How do you open the first-ever gay album in Nigeria? If you are using Temmie Ovwasa’s formula you begin by demolishing any pretence at modesty – at shame and its accompanying structures. In a crisp unwavering voice that packed more than the power in the words she sang, Temmie, opened with the album’s intro song Iyalala, “Love and light but I got my guns loaded …”
The album, titled, E Be Like Say Dem Swear For Me, is Temmie’s debut album. Her career is 5 years old, and in her own words, “I recorded 3 albums before this and multiple singles, none of it was pushed by YBNL.” It is fitting therefore that her first album, which she independently produced and released just 2 months after she left YBNL should be titled thus. “Look around you, everything in Nigeria is like dem don swear for you.”
It is so much more than the general condition of the country, however – which is bad enough as it is, it is also to do with the fact that Temmie is queer and unashamed of it. The theme of the album can be summarized simply as, “fuck shame.’ She echoed this in Iyalaya when she sings, “They are afraid of a woman with no shame.” It is almost her superpower; being a woman that is fully comfortable in her skin, imperfections, and all.
Nigeria has discriminatory laws against gay, lesbian, trans and bisexual (LGBT) people. As recently as 2014, the country passed the same-sex prohibition act (SSMPA) – a law that will see to the rise of targeted harassment and assault on gay people and people perceived as gay by state and non-state actors across the country. Art around the subject of LGBT lived reality is frowned upon by authorities in the country. Just recently, the Nigerian Film and Video Censors Board (NFVCB) banned the release of Ìfé, a first of its kind romantic drama about two women navigating love in a homophobic Nigeria.
This, among other reasons, is why E Be Like Say Dem Swear For Me is powerful in its defiance.
But the album is not all about defiance, far from it. It is a wholesome body of work that tells the complex story of living as an unapologetic homosexual human being. There is a story about an enduring love that promises to defy whatever hardship is thrown its way in Ayefe, where Temmie sings in Yoruba, “My love, I’ll follow you even in a thunderstorm.”
She sang about passion in Osuwemimo and 37 Times, both songs about lovemaking between two women who have let themselves go in the pleasure of lovemaking. In a meditative, almost spoken-word melody-rich freestyle delivery, Temmie sings in Monologue With My Higher Self about transcendence in a way that embodies a higher spirituality that doesn’t appeal to the Abrahamic ideal. “The angels singing, I am the angels. The angels sing to me, I am God.”
Of the 12 tracks in the album, 5 are about love stories, told in deliveries that assert the variety that Temmie brought to the culture-shifting body of work. But as with most artistic work by someone from a marginalized group, there is a way in which defiance somehow always finds its way in. It is the resistance of the human spirit shining through, and you see it in most of the other songs.
In Elejo Wewe, we discover a hard-hitting hip-hop side of Temmie. She raps with an expert’s ease that, “I’m forced to speak my mind, ‘cause I can’t live a lie,” then went on to muse, “Is speaking even worth it. If you are still gonna die? I speak of tragedies, the ones that come in colour. Fuck the panel of judges, mind your business, your honour.”
In I Don’t Give A Fuck About You, Temmie sings about people who feel they can meddle in her life. In a genius back and forth lyrics, she tells the story of all the different people – from well-meaning friends to pesky journalists prying to get a story angle they can twist about her sexuality, “We heard that you like girls, do you care to comment?” She sings a nosey journalist’s bit, her response is an assertive no, “No,” followed by a chitchat ending, “I don’t give a fuck about you.”
Nigeria’s culture of unsolicited counsel is not news to anyone who has been in the country even for as short a time as a week. It will happen on the road, where a fellow road user could tell you how your driving could be better if, “you could just stay in the inner lane.” It does not matter if you are on the right lane, filtering to continue on your route. It will happen on an ATM queue where a middle-aged aunty can advise you against wearing a skirt so short or a top that reveals so much cleavage. It is pervasive. But especially so if you are a woman. Worse still if you are a queer woman.
There is something for everyone in E BE Like Say Dem Swear For Me.
If you are looking for edifying music that uplifts you into a higher realm, you are in the right place. If what you are looking for is songs dripping with passion to set the tone for Demon Time, it is the perfect go-to. And if what you want is simply beautiful music that fills your life with a joy that is renewing, this is the album to look up and listen to over and over.
For many that have engaged with this project, it is easily the best album of 2020.
"E Be Like Say Dem Swear For Me" is easily one of the top twelve albums to have been released in 2020
…and over 60 projects (albums & EPs) were put out this year.
From a lyrical perspective, it's top 7.
Temmie Ovwasa crafted a memorable body of work.
They deserve plaudits
— IFEANYI NWA VERONICA (@J_Chiemeke) December 1, 2020
https://twitter.com/Thedammylawal/status/1333693329012297728?s=20
My 2020 Album of the year
Temmie Ovwasa – E be like say dem swear for me
❤ ❤ ❤
*Creativity
*Versatility
*Originality
*Pen game
*Rawness
*Vocal Prowess
*African
*Truth
*Production
*Effortless
*Mind blowingAlbum review = MorethanMusic 💕#Jowovideo #Peruzzi #Tony pic.twitter.com/A3tUUYkhTn
— Jojooflife #FIREDUP (@jojooflife) December 5, 2020
This may be an arguable assertion for cis-gendered heterosexual Nigerians, for whom choosing what art to consume is not an exercise in selecting the body of work that least dehumanizes them. For LGBT+ people, the choice is easy. Because why will you pick a body of work that you must negotiate your humanity in order to enjoy when you can easily consume art that affirms your being – art that celebrates your existence which is constantly maligned by a willfully ignorant society?
The choice is clear for the marginalized LGBT+ community in Nigeria when it comes to Nigeria’s first openly gay album. It is the best album of 2020. Take it or take it.
Miracle Abdul is a writer based in Lagos, Nigeria, passionate about documenting the lived experiences of queer people through essays and audio and video documentaries.
