Out of sight is out of mind. There was a time when certain names ruled our ringtones, radio charts, clubs, streets, and even Bluetooth file transfers. These artists were the moment. But suddenly… silence. No new singles. No drama. Not even a “coming soon” that never came.
So, where are they now? To answer that question about one of Afrobeats’ early 2010s hitmakers, I sat down with 47-year-old veteran singer Durella — once known as the King of the Zanga — about his sudden disappearance from the limelight and where life has taken him since.
A bit about Durella
Durella, born Oluwadamilare Okulaja, has never forgotten that Mushin is still home. Although he was in Paris for a bit and now spends most of his time in Lagos Island, he still comes home about twice a week.
His rise to fame is the kind of ghetto-to-success story that keeps hope in the zanga alive. After a performance at a show in Ibadan in 2006, he was signed to the little-known TC Records. From that point, his achievements started rolling in. He had a run that spawned hits like “Enu O Se” (2008), “My Life” (2010), and “Gaga” featuring Wizkid (2011). Durella’s gift of gab caught listeners’ attention with tongue-twisting slangs like “omo yapayansky” (one of one), “askulupe,” “wisokolo wiska,” “enu ose” (action speaks louder than words), and “zanga” (hood).
Some may remember him as one of the first Afrobeats artists to own a sneaker line, Durella Sneakers, under which he produced his “2Gbaski” kicks in 2007 (they didn’t quite take off). Others may remember him for his condom brand, Zanga Swagga. Some remember the constant comparisons to D’Banj (let’s be real, they sounded nothing alike). Or maybe it’s his $50,000 win on MTV Base’s Zain Advance Warning contest in 2008. For some, it’s his versatility. But to everyone, he was a street musician — long before it was a recognised genre or a badge of cool.
Link up with Durella
At the sight of Durella’s car, a clean, dull blue Toyota “Big Daddy” Camry, the people around hailed him, “Miskiya. King of the Zanga. Zanga.” Durella ecstatically answers to these nicknames. Before he was done dapping people up, chairs had been arranged under a tree. Years after he vanished from the scene, at home in Mushin, he is still loved.
I first broached the topic of interviewing him for this story in February. But after several calls, two months and a few weeks of patience, Durella and I finally sat, side by side in Mushin, to converse. It was on April 20, 2025, a day with two special worldwide celebrations: Easter Sunday and 420 (a special day for stoners).
It is 9:00 AM, and we’re in the premises of a government primary and secondary school. On one end, smokers are buying and blazing. On the other, Agbo, water, Alomo Bitters, white rice, beans, and spaghetti are being sold.
Conversation starts…
As part of the 420 celebration rites, I also had to partake in the smoking. Finally, I asked him where he had been all these years. “I didn’t step away from the limelight,” he says. “I’ve been here. I’m always here. It’s not just the way it was.”
His response doesn’t read like a veteran’s ego brushing off an arguable statement. For him, it’s about the owner of the story telling it right. When I asked what he has been working on recently, he said he has been “trying to discover new talents from the Mainland to Lagos Island, working and searching for new lamba and ‘formations’.”
But what about his own music? “I understand that people may not jam me like before, but I’ve been creating and recreating.”
Then he goes back to 2014 to rehash how his fame took a hit. “You know, I was in Paris for a while. By the time I came back, things had changed. The music changed. The sound changed. We didn’t have an Alaba market to distribute again. The internet came too.”
Fame takes a hit
Here is how Durella remembers the incident: “In 2014, around the time I dropped my single, ‘Mary’, a show promoter called Bola Paris booked me to perform at a Nigerian fashion show in Paris. He took me to perform at some places, but they were not fashion show events. I found out later that the fashion event had happened in January 2014. Anyways, I demanded the remaining balance of my booking fee ($50,000 of $100,000). While I waited [in Paris for weeks] for payment, my Schengen Visa expired.” He ended up spending a year in France.
He said the balance never came. All he got were promises and a lodge at a hotel. When the hotel bills entered demurrage, he said Bola Paris rented an apartment for him. They made music together, but none came out. The house rent eventually expired, too, and by then, Bola Paris had bolted. His then-manager, Josh, ran away too, seizing the opportunity to japa, leaving Durella alone and stranded. Josh is now a pastor in Paris.
