Why was the Gidi Culture Festival fun? Who the who went to thegidiculture festival? And the What the What I, Afam the great, did atthe Gidi Culture Festival?

Whoop! Whoop! I can't tell you why I'm whooping exactly. We've become so aware of our internal processes that we're expected to be able to account for every emotion at every point in time. Or maybe this is just me. I wouldn't be surprised if it is, seeing as I'm mad and stuff. Stuff is a good word. Yeah! Stuff. It's as good a word as slut. I have a thing for words. I like words the way some people like marmite. There's no real logic to it. I can't explain it. What I'm getting at is sometimes we need to let ourselves feel without demanding an explanation.

On Sunday, the second of March 2014, I, Afam, the epic, went to the first edition of the gidiculture festival, and I had the best time. If we were to get into it - and believe me we shall - the practicalities would not match my experience of it. In this case the facts do not equal or exceed my rendition of events.

For those of you who are more used to my adventures without pictures, I will not apologise for the change. Why should I apologise for feeling differently from how I once felt? Wouldn't that be bizarre? And for those of you who read one post and feel like you've got some concrete understanding of who I am and what it is that I do, I'll delight in telling you that you are wrong. This blog is 300 posts deep. I am not as good as my last blog post just as an essay cannot be damned by its last sentence.

The best place to begin is usually at the beginning, so that is where this post shall find its beginning, even if its beginning isn't actually at the beginning. The Gidi culture festival was sold as a day long extravaganza bonanza filled with the following spectacular spectaculars:

• Beach Volleyball and Football with a mix of exhibition games and celebrity matches
• A series of main acts and supporting acts to start the merriment at 12 in the afternoon and continue it until 1 in the morning. 

It wasn't either of those things exactly but that doesn't mean that it wasn't great. In the past I'd have launched into a tirade about how everything in Nigeria is shoddy, and how nothing is perfect and, how everything starts late, and how the festival was completely unlike Glastonbury. In the past I lived in a nice studio on the 21st floor of a very tall building, and I had an income that's at least five times greater than my income now. I lived in Manchester, and Lagos was my playground. The lengths I went to, to look down on things were so extreme that at times I imagine that my back gained the shape of a protractor (That is to say that I bent over backwards to make comparisons that were useless). When you live here, things are different. You settle more. You demand less. You get sucked into the easy sway of things. If the festival had actually started at 12pm, there wouldn't have been anyone there. I for one, felt a little bit guilty when I turned up at 4pm with my buddy, Feyi. Feyi's a photographer. She blogs at http://feyiadesanya.blogspot.com and she's a part timer at Mania magazine.

Maybe it isn't that you demand less. I think it could be that your priorities change. At the moment I'm just trying to get through the days, you know? 

This is me, afar. The one in the middle is the compulsory smile. The two on the right are me agonising and complaining and feeling sorry for myself. "We should have got here earlier" I said. Feyi nipped that little freak out session in the bud, when she replied, "Bewbew, there's no music. If you've found a way to hold a music festival without music then I'd like to know about it." I cheered up quickly after that.

Now, Feyi dabbles in the business of fashion blogging. This means she likes to stand pretty, sit pretty, and pose pretty. She had me assist her in this endeavour on the day. As you might imagine, that picture in the middle is of my own creation. Yes! I made her stand like that because I, Afam, have got an evil sense of humour. In my mind she was flagging down an imaginary taxi cab while the locals observed her from a distance. I could feel the aspersions cast on her sanity by the passers by in my heart and I found them amusing. lololololol. #evillaugh. I cannot understand why people say taxi or cab and not taxi and cab together. Taxi cab sounds so much better than taxi, or cab. Anyway, she's wearing an adorable red romper from Asos. 

This is her properly. She's lovely. 

On a side and sort of related note, this blog post has been a little serious. In fact I would go so far as to say that it's been a little bit too serious. There's a fuel scarcity going on in Lagos, the Bokos have gone and murdered a tonne of children and DSTV (The African equivalent of Sky) has dedicated one entire channel to the trials and tribulations of Oscar Pistorious. You don't need serious right now. You need fun. You need joy. You need frivolity. You need to smile, and not care that you've got a deadline for 6am tomorrow morning. Procrastinate with me. It can be healthy. Relax your mind and let your conscience be free, you're now rolling with the words an pictures of the Afam G.

This post is a little bit of a weird one. It's a combination between my account of the events of the day, and rules I think you need to abide by when you're going to a festival type thing. Exciting no? 

