Agbani Nights
We are the Brotherhood of Wild Friday Nights. Our anthem; Burna Boy and Jorja Smith’s Gum Body plays from somebody’s mini speaker. In an evening filled with pregnant winds, cigarette smoke and the sound of a week’s gossip being recklessly unloaded, the music gets lost but we don’t allow it to ruin the party. The faint underlying instrumental that reaches our ears is enough for us. We hum along asking why we drank this Hennessey and laughing because in place of the famous alcoholic brand we have several bottles of Smirnoff Ice, Orijin, Heineken and Malt for the less brave. The pepper soup is too spicy but it is a welcome relief from the lack of pepper we have to face all week. We bury the spiciness with regular swigs from bottles. We make small talk as much as we can in the din of the crowded bar.
Someone gets courage that can only come from being tipsy and stands up to dance. Every waist movement is accompanied by cheers and chants of more. O attempts to fish out her camera to record this moment but we wave the flashing lights away like an unwanted intruder. We don’t want moments like these recorded, we want to have this clip only present in our memories so that when someone attempts to replicate these moves on our drunken walk back to school, we would all break into raucous laughter unaided by a bright phone screen.
The walk back home is my favourite part of our Friday night shenanigans, every night comes with a different song. Tonight’s jam is Sweet in the Middle and like the true Marlians that we are, we desert all the remaining lyrics and dive into Naira Marley’s contribution.;
“ Sweet in the middle Can you do a split in the middle ?’’
We repeat these lines over and over in drunken abandon as shop owners packing for the night watch on. Some shake their head cursing the lost children of this generation, others smile in the realization that we live only once. When we can’t remember lyrics, we make up lines as we go, proud minstrels of the night, returnees from the cathedral of green bottles and aluminium bowls.
Our faces darken when we see the large gates that mean the end of our freedom. The laughter quietens, the music stops and we walk in silence for the rest of the way. Serious thoughts overcome us as we part ways, there are notes to catch up on, backs to bend, group discussions to prepare for, hearts to break and domestic lives with 7 + roommates to return to.
For some of us, the night doesn't end just yet. We retreat to a rooftop, sitting in a circle, spilling secrets and swapping stories. In the distance, smoke rises from a deserted corridor, detained rebels protesting one puff at a time. This time the music is enough to go around. Burna Boy croons softly about makeup sex and suddenly that is all you can think of. Tonight, the dry air of Agbani is the only thing that will caress your body but someday soon you swear, you will gum body with reckless abandon.
