I have a contract with the universe. It's that my life will be many things but it will never be dull. And that I'll respond to the abundance of interesting events like a crazy person. People tell me I'm dramatic, but you'd be dramatic too if dramatic things kept happening to you. Like, that one time that I got kidnapped. But this one isn't about that. It's about my living arrangements.

As an unmarried young man under 30, I'm delighted to tell you that my dogs and I live with my parents. Everybody is equally unhappy with the arrangement. I eat Papa Afam's Guinea Fowl, I break Mama Afam's dishes, and I occasionally borrow her skin care products and make up.

I, Afam, the wondrously mediocre, would like to tell you that if you're a man, and you don't have concealer, mascara, an eyebrow pencil, or foundation, you are playing with your destiny. God did not put you on this good earth to torture the masses with your hangover eye bags, or your pimple scars. In any case I was on television. On days when I needed it, I'd get my face beat and take that face to drinks. I'm single but nobody calls me ugly and everybody thinks I have great skin. These two things keep me warm at night.

I also make my dad buy dog food for Plato and Zeus, who I now call my children. They're adorable. One of them has rickets, and the other has an unusually high marginal propensity for diarrhoea, but I suppose I love them in my own way.

I'm not very happy about living at home because Papa Afam has made it his job to make me as unhappy as I make him when I steal his Guinea Fowl. Guinea Fowl is the poultry equivalent of Eid Ram - food for the gods.

On a Sunday morning not too long ago, Papa Afam Barged into my room at the crack of dawn. There was a tub of vaseline on the floor right by the top of the bed. He proceeded to yell the following things.

"Why are you still in bed! It's 7 in the morning, your mates are in the gym but you are here sleeping!"

"What is that by your bed? Vaseline? You have been masturbating!"

"Don't you feel ashamed? You can't even afford a bloody prostitute!"

I suppose I'll go steal more of his Guinea Fowl now.

Happy Days,
Afam

A valid question to ask us this year is, "WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU GUYS THIS CHRISTMAS!" It's a question that we're asking ourselves too. Plans failed epically. The drinking - hang over - drinking lifestyle is a recipe for disaster. When you're caught in the middle of it you're consumed by the prospect of night time adventures followed by days of absolutely nothing.

One of the places we went to a lot this holiday was 355. It isn't the greatest bar in the world but it's guaranteed to draw a decent crowd. If you've got some place to be at 10 or 11 it's a brilliant place to begin your night. A double gin and tonic is N1,600, which is fairly decent when you consider that we got the same at Cova (the club on the top floor of Mega Plaza) for N3,000 on Friday.

We went to 355 last week Wednesday aka the last Wednesday of 2016 and it was lit. There weren't so many people that the bouncers grew presidential sized balls and started running the door like the mafia, but there were enough bodies that it was impossible to dance without accidentally grinding on or with someone else. This is what we call a decent crowd.

So what the what happened at 355?



There are two versions of the answer: the long and the short. The short version is that we met Tammy from the We Just Got Back Podcast. It's the best Podcast about Lagos life out there with a decent amount of time spent on a subject that occupies the minds of many a twenty something in Lagos: getting laid/knacking/straffing/ shooting a shot/ flinging the light sabre. If we were being boring we'd call it sex, but we can't remember the last time anyone in their right mind described sex as sex. There's always a new more exciting adjective for the activity. We also met John Boyega of Star Wars fame.

We started the night with a roadie: a bottle of coke augmented with copious amounts of Hennessy. Pre-drinking is necessary when you're essentially earning a beginner's salary. Those are really only good for petrol and weekly drinks at budget bars. If you're thinking about saving and being social forget about it. The only way to save in this climate is to sit at home and stick to the indomie diet. And even then, you can't eat more than 6 packs of the stuff per day. If you're feeling exorbitant you can add an egg once a day. Any more and you're a bottle of ogogoro (the cheapest alcohol available) living on a beer budget.

The moment we walked in we heard a tall pretty girl scream, "Afam!" Now we were taken aback because while Afam had told us that he was once a mini celebrity or something like that, we didn't quite believe him. He turned toward her and basically jump hugged her like she was an over sized teddy bear. Because he's a rather short guy, his head only came up to her breasts, but he hung on to her like she was an over sized teddy bear anyway.

Enter Afam and Tam

Tam: Afam it's so great to meet you!