All of these girls are stunning to me. They're not the same. They're nothing close to being the same. They aren't dressed the same; their hair is not the same; while they are all black their skin is not the same; their bodies are not the same; but they are still beautiful in any book as far as I'm concerned. Hunny on the far right is I mash Potatoes (Yes! That is her name on the blog. Do not argue with me! Her topshop top is the colour of radioactive mashed potatoes so she shall be called I mash potatoes.) The one on the right of her is Zina. I shan't say much about her because we shall be seeing her later. They're all so well dressed too! They were there for my applause. #IRIPTHEGAGA

Festival Rule number 1: On PAIN of DEATH, do not go alone! NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER go alone! A festival isn't a concert. It isn't 2 hours of your fave prancing around the stage like a naked marionette. A festival is an ordeal. You will need the company. 

Folu Storms getting her life. I like that the picture's out of focus. It makes it a little ethereal and spiritual. I have a theory about Folu. I believe that she went on holiday in Nepal and shacked some special jasmine tea that made her the Nigerian equivalent of Eat, Pray, Love. She's so unaffected and it's lovely to see. She loves her job and it shows. At the moment she's working on a travel show for Ndani TV. 

Festival Rule number 2: Bring a battery powered fan along. I'm serious. By the end of it I was hot, and sweaty. Sure won't be able to protect you from the sort of body odour a day of partying can bring. Remember where you are or the season that you're in. This festival was in Lagos, and it was humid. A fan like the one Folu's holding will always come in handy, plus, it makes for pretty pictures. Cool yourself down without having to pour a bucket of water on your head. 

Now you're probably wondering what it was that I did at the gidiculture festival. Maybe you're even entertaining the notion that I won't tell, but, I'm an over sharer. I'll always tell. I didn't do a heck of a lot in real terms. I ate, I saw old friends, I made new friends, I chased people like the true paparazzo that I am and then I danced.  

That's me eating a waffle on a stick. It was brilliant. I think it had jam on it. I can't remember which company was handing them out for free, and that's poor of me. I'd quite like to give them a shootout, but this is the beauty of blogging. Chances are that they'll read this and they'll say, "hey Afam, we were the ones that gave you that waffle on a stick." and I'll say, "OMFG guys! it was so amazing but if you'd like to be blogged about, SHOW ME DA MONEY!!" 

Festival Rule 2: Eat! Eat lots. You'll need the energy. How can you turn up for hours without end if you don't give your body some fuel? I know skinny bitches rule the world and most if not eating should be reserved for the after life, but if you've got your head screwed on straight, you'll endeavour to burn all that you do eat, by acting a fool, and jumping up and down the place. 

That is me acting a fool, because you only live once right? YOLO!!! While I was doing that, Feyi said, "Bewbew that'd taste so much better if it had a sausage inside it." I choked. She laughed. I glowered. And then she showed me that the company that makes the waffles is in the habit of sticking sausages in their waffles. 

I'm on the point of asking him if he has any more clothes. Whenever I see him and I'm with my camera, he's always wearing this jersey. Is it a Man U jersey? Please don't judge me. Football isn't for everybody. Football and I have never got on. Back when I was a child, I tried so hard to be a football Super Star, but the 19 other people running up and down drove me into such a state of confusion that I often ended up sitting down in the middle of the football pitch, looking for grasshoppers. I feel like he's challenging me. Don't you think he's challenging me? He's glaring at me, daring me to bring my A game. Imma bring it kind sir. When I bring it his barren head will reveal its widow's peak and all will be right in the world. That's all fun and games. He's a great chap. He makes me want to be better. He's Demilade Roberts, and he's an amazing photographer. 

This is Bolaji Kekere-Ekun, and he is Sean Jean. I mean that quite literally. He said it himself in the last Sean Jean campaign. Errr Maa Gerrd! I know a bonifide celeb. Don't worry my famzers I shall not let this opportunity pass me by. I have entered his instagram DMs with some nice insta bants. For the slow among you insta bants is instagram banter. I feel sorry for some of the members of the older generation sometimes. I have an aunt who told me that she was going to go home to ENTER windows. I asked how she intended to accomplish the feat because as far as I know it is impossible to enter windows. But I knew what she meant, for some of our parents opening a laptop is as difficult as driving to the airport and booking an immediate flight to Antarctica. That's where I'll be headed when Papa Afam reads the blog. That's if he doesn't die of shock first. 

