Scroll through a certain enclave of Nigerian TikTok colloquially dubbed ‘TrenchTok,’ and you’ll find a concentrated display of unvarnished creativity. In recent years, TrenchTok has become a digital hub for some of the nation’s most audacious young talents, many of whom are dancers central to turning what was once a loose underground experiment into one of the most recognisable new movements in Nigerian pop culture: Mara. 

This is not the first time dance has worked as a pertinent vehicle in the evolution of Nigerian popular music. Dance has always anticipated and amplified major shifts throughout the history of modern Afropop. Every major change in Nigerian popular music has often come with, and been driven by, a distinct dance style. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, Ajegunle, a residential district on the mainland of Lagos, produced Galala, a low-swinging, leg-shuffling dance that moved in sync with the bounce of ragga-inflected songs introduced by Ajegunle-based artists like Daddy Showkey, African China, and Baba Fryo. Later, it morphed into Swo, which was followed by Alanta, with its somewhat comical series of gestures: exaggerated arm flaps, a contorted face, and a leg aloft. Then came the nationwide craze of Yahooze, fueled by Olu Maintain’s hit of the same name, which reflected the controversial lifestyle associated with the rise of internet fraud, commonly known as “Yahoo Yahoo.”

The 2010s were years defined by the formalization of Afropop. As the decade went on, the Efik-based Etighi rose to fame with Iyanya’s seminal hit “Kukere,” its hip-swaying movements inextricably linked with the song’s success. Concurrently, Azonto, despite its Ghanaian origin, found an immense Nigerian foothold. From its stylistic wellspring, P-Square’s Alingo materialized, with Davido’s Skelewu closely in its wake. 

This period also saw the rise of indigenous rap and a new wave of Street-Pop, bringing with it a fresh arsenal of moves. The Lil Kesh-popularized Shoki was a playful, shoulder-based dance with a quirky lean, adaptable, and widely embraced. By the late 2010s, the landscape shifted with the emergence of legwork, a broad category of rapid foot movements that became synonymous with Street-Pop. Mr Real’s “Legbegbe” initiated Shaku Shaku, a dance that involved a shuffling, almost drunken-like movement of the feet and hands. Zlatan Ibile then introduced Zanku, a more aggressive and athletic form of legwork that required high leg lifts and stomps that, ultimately, became his signature. Currently, it’s Mara‘s turn. As an Afrobeats subgenre, Mara draws its sonic elements from House music and EDM, but is rooted in the sound palette of Lagos’ Street-Pop scene. The music is often characterized by dense, polyrhythmic percussion and kicks that typically range between 140-160 BPM. Unlike the slick production of mainstream Afropop, Mara is intentionally abrasive, built on a foundation of raw, frequently distorted drum samples, vocal chops, and unexpected sound effects. 

Long before Street-Pop found a foothold on TikTok, DJs were laying its foundation in clubs, neighbourhood parties, and on platforms like Audiomack and SoundCloud. Similarly,  Mara figures like DJ Cora, DJ Khalipha—whose “Mara Pass Mara” is a standard-bearer—and the ubiquitous DJ YK Mule have been key to building the sound from the ground up. 

As DJ Khalipha described to The NATIVE, an authentic Mara track “blends percussive Afrobeats rhythms with atmospheric synths, deep basslines, and often a dark or moody undertone.” Continuing, he says, “It’s designed to hit you in the chest and pull you into a trance-like groove. The feeling it gives is what defines it: emotional and intense.” You hear this on some popular Mara cuts like DJ YK Mule’s “Northerners Mara,” Rema’s “Ozeba,” and Seyi Vibez’s “Shaolin.”

In many cases, dancers are the first to engage with a new mix. They interpret the beats through choreography, upload their routines, and in doing so, set a track in motion across the digital space. When a song hits, it rarely does so in isolation. It rises through TikTok videos, club appearances, and bootleg uploads, with DJs continually tweaking their mixes to respond to audience reactions.

The dance that is built around Mara is equally intense. The movements are a clear evolution of legwork, but are noticeably different from earlier forms. While Zanku focuses on quick footwork, Mara is a different beast altogether. It pushes the tempo and complexity, demanding a new level of physical dexterity, stamina, coordination, and creative interpretation. This involves full-body contortions, acrobatic leaps, sudden drops to the floor, and a disorienting, almost convulsive, attack that seems to defy anatomical limitations. The legwork, in particular, is executed at an astonishing pace, a blur of quick-fire steps and powerful kicks that sometimes send clouds of dust billowing around their feet; this stirred-up dust is part of the appeal. There’s an impressive, almost daredevil quality to it. 

