At the age of six I became conscious of how unsafe I was. In Aba, Bakassi warriors would storm into beer parlours in the middle of the day, setting the whole place ablaze. And the news would carry the report in the evening, casually, before going on a break sponsored by Cowbell, our milk. One time, the Local government chairman sent out a directive banning girls from wearing trousers in the city, and I saw my beautiful neighbour Arith walking down from the gate, sobbing, because they had cut her jeans around the waist, and the hem, and the crotch area. Stupid fools.

A first kiss is a cliché. Truth or dare games and red cups. It has to be you, because no one else in the room twists my organs as deliciously as you do. I lean in, tentative, the room falls silent. It only takes a split second, a soft brush on the canvas of my lips, and everyone groans. It isn’t long enough, passionate enough. It doesn’t stir their imaginations enough. And from a cave in my belly, a little voice agrees.

“You have done it again.”

Nneoma doesn’t respond. Inside the kitchen sink, a ceramic cup dregged with clumps of milk sits on a plate of bread crumbs, catching the rays of sunlight fanned in from the curtains. Her heart drops. She looks at her handbag on the table, down to her neatly ironed black dress, and back at Jide, her boyfriend of two years, whose face wears an impenetrable mask.

Even when angry, he is a dark-skinned, buzz-cut beauty. Like one of those bini sculptures that were pillaged

You met at South Socials, on a Friday night, months before the event closed at the first location. He was outside by the drinks station, sitting with a friend when you walked in, and the only reason you noticed him was that he wore a shade of orange you thought was pretty. Burnt, the colour of suya spice. His hair was clean-shaven, low, just the way you liked it, and he wore minimal jewellery, a gold chain around his neck and a chrome watch that was both understated and alluring.

He was your ty

I love Lagos nightlife. Nothing excites me more than the moonlight, the music, the mini dresses, and the sense of limitless enjoyment. During the day, you’re a professional making six figures a month at an investment firm, or a law student in UNILAG trying (and failing) to maintain a 4.0 GPA, but the sun goes down and you can be anyone you want to be, with false lashes and a dangerous pair of heels. There is so much to love about it.

I remember the first time I experienced the euphoria of Lagos

six months old on a bed, pillows propped around to prevent you from rolling down and hitting your head on the cold floor, rendering all efforts to keep you alive useless. object permanence. friendly faces. toys. a baby sister that steals attention, peaceful and small in ways you cannot be. cerelac and mashed rice. building blocks. the sweet feeling of being carried on the back of your father. primary school. sucking the sweet liquid of geraniums. friendly rivalry. winning milo competitions and b