Afam: You as well! I saw you at the Eat Drink Festival but I was to annoyed from the stress that it took to get there to say hello.

Tam: You should have! Come on! We're like old buddies.

Afam: You have the right of it but I have a question for you.

Tam: Shoot your shot!

Afam: Is your vagina fixed now? Last I heard it was broken.

Tam: We thank God. It seems to be working properly.

Exit Afam and Tam

This is one of the reasons why we don't like taking him anywhere. He's very likely to embarrass anyone he hangs out with because he's rather weird.

After milling about and half dancing for some time we saw a guy in a hat walk in. He looked dangerously familiar but we couldn't remember where we'd seen him. The one thing about him that struck us was that his skin was chemical peel fresh. There wasn't a blackhead or pimple in sight. Afam left us for a quick word with Bayo Oke-Lawal, then he came back and said, "Dudes! That guy in the black hat is John Boyega!"

"The star wars guy?" I asked, pulse racing, visibly shaking, and a split second away from a sprint to his table.

"Do we get to meet him?" I asked again. Afam laughed and said, "I'm not sure about you guys, but I probably will. I've got the connections."

That basically killed the night for us, so we stood there until Afam went to meet the biggest Nigerian in entertainment, John Boyega.


He walked up to the table, shook John's hand, held onto it for far too long and they exchanged a few words. When Afam returned we asked him what happened and he let out a very long sigh.

Enter Afam and John Boyega.

I walked up to him with all sorts of questions in my mind. I spent like a month of my life sending emails and tweeting at him and his team because I wanted an interview. I didn't think much about the interview, truth be told I only wanted to meet him. I have a thing about meeting successful people because I think good luck is contagious. When I actually grasped his hand like a drowning man clutches a straw all of that went out of the window. I stuttered and said, "H-h-h-o-oooo-w are you doing?"

"I'm good thanks. How are you?" he said it with great concern. I was about to say, "I have the worst cold man! I feel like I'm dying!" But I remembered that he was holding my unwashed hand, and I shut my mouth all the way up. Instead of informing him that he was probably going to get sick in a couple of days, I said, "I hope you're well"

"I am thanks." He said with a smile, and I walked away.

Exit Afam and John Boyega

And that my friend's is how the world's biggest idiot, Afam, met John Boyega and failed to get anything of use from him. I mean the chap didn't even get a selfie. If we ever meet him again, you better believe that we'll be walking away with a quote and a selfie.

Happy Days,
Troamteam.

If you're pre-diabetic and in the mood for a party fit for vampires of cake and calories, there's only one club in Lagos for you. Velvett. Not to be mistaken for the fabric that you only see on Lagosians who have a definite love for sweat patches and body odour or velcro, the reason I nearly murdered my last tailor.

Opened in the Harmattan of 2014 by the fatter, older, infinitely blacker, less hair having, but just as single Nigerian version of Russel Brand, the restaurant cum bar cum nightclub can be found bang in the middle of Lagos' Little Lebanon (it's definitely little something vaguely Middle Eastern. I can't tell where exactly. That A I got in my Geography A level clearly had a great impact on my life.)

This place has everything: A cash money stealing ghost that's taken up permanent residence in the drinks menu, vibing and vibalicious Afropolitans, shooting stars, the 30 year old guy that failed to adult (we love him anyway), and the impossibly beautiful girls of the yet to be formed theatre and dance troupe, Ruffles R Us.

As far as I know, this joint is utterly devoid of bouncers because they drove off in DJ Cuppy's new G-Wag. It does however have a password: I will chop your money like wan-tin-tin.

So run on down this weekend. It's lit!

Happy Days,
Afam

 
In Lagos, the greatest danger to your impeccable skin, your thousand dollar wig or your incalculably precious life is loneliness. I don’t mean loneliness in the way so many of us are afflicted. The nights we spend throwing pity parties for ourselves contemplating suicide and sipping 70 year old bottles whisky like they were Hennessy. While both are expensive one is quite clearly the other’s chairman. I mean loneliness in its truest sense; the affliction of those so committed to orphandom that they do not posses a cousin to call on, and those who have found themselves marooned on the island that is profound isolation. It you’re one of the former then you’re merely unfortunate, and if you’re one of the latter you’re in immediate need of correction. If a nasty little piece of work like me can have friends, then anyone can. You must spend time doing the tricky work that is building a not completely offensive personality.

