Fuji music, a vibrant genre blending traditional Yoruba rhythms with Islamic chants, jazz, and highlife, plays a vital role in Nigeria’s socio-cultural landscape. Urban life in Lagos, punctuated by its cosmopolitan tendencies, is one of the reasons this genre has gained notorious momentum among motor park workers, popularly called agberos. These individuals and fuji music are like five and six — inseparable — and the reason is not far-fetched. For many, fuji music serves as a powerful tool for coping with the emotional and psychological toll of their environment. It offers a culturally grounded means of trauma management, providing release from the daily grind, stress, and violence they often face.
Agberos operate in Lagos’s informal transport sector, performing fare collection and bus stop coordination duties. Their work environment is loud, competitive, and often violent, marked by frequent clashes with drivers, police officers, and passengers. They endure constant stress resulting from economic instability, social stigmatisation, and regular altercations. Exposure to aggression and instability can result in accumulated trauma and emotional fatigue.
With limited access to mental healthcare, many agberos turn to fuji music for succour, emotional reprieve, psychological release, and healing. The genre’s energetic beats and emotive lyrics allow for both individual and collective emotional expression. For many listeners — especially among the agbero class — fuji music becomes a mirror of their lives and a source of emotional catharsis.
Fuji music originated in the 1960s and gained traction through artistes like Sikiru Ayinde Barrister and Wasiu Ayinde Marshal (K1 de Ultimate). It fuses Islamic spiritual chants with Yoruba talking drums and often explores themes of hardship, survival, love, betrayal, and praise. Performed in Yoruba, Fuji lyrics speak directly to the everyday realities of its audience.
Fuji music helps agberos process emotions by reflecting their lived experiences. The genre mirrors their frustrations and hardships, transforming suffering into art. When lyrics express pain or resilience, agberos find their own struggles validated. The music’s raw emotionality provides a safe, culturally acceptable outlet for feelings that might otherwise remain unspoken.
The genre has brought to light the inner yearnings and success stories of formerly downtrodden local artistes who overcame life’s vicissitudes to attain stardom. The story of Wasiu Alabi, also known as Pasuma Wonder, resonates with this narrative. Growing up in the violence-ridden Mushin area of Lagos, Pasuma battled poverty, pain, and gangsterism to emerge as one of the most celebrated fuji musicians of his generation.
In albums such as Computer, Napoli Like Lagos, Importer and Exporter, and Talo Pa Jesu, Pasuma recounts his past and humble beginnings, narrating how he rose to prominence through sheer hard work and dedication to his chosen path. Such lyrical excursions into his formative years are therapeutic in themselves; they inspire hope in the average Lagos agbero, who readily identifies with his life story and worldview.
The rugged texture of fuji music — its pulsating beats and auditory appeal — encourages bodily expressions that relieve stress. Dancing and moving to music releases endorphins and helps regulate the nervous system. After long hours of labour, this embodied form of stress relief proves especially therapeutic. Group listening sessions, whether at motor parks or local bars, also build camaraderie and collective resilience.
Expressing aspects of Islamic tradition, fuji music includes spiritual elements such as chants and references to divinity. For many agberos, who navigate daily uncertainties, these elements provide emotional grounding and a sense of divine connection. The spiritual tone of some songs can offer comfort and renew hope, reinforcing faith even in hostile environments. Pasuma is known to refer to God as Sati Ramoni (meaning “the Merciful God”) in many of his songs.
Fuji music fosters community and reinforces group identity among agberos, helping them feel part of something greater than themselves. For many of them, if former street boys like Pasuma, Taiye Currency, Suleiman Atawewe, and Malaika could rise to international fame, then there is hope for their scattered lives. In a society where they are often seen as accessories to crime and irresponsibility, agberos use Fuji music to assert and affirm their cultural and social belonging. By aligning themselves with the genre — whether as listeners, performers, or fans — agberos find a platform to express their identities and connect with others who share similar struggles.
In conclusion, the role Fuji music plays in shaping the mental well-being of Lagos agberos cannot be overstated. In a context where formal mental health resources are scarce, it serves as a readily available tonic for mental health management. By offering emotional release, physical stress relief, spiritual reassurance, and community bonding, Fuji music enables agberos to navigate the demands of their environment with greater resilience and a sense of self-worth.
