As this season of Afrobeats Intelligence winds down, Joey Akan sits with Peruzzi, the Nigerian singer-songwriter behind hits like “Majesty” and “Relationship.” It’s an interview long in the making, and as Akan tells him early on: “These things, when I do them, I usually think, ‘When it happens, it’s the right time.’”

Timing becomes a subtle through-line in the 47-minute conversation – the way it shapes growth, career shifts, and creative evolution.

“I had to go back and sit down and think, like, what would Peruzzi really do regardless of what’s trending,” the artist reflects. “I don’t wanna be boxed.” Still, he acknowledges that the rush of early success came with distractions. “I had to get through that phase to get here. This is the part where they really understand why I was created in the first place, why I decided to do this.”

Akan, ever the thoughtful interviewer, guides the exchange with quiet intention, curiosity, and clarity, giving Peruzzi room to reckon with his past and articulate what’s next. They’re not afraid to delve into the depths of fame; “I was lost in it, I was carried away,” Peruzzi admits, a sober reflection, delivered with the weight of someone who has lived the high life.

Watch below:

"Two years ago today, during Ramadan, my son woke up terrified to the loud sound of bombings and explosions just outside our building, which I thought was a random sound of an accident nearby. Little did I know back then, my son and I were witnessing the beginning of the Sudan war (armed conflict between rival militaries) on April 15, 2023," reads Maya Gadir's Instagram post.

The war didn't knock. It kicked down the door.

On April 15, 2023, the first Saturday of Ramadan, Gadir was home in Aramat, Khartoum, an eighth-floor apartment, not far from the airport that the RSF first targeted and took over. It was early morning when the windows began to shake. First, a dull thud. Then a louder blast. Then silence — the kind that suffocates.

"We didn't even know it was war," she tells OkayAfrica. "We thought maybe it was an accident nearby, until the second explosion hit harder. Then it didn't stop."

Gadir is Sudan's first woman English-language radio broadcaster and a well-known figure at Capital Radio 91.6 FM. She made history hosting the nation's Independence Day celebration in 2019, which was broadcast live to 17 international news outlets. She presented presidential ceremonies for heads of state like Rwanda's president, Paul Kagame, and Ethiopia's prime minister, Abiy Ahmed, at the Republican Palace in Khartoum. She built a network that spanned borders and led a women's initiative called The Circle.

Yet, when war broke out two years ago, none of that protected her.

She lived with her 11-year-old son, who has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair. When the city exploded into chaos, they became trapped. No electricity. No food. No way out.

"We lived in Amarat area on the 8th floor, so every time an explosion took place at the airport or around our area, our windows shook violently to the extent that out of utter fear for my son's life, I went knocking on my neighbours' door, crying my eyes out, asking them to give us refuge."

For almost two weeks, Gadir and her son lived with neighbours on the safer side of the building — in defiance of everything she'd grown up practicing. "It was Ramadan. Men and women aren't meant to mix like that,” she explains. “But this was war. Protocol didn't matter anymore. My son's safety did."

Outside, Khartoum burned. The RSF, Sudan's paramilitary Rapid Support Forces, moved into neighbourhoods, looting shops, and taking over buildings. From their windows, they watched trucks roll past with mounted machine guns. They watched the city implode. Bullets zipped by the alleyways, cracking into their building's walls.

On days when the power would flicker on and off like a stubborn lighter, Gadir would access the outside world through her phone. "Although my family, who were all living outside Khartoum and Sudan at that time, kept calling me to boost my morale, it was difficult to see an escape route with my son because our area was among the worst hit as the RSF were in it."

She began preparing for the worst. "I told my son, we might die. We need to accept death. It will be over soon, and we will be okay. We should be happy — we're going to meet Allah."

The boy began sleeping with headphones on, trying to drown out the whine of warplanes. The sound of explosions was constant — some far, some terrifyingly near. "He was always scared," Gadir says. "I tried to act strong for him, but inside, I felt like a failure. I wasn't the protector I was supposed to be."

"Just a few days into the war, my only brother escaped the danger zone with his family, leaving me and my son behind. My aunt lost her life as a result of an explosion. My friends started leaving the city due to the increased bombings and shootings around heavily populated areas."

Gadir stayed in Khartoum for two weeks after the war broke out. There was no electricity, no phone signal, just the sound of shelling and the long, unspoken fear that came with every new day. But sometimes, by chance, the power would return. When it did, she would quickly check WhatsApp, those quiet digital corridors where strangers turned into guides. People shared information on where to find food, where to obtain medicine, and how to escape. It was in one of those groups that she first saw the message: evacuations were happening for British nationals.

Her son was born in the UK. His passport had expired, but he was a child with special needs. She called the number in the message. The woman on the line listened, then said gently, "Your son is a high priority. However, I can't help you reach the base. You'll have to find your way."

The base was three hours away in Omdurman.

A friend at the Egyptian border gave Gadir the number of a man with a minibus. He asked for $200. She didn't have it. But a neighbour, someone also trying to escape, lent her the money. That's how people survived back then. Through grace. Through each other.

She packed one backpack. Her son. His medicine and wheelchair. Nothing else. The driver arrived, and they left.

What should have taken three hours took six. The main roads were no longer safe, as they were overtaken by the RSF. They wound through back routes, bumping along unfamiliar ground, flinching at every distant blast. From the van window, Gadir saw her city unraveling. Shops she once knew, now gutted. Apartment buildings were crumbling. Cars were burnt to their frames. Homes emptied of life.

"I didn't want this to be my last memory of Khartoum," she says. "But it was. And it still is."

At a military checkpoint, the Sudanese army waved them through. A few kilometres later, they met the RSF. Guns raised. Orders shouted. "Everyone out!" Maya didn't move. "My son can't walk," she said. There was a tense silence, a pause where anything could have happened. Then, quietly, they were allowed to pass.

At the evacuation point, she found the line for British nationals. When they saw her son, they moved her forward, giving her emergency priority.

They were given food, blankets, and a moment to breathe. She thought they were being flown to Egypt. But when the plane landed, it was in Cyprus. Then, the UK. The Red Cross received them upon arrival, took them to a processing hall, and provided them with aid. Then they were moved to a hotel where they stayed for three weeks before being placed in a small flat in south London. Her son's condition meant the state prioritised their case. She was given a three-month visa. Later, refugee status.

They survived on state funds, food banks, and small amounts of money from families in Egypt. But the process was heavy. "You're treated like you've done something wrong," she says. "There's no kindness in it. Not like how refugees from Europe are treated. It's as if we're expected to suffer."

She remembers the day she broke. Endless appointments. Long waits. Being sent from one office to another for stamps and signatures. No explanations. No eye contact. Just that quiet erasure. She raised her voice — not in rage, but in exhaustion. It wasn't about paperwork anymore. It was about everything she'd lost. Her land. Her work. Her name. Her voice.

Since being granted refugee status, some things have settled. Their rent is covered. Her son's education and healthcare are provided for. But the toll remains. "Living on handouts humbles you," she says. "The only jobs I can get now are cleaning or caregiving. I used to host state events. Now, no one even asks what I used to do."

She often sits in silence. Not because she has nothing to say, but because there's no one to speak to.

"That first bomb in April 2023, that's the last clear image I have of Sudan. Before that, it was vibrant. Loud. Full of life. Now, it's a blur of rubble and checkpoints."

She misses the smell of rain. The noise of the street. The sense of belonging. "I feel invisible here. I feel constantly out of place. And the way people look at me sometimes confirms it. Like, I don't belong. Like I never could."

She no longer has a passport. She can't leave. She can't go back. "I'm just another refugee," she says. "That's what the papers say." But that's not who she is. She's learning to live with it. Not to accept it, but to hold it gently. "I don't want being a refugee to be the last sentence in my story."

The war in Sudan rarely makes headlines. It's quiet now, not because the violence has stopped, but because the world has turned its eyes elsewhere.

"When African countries are at war, it's treated like background noise. It doesn't trend. It doesn't stay in the news cycle. It's as if people expect Africans to suffer and be at war. So when we flee, we're not seen as survivors. Just bodies. Illegal. Other."

Maya says it softly. No bitterness.

"People forget that refugees had lives. Full, rich lives. Sometimes better than the lives of those watching from the outside." Counselling has helped. So has stillness and time. She's learning to carry both grief and hope. Every day, she wakes up not knowing what the future holds, but she is determined not to be defined by what she has lost.

Maya's journey lays bare the brutal truth: war not only displaces the poor or the forgotten. It reduces even the celebrated and accomplished to struggle, survival, and silence.

Across Africa, many people can no longer afford the cities and neighborhoods they've long called home. OkayAfrica is running This Place Called Home - a series exploring the housing crisis transforming African cities and communities, and what happens when basic shelter becomes a luxury commodity.

If you were to land in Addis Ababa today after just a few months away, much of the city would feel unfamiliar.

Driving from Bole International Airport toward the center, you'll pass a light-filled, tree-lined boulevard with wide sidewalks, stylish cafés, and boutique shops. Neighborhoods like Piassa and Kazanchis, once renowned for their rich histories and vibrant street life, have disappeared. In their place stands a new skyline of Addis. The tallest building in the city is now a gleaming glass tower that houses the Commercial Bank of Ethiopia and a rooftop restaurant by chef Marcus Samuelsson.

The message is clear: Addis Ababa, home of the African Union, is repositioning itself as a global city.

But for locals like Qal Fessehaye, a writer and filmmaker, the urbanization is a story of fading belonging. She grew up in Addis and has always called it home. The changes have been "discombobulating," especially given the breakneck speed of construction.

"You would wake up, go outside, and a road would be finished overnight," she says in an interview with OkayAfrica. "It is a feat construction-wise. But for somebody living in the city, it's very jolting. You would try to visit somewhere, and an entire neighborhood would just be gone within a few days!"

Much of this change is driven by a multibillion-dollar "City Corridor Project" by Addis Mayor Adanech Abebe and Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed to develop and modernize the city's infrastructure. It is part of a larger Corridor Development Project across at least 58 cities.

The project envisions a city of pedestrian boulevards, bike lanes, green spaces, libraries, and commercial corridors. The broader goal is to make Addis a more livable, investor- and foreigner-friendly destination and a model African capital.

They have built a national library and a new science museum. The National Palace, the former residence of Emperor Haile Selassie I, has undergone a new refurbishment. In some neighborhoods, streets are newly paved, and dark streets now have streetlights. Residents now walk freely through areas once considered unsafe after dark.

