06/05/2026
The truth About being an Artist;
In our world, they only see the "God Did" moments. They see you in the clean suit at the wedding, or the video clip on Instagram where the crowd is singing your chorus back to you. They see the glow-up, but they are blind to the “grind”
They don't know about the years you spent in the "face me, i face you" room, sweating under a fan that barely turns, trying to record vocals while the neighbor's generator is screaming outside.
🚦The Weight of Expectations;
In an African home, being an artist is a heavy cross to carry. Your mother asks, "When will you get a real job so you can marry?"
Your father looks at your guitar like it’s a piece of firewood wasting space.
Your cousins are all becoming engineers and nurses, sending money home, while you are still asking for "data money" to upload a song on Audiomack.
The shame feels like “hot lead” in your throat. You start to hide your notebooks. You start to feel like a "black sheep" because you’re chasing a sound while everyone else is chasing a salary.
🚧 The "Pay to Play" Trap
You know the pain of the “empty promises”
The "Big Brother" promoter who says he’ll put you on the bill but stops picking your calls on the day of the show.
The radio DJ who wants a "token" before he plays your track once at 2:00 AM when the whole city is deep asleep.
The "Oga" at the studio who uses your beats but forgets to put your name on the credits.
You walk miles because you spent your last transport fare on a studio session, only for the power to go out (NEPA/PHCN) before you could export the file.
You sit in the dark, hungry, wondering if you are cursed or just stubborn.
🚥The Ancestral Fire
But then, a rhythm hits you. It’s not just a beat, it’s the “pulse of your ancestors” It’s the same spirit that made our people drum until the sun came up.
You realize that your music is not just "entertainment." It is your “testimony”
They want the fruit, but they are afraid of the soil.
👁️🗨️ The Unbreakable Spirit
The African artist doesn't just create, they “survive”
You are the one who turns the sound of the street into a symphony. You turn the hunger in your belly into the fire in your lyrics. You carry the hopes of your street, your village, and your lineage on your vocal cords.
When you finally stand on that world stage, you aren't just singing for yourself. You are singing for every night you ate "soaking" (garri) so you could buy a microphone. You are singing because you refused to let the "NO’s" of men silence the "YES" of your destiny.
# Keep pushing. Your village people are watching, but your God is working.🌍🔥🎙️
