Saturday afternoon in Lagos brought with it a lazy, golden sunlight that filtered through the skyscrapers and bougainvillea-lined streets. The city, still buzzing from the previous night’s revelry, seemed to hum with anticipation for the next event. The Lagos party scene was relentless, and for those who thrived in it, there was always another invitation, another gathering to attend.
Bisi was already up, despite having barely slept after the party she’d hosted the night before. She moved through her home with purpose, directing her staff to clean up the remnants of the event. Empty champagne glasses clinked as they were collected, and the DJ’s booth was dismantled piece by piece. But Bisi’s mind was elsewhere—on the next party, this time not her own.
By mid-afternoon, she was dressed in a chic, casual outfit—a flowing kaftan in bright hues of yellow and green. Her phone buzzed incessantly with messages: “Where are you?” “What’s the dress code?” “Are you bringing anyone?” Lagos had a way of pulling everyone into its orbit, and tonight, all roads led to Victoria Island.
The event was the talk of the town, a private beach party hosted by Alhaji Musa, a billionaire oil magnate known for his love of extravagant parties. He had transformed a secluded stretch of beach into a paradise, complete with cabanas, a seafood bar, and a dance floor that stretched out to the water's edge. Bisi had been to many of his parties, but this one promised to be something special.
As the sun began to set, Bisi arrived at the beach, her driver letting her out at the entrance. The sound of waves crashing against the shore mingled with the beats of Afrobeats, creating an intoxicating mix of nature and music. The guests, dressed in flowing white ensembles that matched the theme, moved like spirits in the twilight, their laughter carried away by the breeze.
Bisi spotted familiar faces immediately—there was Zainab, a magazine editor, reclining in a cabana with her entourage; and Fola, a banker, who waved at her from the seafood bar. She made her way through the crowd, exchanging greetings and compliments as she went. But her mind was focused on one person in particular: Tunde, the tech mogul she had met at her party the night before.
She found him near the water, talking with a small group of people. As she approached, Tunde turned and flashed her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. He was dressed in a simple white linen shirt and trousers, effortlessly blending into the beach vibe yet standing out in the crowd.
“Bisi, you made it!” Tunde said, his voice warm.
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Bisi replied, her own smile widening. They exchanged pleasantries, but there was an unspoken connection between them, a spark that had been lit the night before and was now beginning to grow.
As the night deepened, the party shifted into a different gear. A bonfire was lit on the beach, casting a warm, flickering glow over the scene. People gathered around it, some with drinks in hand, others simply enjoying the fire’s warmth. The DJ played a mix of soulful tunes, and the mood became more intimate and more relaxed.
Bisi and Tunde found themselves sitting together on the sand, the ocean waves gently lapping at their feet. They talked about everything and nothing—business, Lagos, their dreams, and their fears. Tunde spoke of his latest tech venture, a project aimed at bringing affordable internet to remote parts of Nigeria. Bisi shared her passion for art and culture, and her desire to curate exhibitions that would showcase the richness of African creativity.
As they talked, Bisi felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. There was something about Tunde that made her believe in possibilities, in the idea that maybe, just maybe, she could find more in Lagos than just endless parties and fleeting moments of pleasure.
The night wore on, and as the first light of dawn began to touch the horizon, Bisi realized she didn’t want the moment to end. But Lagos was a city of endless nights and new beginnings, and she knew that whatever happened, there would always be another party, another chance to explore what this connection with Tunde could become.
They walked back towards the cabanas together, the bonfire still crackling behind them. As they parted ways, Tunde leaned in and kissed her cheek, a simple gesture that left her feeling light-headed. “Let’s see each other again, soon,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Bisi nodded, unable to find the words to respond. As she watched Tunde walk away, disappearing into the shadows of the beach, she felt a sense of anticipation bubbling within her.
Lagos, with all its chaos and beauty, had given her something unexpected. And as she left the party and drove back through the quiet streets of Victoria Island, Bisi couldn’t help but smile. The city had a way of surprising you, of showing you that amidst the noise and the lights, there was always the possibility of something more—something real.
Thank you for reading, I will post Episode 3 on Tuesday
