The Short Life and Times of Damino Damoche

The story of Damilola Olaniyan, better known as Damino Damoche or simply Damoshe, is one of promise, grit, and a poignant reminder of how fleeting life can be in the fast-paced lanes of Lagos and the fraught corridors of Nigerian campuses. Born in Lagos, though a native of Ogun State, he grew up in a family of three children and quickly found music as his way of expression. At Lagos State University (LASU), where he studied Banking and Finance, he balanced lectures with beats, exams with rhymes, and the hope that his voice would someday cut through the noise of Nigeria’s competitive music industry.

Like many aspiring stars in the early 2000s, Damoche began as part of a group called ''Middle Guys'', but when the group failed to gain traction, he struck out on his own. His single ''Obo to Che'' featuring Skaliey became a hit on the streets, blaring from campus speakers, street DJs, and rickety Danfo buses long before it ever caught the attention of any broadcasting house. More songs followed, ''Fall In The Circle'' with Drama and ''Feel Aray'' with Stormy Zino and IQ of House of Ginjah, each one cementing his place as a raw voice of the streets. Though radio stations and TV broadcasters rarely played his songs because the lyrics were off limits. Hence, they were confined just to the streets and clubhouses, which in turn deepened his street credibility. He was an artiste for the people like Saint Janet, not the polished airwaves. As the Yoruba say, bi a bá r’erin lójo àná, a máa rántí ẹ̀ ní òní (when you see the elephant of yesterday, you still remember it today).

By 2012, Damoche was collaborating with rising and established Nigerian hip hop artistes of the time, such as DJ Zeez, Konga, Prince Banton, Zee World, Shanko Rasheed, Skaliey, and Baddo. He dreamed of working with industry giants like D’banj, Durella, and 2Baba, and those who knew him believed he had the drive and ambition to achieve his goals. On campus, he was more than a musician—he was a voice for young people striving against odds, a reminder that hustle and rhythm could coexist with academics.

But in Nigeria, the streets often give and take with the same hand. Do you agree? On February 28, 2013, just after finishing an exam, which was believed to be his final paper, at LASU’s Faculty of Management Sciences, Damoche hurried out of the hall and towards the university gate facing the Isheri-Iyana Iba expressway, probably because he had been hinted of his hit. He never made it home. Gunmen, suspected cultists, opened fire, striking him fatally. The news of his death spread like wildfire across the campus, sparking fear, panic, and whispers of reprisal attacks. Rumors claimed cult wars had caught up with him, but the police never confirmed he belonged to any confraternity. Whether he was a target or a victim caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, his life was ended in a burst of gunfire, leaving family, friends, and fans with grief and unanswered questions.

Today, more than a decade later, Damino Damoche's songs remain underground relics of a talent that never fully bloomed. Broadcasting houses may not have played him then, and they still rarely mention him now, but among those who remember, his voice lingers. His story is nostalgic not because he conquered the global stage, but because he represents all the Nigerian youth whose dreams were cut short before the world could hear them. 

Damino Damoche was a son, a student, a Lagos boy with Ogun roots, a hip hop dreamer who wanted to turn hustle into hits. He was embraced by the streets, denied by the mainstream for vulgar reasons, and silenced by violence. His legacy, though brief, endures in memory as a symbol of unrealized potential like Mohbad.