Fela: Stoning the orange tree, by Folorunso Adisa
When the Yoruba, in their enduring ingenuity, coined the saying “Ọmọ osàn ni ń kọ́ pọnpọ́ bà ìyá ẹ”(that it is the orange fruit that makes us stone the orange tree) they may well have been anticipating a moment like this. It is difficult to find anyone who does not revere the memory of Fela Aníkúlápó Kuti. Musicians who walked with him, those who came after him, and even his fiercest adversaries have acknowledged his stature. Politicians who bore the brunt of his lyrical assaults could not deny his courage. Fela was a freedom fighter who weaponised music in the service of conscience, resistance, and the collective good.
Within Nigeria’s musical and political consciousness, his achievements are incontestable. Across Africa, his influence is indelible. Yet reverence must not be confused with deification. No human being, however towering, is without flaw. Often, it is our affection for great figures, and the sheer weight of their achievements, that softens our view of their shortcomings. But when circumstances demand scrutiny, even legends are not exempt from honest appraisal.
This is where Seun Kuti faltered. By needlessly provoking Ayodeji Ibrahim Balogun, popularly known as Wizkid, Seun stepped into a terrain that required restraint, not rivalry. Comparing Fela and Wizkid was unnecessary and intellectually lazy. They belong to different eras, spoke to different audiences, and achieved greatness on entirely different terms. Each, in his own generation, reached the summit of relevance and influence. Humans have limits. We have thresholds of patience, dignity, and tolerance. Seun crossed that line, and the backlash that followed was hardly surprising.
History gives us an instructive restraint. Elvis Presley’s children did not spend their lives policing Michael Jackson’s greatness. The heirs of Maradona and Pelé have not taken it upon themselves to diminish Messi or Ronaldo. Legacy does not require belligerence for preservation. Fela’s work speaks loudly enough across time. It requires no defence built on antagonism. If anything, Seun’s task is not to provoke chaos in his father’s name, but to build his own enduring imprint.
Self-belief is not a crime. There is room for self-regard and confident posture. If Wizkid considers himself the best, that is his prerogative. In the same vein, Seun is entitled to believe his father remains unmatched. Both positions are subjective, open to debate, and shaped by personal convictions. What they do not require is insult. What they do not need is name-calling.
Greatness, after all, does not announce itself through outrage. It endures through work, discipline, and dignity.