Can you tell that I'm his favourite person in all the world? You can't? Look harder. He's my bestie!!  I should feel ashamed, but there is no shame in the madman's game, so there!!

Festival Rule Number 4: Be yourself. No one's watching. I know you think people are, but they're no one. They don't mean shit. People that get in the way of your fun are villains. So if you feel like being an absolute weirdo, plonker or idiot, go ahead. You're in a safe space. 

Here we've got Jenny Tan, the publisher of Reloaded magazine on the left and Zed-eye on the right. It seems that every time Jenny pops up on the blog she's in that romper. That's the second romper we've got on the blog so far. Is that enough for you to call it a trend? I love this shot though. Like I really do. I'd say they didn't know I was there, but they knew. I'm too stunning to be missed. I tell myself this everyday. 

Sunshades. I guess it's safe to say that they're trending right? If you haven't got a pair, go to your nearest mallam. 

Here they are again. How happy they look. I met Jenny at fashion week, and I met Zed-Eye through a mutual friend of ours.

Festival Rule 5: Get your damn life! Happiness always looks more attractive than sadness. Some people think that the expression of happiness is restricted to the movements of your mouth but all students of Tyra know that this is a lie. If you can Smize (smile with your eyes) then you can Roll on the Floor Laughing Your fucking ass off with your eyes too. 

This here's Waliya. She's a singer, and an aspiring pop star. I get confused when I write about people in the music industry. Are they all musicians? Is Waliya, the singer of a song that I can't really remember, a musician, a singer or both. The only thing I'll say is that this would have been better with flats. I know heels are indispensable because society seems to think that if you're not at least 4 inches than you appear to be, you're wasting your God given talents, but it's sandy on the beach. Don't wear heels unless you're prepared to attach them to snow shoes. Snow shoes spread your weight, so that you do not sink. In other news, I do like how she's giving us Tyra Banks modelling 101. Place that hand on that waist and squint your way to a smize gurr. Her first Single's called Siwaju. Give it a google, a listen and a download. Thunks. bye. 

Yes, that's the traditional snow show. 

Festival rule number 6: Don't wear shoes with pointy heels. If it's in Lagos and it's on the beach you'll sink. There''s nothing as sexy as looking comfortable in your own skin. You cannot look comfortable in your own skin when every step you make is a struggle. You'll just end up looking like struggles. You know how you look at a child with kwashiorkor and you immediately diagnose it with malnutrition? You do? If you wear heels to the Lagos vidi culture fest people will look at you and know instantly that you are the poster child of struggles. 

I also ran into Honey of Honey's cupcakes. She's a new friend that'll soon be an old one.  She saw me and she screamed, "Hey!"

Then she started cultural dancing, because she's mental, and she was happy to see me.  Honey's wearing a Tiffany Amber dress, and slippers by Kene Rapu. She thinks it's important that we wear Nigerian. 

This is a shot of Honey walking away from me. Bye bye baby, baby bye bye. Bye bye baby don't make me cry. I was distraught at her abandonment so I screeched, "STOP! In the name of love; before you break my heart." She didn't. I think she's had enough of me to last the entire year. I can be a wee bit of a handful. C'est la vie. 

Festival Rule number 7: Always, and I mean always, wear Nigerian. You don't have to wear Tiffany Amber for we all know the wallet breaking powers of her apparel. You can wear that bespoke piece by your tailor that cost 500 naira. Help the Nigerian Economy. Be patriotic! YEAH! I'm getting riled up! 

Hi, have you met Zainab Balogun? She's on this show on Ebony Life. I think it's the spot.  She's wearing a Zara pyjama suit. What is a pyjama suit? Because I don't know. Anyway, she looks cool. With that haircut, she'll probably always look cool. She's really pretty this one. One think life has taught me is that if you're pretty with no hair then you're a champion of prettiness. Her Ray Ban aviators are cool too. Yup! I'm a fan. Oh yeah, I met her at one Gulder lager party like that. The party was awful. 

And this is Zainab from the back. Hot Booty alert. At the festival, there were so many fine booties that I, Afam, the questionable, decided to start a bootie cam. I even came up with a catch phrase; if the gunny's got a phattie, then Afam's gonna catchie. Political incorrectness aside, she has a lovely figure. Can you see the hour glass in there? 

