There’s a calculated pattern to the way Burna Boy moves in the months leading up to an album release. It’s either a controversial interview here or a provocative tweet there, all wrapped in his familiar cloak of “just telling the truth”.
In the month before the release of his Grammy-winning album Twice as Tall in 2020, Burna Boy made a self-aggrandising tweet that no one paved the way for him and that he alone brought the respect Nigerians currently enjoy from the Western world.
That pattern played out again in a wide-ranging 2023 interview with Apple Music’s Zane Lowe just ahead of the release of his last studio album, I Told Them. Burna derided Afrobeats by saying that the genre lacks substance.
“Afrobeats, as people call it, it’s mostly about nothing, literally nothing,” he said. “There’s no substance to it. Nobody’s talking about anything. It’s just a great time; it’s an amazing time. But at the end of the day, life is not an amazing time”, he said.
It was a striking contradiction, especially coming from an artiste whose album (released after this interview) featured songs like “Giza” with Seyi Vibez and “Tested, Approved & Trusted”—which revel in hedonism and the ‘great times’ he insisted life is not about.
This time, as anticipation builds for his forthcoming album, No Sign of Weakness, Burna Boy has once again stirred up his usual controversial conversation aimed at denigrating Nigerians. On April 8th, he took to his IG story to share his thoughts: “1,000,000 Nigerian streams = $300/$400”.
He compared the modest revenue from Nigerian platforms to more lucrative international markets. “Your song being number 1 on any streaming platform in Nigeria is not something to celebrate,” he added. “Aim higher or do other businesses on the side.” Then, in typical Burna fashion, he followed up with another post: “Dear artistes, don’t let Twitter polls and Naija social media fans deceive you. They won’t fill up any stadium for you in any part of the world”.
His post, as expected, sparked backlash from music industry executives, journalists, music enthusiasts, and netizens, all of whom expressed frustration over Burna Boy’s recurring tendency to belittle Nigeria and its people at every chance he gets. Music journalist Adeayo Adebiyi took to Twitter, labelled his remarks as “graceless and unfortunate”, and highlighted the consistent pattern of Burna Boy’s comments that seem to denigrate the very country that helped elevate him to global stardom.
So yesterday, when he wrote that the African version of his persona was dead, it did not really come as a surprise. “The ‘African Giant’ BURNA BOY died. His own people killed him. Then ‘BIG 7’ was born to protect what was left of ‘BURNA BOY’,” he continued.
“BURNA BOY and BIG 7 fight each other a lot because while BIG 7 is only protecting the final and only existing piece of BURNA BOY’S BROKEN HEART, The ‘African Giant’ still haunts BURNA BOY.” Burna Boy said that the “African Giant” version of himself is “dead,” and the people killed him, a similar reaction has since dominated the social media space.
But to fully understand Burna Boy’s complicated relationship with Nigeria, one has to trace his journey from the beginning. For an artiste who has been in the music industry for over a decade, his career has been marked by a series of perceived grievances that, perhaps, have shaped the narrative he often shares about Nigeria.
Before growing into a global superstar, Burna Boy was just an up-and-coming Port Harcourt artiste trying to find his footing in an industry that didn’t immediately embrace him. He had the talent and presence, but lacked the early validation that many of his peers enjoyed
One of the most telling moments came in 2013, when he lost the Headies’ Next Rated award to Sean Tizzle and reportedly stormed out of the event. That moment—and the public discourse that followed—seeded a narrative Burna would lean into for years: overlooked at home but embraced by audiences beyond the country’s borders.
That narrative would later birth the identity of his fan base, “The Outsiders”.
What followed were years marked by altercations with law enforcement, public fallouts with fellow artistes, persistent online rumours—including one claiming his mother was once a dancer for Fela Kuti—and even internet-fuelled speculations like Speed Darlington’s sensational (and unfounded) claims linking him to Diddy. All of these controversies played a key role in solidifying Burna Boy’s persona as an artiste in constant conflict with Nigeria and its establishment.
And while some of Burna Boy’s grievances, particularly in response to mockery and industry exclusion, hold weight, they don’t justify the increasingly dismissive tone he adopts toward Nigerian fans.
It’s one thing to demand recognition and respect; it’s another entirely to deride the very people you seek it from. But when one considers the steady stream of condescending remarks or moments like his 2023 Lagos Concert, where he humiliated his Nigerian fans after arriving hours late, it becomes clear that Burna Boy has chosen the latter.
On “Thanks”, a song from the I Told Them album that features J. Cole, Burna addresses what he sees as a lack of appreciation: “Is this the Motherf-king thanks I get?, For making my people proud every chance I get?” he asks with a sense of disappointment from someone who believes his home fans don’t deserve him. However, the irony in his words is undeniable. These are the same fans who streamed his early records on repeat, screamed his lyrics at shows, and believed in his potential before he became a global Afro-Pop star.
And that takes us back to his comments on Nigerian streaming returns, which ignited the latest round of controversy. To be fair, Burna Boy isn’t entirely wrong to highlight the financial limitations of Nigeria’s streaming economy. According to recent reports, Spotify Premium users in Nigeria pay approximately ₦1,300 ($0.56), which is significantly lower than users in developed countries.
For example, in Switzerland, a comparable subscription costs around $16.48 per month, nearly 150% more than the cost in Nigeria. This disparity in pricing reflects the economic realities of each country, with Nigerian users still among the lowest-paying Spotify premium users globally.
Where his argument falters, however, is when he equates financial returns with cultural relevance and dismisses local achievements. To suggest that topping Nigerian charts holds little value is to conflate financial returns with relevance and to overlook the strategic importance of local success, especially for emerging artistes.
A number-one song on Apple Music or any other streaming platform in Nigeria may not yield thousands of dollars, but it can mean something else entirely: visibility, community support, bookings, record label attention, or even a viral moment that shifts an artist’s trajectory.
Success in Nigeria has always worn different clothes. It’s the artiste who trends on Twitter after an unforgettable freestyle. It’s the singer whose song soundtracks a thousand street-side barbershops. It’s the rapper who sells out a modest hall in Ibadan with nothing but word of mouth and two songs on Audiomack. These may not be global milestones, but they are the building blocks for everything that follows.
In the end, local wins matter. They always have. And any narrative that diminishes their significance, like Burna Boy’s recent comments, ignores the context and conditions that make these wins so meaningful.
