Coupé-Décalé is a high-energy dance and music genre that has roots in Côte d’Ivoire in the early 2000s. It combines influences from Ivorian zouglou dance music, traditional Akoupé rhythms from the Attié people, and the infectious rhythm of Congolese Ndombolo.

The sound was first shaped by a group of Ivorian DJs in Paris — the Jet Set, led by Douk Saga alongside Molaré, Lino Versace, Serge Defalet, Boro Sangui, and others — who brought flamboyance, celebration, and flash to the genre’s early image.

Musically, Coupé-Décalé is built around bright electric guitar riffs played in a percussive style, layered with bass, congas, shakers, and upbeat drum grooves. Synthesizers and keyboards add a melodic touch. The result of this incredible composition is an irresistibly danceable sound that quickly spread beyond Paris to Abidjan and then across Africa’s dance floors.

The genre’s name comes from Noushi, a street slang in Côte d’Ivoire. Coupé means “to cheat” and décalé means “to run away” or “disappear.” Together, the phrase represents a street-smart, hustler’s attitude to outwit the system and celebrate his/her wins.

While Coupé-Décalé originated in the Ivorian diaspora, it found a new home in Congo, a country already known for its vibrant soukous and ndombolo traditions. Its arrival in Congo is linked to cross-cultural exchanges between Ivorian and Congolese artists in Paris and Abidjan.

Congolese audiences connected deeply with Coupé-Décalé’s dance energy and its shared lineage with local rhythms. Over time, Congolese musicians and DJs began incorporating elements of Ndombolo into their sound, resulting in a faster, more electronic hybrid that suited Kinshasa’s evolving nightlife.

By the mid-2000s, Coupé-Décalé and Congolese dance music had a lot of exchanges, influencing each other. As soukous evolved into more digital Ndombolo forms, Coupé-Décalé added a fresh rhythmic vocabulary to Congo’s club culture. Today, the genre remains a staple in major cities like Kinshasa and Brazzaville, where DJs regularly include Coupé-Décalé tracks in their sets, keeping the dance floor alive.

Artists and tracks like Sagacité by Douk Saga, Dosabado by DJ Arafat, and Attalaku Méga by DJ Jacob helped solidify the sound’s popularity across the continent, while Congolese performers like Awilo Longomba continue to merge its signature beats with local flair.

To this day, Coupé-Décalé continues to evolve across Congo’s club and mainstream scenes. Producers are experimenting with faster, beat-driven electronic hybrids that blend with local Ndombolo grooves. Streaming platforms have given the genre new visibility and life, helping DJs and emerging acts in the genre reach wider audiences.

Though its mainstream dominance has slowed in Côte d’Ivoire, Coupé-Décalé remains a vibrant force in Congo’s nightlife — constantly reinvented through remixes, TikTok dance trends, and cross-continental collaborations that keep it alive.

Coupé-Décalé is a high-energy dance and music genre that has roots in Côte d’Ivoire in the early 2000s.

Genre Spotlight: Coupé-Décalé in Congo

This October, Josplay will join hundreds of Africa’s leading music professionals in Pretoria, South Africa, for ACCES 2025 - the Music In Africa Conference for Collaborations, Exchange and Showcases.

ACCES is where the conversations that shape the future of African music happen. From streaming and rights management to artist mobility and creative innovation, it’s the one place where every corner of the industry meets - artists, producers, executives, and technology companies all in one space.

Josplay will be taking part in this year’s edition to contribute to these conversations and to share what we’ve learned building a platform designed to help African artists take control of their music and their earnings. Our focus is simple - to push for a streaming culture that values African creativity fairly and gives listeners the depth and authenticity they deserve.

Representing Josplay at ACCES 2025 is Anu Onasanya, Librarian at the African Music Library and a founding member of Josplay. Anu will play a vital role in Josplay’s engagements at the event, contributing to discussions on how digital platforms can preserve Africa’s sonic heritage while opening new doors for emerging artists.

This marks another step in Josplay’s commitment to a music economy that truly works for African creators - where artistry and ownership are respected, and fans enjoy deeper, more authentic connections to the music they love.

For you, our users, this means more visibility for the artists you love, stronger partnerships across borders, and a deeper library of authentic African music and stories coming to the platform.

We’ll be covering highlights and updates from ACCES in real time.

Follow us on X (Twitter) and Instagram to stay close to the story as it unfolds.

Africa Conference for Collaborations Exchange and Showcases 2025 holding in Pretoria South Africa from October 29 to November 1, 2025

Africa Conference for Collaborations Exchange and Showcases

Josplay joins Africa’s biggest music conversation - ACCES 2025

Dancehall takes its name from Jamaica, where local sound systems played popular records for people in dance halls. The genre emerged in Jamaica in the late 1970s as a more rhythm-driven offshoot of roots reggae, which had dominated through that decade.

A major element of dancehall is its heavy use of Jamaican Patois instead of standard English and its emphasis on the riddim — the instrumental groove that drives the music. Structurally, dancehall typically follows a 4/4 rhythm, meaning there are four bass drum beats in a single bar. The ascended and descended beats from the snare is counted as one, but technically, you would count four strokes, providing the recognizable ka-boom-ka-boom rhythm in dancehall.

By the 1980s, dancehall had taken over Jamaica’s music scene, and in the following decade, its reach expanded through diaspora communities around the world. During the 2010s, as Jamaican music and pop culture influenced more African artists, the sound found a strong foothold in countries such as Nigeria, Ghana, Uganda, and Zimbabwe.

In Nigeria, musicians began blending dancehall’s rhythmic pulse with local languages, melodies, and storytelling to create Afro-dancehall — a homegrown version of the style. This fusion kept the upbeat, party-ready energy of traditional dancehall but added Nigerian lyrical themes, from every day to lifestyle and political issues. Over the years it has become one of the biggest mainstream genres in the country, second to Afrobeats.

Artists such as Timaya, P-Square, Cynthia Morgan, Burna Boy, and Patoranking helped bring the sound into the mainstream, coupled with hits like Julie by Shank, Magician by Ice Prince, Do Me by P-Square, Simati Niya by Cynthia Morgan, Champion by General Pype, Show Me Yuh Rozay by Ketchup, and Girlie O and Alubarika by Patoranking.

Today, Afro-dancehall remains part of Nigeria’s vibrant soundscape. While Afrobeats currently leads the charts, the influence of dancehall continues to show through new artists who use its grooves as a foundation for experimentation.

