The legendary Nigerian Afrobeat pioneer Fela Aníkúlápó Kuti didn't just want an album cover designer; he sought a comrade-in-arms. For artist Lemi Ghariokwu, that meant being plied with potent marijuana, absorbing radical pan-Africanist literature, and ultimately witnessing the brutal 1977 military assault that would scar their friendship forever. Now 70, Ghariokwu revisits the wild, creative, and tragic years of his divine collaboration with the Black President.
From Engineering Student to Kalakuta Confidant
Ghariokwu first crossed the threshold of Kuti's Lagos headquarters, the Kalakuta Republic, in 1974 as an 18-year-old engineering student. He was brought by Kuti's journalist friend, Babatunde Harrison, who had spotted Ghariokwu's portrait of Bruce Lee in a bar. Awaiting an audience with the sleeping star, the young artist absorbed the notorious commune, a gift from Fela's mother, the activist Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti. "Kalakuta was already notorious, because of Fela's lifestyle," Ghariokwu recalls, noting the skimpily dressed women and young followers who had eloped to live there.
When Kuti awoke, groggy and in his briefs, he looked at the portrait Ghariokwu presented and exclaimed, "Wow. Goddammit." He wrote a cheque for 120 naira, but Ghariokwu's spirit told him to refuse it, offering the work as a gift from the heart. In return, Kuti gave him a gate pass to visit Kalakuta whenever he wished. "It was the ticket to my destiny," says the artist.
Marijuana, Metaphors, and a Visual Revolution
Their partnership deepened with the sleeve for Alagbon Close, where Ghariokwu moved beyond literal illustration to create a metaphysical image of Kuti breaking free. Kuti took the artist under his wing, educating him with books on African history and the works of Malcolm X. However, Kuti was determined to open Ghariokwu's mind another way. The teetotal artist, who preferred Fanta, initially resisted the ubiquitous marijuana.
That changed when commissioned for 1975's No Bread. "How can my artist be drinking Fanta? You have to smoke igbó, to make your head correct," Kuti insisted. Ghariokwu, seeing him as a demi-god, reluctantly agreed. Kuti administered a drop of potent marijuana oil. The experience was intense, leading to vivid hallucinations. Later, Kuti drove him home, instructing him to go straight to bed and meditate on the artwork.
The next day, "ideas were just flooding my brain." The resulting sleeve for No Bread was a dizzying collage of social satire. Kuti jumped for joy, but Ghariokwu decided to analyse the inspiration from that single high and use it as his compositional style henceforth, while remaining substance-free.
The Fire That Changed Everything
The creative idyll was shattered on 18 February 1977. Years of tension between Kuti and Nigeria's military junta, fuelled by songs like Zombie, exploded when soldiers raided Kalakuta Republic. Ghariokwu raced to the compound to find it in flames. "Soldiers with bayoneted rifles were dragging people out into the streets, staggering, naked and bleeding," he recounts. Kuti's mother, Funmilayo, was thrown from a second-floor window.
Kuti himself was dragged out naked and bleeding. "He saw me and whispered, 'Get my lawyer,'" Ghariokwu remembers. The trauma of his mother's death, which Kuti later sang about on Coffin for Head of State, changed the musician forever. "He was never the same after that," says the artist.
A Friendship Unravels and a Legacy Endures
In the raid's aftermath, their friendship began to fray. They disagreed on strategy, and for the first time, Kuti rejected Ghariokwu's artwork for Johnny Just Drop, instructing him on what to paint. Ghariokwu defiantly used his original image on the gatefold sleeve's back, angering Kuti. The final break came when Kuti rejected the sleeve for Sorrow, Tears and Blood. "Fela broke my heart," says Ghariokwu, who walked away from Kalakuta.
They reconciled a decade later, collaborating on more sleeves before Kuti's death in 1997. Ghariokwu, who has since created over 2,000 album covers, sees their work as part of a greater struggle. "Fela is in the lineage of... a fighter for the mental liberation of the African people," he states. "Fela cast a long shadow, and as a pan-Africanist, that's a good place to live." Their extraordinary partnership, born from a 'wow' and sealed with cannabis oil, remains a pivotal chapter in the visual and musical story of Afrobeat.
