Lady Donli: the Pan African Rockstar

Fresh off her Pan African Rockstar tour, Lady Donli returns with new music, deeper reflections on Northern Nigerian culture, and her ongoing mission to create safe spaces for African women creatives.

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Her tribal linework tattoo stands out on the back of her left hand. Lady Donli appears calm and relaxed on screen, as she settles in for a video-chat. “I’m sorry I took a minute; I was trying to water my plants,” she quips. Tiny white cowries adorn her locs, tying further into the Afro-centric theme that connects her audience strongly to her music.

Since she broke out in 2018 with her debut album, Enjoy Your Life, Lady Donli (born Zainab Donli) has consistently woven her music around African culture — particularly Northern Nigeria traditions, with her use of Hausa language, as well as indigenous instrumentation from the region.

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Her remix of the lead single, Cash, with Davido the following year further pushed her into the spotlight. Other collaborations at that time with MI Abaga and Falz, among others, helped to keep her sound in circuit across the Nigerian music scene.

Raised between Kaduna, Abuja, and the UK, where she studied law, Lady Donli’s early exposure to diverse music cultures shapes her affinity for indigenous fusions. Her discography pulses with a distinct mix of alternative Soul, RnB, Jazz, Rock, and indigenous sounds from Africa’s Sahel region, which includes North-eastern Nigeria.

Fresh from touring North America, Africa, and Europe last year, Lady Donli is back with a new song, Keep On Loving Me, a single infused with Jazz influences and Igbo lyrics.

In this week’s Guardian Music, Lady Donli discusses championing women’s participation in creative spaces, reflects on her multicultural influences, promotes her mission to evolve her art, and shares insights on Nigeria’s evolving alternative music scene.

Tell us about your new record and how you brought it to life.

That record was one of those songs that came together super intuitively. The producer, Yinka Bernie, sent me a pack of beats late last year. I gravitated toward one in particular but one day, I went back to the pack, heard this other instrumental, and just started singing.

I recorded it all in one take, added some backing vocals, and that was it. It’s one of my easiest tracks because I didn’t overthink it. I just made the demo, sent it to Yinka and a few trusted friends, and their reactions were so moving. I sent a bunch of songs, but everyone kept coming back to this one.

I’ve got so many unreleased tracks I hold onto, promising myself I’ll drop them and then never do. But with this one, the strong response made me think, “If people are feeling it this much, maybe it’s time.”

It’s influenced by music I love — Zamrock, Sahel music from North Africa. I’m really happy it’s out, thrilled with the reactions, and grateful to be dropping music again.

You’ve managed to showcase a lot of Northern Nigerian and Northern African cultures in your music. What influences this part of your music?

By default, I’m influenced by Northern Nigeria — my father’s from Kaduna State, and I spent a lot of time visiting Kaduna and Zaria as a kid. I grew up in Abuja, so there’s this inherent Northern identity in me. I also listen to a lot of Northern African music and see the similarities with traditional instrumentation from Northern Nigeria.

Growing up, rap culture was huge in the North. Some of Nigeria’s biggest rappers, from MI to Odumodublvck, come from there. As a kid, I wanted to be a rapper, and that’s shaped me. Even as a singer, I can flow into songs with a rapper’s mindset, hitting certain pockets that come from that perspective. My brother was a rapper with his own label, so I was surrounded by it, and that influenced how I think.

But I’ve also always been drawn to tradition and understanding my identity. In Kaduna, I was fascinated by local instruments, the way church groups used Hausa language and different dialects to compose—it intrigued me. When I started putting out music properly, like with my debut album Interior Life, I wanted that Northern influence to shine through. That record feels like it could be a gospel song from a Northern Nigerian church. Then with Keep on Loving Me, you hear the Sahel-inspired guitars, that northern vibe. I sprinkle it in—a Hausa word here, a sound there—because it’s who I am. There’s no faking it; it’s just in the work.

Jazz is a strong element noticeable in your work. Tell us about your relationship with Jazz music.

Jazz is my favorite genre, full stop. I’m always finding ways to shout it out in my music, though I wouldn’t call myself a jazz musician—jazz can be so technical, with components I haven’t mastered. But I weave it in because it’s what I listen to most—jazz, psychedelic rock, African music.