I cannot tell you how it is that I have the friends I have. It is one of the greatest signs that I am not in fact cursed to be unfortunate and poor all the days of my life. It is even better that mine are so good than I can never hope to be their match. It is they who keep this loose cannon sealed at all times. I wanted it that way. When you’re a character that’s prone to all excesses available to the living it does you well to be encumbered by voices of reason.

The other day a dreadful thing happened to Avenger 2. That in itself is a tragedy, because I have never met anyone as undeniably good as he. A paragon of morality and politeness, he judges a man’s character with such dedication that one would think there were no other qualities worthy of note. It is he who calls me on the Sunday after the Saturday and says, “your conduct last night was deplorable.” Anyone who can say that to me and not nurse a verbal bite laced with acid and furnished with poison is truly exceptional. His car did him the grand dishonour of stopping on the run up to third mainland bridge at midnight without so much as a warning. I do not know what number I was on the list of available persons to call, but I’d be stunned if I wasn’t very close to the top.  Some of you who know nothing of life in Lagos will read that and think, “But what’s the big deal. He should have called AA or a tow truck.” In Lagos, things are never that simple. It always pays to have someone who cares about whether or not you’re alive come get you. That way if you aren’t there when they arrive they can kick up a fuss. It’s the least they’ll do if you’re murdered and dumped in the lagoon.

I was in bed, dreaming about cheques above the $1.8 million mark when I got the phone call. I didn’t hesitate. I ran out of the house half naked and drove like a criminal, while mentally preparing his obituary, and his eulogy. At the inconvenient traffic stops, I pulled on a shirt and grabbed a pair of slippers. This is one of the good things about living in your car. There’ll never be a situation that you aren’t prepared for. In my backseat you’ll find a pair of loafers, an ironed white shirt, a distressed grey long sleeve t shirt and a pair of boxers. Am I not the best boy scout who ever lived? Still living out their good motto at the grand old age of 26. When I got to him, I was relieved that my eulogy writing services were entirely unnecessary. Avenger 2 was alive and in great shape. A tow truck had stopped, performed some vehicular voodoo to get his engine running again and chased the gang of area boys who had been swarming about Avenger 2 like hyenas away with hotter Yoruba than I have ever heard. The words were delivered so furiously that they managed to penetrate the haze of Arizona (cheap weed) lingering about them and set them to rights.

I was grateful that night. If I am the worst of my friends and I went through all of that effort to see that one of them was safe, then what wouldn’t they do for me?

Happy Days,
Afam

If you're looking for a place to get gassed this weekend then no filling station will do, I've got just the place for you. Lagos' hottest club for all smokey adventures is Vapourssssssss.

Located on the island's mainland this random convention is the creation of the perpetually high interior designer, We-Ain't-Got-No-Ventilation.

When you walk in head straight to the Bauna - a bar which is also a sauna, and order a Champ-Vape; You'll literally watch as the stuff drifts up everybody's nostrils but yours.

Be that as it may, this place has everything: A bottle factory, midget shaped chairs, cupid fountains, at least two members of the almost famous boy band DRB dressed in a bong costume - they're both the pipe, and your future son.

Join in the fun on the dancefloor and you'll bust a move to the truly spectacular sounds of DJ Dead Sauce and light skinned Idris Elba. I all but guarantee that you'll never have a better time in the city.

Happy days,
Afam

The weekend began like most before it. There was a week and then it ended. It went the way of most things in creation.

Friday
 

At this point I was two Long Islands deep in the sauce.

On Friday night, I ditched the Avengers for friends I'd made long before we became companions. Starmix had an Alice in Wonderland themed party in Ikoyi, and that ended in Vapours, a club of no great distinction. I danced enthusiastically to bad music. That I had a magnificent time says more about the quality of the company than it does about the club. Avenger 1 was meant to join me but he went home to change and fell asleep in his car. I suspect that he may be narcoleptic.


Saturday


I went to a workshop on style and confidence. Denola Grey was speaking. His rise through the Lagos media ranks has been so impressive that I believed I'd be missing out if I did not attend. The young man did not disappoint.