Rising star King Perryy is one of the standout voices, with his Continental Playlist (2023) surpassing 4 million streams and Niggas from the South (NFTS) (2024) gaining over 2 million Spotify plays, cementing his place among Nigeria’s promising dancehall acts.

The genre's journey in Nigeria continues to show how global sounds evolve through local creativity. By reshaping the Jamaican style into Afro-dancehall and incorporating it into Afrobeats, Nigerian artists have built a creative bridge between the Caribbean and Africa — turning a shared rhythmic heritage into a sound that’s proudly their own.

In Nigeria, musicians are blending dancehall’s rhythmic pulse with local languages, melodies, and storytelling to create Afro-dancehall — a homegrown version of the style

Genre Spotlight: Dancehall in Nigeria

In the heart of Mali, where music intertwines with everyday life, a boy who wasn't meant to sing was born. His name is Salif Keita. He was born in 1949 in the small village of Djoliba, into a royal family linked to Sundiata Keita, the legendary founder of the Mali Empire.

However, Salif's birth came with a mark: albinism, a stigmatized condition. For someone of noble blood, it was said to bring misfortune. Despite his seemingly disadvantaged outward appearance, Salif had an unusual calling: to sing. But royal descendants were expected to lead, not to entertain. Music, in Malian tradition, belonged to the griots, the hereditary caste of storytellers and praise-singers. Making him an outlier!

Yet Salif Keita's voice was extraordinary. It was bright, rich, and full of feeling. It carried centuries of storytelling, pain, and resilience. In his early twenties, he left home for Bamako, and later moved to Côte d'Ivoire. He performed in nightclubs and slowly gained recognition that challenged traditional roles. His rise was a journey of courage, blending traditional Mandé rhythms with modern sounds of jazz, funk, and Afro-pop, creating something entirely his own. Soon, his voice was traveling far beyond Africa, captivating listeners across Europe and the Americas.

A major turning point came in 1987 with the release of “Soro.” When this album hit the airwaves, it was more than just a record; it was a revolution. Produced by the legendary Ibrahima Sylla, the album fused synthesizers, electric guitars, and brass with traditional balafon, kora, and djembe. The sound was both ancient and innovative, a reflection of Africa standing on the edge of modernity. Songs like "Sina," a moving ballad addressed to his father who rejected him for pursuing music, became a defining statement. "Sina" wasn't just a song; it embodied a reconciliation of pain and pride, transforming his personal battle into a universal message about identity and acceptance. Other tracks like "Mandjou" and "Djonga (Slavery)" carried political undertones, speaking to Africa's changing landscape and the struggles of independence. With “Soro,” Salif Keita didn't just release an album; he gave Africa a new sound, one that honored its roots while embracing the world stage.

In the years that followed, Salif Keita kept evolving, becoming a global ambassador for African unity and albino rights advocacy. His later works, like “Moffou" in 2002 and “La Différence" in 2009, deepened his message of peace, dignity, and inclusion. "La Différence," in particular, was a heartfelt declaration that turned his life's struggle into a message of empowerment: "I am black, my skin is white; so what? I am a man, respect me. I am a man, accept me." His music became more than melody; it became medicine.

For anyone who wants to experience the depth of Salif Keita's work, his essential recordings trace an evolution across decades. “Soro" remains his breakout masterpiece, with "Sina," "Souareba," and "Sanni Kegniba" offering the perfect entry point. “Moffou” marked a beautiful acoustic return to roots, featuring unforgettable collaborations like "Yamore" with Cesária Évora and the stirring "Madan." “La Différence” stands as a personal, soulful celebration of identity, with its title track and "Samigna" among the highlights. “Talé,” released in 2012, saw him boldly collaborating with producer Philippe Cohen Solal, blending traditional Malian sounds with modern electronic beats. His 2018 release, “Un Autre Blanc,” served as a farewell album and a touching call for inclusion and human rights. Each record reveals a different facet of Salif Keita's talent: royal, rebel, healer, and teacher.

Today, Salif Keita stands as one of Africa's most revered musical icons, often called "The Golden Voice of Africa." His life story is a testament to the power of art to push boundaries, heal wounds, and unite humanity. Through his journey, we are reminded that sometimes, the greatest voices come from those who were once told to be silent.

Malian Artist Salif Keita, known as the Golden Voice of Africa, turned rejection into rhythm and pain into purpose

Malian Artist Salif Keita

Salif Keita: The Golden Voice that Defied Tradition

The story of Nigerian dance is not written in ballrooms or studios. It's scrawled on the dusty streets of Ajegunle, stamped into the concrete of Agege, and broadcast through the crackling speakers of roadside parties where hope and hardship dance together. For over two decades, Nigeria has birthed dance movements that don't just entertain but they spoke. Each shuffle, stomp, and swagger carries the DNA of the streets that created it, turning personal struggle into collective celebration, one viral sensation at a time.

Galala: The Ghetto Gospel (Late 1990s - Early 2000s)

Before the internet turned dances into overnight phenomena, there was Galala, born in the tight corridors and cramped quarters of Ajegunle, Lagos. This wasn't a dance you learned from YouTube tutorials or choreographed routines. Galala emerged organically from the reggae-soaked streets where artists like Daddy Showkey, Fada U-Turn, and Baba Fryo reigned supreme.

The dance required participants to stomp their feet on either side of the body in quick, steady succession while assuming a bent posture, as if preparing to tackle a bull. It was aggressive, it was raw, and it was real. When Daddy Showkey's music played, bodies bent forward, legs kicked out wildly in all directions, and for those few minutes, the weight of ghetto life lifted just enough to breathe.

Galala drew heavily on reggae music's influence and became a profound expression of struggle and joy among the youth. The dance wasn't just movement; it was resistance, survival, and celebration wrapped into one kinetic package. When you danced Galala, you were claiming space, declaring existence, shouting to the world that despite everything, you were still here, still moving, still alive.

If Galala was rebellion, Swo was its quirky younger sibling. Popularized by Marvelous Benjy and later amplified by the duo Danfo Drivers (Mad Melon and Mountain Black), Swo brought a different energy to Nigerian dance floors. The dance required participants to squat while opening and closing their knees and thighs, with hands rolling around in coordination.

The movements were so distinct that observers couldn't help but draw comparisons to someone trying to start a generator; that pulling, stretching motion familiar to anyone who'd ever lived through Nigeria's power challenges. It was comedy and commentary in equal measure, turning everyday frustration into dance floor gold. Swo didn't last as long as Galala, but it laid important groundwork, proving that Nigerian dance could be both technically interesting and deeply relatable.