But could the price of progress be too high?

Thousands of residents have been displaced, many of whom were removed from homes they had lived in for decades with little notice and relocated to condominiums on the city's edge. Some were instructed to enter lotteries to determine their new housing assignments. Others have reported little to no compensation. These new locations are often far from familiar jobs, schools, and the support systems they once depended on.

In April, Amnesty International called for the Ethiopian government to pause the project and end forced evictions.

Some, like Fessehaye, were not evicted by bulldozers but pushed out by the rising cost of living. She had lived in her previous apartment for about three years when her landlord informed her that the rent would more than double, from 12,000 birr (USD$87) to 25,000 birr (USD$181).

When she questioned the legality of the increase, the landlord simply told her she could either find another place or pay the new rate. Despite the notice, she had no choice but to downsize.

The dislocation pushed Fessehaye to act. She reached out to friends, fellow creatives, and longtime residents to reflect on the changes reshaping their city. Few were speaking openly, and many artists were hesitant to voice their discomfort. For them, it was a tricky balance between enjoying the changes and feeling that it was unfair to complain.

The result was a Substack post that spoke volumes. Many described feeling alienated in their city. While they acknowledged the improved infrastructure, they mourned the loss of Addis Ababa's soul and community.

"When I was having conversations with my friends... they're like, 'Okay, we can walk on the roads now, but you know, what about our neighborhoods? What about our homes?" she explains.

And it's not just the residents. Third spaces, such as cafés, bars, and cultural venues, are either vanishing or shifting their focus toward wealthier customers. Others have completely disappeared because they can't afford it. As a result, people are staying home more and interacting less with their community.

According to Fikir Getaneh Haile, an Assistant Professor at Acadia University, the city has prioritized private investment while sidelining residents. She argues that political leaders have to balance economic ambition with protections for everyday citizens. She also stresses the need for meaningful consultation with the communities.

Fessehaye agrees. But for her, consultation is not enough. True inclusion means being part of the planning process from the beginning. She points to the construction of Entoto Park as a positive example, where creatives and local professionals had a say in shaping the space.

"That gave people a sense of ownership," she said. "But with the [current project], for example, we were not part of the plan. It just happened around us."

She adds that the changes around them are isolating: "Those of us who lived in the center of the city just felt like nobody wants us here anymore. Because we can't afford anything, we can't afford the houses, we can't afford the food."

Despite the changes, a fierce loyalty to the city remains, with many hoping they will not have to move to other parts of the country that are more affordable. However, Fessehaye admits that it is becoming a reality that many face daily. "I've heard this a few times where people are saying it's just easier to move to a different region and live there."

Every week, OkayAfrica highlights the top African music releases — including the latest Afrobeats and amapiano hits — through our best music column, African Songs You Need to Hear This Week.

Read ahead for our round-up of the best new African music tracks and music videos that came across our desks this week.

Sarkodie – “Lavida Loca” feat. Lasmid

On his latest single, Sarkodie explores the pop rap path he’s done so well since the start of his career. He promises the good life on “Lavida Loca,” with the exquisite imagery and opulent flows to go with, but a winning element in its composition is the vibrant drums at the core and the atmospheric vocals of feature Lasmid. Known for his own soulfulness, he creates a truly memorable record with one of Africa’s most consistent rappers ever. A surefire bop. – Emmanuel Esomnofu

Dee Koala - “Horns”

Dee Koala needs to be protected at all costs. The Cape Town-based emcee has the masses obsessed with her style and endless swagger. Her bars that borrow heavily from the Khayelitsha streets she calls home, from the slang to the inter-personal and communal relations; and her enigmatic stage presence and camaraderie that has seen her produce smash hits with the likes of Riky Rick, Maglera Doe Boy, Blxckie, and fellow Cape Town emcee, K.Keed. She has one album under her belt in 2019’s 4 the Kaltsha, and has waded the waves of fame with her head up, feet on the ground, and a mouth that knows how to put detractors in place. “Horns” is a triumphant, brass-heavy return to a form she never lost. She is sharp, incisive, assured, and fly as hell. “Andizanga ngalonto/ suka kude, deep kwi ntsokolo (I didn’t come here for nothing / I come from far, deep within struggle),” she raps, adding fuel to a fire that had been blazing from the first bar, which started with her declaring that she’s got no time to chit-chat after she gets off the stage. With Flowaboii delivering with a heavy hand on the boards, Dee Koala is left with no option but to cause total annihilation. - Tšeliso Monaheng

Asake & Tiakola “BADMAN GANGSTA”

Nigerian star Asake connects with buzzing French artist Tiakola for the new single and music video for “BADMAN GANGSTA.” The two artists trade verses in English, Yoruba, and French, as they celebrate all of their self-made successes. “‘BADMAN GANGSTA’ is a page from my real life. It’s about owning your space, your struggles, your blessings, all at once,” says Asake in a press statement. “Working with Tiakola brought a whole new flavor to the track. We come from different places but speak the same language when it comes to vibe, feeling, and ambition.” - EE

Gabzy – ‘It’s Not You, It’s Summer [EP]’

For years, Gabzy has embodied the Afrobeats sound with a subtle diasporan touch. Often taking from R&B, the blend has won him a unique spot in the scene, and with his new EP, the artist seems to be moving even closer to the roots of his sound. It’s Not You, It’s Summer is a tender collection of six songs, featuring Fireboy DML and Victony, who further enforce Gabzy’s unique vision. Replete with tales and interesting characters, it’s a showcase of an artist who’s kept in constant touch with their process. – EE

Voltz JT feat. Sane - “Cannabis”

Voltz JT is no stranger to Zimbabwe’s music scene. A pioneer of jecha trap, which is his homegrown blend of UK drill and Zim street grit, he’s built a solid reputation through consistency, carving his own lane one bass-heavy banger at a time. Following the explosive “Medzai Fridge,” he returns with “Cannabis,” a track many believe throws subliminal shots at fellow emcee Holy Ten. The tension between the two, fanned by online back-and-forths, now finds a new home on wax. Holy Ten’s political affiliations, particularly his vocal support of the ruling ZANU‑PF, have drawn ire, and Voltz TJ seems to channel that discomfort into his verses with sharp precision. Cannabis is used as a metaphor for escapism or compromised values, positioning Voltz JT and his clique as the real ones. Sane slides in with purpose, anchoring the track with a verse soaked in youthful recklessness, hunger, and street-wise determination. Shots have been fired. - TM

Kehne – “KILODE”

Nigerian singer-songwriter Kehne showcases impressive vulnerability on “KILODE.” The trappings of a toxic love situation is one that’s been massively courted by musicians, but Kehne makes the theme uniquely hers, reflecting the years of fine-wrought artistry. Over the string-awoken production, her perspective is urgent and sensitive, asking to be treated with the same assurance that the other person’s words hold. “No dey call me baby, cos I’m not your baby,” she cautions with an unguarded shade of weariness that renders even more complexity to the record. – EE

Jordan Moozy - “Kryptonite”

Jordan Moozy is in a league of his own. He swaggers on songs like it's second nature, glides on beats like they’re his to slide on, and maintains a level of grit that usually gets lost when ambition overrides effort and hard work. “Kryptonite,” with Sun, is steeped in nostalgia, rich with imagination, and very much future-facing – a declaration that the homies are outside. Tatenda LXA draws from a deep well of house music, funk, amapiano, and more. The songwriting is magnetic and magnificent; “must be delirium, mass hysteria,” as your opening line is pure craft and attention to how the words move the soul, how rhythm injects meaning into life, how poetry becomes existence itself, made manifest through music. “‘Kryptonite’ is about a big comeback where you have your ops sitting on the edge of their seats, shaking in their boots. They don’t know what’s next and all you’re being is badder and better,” says the artist in a press release. - TM

Savara x Jay Melody – “Asali Mbichi”

Since deciding to release individual projects, Savara has shown a purposeful edge to his post-Sauti Sol days. Moving closer to a solo breakthrough with every release, his latest song “Asali Mbichi” has real potential in that regard. A subtle experimentation lies at its core, with log drums adapted in the realization of the East African rhythm. With emotive notes and the ever-beautiful singing of Savara and his guest Jay Melody, there’s obvious hit potential in the mellow beauty of this record. – EE

Phiwo - “Falling”

South Africa’s R&B scene is in full bloom, and Phiwo is right at the forefront. The Durban-born, Johannesburg-based singer/songwriter has been steadily carving out her lane since 2021, delivering deeply felt, slow-burning gems like the evocative “In The Moment,” collaborating with Adrienne Foo on a joint EP, and lending her voice to DJ Clen’s All Is Fair, a street-certified showcase of the country’s rising R&B talent. Her latest offering, “Falling,” is a hazy, bouncy slow-jam with vocals that float effortlessly over woozy production. There’s vulnerability at its core: “I know the role I played, I know I made mistakes,” she confesses, mid-descent into love’s dizzying spiral. It’s introspective and intimate, the kind of R&B that sounds and feels like everything will be okay again. - TM

Tyla – ‘WWP [EP]’

Every move Tyla has made since the start of her career reveals a young woman who was ready for fame. With her sensuous, minimalist songs, she’s positioned herself as one of the leading acts of her generation and her new collection of songs reiterates that fact. A new feature verse from one of Afrobeats’ icons, Wizkid, props this new release considerably well, also with the duo of singles that have been shared prior. New Tyla is always welcome, so there’s little to say except to get into the vibe. – EE

Halo Yagami – ‘Ingubo Enamehlo [LP]’

The Johannesburg-based soul artist Halo Yagami has often reflected a high sense of artistry. Through his songs, which blend a variety of genres, he’s provided a quality counter-perspective to the hyper-realized nature of Africa’s pop music, and he again proves his mettle on his new project. Yagami’s fifth, Inugbo Enamehlo, is a stirring body of work that goes deeply into the traditional modes of song-making, with the artist infusing his own unique touches that makes it a rewarding listen. – EE

Fresh off her 2025 BET Award win for Best International Act, Nigerian pop sensation Ayra Starr released her latest single, “Hot Body” today, a sultry, dancehall-tinged song – her third release this year – that is as seductive and alluring as the summertime vibe it possesses.

