In the heart of Nigeria’s nightlife, a new movement is reshaping how young adults experience and create culture after dark. Jägermeister’s Feierstarter campaign is at the centre of this shift, a platform that celebrates individuals who bring energy, creativity, and connection to their communities.
The Feierstarter campaign is a bold initiative designed to empower the next generation of young culture-shapers and community leaders. Through this platform, collaborators are supported to nurture their creativity, influence, and ability to bring people together. These Feierstarter are already recognized for organizing events and mobilizing peers, and with the backing of Jägermeister, they are taking the lead in igniting nightlife culture and driving authentic connections across cities.
The campaign officially kicked off in Lagos with the OJ Twins, the first Feierstarter collaborators. Known for transforming gatherings into full-scale experiences, they hosted Meisters of the Grill x Heat Wave Fest at Amore Gardens, a 12-hour fusion of food, fire, and music that kept Lagos city girlies and men on their feet from afternoon till dawn.
Guests arrived on a red carpet that doubled as a photo runway. Then the spectacle kicked in, from fire dancers and acrobats to a stacked DJ lineup that kept the crowd on their feet. When night fell, the tempo shifted, live sets from Perliks, Yiizi & Tmzy, Gimba, and the Activboizz takeover had the audience screaming back every hook. With MC Sul, Ebuka, and MC Strings hyping alongside Xavier, the energy never dipped.
True to Lagos style, the night came with its own twist. A suspended swing contest where attendees competed for a ₦100,000 prize. Unexpected and playful, it had the crowd cheering and rooting for their favorites until the very end
Next stop was Abuja, under Zumnann’s lead, Meisters After Dark took over Monoliza Hall with a lineup that pushed the energy into overdrive. The crowd was heavier, the sound louder, the atmosphere electric. Traditional drummers and cultural dancers brought roots and rhythm, while acrobatic performers turned the stage into a spectacle. DJs like Makaveli, Slimzy Ace, Dot, DCon, and others lit up the decks. If Lagos sparked the fire, Abuja turned it into a blaze, showing just how diverse and dynamic Nigeria’s nightlife can be.
Together, OJ Twins and Zumnann exemplify what #JagermeisterFeierstarter stands for: originality, collaboration, and cultural resonance. Their events weren’t just milestones for Lagos and Abuja; they set the stage for a growing movement that celebrates bold ideas, community, and the energy of youth culture.
The movement is just getting started. Feierstarter is moving into more cities, spotlighting more young Nigerians, and amplifying more bold ideas that turn nights into unforgettable experiences. Built on the pillars of awareness, aspiration, and activation, the campaign is more than events; it is set to light up Nigeria’s nightlife.
The story is only beginning. More collaborators, more cities, and more unforgettable nights are on the horizon. Keep up with the movement by following @Jägermeisternigeria on social media.
About Jägermeister
Today’s famous premium herbal liqueur was launched 80 years ago by Curt Mast. The recipe of 56 herbs, blossoms and roots has remained unchanged to this day. Traditionally, Jägermeister is produced exclusively in the small town of Wolfenbüttel in northern Germany. Bottling takes place at plants in Wolfenbüttel-Linden and Kamenz in Saxony. From here, the herbal liqueur in the distinctive bottle is exported to more than 150 countries worldwide. The family-owned company employs around 1,000 people worldwide. Since 2020, the brand portfolio now also includes Teremana, the tequila brand founded by Hollywood actor and entrepreneur Dwayne Johnson, and GIN SUL, which is produced in Hamburg-Altona.
About The Feierstarter campaign
The #JägermeisterFeierstarter campaign is an initiative designed to empower the next generation of young adult community leaders across tertiary institutions. Through this platform, the campaign nurtures their creativity, leadership, and influence to drive authentic connections and deepen engagement within their communities.
These Feierstarters, who are well known on their campuses for organising events and mobilising their peers, will serve as catalysts for campus culture, using their platforms to promote community, creativity, and celebration with the backing of the Jägermeister brand. By integrating into culturally relevant youth scenes, the campaign aims to drive brand visibility, interest, and conversion while reinforcing Jägermeister’s connection to nightlife culture.
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Toyosi Alexis first went viral in 2021 for a letter she wrote to her hearing loss. “Couldn’t you just fix yourself and go away?,” she wrote in the post. “I fought to prove that I was worthy — more than just a girl with hearing aids and a weird accent.” It provoked a public outcry and raised awareness about the experiences of Nigerians living with deafness.