Yahoozee: Money, Controversy, and Contradictions (2007-2009)

Then came 2007, and with it, a dance that would prove more controversial than any before it. Olu Maintain's "Yahoozee" didn't just become a hit, it became a cultural flashpoint. Released in late 2007 when internet fraud was just beginning to entrench its roots within the young demographic, the song celebrated "yahoo boys," the mostly elusive cyber criminals who were becoming something resembling street gods in urban neighborhoods and clubs.

The dance itself was deceptively simple: hands with fingers spread, mimicking someone flinging money in the air, a nod to Nigeria's extravagant party culture where "spraying" cash is part of celebration. What made Yahoozee fascinating and troubling was how it blurred moral lines. Here was a dance glorifying cybercrime, yet it became so ubiquitous that even Gospel Tungba musician Yinka Ayefele incorporated it into his church- and moral-like music.

Yahoozee gained international prominence when Olu Maintain performed it at London's Royal Albert Hall during the Africa Rising Festival of 2008, where former US Secretary of State Colin Powell joined him on stage to do the dance. The moment crystallized something essential about Nigerian dance: its ability to transcend its origins and become something larger, even as it carried those origins in every gesture.

If there was ever a dance that perfectly captured the phrase "organized chaos," it was Alanta. Released in 2008 by the duo Artquake, though claims exist that it was originally made in the early 2000s by an obscure Ajegunle musician named Peter Alanta, who originated the titular dance. Regardless of its contested origins, Alanta became massive between 2008 and 2009.

The dance involved raising shoulders with elbows turned outwards, hands with fingers spread beating a rhythm as if scratching the air or fanning out a fire, while legs were raised one after the other. The facial expressions were crucial: twisted, contorted, as if something was terribly wrong. The song's chorus captured it perfectly: "e be like fire dey burn my body" (it feels like fire is burning my body).

The dance evoked the image of a display by a lunatic on the street, as depicted in the music video where a Pentecostal pastor is in the middle of a deliverance session with a young lady who breaks into dancing the Alanta. It was theatrical, slightly unhinged, and absolutely addictive. Alanta didn't ask for dignity, it reveled in abandon.

The Azonto Invasion & Skelewu's Brief Reign (2012-2013)

The early 2010s saw Nigerian dance spaces temporarily colonized by Azonto, a Ghanaian import that Nigerian artists quickly claimed and amplified. Wizkid became one of its primary ambassadors, reportedly teaching the dance to Chris Brown in the United States. It was a moment of pan-African dance unity, even if Nigerians would forever debate whether they did Azonto better than its Ghanaian originators.

During this period, Iyanya brought Etighi from Akwa Ibom to national consciousness with his hit "Kukere" in 2012. The southern Nigerian dance emphasized graceful hip movements and controlled swaying, offering a smoother alternative to the aggressive street dances from Lagos.

In 2013, Davido attempted to create his signature dance with "Skelewu." While it didn't take off on a massive scale initially, it gained new life when MC Galaxy created an offshoot requiring dancers to move to the side while still doing the Skelewu movements, calling this variation "Sekem". To this day, many Nigerians can't quite tell where Skelewu ends and Sekem begins; the lines remain beautifully, confusingly blurred.

When Lil Kesh dropped "Shoki" in 2014, he didn't just release a song; he unleashed a phenomenon. The dance required participants to bend as if picking up an item from the floor, then rise back up with a flick of the hand, while the footwork involved basic alternate stamping. The movements resembled martial arts, with one hand stretched out palm-up, then turning palm-down while covering one eye with the other hand.

The song faced immediate controversy when the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission temporarily banned it for what they deemed suggestive and obscene content. But censorship only fed the fire. Shoki became one of the longest reigning dance steps, lasting for almost three years. Its longevity was remarkable in an industry where viral dances typically burned bright and fast.

International recognition came when Ciara danced Shoki during her trip to Nigeria, cementing its status as a dance that had truly crossed over. For three years, at every party, every club, every street corner, someone was doing Shoki. It became the baseline, the standard, the move you had to know.

Shakiti Bobo & The Dab Intermission (2015-2016)

In August 2015, Olamide, street pop's most consistent hitmaker, introduced "Shakiti Bobo." The dance borrowed elements from Sekem's side-to-side footwork while adding distinctive shoulder pumps. It was quintessentially Olamide: street-smart, catchy, and designed to get bodies moving without overthinking the technique.

Around the same time, Nigeria experienced what some called a "dance intermission" with the arrival of the Dab from the United States. The gesture, tucking one's head into the armpit, swept through Nigeria with the force of an import craze. It wasn't homegrown, but Nigerians adopted and adapted it with characteristic enthusiasm, proof that the dance conversation was now genuinely global.

Shaku Shaku: The Agege Revolution (2016-2018)

Shaku Shaku emerged on the mainstream scene in 2017, thanks to Olamide, though it had been a rave in Agege for about two years before breaking nationwide. The dance was elegant in its simplicity: cross your arms in front of your body, move them around your waist, shuffle the outside of your feet to a 1-2-3-4 rhythm. But don't let the simplicity fool you; doing Shaku Shaku with style required mastering the subtle head movements and body language that separated the amateurs from the experts.

Shaku Shaku leaned on the guttural arrangement of gqom, South Africa's traditional electronic dance music, creating something that felt both distinctly Nigerian and internationally connected. Songs like "Legbegbe" by Mr Real, "Shepeteri" by Idowest ft. Slimcase, and "Oshozondi" by DJ Sidez Ft. Slimcase x Masta T became the soundtrack to a movement.

The dance received unexpected global validation when Nigerian footballers showcased it during international matches, and even members of the French national team, with its majority-Black contingent, performed Shaku Shaku at the 2018 World Cup. For a brief moment, a dance born in an ordinary Lagos neighborhood was being celebrated on the world's biggest sporting stage.

Zanku: The Legwork Revolution (2018-2020)

Just when Nigeria thought it had found its rhythm with Shaku Shaku, Zlatan Ibile emerged from Agege with something fiercer: Zanku. The name stands as an acronym for "Zlatan Abegi No Kill Us", a playful plea that captured both the dance's intensity and the artist's emerging dominance.

Zanku first appeared in Zlatan's video for "Jogor" in August 2018, featuring Lil Kesh and Naira Marley, but it was Chinko Ekun's "Able God" in October 2018 that gave the dance ample berth. The song, featuring Zlatan and Lil Kesh, became a street anthem with its triumphalist theme of "no more insufficient funds."