Have some Avenger feet why don't you

A few hours later, I met up with the Avengers at Hans and Renee. The cup of ice-cream I had made me unwell but I had it coming. When the lactose intolerant defy the rules given to them by their unique constitutions discomfort is to be expected. There was a rumbling in my tummy going boom badda boom badda boom but it was bearable. I clenched my butt cheeks and hoped for the best. We sat there for a little while after drawing up blanks when we thought about where to go next before we decided on Liquid Hub, a wine bar in Ikoyi. Avenger 1 fancies himself the connoisseur, so he made the choices. We don't get along wine wise. He likes his wines full bodied and tart, and I like mine sweet.

From there we went to dinner at Pattaya. Avenger 2 and I, brothers in lactose intolerance were quite finished after that.

Sunday

Avenger 1 and I went to Whispering Palms and it was glorious.

This is what I call the full body un-look. At that moment I feared for my hat and my glasses. It wouldn't have done me any good to get to Whispering palms both bare headed and blind!

I believe I made a funny. I like people who laugh at my jokes.

We tried their newest concoction: A Coconut milk and Malibu creation, served in a coconut. It is the most delicious drink I've had this year. Avenger 1 looked at me and said, "C'est Magnifique!" English completely incapable of expressing his excitement.

We concluded things at Funky Town. Avengers 2 and 3 joined us. The beers flowed as we made merry. I find it surprising that I dance more now than I did when I was younger. I suppose it is that I no longer care who may be watching.

Happy Days,
Afam

This is not Starmix, but that is me behind her. I must remember to thank Feyboo for the Bow-tie. I do not remember where any of the others are.

Forgive me if this one is a little rusty. I have not written about an adventure in some time. It is not that I didn’t have any, such a thing is impossible when you’re me. It is that everytime I tried to put something to paper, I was wracked with the fear that it was sub-par. This is well documented in the most recent addition to the writer’s journal. I’m overcoming my fear that my creative endeavours will never be quite good enough for sharing. I have let the perfect become the enemy of the good.

There is a girl in the world that I call Starmix. She’s named after a bag of Haribo sweets that she adores. However, even she is ignorant of the fact that she’s just like them; a variety of delicious confections, each one of them more delicious than the last. She’s one of the treasured few who I allow to breeze in and out of my life as they please. I ask no questions and she tells me no lies but we find happiness in every moment that we share.

When I heard she was having a birthday party from someone other than her I was struck with depression. “Could it be that Starmix has finally tired of me?” I thought. I do not know how such a thing is possible for I am uniquely lovable and lovely, but such things have been known to happen from time to time. I entertained thoughts of a Friday night spent alone before I remembered who I am.

I am Afam, the nerdy, the weird and the shameless. I subscribe to no standards that I do not set myself. I was going whether she liked it or not. There was no way that I would deny her the pleasure of my company simply because my invitation got lost in her head. Knowing all of that I made a well timed phone call, wishing her a happy birthday so charmingly that I was moved to tears. “Afam! You are truly great!” I exclaimed with tears leaking from my eyes. Ah! I tell you. It is not an easy thing to be moved by your own words. My invitation followed ten minutes later.

I was not happy with my costume, a boring to death version of the Mad Hatter. I would have loved to do more, but my imagination did something incredibly Lagosian. It failed to come to work when it was most needed. I am appalled that I managed to go to a costume party looking rather presentable. When Papa Afam looked at me dressing up in front of the mirror and smiled, I knew that something was wrong. If you’re going to a costume party and you do not manage to offend the sensibilities of the half the respectable people in attendance, you have failed miserably.

I walked in with all the confidence I could muster which is not very much at all but I hid it an overwhelmingly jovial expression, smiling as if I was under the sway of a pharmacy’s worth of drugs. I find that doing so is much more interesting than taking the drugs themselves. Drugs have a rather awful tendency to age a man far more quickly than time would dare. They are the most ruthless companions.

Everything was laid out beautifully, which was a shame because an hour after the party was due to start, only a mere handful had managed to turn up. I didn’t mind this too much. It’s the same way nobody minds when the profits are high and the staff are few. There is more booze for everybody.

One long Island Iced tea later I was deep in conversation with a terrifyingly interesting fellow called Seb. There was no topic that he did not broach. He even dared ask me about my tastes in film! A subject I only discuss when I genuinely despise the person I’m talking to. It is never advisable to talk off the ears of the people that you like. If you do, you’ll only have the people you truly despise for company, and that would be very bad indeed.

