I know a certain deacon who has a long-standing beef (if you may call it that) with these new-age choirs. “I do not hear anything they are singing,” he’d grumble, shaking his head, “they are just singing ‘spri-spri.’”
He would often reminisce about the “good old days” when the church was filled with melodious hymns and traditional dialect songs that actually praised God, when every note seemed to lift the spirit rather than confuse it.
So, imagine when I first heard Ihe Di Gi Mma by Sister Chinyere Udoma, I couldn’t help but wonder what he would think. After all, this was a cultural song, rooted in the Igbo dialect, praising God without all those ‘spri-spri’.
Ihe Di Gi Mma, translated as “What is Good for You”, is a gospel song that has set social media and church discussions ablaze since its early 2026 release. Sister Chinyere Udoma, known for her deep, resonant Igbo gospel tracks like Wind of Glory, positions the song as both a prayer and a decision. It directly confronts fleshly temptations and urges believers to prioritise the divine over carnal desires.
Lyrics like “My flesh wants me to fornicate. My flesh wants me to masturbate. My flesh wants me to engage in homosexuality…” are unflinching in their honesty, leaving no room for euphemism. On the one hand, this is refreshingly candid, serving as a wake-up call to the spiritually complacent; on the other hand, it walks a fine line.
Here’s where the controversy lies. In a world where gospel music often soft-pedals the ugly sides of sin, Udoma throws everything on the table. Critics argue it’s far too explicit for church settings, or for children, and some wonder aloud: would people actually let these songs be sung in church?
A Catholic priest publicly questioned the song’s appropriateness, asking if kids could sing it and why such language was necessary. And then there’s the modern twist: some people are using the song to make explicit videos, dramatising what the lyrics describe. One of the song’s listeners joked, though not entirely facetiously, that some might even use the track to stimulate pleasure in the throes of fornication. A bit extreme? Absolutely, but it illustrates the song’s double-edged impact.
Yet, there’s a paradox here. Maybe we do need songs that hit the nail on the head when it comes to sin. After all, the Bible does not mince words. But does one really need a play-by-play of sexual acts to understand that sexual immorality is wrong? Must a cleric show his congregation exactly how to wrap marijuana to warn against drug abuse?
The message is important; the method, perhaps, is overkill. Social media users even speculate that the backlash may be part of an intentional ploy to generate virality, with criticism viewed as a necessary trade-off for attention in an oversaturated gospel market.
Proponents of Ihe Di Gi Mma argue that the song’s directness shakes spiritual complacency. It forces listeners to confront the sins that quietly lurk behind polite smiles, family bedrooms, and Sunday morning worship. In this sense, it is both a mirror and a spotlight, showing what the flesh desires while emphasising that heaven is the priority.
But the line between relevance and vulgarity is thin, and Udoma’s track straddles it uncomfortably. While the song’s intent is undeniably spiritual, its execution is shockingly explicit, and the risk of misinterpretation is real. Public forums are alive with debates: is this a courageous exposé of hidden sins or an unnecessary provocation for clicks and views? Some social media users argue that the backlash is more about presentation than substance. Yet, the reality remains, explicit content in the gospel can easily be hijacked for entirely the opposite purpose of worship.
In the end, one cannot dismiss the core message of Ihe Di Gi Mma: it calls for reflection, repentance, and prioritising God over the flesh. But as much as the song strives to confront sin, it does so with a rawness that borders on the vulgar. The song is an important cultural artefact in contemporary gospel music, but perhaps some restraint would have preserved the spiritual intent without opening the door for misinterpretation or TikTok dramatisations.
Ihe Di Gi Mma succeeds in stirring the conscience but flirts dangerously with sensationalism. It reminds us that the gospel can evolve, yet evolution without discretion risks undermining the very reverence it seeks to inspire. In other words, we can hit the nail on the head, but we don’t have to swing the hammer so hard that we splinter the furniture.