Performing Zanku requires arching your upper body forward and stomping on the ground rapidly, creating a delightful rhythm, while showing controlled anger—not real fury, but a pretense of it—with intermittent chest thrusts known as "Gbe Body E". The dance was more physically demanding than Shaku Shaku, requiring better coordination and more energy.

While Shaku Shaku leaned on the guttural arrangement of gqom, Zanku was less frenzied, subsuming the formulaic yet rhythmical drumming patterns of typical Nigerian music into its core. On Burna Boy's collaboration "Killin Dem," Zlatan boldly rapped that he had introduced Zanku and dealt the death blow to Shaku Shaku and he wasn't entirely wrong.

In summer 2020, Beyoncé performed a perfectly synchronized Zanku-inspired routine in her video for "Already" with Shatta Wale, causing the Nigerian internet to lose its collective mind. Zlatan's response was characteristically humble: "I wasn't surprised because we are all one race... I'm just grateful that something I created served as the bridge."

Looking back across these decades of movement, certain patterns emerge. Nigerian dance has always been more than entertainment, it's been documentation. Each dance captures a specific moment in Nigerian youth culture: Galala's defiant survival, Yahoozee's moral ambiguity, Shoki's pure abandon, Zanku's controlled aggression.

The last decade of dance innovation in Nigeria has largely been defined by improvisations anchored on life in Lagos' many gritty hoods. These aren't dances created by professional choreographers in studios. They're street-born, organically developed, collectively refined movements that speak to the lived experiences of young Nigerians navigating poverty, aspiration, joy, and frustration.

What's remarkable is the cycle's consistency: a dance emerges from the streets, gets picked up by an artist who gives it a soundtrack, goes viral, dominates for months or years, then gracefully (or not so gracefully) makes way for the next movement. Each generation thinks their dance will last forever. None do. But together, they create an ongoing archive of Nigerian youth culture, stored not in museums but in muscle memory, passed down through Instagram videos and party demonstrations.

These dances have taken Nigerian culture global, from Colin Powell at Royal Albert Hall to Beyoncé's choreographed videos, but they've never lost their essential character. They remain rooted in the streets that birthed them, carrying the accent of Ajegunle, the swagger of Agege, the hustle of Lagos' margins.

The next viral dance is probably being perfected right now on some corner in Lagos or Nigeria, by someone who doesn't yet know they're creating the next cultural phenomenon. And when it drops, Nigerians will do what they've always done: learn it, share it, make it their own, and dance like the music will never stop.

Because in Nigeria, as long as there's a beat, there will be a dance. And as long as there's struggle, hope, and the unshakeable need to celebrate survival, the streets will keep speaking: one shuffle, stomp, and swagger at a time.

The story of Nigerian dance is not written in ballrooms or studios but on the streets of Lagos

Viral Nigerian Dance Movements Through Two Decades: What is Next?

Viral Nigerian Dance Movements Through Two Decades: What is Next?

The genre Mbalax is deeply rooted in traditional Wolof Sabar drumming, a rhythmic tradition performed at community gatherings, naming ceremonies, and other social events in Wolof communities. The word itself, pronounced Mbalakh, comes from the Wolof language and originally referred to a specific rhythm within the Sabar drumming repertoire.

In the 1970s and 1980s, Senegalese artists began experimenting with this traditional sound, blending Sabar rhythms with Afro-Cuban music, jazz, funk, and later, soul. This period of innovation revealed the creative range and adaptability of Senegalese artists, who turned a community rhythm into a modern sound that resonated with both the local and continental audiences.

At the center of this transformation was the Grammy-winning Youssou N’Dour. His music stayed deeply connected to Wolof traditions while introducing Western instruments such as electric guitars, drum kits, and keyboards.

Tracks like Baaba Maal’s Gilli Men, Set by Youssou N’Dour & Super Étoile de Dakar (2013) and 7 Seconds with Swedish singer-songwriter Neneh Cherry showcase Mbalax’s appealing sounds and rhythms, blending Wolof tradition with global influences.

Other artists who helped shape and popularize the Mbalax sound include Baaba Maal, Pape Diouf, Thione Seck, Ismaël Lô, and Viviane Chidid. Each brought their own interpretation to the genre, expanding its reach.

Mbalax instrumentation typically features the tama (talking drum), sabar drums, traditional melodic instruments like the Kora, drum kits, guitars, and electric keyboards. The sound is defined by fast-paced, syncopated rhythms and frequent use of call-and-response vocals, and its use to mobilize people in political rallies, also making it a tool for social commentary and national pride.

Today, Mbalax remains a vital part of Senegal’s musical core. While it continues to hold cultural importance, a new generation of artists is experimenting with it, blending it with hip-hop, R&B, and electronic sounds to create a fresh hybrid sound. This evolution has led to a more fluid musical ecosystem in Senegal, where tradition and modernity thrive together.

To show Mbalax’s dominance in Senegal’s mainstream music scene, about 40% of the country’s Top 40 songs on Popnable in 2024 were Mbalax tracks — making it the most represented genre. The remaining spots were shared among hip-hop, Afropop, R&B, and a few traditional styles.

Mbalax tracks like Loy Diaay by Ngaaka Blinde featuring One Lyrical and Cool Lams reflect this continuity and innovation by Senegalese artists. By mixing traditional Wolof drumming with hip-hop elements, these artists demonstrate the ever-present creative spirit of Senegalese musicians and the ongoing dialogue between the past and the present.

Mbalax stands as one of Senegal’s most powerful cultural exports — a genre that connects deep Wolof traditions with the fire of modern music, and its evolution has shown how Senegalese artists balance heritage and innovation.

Mbalax is defined by fast-paced, syncopated rhythms, frequent use of call-and-response vocals, and its use in political rallies.

Genre Spotlight: Mbalax in Senegal

Genre Spotlight: Mbalax in Senegal

When we talk about the biggest African music collaboration ever, we're not just counting streams or chart positions. We're looking at cultural impact, cross-border unity, and the power to truly transform how the world sees African music.

Our journey begins where West Africa meets South, a partnership that has consistently produced continental anthems. When Ice Prince and AKA (deceased) joined forces on "N Word" back in 2014, they weren't just making a song; they were constructing a bridge between Nigerian hip-hop's braggadocio and South Africa's kwaito-influenced swagger. The track's bilingual flows—English seamlessly switching between Nigerian Pidgin and South African slang—created a template for how artists from different regions could maintain their authentic voices while building something entirely new.

