International Thief Thief: Fela’s Scathing Diss Track To MKO
Fela indulged in many things. Many people thought he was the most morally decadent individual; weed, women, and a good time were never far from his reach. But there were some things Fela couldn’t bear; military dictators, religious leaders, and soldiers. Worst of all, as evidenced in his catalogue, Fela despised the political elite.
In no other song does Fela display a vehement hatred towards political leaders than in his highly insulting diss track, ITT (International Thief Thief.) This 13-minute and 42-second masterpiece (the original cut is 24 minutes long) is a not-so-thinly veiled dig at Nigeria’s favourite president-that-got-away, Moshood Abiola and former head of state, Olusegun Obasanjo.
The song’s title, International Thief Thief is a cheeky play on Abiola’s company, ITT Corporation. This American conglomerate, whom Abiola represented, was responsible for providing telephone and communication equipment to the Nigerian government in the 70s, a deal that was mired in scandals of kickbacks and corruption.
ITT, a song from Fela’s final album with the Afrika 70 band, starts with a call of “International Thief Thief!” on a plucky guitar tune. Fela soon joins in, chorusing “ITT ‘’ and “international rogue” in his signature voice. This goes on for a while. We can hear an angry-sounding crowd getting audibly agitated in the background. Fela asks the mob if he should “yab those bastard motherfuckers.” The crowd enthusiastically yells “yes!” in agreement.
The Yoruba religion practitioner, who made a point of singing in pidgin to make his music accessible to as many Africans as possible, swears by the Egyptian god Osiris, the Yoruba god Ifa and the god-entity Edumare, that if he lied in the account he was about to give, he should be punished. Fela was a vocal advocate for the return to the practice of indigenous religions and considered Christianity and Islam to be imported from colonialists as a tool of control and suppression.
The song starts to pick up on a steady rhythm and by now, you’re in the bop of things. Fela goes on to tell us what toilets are called in nine African languages.
Say what you want, but the man did his research and knew his shit (ignore pun, if any).
At this point, he begins to dive into some deeper shit.
Fela reminds us of how Africans never had to manually remove sewage and poop from wherever they did their business. Pre-colonially, most African cultures often carried out the business of shitting in separate parts of the living quarters (which was usually a large compound). People wishing to squeeze out number 2 would simply go to the designated shit section (DSS), dig a hole, do their business, and cover it back up. The deposit would quickly decay and form manure in the soil. Since communities lived in less dense areas than we do today, this was sustainable and even great for the environment.
Then came the Europeans and their big cities. With cities came high living area densities. This was when water closets were reserved for the rich (read: Europeans) and you couldn’t just casually dig endless shit-holes in this new concrete jungle. The shit business had to evolve. Pit latrines were dug in homes, and a bucket would be placed inside the pit, to collect shit from above.
At this point, you might wonder; how did they dispose of the waste once the buckets were full? I hope you’re not eating as you’re reading this (okay, maybe it’s a bit too late for a warning).
There were specialists, called “akogbe” in Yoruba who would collect these buckets, carry them on their heads and dispose of them to God-knows-where. Of course, this was a most terrible occupation, so the akogbe would wrap their heads and faces to conceal their identities. This didn’t prevent street kids from taunting them but they were always ready to flick some shit at the kids from the bucket (which was delicately balanced on their heads) with the broom they always had. Ew.*
This awful job could only be found in cities (read: Lagos). Fela was very incensed that people had gone from natural field toileting (NFT) to carrying buckets of shit on their heads. This is a subtle allegory for colonialism setting back African civilization despite ushering in other perceived advancements.
The song then enters its second act. Here, Fela sings about foreign companies that exploit Africa’s resources by using sell-outs with “low mentality” who act as frontmen for the companies, tricking Africans out of their resources, and causing “oppression, confusion, inflation and oppression.”
Moshood Abiola was Vice President of the Africa and Middle East division of the American corporation ITT. In return for his great performance in collecting debts owed by the Nigerian government to ITT, Abiola wanted a 50% stake in the Nigerian arm of the ITT. Of course, they said no. Abiola then set up Radio Communications as a side hustle, which received juicy contracts from the Nigerian military, through his connections to the government (he was a long-time personal friend to the former head of states Olusegun Obasanjo and Ibrahim Babangida). ITT Corporation, recognising how valuable his connections could be, soon offered him a 49% stake in the Nigerian arm of ITT. And that’s how Abiola became almost synonymous with ITT (although you can’t beat the name congruity of Dangote and his company, Dangote.)
Fela doesn’t leave us wondering who he is talking about in the song, because he soon drops names and brings receipts. Abami Eda obviously was not afraid of getting sued, jailed (or worse) because he goes on to drop the names of the “useless Africans with low mentality” — Obasanjo and Abiola.
I can’t help but admire the balls on this man, who risked much and lost plenty. (I will write next about his 1981 hit Coffin for Head of State/Unknown Soldier, where he chronicles (and again, disses Obasanjo) the 1977 raid of Kalakuta where he lost his home and his mother, fiery Nigerian feminist and nationalist Funmilayo Ransom Kuti. The raid was the aftermath of his hit song Zombie, yet another scathing diatribe at Nigerian soldiers who he compared to zombies.) To name and drag one of Nigeria’s favourite richest men and the man who was Head of State when the song was recorded in 1979 takes a great amount of IDGAF.
Why the beef though? Things weren’t really Gucci between Fela and Abiola, who was also the owner of Decca Records, Fela’s former record label. He believed Abiola conspired with the military government, which Abiola was very chummy with but who hated Fela (for obvious reasons), to sabotage his album sales. He also believed he was cheated out of his royalties. There were many accounts about what really soured their relationship like agbalumo that has not seen the rainy season, but the royalty story was a recurring thread.
The song rounds off with a resolute Fela staunchly refusing to move any more sewage.
A chorus of “well well” sees us off to the end of the song. When the lyrics trail off, we’re left with a marvellous piano synth along with a steady drumbeat, and it’s a delight to listen to. A sax solo rounds up the song with a flourish.
Vulgarity aside, the song serves many purposes. For me, it sent me into a rabbit hole of information about MKO Abiola and his many close dealings with the military dictators and their government. It’s a keyhole view into the multi-faceted lives of people considered the best of us sometimes have unsavoury sides too. (Fela, who openly bragged about beating his “wives” was far from savoury, himself.) It’s a reminder not to place folks on too high a pedestal, because people disappoint.
- Many thanks to Toheeb Lanlehin and Kunle Ologunro for running eyes through this.
- Big thanks to my mother who I had to disturb for this disturbing account of sewage disposal in colonial times.