He said something like, “I’m quite thrilled with the Alice in Wonderland theme. It’s vaguely reminiscent of the truly satisfying film I saw the other day. It was so good that I had to commit it to both my memory and my hard drive. What sort of films do you like?” I was so appalled that I took his number immediately and demanded that he meet me for a game of squash as soon as he was able. As for my answer, I said, “questions are hardly ever indiscreet, it is the answers we must be wary of.”

The place had only just began to fill when the heavens unleashed a flood upon us. We fled indoors, and Starmix being a brilliant host got the waiters to hand out plastic cups and bottles of Henessy. I know of no better way to make people forget that they look like drowned rats than a near limitless supply of the amber stuff. As it is incredibly rude to turn down drinks that you do not pay for I made merry with my peers for an hour, after that every drink was placed on a table on the side, for people with stronger constitutions than I.

I didn’t know how drunk I was until it was time for the speeches. I listened as some of her best friends said words so full of niceness that the guests started to weep. Starmix is so marvellous that if I decided to dedicate a paragraph to her good qualities you would be very sad indeed. The vast majority of us are too detestable to bear the descriptions of the good. I came to the rescue instantly. I grabbed the microphone like a Nigerian Kanye West, and spoke my mind.

The Speech!

I said,

I have known the celebrant longer than any of you here. I was there when she was baptised, and I ignored her every Sunday that followed. At church, my mother, Mama Afam would say, “there’s Starmix, you should go say hello.” I always refused because back then I was more than a little bit of a snob. I believed myself too cool for everything and everyone. Starmix was no exception.

It wasn’t until I was 19 and in love with one devastatingly alluring girl called Frog. There she is over there. If I had a dollar for all the rejections I suffered at her hands I would be too rich to describe.


I turned to her boyfriend, an undoubtedly fantastic fellow and said:

Riba, you’re a very lucky man to have her, but I remain in the wings. If you drop the ball I shall pick it up and dunk it. She’ll get a proposal within a week.

Turning to the crowd:

I pursued that girl further than anyone has ever been pursued in this life or the next. It was Starmix that propped me up when all of this was going on, and that’s when I realised how strong she is. There is no burden I have placed on her that she hasn’t borne, and she’s so generous with her strength that she’d help me lift a feather if I asked.

If there’s anything that you need to know about her, it’s that in Manchester she could frequently be found in Sankeys dancing with reckless abandon. She loves a drink more than she’d like to admit. And she’s one of the best people I know. Yes, that means she’s better than most of you here.

I believe that there was some clapping after I was done. Some people chanted, “Rambling Madman!” I basked in their praise and lifted my head high knowing that I had blessed them with my brilliance. I felt like a living example of that Bible verse, “Let your light shine before men so they can see you works and praise your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16 I believe.

It should come as no surprise to you that the night ended in a ghastly club that reeked of cigarettes and bad behaviour. I for one danced like I was in a palace, with great flair and stamping of feet, for it had been too long since my Starmix and I had danced together. The entire thing was so enjoyable that I didn’t mind dropping her home. She will always be worth the fuel.

Happy Days,
Afam

Weekends make me insecure. At the start of the week, I typically tell anyone who'll do me the favour of listening that I'm perfectly happy spending my weekends at home, but come Friday, I can't sit still. My mind races through all the options like a crazed cheetah, and I remember the friends I haven't said what's up to in years. It's Friday night fever at it's worst.

Anyway here's a fairly detailed summary of my weekend as it occurred to me while I watched the U.S Open. 

Thursday

My weekend started on Thursday. It was a rather bizarre beginning. My cousins who are definitely not of age, asked me to take them for drinks at Churrascos. I don't have any real problems with Churrascos other than the fact that their stuff as overpriced as their service is rubbish. I've come up with a solution for the latter. Whenever I need something, I stand up and yell, "HEY!" I shout so loudly that my voice can be heard from across the lagoon. It isn't exactly polite, but it's better than sitting unattended for the better part of an hour.

This is the only picture I took at Churrascos. I don't know what's so interesting about my shoes, but whoop there it is.

Churrascos was good. Who knew that a 14 year old and a 16 year old could be fun? Kids really do say the darndest things especially after a mojito or two... or three.

The sister and I, mid dance at Funky Town.

