Tems Put On For Yoruba Babes In Boy O Boy

@Tems

Let’s get one thing straight before we dive into this—I'm half Yoruba and Soulanni, so don’t come for me in the comments. Now, let’s talk about Tems. The moment I heard the opening chords of her latest single Boy O Boy, my ears perked up.

But wait—was her accent a little less pronounced? I held my breath. One of the things I adore about Tems is her undeniable African essence. Her music is a fusion of sultry, rich, and deeply authentic sounds that resonate with my soul. Knowing there’s a woman topping the charts who likely grew up in a world similar to mine? It’s a moment of pride.

Then I saw her hair and gasped. Oh no. Are they taking the Yoruba out of Tems? Please, no. We need representation!

But just as quickly as the panic set in, Tems reminded us exactly who she is. Draped in a flowing satin gown, radiating power and poise, she effortlessly lifts her lover from the bed and—gracefully, intentionally—walks him to the street like a sleeping baby. At that moment, I exhaled. She’s still Yoruba.

Throughout the video, Tems plays with reality in a way only a Yoruba woman can. She sings about her man working her last nerve, while sitting across from him at a dining table, picturing all the ways she could choose violence—but never breaking her serene, collected facade. This is the Yoruba way. A way of being that I, a first-gen Yoruba babe raised in the U.S., know all too well.

See, in America, people see me as just a Black woman. But my Yoruba heritage is embedded in my DNA—it shapes my worldview, my relationships, my money moves, my everything. Because I sound and look American, people assume they can place me neatly in a box. But let me tell you something—I will not shrink my Yoruba-ness just because some Americans pretend they can’t relate.

Nor will I suddenly adopt a strong Nigerian accent to make newly arrived Africans feel comfortable. I exist in both worlds, and you will respect my gangster. First and foremost—as my father’s daughter—a Yoruba African woman—because that’s exactly who you’ll meet if I’m stripped of my senses and provoked to come out of a bag on you. We thank God for peace and pray I don't have to pop out. And that’s why Tems is so important. Her music bridges the gap—without erasing any part of who she is. This artistically demonstrates to Americans: 'same but different.'

Yoruba women and American women move differently in relationships, and that’s just facts. From a young age, Yoruba children—boys and girls—are taught to stand in their divine power. It’s all about Ase—the balance of energy.

A Yoruba relationship isn’t about control; it’s about harmony. That’s why, when Tems lifts her man in Boy O Boy, she’s not emasculating him—she’s restoring balance. Sometimes, the woman is the strongest.

Sometimes, the man is. And that’s okay. In Yoruba culture, strength isn’t about who’s physically carrying whom; it’s about understanding when to carry. When to lead. When to let go.

In America, gender norms are rigid. A woman lifting a man? Gasp! Scandalous. But in Yoruba culture, we don’t see it that way. Number one: I birthed you. That alone makes me powerful. Number two: You are still my strength in return. Relationships are a partnership, a dance of energies. No unnecessary power struggles—just understood balance.

That’s why, in Boy O Boy, Tems doesn’t need to scream or fight. She lets him feel the shift. She expects him to recognize the imbalance and correct it. If he doesn’t? To the streets, he goes. Simple. She’s not going to over-exert herself in masculinity to keep the scales balanced—that would be chaotic, unacceptable, and a denial of the masculine nurturing she deserves.

That's right masculine nurturing and feminine strength—let me step out of my Yoruba bag and into my American church to explain it simply. In Genesis 2:19 God has Adam help him take care of (govern) everything he creates. Its not until Adam needs help in Genesis 2:22 that one of Adams ribs is used to fashion a woman—bone of his bone flesh of his flesh—Eve.

By verse 24, I think the harmony of a Yoruba relationship is encapsulated nicely. Heavy on the you should know what's going on with you're rib, take care of that and don't require too much. She's a brilliant, helpful rib but a rib all the same—You're a whole man. In other words when it comes to my care—governing me in this connection, I'm not about to play with you period. Obviously, there are exceptions to most rule but generally, as Nigerians—we're really moving like that. Church is adjourned, lol.

The point is, I am a woman. You are a man. Life, even down to arguments, is a negotiation. The “rah-rah” is unnecessary.

Just like Tems calmly removing her lover from her space doesn’t make him weak, my choice to speak softly when I am furious does not make me weak.

Yoruba culture is deliberate. There are no quick judgments, no assumptions. You don't know who someone is until they reveal themselves to you. You must invest in knowing them.

Here in America, this cultural difference has led to so many misunderstandings. People think they have me figured out, and they most often get it wrong. And honestly? That has led to many unexpected wins for me.

And that is exactly why Tems must keep representing for the Yoruba babes who look the same but move different.

Long live the queen.