She been drinking, She been cranking. Animals in her grills, cigars on ice and flashing light.This, my friends is Ronx. Hottie alert. Legs alert. Mama Afam took a look at the photo and declared the niceness of her legs. She was also on the Afam bootie cam. I like her. She got me my press pass. A press pass is literally a license to slay at life. She let me win. Afam for the win. 

I don't know who this guy is but I do quite like what he's wearing. Are you getting the impression that most of the people that went to this thing dressed well? If you are then you're spot on. I've been doing the eventing thing for a little bit and I've got to say, I've never seen Lagosians look this good. 

We've got to give a shout out to our dear friends at the Nigerian Police Force, who provided a safe environment for everyone. Without them, I cannot imagine that the festival would have been as fun as it was. I'm a fan of the police even though there was once a time that I celebrated being able to make it through a checkpoint without being stopped. For the purposes of getting the best picture we could get, the officer broke into a slow march. I contained my guffaw. 

Festival rule number 8: Do not fuck with the police. Do not fuck with the police anywhere. Do not fuck with the police in Nigeria, because they will fuck with you. The Nigerian Police Force isn't like every other police force in the world. Most police officers carry handguns, but in Nigeria, every policeman is kitted with an AK 47. So I say again, do not fuck with the police. A raised hand that might have resulted in a bullet to the leg anywhere else, will result in a smattering of them all over your body.  

The other day, someone told me that I was becoming a mini perez. This offended me. I don't want to be a Perez, not that being a Perez is bad or anything. Perez is a millionaire, and I'm nowhere. But tell me, is it possible to look at those trousers, pants, leggings, floral things and say something nice without going to hell? I can't you know? If the trousers/leggings/ whatever the rattata those things are, were worn with a white or black bralet or bustier I would have praised her figure and called it cute. But as things are, all I can do is repeat the words Switch (the white blonde character in the first Matrix film) said before she died - NOT LIKE THIS.
Having said that she's a lovely human being. She works for Ebony Life and I've met her three times. I have face apnea. La la la la la. 

This is Ebuka Obi-Uchendu. He's a lawyer, turned television personality, turned wrestler from the ghetto. The last part is a poor attempt at humour. Forgive me. Is it me or has he been growing bigger? I mean, those arms weren't there when I first took his picture at Lagos Fashion Week. 

That's him and Teezee from DRB Lasgidi. I can't really tell you know? I think I shall have to carry a tape measure about with me, so I can prove my hypothesis. 

Those trousers are the way. If i had them I would taper them just a little bit, but this guy doesn't have to. He's 6 foot something and I'm five foot nothing. He's Rraz, and he's a hip hop artiste. I loved his performance by the way. He's usually at Bogobiri's open mic night, so it was great to see him on a larger platform. Look out for this one. Oh I almost forgot to tell you the story of the picture. The poor lad was so unused to being photographed by people like me that he stared at me perplexed. How precious is that? It's a little precious that we're in 2014 and this chap is yet to discover his Facebook/ instagram face. You know when you scroll through your faves pictures on instagram or Facebook and slowly come to the realisation that the only thing changing is the colour of their shirt? FACEBOOK FACE!!!!

This image gives me joy. Fan check! Yellow nail polish check! Scarf with skulls on it check! I want to say that the scarf's an Alexander McQueen one, but I'll refrain. I suppose I'll ask her on twitter. 

@zedeye was the scarf you wore to the @gidiculturefest an Alexander McQueen one?
— rambling madman (@Afam20) March 6, 2014

Festival Rule number 9: If you don't have a battery powered tiny fan, then you can bring one of these ones. They're multi tasking devices as they serve as mechanical face coolers and fashion accessories. 

The t-shirt's, the Hausa bad guy t by Allen and Fifth. It's sold on gidimint if you're in Nigeria and on the Allen and Fifth website if you're not. I quite like it. He's certainly a good model for them. I want the t shirt now, and I didn't want it before. I suppose this is the importance of decent imagery. He looks like a Hausa bad guy as well. 

Here we've got dood and Feyi. I can't remember his name. I shall ask Feyi in the morning. He didn't want me to take his picture because he's camera shy. I sighed heavily when he said that. But I suppose that physicality has got little or nothing to do with confidence. I'm probably only fine with getting my picture taken because I see it as part of the job, but even then, put me in front of a camera man that I do not know, and you'll see the physical manifestation of awkwardness. I do quite like his t-shirt. Not many would risk such a shocking shade of pink.

Festival Rule number 10: Death to monochrome. It's a festival not a funeral. Get fruity with your damn self and wear colours you haven't seen since you mixed colours in art class. 