After that I popped down to Funky Town with the Avengers. The Avengers are the friends, C and E. Funky Town is a brilliant bar that we found with cheap drinks, amazing service and a cracking DJ. In Funky Town, you come as you are, and dance as you like.

Friday

The Avengers and I started things off early with brunch. Brunch is important after a night out because that's where the blank spaces in your memory are filled, and the best laughs are had. A hangover shared between three is a hangover beaten.

I sped down to the mainland to pick up my suitcases because Royal Air Maroc didn't afford me the privilege of arriving with them. There'll be more on that later. I have to recover from the stress of flying with them first. Some of you will think, "Afam, why Royal Air Maroc?" If you're one of these people, I'll tell you what my grandfather said to me this weekend. "We may not be a very rich family, but we're an intelligent one." If I spend too much on a plane ticket, I'll catch the Oh my God, I just spent too much money disease. I fear that condition like I do Ebola.

When that was done, I sped back to the Island and popped into the 90s Baby Road Show Pool and Movie Party. The moment I walked in I knew I would be out in under ten minutes. There isn't much that frightens me more than alternatively dressed young adults who don't seem very skilled at conversation. When I go to a place and the people there don't look like they know what it means to have a good time, I thank God for my Kia. I said hello and congratulations to the people that put it together and bounced.

The Stranger Game Night is a Lagos treasure. It's N1000 to take part and N800 for a glass of wine. I had several. I do not believe that board games were made to be played without drinking. It was fun in a way that few things are. I struggle to find the words that describe it best. There were no illusions or pretensions. It was easy. I was home by 11:30.

Saturday
Let's see. There was a family lunch at Spice Route. The food was good and there's no better company than the people who are programmed to love you. My grandfather gave a lovely speech and I bullied my younger cousins. Two of them call me uncle and the most troublesome one asks me to drive him around so he can play pokemon go. Whatever stress I give them is well deserved.

A bunch of us fled the scene of the dinner to see a live taping of Project Fame West Africa Season 9. You'll be reading about that shortly. It's the next article after this.

As if all of that weren't enough, there was an Avengers meeting at our HQ, Funky Town. We answered the age old question, "How many Heinekens does it take to get you plastered?" The answer is, when you're having a good time, no one's counting. One turns into two, two turns into three and they bleed into each other after. A bottle on the table is a bottle for all. We were so high on life that when C said, "let's go to Obalende, E and I kept quiet and nodded like it was a good idea.

I have no idea what the bar we ended up in is called, and I doubt that I'll be able to find it again, but it was an unexpected dose of happiness. At the places that I usually frequent, people spend more time on their phones than they do dancing. The most telling thing is that I didn't stop to take pictures or snapchat. When you're really engaged in the present, those things don't occur to you.

Sunday:

The Avengers and I met up for a team debriefing at E's house. From there we went to Dominos. The Chicken Suya Pizza there is a waste of life. I shall not be repeating the error. Karaoke at Beer Hugz is similarly bad.

Home seemed like a good idea after that.

The first time I met Idris Elba, he was walking the red carpet for Mandela at the Toronto film festival. I lifted my camera and took a shot to immortalise the moment, that I may put it on instagram for all to see. I like every instagram shot I put up to say, "This is what I've been up to. I'd like to see you top that." And if not that because you can't do something truly wondrous all the time, then I'd like it to say, "I work 80 hours a week and I still look this good, this is how much better than you I am." I call it the politics of Instagram. I win everytime.

That night I was torn between two films. There was Mandela: A fantastic epic about the life of the great Nelson Mandela starring Idris Elba and Naomi Harris. Naomi's hands down one of the hottest women in the world. And there was Half of a Yellow Sun: The not very good film about love in middle of the Biafran War starring Thandie Newton and Chiwetel Ejiofor. Thandie too is one of the best looking women on the planet.

The thing that synched my decision was that Chimamanda was on the red carpet for Half of a Yellow Sun. I was in love with her words at the time and I would not be swayed. Not even by the promise of being mere feet away from the probable woman of my dreams. As beautiful as Thandie Newton is, she's married. There's no use dreaming a dream that's dead at first wink.

The second time I met Idris, things weren't as great. For one, it was at a bar called RSVP in Lagos. RSVP is alright as far as bars and restaurants go. Nothing that exciting happens there. The food is a little above average. The drinks are more expensive than average. It's on the right side of nice which is still somewhere left of great.