Produced by Ragee and The Elements, “Hot Body” channels humid nights and a languid, late-night dancefloor mood. The beat leans into a bouncier, percussion-heavy groove, while Ayra Starr's voice carries the same magnetic allure that defined her previous releases. The lyrics are enticing; “Look what a hot body can do/ look, focus,” she insists, then, a revelation: “body be dancing/ slow whine, summer body so fine.” She turns up the sensuality without losing the sheen that has defined her career thus far. The video, lo-fi with VHS textures, sees her in top shape, lost in her world, ready and willing to walk into the night.

Is it a photoshoot? Is it a brief moment outside before going back into the club? Is Ayra Starr about to jump into the pool? It’s all of them at once, distilled into a series of frames where the artist and the camera are locked in motion.

Since her 2021 breakout, 19 & Dangerous, Ayra Starr has charted an upward course and is showing no signs of slowing down anytime soon. Her Grammy-nominated hit “Rush” remains the most-streamed solo track by a Nigerian female artist on Spotify. The accompanying video made her the youngest African woman to hit 100 million views on YouTube. She’s been a consistent force across award circuits too, winning Female Artist of the Year at both the Headies and AFRIMMA Awards, plus two major African Entertainment Awards USA titles in 2024.

Her sophomore album, The Year I Turned 21, was released in mid-2024 and was one of the most-streamed Afrobeats albums on Spotify that year. It featured high-profile collaborations with artists like Giveon, Anitta, Coco Jones, and Seyi Vibez, bridging genres and geographies while at it. The album’s success helped the superstar lock in her spot as the second most-nominated act at the 2025 Headies.

Earlier this month, she signed a management deal with Jay-Z’s Roc Nation, reflecting her growing pull beyond the continent. It also aligns with her ongoing stadium tour across Europe, where she’s opening for Coldplay. The tour has exposed her music to massive audiences across cities like Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, and London. She is also booked to perform at Global Citizen 2025, one of the year’s most high-profile international concert platforms. The lineup includes the likes of Tyla, The Weeknd, and Shakira.

With more than four billion career streams under her belt and a major international infrastructure now behind her, Ayra Starr is operating at a different tier.

Anyone familiar with Lagos knows it’s famously split in two. The Island, home to upscale neighborhoods and trendy spots, is seen as the city’s most desirable area. The Mainland, where most Lagosians live, is rich in culture but often dismissed for its lack of polish. When the Mainland Block Party launched in 2018, its founders set out to shift that perception by throwing the coolest party you’ve ever attended.

“We just wanted to make sure that people understood that living on the Mainland doesn’t mean that you’re ratchet or doesn’t mean that it can’t be safe,” says Rebecca Momah, the Deputy Team Lead of the organization. “People can also have fun on the Mainland. The Block Party was built on community, and we made sure everybody felt welcome”.

Ever since the initial Block Party in Ikeja, Lagos’ capital, its relevance has stretched beyond mainland Lagos to other parts of Africa and even the world. It’s organized a nationwide tour with ODUMODUBLVCK, been headlined by Davido, and now, it’s hosting a show in New York City. This show is in collaboration with OkayAfrica as part of the platform’s 15th anniversary celebrations. Although scene-defining, the wins of the Mainland Block Party reveal essential lessons on how to build and retain community.

“Every new Block Party is a new reason to show people why we’re the ones,” says Tobi Mohammed, co-founder of Mainland Block Party. “At some point, it started to feel like we’re loved, and I felt that shift, of course, being able to sell tickets into thousands or multiples of hundreds, in cities that we didn’t start from. It’s a blessing itself. People have spent more and didn’t have those results. I would say that we kinda have this mindset of ‘fight for it, and just be grateful about it when you win.’ So every endeavor feels new.”

Constant reinvention has been a defining mark of Block Party. “To earn a new city or be grounded in that city,” says Mohammed, in description of what they’re always looking to achieve. With Mainland Block Party sharing the same founders as the music agency Plug NG — Asa Asika and Bizzle Osikoya — there’s strong incentive to burrow into deeper levels of youth culture, with Mohammed once revealing that entertainment chose him, and before working in the scene, he used to watch these men he now calls partners on-screen, with utmost respect for what they’re doing to uplift what he described as “coolness currency.”

“They’re new things every time,” says Momah about the lessons they’ve gotten from organizing the events. “It’s not the same every time; every event is dynamic in its own way. The biggest lesson there for me is, you’re a master at this, but there’s also room for you to learn. You can’t say you know it all [about] doing events; you have to give yourself room to grow, you have to give yourself room to listen, you have to give yourself room to take feedback.”

“Digital is the new coal,” infers Mohammed, “so you have to reinvent yourself and ask yourself how you can always catch up on that wave.” Reiterating the need to keep an open perspective, their words show how Mainland Block Party has been able to keep afloat in an ever-shifting industry, becoming a sort of precursor to Lagos’ rave scene that has since become a strong feature of the city’s nightlife and an influencer of homegrown Afrobeats.

For Mainland Block Party, it’s been a steady journey towards global domination, and the New York event is the next phase of their phenomenal run. Before now, they’ve had two intercontinental events, one in London and the other in the U.S., headlined by Afro rap artist Zlatan. But that was a pop-up, not really an all-out show, and with the New York show, they’re bringing the flamboyant ODUMODUBLVCK to imprint the Afrobeats experience on that stage.

“Expensive o,” jokes Mohammed when asked about how they have gone about organizing the New York Block Party event. “Just look at it as a newborn baby trying to find their feet in this world,” says Momah. “That’s just how to crown the entire process. So we’re in a new place, new city, new people; people behave differently there, inasmuch as they’re Nigerians there, obviously, we’re not only trying to cater to the Nigerian audience. We’re trying to conquer globally; it’s not been easy, but we thank God. We thank God that we have good heads on our shoulders. And we’re open to partnerships—I feel like the key thing that has helped so far in this journey are collaborations.”

Apart from collaborations with platforms like OkayAfrica, Mohammed says team members on the ground form part of the community it takes “to raise a great child,” like Block Party.

With another U.S. event planned with DJ Maphorisa and a new segment of their Lagos party titled Respect the DJ, it’s very much clear that the Block Party intends to take over the world. Surely they have the required tools—it’s only a matter of time.

Wizkid and Tyla, two of the biggest African music stars in the world right now, join forces for an all-out banger of a collaboration on “DYNAMITE.”

The new single, built on a bouncy bass line and syncopated drums, sees the Nigerian and South African music superstars blending their vocals perfectly as they trade sultry verses over the beat.

The new collaboration is sure to be a late contender for song of the summer, as we can see this one playing on dance floors on both sides of the Atlantic for months to come.

“DYNAMITE” features on WWP, a four-track bundle of songs Tyla has just dropped, which also features the previously released “IS IT” and “BLISS,” as well as another new track, “MR. MEDIA.”

“When I thought of doing a mixtape called ‘WWP,’ I went back to all my old demos and I remembered the Wiz one,” Tyla had previously mentioned at one of her London concerts. “And it was still good, like, after three years! I just told him, ‘Let’s finish it because I want to drop it.’”

So, “DYNAMITE” has been around for a minute, but it still plays like a fresh banger.

Listen to Wizkid and Tyla’s “DYNAMITE” and check out the full WWP bundle below.

In a world where so many know so little about Liberia's creative landscape, a new, adventurous group of Liberian youth is taking matters into their own hands, hell-bent on changing the face of creative expression in the capital city of Monrovia.

While our increasingly globalized world has, in recent years, grown to acknowledge select African city-centers like Lagos, Accra, Nairobi, amongst others, as hubs of cultural innovation, many continental creative scenes still remain obscure. These spaces are often overshadowed by narratives of unending turmoil or “underdevelopment” that still dominate reporting about Africa.

Monrovia is amongst these cities, owing its outdated public image, amongst a number of things, to the peculiarity of its national history.

Founded as a settlement for freed Black people from the New World — one which encroached upon the land and autonomy of the indigenous Africans who had long lived there — Liberia's origins led to a society marked by deep friction and inequality. This ultimately escalated into civil wars before 2000, devastating the nation, triggering mass migration, and crippling its economy and infrastructure.

While before the war, Liberia was something of an African cultural hotspot, seeing international visitors like James Brown, Miriam Makeba, and Nina Simone, who would go on to write her song “Liberian Calypso,” the infrastructural damage that came in the war’s wake heavily curtailed the growth of the country’s creative sector. And even as the war is long over, its reverberations — infrastructure-wise — still linger.

“Monrovia is the engine room of Liberia’s entertainment,” declares Dounard Bondo II, a 29-year-old Liberian lawyer, journalist, and pop culture commentator. “There is an underbelly of creatives brewing underneath, and most of the structural and creative changes the scene will see in the coming decade will be led by them.”

“Five to ten years ago, the creative scene was largely underdeveloped,” Dounard says simply. “[This] is largely due to a lack of funding, structure, and institutional support. With high poverty rates and limited opportunities to earn, investment in the creative space has been limited. Data is expensive, and it's not everywhere, so people hardly stream, affecting income. There is no public gallery, only one functional cinema, and renting drama halls is expensive, just to mention.”

The uninitiated might struggle to understand Dounard’s confidence, but others share his sentiments. “I believe that when there’s less attention, you can have more fun because you can be yourself,” says Abubakar Jalloh, known throughout Monrovia as Jac the Realest. Jalloh is the founder of Too Easy, Liberia’s pre-eminent streetwear brand, a collective so well-known that its signature shirts have graced the backs of current President Joseph Boakai and former President George Weah.

“Before Too Easy, there was not much happening. Nobody cared about the clothing industry,” he tells OkayAfrica, detailing the journey from the brand’s 2023 foundation. “There are a lot of people who have been doing a lot with fashion, but not streetwear. Over time, we’ve opened up the entire market. We [are] industry leaders. Now, people have found purpose in wearing a Liberia-owned brand, which means other creatives have figured out there’s a space for this.”

Too Easy and the collective of brands that followed it — like KayBlay, Big Drip Kicks, and ZIG Customized — have progressively become a rallying point for Liberian youths, fostering the deep sense of belonging integral to any creative scene worth its salt. In under five years, Monrovia’s local streetwear culture has exploded, becoming the most popular part of the city’s DIY scene. Additionally, this newfound excitement and ownership around homegrown cultural production is now mirrored in other key creative sectors.

“It never used to be like this. You would go out and hear music [from other countries] playing; now, most of the songs are Liberian songs, especially from young people. I think this is one of the highest peaks [the scene] has ever reached.” This is Datway Ezzy, Monrovia’s Logan Town-raised hip-hop preacher. At only 19 years old, the rising talent is already making waves in the scene with his gritty lyricism and command of hip-hop, hipco, and trapco–rap genres fusing Liberia’s creole language Kolokwa.

