Conversations with Young Nigerians on Faith and God
between God and man
Story and production by Saratu Abiola
Religion has been a major story this past year. In Nigeria, we have seen sexual violence in churches; entire schools for young boys run by Imams involved in organized abuse of children; and questions on the role of women in politics, much of which tend to brush up against religious notions of women’s place. Power and religion is a heady mix in any context, but in a place where the most institutionalized thing is lack of protection against abuse of any kind, it is headier still. What has been glaring about these stories of abuse of power is the extent to which these people used power vested in them — by church or state, or in the case of that one professor in the University of Lagos sexual harassment, both — to oppress vulnerable populations. If God created human beings in his own image, human beings have in turn molded God in their own.
Because of the ways that religion shapes such macro-level dynamics as politics and culture, it is easy to miss the quieter ways it shapes the most intimate of our relationships – with our communities, with our friends, with partners, and with ourselves. In 2017, I started collecting stories of people’s relationships with religion through a series of interviews in my DMs. In these conversations, I asked each person questions about what drives their un/belief, how it shapes their relationships with others, and how they have evolved and grown in their [lack of] faith. Each image I share from these conversations show these people’s experiences and personal truths that they have graciously accepted for me to share.
I have not always been able to write this. Some of these conversations are two years old, because I had wanted to write a much more personal piece on religious belief back then. I stopped being religious as a teenage girl and was angry — I can’t even articulate at whom this anger was directed - - for a long while after. This anger would pretty much shape my attitude towards religion for a long time, until it no longer did. I cannot say that I am aware of how this change happened. Time does it work, rounding out our hard edges and smoothing over our rough surfaces like sandpaper. For me, writing this and telling these stories is a sort of milestone in my own evolution, much the same way that these stories mark these people’s trajectories.
Religion is a dye that colors everything in modern Nigerian life. That I am not religious does not mean that I have not had to negotiate the contours of belief or relationship with God as an adult. I would venture that no Nigerian is able to live in the country completely adrift of the idea of faith. The shape of my moral universe is not consciously determined by religious instruction today, but it likely is by how I was raised and what I have experienced. All of these things are very closely aligned with a sense of belief, and ideas around sin and penance, faith and grace.
Here’s what I have learned.
1. The Importance of Community
A lot of the people I talked to shared that their major driver for their religious practice is the sense of community they get out of it.
This is doubly important for immigrant communities and is a very easy way of building relationships in new cities. The importance of this community will likely take on a different dimension for Nigerians abroad as it does Nigerians in the country. It makes me wonder about what else takes on a renewed importance when one is far away from home. In the calculation of better electricity and access to education and other opportunities, nobody really talks about how lonely emigrating to another country can be. Here, B. tells me how her aunt joined the Jehovah’s Witness church when she moved to another country. It became a link to the community, something she likely missed sitting alone in her apartment when the JW missionaries came knocking.
If a sense of community is a key driver, it does make it harder when you withdraw. This is especially when religion is a glue that binds you to your family . Most of the people who engaged with me that have lost faith told me that they could not tell their parents and still carried on going their places of worship.
Community brings to it a weight that either feels comforting or constricting, depending on the extent to which you neatly fit. Yet, my interviews showed me the extent to which it is still a need that drives our behavior.
2. A relationship with God Is Very Much A, Well, Relationship
This was something I never quite understood. How, after all, can you have a relationship with a being you’ve never seen? What shape does this relationship take?
As with every relationship, there will be some things that happen that you’re not altogether happy about, but the idea of having an intimate, ultimately beneficial relationship with an almighty creator is a powerful one. Whatever I think of religious practice, I came away from these conversations thinking of the ability to believe as a kind of superpower, much like the ability to love. Of course, not every relationship with God is rosy. Someone shared with me how his mental health struggles made him feel guilty and question the strength of his own faith.
In much the same way that the personal is also political, the community around one’s faith and the way one is taught about religion often shapes one’s relationship with God. That’s where it tends to get complicated.
3. There Is a Grieving Process When Faith Is Lost, Much Like Other Kind of Loss
There is a sense that people who walk away from religion skip away into the sunset at the thought of some newfound freedom to do as they please. From my conversations in these interviews as well as elsewhere, I find that this is not necessarily true. Precisely because a relationship with God is a relationship, it is possible to fall out or to walk away. And as we know in other kinds of relationships that we have, then your agency in the ending of that relationship does not mean you will not mourn its end. Indeed, I would argue that even the anger and viciousness of atheists who used to be religious is a manifestation of mourning. Anger is very much part of the grieving process.
