But Seriki was serious. “The people are tired of ‘Jingle Bells’ and frozen reindeer. We are not winter people. We are harmattan people. Give us dust, drums, and desire. Give me Agbalọmu Mi .”
And then the sleigh bells. But wrong. They weren’t silver; they were brass, dull and warm, like anklets on a dancer’s foot. The tempo was 95 BPM—slow enough to sway, fast enough to forget your rent. Download Seriki Agbalumo Mi Instrumental Christmasxmass
He didn’t tell Seriki that. Instead, he typed: “The ancestors. And they want royalties.” But Seriki was serious
Tunde’s phone buzzed. Seriki: “I feel it. The file. It’s downloading on my end. But Tunde… I didn’t send you anything. Who made this?” We are harmattan people
A talking drum began, not like a call, but like a confession. Then a soft, highlife guitar arpeggio, wet with reverb. Then—unmistakably—the sound of agbalọmu seeds being spat out, recorded and sampled into a percussive loop. Chk-chk-pfft. Chk-chk-pfft. Underneath, a choir of neighborhood children humming “We Three Kings” in Yoruba, their voices layered like honey and harmattan dust.
He didn’t remember making it. But as he clicked play, the room shifted.
Tunde had laughed. “Sleigh bells and star apples? Seriki, you want to confuse the ancestors and Santa Claus at the same time?”