Since then, she has become an advocate for the inclusion of people with disabilities. In an interview with Zikoko, she opens up about her experiences attending concerts in Nigeria — and how she thinks they can be improved.
This is Toyosi Alexis’ story, as told to Dennis.
Burna Boy Performance: Dec 2019
I woke up to delicious cooking — jollof rice, salad, chicken. All my siblings were in the house. Some of my cousins had come to visit. It was the Christmas holiday, and later at night, we would go to watch Burna Boy perform. I was happy.
I am a fan and had been begging my parents throughout the holiday to allow me attend his concert, and they finally agreed.
When I was four, I was diagnosed with severe deafness in both ears. My mother was the first to suspect. She had been trying to call me, but I wasn’t responding. That’s when they took me to the hospital. Since then, I have worn hearing aids. As a child, they were bulky and drew stares. I hated them, and I hated having to wear them.
I wore a full face of makeup to watch Burna Boy perform. I didn’t have any expectations. I didn’t expect the event to be inclusive. I just wanted to see him do his thing on stage, surrounded by friends and family.
We stood in the VIP section at the front. I could hear the drums, too. They hit my ears, loud and vivacious. I was vibing. Burna had climbed the stage. And then, I realised I could not hear his voice.
I wear a Bluetooth hearing aid that is connected to my phone and it tunes out the noise so I can focus on what is most important. It automatically adjusts to my environment as needed — just like a noise-cancellation headphone would. But the music was so loud that I could not hear Burna singing. His voice had been tuned out by the noise.
I stood on a chair so I could at least see him. Later, my cousin lifted me on his shoulder, where I sat reading Burna’s lips. I was so happy.
It could have been worse.
A Concert: Dec 2019
In December 2019, my friend and I attended a concert. We had bought VIP tickets online and were trying to swap the receipts for passes. I could see the crowd getting out of control. The noise was getting louder. Concertgoers were getting excited and agitated. The line was getting longer.
Then I heard a loud bang.
In an instant, people rushed towards the gate. I was lost in the crowd. I couldn’t find my friend. Then, suddenly, someone pushed me, and I fell. A stampede was taking shape. Terrified and trapped on the ground, I started screaming for help.
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There are things strangers go out of their way to do for you that you never forget. What happened next was one of them. A young man grabbed me by the waist and helped lift me up. I was so grateful. I told him I had lost my friend, and he helped locate her. She was also on the floor, so he helped her up.
If I were a high-performing autistic person or someone in a wheelchair or blind, it could have been much worse.
Later, someone mentioned that the stage had collapsed, and the VIP area had no shelter. My hearing aid can withstand water, but for only less than a minute. If it had rained, my hearing aids would have spoilt.
I paid for the VIP because, for my safety, I need to be in secluded spaces at large events. So, I left the concert before the show even started.
Megan Thee Stallion in Lagos: Dec 2019
I have had a few decent concert experiences. Years ago, when Megan Thee Stallion was in Nigeria, someone had offered me a ticket to a table, and I accepted. It was really nice. I sat at the table in the Eko Hotel. I could pick and choose if I wanted to go closer to the stage. I could see her perform and lip-read if I needed to. I was not even a big Megan Thee Stallion fan, but it was a delight to be there.
A lack of inclusion at concerts in Nigeria
I was once having a conversation with a friend who is blind about a music show she had wanted to attend. When ticket sales went up, she went on the website to buy hers. She used the screen reader software on her phone. But the checkouts and other buttons were not properly labelled, so all the screen readers saw was “button.” The website was not inclusive. It was made only for people with sight.
Many times, I see show organisers and promoters post pictures of wheelchair ramps and digital assets, saying that their events are inclusive for disabled people. But you attend and it’s not the case. Once, I attended an event for people with deafness, where they shared free hearing aids. But even at that event, there was no sign language interpreter or captions on the slides.
Starting Adaptive Atelier
It’s one of the reasons why I started Adaptive Atelier. We are based in Lagos and the UK, and we want to help create a world that is more inclusive of the needs of disabled people. We have software that disabled people can use to customise websites and apps to fit their needs. We also want to create a platform where people can hire disabled people as consultants to help them make their events and businesses more inclusive.