I honestly did not understand this until I read R. O. Kwon’s “The Incendiaries”. The writer herself is a Korean-American who was raised Evangelical and has spoken publicly about mourning her loss of faith.
In a 2018 interview, she says this of her loss:
“With religion as I experienced it, the first and foremost feeling was one of love. I loved my idea of God. I really wanted to show how exciting and passionate religion can be and therefore how terrible it was to lose that, and to lose my faith. When I most deeply fell into religion, not entirely unlike when I’ve had one-off crushes, there was a feeling of ‘maybe this will give me all the answers I’ve been seeking.’ Losing my faith was devastating to me. For the next year I was as depressed as I’ve ever been. I was and am close to my parents, but I remember thinking that I’d rather lose one of my parents than lose God. When I believed, I lived in a world where there was no real loss and no real death. It’s such a different worldview than what I have now. Before I lost my faith, I would never have considered myself an especially anxious person. I didn’t have to be anxious because somebody omnipotent was always looking out for me. Now I could pretty reasonably call myself anxious. I wanted to try to bridge the chasm between these worldviews. On the one hand it was devastating that my friends and family couldn’t understand at the time how alone I felt and on the other hand it felt strange to then start making friends at college who were just like “okay, you used to be a Christian.” Very quickly I learned to turn it into a joke.”
If religion is a compass with which one moves through the world, then acting on one’s lack of faith requires a kind of courage not unlike the kind that wills one to be guided by a being followed a legion of equally flawed humans. Everything about the way we move through life requires courage, and to own up to what you do and do not believe in an environment as hostile to unbelief as Nigeria is its own kind of integrity.
4. How Religion Fits Into Your Life Is Just As Important As How You Fit Into It
Religious belief is not about what you want, but what is right given a set of principles that determine what being a Muslim/Christian/etc means. Still, the level of people’s adherence seems very much shaped by the extent to which their religion as they know it will accommodate who they are becoming, and to what extent they can bring to their God their fullest selves.
Some of the most poignant stories I heard were about this negotiation of how much of themselves they can be while also being an adherent of their religious practice. A former church leader spoke to me about the experience of coming to terms with his sexuality:
A woman told me about how the fears surrounding her body shaped her experience in the Yoruba religious tradition as a child:
Another person told me of her discomfort with the church’s teachings on religion and a woman’s place:
Sometimes, the people on the other end of the religious fervor in an intimate relationship can get hurt by their significant other’s practice. Religious people can be so preoccupied with their own internal struggles that they forget that their significant other or family member is not some disembodied test of righteousness, but a human being with feelings as valid as theirs. These stories abound anecdotally from people in my personal relationships and that I’ve heard through these conversations. Here’s one I can share because it has few identifying details.
I think it is no surprise sexuality shows up a fair bit in some of these stories. The shame and fear in sexuality that Abrahamic religions tend to impart can manifest itself in hypocrisy and judgement of other people, especially towards those who are not straight or who opt to express their sexuality differently. So much of the associated shame in their bodies and sexual proclivities does not merely turn off once a ring hits their finger, though. I worry about this especially for women, who I see often take years, decades even, to unlearn the learned shame and fear. For all its value, I worry about the benefits of worldviews that leave one with so much to unlearn, and the lack of grace this community allows for those who are unlike them.
5. There are always more questions than answers
For all its performative aspects and community, religion is a deeply personal thing. Young Nigerians are facing cultural influences from their ethnicity, religion and a barrage of messaging from a western perspective, all of which are competing for their attention in a social media-driven world. Social mores will continue to evolve elsewhere, feeding into a cultural conversation in Nigeria that will in turn shape how we live and, in turn, the lenses with which we will regard religious practice. Changes to the way we believe come with changes in the way we live. That likely won’t change.
NATIVE PREMIERE: Rigo Kamp Runs Ahead Of The Pack With The Visuals For “Marathon”
Rigo Kamp’s Marathon video is an intimate Afro-juju revival that pays homage to Sir Shina Peters and stamps...
Last Friday, Rigo Kamp, a NATIVE uNder alum and one of the architects of an equal parts nostalgic and refreshing sound released his self-titled debut EP, delivering a propulsive fusion of Alte, R&B, Funk, and Soul-infused rhythms.
Featuring previously released singles “Morning Sun” and “Summer”, the six-track eponymous EP executively produced by Odunsi The Engine sees Rigo lean heavily into his element as a sonic alchemist, jumping from silky falsettos to gritty grooves without losing an ounce of cohesion, and ultimately stamping the Abuja-born, Lagos-based singer-songwriter as a mad scientist of sound.
