Brymo’s ''Mary Had an Orgasm'': A Literary Analysis of Pleasure and Politics in Nigerian Music

By Ayomipo Akorede

In the vast soundscape of Nigerian music, every artiste carries a distinct voice. 9ice brought Yoruba-infused street poetry to the mainstream, Darey embodied R&B’s polish and romance, Kabbar experimented with cultural fusion, and Asa carved her niche as Nigeria’s folk-soul storyteller. But for Brymo, who seems to stand apart, we can call him a troubadour whose sound defies commercial formulas and lyrics read like literature. Now, let's think of it like this: if 9ice is the voice of the street, Asa is the voice of nostalgia, and Darey is the voice of romance, then Brymo is unmistakably the voice of philosophy and poetry. Do you agree? If not, what about his own uniqueness that thrives on reflection and not immediacy, hooks, rhythms, and danceability like most Afrobeats singers? You can't shrug off the fact that his music slows you down, insisting that you not just listen but read between the lines. He turns the song into a page and the page into a mirror. That is what undoubtedly makes him Nigeria’s most literary musician, a figure whose art belongs as much in a bookshelf discussion of African literature as on a Spotify playlist.

So, I stumbled on “Mary Had an Orgasm”, a song from his 2019 A.A.A  album, and I thought it's more than erotic provocation. Yes, playful, but beneath its playful vulgarity lies a sharp commentary on Nigeria’s social realities. Like much of Brymo’s work, the song blurs the line between intimacy and philosophy, using the language of the bedroom to reflect the contradictions of daily life. 

The opening lines set the stage with the voice of a newcomer:

“Hey, Naija boy 

I just moved to Lagos, this fall 

I don’t know anywhere at all 

Care to show me the city”

Although flirtatious in sound, metaphorically it captures the experience of Lagos itself -- a city that seduces newcomers with promises, only to challenge them with chaos, hustle, and survival. I'm confident your uncle can't deny this. Just as Mary seeks a guide, millions of Nigerians find themselves navigating Lagos with hope and trepidation until they realise it's a hoax. No wonder his chant-like refrain grounds the song in Yoruba oral tradition.

“Sarewagba oh 

Ofo’ri ko, ofobo ko 

Sarewagba oh 

 O fenu ko, O f’obo ko”

On the surface, these are earthy lines about rushing to claim sexual pleasure. But in metaphor, they reflect Nigeria’s culture of exploitation and opportunism. “Sarewagba” becomes a symbol of how politicians, elites, and even ordinary hustlers grab whatever they can, whether wealth, power, or fleeting intimacy, which is typical of many romantic relationships today. The sexual language mirrors the political reality: survival in Nigeria often means taking advantage before someone else does.

“Black or white

It’s always pink inside''

To be frank, these crude lines are striking. Their biological observation doubles as a profound metaphor for human universality. No matter one's race, class, or nationality, everyone shares the same vulnerabilities. For Nigeria, a nation fractured by ethnic tensions and inequality, the lyric collapses barriers and underscores the sameness of human fragility. It is a reminder that hardship, love, and desire remain universal truths. Additionally, the song reflects on personal struggles and political issues.

“He’s got stories of his own 

About the government stealing everything 

About the lazy country people”

Here, bedroom intimacy turns into political confession. This mirrors real-life Nigeria, where daily conversations, whether at beer parlors, bus stops, or bedrooms, inevitably circle back to politics. The lyrics capture the duality of blame in Nigerian society: leaders accused of corruption and people accused of complacency. Brymo places this tension squarely in the private space, showing how politics invades even moments of intimacy. While the refrain “Mary had an orgasm / Oh, Mary’s got it bad” sounds vulgar on the surface, it marks the climax. But metaphorically, the orgasm represents temporary relief—a momentary distraction from hardship. Nigerians often turn to love, humour, music, or pleasure as survival strategies in a country where systemic problems persist. The orgasm here is not resolution, but escape: a fleeting release before reality crashes back.

Now, you'll agree with me that “Mary Had an Orgasm” is not just about sex. It is about the ways intimacy, politics and exploitation mirror one another in everyday Nigerian life, how survival demands both hustle and escape, and how human universality hides beneath social fractures. Brymo places the vulgar beside the philosophical, forcing the listener to recognize how deeply entangled pleasure and politics truly are. By weaving Yoruba refrains, social critique, and erotic imagery, Brymo situates himself within the African literary tradition, where satire, proverbs, and metaphors have long been tools for exposing uncomfortable truths. Like Soyinka’s biting plays or Fela’s protest anthems, his work insists that art is never only entertainment. It is also encounter, dialogue, and critique.