The waiters there were so thrilled with the idea of Idris being there that they tried to strip my table of its chairs. I resented that. I didn't care that my party was late. I had personally called and reserved that table and those chairs so I was going to hog them until the end of my booking Idris be damned. They should have known that my friends would probably be late. If people can't make it on time when there's money involved, how can you expect them to be punctual for drinks?

Idris lurked somewhere in the corner. I was aware of him without looking at him. The Lagos big boy code dictates that you should not worship at the crown of celebrity. There was no way I was going to walk up to him and ask for a selfie, so I watched his moves from the corner of my eye, hoping that he'd do something that would make for a great story.

When I realised that the night wasn't going anywhere, I gathered the bros, and left for Scarlet lodge, a somewhat underused bar in Lagos. The drive there was odd because we were being tailed by a sirened convoy. Being tailed by a pick up truck with garish mobile police officers is never a good sign. I drove a little faster, but to no avail. They took every turn I took, and ploughed through every pothole I did. It was the most disconcerting thing.

I got to Scarlet Lodge and the whole affair made sense. Idris wasn't in Lagos to chill. He was here to promote his new film, Beasts of no Nation. The bar I thought would be a quiet place to end the night had turned into a fan filled nightmare, complete with a red carpet, and movie posters.

I could have gone somewhere else but I didn't. If the plan was to drink at Scarlet Lodge, then we would drink at Scarlet Lodge guest list be damned.

To get in, I lied mightily. When they told me that I wasn't on the list, I fake called Jenny, the woman in charge of the event, then I demanded to see their manager. You should have seen the evil smile on my face when I saw that she was petite and hot. Turning on the charm wouldn't be a problem. I smirked, winked and smiled with so much enthusiasm that I doubted that I'd be able to move my face properly for a few days after. I can't remember what I said, but I'll tell you that all my words were honeyed falsehoods made convincing by my too expressive face. That's something I've learned since I moved here: when in doubt around a woman, ask yourself, "what would a Yoruba-demon do?" I call it the WWYD.

We got in to find that it was exactly the same as any old Lagos party. Everyone was trying to out cool everyone else. No one was talking. The lesser celebrities in attendance were darting around the place pretending to be morbidly afraid of their fans, while seeking their attention and affection.

That all changed when Idris came out to do his dj set. He was instantly surrounded by girls who would be hot if hotness was determined by how much skin was on display. I was only happy that the bar was open. I'd save my cash for some other night.

I wondered if I would have been more excited if I'd seen this when I'd just arrived in Lagos. If I'd have gone up to him and told him how much I liked him in Thor, or if I'd have cared even remotely that he was there.

This is what life in Lagos does to you. You're so embroiled in your hustle that you don't have the energy for minor concerns. It's like drinking a cup of apathy slowly. You can only watch, as all the fucks bleed out of you.

Words by Afam. Story by Obi. 

It was Obi’s birthday a few days before. Now I’m preparing myself for the celebration. He’s decided on a house party. I like house parties even if they very rarely ever turn into massive ragers. They’re cheap and efficient, and if you so happen to over indulge there’s a couch with your name on it. The bottle of Laurent Perrier I’ll be bringing is chilling in the freezer. My black Levi’s t-shirt, blue Uniqlo trousers, and black Russel and Bromleys are suitable. I am cologne-less but appropriately deodorised. All of this is deliberate. I do not want to give the impression that I thought about this for the better part of the afternoon.

Sub Part 1- There are blackbirds outside my window don't you know?

There are blackbirds outside my window. There have been blackbirds outside my window for the past week. Sometimes there is one, sometimes there are two, and sometimes there are three.

Those sentences should tell you two things.

1. That, I, Afam, the determinedly happy, believe that the truths of the Universe can be found in the lives of Blackbirds.
2. That, I, Afam, the incredibly Nigerian, am no longer in Nigeria. 