In June, I am hosting an event for disabled people, and I made a version of the program in Braille so blind people can read it. I didn’t just go online and search for that. I had to hire someone living with blindness to consult on the project. This is the kind of empowerment I want for people living with disabilities.
A utopian music concert for disabled people
I have been thinking a lot about a utopia where music shows and concerts in Nigeria are inclusive for people with disabilities.
In this utopia, there would be a separate entrance for people with disabilities, where I would be greeted at the door by an aide who is trained to attend to my needs. I would have seating areas catered to my needs. The sound would be great. There would be sign language and captions on the screen — it would look like those fun lyric videos on YouTube with nice fonts. The aide would be by my side all night, just making sure I am safe.
Lagos nightlife for those with means is not for the faint-hearted. On what she thought would be one of her worst birthdays — broke, bored, and with no plans — Queen ended up having the wildest night of her life in Lagos.
By a random stroke of luck, she linked up with a group of Lagos party monsters, and between 8:30 p.m. and 8:00 a.m. the next day, she hit eight locations: a house party, a bachelorette, four clubs, a bar, and finally, a Chinese restaurant.
This image is AI generated
This is Queen’s wildest Lagos night as told to Dennis
It was the 27th of December. I remember the date because it was my birthday, and I had no plans. Earlier that day, I’d posted about it on a matchmaking WhatsApp group I belonged to. It was the kind of group where you joined, introduced yourself, and waited to see who might be interested. If someone liked you, they’d let you know and the conversation would move to a private chat.
So it wasn’t a group I checked often. I didn’t even post comments. But my birthday was almost over, and I still had nothing planned. My friends had travelled. I was alone, bored, and broke. So I went on the group to respond to the birthday wishes I had gotten. It was the least I could do.
“What plans do you have?” someone asked. I knew it was an invitation, so I said “none,” and he suggested I come to a house party the group was throwing somewhere in Lekki. It was the group’s end-of-year party. Some members had made donations to put it together.
I threw on a slinky black dress, wore fancy flats and did a light beat, just enough to cover my blemishes.
At 8:30 p.m., my Uber arrived.
First party: House party, Lekki, 10 p.m.
Strippers dressed as naughty nurses greeted me at the door of the house party. One held a syringe filled with alcohol. There was no way I was allowing that in my mouth, so I declined. But she wouldn’t let go without a fight. She protested. She insisted. I told her I would need a new syringe, and she opened a new one right in front of me. Finally, I took the drink. She gave me a glowing glass, and I went in to sit.
On one side of the house, barbecue turkey was spread across a tray. On another, boys were playing table tennis. I sat with the ladies. As the music got louder, the strippers began to dance. The big ballers stood up to let money rain — some of them IJGBs (I Just Got Backs), all of them men.
Later, the men started calling girls to the centre to dance. I hoped someone would ask me, because the men sprayed the ladies’ money as they danced. A man I had never met, but who had been staring at me since I sat, eventually asked. He didn’t have cash, but he later made a transfer of ₦30k to my account.
One of the ladies had been smiling at me, so I smiled back. I started dancing and she danced along. I took out my phone to make Snapchat videos and she smiled into the camera. Her name was Ugo. She was at the party with a friend, who was a famous celebrity.
Later, they went outside and I went back to my seat. There were no games to play at the party. No charades. No spin the bottle. The party was getting dull, so I went to meet Ugo outside. She was speaking with two guys and the celebrity. One was a famous hype man and event MC. The other was a wealthy tech bro.
They were tired of the party, too. Ugo said her friend was having a bachelorette party and wanted to go there for a while. The hypeman said he had other spots to visit. I told them I was free and down for more parties. So I jumped in the celebrity’s car with Ugo. The two guys drove behind us to the bachelorette party.
This image is AI generated
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Second party: Bachelorette party, Lekki, 12:45 a.m.
Ugo had told the bride she was coming, but she hadn’t told her she was coming in two cars. So the estate security stopped us. The code to enter had expired. Ugo was dialling the bride’s number, but she wasn’t picking.
By some stroke of luck, they eventually allowed us in. At the bride’s house, two bouncers stood unsure about letting us through. The hypeman and tech bro were told it was a female-only event, so they had no hope of entering.
It was a pyjamas-themed party and I was wearing a black dress. Later, the bride came out, apologised, and allowed Ugo and I in. At the door, we took a shot.
