Wizkid doesn’t really let anybody in. Throughout his decade-and- a-half stint at the top of Afropop, he has mostly maintained that position by the sheer force of his personality and an intuitive knack for rhythmicity that borders on superhuman. Even when he was reflecting on the socioeconomic pressure that served as fuel for his breakthrough on tracks like “Oluwa Lo Ni” and “Wad Up” off his debut album, ‘Superstar,’ he was not so much excavating the trauma of his past as he was pointedly detailing the profound difference in his new reality, afforded him by his musical success. Across his stacked catalogue, we have seen Wizkid sing about his fascination with pretty women, cash, cars, and the flyest outfits without really understanding what lies just beyond that material surface with the rare exception of when the singer mentions his mother. 

‘Ayo,’ his second album, has two specific mentions of the singer’s admiration for his mother. “Mummy Mi,” produced by Spellz, is a mid-tempo dedication to his mum’s sacrifices and the redemptive nature of her love while “Joy,” placed near the end of the album offers some more context on the relationship between Wizkid and his mother. It’s a soulful dedication to the bond they shared and a reminder of how  Wizkid’s arrival into his mother’s life in 1990 brought so much joy to his family. “In the early ‘90s, that was the beginning, mama had me, she was definitely happy,” he sweetly sings atop the rasping Dokta Frabz-produced instrumental.  Literally translating to his given name, Ayo, “Joy” was a wholesome glimpse into the inner workings of Wizkid’s life that has not been replicated since then as the singer took his campaign global with albums like ‘Sounds From The Other Side’ and the widely-lauded ‘Made In Lagos,’ a more refined version of the R&B flow used in the opening section of “Joy.”

In August 2023, news broke of Wizkid’s mum’s passing, prompting a groundswell of public support for the singer who has leaned very publicly on his mum for support throughout his career. As can be expected, Wizkid retreated from the public eye to process the loss and grief with his loved ones in private. Since then, the monumental scale of his mother’s death has become apparent for anyone following the singer. As part of the schedule of ceremonies to celebrate her life, Wizkid spent some time in Lagos where he revisited his old haunts and made a N100 million donation in his mum’s memory to kids in Surulere. “IDK,” a standout off ‘S2,’ his December extended play was made following his mum’s death according to the singer and it wrestles with the weight of his loss in its margins. 

Raised in a culture that – for better and worse – prioritises a dignified response to pain, the language of grief that Wizkid employs is layered and textured. But, for anyone that’s listening, the signs are abundant. “Tough times don’t last but tough people do, we go stand tall,” he morosely sang on “IDK,” hinting at the pain he was battling before yielding the floor to Zlatan. On her first posthumous birthday, Wizkid wrote a note to his mother on social media: “Happy birthday, love of my life! I miss you every day,” he said. “The first one without you here feels unreal. Nothing makes sense without you, mama! Life is empty without you. Continue to watch over us! My heart is broken forever! Love you, love you, MORAYO mi. Your smile is a memory I will never forget. Your laugh! Your hugs and kisses. I miss you dearly!”

Not long after, he revealed that his next album would be titled ‘Morayo’ in her honour, calling it the best album he ever made. While the jury will remain out on where ‘Morayo’ will rank in his discography for a while, it’s the fullest fusion of all the styles that he has experimented with across his career, building a link between the percussion-led Pop bombast of his earlier years, the Dancehall-inflected crooning of the ‘SFTOS’ era and the orchestral R&B style that he has worked with for much of the last five years. 

Even when it’s not referenced directly, the sorrow that Wizkid feels at the passing of his mum is a near constant, with her presence never too far away from his mind. On Morayo‘s opening track, “Troubled Mind,” there’s an immediate signpost that this album was designed to be a final farewell to a central figure in his career. The song opens with a section of Fuji legend, KWAM 1’s, set at  Wizkid’s mother’s burial, welcoming listeners to his sixth album with words of comfort, while Wizkid’s own lyrics sound disconsolate as he finds escape in hedonism. “Say the blood for my eyes and the pain for my mind, mo le salaye,” he sings after KWAM 1’s stretch ends. 

For 33 out of his 34 years on earth, Wizkid had his mother in his corner to work through some of the most knotty moments of his life; and for the first time, he’s having to navigate loss without a central part of his support system. The sense of unease bleeds into his music and there’s a real sense of desolation in how he constantly sings, “I got a troubled mind,” even if it still ends with an acceptance of his loss and a request for a shot in memory of his mother. Even for the biggest of stars, grief is an unending spiral that can creep up on the most unexpected moments. 

In Yoruba cosmogony, the death of elders is seen as an opportunity to celebrate their lives and the impact they have made on their loved ones and community. In that regard, the burial ceremony for Wizkid’s mother was a celebration for the ages with a selection of stars, well-wishers, and institutional figures joining the Balogun family last year to bid her farewell. Something about his mum’s passing and Wizkid’s time in Lagos last year has made him return to the lively percussion of his youth in a way that he’s not really explored since ‘Ayo,’ the album housing “Mummy Mi” and “Joy.” Songs like “Karamo,” “Kese,” and “Bend” are straight out of the playbook of the sweltering bangers that Wizkid used to churn out steadily as a youngster with a point to prove as his mum urged him on to superstardom – even if they don’t possess the same pomposity of the original. With his mum gone now, these songs on ‘Morayo’ function as a key to remembering simpler times when his current heights were dreams that he was reaching out for. 

Perhaps the most emotionally resonant moment on ‘Morayo’ arrives on “Pray,” the record’s closing song where Wizkid finally directly confronts the elephant in the room. Opening with a story of his struggles as an up-and-coming act, he recounts his mother’s words to him in those tough times: “Mama call me, ‘Ayo Balogun, they can never find another you.” It’s a moment that plainly shows the depth of love that Wizkid and his mum shared, and how her affirmations shaped his career as he went on to become one of the most defining artists of his generation. Later on “Pray,” Wizkid will add, “I know my mama pray for me / And I know the heavens dey for me.” Even in death, the singer is assured of the bond they shared, and we are all public witnesses to that love even if he won’t let us into his life totally.