“Everybody is hungry for success,” he explains. “Our generation has doubled down on making music that actually resonates with us, not just making music to please a certain group of people. Instead of focusing on what’s trending, they’re staying authentic.”

The result of this staunch authenticity has been the success of artists like Spize, Jboy the Prophet, Fazari, King Dennis, and Nuchie Meek, as well as acts like Cralorboi CIC and JZyNo, whose feature on Lasmid’s “Butter My Bread’ has successfully taken Liberian sound across the globe. Datway Ezzy is also part and parcel of this movement to be original at all costs, alongside rappers like Co-Z, Docway, Will B, Poko$, Wicked Hyndx, and MC Caro. His work explores themes of depression, loss, and youthful braggadocio. The sheer rawness sets him apart and embodies the complexity and creativity of Liberian youth.

“My music is real and it’s different from every rapper that’s currently in Liberia,” he tells me. “That’s the reason why up-and-coming artists are taking over the music scene. We’re not copying, just expressing what life here really feels like. It’s spiritual in a way, like we’re laying down the foundation for what Liberia’s artistic legacy will look like 10, 20 years from now.”

Further embodying this complete abandonment of convention is Panda, or He Paints Ugly Faces. Inspired by South Africa’s Samurai Farai, this 25-year-old painter, whose real name is Gerald Massaquoi, developed a particularly unique art style after growing weary of Liberia’s monotonous visual arts landscape. “There are no art galleries here; people line their art on the roadside,” he tells OkayAfrica. “All around Monrovia, you can see these paintings, and they are all the same. And that just clicked: I can’t be doing the same thing as everybody. One day, I went to the beach and there was this seashell. It was interesting, I liked the shape of it. It looked like a mouth. So I said, ‘Why can’t I just make my own visual language too?’ Then I started doing my sketch, brick by brick, until the whole face was assembled. Then I started doing some paintings and posting them, and people started reacting to it.”

His work — tackling everything from the peaceful mundanity of Liberian life to drug abuse and despondency amongst Liberian youth — offers a serious thematic and aesthetic intervention into what he feels is an almost nonexistent visual arts scene. With this novel work, he believes that other artistically-inclined youth now have the representation that they never had. “A whole lot of people are getting inspired,” Panda asserts. “You're seeing people buy canvases and trying to work. We’re really just trying to build up a foundation, to let people know that these things can be done in Liberia.”

With no guidance from their forerunners — because they themselves are the pioneers — this new generation is laying the foundations of an aesthetic, visual, and communal culture that is distinctly young and Liberian. While lacking institutional support remains a key issue — Dounard cites everything from minimal state funding and arts institutions to limited education about IP laws — young Liberians continue to innovate, not simply producing new work, but also producing good work. This incessant desire to create and flip the script has resulted in a close-knit community of like-minded innovators, and everyone has worked with everyone. “The scene is tight, but not in a cliquey way,” Datway Ezzy says. “It’s more like survival-bonded. Everyone knows what it’s like to be underestimated, underfunded, overlooked…so that naturally brings us together. There’s a lot of mutual respect in the scene. You’ll see designers pulling up to support a rapper’s show, or filmmakers helping shoot music videos just off the strength of the vision.”

These creatives convene at festivals like December’s Tidal Rave and Big Jue Season, or creative spaces like Momo Market pop-ups and The LinkUp. They continue to step in where the state doesn’t — Jac talks about Too Easy’s seminars and workshops geared at supporting young people and women-led businesses. Their sole request is that young Liberians not be underestimated by their compatriots or by the world. “Monrovia’s creative scene is still small, but there’s a lot of heart,” Datway Ezzy shares. “You can feel the hunger, the ambition, the hope. It’s not perfect: we’re still learning how to organize and collaborate without ego, but there’s something beautiful in that. We’re growing up in real time, and we’re doing it together. ”

When Pheelz collaborated with Usher on “Coming Home” and “Ruin,” it was obvious that he knew how to blend Afrobeats. Both songs had the dripping sensuality the American R&B great is known for, but there was something else about the bounce. A special element that listeners of Pheelz would recognize as his own.

That element is present on “Stay Together,” the new single from the maverick Nigerian artist and producer, which he’s created in collaboration with global music platform Beyond Music.

On “Stay Together,” we hear a riveting drum base that sounds like a call to action. Stacked on both sides by siren-esque vocals, Pheelz’s opening verse hones into the revelatory perspective of one who’s seen it all. Promoting love and mutual respect, he warns that “repeating history is deja vu,” a notion that is reiterated from unique perspectives throughout the song.

Pheelz’s reputation as a premium collaborator is also evident in his ability to work with the trio of voices that contribute to “Stay Together.” Nigerian multi-hyphenate Marshall Muze co-produces and writes on the record, bringing his signature depth as he unspools sociopolitical considerations. The feathery tones of Zambian-born Naimah also find charged purpose to rally behind, with musician of French and English descent, Ella Rose, contributing vocals.

With warm tones and vivid representations of art and culture, the visuals also reiterate the positive message of the song. OkayAfrica had a brief discussion with Pheelz about the creation of “Stay Together” and the work he’s currently doing with Beyond Music.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

How did the beat come alive from your end? You’re known to bring your vast compositional skills into your production. How did that work for “Stay Together”?

I didn’t produce the beat on this one, but once I heard it, I knew exactly where I could add that Pheelz flavor. We added some live instrumentation — textures, harmonies, little musical details that bring more emotion to the track. I’m always thinking about how to give the music more soul, more depth. Sometimes it’s not about doing the most, it’s about knowing what the song needs to breathe.

You’ve been one of the farthest-reaching Afrobeats artists in terms of collaborations. How do you approach working with other artists, especially those from other cultures?

I always come in with open ears and an open heart. For me, music is the most universal language, so whether I’m working with someone from LA, Lagos, or Lisbon, I just want to connect energy to energy. I bring my roots, my Afrobeats DNA, but I’m also curious. I love learning from different styles, different textures. That’s how growth happens. Every collab is a new canvas.

Can you tell us a bit about the Beyond Music Vol. 4 - Social Change album? You’re working with icons like Angélique Kidjo on that. What’s that looking like?

Working on this project is a blessing. Beyond Music Vol. 4 is more than just music — it’s a message. Collaborating on the same project with someone like Angélique Kidjo is humbling. She’s a queen, a living legend, and the way she pours her spirit into every note is inspiring. This album addresses real issues, real change, and it’s an honor to lend my voice and sound to something so powerful. It’s art with purpose.

When the Nigerian writer Dami Ajayi co-founded Saraba Magazine in 2009 alongside fellow writer Emmanuel Iduma, they were at the doorway of a renaissance in the African literary ecosystem. The internet was just exploding in Nigeria, and ambitious writers were taking advantage of its global connectivity to build mostly online publications and literary townhalls.

Writers like Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Binyavanga Wainaina, Tope Folarin, NoViolet Bulawayo, and Teju Cole were gaining recognition on the international literary scene. Soon, other publications like Expound, Praxis, Omenana Magazine, Bakwa, Munyori Journal, and Jalada Africa began to emerge. It was the era of Afro-politans, a term coined by Taiye Selasi to explain the globally mobile and culturally aware African, which saw a blending of worlds between African writers in the West and those on the continent. Attention from the West on African literature was blooming, and so was a local thirst for change. Essentially, it was an unbelievably great time to be an African writer.

"People were interested in books, people who read, people who wrote were able to come together, meet writers that they would never have met previously," Ajayi tells OkayAfrica.

At the time, there was a sufficient level of incentive to be an African writer, whether material or reputational. "There were numerous blogs for genre fiction, literary fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction," says Enajite Efemuaye, a writer and editor who previously worked at Farafina Books, one of the foremost publishers of African literary fiction with a roster filled with writers like Chimamanda, Caine-Prize winner E.C. Osondu, Etisalat Literature Prize winner Jowhor Ile, Akwaeke Emezi, Yewande Omotoso, and others.

"You had writing communities on websites and social media, which served as spaces for writers to get honest critique on their work, feedback, and encouragement," Efemuaye adds. "These communities fueled and challenged the writers, and as a reader, you could see the quality of writing from the writers improve over time because they weren't working in silos. They were also reading and having conversations about writing, which is important for any literary ecosystem."

All of this began to change as the late 2010s rolled around. Lack of funding and economic hardships intensified across the continent, particularly in countries like Nigeria, which was regarded as a forerunner in the African literary space. Highly regarded publications like Saraba, which published writers like TJ Benson and Ironsen Okojie, began to fold up (Saraba halted operations in 2019, but an archive of its published works remains live). Online literary communities began to vanish, shuttering spaces for communal critique and avenues to discover exciting new voices.

More than a decade since that glorious era, the African literary ecosystem is now experiencing a drawn-out lull, what Kenyan writer and editor Troy Onyango describes as "the silent era."

Onyango himself emerged during that golden era of African literature. First, as a writer before co-founding one of the most prestigious publications of that time, Enkare Review. Enkare Review, during its time, published esteemed authors like Namwali Serpell, as well as an interview with David Remnick, the editor-in-chief of The New Yorker. It was an audacious publication that bravely brought the international literary community to Africa, offering up a lineup of brilliant voices with each issue. The publication folded up in 2019, its third year in operation.

And while Onyango has gone on to experience immense literary success and has now founded Lolwe, one of the very few African literary magazines still in operation, there is, according to him, a clear distinction between the quality of the work being submitted now and ten years ago.

"The quality of the work has gone down," Onyango says. "Even the output. We used to have African writers publish 10-15 short stories in a year. And that's one single writer. I published about eight stories in one year. And now we no longer see that. We see one or two people publish like maybe three stories max, or four stories max."

A break in transmission

A key aspect of what defined the African literary ecosystem in the 2010s was the establishment of a cycle for many African writers. Writers would begin in relative anonymity, honing their craft before summoning the courage to submit their work to the numerous African publications that flourished at the time. Once published, these writers gradually built networks within a growing community of fellow writers and engaged readers. Then they would get nominated for one of the many writing prizes; there was Writivism (which rewarded excellent short stories, nonfiction and poetry), The Brittle Paper Awards (which rewarded the best published works in a given year), The Gerald Kraak Prize (which awarded excellence in writing related to gender, sexuality and social justice) the Etisalat Prize for Literature (a prestigious prize that awarded debut authors) and many others. The cycle ensured that African writers found their voices and had the means to share and be rewarded for it.