The bride was hosting at her house, but for the night, it had been transformed into a dominatrix-style sex parlour. There were naughty quotes written on cardboard cutouts and sex toys everywhere, especially dildos. Black dildos, fat dildos, dildos of all shapes and sizes.
A single male stripper stood at the centre dancing with the ladies. Later, they gave the bride sex advice. Each person took turns telling her what to do. But there was one thing they warned her against: vanilla missionary sex. “Don’t do missionary!” somebody shouted.
All this time, Ugo’s phone kept beeping. It was the guys. They had been waiting in the car and were now asking us to come and meet them. The hypeman said he had another club to be at and that they couldn’t just sit waiting in the car like that.
So we decided to go with them.
Third party: Ikoyi, 1:30 a.m.
We went to a supermarket in Ikoyi — or so I thought. My Lagos nightlife experience has only just begun. People were shopping for groceries, but we didn’t buy anything. Instead, we walked down the aisles toward what I assumed was the other exit, and that’s when we saw two bouncers guarding a door.
We didn’t speak much. One of the guys spoke to the bouncers. They checked something on a tablet, gave us tags and face masks, and let us in.
“Remember,” the hypeman said, “this isn’t the kind of place you come to and tell everybody about.”
Immediately, we were in a new world. It wasn’t clear if the people working were strippers, or servers, or both. But everyone who wasn’t a guest was almost naked. The girls wore two-piece lingerie and high heels. The boys wore sexy boxer briefs. You could tell this was for the crème de la crème of Lagos. The strippers were some of the finest people I had ever seen.
The hypeman found the person he came to meet, and we took our seats at a table. The people here didn’t dance. They didn’t wear jeans or sneakers. Some wore polo shirts, but most were in trad. They sat and drank. I left my mask on. Some of the men took theirs off and talked in hushed tones. I couldn’t hear, but I knew deals were being made.
We didn’t place orders. We didn’t pay for anything. Till today, I still don’t know how the bill was settled. The waiters walked around with drinks and we took whatever we wanted. I went with champagne.
We had been there for almost an hour when the tech bro’s phone started to ring. It was his colleagues. They had an all-night end-of-year party and wanted him there. Even the CEO of the company was texting. But the vibe here was low. Just soft music and drinks. It felt boring. I felt out of place. I liked the idea of mingling with these people, but that wasn’t what tonight was about.
Tonight was about fun. So we left.
This image is AI generated
Fourth party: COVA Lounge, VI — lost track of time
At the entrance of COVA Lounge, parking was a problem. It’s always a problem. I had been to COVA before, so I knew what to expect. Inside, when the loud music hit my ears, I felt alive again. Ugo and the celebrity were tired. They wanted somewhere to sit. But with music like this, I could stand all night.
I was already dancing. I told the group I was fine. Eventually, we found the tech bro’s colleagues at a spot near the DJ. It was DJ Commissioner Wysei. Ugo and the celebrity found chairs and took off their heels. I was wearing flats.
The tech bro introduced us to his colleagues. I also worked in tech, so we had a lot to talk about.
I didn’t drink alcohol. I had been mixing too much. Instead, I poured a bottle of Coke into a cup and sipped that. People don’t really know what others drink at parties like this. You might think it’s Hennessy, but it could just be water.
Later, one of the guys began spraying me as I danced. When I counted it later, it was ₦20k.
A friend of the tech bro was pointing at me. He had another party to attend. The tech bro told him the ladies were tired and wanted to go home. His friend replied, “She doesn’t look tired.” Then he asked if we wanted to attend another party. I reminded him it was my birthday — and I was down for more parties.
They said we were heading to Lekki. Ugo and the celebrity said they lived in Lekki and would go home after. So we left.
Fifth party: Kohinoor, Lekki
When we walked into Kohinoor, a lounge in Lekki, there was excitement in the air. The guys were happy to see us. It had been just guys and one girl, but with us, there were now four girls in the group. They were all IJGBs. They were having a small meet-up.
I had never been to Kohinoor this late at night. I had first been there with a group called Lagos Foodie Association. We’d go to popular spots to check the vibes, order food, and do activities. The usual. I didn’t like it back then because the music wasn’t loud. But at night, it was louder — and it felt more like home for me.
I was hungry at this point, so I ordered shawarma and puffed some shisha. They had games, too, so we played ayo and card games.
