Sabi Wu vs. Lilmaina and the Question of Artistic Originality by Otieno Arudo

In Nairobi’s buzzing hip-hop and arbantone ecosystem, a storm is quietly escalating beneath the surface of viral TikToks and high-streaming singles. A recent online spat has brought the usually blurred line between inspiration and imitation into sharp focus, as Kilimani-based rapper and producer Sabi Wu accuses the more prominent Lilmaina of biting his style.

The saga began with Instagram close-friend stories — videos initially visible to a select audience — in which Sabi Wu highlighted striking similarities between his songs and three recent releases by Lilmaina. The stories were soon leaked to Nairobi Gossip Club, giving the issue a much wider audience and sparking heated debate on Kenyan X (formerly Twitter).

Sabi Wu is not your average underground artist. He self-produces, blends genres fluidly, and moves between shrap, dancehall, and trap with ease. His work has long been celebrated in Nairobi’s alt hip-hop spaces for its stylistic integrity. In contrast, Lilmaina, a Gengetone artist who skyrocketed to fame through comedic skits and the viral track Kishash, has become the face of the arbantone wave — a subgenre defined by sampling and playful sonic repurposing.

But the timing and stylistic parallels in the disputed songs raise more than eyebrows. They prompt hard questions about authorship, recognition, and the ethical murk of Kenya’s expanding music scene.

The Music in Question: Beat for Beat, Flow for Flow

Let’s look at the core of Sabi Wu’s claim — the music itself. He identifies three Lilmaina songs — Like That, Na Bado, and 1 by 1 — as bearing a resemblance to his earlier releases: Fanya Like This, Reject Hio Bill, and One by One, respectively. Below is a comparison of these songs:

Song Comparison Table

Each pairing exhibits elements that go beyond genre coincidence. The similarities in song titles and vocal cadence — particularly on Na Bado and Reject Hio Bill — invite scrutiny. Here, the argument that this is just ‘how hip-hop works’ doesn’t suffice. Using the same beat (Not Like Us) within days of each other, rapping with a comparable message and rhythm, and in one case releasing a song with nearly the same name and theme (1 by 1 vs. One by One), reads more like a blueprint than inspiration. Moreover, Sabi Wu’s dual role as both producer and rapper gives weight to his accusations. He has skin in the game on both ends of creation. And crucially, his songs were all released first.

Misunderstanding the Moment: It’s Not Just Beef

The framing of this as a petty “beef” — fueled partly by Lil Maina’s dry humor and nonchalant livestream dismissal — is not only misleading, it is dangerous. By portraying himself as “above the drama,” Maina positions Sabi Wu’s claims as clout-chasing rather than legitimate grievance. This misdirection, however, conveniently dodges the core issue: artistic exploitation in an uneven music economy.

X user @nicoamanene was among the first to stir discussion, posting, “Huko instagram kumewaka sabi wu amecall out Lilmainaon copying his flow and songs.” Reactions followed swiftly.

Producer An21 tweeted: “Yall really screen recorded Sabi Wus close friends, can’t trust anyone,” while DJ NIK, weighing in on the discourse’s direction, lamented: “Hip-hop still stuck in the aimless beefs; si you evolve like other people tu.”

But what if this isn’t aimless at all? What if this moment is a protest — not just against artistic mimicry but the larger silencing of lesser-known artists in a power-imbalanced industry?

“Sabi Wu amepost close friends vile Maish is biting his style, mtu akatuma screenshots Nairobi Gossip Club for a quick payday … it really be your own,” posted @jaeyebeats, capturing the sting of betrayal and the casual cruelty of virality.

When Power Meets Piracy: The Broader Picture

This controversy cannot be divorced from the broader conversations about intellectual property and power in Kenya’s creative sector. The recent legal feud between Nigerian producer Sam and Kenyan legend Nyashinski over unpaid royalties, or the fallout between Nyashinski and producer Cedo over a revenue split from a Safaricom gig, point to an industry rife with blurred agreements and opaque splits.

In such a climate, biting isn’t just artistic theft — it’s financial sabotage.When the artist with more visibility, capital, and media access replicates the work of an underground creator, they don’t just “inspire discourse” — they distort the pipeline. They ride a wave without building it.And worse, when this is dismissed as “just beef,” it reinforces an ecosystem where the most visible are rarely held accountable — and the original minds behind the movement get erased.

We are at a crossroads. Kenya’s hip-hop and Gengetone scenes are evolving at an unprecedented pace. But if we do not draw lines — and respect them — we will end up with a soundscape where innovation is stolen, voices are muted, and justice is a joke.Let us be clear: not every claim of biting is valid. False accusations can destroy careers and stall momentum. But when receipts are tabled, timelines are clear, and patterns of mimicry emerge — we owe it to the culture to investigate, not dismiss. Sabi Wu’s callout may or may not end in court, but it has already laid bare the moral vacuum beneath the shiny exterior of Kenyan pop stardom.The question now is: will the culture check itself before the courts do it for us?

Written by Otieno Arudo