The Power Issue
In Lagos, Creativity Isn’t A Luxury: It is Survival
Written by Tobi Ibiye Makinde
Illustration by Elise Chastel
Black Joy Exists in Every World
Written by Tobi Ibiye
Illustration by Elise Chastel
I vividly remember my first rave in Lagos. Thousands of people gathered around a singular booth, worshipping together as Afrobeats vibrated around us. Hands rose in exaltation, as each transition drew us deeper and deeper into a sweaty, dreamlike trance. All of us in that room were for a singular moment able to forget about the stressors that lurked just a few metres away.
Lagos does not coddle you. From the flooding to police harassment, I try not to romanticise the stark reality that Lagos, at every junction, feels that it is on the precipice of collapse. To build a fulfilling life, you must be creative. In Lagos, creativity isn't a luxury. It is survival, resistance – oxygen.
What strikes me most about Lagos is how this necessity breeds innovation at every level. From the okada rider who customises his bike with LED strips and sound systems to the trader in Lekki Art Market who turns bronze into avant-garde jewellery, creativity is not confined to galleries or studios. It spills into every corner of daily life.
The creativity to mould your surroundings is Lagosians’ biggest superpower. Through three continuous acts: making, sharing, and communing, Lagos creatives have been able to shape not just their environment, but their very survival in unimaginable ways.
I vividly remember my first rave in Lagos. Thousands of people gathered around a singular booth, worshipping together as Afrobeats vibrated around us. Hands rose in exaltation, as each transition drew us deeper and deeper into a sweaty, dreamlike trance. All of us in that room were for a singular moment able to forget about the stressors that lurked just a few metres away.
Lagos does not coddle you. From the flooding to police harassment, I try not to romanticise the stark reality that Lagos, at every junction, feels that it is on the precipice of collapse. To build a fulfilling life, you must be creative. In Lagos, creativity isn't a luxury. It is survival, resistance – oxygen.
What strikes me most about Lagos is how this necessity breeds innovation at every level. From the okada rider who customises his bike with LED strips and sound systems to the trader in Lekki Art Market who turns bronze into avant-garde jewellery, creativity is not confined to galleries or studios. It spills into every corner of daily life.
The creativity to mould your surroundings is Lagosians’ biggest superpower. Through three continuous acts: making, sharing, and communing, Lagos creatives have been able to shape not just their environment, but their very survival in unimaginable ways.
MAKING
bell hooks received a question during a lecture at the Institute of American Indian Art in Santa Fe, whether art mattered. Her response: “It occurred to me then that if one could make a people lose touch with their capacity to create, lose sight of their will and their power to make art, then the work of subjugation, of colonisation, is complete. Such work can be undone only by acts of concrete reclamation.”
While meditating on the physical and metaphysical meanings of concrete, I came to the realisation that “concrete” is paramount to the survival of Lagos creatives. Lagos is the African concrete jungle. This material takes over the land, obscuring the natural coastal landscape of the city. Imagine being only a few metres from the ocean, but you are unable to hear, smell, or see it at all. With a population of over 15 million people, the city is full of people trying to build gratifying lives amongst the concrete pillars, alienated from their natural environment.
Opening in 2024, waf.skatepark represents one of the most compelling examples for both concrete and concrete reclamation. Located in Freedom
Park, a former British colonial prison ground, this skatepark has reclaimed not just the burial site of thousands of Nigerians but also redefined who is supposed to be in public spaces and where. Queer people, young people, people with dreadlocks, and many others abound, finding relief in this purpose-built concrete oasis. Greenery surrounds the skatepark, with trees, geese, and other animals providing a natural barrier to the chaos of Lagos.
According to one of the founders, Jomi Bello, this skatepark emerged from a dream he conceived after visiting other skateparks across the African continent and realising that he could build something in Lagos as well.
waf.skatepark embodies the transformational power of making. The park functions as more than a physical space; it creates future skateboarders, shifts perceptions of skating from delinquency to community formation, and inspires others to pursue their creative visions.