By 4:30 a.m., Ugo said she was ready to head home. The celebrity friend drove her. I stayed back and hung out with the guys. Someone mentioned checking out a club called Secret Palace, so we headed out.
There were only two ladies left, the girl we had met at Kohinoor and me
Sixth party: Secret Palace, Lekki
Outside Secret Palace, the parking lot was packed with luxury cars. There were the usual G-Wagons and Audis, but also cars I didn’t even know existed in Nigeria — Aston Martins and Lamborghinis dotted the area.
I had been here before, so I knew what to expect. It was reservation-only. We hadn’t made any, which meant our entry would depend on how we looked. One bouncer asked why my shoes were so low — I was in flats — and they bounced me first.
This had happened to me before: I wore sandals to a club, and a friend wore slippers, and we were bounced. After we posted about it on Instagram, they apologised.
Secret Palace thrives on exclusivity. They’re known for hosting celebrities. It’s where Wizkid goes when he’s in Lagos. But the guys weren’t feeling it. They were also having a hard time getting in, so we decided to head to Quilox instead.
This image is AI generated
Seventh party: Quilox, VI, 5:00 a.m.
By 5 a.m., people were still arriving at Quilox. Lagos nightlife is not for the faint hearted. Never stand between a Nigerian and their party. The parking space was full, so one of the guys parked by the roadside.
At this time of day — and in December — we shouldn’t have been able to get a table. But they looked at the group and gave us a table near the door. They brought the drinks with lights sparkling. The guys ordered Azul and champagne. I never pass on champagne, so I drank that. But I didn’t touch the Azul. I was with guys I had never met, and I’d been drinking all night. I needed to stay alert.
Other ladies joined our table. We danced and vibed. The guys started spraying money. One of them — clearly trying to impress me — sprayed me. When I counted it later, it was ₦50k. I wanted to pick the money the others had sprayed on the floor too, but I couldn’t spoil my steeze.
They had fun. I had fun. Quilox was good — the perfect conclusion to a wild night. Later, one of the guys said he was hungry. Someone else mentioned a Chinese restaurant in VI, close to Quilox, and we decided to go.
When we got to the car, the side mirror was broken. But after a night like that — loud music, drinks, parties and girls — the last thing you’re worried about is a side mirror.
Eighth party: Chinese restaurant, 6 a.m.
When we got to the restaurant, I took off my shoes. My legs had started to hurt at Quilox, but I didn’t say anything — I didn’t want to spoil the vibe. I had to match the energy. The music had kept me going.
We ordered Chinese and chatted. They said they’d invite me if they had other places to go in the future. The hypeman looked at me. I looked at the tech bro. We had shared a wild night — and we both knew it. We’ve experienced Lagos nightlife.
At 8 a.m., I ordered an Uber home. In the Uber, I counted the money. I had ₦70k in cash. Plus the ₦30k transfer, I had made ₦100k in one night. I had been paid to have fun.
I saved all my videos on Snapchat. On slow days, I watch them to remind myself that once, I had so much fun my legs hurt. I looked out the window into the morning light on the drive home. I had just had one of the best birthdays of my life — with strangers. And I was fulfilled. I was happy. I was thankful.
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Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here.
This week’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is a 26-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about annual promotions at her banking job, finding fulfillment in black tax and how the Lagos nightlife helped her find herself.
What makes you happy right now?
The pace at which my life is going. I feel fulfilled that I can provide for my family and dependents and afford what’s important to me. My career and financial growth make me so happy.
And finding someone who actually makes me orgasm literally fulfills me.
It does? How?
Apart from the feel-good hormones that come with getting an orgasm, finding someone who focuses on finding your G Spot during sex is underrated. You know how they say it boosts your self confidence and makes you glow. It’s not a lie o.
Can you tell me about your career growth?
I joined a bank as a contract receptionist in 2018. I would say that’s the bottom tier of a banking career. We were six in a team at the head office, and we rotated between the front desk and the switchboard upstairs.
It was important for me to stand out and be noticed, so I talked my teammates into doing things like daily colour coordination. I made the most of the position, maintaining a pleasant attitude to visitors every day because I understood that as receptionists, we were the first ambassadors of the bank.
I’ve always wondered how receptionists of big companies stay pleasant
We dealt with irate, frustrated customers coming from the branches — rude people who can’t even talk to me outside, but because I’m a receptionist, they think they can intimidate me to get access to the bank’s executive director.