Just last November, Apple Music named Rigo Kamp as its Up Next artist, an acknowledgment that underscored his potential and confirmed what the tastemakers and underground scene already knew. Weeks later, he delivered an exhilarating live set for Spotify Fresh Finds in Lagos, proving he’s just as compelling live as he is in the studio.
On “Marathon”, the refreshing opener to the Rigo Kamp EP, Rigo borrows the bounce and swagger of Afro-Juju legend, Sir Shina Peters’ golden-era, fusing nostalgia with re-imagination to birth a vintage performance that feels like a private party for two, where it’s just Rigo, and you.
Get an exclusive first look at the video for Marathon here:
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Togo YEYE & VLISCO’s new collaboration is a celebration of Lomé’s thriving creative scene
Togo YEYE is a community we are building for us by
Togo YEYE, a creative duo formed by Lomé-based creative director Malaika Nabillatou and London-based photographer Delali Ayivi, is a conceptual publication that was created to empower and champion Togo’s young fashion creatives. Since its inception in 2021, Togo YEYE has released several personal projects and has also partnered with a number of brands to further its hugely imaginative aesthetic mandate. For their latest collaboration, Togo YEYE teamed up with textile printing company VLISCO to present Blossoming Beauty. Tagged as a love letter to Togo’s creative community, the campaign captures Lomé’s scenic beauty alongside VLISCO’s vibrant prints with the aim of connecting the feminine grace of nature with identity and artistry.
What does Togo YEYE mean?
Malaika Nabilatou: My name is Malaika Nabilatou, I’m the creative director of Togo YEYE. I’m Togolese and I was born and grew up in Lomé. I see myself as a West African creative director and I’m working to be the best in a few years. Togo YEYE means new Togo in Ewe, one of the most popular languages spoken in the South of Togo.
What inspired you to create Togo YEYE?
Malaika Nabilatou: We started this project, my friend Delali and I, 5 years ago. We just wanted to show that Togolese youth are also creative. Togo YEYE is a community we are building for us by us. It wasn’t just a project for Delali and I. It’s become something for the creative scene of Lomé. Lomé is like our studio.
What role does Togolese culture play in your creative process?
Maryline Bolognima: For me, Togolese culture comes first. For example, in the South, there are the people of Anero. If you come, you can go to Anero. In the North, there are the Evals, so if you come to Togo, you’ll learn a lot.
What’s the most exciting part of working as a team on projects like this?
Malaika Nabilatou: I need to tell the truth, we dreamt about this campaign before [it happened]. When VLISCO contacted us, we were like wow. I can’t really explain how thankful we are to VLISCO for trusting us. Because it’s a risk that they took by trusting us, making that campaign here with our team and honestly we are going to keep it in our hearts for the rest of our lives.
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What has been your proudest moment as part of Togo YEYE?
Malaika Nabilatou: I think the proudest moment I had with this campaign was when I saw the result first on the website. When I saw the story, I was like “wow, we finally made it.”
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No matter who you, these parties provide a safe space to let loose without fear of objectification or...
The crowd marches along on the dancefloor, vibrating to a pulse that is both familiar and electrifying. It takes a second to identify Grammy nominee, Rema’s “Ozeba,” pouring out of the speakers and whipping the crowd into a frenzy as it takes on new life as a turbulent EDM track. The crowd growls and screams in approval of the DJ’s remix, yet another banger in a night filled with back-to-back hits. Hands in the air, sweat dripping from glistening bodies, smoke floating around the dancefloor and young people gyrating with reckless abandon, Element House provides the people with the release they deserve and they reward it with an undying loyalty to its rhythm and raves as they keep coming back.
Party culture has taken on new dimensions in Nigeria over the last two decades as a reaction to economic, social and cultural progressions. This evolution of the way we party is significant considering that Nigeria is a society that lays heavy emphasis on certain accepted standards of moral behavior, rooted in culture and tradition. But that has never once stopped a good time from happening. Millennials and older gen-z will remember the street parties and carnivals of old, usually held at the end of summer holidays or in December, where music by TuFace, Mo’Hits, Akon, Shakira, Lady Gaga and 50 Cent were the staple, among others. There were certain songs automatically expected from any DJ worth his salt otherwise it was not too far-fetched to see a DJ, with his equipment on his head, fleeing for his safety while being chased by an irate mob of partygoers.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. These carnivals and street parties might have been phased out but the idea remains the same while the power and influence of communities powering party culture in Lagos and Nigeria at large has only gotten stronger, especially with the advent of social media. The Block Party series–started in Lagos, Nigeria as the Mainland Block Party–has become the go-to event to celebrate youth culture and foster connections that cut across multiple African cities and walks of life. Today, with curated events in Ibadan, Abuja, Lagos, Accra and others, a community of partygoers is assured maximum enjoyment whenever the Block Party organisers announce an event in their city of the month. The people will always return to where their tastes are catered to, bringing along friends, family and newbies eager to bask in the atmosphere of loud music and togetherness.
