Even when the songs are emulating an American pop formula, they still feel stubbornly African, which is to say they buck against the niceties of said formula, opting for vim over veneer, playfulness over perfection. The production is gritty, percussion chaotic, auto-tune abused, lyrics disregarded, and melodies embarrassingly saccharine. And it is all held together by the faith that it will accomplish its only goal: to make people dance.

In this mélange, more than anything else, I find my rhythm. Wizkid’s music is elastic enough to leave room for the movement I inherit from my early youth while also accommodating everything else. It’s hard to explain how intuitive it all feels, but when his music comes on, I just know what to do and I know I am doing it right.