That is what I've been doing all this time, seeking a friend for the end of the world, but I think it's been futile, because I had him all along. Maybe the value of the search was realising that my friend for the end of my world was me, and that the better I knew myself, the closer I'd be to finding the friend for the end of the world. I don't expect this to make sense, but it is my blog, and I can do with it as I please. You, my dear famzers, just have to live with it, or go away. I'd prefer it if you stayed, but we all do what we must. I was going to end it there, but why waste the words? So I'll move on to the STYD launch. It was fabulous, and I mean that with a capital F. Say it with me, Gone With The Wind Fabulous. (smirk)

This one is tricky because I'm not that excited. That not to say that I'm not excited, it's just to say that I'm not crazy with it. I've got pictures for days, but, I can't seem to turn them into whole well rounded bits of content as often as I'd like. So today, I'm clearing out the backlog, and while I'm at it, I'll come clean about the entire blog as well. I love it, but it's got so many problems! I mean the damn thing is virtually unmonetizable, and this is apparently quite bad, so I'll be starting another one, I think. Maybe I'll shift some of the stuff on here to there, but I'd like it to be different. Anyone with eyes to read can tell that I'm not the same guy that I was when the blog first started. I think I'm a better writer, but I'm definitely not as bold as I once was. I mean, Tiwa Savage blocked me on Instagram for that Wanted article I wrote that time and that's saying something. I thought that I was being fair, but she obviously disagreed with me. I don't mind this really. I'm just a poor lowly Afam so when someone as famous as Tiwa is decides that you should be banned from viewing her heavenly pixellated visage, it's a pretty big deal. Me and my couple of thousand followers/readers (I'm not sure how many the lot of you are, but I'm grateful. You've blown my mind. Half of it is my work; my blood; my effort. But the rest of it is all you, my famzers, who both freak me out and delight me in equal measure) will dance around your burning pillar of scorn. Don't feel bad, it's the way of the world. I'm not above being salacious, or risque, and I'll do almost anything for an extra page view. Of course, this is tempered by my overbearing conscience, and my roving critical eye, that ignores typos and corrects malicious sentiments. No hard feelings eh!

Believe it or not this one isn't about Tiwa, and my dear Famzers you need not fear my desertion. I'll always be somewhere, some of my work will always be public. And I'll need time to build the new blog. I imagine that it will take at least another year. I can't have Papa Afam yelling at me because I've called myself a madman. I'm not ashamed of it, but I operate in this space between pleasing him and pleasing myself. It's a tricky space because it means that at the end of the day neither of us shall be quite happy with how I turn out. Of course you're expecting me to say, "to hell with that old man! I'm going to do what I want to do." But that would be a waste of time. Such things are easier said than done, and since I'm not prepared for that just quite yet, I'll save you the trouble.

Anyway this one is about Maki - Oh's exhibition, this side up. There isn't much to say about it other than her skill is masterful. I looked at the pictures and thought, "my God! There's so much work here" and that was pretty much it. I didn't really resonate with it. I thought the 20 or so images visually stimulating, but apart from that I was as dead as a bone inside. There was no lust, no passion, no sadness, only a profound sense of coolness for coolness sake. That's all there is to say about it really. Now, we should just bludgeon on ahead and talk about the people.

Here, and by here, I mean above, we've got Temi Dollface who I've become friends with. I quite like this picture. It isn't one that you'll usually see, but I think it charming.
 This guy right here, Chiba, is my neighbour. I met him one afternoon while I was lunching with Chef Fregz. He remarked that my dishevellery reminded him of Lakin Ogunbanwo. I was flattered. He is far too kind.

 This one is one of my favourites. She is stunning to me. Her name's Ada and I mean it when I say it's always a pleasure.


More Temi Dollface. No, I don't know the people she's with. All I know is I was a wee bit obsessed with her that day. I took several pictures of her. She was so animated! Usually she's posing and that's fabulous, but I like her best when she isn't posing. You see her all the time at events all big eyed and doll pretty, but when she isn't on stage or on some red carpet or the other, she's really quite ordinary albeit in an interesting way. You lot should bear in mind that my idea of normal is skewed towards the weird.

Temi and Maki. Maki doesn't like to be photographed so she gave me the fakest, most forced smile I've ever seen. I suppose we aren't familiar enough with one another yet. But this will probably change with time. Photographing people is tricky because you want to capture them as you see them, but they really only want to be captured as they'd like you to see them. I didn't find the balance with Maki, but I'm still alive, and so is she. There'll come a time when I'll take the shot to end all shots, and I'll never have to bother her with my canon again.
And here's another one. Sadly, I didn't take any more pictures that I'd like published. And, I don't think this blog post is funny. I'll do better next time.