"Everything seemed possible. World literary domination was coming," Efemuaye recalls. "As an editor and reader, I had high expectations of all the new writing that was going to come out of the continent in the following decades. I was excited about the future and being part of creating that future."

Another important aspect of that cycle was collective responsibility. African writers who achieved success were known to give back, often by supporting existing publications, mentoring emerging writers, or even founding their own publications and prizes to nurture other literary talents. There is now a break in that cycle.

There are significantly fewer literary African publications in operation now than there were six years ago. Alongside Lolwe, publications like Akpata Magazine, The Republic Magazine, Brittle Paper, Open Country Magazine, and Isele Magazine are among the few enduring platforms still holding the fort. In Nigeria, book publishing has shifted from literary works to commercially driven titles, with publishers like Farafina, Cassava Republic, and Parréssia Publishers scaling back their operations and publishing fewer titles. In Kenya and other parts of the continent, book publishing continues to dwindle. And most dangerously, the online spaces that facilitated healthy conversations in favor of the ecosystem have all but disappeared.

Many of the people who were part of that era, like Ajayi and Efemuaye, say the decline can be traced back to 2020. In Nigeria's case, many of the brilliant writers of that era suddenly found themselves compelled to pursue better opportunities outside the country after living through a disastrous economy and experiencing the 2020 #EndSARS Protests. Between 2022 and 2023, more than 3.6 million people emigrated from Nigeria, according to the Nigerian Immigration Service.

"Culture is the first casualty of a credit crunch, and it's the first thing to go," Ajayi says. "When the economy began to collapse, and EndSARS happened, a brain drain that had already begun intensified. So everyone who had the wherewithal to move, moved." As Ajayi sees it, these writers are still dealing with the task of adjusting to new realities, which often forces them to focus solely on their work and their survival, leaving little room to contribute to the well-being of a dying industry.

Onyango believes that funding and economic upheavals have long plagued the industry; however, it's not the only thing currently stymying it. There is a dearth of dialogue that has also contributed immensely, Onyango offers. "Younger writers are coming up, and they don't see writers of the previous generation being open and talking openly. It can kind of silence them as well," Onyango says. "People are not writing essays as well. At least with the previous generation, when writers were not on social media, they would produce all these essays. They would have blogs. I don't even remember the last time I read a blog. I don't even know if people still blog anymore."

This vacuum of conversation has created a chasm of understanding between old and new writers.

As Judith Atibi, a TV anchor and producer who has hosted numerous literary shows and events, sees it, this lull is costing the literary community. "We are losing the richness that comes from rigorous editorial systems, spaces where a writer could be challenged, and with challenge comes growth," Atibi tells OkayAfrica. "We are losing the diversity of voices, regionally, linguistically, and experimentally. Literary careers are not being nurtured in a way that builds longevity."

Efemuaye agrees, "Writers learned craft through multiple rounds of editing and feedback from editors since their work had to meet certain editorial standards. These thorough editorial processes are being replaced by the instant gratification that comes with self-publishing because writers bypass the developmental stage of working with skilled editors who can help them refine their voice and writing styles."

The effects are already showing. Books are expensive, and book prizes, which once boosted book sales, are no longer available, leaving many African writers to compete with those still accessible in the West. In the past five years, no new African writer has been nominated for the Booker Prize.

Despite the dire state of things, Ajayi is optimistic. The way forward is to hold institutions accountable, he says. While individuals should build what they can, Ajayi believes that administrative support will go a long way in subsidizing the cost of running literary institutions in the interest of preserving literary traditions and keeping the arts alive, especially in times like these.

And as Onyango sees it, the way to avoid this lull is by institutionalizing African literary spaces so they are formidable enough to last beyond whoever funded them. The first step to overcoming this lull is to acknowledge the problem while also recognizing that small support for the few existing literary publications and institutions can go a long way. The best kind of support isn't always in funding.

"We need to be more conscious about how we build structures that outlast the founders," Onyango says. "I don't get why we are not more involved in the building. Even if you are not able to build your literary magazine, I think even just saying, 'Hey, I volunteer 20 hours a month at [Isele Magazine] just editing, it's very helpful.' African writers need to be more involved in the literary production process than just the creative aspect. We need people who can be editors. It's not just enough to have people who are writing."

On Friday, July 4, eight men landed at Juba International Airport in South Sudan. The group included two Cubans, two Burmese nationals, and one each from Laos, Mexico, and Vietnam. Only one of them was South Sudanese. According to the U.S. government, each had served a prison sentence in America for serious crimes and faced formal removal orders upon completing their terms. A prolonged court battle over the legality of their deportation kept them detained for more than six weeks at Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti.

Since they arrived in Juba, their fate has been a mystery. No reliable reports have emerged regarding their whereabouts or current condition. When pressed for details, former U.S. border czar Tom Homan said, “They’re free as far as we’re concerned. They’re no longer in our custody. Will they stay in Sudan? I don’t know,” he said in an interview.

Their removal illustrates the Trump administration’s immigrant deportation under the “third-country” removal policy, in which the U.S. sends detained illegal immigrants to nations other than their own when home governments refuse to accept them. In February and March this year, detainees were sent to Costa Rica and El Salvador’s CECOT prison.

CECOT was billed as a state-of-the-art solution to gang violence. Instead, it became a symbol of systemic abuse. Human-rights groups have documented detainees sleeping on concrete floors, being denied medical care, and subsisting on spoiled food. Venezuela’s Attorney General opened an investigation into allegations of torture and sexual violence against more than 250 of their citizens sent there. The resulting outrage damaged El Salvador’s standing and raised questions about accountability at facilities run by private contractors.

By sending eight unrelated migrants to South Sudan, Washington made Juba its latest African partner in U.S. immigration policy. South Sudan is a young nation still wrestling with civil conflict, famine, and mass displacement while its institutions struggle to deliver basic services. Ironically, Juba agreed to accept these men just months after Washington revoked all South Sudanese visas in April 2025 over a dispute about repatriating a Congolese national.

Last week, five more detainees landed in Eswatini under the same U.S. immigrant deportation policy. They are citizens of Vietnam, Jamaica, Cuba, Yemen, and Laos, and U.S. officials say their convictions include murder and child rape. Eswatini’s government has placed them in solitary confinement at undisclosed prisons while it arranges repatriation through a U.N. agency.

Other African states have faced similar discussions. Rwanda held exploratory talks with Washington about hosting deportees, though no deal was signed. And most recently, Nigeria’s foreign minister rebuffed Washington, saying his country “has enough problems of its own” and would not accept third-country removals.

These developments reveal a troubling pattern. Washington is using its economic and diplomatic weight to enlist developing nations in enforcing U.S. immigration policy. For fragile states across Africa, agreeing to host detainees can mean aid boosts, security support, or eased visa rules. Yet these same governments often lack the legal frameworks and oversight to ensure fair treatment. If they follow El Salvador’s model, they risk swift global criticism and continued reputational risk should reports of abuse emerge.

As more countries sign on — and it seems likely — the continent risks becoming a dumping ground for America’s crackdown on migration. African leaders and regional bodies must demand transparency and push back against coercive deals. Otherwise, smaller, less powerful states will succumb to U.S. pressure while their own citizens are deprived of essential services and protection.

WAFCON 2024 hosts Morocco powered through a penalty shootout to make it into their second consecutive final match. Anissa Lahmari scored the decisive penalty kick as the Atlas Lionesses squeezed past Ghana. All four penalty takers for Morocco scored, while the Black Queens missed their last two penalties after scoring the first two.

Ghana took the lead during regulation, through Stella Nyamekye’s strike halfway through the first half. Sakina Ouzraoui pulled Morocco level shortly into the second half, setting up a tense atmosphere as the match went all the way through extra time. The Black Queens won their quarterfinal match against Algeria on penalties, but they couldn’t repeat the same feat against Morocco, and will now attempt to earn a third-place finish on Friday versus South Africa.

Morocco entered this year’s WAFCON as one of the strongest contenders, as the Atlas Lionesses have emerged as a growing force in African women’s football. They cruised past Mali in the quarterfinals, winning 3-1 and conceding only a late consolation goal.

Morocco boasts two of the highest goalscorers in the tournament so far, including last WAFCON’s Player of the Tournament Ghizlane Chebbak, who scored four goals in the group stage but is yet to find the back of the net in the knockout phase. Forward Ibitsam Jraïdi scored twice against Mali and was among the penalty scorers in the semifinal match. There will be no lack of firepower on Saturday, as the hosts will look to win their first WAFCON title against record holders Nigeria.

A late, chaotic goal was the definitive moment as Nigeria’s Super Falcons edged their way past South Africa to the final. Michelle Alozie’s long ball forward from close to the halfway line flew by two of her chasing teammates and crawled past Banyana Banyana’s onrushing goalkeeper, just over two minutes before the final whistle for regulation time was due to be blown.

Nigeria edged the defending champions out 2-1. Super Falcons’ captain Rasheedat Ajibade opened the scoring from the penalty spot at the end of the first half; however, Linda Motlhalo leveled things up on the hour mark. Alozie’s auspicious strike closed things, leaving South Africa to now compete in Friday's third-place match.

The Super Falcons will be playing for a tenth WAFCON title and a twelfth overall continental title on Saturday. The team has had a remarkable run to the final, with Motlhalo’s strike being the only goal it has conceded all tournament.

Over the weekend, they trounced the Zambia women’s team 5-0, a surprise result considering it was expected to be a tight affair. Instead, Nigeria impressively shut off Zambia’s usually prolific forward pair of Barbra Banda and Racheal Kundananji, on their way to a victory that symbolizes their dominance throughout the tournament.

Through the group stage and the knockout phase, Nigeria has demonstrated that they have the firepower and grit to win, either by overwhelming opponents or grinding out difficult wins, which are strong signs that they’ll be prepared to win it all on Sunday.

The winners of WAFCON 2024 will go home with an all-new trophy and a prize of $1 million. Second- and third-place teams will receive $500,000 and $300,000, respectively.

This story was originally posted July 22 at 3:37 p.m. and has been updated.

July 23, 10:53 a.m. Updated to include semifinal results and finals updates.

Ideally, passion should be a prerequisite for artists. At least that’s what Tim Lyre believes. “I know it sounds cliché, but the truth is that you have to be passionate about doing it,” the Nigerian singer, rapper, and producer tells OkayAfrica. “You have to genuinely want it to be able to persevere and be consistent even when things are not going so well. I think that’s been most important, for me anyway.”