Here we've got Funfere. I first met him at Stranger Lagos, where minds mingle and the senses tingle. Please. Please. Free me. It's four in the morning and I've got a full day of work ahead of me. These things take more time than you'd think. So if I throw out a bad pun or a bad rhyme giggle politely. :-).He's a genuine cool kid. I love his tattoos. I think I'm warming up to them. I'll probably get several and I won't get them because they're that important to me. I'll get them because my body is mine. And even if I apply my christianity here and declare that my body belongs to God, that doesn't change the fact that I have more of a claim to it than anybody else does. Of course that's assuming that God isn't a body. I like that he's showing ankle cleavage as well. 

This kid cracked me up. He needs his own television show. He's the sort of guy that'll see a lady and proposition her even though we all know that he probably can't do anything. He's literally sitting at the pinnacle of male privilege helped along by copious amounts of childish nonchalance, and the invincibility only exhibited my the pure of heart. I love his paint splattered jeans though. 

The above bus, belongs to this child, Ozzy Bosco. He killed me. He makes me think that it might be fun to be a parent. At the very least I'll get to dress my children myself. I assume that his parents were having a laugh at his expense. It's only cute because children are mostly cute. When you really think about it, what he's wearing makes him look like the child of Diana Ross, a figure skater, michael Jackson at ten, Michael Jackson at 50, a Drag Queen, and a thug. 

This is a shot of him and his back up dancers. I'm crying here. I'm laughing so hard that I cannot breathe. I was thoroughly entertained by them on stage. How could I not be? Has anyone ever found a ludicrous stupendous spectacle dull? 

And this a picture of Ozzy Bosco and co rehearsing.    

And this is Ozzy Bosco performing. He's literally the cutest thing. He's just as cute as Ted. I mean he's cute, but at the same time what he's doing isn't all that cute. It might have been cuter if he performed like a 6 year old child. You know? If he stood on stage in a three piece suit and a bow tie and just sang. 

Festival Rule number 11: Do not bring your children. I don't care what the festival organisers say, if it isn't a children's festival and Jameson (Whisky doors) are sponsoring it, then the age restriction rests at 16, and that's if you're liberal. When Ozzy Bosco was performing I wondered if it was past his bedtime. 

Here we've got Kamar. He's signed to aristocrat records and he's got a new single out; Darling, Darling.  I quite like it. I shall do a bread review of it soon. He's obviously incredibly dapper. That leopard print shirt is dope. 

He looked like a famous person so I took his pisho. When I'm doing this, I don't really think in terms of fame. I'm more keen on my familiarity with them and our chemistry. #justsaying

The next time these two girls see me, they'll run far far far away. Errr maw Gerrd. They were not ready for me to get all up in them the way I did. The guru on the left wants to cut me, and the one on the right's looking at me the same way she looks at a dog before she kicks it, but none of that matters because I got the picture!!! 

I love, love, love, love this. It's giving me all kinds of life right now. I'll work on it on photoshop later. It's such a cool image. Am I the only one that sees this? I don't mind if I am. I'm crazy and stuff. Meh. 

And here's Kamar again! Lawd someone cleaned this dude up. I remember him from Project Fame.  If he looked like this then, he'd probably have won. 

And again. Even though you can't see his face, I dig it. I think I dig it because you can't see his face. 

He's meant to be funny right? He's like the Nigerian Chris Brown and it's awesome. He made me smile. I really like his trainers. 

Here's another one of him. He's got such a great sense of humour! He's a musician, and I know that I know his name. I mean I'm sure that I know it, but it's escaped me. Famzers help me out! Don't let your fave down!! #famzersforthewin

:-). She's selling that bag so well!! She's selling those braids so well. Whoever she is she should quit her job and become... A MARKETER. I'll buy whatever it is that she's selling. 

He was dressed similarly to how I was dressed so I took his picture. He did look disappointed when I told him that the picture was only going on the good old blog, but I didn't give a damn. If you haven't noticed, I like running around with a camera, getting shots of people and meeting them. The satisfaction is in the work. 

Here, we've got my old friend Denrele Edun telling me hi. He's obviously madder than I am.

And here he's telling me bye.

