It is not just because of the Nigerian heritage, I so proudly claim and identify with.

It is not just because it conjures up memories of a happy childhood, family gatherings and visits to my home village.

It is not just because his musical genius is now talked about in classrooms, played and referenced by contemporary musicians, and performed in theaters for the world to see and hear.

Granted, it is for all those reasons, but also quite simply because like Fela, I am an artist. And it is an artist’s obligation to cultivate his or her craft, to share it with passion, and–God willing–to touch and inspire others. Fela’s music inspires me. It makes my heart beat faster, it makes my hips gyrate with frenzy, it makes my lips curl into a defiant smile, and it speaks to the rebel inside me. The rebel in me that seeks to fight for justice, to chastise corrupt politicians, to proclaim my right to free expression, to make love… to make change.

In 1926 New York City passed a law that states that any place having “three or more people moving in a synchronized fashion” (in other words, dancing) must have a valid cabaret license. A license that is expensive and very difficult to obtain. Believe it or not, in 2010, that law still stands. Through classes, workshops, panel discussions, performances, movement, dance… I try to educate people about these antiquated and racially-motivated laws that affect our ability to enjoy music and dance freely in a city as diverse and progressive as New York. Fela would have done the same. To refer to his own words: “My brothers, make you no follow book-o, Look am and use your sense.”

As a dancer, music is the lifeblood of my art. And Fela’s music, well it has profoundly influence my life… and it now lives in my blood.