This blueprint evolved into the amapiano-Afrobeats fusion we hear today. When Kabza De Small and DJ Maphorisa brought Nigerian artists into the amapiano fold, they didn't dilute either sound. Instead, tracks like their collaboration with Wizkid and Burna Boy on Sponono proved that South Africa's log drum patterns and Nigeria's infectious melodies could coexist, each element amplifying the other. This cross-pollination set the stage for even more ambitious partnerships that would soon capture global attention.

The collaborations that followed rewrote the rules entirely. When Essence by Wizkid and Tems caught fire in 2020—before Justin Bieber even touched the remix—it was African artists driving global culture on their own terms. The song's success wasn't about featuring a Western star; it was about the undeniable chemistry between Wizkid's laid-back delivery and Tems' ethereal vocals, creating something the world couldn't ignore. By the time Bieber hopped on the remix in 2021, he was joining their wave, not the other way around.

Similarly, when Fireboy DML and Ed Sheeran crafted Peru, the magic lay in how Fireboy maintained his Afrobeats essence while Sheeran adapted his pop sensibilities to the rhythm, not the other way around. The remix topped charts across Europe and proved that African artists could collaborate with global superstars as equals—creative partners, not grateful guests. These partnerships forged entirely new fan communities worldwide, with American teens learning Yoruba phrases and European festival crowds mastering Afrobeats dance moves. This was African music reshaping global pop culture in real-time.

Yet the story doesn't end in Lagos or Johannesburg. East Africa has been quietly building its own collaborative ecosystem that deserves equal recognition. Diamond Platnumz's work with artists across the continent, from Nigeria's Davido to South Africa's Focalistic, has made Bongo Flava a pan-African language. His 2021 collaboration with Focalistic and Mapara A Jazz on "Mapozi" blended Tanzania's Swahili flows with South African amapiano in a way that felt organic, not forced. Tanzania's Zuchu and Nigeria's Joeboy "Nobody" created a cross-regional love anthem that dominated streaming in both regions, proving that East-West collaborations can match the commercial success of any South-North partnership. The song's success opened doors for more Swahili-language tracks to gain traction in traditionally Anglophone markets, further expanding the definition of what African music collaboration could achieve.

These collaborations have also fundamentally changed the economics of African music. Before 2015, African artists typically earned very little from streaming. Today, Afrobeats playlists boast of millions of followers, and international record labels are eager to sign African talent. When Wizkid's "Essence" became the first Nigerian song to chart on the Billboard Hot 100, it wasn't just a personal achievement for him; it also validated African music as commercially viable on the global stage. This success led to publishing deals, touring revenues, and brand partnerships, resulting in sustainable careers for artists who previously relied solely on local performances. This economic transformation has empowered a new generation of artists to invest in their craft and connect with audiences they once thought were out of reach.

Some collaborations transcend typical success and become historical markers that define entire eras. "Jerusalema" by Master KG and Nomcebo Zikode didn't just top charts; it became the soundtrack to a global pandemic. Released in 2019 but exploding worldwide in 2020, "Jerusalema" offered something the lockdown world desperately needed: joy. The song's gospel-inflected house beat and Nomcebo's soaring Zulu vocals carried a message of faith and resilience that transcended language barriers. When the #JerusalemaDanceChallenge went viral, we saw healthcare workers, police officers, and families all around the world dancing in unison to South African music. Priests blessed congregations with it, and couples choose it for their first dance.

This wasn't just viral marketing; it was African music providing genuine comfort during humanity's darkest modern moment. "Jerusalema" proved that African artists didn't need to sing in English or mimic Western sounds to achieve global resonance. Authenticity, it turned out, was the most universal language of all. The song has since accumulated over 500 million views on YouTube and streams across every continent, but its true impact can't be measured in numbers. It fundamentally shifted how the world perceived African music, from exotic novelty to essential soundtrack.

No conversation about African music collaboration is complete without acknowledging North Africa's contributions and the thriving Francophone scene that often flies under the radar of mainstream coverage. For example, Algerian-born Miraa May teamed up with South African producer Jaydon Lewis and DJ Lady Du on the track, Don't you see freestyle (Pt. 2), blending amapiano with Algerian influences. Meanwhile, the Francophone African music scene is gradually building its own collaborative networks. For instance, the Ivorian coupé-décalé artists have not yet begun to actively collaborate with Cameroonian musicians; they are sampling their music. These samples seldom receive attention in Anglophone media, yet they are reshaping African music from within.

We also have the Francophone collaborating with their Anglophone counterparts. A notable example is Congolese rapper Ninho collaborating with Ayra Starr on "No Love." This collaboration showcases how linguistic and regional barriers can be overcome in the name of music, demonstrating that the spirit of collaboration extends well beyond the most prominent partnerships.

So what's the biggest African music collaboration ever? It's not one song or one partnership. It's the ongoing conversation between artists across 54 countries and thousands of ethnic groups. It's the cumulative effect of these creative exchanges, each one teaching the world something new about African excellence. The biggest collaboration is the collective movement: Nigerian producers learning amapiano production techniques from Johannesburg, Ghanaian artists incorporating Bongo Flava rhythms, Senegalese rappers jumping on Afrobeats remixes, and Ethiopian jazz musicians sampling contemporary Lagos sounds. It's Burna Boy shouting out Fela Kuti and Lucky Dube in the same breath. It's the young producer in Nairobi who grew up on Nigerian Afrobeats now creating the next hybrid genre.

These artists aren't just making music; they're collectively redefining what African music means in the 21st century. They demonstrate that Africa is not a single sound but a collection of sounds, each valuable and deserving of global attention. The real winners are those whose collaborative spirit is propelling African music to be the fastest-growing genre globally, with streaming numbers increasing by over 500% in the past five years. This isn't a trend or a moment; it's a fundamental shift in global music culture, with African artists at the center rather than the margins.

And perhaps most excitingly, the biggest collaboration ever hasn't happened yet. It's waiting to be recorded in a studio in Kigali, Accra, or Luanda, ready to surprise us all and redefine African music once more. The question isn't which collaboration was biggest, but which one will be next. What African music collaboration changed your perspective on the continent's creative power? The conversation continues, add your voice.

What's the BIGGEST African music collaboration of all time? The answer might surprise you.

The Biggest African Music Collaboration Ever is ...

Singeli is one of Tanzania’s most electrifying contemporary sounds. Originating with the Zaramo people in Mtogole, a neighborhood in Dar es Salaam’s Tandale ward, it emerged in the mid-2000s as a local ngoma music and dance style. Singeli blends traditional and modern influences, where an MC performs over fast-paced taarab-inspired instrumentals that can reach up to 300 beats per minute.