Durella fell on hard times. He said help didn’t come from the motherland, friends, or colleagues. Eventually, he fell in love with a Cameroonian woman, the only person in his building who spoke pidgin. Soon, they had a daughter. He wouldn’t say more about her, but he said this: “My baby mama became my helper who offset my demurrage and paid for my flight back to Nigeria in 2015.”
Durella said he was never booked to perform at the fashion show. It was a front for a travel scam that illegally took immigrants into the country. He was the cover.
“They said it was Durella and the Zangalists Band, but these ‘Zangalists’ are 300 African immigrants,” he said. “Some were lawyers and doctors who needed a French visa. I met one of them who asked me if I charged Bola Paris a lot because he paid him ₦3M to enter Paris. I discovered Bola Paris and his cohorts registered those people as my entourage and members of a music band I didn’t even create. That almost made me run mad. Even Fela and Egypt 80 didn’t travel with 300 people.”
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More disappointments and trying again
When Durella returned to Nigeria, he tried to mingle again, “but things had changed.” The industry and the public had moved on. “Most of my contemporaries weren’t popping again either,” he said. “Some of the DJs who used to spin my music back then had even relocated to the U.S and the U.K. I didn’t see a lot of people again. To regain relevance, I had to go through the new hot guys, but they were all gatekeepers.”
Before he went to Paris, he said he didn’t make friends in the industry. “I only offered assistance to people, I didn’t make friends with them except those who came before me, like Tony Tetuilla and 2Baba. They still pick up my calls. Someone like Timaya is looking for people to use to climb to fame. He tells me he’s busy whenever I call. Olamide too, but when he wanted me to give him a spot on my ‘Buddy Hanging’ song back then, he wasn’t busy, and I didn’t claim to be busy.”
Speaking about the experience made the disappointment he felt from the industry new again. But he said he has moved on. “I stood firm in my confidence that I’m the guy. I brought new school vibes and lamba into the game before these new schools came. The same lamba I used to operate back then is what they use to date. Look around, Shallipopi and co are on top of the game, operating with lamba too. They’re thriving on what someone like me built.”
After he cooled off for a few seconds, Durella picked up again: “I’m not trying to give anyone a bad name. They all worked hard and deserve what they get, but now their idols are nothing to them. Most of them still use the model I left, but won’t acknowledge or respect me.”
Record label problems
In 2011, three years after Durella released his debut album, King of the Zanga, he parted ways with TC Records. In an interview he did in 2023, he accused the label of stealing from him. He said he has not been paid royalties for over a decade and has not received any proceeds from the use of his songs.
“They ripped me off,” he said. But Durella hasn’t been able to sue TC Records. He said that everyone who has tried to help him legally asked for his copy of the contract with the label, but he has nothing to tender. “Jide, AKA Rasta, the manager I had then, who was also my friend, went to jail for a crime he committed in the U.K. The Interpol came to arrest him in Nigeria and took every document that they found with him. Who will I call to ask for my label contracts and documents?”
When I asked him about Ikonic Records, the second record label he signed to, he replied, “Nothing much came out of it. The label boss made a lot of promises that didn’t happen.”
Lessons and new plans
Going over the timeline of his rise to the present, Durella has come to a realisation. “I learned patience. I was never a patient guy, but all these situations that happened to me taught me that. And that’s what I’ve been practising.”
“I’m working on new stuff that I’ll put out. But it has to be meaningful and impactful. To do that, I need to work patiently. There are five budding recording artists under my supervision, too. These are the people who’ll take over the Zanga legacy. I’m excited for their music too.”
It was still a 420 morning. Around 11:00 AM, the sun was already out, and Durella was planning his exit. He told me about a show he had that night in Igbo Owu, his childhood area in Mushin, so I went to watch him perform.
It was a big night for the golden son of Mushin and those who love him. They came out in packs to watch him live on stage, and he delivered, though briefly. He had another event to be at. From old hits to unfamiliar but impressive new songs influenced by the slow groove of the current soundscape, he had the people cheering loudly. Durella’s presence woke up several blocks of streets, and his quick exit immediately after the performance, in turn, burst into a scuffle.
If there’s anything in Durella’s story, it’s that at home, idols never stop being idols. Although out of the limelight and music radar, he’s still a man of his people — the “King of the Zanga.”