Lyre’s whole embrace of the process and dedication to creating music that can be appreciated for its singular vision is apparent in its output. Earlier this month, he released his third album, SPIRAL, a balmy soundscape featuring lilting neo-soul cuts, gently smoldering pop tunes, and smooth rap-indented highlights. The genre-hopping, now a trademark, is tied together by profound expressions of longing, loving, personal joys and anxiety, the constant search for self-fulfillment, and more.

Where his previous albums, Worry < and MASTA, were snappy affairs with runtimes hovering around the half-hour mark, Lyre’s latest is a double-sided effort that runs a few minutes shy of an hour. That extension doesn’t translate into any adverse effects; if anything, SPIRAL is a seamless listen that is effortlessly engaging. It’s an opus that reflects the accrued refinement and mastery Lyre has earned over the years, with some of his earliest releases dating back nearly a decade.

Lyre was among the dozens of young Nigerian artists who took to SoundCloud as their preferred platform for spontaneous drops, spurred by the need to create music outside what was popular in the mainstream. Across his early catalogue, Lyre ran through styles of music with a sometimes scattered twitch, to regularly strong results, if not wholly compelling.

“I think it was around that Covid-19 period,” he says, referring to the lockdown months as the period things clicked into place for him as a versatile artist. “I guess everybody just had enough time to reflect in general, myself included. I was in the studio as well, so I had time to think about how I wanted to sound. I’m someone who likes to try different things, and I had a lot of time to figure out what I wanted to take on and put all these things together. I’m someone who always just wants to improve constantly.”

The early 2022 release of Worry < was a remarkable showcase of Lyre as an artist with an elevated grasp of his abilities as a versatile artist, a streak that extended to MASTA and is foundational to the excellence curated on SPIRAL. The Tim Lyre experience since his first album has shown an artist comfortable with spotlighting his romantic scars, laying bare his yearnings, openly exploring his ambitions, and giving voice to his fears. Along with his ability to croon soulfully, rap with poise, and even dip into patois, these thematic threads make for a deeply relatable artist.

“[Introspection] is a very key part of what I’m trying to do as a musician,” Lyre says. “My favorite artists that I listen to, my best quality about them is the fact that they’re just so honest and vulnerable in their music, a lot of the time. There’s no shame when they’re talking about certain things. People can relate to that as well because we are all human beings; we all kind of go through the same things, you know, even if your circumstances are different. So I try to make it a point to keep that honesty about myself as much as I can.”

On “Rocketship,” the second song on SPIRAL, Lyre shares a heady portrait of the aftermath of a breakup where anxiety intertwines with an overreliance on weed. On the similarly forlorn “Storytime” with UK-based indie soul singer BINA, he asks, “What’s the worth of a love/that never gave you any peace of mind/until the day that it died?” It’s the kind of lingering thought that remains when you sit long enough to sift through an experience properly.

The first side of the album, largely self-produced, is heavy-hearted, filled with ruminative songs about finding perspective through the difficult weight of being jilted while also fighting for your dreams. The second side is lighter and more jovial without losing emotional lustre, from the devotional confessions on the house-infused “OMD” to the money-minded, highlife-pop swing of “Economy” with rap duo Show Dem Camp.

SPIRAL earns cohesion from being purposefully broad, a distinction that extends to the dozen featured artists, all well-placed and integral to the listening experience. “I’m lucky because I now get to work with more artists, and I’ve always been a collaborative type of artist,” Lyre says. “I’m also someone that just listens to a lot of music in general, so I feel like I know where things should go in terms of who should be on the feature.”

The collaborative spirit is aided in part by Lyre’s longstanding tilt towards community; MOJO AF, DAP the Contract, and Joyce Olong are frequent collaborators dating back several years. Meanwhile, Lyre credits a handful of the features to connections made by Outer South, the London and Johannesburg-based indie record label Lyre has been working with since his first album.

SPIRAL is “the biggest thing” Lyre and Outer South have done yet, putting more resources behind this album than his previous releases, seeing the traction the artist has slowly built up with a growing catalogue of quality releases. Those increased efforts include a headline show in late September at London’s Camden Assembly.

“I definitely want to perform my music as far as I possibly can, and just keep making good, quality music and collaborating with artists,” Lyre says as a ballpark answer for what he’s looking forward to next. He obviously wouldn’t mind scoring the kind of huge hit song(s) that vaults him from rising niche favorite to popular star, but it’s not an achievement he’s looking to force.

“With enough momentum and consistency, we can definitely get there. These things take time. It might happen one day, and people will think I’m an overnight sensation. I’m genuinely interested in making great music, and as long as that’s working out, I’m happy with life.”

When Nigerian writer Esther Ifesinachi Okonkwo first arrived in America to further her education, she was 23 and a fog sat at the edge of her mind. It was a kind of fog characterised by inexperience, and the acute awareness of that inexperience. "I was trying to figure out who I was. I felt that there was something that I should know that I did not know, and that frustrated me a lot," Okonkwo tells OkayAfrica. "There were so many things that were so unclear to me, and then they began to unwrap themselves slowly."

It is from this feeling of existential cluelessness that she created the emotional composition of Somkelechukwu, the main character in The Tiny Things Are Heavier, her stunning debut novel about a Nigerian immigrant woman and her convoluted journey towards self-discovery.

When we first meet Somkelechukwu, who is affectionately referred to as Sommy in the book, she is entering a new country and a new life. In her early twenties, Sommy is at once in awe of everything in this new world and also seriously disoriented by the life that has thrust her into it.

The book, which will resonate with fans of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Americanah and Nicole Dennis-Benn's Patsy, follows Sommy's journey as she navigates life as a graduate student, studying a course she has little interest in, but that provides an anchor away from a life she has been told she must stay away from. The story takes place between Lagos and Iowa, touching on themes of grief, listlessness, belonging, and identity.

In Tiny Things, Okonkwo writes with impeccable observation of the quirks that define human nature. Nothing escapes her sharp gaze, from the way a character perceives the smell in their space to the way monumental events disrupt their self-perception.

Okonkwo's writing is often taut and skillfully restrained, even when dissecting a seemingly minor detail for long paragraphs. Her ability to transform small complications into compelling philosophical arguments is masterful and impressive. It's what makes this book wise and thoughtful. Also present is Okonkwo's understanding of how national tragedies impact the lives of young Nigerians.

"The book started to form for me during the #EndSARS movement," Okonkwo explains. "I then began to think about the ways that these sorts of big structures can shape your life, can shape the way you love, can shape the way you interact with people, and can even shape the chemicals in your brain."

Okonkwo's work joins a list of many art pieces that have been born from the #EndSARS protests that claimed the lives of many Nigerians who were shot at by military officers. What Okonkwo does in her debut is settle on the disappointment and sense of despair that comes from living in a country without systems, a country that has its hands on your back, pushing you to run as far as you can.

A coming of age

On the face of it, "The Tiny Things Are Heavier" could be described as a story about migration. It does feature a lot of movement and the feelings of displacement that come with it. A closer look, however, will reveal that migration functions here as a feature, rather than the heart of the story. More pressing are issues of human character: how do we perceive ourselves and our capacity to be good or bad, the book asks. Who are we when cultural expectations no longer shape our identity?

Sommy's ability to have her leg between two worlds shifts her sense of privilege and her sense of self. While in the United States, she is forced to grapple more with why she chose to leave and who she has become as a result of that, and back home, she is faced with the guilt of one who has found a way out. With steady emotional agility, the book shifts between Sommy's complicated relationship with her brother, Mezie, who influences much of her emotional maturity, an even more complicated relationship with her partner, Bryan, with whom she shares a life-altering connection, and her nonexistent relationship with herself.

It's what makes this book a skillfully crafted bildungsroman. "I just didn't want this to be a migrant novel," Okonkwo explains. "I wanted it to be a person trying to move from young adulthood to maturity."

Throughout the book, Sommy faces varying emotional and situational challenges in a way that upsets traditional categorizations of good and bad behavior. In this book, Okonkwo says she aimed to dissect not the categorization of behavior but its ability to exist outside the binary. "I wanted her to go through all that is required to get to an understanding of yourself."

Okonkwo's work arrives at a delicate time in both the U.S and Nigerian politics. Like many of the characters in this book, there is a restlessness among young Nigerians that is drawing their gaze away from their own homes. And in the U.S, stricter immigration policies are bringing up questions of who gets to have a better life and at what cost?

By making the characters exhibit both unkindness and care towards each other, Okonkwo highlights that special ability of humans to live with contradictions.

"I want people to lean into the ugliness of being human. I think that we are so preoccupied with purity in a world that is so impure," Okonkwo says. "Look at the world and look at the things that are happening in the world and the decisions that people are making. They don't come from one big evil act. These are little tiny choices that people make that then lead to all of this sort of destruction that we see. And I think that there is a tendency for us to shy away from those small evils."

Before writing this book, Okonkwo had pieces published in Guernica, VQR, Catapult, and other places. Writing this book was transformative for Okonkwo. Written over the course of four years, Okonkwo, who graduated from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and was a recipient of the Elizabeth George Foundation Grant, wrote herself through a difficult time in her life. "I was terribly unhappy," she says. "I had not seen my family in a long time because I couldn't afford to travel as much as I'd like. My father was ill at one point. I couldn't go back to see him. Normal life challenges, but most of them I had to sort of figure out alone." It was from those feelings of stress and relentless unbelonging that she infused her characters with depth.

At its core, Okonkwo hopes that this book speaks to the times, but also to the complexity of the human condition. "I want us to be more comfortable with our mistakes, owning them, then working to change them."

South African star Tyla and Nigerian pop sensation Ayra Starr will join a high-profile lineup at this year's Global Citizen Festival, set to take place on September 27 in New York City's Central Park. The event will be headlined by The Weeknd and Shakira, and hosted by long-time Global Citizen ambassador Hugh Jackman.

The festival continues Global Citizen's mission to end extreme poverty and drive action on global issues. This year, the campaign is focused on providing energy access for one million people on the African continent, ensuring quality education for 30,000 children worldwide, and protecting 30 million hectares of the Amazon rainforest. The festival will also push to recruit 40,000 volunteers across New York City.

Tyla, who recently won a Grammy Award for Best African Music Performance, is riding high after a breakout year that saw her single "Water" become a global hit. Her appearance at the Global Citizen Festival marks another significant milestone in her growing international career.