During performances, women often compete in a captivating dance style known as chura, creating a vibrant back-and-forth between rhythm and movement.

Singeli music incorporates a variety of elements like Taarab's melody, Kwaito's bounce, and Tanzania's hip-hop. Male MCs typically lean toward high-tempo rap deliveries, while female MCs often perform kwaya-style vocals, adding contrast and texture to the genre’s fast rhythm.

At the center, Singeli shows the Urban youth culture of Dar es Salaam. The lyrics are sung in Swahili, touching everyday struggles, humor, and social realities of the street, becoming a form of both expression and escape for Tanzania’s younger generation.

However, recently, the sound has evolved from initially being a socially outcast music genre to becoming one of the major musical exports of Tanzania, possibly second only to Bongo flava.

In 2018, producer Bamba Pana released Poaa on the Ugandan label Nyege Nyege Tapes — a nine-track project of hyper-fast, abrasive beats that pushed Singeli’s boundaries. Some standout experimentation was on Naona Laaah by Duke, who layered an avalanche of radio snippets in the song. These experimental takes, though sometimes overwhelming, showcase Singeli’s creativity.

Other staple collaborations include Jay Mitta’s Tatizo Pesa featuring 15-year-old Dogo Mjanja, and Bamba Pana’s Lingalinga with veteran MC Makaveli.

In May 2025, Tanzania’s Minister for Information, Culture, Arts, and Sports, Prof. Palamagamba Kabudi, announced that Singeli’s nomination dossier had been officially submitted to UNESCO for recognition as part of the nation’s intangible cultural heritage. Crediting it as an identity marker, comparing it to a potential global influence on reggae in Jamaica or Amapiano in South Africa.

Beyond Tanzania, Singeli’s sound has become a favorite at East African and international festivals, with artists like DJ Sisso and Maiko performing at events such as Nyege Nyege (Uganda), DUO Festival (Belgium), Primavera Sound (Spain), Apporlibation (Germany), and Cora Festival (France). Their performances have introduced global audiences to the fast sound that is distinctly Tanzanian.

Although the genre has grown mainstream, it still faces challenges as it grows internationally. From limited infrastructure and production resources to the need for greater industry recognition and global-standard support systems, Singeli continues to expand and carry the creativity and pulse of Dar es Salaam.

Singeli is one of Tanzania’s most electrifying contemporary sounds.

Genre Spotlight: Singeli Music in Tanzania

When people think of Africa’s music capitals, Lagos, Johannesburg, and Accra often steal the spotlight. Their rhythms and artists dominate global charts, from Afrobeats to Amapiano. But quietly, another city has been shaping its own story, drawing talent, investment, and international ears in ways that are impossible to ignore. That city is Nairobi.

For years, Kenya’s capital has been the beating heart of East Africa’s cultural scene. Its mix of languages, its street energy, and its cosmopolitan pulse have created fertile ground for a sound that refuses to be boxed in. Nairobi has long been home to genres like gengetone, kapuka, and benga, but what makes its rise as a hub compelling is how these local sounds are colliding with Afrobeats, hip hop, EDM, and reggae to form something truly global.

Streaming numbers from the city are on the rise, with Kenyan artists finding new audiences across Africa and beyond. International collaborations are no longer rare—producers and DJs from London, Lagos, and New York are flying in, drawn to the city’s creative energy and its ever-growing festival culture. Blankets and Wine, Nyege Nyege (just across the border in Uganda), and a wave of underground showcases have turned Nairobi into a must-visit stop on Africa’s live music circuit.

The city’s youth are the drivers of this movement, blending digital savvy with raw creativity. Platforms like YouTube, TikTok, Josplay, and Spotify are amplifying voices that might once have stayed underground, while Nairobi’s studios are becoming laboratories where East Africa’s next big sounds are born.

If Lagos is the engine of Afrobeats and Johannesburg the soul of Amapiano, Nairobi is becoming the laboratory of fusion—where boundaries blur, traditions reinvent themselves, and the future of African music feels wide open. For those watching closely, the shift is clear: Nairobi is not just catching up. It’s leading a new wave.

A new city is quietly rising to claim its place on Africa’s music map.

The African City Becoming the Next Music Hub ...

The African City Becoming the Next Music Hub …

Baladi, meaning “of the country” in Arabic, is one of Egypt’s most popular and deeply rooted urban folk styles. Originating from working-class neighborhoods in Cairo, it was tied from the start to everyday social life—weddings, street celebrations, community festivals, and small gatherings—and became inseparable from belly dance.

The sound is carried by percussion and melody, with the tabla (goblet drum), riq (tambourine), ney (reed flute), and accordion/violin making up its sound composition. The steady rhythms of the drums and the improvised lines of the flute and melodic instruments create an intuitive call for dancers to respond to.

Today, Baladi continues to exist in both its pure form and through modern fusions. Belly dancers across Egypt and around the world continue to perform traditional Baladi music, keeping the dialogue between music and dance alive in Egyptian culture.

At the same time, the style appears in mainstream spaces, particularly at events like the annual Callia Festival in Egypt, where Baladi takes center stage through performances by Callia master teachers who bring both traditional and experimental interpretations each year. This balance of continuity and reinvention has helped the genre stay visible in Egypt's cultural landscape.

That experimental spirit has grown more adventurous in recent years. In 2025, Baladi is not only performed in its traditional form but also fused with global sounds

Recent productions such as AFRONOM, ASLN & Timor Jana’s Baladi (Arabic Afro House) demonstrate how the music can enter club culture while still carrying the cultural essence and expression. These experiments have introduced Baladi to younger audiences and international listeners, giving the style new life outside of its usual settings.

Yet, at the root of it, Baladi remains what it has always been: the music of the people, deeply in sync with Cairo's pulse, sustaining belly dance as an art form, carrying Egyptian identity forward through both preservation and reinvention.

Baladi, meaning “of the country” in Arabic, is one of Egypt’s most popular and deeply rooted urban folk styles

Baladi Music in Egypt

Genre Spotlight: Baladi Music (Egypt)

On a hot afternoon in Havana, the beat of drums fills the air. The rhythms are sharp, insistent, and yet playful. A circle gathers—singers clap in unison, voices rise and fall in call-and-response, and two dancers step into the center. She teases with swift, graceful steps; he lunges forward, playful, almost mischievous. The crowd erupts with laughter, claps, and cheers. This is Rumba: a music dance genre born of resilience, memory, and survival. Yet its story begins long before Havana. Its heartbeat is African.