One of the fascinating aspects of Mara dance is its syncretism. Dancers borrow from everywhere, extending beyond regular African dance forms to subsume elements from Hip-Hop and even martial arts. Some dancers, like the aptly named Kung Fu Master, explicitly draw on Shaolin imagery and kung fu cinema, incorporating a flurry of feints, strikes, kicks, and gravity-defying postures that resemble fight choreography.  “When the beat hits, my body just takes over and does things that sometimes even surprise me,” Kung Fu Master tells The NATIVE.  

The movements are thrillingly untamed, an explosive outpouring of energy that is spontaneous and incredibly skilled, born from an almost compulsive need to innovate. “Mara dance is created from a bunch of freestyles,” says dancer and choreographer AfroFeet. “Most times we just want to try to do something no one has seen or done before.” Teee Dollar, one of the scene’s charismatic choreographers who doubles as an artist, explains it more viscerally: “Creating steps is through vibes and ginger. Inspiration comes from anywhere — the street, Fuji, Naija classics, anywhere. Most of the time, I feel the beat and enter freestyle mode. I move according to what the rhythm shows me. Then I refine it, package it, and, gbam, it’s ready.”

This relentless pursuit of the unprecedented is the core of Mara’s visual identity. Dancers often inject comedic timing, creating a sense of lightheartedness even as they execute mind-boggling feats. It’s not uncommon to see backflips, handsprings, and other gymnastic feats all performed with a captivating looseness, their faces often etched with a mixture of intense concentration and ecstasy. Sometimes they engage in friendly battles, constantly one-upping each other with new steps, twists, and contortions.

Much of Mara’s ascent is owed to TikTok. Since the platform arrived internationally in 2017, its algorithm, which favors discoverability and rewards engaging, short-form content, has proved to be the perfect incubator for dance trends. The Mara dances are not specially designed to be widely replicable in the way TikTok dance trends often are. They are performances: rip-roaring, competitive, meant to impress. And the dancers, many of whom operate without formal training or institutional support, use the app to test out sequences, showcase routines, and build virality, sometimes before a song has even dropped. The late Odogwu Mara was one of the early dancers to popularise this on TikTok. His videos were filled with joy, technical prowess, and an unmistakable hunger to break new ground. 

The impact of this digital ecosystem is profound. For many of these dancers, TikTok serves as a studio, stage, archive, and primary promotional tool. The platform itself may not directly monetize their output and creativity, but it provides considerable visibility. Teee Dollar’s career took off after he started sharing dance videos on TikTok in 2018, which led to significant street recognition and subsequent collaborations with major industry figures like Davido, Olamide, and Seyi Vibez. According to AfroFeet, TikTok has helped to push dancers into believing they can be whoever they want to be. He affirms that, beyond being perceived as vanity metrics, the likes, comments, and shares are a form of direct audience feedback that is very encouraging. This exposure allows talent from the “trenches” to gain a significant following, a path Poco Lee had earlier exemplified through platforms like Instagram, paving the way for dance to be seen as a viable route to fame and influence. 

Even DJ Khalipha attests to the positive utility of TikTok. “TikTok helps me test new beats, gauge audience reactions in real time, and spark dance trends that bring the music to life,” he explains.  “It’s also created a direct feedback loop between me and my community.” Viral fame, even in its often ephemeral TikTok iteration, can translate into brand partnerships with local businesses, mobile phone companies, or beverage brands. There are also performance opportunities at smaller club nights or even, occasionally, as backup for more established artists, and a level of influence that was previously the preserve of those with significant industry backing or connections. 

Moreover, the digital amplification of Mara is translating into tangible real-world influence and commercial viability. The subgenre is expanding beyond its niche origins, infiltrating pop culture and fueling Nigeria’s emerging rave scene. Its imprint is visible on mainstream efforts like Rema’s Grammy-nominated ‘HEIS’ and even in the genre-hopping styles of alté staples like Cruel Santino on the S-Smart-assisted “FTR” and Brazy on “Daddy.” 

At street level, it’s propelling a new wave of hyperlocal Street-Pop, giving the sound both edge and elasticity. Mara is still evolving, its direction and how far it can reach is already being shaped by these talents who have built an informal but powerful engine around it. “Mara is a sound from the trenches, from the gutter, but I see it as the new face of Street-Pop,” Teee Dollar asserts. This ambition also comes with a sense of duty. As an artist, he’s clear-eyed about what’s at stake: “The mission is to take Mara worldwide without losing what makes it real,” he says. “It is the food for the streets. It got me to where I am, and it’s my responsibility to take it further.”