By Taiwo Olabode & Moronfoluwa Alabi
When Llona released Homeless, it carried far more weight than a debut album usually does. It was born out of uncertainty, at a time when both artist and team were struggling to find stability. For them, the music wasn’t about clout or commercial numbers — it was a lifeline, a source of grounding when nothing else seemed secure.
Mide, Llona’s manager, remembers it clearly. He had been moving through a season of instability, where every part of life felt unpredictable. “Nothing around me was stable,” he recalls. “Not my finances, not my environment, not even my sense of direction. Homeless came as a reassurance. It wasn’t just an album; it was God’s way of telling us, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you.’ It gave me structure at a time when I had none, and it’s still the reassurance I carry with me today.”
From the very beginning, Mide was confident the project would resonate. The sound was unlike anything in the Afrobeats space at the time — raw, soulful, and unafraid of vulnerability. “I knew it had to work,” he says. “The sound wasn’t something you could find elsewhere. People like to compare it to Black Sherif because of the emotion, but even that doesn’t capture it. Llona carved a lane that was completely his own. That kind of uniqueness doesn’t miss.”
When it came to promoting the record, the team made a choice that went against the industry’s unwritten rules. Instead of chasing the usual Lagos hype or organizing a free school tour to build fan bases, they took a different path. “School tours don’t define careers,” Mide explains. “People show up because it’s free, not because they truly believe. With Homeless, we wanted to test something different — who loves this music enough to actually buy a ticket, even if it’s just 100 people? That was how we decided to measure impact.”
That experiment found its answer in the most unexpected places. Makurdi was the first sign that something special was happening. “We thought Lagos was the stronghold, but Makurdi showed us the music had spread far beyond home,” Mide says. “Then Uyo came, and the response was overwhelming. That’s when we knew this wasn’t just a Lagos thing. Homeless had become national.”
Some of the most unforgettable moments of the tour came from the North. “Zaria, Kaduna, Nasarawa, Makurdi — the energy in those places was unreal. In some ways, it was even bigger than Lagos because of how raw the passion was. You could feel that the music had become part of people’s lives. Lagos will always be historic because that’s where it started, but the North gave us something deeper. It felt spiritual.”
But alongside the highs came hard realities. Touring across Nigeria meant facing insecurity, cancelled shows, and the unpredictability of life on the road. The Jos leg of the tour had to be scrapped after rumors of a bomb threat spread. Police escorts became necessary, though not always for the reasons they expected. “Most of the time, escorts were less about protecting us from danger and more about avoiding harassment,” Mide admits. And then there was tragedy: in one city, a fan lost his life after police opened fire. “That’s something we’ll never forget,” he says quietly. “It’s the painful side of chasing dreams in this country.”
Through it all, what impressed Mide most was Llona’s consistency of character. In an industry where shortcuts and clout-chasing are the norm, the artist refused to compromise. “He’s not industry-driven,” Mide says firmly. “He doesn’t care about hype collaborations or about chasing international validation just to look big. If he’s with his fans or his close friends, he’s content. That’s who he is. He turned down a lot of shortcuts people offered because he’d rather build something real and lasting than blow up on false terms. That’s why I believe his legacy will endure.”
Looking back, Mide sees Homeless not just as a successful project, but as a cultural marker, a reminder that Afrobeats doesn’t have to be defined by Lagos alone, or by the industry’s obsession with external validation. It proved that authenticity, faith, and community can still shape careers. “Homeless wasn’t just about music,” Mide reflects. “It was God’s way of reminding us that even when we feel lost, we’re never truly without a home.”
