. “Most people have had personal experiences with weed, whether good or bad.”

Directly or indirectly, weed’s reputation precedes it, and that has boosted its relatability and visibility. Despite its illegality, cannabis lingo is embedded in Nigerian culture and daily life. This influence is also evident on the music charts, where many of the year’s biggest hits have been shaped by the aesthetics of weed culture.

Since the release of “Awolowo,” by breakout artist Fido, the track hasn’t dropped below the Top 10 on the Spotify Daily Charts and currently sits in the top five at of the time of writing. Only the powerhouse duo of Asake and Wizkid – two artists who have, interestingly, both woven weed into their identities – are keeping the newcomer from clinching the top spot on Apple Music Top Songs Charts. Fido attributes the creation of his smash hit to hunger – both literal and metaphorical – and the companionship of ganja. “My producer and I hadn’t eaten anything at all. That day, Nigeria was just hot. There was fuel scarcity everywhere, and political issues were adding to the pressure,” he tells The NATIVE.  “I asked myself, ‘How do I do it?’ Then, as the producer played the sound, I found myself ‘talking with the most high.’”

During the second quarter of 2024, consumers were excited to receive not one, but two bespoke interpretations of emotions further amplified by the symbolism of weed. Ayo Maff’s “Dealer,” featuring Fireboy, and Kaestyle’s “My Dealer,” which includes contributions from Omah Lay and, later, Kizz Daniel, in a remix. Buzz doesn’t entirely agree with the notion that weed is the sole driver of these songs’ popularity. “A good song is a good song,” he explains. “I can’t say the weed element alone makes it popular, but it does contribute to its appeal by automatically attracting a target audience. Those who discriminate against weed often dislike those records as well. From personal experience, I’d say a weed song with solid lyrics, an inspiring agenda, and strong wordplay will definitely resonate with listeners.”

Take Ayo Maff’s “Dealer” as an example. His approach on the song is retrospective, reflecting on the paths he, his friends, and, more broadly, today’s youth take to reach their zenith, as well as the muddy waters they must wade through to get there. The poignant lines, “Cana sa ni, ka ma sa. Omo oro mi ma lo sa,” followed by “Ti’le ba ti mo, ma pe dealer mi,” symbolise living in the present while looking back pensively at past struggles and appreciating the journey, seemingly shared with friends over a blunt. Fireboy also contributes to the subject matter, first acknowledging God as his go-to in times of worry and deep reflection, but elucidating that he seeks a different type of absolution – one that only his dealer can provide.

In contrast, Kaestyle’s “My Dealer” offers a different perspective, taking listeners on the scenic route through matters of the heart. The character is unapologetic about his actions, particularly in cutting off a woman who has overestimated her importance in his life. On this track, his dealer assumes dual roles: that of a friendly ear or therapist and, more prominently, the connoisseur of the weed Kaeestyle uses to douse his sorrows.

Both Omah Lay and Kizz Daniel adeptly tether themselves to the plot, adding their unique perspectives. The list of artists doing this continues, with Odumodublvck’s debut album ‘EZIOKWU’ littered with weed references and Asake’s memorable “Gbe kolos, emi nikan ole solo. E be like say ye, I done kolo. Jago say, “Na lie” uhn-uhn, say na igbo” line on Victony’s “Stubborn,”’ alongside Omah Lay on “Holy Ghost” paying homage to weed while charting highly upon release.

Truth be told, 2024 broke the dam in terms of how many songs reference weed and the culture around it . Several global Afrobeat(s) pioneers have indulged in cannabis to varying degrees, with some having left an indelible mark on the genre. Whether listeners embrace it or recoil in disdain, it’s clear that weed inspires tonnes of acts and is helping to open a new lane of expressionism in Afrobeats as the genre  polishes its gleaming international image. Baked into the proverbial national cake, the daily bread we fervently chase contains not just the hunger for success, but also the inescapable allure of igbo.

In a country where the scent of cannabis lingers amidst the chaos, Afropop has turned this once-taboo substance into a muse, celebrating creativity born from the haze of smoke. This duality – where the coolness of cannabis meets the harsh realities of its legality – paints a complex picture of a genre that continues to shape cultural conversations. As we light up, metaphorically and literally, we should consider not just the music but the narratives we’re weaving. The rhythm of Afropop echoes the pulse of a nation, and in its melodies, the homages to  igbo remind us that creativity often blooms in the unlikeliest of places.