When a choir sings like angels, one must never forget that even Satan once led worship.
The Book of Ezekiel 28:13 gives a vivid description of Lucifer as a cherub endowed with musical craftsmanship, “the workmanship of your tabrets and pipes.” His fall was not necessarily rooted in jealousy of other singers, but in pride. That lesson remains timeless.
As I listened to a former member of the Evangelical Church Winning All (ECWA), the church where late gospel singer and evangelist Bunmi Akinnaanu, popularly known as Omije Ojumi, once worshipped, I could not hold back my tears.
The former member revealed that Omije Ojumi was not originally written or owned by Akinnaanu alone, but was a product of the ECWA choir.
According to him, the choir had repeatedly warned her against parading herself as the sole author of the song.
At ECWA, he explained, choir rules forbid members from forming private music bands unless they are willing to resign from the group.
Having led the choir for years and becoming closely identified with Omije Ojumi, Akinnaanu eventually found herself torn between personal calling and collective ownership. She chose the former.
The public embraced her, but many choir members felt sidelined, believing they had contributed to the song that launched her into the limelight.
What followed was not unusual in modern church music spaces, envy, rivalry, and silent resentment.
Music attracts people to church, but it has also become a department where professionalism now often outweighs spirituality. Choirs now prioritise presentation over salvation.
Musicians are branded, rehearsed, and staged, but the soul-saving essence is sometimes lost.
We grew up listening to gospel pioneers like Evangelist Bola Are, Funmi Aragbaye, Toun Soetan, Evangelist Adelakun (Amona Tete Mabo), Evangelist Sola Rotimi, and Evangelist Niyi Adedokun, all products of church choirs who eventually stepped out to form their own ministries.
Their songs were deeply spiritual, freely ministered, and aimed at winning souls. They sang at crusades without demanding fees, driven more by calling than contracts.
Today, many church instrumentalists are hired professionals, paid to accompany choirs they do not spiritually belong to. This culture breeds competition instead of communion, envy instead of edification.
According to the former ECWA member, it was this atmosphere that ultimately pushed Akinnaanu out to build her own brand.
The Scripture asks in Psalm 11:3:
“If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?”The verse speaks of moral and spiritual collapse, yet urges the righteous not to despair but to seek refuge in God.
Omije Ojumi may have preached truth and touched lives, but the singer who made the song famous has now departed a world stained by envy and silent wars.
Following her death, burial plans were announced and cancelled within hours. In a brief statement, fellow gospel artiste Alayo Melody said the decision was due to issues arising within the family.
The burial committee expressed regret for the inconvenience, stating:
“This decision became necessary due to some issues arising from and within her family.”
Akinnaanu died on January 12 after a prolonged battle with a severe leg ailment. Months earlier, she had appealed publicly for prayers and healing, drawing widespread sympathy from the gospel music community.
Initial burial arrangements had included a service of songs at LTV 8 Ground, Ikeja, followed by a candlelight procession and artistes’ tribute night.
The interment was scheduled for the following day before the plans were suspended.
Born into music, Akinnaanu began singing at the age of ten and later abandoned a promising banking career to pursue gospel music full-time.
Her breakout song, Omije Ojumi, resonated deeply with Nigerian Christians and became a staple in churches and homes nationwide.
Her voice may be silent now, but the questions her journey raises about ownership, pride, spirituality, and the true purpose of church music remain louder than ever.
