Afrobeats and Academia at UI: Music Meeting Campus Realities
By: Adeyemi Precious
“Music is the weapon.”
Fela Kuti said it first. Now, his words echo in hostel corridors and lecture halls at the University of Ibadan. Once dismissed as party music, Afrobeats is now a cultural force—expressing everything from student frustration to feminist resistance. At UI, students aren’t just dancing to music—they’re decoding it.
From Fuji Nights to Afrobeats Mornings
Not too long ago, UI campus music leaned heavily on Fuji, reggae, and gospel. Especially in the 1980s and 1990s, fuji music stood out in particular, with its Yoruba percussion and praise poetry deeply connecting with students. Reggae, with its themes of social justice and resistance, also found eager listeners among students navigating the political tensions of their time, while gospel music fostered a strong sense of community within the many Christian fellowships on campus. Stage plays and spoken words were the rage. But over the last decade, Afrobeats has become the heartbeat of student life.
“It’s like Afrobeats is the new lingua franca here,” says Bayo, a 400-level Philosophy student. “We talk about it in class, in group chats, even during strikes.”
These genres once provided not just rhythm but meaning, offering students a way to express identity, protest injustice, and build spiritual connections. Their influence is still felt in the way students use music to engage with societal issues, showing that while the sound may have evolved, the tradition of music as a voice for the campus community endures.
Today, songs like Asake’s “Lonely at the Top” are casually analysed by undergrads. Burna Boy’s lyrics appear in project slides. Afrobeats is no longer just the vibe—it’s the conversation.
Lyrics as Life Lessons
Behind the catchy beats lie serious messages. Burna Boy’s “Common Person” paints a vivid picture of life for the average Nigerian—dignifying struggle in a way that resonates on campus.
“Asake is deeper than people think,” says Ife, a 200-level Law student. “In ‘Organise’, I hear him talking about structure, survival, and how we’re all just trying to keep things together.” Even Ayra Starr’s “Bloody Samaritan” strikes a nerve among Gen-Z women tired of being boxed in.
“Ayra just gets it,” says Bolanle, a Religious studies Student. “She’s speaking up without shouting—and that’s powerful.”
Soundtracking Campus Life
Musical taste at UI has become a form of identity. Theatre Arts students lean toward Falz or Ladipoe. Engineering students might blast Portable or Olamide to stay hyped during all-nighters.
“You can’t play the same playlist at Queen Idia and Kuti Hall,” says DJ Gabi, a popular campus DJ. “You’ve got to know your crowd.”
Whether it’s walking to lectures, vibing in hostels, or reading at midnight, students use music to cope. “Sometimes I just play Omah Lay when everything feels too much,” says Abdul , a 200-level Theatre Arts student. “That guy understands loneliness.”
When Music Becomes Protest
The #EndSARS protests didn’t just shift politics—they shifted playlists. Songs like “20 10 20” by Burna Boy became protest anthems at UI, blasting through speakers and echoing on Twitter.
“During the 2023 ASUU strike, we were stuck at home, frustrated,” says Tope, a Political Science student. “People started using songs like ‘Buga’ to make skits about empty classes and broken promises.”
Even in satire, students were resisting. Music became protest, comedy, and therapy—sometimes all at once.
From Jams to Journals
At UI, music has gone academic. Some Literature classes now treat Afrobeats lyrics as cultural texts. Students compare Wizkid’s “Ojuelegba” to Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart”—both stories of identity and struggle.
My Lin lecturer tells us to translate a particular song just like the way our seniors did in their time,in fact it’s now a ritual for that course says Celine, a linguistics major.
Popular music is carrying the burden of journalism, when our media fails, it’s artists who tell the real stories.” This is embodied by veteran rapper Eedris Abdulkareem, whose protest track “Tell Your Papa” was recently banned by the NBC for its “inappropriate” and “objectionable” content—a vivid example of how musicians step in to report truths that official outlets won’t.
From term papers to project work, students are using Afrobeats to explore gender, politics, and economics—turning playlists into reference lists. For instance, research in the international Journal of Women in Technical Education and Employment examines FelaAnikulapo Kuti’s use of afrobeat as a tool for political activism in Nigeria. The study underscores how his music served as a medium for advocating political ideology and raising consciousness about social issues.
In the same vein, The Journal of Popular Music Studies discussed the U.S afrobeat scene, using Tiwa savage and Burna Boy as case studies . The article explores how systemic biases and industry practices contribute to economic disparities between male and female artistes.
Final Notes: Dancing Through Disruption.
UI students live with unpredictability—strikes, high costs, unstable internet. Through it all, Afrobeats has become a kind of compass.
It’s the rhythm behind Hall Week parties, the soundtrack for all-nighters, and the protest chant in times of crisis.
Whether it’s dancing at a Hall Week party or just playing music in one’s room, music is more than just vibes. It’s how youths, especially students, make sense of this country.
In today’s Nigeria, Afrobeats aren’t just background noise. It’s how students survive, speak out,breathe and stay sane.
