Unbecoming Lekki ACT 1

 

A Night to Remember

The music pulsed through the air, vibrating against the glass walls of the rooftop lounge, spilling onto the neon-lit streets below. Afrobeats boomed from the speakers, Burna’s latest hit blending seamlessly into the chatter of influencers, tech bros, and Lagos elites. Laughter spilled like fine champagne, overflowing from every table, every balcony, every heart. Tonight, there were no worries, no lingering thoughts of traffic, deadlines, or the weight of Lagos hustle. Tonight was pure vibes.

Shugs twirled on the dance floor, her inches-long frontal slicked to perfection, her designer dress shimmering under the glow of LED lights. Around her, friends moved in sync, holding their cocktails high, bodies swaying to the beat. No one was checking the time only Instagram stories, capturing the magic of the night in 15-second bursts.

The bar was lined with an array of premium bottles: Casa Azul, Don Julio, Moët Rosé, and Chapman cocktails garnished with fresh mint. Shugs reached for her drink, taking a slow sip, savoring the burn, the sweetness, the now.

At the VIP table, Jide leaned back, laughing so hard his diamond-studded watch caught the light. "This," he said, raising his glass, "this is what soft life should always feel like."

They toasted to nothing in particular, just the warmth of good company, the taste of perfectly grilled suya, the electrifying sound of DJ Tunez switching the vibe, and the undeniable thrill of being young, rich, and free in Lekki.

Then, Shugs’ phone buzzed in her purse.

She ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

Sighing, she reached for it, expecting some unserious text, a late-night "where you at?" from an old fling, or maybe a reminder to take a shot from one of her girls.

But what she saw on the screen made her breath catch.

URGENT: IMMEDIATE RELOCATION REQUIRED

The email was from her job. Not a request. A directive. She had to leave Lekki.

The room around her blurred, the music suddenly too loud, the lights too bright. The glass in her hand felt heavier. She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe, willing herself not to react.

She could not afford to process this now. Not here. Not yet.

"You good?" Jide asked lazily, his gaze barely leaving his drink. The words were empty, a passing observation, not real concern.

Shugs plastered a smile onto her face. "Yeah, of course. Another shot?"

And just like that, she shoved the news to the back of her mind, choosing for now to lose herself in the night.

The Weight of Goodbye

Shugs had always thought of Lekki as her playground, a world that thrived on energy, luxury, and the simple pleasure of being young with options. But as she walked along Admiralty Way that evening, watching the traffic crawl under the glow of streetlights, it felt different. Heavier.

She had told no one about the email. Not her girls, not Jide, not even her father, who would have told her to never back down from a challenge. How could she, when she herself couldn’t make sense of it?

The honk of a danfo bus jolted her out of her thoughts. She needed clarity. Needed to breathe.

So she did what she always did when she felt restless and drove to the beach.

The salty air hit her as soon as she stepped onto the soft sand. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was a stark contrast to the constant thrum of Lagos. It was here, in this space between land and water, where she always found some version of peace.

She sank onto a beach chair, her thoughts unraveling like loose threads. Leaving Lekki meant leaving everything familiar, the safety net of knowing every shortcut through traffic, the comfort of shared experiences with people who spoke the same unspoken language of ambition, hustle, and soft life. Could she really trade it all for uncertainty?

Her mind drifted to her childhood, growing up in Port Harcourt in a middle-class family. The contrast was stark flooded streets after the rain, neighbors who knew each other’s business, the metallic clang of generators buzzing in the night. She had worked hard to carve out a new reality for herself, one where she no longer had to worry about NEPA taking light mid-movie or the sting of sweat-soaked nights without AC. Lekki had been her escape, her reward. The place where she had finally felt like she belonged. And now, she had to leave?

Her job as a research biomedical scientist at a multinational oil and gas company had made the decision for her. A sudden restructuring. They needed someone on-site in Ezobe, and her name had been on the list. Officially, it was about logistics, about company needs. But beneath the surface, she knew better. Her superior—him—had ensured her relocation, covering tracks that neither of them dared to acknowledge. A consequence of blurred lines, of choices made in dimly lit offices and whispered promises.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, a message from Jide.

Jide: "Where you dey? Thought we were turning up tonight."

She stared at the message, debating whether to respond. Jide was a situationship, a friends-with-benefits arrangement that never quite crossed the line into something real. He was charming when he wanted to be, distant when it suited him. A breadcrumbing expert. Would he even care that she was leaving? Would anyone?

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard before she locked her phone and tucked it back into her bag.

Instead of going home, she wandered the beach, letting the waves wash over her ankles. She thought about the girls, their endless brunch dates, the way they hyped each other up on Instagram, the late-night conversations about men, money, and making it. What would they say when they found out she was leaving? Would they try to convince her to stay, or would they let her go without much thought, just another girl moving on?

A gust of wind sent her hair whipping around her face, and she realized something. She wasn’t just afraid of leaving Lekki. She was afraid of who she would be without it.

By the time she reached her car, she knew she couldn't delay the decision any longer. The email was a demand, not a suggestion. She had no choice.

With a deep breath, she opened her email app, fingers hovering over the reply button.

Her decision was no longer about choosing between two places.

It was about choosing herself.

The Arrival

The first thing Shugs noticed about Ezobe was the heat; thicker, heavier than Lagos, wrapping around her like an unwanted embrace. The air smelled of burning charcoal and ripe plantains, a stark contrast to Lekki’s salt-kissed breeze. As soon as she stepped out of the airport, the humidity clung to her skin, making her regret the choice of wearing long sleeves.

A man approached her, speaking rapid Igbo. She blinked, catching only a few words before shaking her head. "I don’t understand."

He switched effortlessly to Pidgin. "You need taxi? Where you dey go?"

Shugs exhaled. This was her new reality now.