SHARING
I first learned how to create cyanotypes almost ten years ago in high school. Cyanotype photography is a cameraless printing method that uses UV-reactive chemicals to create a white silhouette of an object against a brilliant blue background. Blueprints were actually made using this method. I was mesmerised by the striking blue masterpieces, and I still keep the first cyanotype I ever made on my bedside table.
The cyanotype followed me to my university days, where I met a group of cyanotype enthusiasts who would further push my understanding of the medium through the use of fabrics, toning techniques, and bleaching. I would watch as students unfurled large sheets in front of the libraries, making prints of their bodies on a bright, sunny day.
When I came to Lagos, it felt natural for me to continue my love for the medium and share it with my community. I went on to host a cyanotype workshop in partnership with 16/16, a creative incubator and community space. I taught about fifteen people how to create cyanotypes, helping them to also fall in love with the medium and teaching them other ways to make work.
In these small workshops, I engaged in another critical aspect of survival in Lagos: sharing. Sharing is not just about teaching another, but engaging in a dynamic relationship where both people actively work toward a common goal of knowledge expansion. It is built on both humility and trust. Spaces like 16/16 provide an avenue for people to share their work with each other and receive critical feedback.
I acknowledge that gatekeeping still exists, but there is a group of people in Lagos actively working to share knowledge, resources, and creative power. Sharing is vital to survival in an environment where resources can seem thin, when in fact we survive through resource exchange. The formal art space Rele Gallery in Ikoyi excels in this regard. They have programming that supports early-career artists through mentorship programmes, exhibition opportunities, and studio space, empowering the next generation of artists to build their practices and pursue their dreams in the arts.
Sharing extends beyond formal mentorship. Lagos's creative communities operate on informal networks where information flows freely. When a new grant opportunity emerges, word spreads through WhatsApp groups and Instagram stories faster than official announcements. Photographers share locations, writers trade editing services, and filmmakers loan equipment. The city's challenges — unreliable internet, limited venues, expensive materials — force creatives into an interdependence that becomes their strength.
COMMUNING
Communing transcends sharing. While sharing makes knowledge available, communing creates bonds that sustain individual and collective resilience. In Lagos, these bonds often form around necessity but evolve into something deeper—chosen family structures that provide emotional, creative, and sometimes financial support.
My first rave was not just entertainment; it was communion. In that sweaty, pulsing room, strangers became temporary family, unified by rhythm and a shared escape from Lagos's daily pressures. This communal experience repeats across the city's creative spaces, from music nights at Freedom Park to art exhibitions in Victoria Island galleries to curated Afro-fusion dinners. Some commune in front of a painting or around cans of sweet Orijin.
Sometimes communion happens in the most unlikely chapels. I spent a year working at one of Africa's most prestigious art fairs. During our music night, I somehow became a pseudo-bouncer. All 160 centimetres of me, armed with my thick American accent, was more intimidating than the two buff gentlemen beside me.
While waiting to let people in, I collected stories like precious stones. Tech entrepreneurs, established artists, and curious wanderers all waited to enter the same sacred space. When I finally slipped inside to enjoy the performances (after feeling like our security team could handle it), people approached me as if we had been friends for years. Later during the fair, some recognised me. I walked with them, acting as an unofficial tour guide and continuing our conversations from a mere few hours prior.
These moments of communion provide crucial support networks in a city where traditional institutions often fail. When government funding for the arts disappears (famously by monkeys and snakes), creative communities create and sustain their support systems. They pool
resources for equipment, share studio spaces, and provide emotional support during creative blocks or career setbacks.
BUILDING
What makes Lagos's creative scene unique is not just talent. Talent exists everywhere. It is the recognition that in a city where conventional infrastructure fails, creativity becomes infrastructure itself. The networks creatives build, the spaces they carve out, the resources they share, these become the foundation for not just artistic expression but urban survival.
This is not a romantic struggle narrative. It is a pragmatic recognition that in Lagos, creativity and resistance are inseparable acts. Creatives in Lagos know that waiting for ideal conditions means never creating at all. Instead, we build something more valuable: communities that transform constraint into catalyst, turning the act of creativity into power itself.
This essay is part of the Power Issue, published in November 2025. You can purchase the Power Issue here.
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