He’d been planning this party for weeks. It was his girlfriend’s 23rd birthday. He’d decided a house party was better and as with most house parties, the more girls there are, the better. His girlfriend had plenty of those.

He had connected with a guy, ‘Layi, to get the right venue. The guy had access to the sickest and coolest houses and apartments in Lagos, Nigeria. The best part of it, the owners of the houses lived abroad for the most part of the year and only came home during Summer holidays or Christmas. ‘Layi was the appointed house-sitter. His only job: feed the dogs, water the plants, get cleaners to come in every other week.

In exchange, ‘Layi would rent out the apartments to young middle class Nigerians in Lagos looking to throw various kinds of house parties especially on weekends. “All hustle na hustle o, my guy!”, he always said. And he made steady cash from such rents – a minimum of 100k per week. Depending on the house and location.

This party was one of those. The house was a 5-bedroom duplex somewhere in the heart of Lekki. It was the party everyone would talk about for months. From the kinds of guys that came, to the music, to the cake. Especially the cake. It was baked with weed and would turn out to be the evening’s secret ingredient.

The theme of the party had been “Decadent”. So if you were not ready to lose your home training, it was advised that you stayed home. ‘Ropo, aided by his best friend Chuma, had planned every bit of it.

***

At 10pm, guests started to arrive – mostly girls. A few guys came in with their girlfriends. At the door, everyone ate from the yummy looking chocolate cake that all but screamed “pick me” as they entered. ‘Ropo was popular for his high metabolism of alcohol. Alcohol was water to him. He had made a bet with Chuma. Five pieces of that yummy cake was his.

He’d gone to the hotel down the road to drive his girl, the celebrant down to the venue. It was a surprise party. He’d told her the party was by Chuma’s newest girl so she couldn’t have guessed. Getting back to the party, everything had taken a slow turn. Not many people were dancing and the music started slowing.

He went to Chuma, why was the DJ playing the music so slowly? Didn’t he see that people had stopped dancing? He was starting to dull the party. Chuma didn’t hear a word ‘Ropo was saying.

Chuma stood fixated in the middle of the dance floor. He saw all the colours from the Disco lights as they merged into one. Everyone’s face had a strange hue. They looked like warriors in war movies with their painted faces. Chuma couldn’t bring himself to leave the spot.

‘Ropo walked back to the door leading outside, in search of his girl. He looked at his hands, he could see every strand of hair on it. “Fascinating”, he thought. He felt the air of the cool night rushing at him, he smiled. It’s been a while he ran, he thought to himself. He kept going until he reached the gate. He saw ‘Layi struggling to get himself out of the gutter that ran the entire stretch outside the imposing building..

‘Layi said to ‘Ropo, “Baba, you don see this gate? E high die. But na lie, I must scale am today”. ‘Ropo watched in amazement as his Lagos house connect unsuccessfully tried to climb out of the gutter. ‘Ropo kept going. Where was his girl? He stood transfixed in the middle of the street outside the house, flickering off and on his car lock. Why was the car so slow to respond? He started moving towards it. As he neared the car, he noticed Chuma’s car parked directly behind his. He looked inside and thought he caught a silhouette of his girl sitting in the car with Deola, the only other Yoruba demon in his clique of friends. He couldn’t be sure.

‘Ropo walked to his car. Away from Chuma and Lekan. Away from the party. And drove as if the devil was on his tail. This had to be the fastest he had ever drove, he thought, feeling the rushing wind in his face. He was going at 20kmph towards his Surulere home.

***

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