When enslaved Africans were forced across the Atlantic, they carried more than endurance for brutal labor, they carried memory. In the rhythms of their drums, the chants of their ceremonies, and the sway of their dances lived fragments of a homeland. On Cuban soil, those fragments collided with Spanish colonial culture. European guitars and melodies intertwined with African polyrhythms, producing something new yet rooted in memory. In Havana and Matanzas during the late 19th century, that something became Rumba.

Unlike the ballroom dances of the colonial elite, Rumba was the people’s art. It was performed in docks, courtyards, and street corners. The instruments spoke of adaptation: the cajón, a wooden box turned drum when African drums were forbidden; the congas, made from barrels; and the claves, two sticks whose clicking rhythm became the heartbeat of Afro-Cuban music. Voices lifted in playful call-and-response, while dancers gave the rhythm shape. Yambú moved with grace, Guaguancó teased with its flirtatious vacunao, and Columbia burst with improvisation and athletic energy. Each style carried not just entertainment, but heritage.

Decades later, the sound that was born in Cuba began another journey. By the 1940s and 1950s, Cuban records and radio waves crossed the ocean to Africa. In Kinshasa and Brazzaville, the music was at once exotic and deeply familiar. Listeners heard in Rumba the echoes of ancestral rhythms. Congolese musicians began to imitate Cuban songs, even singing the Spanish lyrics phonetically, but quickly reshaped them with local languages, new rhythms, and their own stories.

From this reinvention, Congolese Rumba was born. It grew into a cultural force, the soundtrack of African independence movements in the 1960s. Franco Luambo Makiadi, Tabu Ley Rochereau, Papa Wemba, and groups like Zaïko Langa Langa transformed Rumba again, carrying it into Soukous, a fast-paced, guitar-driven style that electrified dancefloors across the continent. In a full-circle moment, the music of Africa’s children returned to the motherland, reborn and renewed.

Today, Rumba belongs to the world. In 2016, UNESCO recognized Cuban Rumba as part of humanity’s intangible cultural heritage. Five years later, Congolese Rumba earned the same recognition, affirming its place as a bridge between continents and histories. From Havana’s patios to Kinshasa’s nightclubs, the beat of the drums continues to call, and dancers continue to answer.

The journey of Rumba is a testament to survival and reinvention. It reminds us that culture cannot be silenced and that rhythm holds memory. Born in Cuba, carried back to Africa, and celebrated worldwide, Rumba is both Cuban and African, ancient and modern, local and global. And as long as the drums echo across oceans, they carry a timeless truth: music always finds its way home.

Rumba is a Cuban music and dance style with deep West African roots.

Rumba: The Dance that Left Africa, Found a Home in Cuba, and Returned to the Motherland

Gradually, 2025 edges toward its last quarter, and African artists have given us a year to remember. Records were broken, new ones set, stages sold out, award shelves filled, and playlists across the globe flooded with Afrobeats, Amapiano, Bongo Flava, and beyond. The big question remains, who really topped the streaming charts this year?

Before we crown the leader, let’s revisit the sounds that kept us grooving in 2025.

From Wizkid’s “Kese (Dance)” riding waves of global playlists, to Burna Boy’s catalog powerhouses like “Last Last” still pulling millions daily, and Tems stacking more billions thanks to features and singles, the heavyweights remained untouchable. Davido’s Timeless era still poured in strong numbers, while Ayra Starr’s fresh run with “Santa” and “Rush” cemented her as a playlist darling.

But 2025 wasn’t just about the familiar names. Viral moments and unexpected anthems gave us some of the year’s defining sounds:

“Shake It To The Max (FLY)” by Moliy, Silent Addy, (feat. Skillibeng & Shenseea) — a dance challenge turned streaming machine, with remixes boosting it past 325 million Spotify streams and TikTok pushing it to every corner of the globe.

“Laho” by Shallipopi — proof that local languages travel; this Bini-language anthem racked up 30 million Spotify streams by mid-2025 and became a Nigerian street hit gone global.

“My Darling” by Chella — the bouncy groove that crossed generations. It hit 47.8 million Spotify streams and more than 90 million on YouTube Music, while topping the Official Nigeria Top 100 with 2.8M on-demand weekly plays.

“Nairobi” by Marioo (ft. Bien) — Bongo Flava’s gift to the continent this year, spotlighting East Africa’s growing dominance on TikTok and streaming playlists.

“Venus” by Fcaeless (ft. Serotonin) — one of 2025’s most TikTok-friendly tracks, its viral dance challenges turned it into a global crossover smash.

These songs underline what 2025 has taught us: TikTok virality, remixes with cross-border collaborators, and language authenticity are just as important as catalogue strength.

The Top 3 Most Streamed African Artists of 2025 (Spotify, all-credits, as of Sept 25, 2025)

Chasing close: Davido (~3.01B) and Ayra Starr (~2.97B).

On a final note, African music in 2025 is bigger, bolder, and more diverse than ever. Whether it’s a global superstar racking up billions or a breakout viral anthem climbing week by week, one thing is certain: the world is still pressing play on Africa.

As the year winds down, we crown the most streamed African artist of 2025 and spotlight the songs that defined the sound of the continent.

The Most Streamed African Artist of 2025 is

The Most Streamed African Artist of 2025 is …

Across Africa, a calabash plays many roles. Sometimes as an eating plate, drinking bowl, storage container, and even a musical instrument like the Ṣẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀, Kora, Ngoni, and the Balafon, all from West Africa. Likewise, among the Xhosa people of South Africa, the calabash found a musical place: the resonating chamber of the uhadi, a musical bow whose very name evokes depth. In isiXhosa, uhadi refers not only to a deep hollow but also to the fullness of a woman’s breast, a fitting metaphor since the curve and size of the gourd shape the sound of the bow itself.

The uhadi has always been more than wood, string, and calabash. It is a cultural treasure most often held by women. For generations, Xhosa women have been the makers, players, and keepers of this instrument. They fashioned the bow themselves, measured it to the length of their own arms, and fitted the gourd so that it rested comfortably against the body when played.

