Nigeria’s underground queer dancehall scene

The location of the celebratory ball must be kept secret.

It’s a strange incident, in Nigeria, where same-sex relationships or public expressions of affection are illegal, anything committed to embracing this culture is in jeopardy.

Honoring Pride Month in any way here is an act of defiance.

Organizers of the Fola Francis Ball, named after a transgender woman who died last year, did not release venue details until hours before opening.

But that didn’t stop more than 500 people from arriving in an area close to the prosperous seaside district of Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial hub.

The gated site is surrounded by abandoned car parts and a warehouse known for its wild parties.

The deafening bass lines can be heard through the door, and stepping over the threshold feels like stepping into another reality.

Inside is the queer community of Lagos, the venue, and a cloak that separates them from the outside world.

For security reasons, many LGBTQ+ Nigerians use the word “queer” as a broad term covering their identities.

The air was filled with excited chatter and laughter. This is the joy of being free from fear.

Everyone is dressed in something that fits the neo-gothic theme.

In the dimly lit hall, strobe lights painted attendees’ skin different colors. The flash captured the figures in different poses – a kaleidoscope of movement.

Androgyny and eccentricity reign supreme. A woman with a shaved head and shiny makeup struts confidently next to a man in a flowing black dress.

Outside of parties, those who have to conform to what a man should look like feel entitled to wear wigs and body-hugging dresses and use their faces as canvases for glitter and bold hues.

The creative duo behind the ball – Ayo Lawanson and Uyaiedu Ikpe-Etim – were inspired by similar events they had attended.

“We thought we were queer and outgoing, but experiencing Prom really changed our perspective on what queerness is and what queer happiness is,” Ravanson told the BBC.

Last year’s first event was a celebration of their queer-themed film Fourteen Years and a Day, but this year they wanted to pay tribute to Fora Frances.

Until she drowned near a Lagos beach late last year, she was at the center of a thriving underground dancehall scene.

She hosts, organizes and invites queer people to all major parties.

For many, the Fora Francis Ball is an opportunity to pay their respects.

“I want to celebrate Fora,” said one reveler in platform heels, wearing a black choker, dark corset, lace leggings and a red plaid miniskirt that matched the color of her nails.

“When I first went out, she always said to me: ‘You look so good,’ and that really touched me. It gave me confidence in being myself,” she said.

Fola Francis had a huge impact on the entire queer community in the country. But for many trans and non-binary people, her death was personal, and it’s important to honor her life.

One trans non-binary person wearing an African print robe said Fola helped them realize the importance of authentic representation. “Her presence gave me freedom,” they added proudly.

Another trans woman attending her first prom told the BBC the event was a “dream come true”.

Forced to relocate to Lagos after facing transphobic violence in northern Nigeria, Fola Francis offered to help her find a safe place to live.

LGBTQ+ ballroom culture can be traced back to the mid-19th century American and African-American underground drag activities. It has since flourished across the United States and beyond, with a well-established infrastructure, including “houses,” providing a support network and foundation for the competition.

Television shows such as “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” “Legend” and “Pose” have also brought the concept into the mainstream.

At the Fora Frances Ball, some participants compete against each other in several categories – Real Male Queen, Real Female Queen, Body, Face, Fashion and Best Dressed.

The audience chanted slogans and clapped as people danced and walked on the stage.

For the organizers, the purpose of hosting a ball in Nigeria is clear: to be a space for self-expression, to celebrate the beauty of diversity even in the face of fear.

This fear is never far away, as it feels like the 2014 Same-Sex Marriage Ban Act criminalized them.

“I’m not 100 percent relaxed or safe. One minute you’re safe and the next you’re busted.

In the midst of the fun, he reflects on those who don’t want to be there.

“Many of my friends will be here tonight, but because of this fear [of arrest]they chose not to come.

“It makes me sad because dancehall culture, queer culture, is how we celebrate ourselves,” he added.

“I couldn’t fully experience it with them. It also made me angry because there is no reason to live in fear when we can express ourselves, be ourselves, live and be happy.

But organizers went to great lengths to create a safe environment.

Some safety measures include providing changing rooms for those who want to dress up as their most authentic selves but need to avoid homophobic and transphobic violence on their way to the venue.

They also work with a private security company committed to inclusivity.

Organizers have been criticized for allowing cisgender and straight people into queer spaces, but they insist they want allies, family and friends to attend.

“Queer joy is one of the greatest forms of resistance,” Ikpe-Etim said, and they want people to experience this culture.

“We want to push the narrative of queer existence. Change the way queer people are viewed in Nigeria.

One of the judges, author Eloghosa Osunde, saw Fola Francis Ball and other similar ball clubs as “spaces where people feel less shame”.

“No identity is greater than another just because it’s validated by law. I really believe we can create legitimacy for ourselves and that’s one way our world can evolve.

Lagos’ underground dance scene looks set to expand further as more and more queer people feel supported by the community.

“Spaces like this are very important,” said fashion designer Weiz Dhurm Franklyn, another judge.

“Knowing that you actually have a space to call home and are free to be yourself, without judgment, without prejudice. Not just for having fun, but for living, is so important.