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I focus on jazz by Black artists, music rooted in Africa, fusions of jazz and rock, because I’m obsessed with what came before me. That’s how I learn: looking at the past and figuring out how to make it better. To me, innovation is taking what’s existed and improving it. I dive into music from the ‘70s, ‘80s, ‘90s — back when musicians played multiple instruments, when technique mattered because you didn’t get endless chances. They recorded on stereo, direct to vinyl; studio time was expensive, so every move was deliberate. I study that to see how I can innovate.

With jazz, it’s about slipping pieces of it into what I’m doing—maybe a technical flourish, a funky brass line, a tight rhythm section. I just love it, and it’s always there in my practice somehow.

As one of the key players on the alte scene, do you feel it is still a home for creatives like yourself?

That’s a great question, and I’m not sure how to answer it perfectly. As Lady Donli, I’ve built a community for myself; that’s the backbone of everything I do creatively—it serves me and supports my practice.

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The alte community, when I first encountered it, did so much to platform me and fuel my growth. It helped me record my debut album and was the first place I felt relevant, like my work mattered; it was enough. Back then, we were 18, 19, 20-year-old kids collaborating, finding ways to get our music out there.

Now, as I’m getting older, I think alte should serve the next generation of artists, like it did for us when we started. It can be anything, really—for me, it was about finding like-minded people who wanted to buck convention, drop music on SoundCloud, do our own shows, not worry about radio, just create. It’s about going against the grain of what society expects from art. It doesn’t even have to be music—it could be visual artists, whatever. I think it should keep evolving to support younger or different generations. That’s how I see it now.

You’ve been very busy lately, touring the world. What are your most favourite moments on your Pan African Rockstar tour?

Last year, my favourite city was Amsterdam; on the continent right now, it’s Nairobi.

Amsterdam blew me away because I got my first undeniable encore — people stamping their feet, shouting, I had to go back out. I had zero expectations; I thought it was just a random stop my agents threw in. But the turnout was amazing, the sound was perfect, and people from all demographics were requesting specific songs. The flow of that show was beautiful.

Nairobi surprised me too—I knew East Africans love music, but the energy there was unreal. I don’t go into new territories with expectations, unlike places like London where I know my audience. So Nairobi’s vibe, Amsterdam’s encore, even New York, they all shocked me. I see ticket sales on the back end, but I still ask, “Are people really out there?” Then I hit the stage, take off my shades, and it’s like, “Wow, there’s a lot of you!” It’s always a pleasant surprise when a room’s full and they know my songs.

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What’s your take on hosting concerts in Lagos?

No, no tour anytime soon! As for Lagos, hosting events there is hell. It’s fun because of the people, but the logistics? Not the best. I say this all the time: we don’t have proper venues or concert halls. When I tour globally, I’m in venues with backlines, staff, lights, stages, all set. In Lagos, it’s, “Where can I go? Where it won’t rain? If it rains, where’s the cover? Where’s the sound?” There’s so much to figure out, and it doesn’t help build a solid live scene. It’s tough, especially as an independent artist.

Your latest non-profit, Yaruwa Nights, focuses on elevating women creatives. Tell us about that mission.

I have always wanted to create a community for women creatives to come together, share stories, build a network — an ecosystem to support more women.

As a woman in this industry, I’m often the only one in the room, and I hate that. I don’t want to be the only one or the first — I want lots of women doing things, filling rooms together.

I’d told myself I’d wait for the right time, sponsors, whatever, but you keep waiting, and the only moment is now. So in 2025, I just started it. It’s not at the scale I dream of yet; we’re figuring it out.

The goal is a home where women feel seen, valued, where their thoughts and experiences aren’t diminished. We’re building a sustainable network, not just a talk shop — a real community club. It’s a women-only space to do whatever we please. Creative or not, just come as you are — that’s all you need for Yaruwa.

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Lastly, what’s the vision for Lady Donli?

I just want to keep getting better — that’s my vision. Constantly improving on who I am today is as much as I can ask for. It’s not about saying, “Oh, I want to sell out a million stadiums” — that’d be great, sure — but my real goal is to grow from where I am at this moment. That’s it.

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