Hustle up high or dance on the downlow?
The Lagos rave scene is at a crossroads between its queer roots and the tantalising profits of mainstream appeal.
Rabi Madaki in Lagos
In Lagos, the EDM/house dance scene has grown from whispered-about queer raves to a weekend staple. What began as intimate, protective spaces for queer Nigerians are now a visible mainstream scene, with sponsorships and celebrity appearances at big venues: a video that went viral in May, of an enraptured Davido at a pop-up rave, is a case in point.
But now organisers face a dilemma: how to stay true to safeguarding judgement-free queer joy while scaling up to meet their surging popularity.
In their early days, raves like Group Therapy and Sweat It Out were underground parties that queer Nigerians went to not just to party but also to find community, love and friendship.
“The first rave I went to was the very first Group Therapy in 2022,” says Zenith, a gay student. “It was amazing. You turn left, you turn right and everybody around you is queer. People understood. It wasn’t my first time experiencing queer joy but it felt really beautiful.”
Nearly a decade after Nigeria passed the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act in 2014, it seemed like a buried piece of the country’s queer culture was resurrecting. Before the law, Lagos had a gay club scene that was legal but existed in hiding. When the law passed, queer spaces either went deeper underground – among friends only – or ceased to exist entirely as homophobic violence sharply rose. Until the rise of dance music raves.
Three years ago, the raves were a departure from regular Lagos clubs that exclusively celebrate heterosexuality. “Yes, I could go to them and have fun,” Mide, a bisexual raver, says of regular Lagos clubs. “But it would never cross my mind to dance with a guy at any of them, ’cause I know I would get stared at, kicked out or worse, beaten.”
Lately, the difference between the two seems to be diminishing, and a new wariness intrudes on the safety of these spaces. Zenith witnessed an experience illustrative of this change: a group of men cornered a woman on the dance floor, asking if she was a man or woman.
“They didn’t touch her but the fact that three or four guys could surround her and question her existence was pretty weird,” he says.
As a result, he has started editing his own self-expression. “I see people who don’t look like me and I start straight-acting,” he says. So far, no harm has come to him. “But I think the fact that I’m also trying to hide or control my behaviour is what helps.”
What was once a queer refuge now requires performance, calculation, and self-policing. And it is also starting to attract homophobic backlash: on 4 April, ahead of a much-anticipated Group Therapy x Boiler Room rave, a now-deleted Instagram post accused the collective of promoting “gay orgies,” tagging the police. The organisers had to put out a statement reassuring patrons that attending would still be safe.
Rave organisers remain as queer-affirming as in the beginning. But they also feel that the scene has to embrace the mainstream to pay for the logistics of putting them on.
“Let things become mainstream because at least you can make money and balance out,” says Ayo, one of the organisers of Mainland House, a monthly rave. “If it’s not mainstream, then you only have a few people that are regular. We have that loyal following already, yeah, these people have a great experience, [but] for us, the organisers who have to run the business, it is not as sweet. The question now is: how do we find a middle ground without having to compromise on our values?” Ayo adds.
Some organisers are trying to find a middle ground by vetting entry, reducing publicity, and sharing clear codes of conduct. Bryan, a queer Nigerian who has been raving since 2022 says such efforts are “quite refreshing” but doesn’t see them as a full solution.
“It’s kind of impossible to create a very exclusive event where everyone is vetted. But raves have always been an underground culture,” says Bryan. “Even if it risks stifling your growth, you just have to control it.”