The story of the Uhadi begins much earlier, with the San people, the original hunter-gatherers of Southern Africa. The San carried bows for hunting, but they also discovered another use for them: music. By attaching a calabash to the bow, the soft pluck of the string grew into a voice-like resonance. Over time, the Khoisan refined this instrument, and the Xhosa made it their own, choosing wood from the umbangandhlela tree, a species native to the Eastern Cape, to shape the bow. The uhadi also has a cousin among the Zulu, known as the umkhweyana. Both instruments share the same basic idea: a wooden bow, a string, and a resonating gourd. However, they differ in design. On the uhadi, the gourd is attached to the side of the bow and tends to be larger, while the Zulu version places a smaller gourd at the center. These subtle differences give each instrument a distinct tone and style, reflecting the uniqueness of each culture.

What truly gives the uhadi its voice, however, is the calabash. Without it, the instrument produces only a faint tone, but when pressed gently against the player’s breast, the gourd resonates and amplifies the sound, turning a single plucked string into something that seems to breathe with life. Even the size of the calabash was once measured against a woman’s breast, ensuring not only sound quality but comfort while playing. In this way, the instrument’s design carries a deep intimacy, rooted in both practicality and symbolism.

Traditionally, women used the uhadi to accompany songs about everyday life. Some songs carried place names, mapping memory into melody. Others told stories of journeys, events, or topical happenings. The bow’s simple design of just wood, string, and gourd belies the depth of expression it could carry, from haunting tones to rhythmic accompaniment.

In many ways, the uhadi is more than an instrument. It is the story of how the San’s hunting bow transformed into a cultural tool, how women became its guardians, and how a calabash — humble, ordinary, yet deeply symbolic — could hold the resonance of a people’s voice. Even today, the sound of the uhadi is a reminder that music is not just about entertainment. It is about roots, memory, and the quiet but enduring power of women who have kept this tradition alive for centuries.

The uhadi is more than a bow of wood, string, and calabash.

The Story of the Uhadi

At the beginning of 2025, Cameroon welcomed Nigerian Afrobeats and hip-hop star Odumodublvck, a sign of how Afrobeats has carved out space in the country. The wave of change had already been slightly felt earlier, in 2022, when Libianca’s breakout hit People put Cameroon in the spotlight with raw, emotional storytelling about depression and loneliness. The song sparked conversations across the continent and suggested that there might be a new player on the table in the Afrobeats conversation.

It’s also worth noting that Cameroonian artists have been making their own mark in Afrobeats for years. Since 2018, names like Rhamani and Salatiel have consistently released Afrobeats tracks that earned regional traction. Rhamani’s Legedis has passed 1.5 million streams, while Salatiel’s Water featuring Pharrell Williams and Beyoncé has also crossed 50 million streams. These releases prove that Cameroon has been part of the Afrobeats wave long before collaborations became the main strategy.

But, for the past two years, debates over Afrobeats in Cameroon have been intense. Some clamored for banning Nigerian Afrobeats altogether because of its overwhelming dominance of local airwaves. However, instead of pushing back, Cameroonian artists have chosen to collaborate. Names like Ko-c, Libianca, and Mr. Leo are working with Nigerian and other African stars to reach audiences beyond Cameroon and the Francophone world.

The argument that homegrown genres are being overshadowed doesn’t fully hold today. Platforms like Josplay Music, Spotify, and Apple Music have reshaped listening habits, giving fans access to a wide range of sounds. For artists, the real challenge is learning to leverage these platforms through smart collaborations and visibility tools like playlists, which also help preserve and showcase local styles.For artists, the real challenge is learning to leverage these platforms through smart collaborations and genre, music and artist visibility tools like playlists, which also help preserve and showcase local styles

One striking example is Ko-c’s collaboration with Patoranking, produced by MasterKraft, which blends Afrobeats with Igbo traditional elements. The track Credit Alert has already crossed 1.3 million streams on Spotify, showing how cross-border creativity can resonate with many people.

Still, Afrobeats in Cameroon occupy a complicated space. On one hand, the genre is loved by artists and fans. But on the other hand, critics say its rise has overshadowed homegrown sounds such as Makossa and Bikutsi, slowing their promotion and innovation.

Others argue that Nigerian Afrobeats may not even be consumed as heavily in Cameroon as people assume; the bigger challenge lies in weak local support systems. Many Cameroonian artists struggle with limited promotion and inconsistent fan backing, which prevents even high-quality songs from gaining the momentum they deserve.

The main problem is not about talent but about support and infrastructure. Concert attendance, streaming numbers, and fan engagement often fall short, leaving artists without the momentum needed to compete regionally and internationally.

For Cameroonian Afrobeats and Afropop to thrive, the industry will need to double down on smart marketing, stronger promotion, and collaborations with artists who have already attained a level of global reach.

Cameroon has been part of the Afrobeats wave long before collaborations became the main strategy.

Genre Spotlight: Afrobeats in Cameroon

Let’s be honest—African women in music aren’t just breaking the rules, they’re rewriting the whole playbook. From Lagos to Johannesburg, Nairobi to Accra, these powerhouse performers are shaking tables, setting trends, and putting the world on notice. The question would have been: who’s doing it best? But rather we choose to celebrate each person’s uniqueness in no particular order.

Tems (Nigeria): The soulful rebel who turned vulnerability into a global sound. Grammy in hand, yet still moving like she’s got nothing to prove.

Ayra Starr (Nigeria): The “Sabi Girl” who refuses to dim her shine. She’s young, fearless, and a whole vibe—Gen Z’s unapologetic anthem in human form.

Tyla (South Africa): Popiano’s international sweetheart. She’s flipping dance floors worldwide, proving South Africa’s groove is everyone’s groove.

Tiwa Savage (Nigeria): The Queen Mother of Afrobeats. With over a decade of hits, she’s still serving bops, beauty, and boss energy in equal measure.

Yemi Alade (Nigeria): Mama Africa herself, blending Afropop with fierce stage presence. She’s been flying the African flag high long before it was trendy.

Sho Madjozi (South Africa): The rainbow-haired star who brings Tsonga culture to the center stage. She’s playful, poetic, and proudly different.

Simi (Nigeria): The honey-voiced storyteller of love, life, and everything in between. She makes soft sound strong.

Amaarae (Ghana): Genre-fluid and boundary-breaking, her futuristic sound proves Ghana isn’t just in the conversationn, it’s leading it.

Zuchu: Tanzanian royalty on the rise, carrying bongo flava to new heights with effortless charm.

Muthoni Drummer Queen: Nairobi’s own creative powerhouse, mixing hip hop, African rhythms, and activism.

One thing’s clear: the rules were never made for them. So, today we celebrate all of these iconic African women rewriting history in their space and together in the African music industry.

Female African music stars truly hold no bars – they are rule-breakers, hitmakers, and game-changers!