Aha! Remember Zinna? She was one of the hotties in the picture where everyone was a hottie. She changed her clothes. I didn't think to do this but I should have. For her ingenuity in the face of adversity I proclaim Zinna Anumudu the winner of the Gidi Culture Fest 2014. Zinna when I see you next, the champagne's on you. I am a cheapskate. I am not ashamed. There's no shame in the NYSC HAS NOT PAID MY SALARY FOR THREE MONTHS game. I bet you didn't see that one coming. Boo yah!!

How great is this shot? Fun times! Oh my God! Becky, look at her bum. It is so big... I mean, her butt, is just so big. I can't believe it's just so round, it's like out there. I mean - gross. Look! She's just so... black!
I like big butts and I cannot lie. You other brothers can't deny that when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face, you get sprung. 

Festival rule number 12: Always pack extra clothes. You'll always look fresh if you're clothes never get soaked in sweat. While you're at it you should pack some wet wipes too. They're great for cleaning out the pits if you know what I mean? In fact, bring your entire toilet bag with you, and a disposable toilet and some bog roll. 100 naira for a pee isn't on. 

That's me looking a little bit worse for wear. The hat's from nike, the wife beater's from topman, the shorts are from John Lewis, and the Toms are Toms. Mama Afam didn't like this look very much. She said that I looked like a houseboy. She begged me to change it, but that's what I felt like wearing, so I wore it. I can't change, even if I tried, even if I wanted to. It's a lovely shot of me. Feyi took it. 

When I saw her, I said to her, "babee lemme serenade you" then I broke into song.
You're fresh.
It's exciting.
You're so exciting to me.
You're fresh.
It's exciting
You're so exciting to me...

Can you see the trend here? I love my jams from the eighties. Oldies are always goodies. I love her bag. She looks so faded here. Have I mentioned that I've got name apnea too? I am a bloody piece of work, I need someone to work on me. Wink*wink* nudge* nudge*

I LOVE THIS GUY!!! The one on right. His performance was the one that got me and Feyi twerking. He gave us the beats that made us to na akpor! I don't quite understand that last sentence myself but I think that was what the song said.
It's the beat that go make una
It's the beat that go make una.
Akpor! Akpor! Akpor! Akpor!
I don't know how to akpor but it sounded like a cultural dance move so I went ham. I stuck my hands out in front of me and put them together, then I pelvic thrusted like a rapist. Victory. 

Festival rule number 13: You must dance like a dervish. If you do not, you are lost. 

The host dragged this hunny from our picture of honeyz, but she was so passed it. She was in such a good space. He was trying to make her into a punch line and he would have done, but her non chalance caused the joke to misfire. It was still funny, but we were laughing at the whole situation and not at her accent, or her inability to speak Calabar. I hate it when people do this. So what if I don't speak any Nigerian language, or I have a funky funky, fiddly diddly accent that doesn't know what it's supposed to be? IT. DOES. NOT. MAKE. ME. ANY. LESS. NIGERIAN. The end. 

Here we've got Isioma Coker. She's one of the lights in my life this one. We don't talk often, so she's a little bit of a distant light. The moment this girl found out that I had a blog, she championed the thing like I was her brother. No instagram picture has gone unliked!! Famzers I command you! Love her! 

Here we've got Folu Storms. Her trousers are great aren't they? There's something about her that makes it seem like she's Zen, and her chakras are balanced. If I ever needed a guru in Lagos, she'd be it. She's got a guru inside of her. She's currently filming a travel television show for Ndani tv. I cannot wait for it to come out. I shall be a stan. 

And here's Eku. I said the same thing I say to her whenever I want a photograph of her,  "Sister Eku, Sister Eku, can I take your pisho?" She turned and smiled. 

Then she smiled a little more.
ps. note how she's wearing the bag over her breastices. It looks dope no?

Then the DJ started playing some really good music, and she removed the knapsack from her breastices and started dancing. 

All the while, I was snapping away. She. is. stunning. 

You're probably wondering why I haven't showed you many shots of people on stage, or of artistes performing. That's because, after Ozzy Bosco performed I put it away. At these things, I want to have a good time. It's essential that I have a good time. If you're not given the right access, then getting "the photo", "the shot", the one that's worth money is almost impossible. Furthermore, by the time you get it, you'll probably be a nervous wreck. If I unravelled at the festival you'd better believe that all my happy lovey dove words would have been something else entirely. I didn't want such a perfect day to end that way, so I put the camera in the car, and danced the night away. 

Me and Feyi, obviously up to something. 

Happy Days,
Afam

For more pictures from the day, follow me on instagram... theramblingsofamadman