All names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

There’s a rhythm to Nigerian nightlife; it’s loud, unpredictable, and always evolving. Over the last few years, we’ve seen the rise of new party formats, including underground raves, rooftop day parties, themed club nights with strict dress codes, and genre-specific music experiences. But if you pay close enough attention, there’s a common thread running through all of them: an energy, a flair, a refusal to conform quietly. That thread is the same one found in queer culture. You might not always see it clearly, as for safety reasons, it often stays lowkey, but it’s there.

But beyond aesthetics and energy, nightlife means something much deeper for queer Nigerians. In a society where visibility can come with real danger, the parties and the raves become a kind of sanctuary. It’s one of the few spaces where people can breathe freely, even if just for one night. We spoke to a few people across the spectrum to find out. What we found was that nightlife isn’t just about the music; it’s about survival, escape, and community. For many queer folks, the rave or the party isn’t just somewhere to blow off steam. It’s one of the few places where they can exist without shrinking themselves.  One respondent, Trey, put it like this: “I don’t go out because I love parties. I go out because, at night, surrounded by my people, I feel real.” Tobi says, “Raves have been a safe space. Parties are the places I’ve seen the most queer people in Lagos”. 

This isn’t to say that nightlife is always safe. Many still scan the room for signs of hostility, or vet events through trusted friends before showing up. Some go with a change of clothes: one outfit for the party and another for the Uber ride home. The fear of police harassment or being outed on social media is never far away, so they still have to be conscious and cautious. Some queer people think they have it easier than others, though. Tobi & Daisy are two women who attribute their ability to be camouflaged during nights out to their bi identity. “No one would look at me and assume queerness in the way they would of certain people”, Daisy says. Tobi adds, “I don’t usually have to take any safety precautions when I’m out, because I’m bi”. 

Our respondents made it known that navigating the nightlife as a queer person isn’t always rosy. There’s the emotional labour of deciding which event is “safe enough.” There’s also the constant calculation of what to wear: expressive enough to feel like you, but not so bold that it attracts unwanted attention on the way home. And for some, this balancing act can be even more precarious. Trey said, “Even events that are cool for queer people can still be quite dangerous for the most visible of us, like my trans and non-binary friends. Sometimes they give this vibe that ‘everyone is welcome’ but you can tell it’s not really everyone”. Daisy supported this by saying, “the nightlife is not generally inclusive, but there are some more inclusive spaces”.

Despite all this, queer people in Nigeria have found ways to build joy and not just participate in nightlife, but shape it by curating events by themselves, for themselves. “There’s definitely a queer nightlife that exists outside of the general Lagos nightlife, but somehow still within it”, Victor says, “There’s also something deeply powerful about the way the community exudes joy & shows up for each other at queer-coded events. These are not just parties for me, they’re expressions of freedom.” Trey contributes, “Let’s be honest: the blueprint for what a typical rave looks and feels like is queer. It’s in the dramatic fashion, the innate rebellion, and the drive for freedom”. Daisy adds, “Queer culture is definitely influencing nightlife. It has even pervaded the music styles”.

All our respondents agree that being queer on nights out isn’t the easiest, but it’s usually worth it. As Victor said, “At night, I come alive. But that’s only because I’ve spent the whole day surviving.”