Oyo at 50 Was Beautiful — Now Let’s Talk About How Government Can Finally Support Oyo’s Creative Industry
Let me begin by making one thing very clear, without apology and without confusion. I manage DJs and hypemen. I understand their value, their role, and their place within the entertainment ecosystem. However, the uncomfortable truth remains that DJs and hypemen, by themselves, do not constitute the foundation of an original creative industry when it comes to identity-building. Their craft, while important, is fundamentally dependent on original sounds, original music, original performances, and original cultural expressions created by others. They amplify art; they do not define it.
Everything is art, yes. But the art form itself is born from inherent talents—musicians, actors, writers, dancers, filmmakers, cultural performers—whose originality creates identity. Every true talent forms and grows within a community that believes in it, projects it, and protects it. When that community fails to provide platforms, structure, and recognition, talent does not disappear; it simply remains unseen.
This is why the recurring defense from apologists sounds hollow. They argue, “Yes, hypemen, DJs, and a few artistes were involved in Oyo at 50.” But the real question is not whether anyone was involved—it is who was involved and why. Which artistes were chosen? Were they selected because they represent the depth, growth, and future of Oyo State’s creative industry, or because they were the most convenient names available? Were they close to the standards we claim to aspire to, or were they simply safe, familiar options?
For clarity, let us set DJs and hypemen aside for a moment. Not because they lack value, but because they are never excluded from entertainment ecosystems anywhere in the world. Wherever there is a stage, there will always be DJs and hypemen. They are constants. What we should be talking about—what truly matters—are the fundamentals and foundations of creative identity. Those are the artists, performers, and cultural contributors who shape how a place is known, remembered, and respected.
One undeniable achievement of Oyo at 50 is the spectacle. The colours, the glamour, the pageantry—it reminded us that Oyo State has the capacity to host world-class events. The visuals alone tell a powerful story about who we are as a people and what we are capable of organizing. I look at how Nollywood greats are projected and preserved through the facilities and vision of Kunle Afolayan, and I see what intentional cultural investment looks like. Those creatives have a physical, symbolic, and cultural space where their work is showcased and respected.
In the same vein, it is not wrong that Small Doctor and Lil Kesh were chosen as headliners. Their brands have mass appeal, and their sound resonates strongly within Oyo State. Their inclusion makes sense. But headliners alone do not define an industry. The real concern is this: where are the greats of our underdeveloped music and entertainment ecosystem? Where are the local pillars, the cultural carriers, the artists who have laboured within this state for years, building audiences from the ground up?
What Oyo at 50 unintentionally revealed is something far more significant than a celebration. It revealed that the government has the will, resources, and organizational capacity to produce spectacles that can rival globally recognized festivals like the Calabar Carnival. That is no small achievement. However, spectacle without strategy is wasted potential. If this same energy were channeled intentionally toward spotlighting local content, Oyo State could begin building its own globally recognizable entertainment industry.
Lagos is widely regarded as Nigeria’s entertainment capital, but that does not mean it must be the only one. The United States offers a clear blueprint: California, New York, Atlanta, Chicago, and Nashville are all distinct entertainment hubs, each with its own identity, sound, and economic structure. They coexist without erasing one another. Oyo State has the cultural depth, population, history, and creative talent to become a recognized hub in its own right—if only the right structures are put in place.
Oyo at 50 could easily serve as a blueprint for launching a genuine, government-backed annual “Detty December” in Oyo State. One rooted not just in partying, but in cultural production, talent exportation, and creative economy development. But such a vision cannot succeed if local creatives remain an afterthought.
For many years now, I have repeatedly drawn attention to this uncomfortable but undeniable reality: Ibadan and Oyo State are rich in creative and entertainment talent, yet persistently deny that same talent the platforms required for visibility, growth, and validation. This is not a new position, nor is it born out of momentary dissatisfaction. It is a stance I have consistently maintained across multiple articles and public commentaries, including “Ibadan Has Talent — But No Microphone: Inside the Silent Struggle of Oyo State’s Entertainment Industry,” “Ibadan Didn’t Stop Producing Stars — It Just Stopped Believing in Them,” “Ibadan’s Moment to Shine: Local Stars Set to Go Global at Davido’s 5ive Concert,” “Building the Future of Oyo’s Music: One Artist, One Stage, One Dream,” and “Greedy Lounge Owners, Silent Media: The Double Trouble Killing Ibadan’s Entertainment Scene.”
Each of these pieces points to the same systemic failure: the absence of intentional support, structured exposure, and institutional belief in local creatives. Oyo at 50 should have been a defining moment to correct this imbalance. Instead, it once again exposed how deeply rooted the problem remains.
Outside Oyo State—especially within the Lagos-centric mainstream entertainment industry—the prevailing assumption is that Ibadan does not produce artists. This narrative has been allowed to grow unchecked. To outsiders, Ibadan is often reduced to a city of bands that replicate existing stagecrafts, perform already popular songs at social events, or produce Fuji and Juju musicians who, despite their cultural importance, are unfairly dismissed as lacking contemporary or global relevance. Beyond this narrow perception, Oyo State’s wider creative ecosystem is largely invisible.
At best, the world believes Ibadan can offer one or two names. This is not just inaccurate; it is a lie created and sustained internally through neglect, poor documentation, weak media support, and the consistent failure to build a distinct entertainment identity. Ibadan did not stop producing stars. The environment stopped believing in them, stopped investing in them, and stopped projecting them.
There are countless artists across Oyo State—cultural and contemporary—who command loyal audiences and remain relevant within their communities. They perform, they sell tickets, they move crowds. Yet when an event as symbolic as Oyo at 50 takes place, these same creatives are nowhere to be found in headline or meaningful supporting roles. That contradiction must be confronted honestly.
I have also heard, and I remain open to correction, that even the managers of the week-long Oyo at 50 celebration were imported. If true, this decision reflects a long-standing pattern: the consistent preference for external managers and curators over local professionals. When outsiders are trusted to tell our stories, local identity is diluted. This practice sidelines indigenous expertise and strips creatives of ownership over their own narratives.
The inclusion of Small Doctor is not the problem. The problem is the absence of deliberate balance. One artist cannot represent the creative soul of an entire state. Where are Dre Sticks, Oyinkanade, 2wyza, Temkeyz, Keanzo, Pizzy, Wale Waves, Seun Natural, Smooth Kiss, Promzy, Y2M Oxygen, Wale Zion, MC Bokujaka, Sade Blaq, B’Dey, and many others whose impact is felt daily across communities? These are not imaginary talents. They are real, rooted, and relevant.
Local creatives deserve periodic state support—not as charity, but as strategic investment. Proper call-ups, fair booking fees, and respectable honorariums boost morale, build loyalty, and send a clear message that Oyo State values its own. Visibility creates legitimacy. Legitimacy attracts media. Media creates exportable value.
This conversation is not driven by bitterness or resentment. It is driven by consistency. Until Oyo State creatives are given microphones on their own biggest stages, the false narrative that we have nothing to offer will persist. And that, more than anything else, is the real tragedy that Oyo at 50 has once again brought to the surface.
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