By Elizabeth Osayande

Pelumi Folajimi, a Lecturer at the Department of Dramatic Arts, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, is a creative writer and scholar. He focuses on African and African Diaspora Literature, Cultural Studies and Popular Culture, including Popular Music.

In this exclusive chat with Vanguard, he shares his findings on how technology is either shaping the core ethos of literature, culture and more.

Excerpts

You studied Theatre, Literature, and Digital Culture. When you reflect on your academic journey, what animates your work the most?

What animates me is the persistent question of the impacts of literature on human existence and vice versa. Whether working on adaptations of Western literatures in African settings or exploring how YouTube reshapes the afterlives of performance, I’m always drawn to voices at the margins—voices that challenge power and demand to be heard. My academic path has deepened that commitment.

You have written critically about the divide between popular music and “elitist” drama. What does the divide tell us about how societies construct cultural value?

It tells us that value is never neutral. Societies tend to reward art that flatters their power structures. Fela’s Afrobeat is raw, political, and speaks the language of the streets. Carlos Moore’s Fela: This Bitch of a Life, Michael E. Veal’s Fela: The Life and Times of a Musical Icon, Sola Olorunyomi’s Afrobeat! Fela and the Imagined Continent, and Tejumola Olaniyan’s Arrest the Music!: Fela and His Rebel Art and Politics were some of the books that compelled my interest in the music of Fela. They are powerful and insightful books that study the music and career of Fela. Soyinka’s drama, though powerful, is wrapped in elite codes. The schism is not just aesthetic—it’s ideological. My work examines how digital platforms either reinforce or disrupt those hierarchies, depending on how audiences engage.

In your opinion, why do ancient and European plays continue to resonate in postcolonial contexts?

European and ancient plays often demonstrate universal relevance, just as African literature has global significance. There is often cultural and political similarity between Western and African countries. Therefore, European and ancient literature often has significance and relevance to Africa.

What do you see as the relationship between performance and protest in African literature and theatre?

In African contexts, performance and protest often blur. Theatre isn’t just a stage; it’s a battleground, court, pulpit. From Osofisan’s audience-driven justice experiments to Ngũgĩ and Mugo’s anti-colonial dramaturgy, African theatre has historically served as a civic instrument, not mere entertainment. My research pays attention to how that spirit survives—and evolves—in the digital age.

You have taught courses on traditional African theatre and African Studies. What’s your philosophy as an educator?

My philosophy is simple: make knowledge relational and relevant. I want students to see themselves in what they study and to see study itself as an act of liberation. Whether I’m teaching or working on writing mentorship, I prioritise cultural literacy and critical imagination. Education must serve the future, not just repeat the past.

You analyse audience responses on YouTube as part of your research. What insights do you draw from those digital commentaries?

Digital commentaries are cultural texts. A YouTube comment under a Fela video might contain generational grief, political resistance, or aesthetic appreciation—all in a few words. I treat those digital traces as expressions of audiences’ views. They reflect not only how audiences feel, but how they interpret and reframe meaning in real time.

Your academic formation spans literature, theatre, and visual culture. How do you see these fields converging in your work?

They converge through the lens of comparative struggle and symbolic resistance. Whether I’m reading a Brechtian drama or an African protest play, I’m always tracking how forms and voices shape power. My studies in literature add ethical nuance while theatre keeps me attuned to embodiment and the audience. I do multidisciplinary studies which are constantly alive in my writing and thinking.

You presented work on topics ranging from the June 12, 1993 elections to representations of the girl-child in African literature. What connects these diverse interests?

They are all anchored in the politics of memory, identity, and marginality. The June 12 election was a moment of national rupture; the girl-child is often the most silenced demographic in literary and political narratives. Whether historical or gendered, I’m drawn to moments where silence is enforced—and to the writers and performers who choose to break such silence.

What responsibilities do you believe digital platforms have in shaping how African cultural materials are archived and consumed?

Immense responsibilities. Platforms like YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter are no longer neutral repositories—they are architects of attention. They decide what is discoverable, what gets lost, and how context is (or isn’t) preserved. My argument is that we need culturally informed moderation of digital platforms if we truly want digital preservation to serve justice and accuracy.

Finally, as you look ahead in your career, what questions are you most eager to keep asking?

I want to keep asking: How do stories survive across generations? Who controls those stories? And what forms will resistance take next? Whether in classrooms, journals, or performances, my future work will continue to interrogate the spaces between remembrance and reinvention, always with an eye on justice, creativity, and truth-telling.