Ayra Starr, one of Nigeria's most prominent voices in the new wave of Afrobeats, will also take the stage. Known for her chart-topping hits like "Rush" and her boundary-pushing style, the artist continues to gain traction across global markets. Both artists represent a younger generation of African talent reaching broader audiences while staying grounded in their cultural roots.

Their participation in the festival reflects Global Citizen's growing attention to Africa as a central part of its advocacy. One of the campaign's core goals this year is to help bring clean and affordable energy to communities across the continent. Through its Scaling Up Renewables in Africa campaign, Global Citizen plans to raise $1.5 billion to train 50,000 young workers in solar installation, grid maintenance, and other essential energy services. The initiative could provide reliable electricity to over a million people, while also supporting jobs and reducing emissions.

In a statement, Global Citizen CEO Hugh Evans said: "Ending extreme poverty is within our reach – but only if we come together to ensure governments and corporations deliver on their promises: scaling up renewable energy, protecting the Amazon, and investing in education for the next generation."

Tickets to the festival are free and can be earned by taking action on Global Citizen's app or website. These include signing petitions, emailing world leaders, or volunteering time to local causes.

Since its inception, Global Citizen has helped secure $49 billion in commitments, positively impacting the lives of more than a billion people. With artists like Tyla and Ayra Starr on board, the 2025 edition brings Africa even closer to the heart of this global movement.

Donia Wael’s sweet voice became the soundtrack to long nights on Cairene roads and Egyptian balconies long before we knew the face behind it. Anonymized as a cartoon character next to El Waili’s green skull or an animated outline of a slim body with long curly hair in the 2022 hit single “El 3asal,” Wael began her career trusting that her music would reveal everything listeners needed to know about her.

“I wanted people to connect and judge me for my music only,” Wael shares in a video call with OkayAfrica. Her songs, often bridging melancholy with electronic production and traditional Egyptian instruments, built her a loyal fan base, even though her listeners wouldn’t recognize her if they saw her in person.

“I’m over that, honestly,” she says. “I’m trying to connect on a physical level, because I realized that when people see you, they will find themselves in you. I feel like I grew up with the audience.”

In the visuals for her latest EP, Bifkrny Beek, Wael is seen dancing in Cairo, wearing glitter make-up and cute clothes. In many ways, she is exactly how her audience would have imagined her to be: playful and down-to-earth. Mu7tarama, as Egyptians would say: a respectable woman.

How did an extremely shy child become a successful musician with the aspirations to go global?

“It’s an ongoing process,” says Wael, who speaks as if she were talking to a friend, rather than repeating rehearsed phrases. “Growing up, I didn’t really share my feelings in conversations. I’m not gonna tell you what’s bothering me, but I’ll write you a song about it.”

She got into songwriting at 17, after she saw a boy playing the ukulele on a Sinai beach. “It was magical to me,” she remembers. “I went home and had to buy anything that had strings.”

With teaching herself the guitar came the ability to express herself with words. Wael has no songwriting technique. She starts strumming the guitar, and something comes out - it used to be stories she wanted to tell, before she fell in love with the traditional melody structure of a song.

Her mother used to listen to her music from behind the door, because Wael was too shy to share it. As she grew older, she began attending open mics and playing her original music on a keyboard.

“I never thought that I’d get gineh masry, one Egyptian pound, from making music,” she says. “I’m the biggest example that shyness can be overcome. Oof, I used to hide! Now I’m totally fine.”

It was studying acting that finally got Wael out of her shell. “I went into it thinking that it’ll help me write better music,” she shares. “It made me understand emotions and the person in front of me more. I fell in love with it. I want to live different lives and write music from the perspective of different characters.”

With a newly discovered love for acting and an EP already out this year, what else could Wael dream of? A girlband! Growing up listening to alternative Arab bands like Cairokee and Mashrou’ Leila, she had been wishing for her own girl band ever since she was in school, but could never find other girls who played instruments.

“Egyptian girls would only sing,” she says. “I wanted to hunt for girls [who play instruments], because I thought that we shared the same passion. And I wanted to influence more women to play instruments.”

Her hunt took several months during which she asked every musician she knew and “went crazy stalking and searching” on the internet until she found Randa Shoukry, an electric guitarist who knew other women instrumentalists.

“I found out that I actually like collaborating and that I’m a people person,” says Wael about launching her own girlband with “Ezay.” “It feels warmer and safer, because you have people to look at and jam with.”

She hopes to tour with her band and wants people to know each band member for their skill, not for the fact that they’re women.

There’s a red line that connects Wael’s EP, love for acting, and girlband: “I want people to know that they’re not alone and that it’s okay to be vulnerable,” she says. “Once, a fan told me something very important: ‘Your music helped me not to be alone in a certain phase, but I want you to know that you’re also not alone.’”

It takes coming out of one’s shell to really feel and appreciate the connections that art facilitates between humans. That’s why, after several years in the public ear, Wael is ready to step into the public eye.

When Tanzanian entrepreneur Nisha Kanabar launched Industrie Africa in 2018, the African fashion landscape was still taking shape. Designers from the continent were gaining global attention, but meaningful infrastructure, long-term visibility, and access to markets remained out of reach.

Her company set out to change that.

"Industrie Africa began as a response to absence," Kanabar tells OkayAfrica. "A lack of structure, visibility, and context around Africa's fashion industry. What started as a digital directory has evolved into a dynamic ecosystem."

Five years later, the platform has become a trusted online store and content hub, supporting both long-established and emerging brands, including Doreen Mashika, Dye Lab, Hertunba, and This Is Us. Now, it is stepping into the physical world. Last Friday, July 18, on the shores of Zanzibar's Bawe Island, Industrie Africa marked its fifth anniversary with the launch of SoLA, the Society of Luxury Artisanship.

SoLa, a high-end concept store situated within the Bawe Island private resort, presents a curated selection of African designers alongside global labels, providing visitors with a thoughtful and stylish shopping experience. Its first exclusive collection is a limited-edition resort capsule by Senegalese brand Tongoro, specifically designed for the Zanzibar location, and available both in-store and online.

For Kanabar, this next step builds on what she started in 2018, while adapting to how people want to discover and shop for fashion today. "The mission hasn't changed, but the way we deliver it has. We've moved from simply connecting people to products to influencing how and where those products live in the world."

Moving into physical retail is also a strategic response to challenges African designers still face. While names like Thebe Magugu, Orange Culture, Lagos Space Programme, and Kenneth Ize have gained global recognition, many struggle with reliable production, distribution, and access to customers.

Industrie Africa's answer to this gap is Industrie Africa Select, a new consulting arm that works with luxury hotels and resorts across the continent to design curated retail experiences. SoLA is its first project, and a model for what is possible when retail meets storytelling in a space that focuses on both culture and craftsmanship.

"As luxury travel flourishes across the continent and globally, we kept noticing the same disconnect: beautifully considered hospitality spaces, paired with retail concepts that felt like an afterthought," Kanabar explains. "That gap became our entry point."

At the same time, platforms like Industrie Africa continue to challenge outdated ideas of what African luxury looks like. "African luxury is less about price point and more about process and provenance," Kanabar says. "It's the rhythm of handwork, the intentionality behind materials, the intimacy of small-batches. It possesses a subdued power, inimitably rooted in story, place, and identity."

The imagery of Afrobeats is massively influenced by music video directors, who curate an artist’s visual brand and consequently, their representation in the minds of the audience. Music videos have always been important, and even in the presence of several new media forms, its relevance remains visible, as clearly seen in the work of Director Pink, who has been a frontrunner in the scene over the past half-decade.

On the latest edition of Afrobeats Intelligence, we get an intimate look into the world of visuals through the experienced perspective of Pink. The episode begins with host Joey Akan asking where she finds the intersection between what goes into her ear and what people should see. “You hear some songs and it’s really hard — it’s getting harder sometimes — to really pick out what you would want to represent visually,” she says, “but most times when I get a song, I always analyze a few things; what’s the song talking about, how I research about the artist as well, then I also brainstorm on what the song actually needs to push it. So I have to boost the song with the video; it’s also important”.

Pink admits that she enjoys visualizing new artists, since music videos must have some continuity across different songs. The intricacies of visually representing an artist come to the fore, as the director reveals the tools of character-building: the mood associated with an artist, the lighting choices, the progression of scenes. She says: “I always ask some questions, ‘what’s your vibe like?’ ‘What kind of artists do you listen to?’ Some of them are also taking over very old artists that have left a legacy, some of them want to follow those footsteps. It’s more like trying to understand and know the artist deeply, and actually try to bring that out.”

From the sound to fashion to image, the episode reveals all the many considerations the video director must influence. Her work with Chike comes to mind, as she’s largely curated his perception as a warm loverboy, their creative partnership beginning from the Simi-featured remix of “Running.” Between the vivacious frames of “Egwu” and the melancholic symbolism of “Man Not God,” we see a director attuned to the work of their client, sharing the creative process with as much gusto.

In this conversation, Pink is eloquent and inspirational, revealing the stories and techniques that have shaped her career. Now in her mid-20s, she’s been on the journey for about a decade, surmounting several challenges to rise towards the zenith of her craft. “It was just making images,” she says about the initial appeal of music videos. “The fact that you’re able to do anything in just three minutes. It’s not like a film where you’d probably stick to a particular story, and you can go outside the box a bit, but you don’t really have that much leverage. With music videos, you can do a million and one things.”

In the 1980s, arguably the largest theft of ancestral artifacts occurred in Kenya. Hundreds of Vigango statues, wooden totem poles sacred to the Mijikenda people, were stolen from hallowed forests to be sold to western art collectors and museums. These statues, carved from trees within the very forests where they held spiritual significance, bore intricate markings that embodied the identities and preserved the memories of revered elders and healers that have passed away.

While some of the looted statues have been returned, many of them are still hundreds of miles away from their culturally significant homestead. In Relooted, the upcoming game created by South Africa-based Nyamakop Studios, players will have the chance to retake stolen Vigango statues and dozens of other ancestral artifacts forcibly taken from Africa over the centuries.

Relooted is coming at a time when the discussions for repatriation of stolen artifacts are increasingly loud and absolute, not just by Africans but also by concerned people all over the world. The game itself is a radical jump for Nyamakop following its first published game, Semblance, a puzzle-platform game where players squish, push, deform, and reshape a playdough world. Semblance was positively received for its innovative art style and satisfying puzzles.