In 2012, Warner Bros. Pictures released Project X–a film that follows three friends and high-school students who attempt to gain popularity by throwing a party which ends up escalating out of their control and reaching epic proportions. This idea propagated by Hollywood would go on to influence several house parties thrown in Lagos during the mid to late 2010s. The idea that with the right DJ/music playing at the right venue and with just the right crowd, then immortality was possible–a party so grand that it would be spoken about in glowing terms for years to come until it became lore. Today, house parties are more intimate and controlled, the degrees of separation between attendees reduced by a mutual friend or WhatsApp group they all have in common. From game nights to karaoke sessions to kinky sex parties, whether it’s at Balloons & Cups, a Vogue Boys pool party, or a get-together by the ‘Lagos on a Budget’ IG Community, the role house parties play in the ever evolving party culture is not insignificant, creating a pipeline that feeds into the much larger raves which weekends in Lagos are becoming synonymous with.
Whether it’s Element House today, Mainland House tomorrow, Group Therapy next weekend, WIRED or a host of other house and EDM inspired movements, partygoers are spoiled for choice when it comes to where to indulge their fundamental music tastes in a secure and controlled environment. Nothing is off the menu and a good time is the only badge of honor worth collecting. The increasing popularity of the rave movement in recent years is testament to the fact that it works for both organizers and attendees. The Covid-19 lockdowns changed the way Nigerians party; after months of being isolated from their communities and having to socialize in more intimate and private spaces, it’s no surprise that raves, with their underground nature, became the outlet of choice for several young people as soon as the world opened back up. According to Tonia, a medical doctor and frequent raver living in Lagos, her first few times at parties following the end of the lockdowns were not fun. “I was partying with caution, wearing face masks constantly and carrying hand sanitizer around. It became a much better experience subsequently when everything relaxed and soon enough, I was back enjoying the time of my life at Lagos parties.”
Unburdened from the heavy spending, bottle-popping culture that characterizes Lagos nightlife and cloaked in the embrace of judgment-free anonymity and numbers, raves have become a safe haven for a community of partygoers determined to turn up in the midst of the sheer craziness of living in this day and age. For Michael-Peace, a brand & creative assistant and frequent raver, the appeal goes beyond a need to unwind and the feelings of peace he experiences at raves. “Whether I’m listening to the DJ or just watching the crowd move to the music, it’s a very mindful experience for me,” he says.“I’m grateful to just be there and appreciative of how we can all be one community or family for that period of time.”
The appeal of the rave scene is its inclusivity and it’s a common theme for the new wave of parties exploding in Lagos and environs. No matter who you are or what you stand for, these parties provide a safe space to let loose without fear of objectification or discrimination resulting from socio-economic and political differences, misogyny and other less elegant occurrences which are part of mainstream Nigerian nightlife. This is important to Tonia who, on multiple occasions, has been prevented by bouncers from entering clubs without a male companion. “I’ll always prefer raves, they are much freer and nobody is performing here. There’s no need to show off the number of bottles you bought like there is in a club. Everyone just wants to turn the fuck up and have the time of their lives.”
For five or six hours, the disco lights, turbulent music and fellow ravers provide solace from the outside world. “Dancing the night away” is not merely a suggestion but a divine mandate from the gods of the rave. It is almost impossible to emerge after such an experience and not want to do it again. The music beckons all and sundry to come out, purge yourself of all inhibitions on the dancefloor, then return home and spread the gospel of the electronic music scene to all who might listen. In Michael-Peace’s own words: “There are people I’ve put onto raves and who loved the experience and constantly thank me for introducing them to it. Once you get hooked on it, you’ll never want to let go.”
Party culture in Nigeria continues to evolve as the new wave of parties mark their time and place in history. But the street parties and carnivals of yesteryears are not to be forgotten. The power of community continues to connect the old wave with the new wave, ensuring that actual people remain the focal point of these events, and party goers can enjoy nightlife experiences uniquely tailored to their ever changing wants and needs.
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