We couldn’t just let them into the back office, so we had to figure out ways to diffuse such situations every day. It took great skill to stay pleasant, but I was always smiling — ask anyone. But I was soon tired of the role since I didn’t get a degree in finance to be a receptionist.
Of course. What did you do about it?
After about a year, I said to myself, “I think it’s enough”. But most of the people I worked with kept telling me how hard it was to be converted to a full staff of the bank: there’s only one conversion exam per year; it’s highly competitive because every bank contract staff in the country takes it; they only select a small number of people to enter the graduate training school.
They just gave me a bunch of reasons why I shouldn’t bother. But I just knew I had to try, so I found out how to make sure my chances of selection were high. I started learning about products, studying hard and worked to get a product officer role two months before the conversion process started.
I took the first exam in my 18th month as a contract staff and passed on the first try.
I was. But the same co-workers told me, “Everybody passes this first stage. The second stage is the problem”. I said okay. Then I passed the second exam, and they were like “Not bad”. And I aced the third stage.
I just knew I had to get picked, so I spoke to the few people who’d passed the different phases to get the exact knowledge I needed to make sure I was very prepared. The final stage came, and out of about 2000 contract staff who started the process, only 15 were selected. I was one of them. I became a full staff of the bank in 2020.
Congratulations. What was your new role?
Product officer for business banking. I did that till 2021 when my role switched to product manager, business banking. Earlier this year [2022], they promoted me again within the same role. But I now supervise four junior staff and report directly to the head of business banking who reports to the MD.
Every year since I started my career in 2018, I’ve gotten a promotion. I know what I was earning then, and compared to now — I’ve been able to move from my parents’ house in Ikorodu to Lekki and buy a new car. I’m independent, and I even have dependents now.
But how do you feel about the black tax?
It doesn’t stress me. Remember I said it’s part of what makes me feel fulfilled? And I’m the last born so the burden of taking care of my family isn’t solely on me. But you know when your mom calls to ask for something, and you can afford it? It’s just a flex.
Apart from my parents and members of my extended family, you know, it’s Lagos now. If anyone sees you’re remotely doing well, they’ll keep asking for help like you don’t have problems. I kind of understand, so it’s no big deal.
But don’t get me wrong. I prioritise my mental health more than anything, so if there’s any need I can’t afford, I won’t kill myself. If they don’t understand, LOL.
What was your office naysayers’ reaction to your conversion?
At the head office that year, only me and one other lady (who has even japa-ed now) were selected. I remember the day I got the email. I’d gone out for lunch, and when I came back to the office, the other staff had already found out they didn’t get in. I went to my seat to check my email, and I screamed. They were all happy for me actually.
Oh
Most of them have been converted now. They thought if this party girl who was just a receptionist and doesn’t take things too seriously could pass the stages, maybe they were wrong about their chances. My success motivated them.
Someone who’d already passed the age limit got converted some time later because she moved to another role and department to justify her conversion. I’d done the same thing to increase my chances, so I just know she was following in my footsteps.
Actually, how are you a laid-back party girl and still passing competitive exams on the first try?
I do take things seriously; the laid-back thing is just a facade.
But they see my growth and performance at work now, and it has totally changed their perspective of me. I mean, my co-workers come to me for help with tasks. I’ve started to show off more of my work life and serious side outside work too. I guess you could say I’m now an adult.
Funny enough, whenever I have personal encounters with people from work, they’re always like, “Damn. You’re actually a genius” or “You’re so smart”. I know what I want, and I go for it. And I’ve always wanted to be successful and financially independent.
Last year, I set up a business, letting out short-let apartments for property agents based on my experience working at a real estate company during NYSC. As a sub-agent — with the kind of network I’ve built at the bank and as a party girl — at least once a month, someone needs a three-bedroom flat for up to two weeks, and I make some cool cash. I mean, life is good.
God, when? Let’s talk about the party girl life
I enjoy clubbing — meeting new people, socialising — it eases my stress, and the connections I make help me do a lot of business.
Funny enough, growing up, I was an introvert. I would just stay home, reading novels and watching High School Musicals or princess movies. I loved fairy tales, so I was always living in my head, daydreaming at home about when my Prince Charming would come and carry me.
Interesting. When did things change?