For its second game, Nyamakop had to up the level of execution to match its much higher ambitions. “I think it’s just that the concept itself felt so important,” Ben Myres, CEO and Creative Director at Nyamakop, tells OkayAfrica. “Obviously, with African artifacts, repatriation is a huge deal, so it felt really important to make the game as high production value and high quality as possible.”

To ensure that Relooted hit the high marks the studio set for itself, the number of people who worked on the game was just over ten times more than the three full-time staff it took to put together Nyamakop’s debut game. This time around, a high level of coherence and coordination was needed to balance narrative depth with strong gameplay, in its attempt to create an Africanfuturist heist game.

Mohale Mashigo, a writer referred to by Myres as “the queen of Africanfuturism,” was approached to helm the game’s storyline, situating the relooting of artifacts within the context of an engaging game. “It’s a heist game, right? So I spent a long time watching heist films and also understanding what heisting is, like hacking buildings basically, and I realized that this has got to be a team [effort],” Mashigo says. “Heists are always great because everybody’s got a role to play in the heist. The best part of the heist is when you see the mastermind go and recruit different people and their different personalities and how they work together.”

Led by the character Nomali, the motley crew in Relooted includes a delinquent brother obsessed with cracking safes, an ex-MMA champion, a sports scientist, and a grandma. “This may be the first family heist that includes a grandmother,” Mashigo says with ample cheer in her voice. All characters in the game are from different parts of Africa, operating from a hideout in a futuristic version of Johannesburg.

Myres, Mashigo, and their colleagues had to iterate and build their own playbook for Relooted, spending years experimenting to arrive at a game that’s unique within the canon of heist games, which are usually based on a single character and often violent.

“There are not a lot of heist games that are more like Ocean’s Eleven than anything else, and it just made sense for us to make a sort of nonviolent game because of the themes,” Myres says. “Trying to find a reference for nonviolent heist games was tricky, so it was a lot of back-and-forth between all departments – art, narrative, gameplay – just trying to make it all work. There are compromises in some places that we had to figure out. It meant there were often things the narrative and the art departments had to change, or there were certain things we knew we couldn’t change narratively, so we just had to figure it out gameplay-wise.”

Myres is conservative about sharing an exact timeline for the release of Relooted, with behind-the-scenes developments underway to bring the game to the Xbox console and to PCs, platforms where representation for African-inspired games remains very low. Last year, Cameroonian studio Kiro’o Games debuted the first African role-playing game on Xbox with Aurion: Legacy of the Kori-Odan, which had been previously released for Microsoft Windows several years earlier.

While Africa is projected to have a gaming audience of over 400 million, the growing numbers haven’t really translated into a strong base of Africans playing games by African studios, which will be a key factor in improving the visibility of African-inspired games. Myres makes the point that the artforms that have seen crossover success, from afrobeats and amapiano to fringe film successes, started with a high level of acceptance at home.

Several factors currently hinder the continental success of games by African studios, primarily due to the fragmentation of African countries. In addition to the challenges of purchasing power, the difficulty in paying for games across countries due to differences in regulations and mobile money services is a significant challenge. Consoles are luxury items in many parts of the continent, which means that a significant amount of gaming in Africa is done on mobile devices, limiting the scope of what studios can deploy for Africans, and monetization will continue to be a challenge.

“Someone’s going to have to make a lot of money from one game,” Myres says as a possible solution to the low adoption of African games among Africans, as well as the global visibility of African-inspired games. “If that happens, it fundamentally changes who can make games about what and for whom, not just in Africa but across the gaming industry worldwide. I think once you have a reasonably-sized hit, people are like, ‘Oh my God, we can make games like that and there is an audience for it.’”

Nyamakop hopes Relooted will become very successful upon release within the next year, which would amplify the cultural significance of the game, particularly in relation to artifacts stolen from Africa. Myres mentions the Maqdala Crown as one of his favorite artifacts curated in the game, citing its significance in “how deliberate the European attempts were to make African civilization look uncivilized,” even though Africans had been creating beautiful and deeply intricate metalwork pieces centuries ago.

For Mashigo, the recency of the Vigango statues being stolen is striking. “We think about colonial times for artifacts, but this happened in the 1980s. They just went into the forest and took many of these Vigango statues, and then they were being sold in the West, and it was like a fashionable thing to have.”

Relooted turns the dynamic on its head, with the hope that it resonates with many people worldwide, including Africans and the diaspora community. “It is very much a power of fantasy because I don’t think Africans very often get to see themselves set in the future and joyfully,” Mashigo says. “So, dreaming of this beautiful utopian future continent, hopefully it inspires people and makes them feel proud, both of their heritage in the past and the possibility of the future. The game is very much about the artifacts, but it is so many different things at the same time.”

Every week, OkayAfrica highlights the top African music releases — including the latest Afrobeats and amapiano hits — through our best music column, African Songs You Need to Hear This Week.

Read ahead for our round-up of the best new African music tracks and music videos that came across our desks this week.

Victony & Fridayy – “Glory II”

Releasing a sequel to his latest single just some weeks after the original, Victony is flexing the reach of his artistry. Here he’s joined by Fridayy, who’s built up an impressive resume of collaborations with Afrobeats acts. The grass-to-grace narrative of the original is maintained, as Victony’s rap-informed flow is matched for intensity by his guest’s choir-reminiscent vocals. A fine blending of sensibilities, it’s a song that delivers beautifully on its role as an ode to God’s enduring grace. – Emmanuel Esomnofu

Kabza De Small - “Siyabonga”

Kabza De Small moves in his own lane. His long-awaited fifth album lays his heart bare, clarifies his intent, and reaffirms his status as the top don in the electronic music game. Not that he ever left; in the past year alone, his music was performed by an orchestra, he dropped one of 2024’s standout tracks in “Hayi Baba” (with Chronical Deep and LaTique), and laced bangers alongside Darque, DJ Maphorisa, Xduppy, and Dlala Thukzin. He’s a man on a mission: to stretch the sonic spectrum, school our senses, and come out on top every time. “Siyabonga,” featuring Nontokozo Mkhize and Mthunzi, shows Kabza at his most tender, most curatorial. It leans into 3-Step, embraces you, cradles you. It’s a prayer – “asisabi lutho, isandla sakhe siphezu kwethu imihla yonke” (we fear nothing, His hand is upon us every day) – and everyone’s invited. - Tšeliso Monaheng.

Lojay – “Tenner”

After announcing the August release of his long-awaited debut album, Lojay has set the wheels rolling with a fiery song intended for the dance floors. Pairing his svelte vocals with hyper-vibrant pop beats is an artistic choice favored by the artist, and it continues to prove a winning formula, as he paints a riveting portrait of a lady he’s enamored by. Bold metaphors, swirling notes, and banging drums are ever-present throughout the song’s runtime, but the fusion doesn’t eclipse Lojay’s voice at the center of the fanfare. – EE

Adekunle Gold – “Coco Money”

Always one to reinvent himself, you’ll be hard-pressed to find Adekunle Gold in the same spot. On “Coco Money,” he returns to the indigenous throb that influenced his early music, pairing disco sensibilities with the unmissable drums of Juju music. It’s a quintessential fly talk song, an arena the artist particularly excels in. The vocals and the energy matching each other’s vivacity, it’s a renewed demonstration of the artist’s prowess as a songwriter. – EE

TOSS, Maglera Doe Boy, Young Stunna - “Hermano”

“Hermano” is the rap Olympics – a relay of distinctive, heavyweight voices in African music. Themed around Black township life, with fashion nods to la sapeur, Black dandyism, and ukuswenka, the video brings the song to life in elegiac style. The back-and-forth between TOSS and Maglera Doe Boy deserves its own support hotline; there are simply too many quotables to catch in one go. Then comes Young Stunna on the chorus, a welcome breather from the lyrical warfare unfolding. Together, the three move like a league of their own: elite yet grounded, daunting but disarming, feisty and tender in equal measure. It’s an overload of excellence, so pace yourself. - TM.

Mr Eazi – “Corny”

On his latest song, Mr Eazi shows why he’ll always be an interesting voice within Afrobeats. The chill number produced by P Priime showcases the artist’s expanding vision as a storyteller, as he reveals the intricacies of a romantic relationship. “No go do you cunny,” he sings atop the mid-tempo production, charting a seductive vibe that sways with the lyrics of the record. – EE

Blue Pappi - “G-Wagon” (feat. LaCabra)

Blue Pappi’s on a roll, and he’s only just getting started. The emcee, vocalist, and producer, who hails from Ladysmith in KwaZulu-Natal – home of the legendary Ladysmith Black Mambazo – follows up last week’s high-octane, Kane Keid-featuring “Dairy” with a mellow, left-of-centre tune that allows him and fellow Qwellers member LaCabra to exercise their rap muscles and cross uncharted flow territory. The cadences are impeccable, and the music, very stripped back, very lo-fi, allows them to swim with intention, playing lifeguard to your treasured eyes and ears. No word is wasted, and every moment of silence is as necessary as breathing itself. South African hip-hop is enjoying its moment in the sun, and these two are but part of a bubbling movement whose legend shall be spoken about in years to come. - TM.

Mlindo The Vocalist - “iMedi Yakho” (feat. Sir Trill)

Following the success of his breakout debut, Emakhaya, and the vulnerability of his self-titled sophomore album, Lindokuhle, Mlindo The Vocalist enters his third chapter with something deeper: perspective. It's a delicate balance of talent and emotional maturity that cuts above the clatter to go for the heart. Uhambo – The Journey is an album shaped by his own lived experience. It carries the weight of heartbreak, the beauty of healing, and the clarity that comes after navigating life’s highs and lows. On “iMedi Yakho,” a duet with Sir Trill, he repurposes the melody to Oliver Mtukudzi’s hit, “Neria,” and injects an Afro-pop swing to its step. The flavours ooze from the speakers straight to your soul. - TM.

Chrissy Spratt – “Call On Me” feat. Nonso Amadi & Serøtonin

Chrissy Spratt is no newcomer to the Afrobeats scene. Through her covers, the Canadian-based artist has curated a strong presence, even going on tour with Chike. Now, the Hi-Way 89 signee has released her latest song, a three-way collaboration with the talented singers Nonso Amadi and Serøtonin. As the line-up infers, it’s a vulnerable embrace that offers the love of a partner, with Spratt holding the thematic core through her piercing verse and vocals. It continues the purposeful run-up to a project expected in August, as she’s shown an impressive ability to handle several genres. – EE