Money-spraying is not the problem and should be seen not as the lack of national pride but as a display of cultural pride: a cherished tradition that shows deep respect and appreciation for the power of music and dance.
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It’s been 12 years since my grandmother, Mama Aba’nla, passed away. But the memory of earning my first 10,000 naira at her funeral remains vivid. At the beginning of the occasion, family members I had not seen for several months exchanged pleasantries, before my siblings and I retreated to our ‘corner’ (each group within the family had a designated seating area, as is typical in traditional Yoruba events). The band—a lead singer and three instrumentalists—took centre stage and called different sub-groups of the family up to the stage to dance. ‘Eyin omo omo mama, e dide, e mujo (mother’s grandchildren, get up and dance)’, was the cue for about 15 of us to make our way up to the stage. I remember dancing with so much reckless abandon to the band’s rendition of ‘My Mother’ by King Sunny Ade, holding the ends of my agbada and swaying from side to side as the band leader repeated the line ‘ta lo wa ninu ogba yi, omo kekere kan ni (who’s in the garden, it’s a young child)’...
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