I got into university in 2011. I was like 15, pretty young, and I was a nerd initially. Then 200 level came. My roommates liked going out, so I would just watch them. They liked to turn up and a lot of guys liked them. You know how all my daydreams were about Prince Charming? At the time, my goal was to get a sweet boyfriend and live happily ever after. My whole thought process was that to achieve this, I had to be a party girl.
Sounds like tight logic. How did that work out?
I don’t know about getting a boyfriend. But in 300 level, my roommate was a girl who did PR for Club 57, inviting girls to the club to attract guys who would buy drinks. The first night I followed her out, she made me up and helped put together my outfit because I was such a dead babe at the time.
When we got to the club, I had so much fun and was just a different person, getting so much attention. I was insecure about my body because I have big boobs. But when I dressed up at night, I always looked and felt so good. I enjoyed the attention I got from the guys at the club. I enjoyed returning to the hostel to gist about everything with my friends and roommates.
What was the club scene like?
The whole experience was so new and exciting for me. This was in 2014. We used to go every Thursday night for “We own Thursday nights” [W.O.T.N.]. I started meeting people and making lots of friends and connections with fellow regulars. I’m a Leo, so I just loved the attention I got. When they see this tall, busty, melanin-popping beauty, heads must turn.
But I was such a novice that I didn’t know anything happened in clubs beyond talking, dancing and drinking. By my final year, we were doing club tours. We sha toured every popular club in Lagos that year. And after graduation, while I was waiting for NYSC’s call-up letter, I got my own PR job at Escape Nightclub.
How did that happen?
One night at Escape, a guy who was doing PR for them asked me to join his team since he knew me and I knew so many people. I was already helping my former roommate, the Club 57 PR person, so it made sense to do it officially.
I joined Escape in 2015 when they were introducing their Wednesday nights. Luckily for me, my first night, I invited a girl whose friend was celebrating her birthday, so all her friends came to celebrate with her. They ended up filling two tables.
On top of that, I’d been building a network, touring clubs, and I hadn’t yet taken advantage of it. So when I called people for that first night, they turned up. I drew so many people they had to introduce me to the owner, who gave me a full job. I started earning a salary and a 10% commission on the drinks purchased.
Baller!
Yes o. But it was only then I discovered that other things happen in clubs; things like hookups and runs.
One night, I invited girls out, and the PR for guys said I should bring them to the middle table where his guys were, which was basically the VIP table. I was there forming morals like, “No. Why can’t the guys come over and talk to the girls?” The PR guy just said, “What’s wrong with this one?” hissed and went to another PR.
Later, the girls came to meet me, asking to go to the same middle table. In under an hour, some of them had found their own way to that table, and they didn’t follow the cabs we’d arranged to take them back to their hostels.
Weren’t you worried about them?
No. Everyone was having fun. Girls were killing themselves to get into Escape. The work was a blast for me because it was the biggest club that year.
There was this guy who was a proper baller when I was in school. He had a car and used to carry fine girls around. One day, he came to Escape, and they bounced him. I was about to enter when he saw and greeted me. I told the bouncer, “He’s with me. Let him in”. As the guy entered, he said, “So it’s you that’s bringing me inside club now”.
It killed me because Escape used to bounce people a lot. It was mad that I could get someone like him in.
Mad. But you still didn’t find Prince Charming and your happily ever after?
Dating in Lagos, as we all know, is tough. Lemme walk you through my journey: you meet someone, y’all vibe, get to know each other, have a couple of amazing dates and match energies. I mean, the attraction is there, and everything seems intact.
Then boom, the honeymoon phase is over, and the true colors are revealed. It’s either you’re ghosted or you’re the ghost. But basically, it’s over, and the cycle continues. It’s exhausting, abeg.
I’m still looking for “The One”, and I’m certain I’ll find him soon. I just need to be ready for him, so I’ve learnt to work on being the best version of myself.
How did you become both a career and a party girl?
Well, I went for NYSC in 2016, and I’ve been working on my finance career non-stop since. It’s been hard mixing it with the PR lifestyle, and I mean, I’m older now. But lowkey, COVID was a blessing because I have a work-life balance working hybrid. Being able to work and party and not be so overwhelmed is a blessing.
Many people cut out clubbing once they start the career struggle. Why have you decided to hang on to it?
Clubbing helped me realise I enjoy meeting and engaging new people, having conversations, going out and having fun. I mean, this life is short o, so let’s just enjoy ourselves while we’re in it.
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