Crazy things are happening in Lagos. This has been the case for some time now, but in 2026, the crazy is steadily on the rise, threatening to outdo itself with each passing day. The price of fuel is at an all-time high. The cost of living is abysmal. Historic levels of flooding have hit the city. Lagos, and Nigeria, at large, are in a state of torment, surrounded by struggles on every side, with leaders who take us for idiots. In the Bible, when King Saul is tormented by an evil spirit from God, his servants suggest he summon David, a gifted young musician who could play the harp, to bring him relief. Lagos is in need of healing. I, too, have a swirl of inner chaos that could use some relief.
British-Nigerian rapper Dave, born David Orobosa Michael Omoregie, is aware of these struggles. Not mine, but the one this city and country are facing, and above all his own. When he announced his upcoming tour stop in Lagos, the internet went wild. An international act headlining a show in Nigeria? The stuff of dreams, specifically those of a concertgoer in Lagos. In July, when my boyfriend said that he got us tickets to see Dave, I responded with a cheery yet unconsidered 'yay.' I knew who Dave was, but it was a distant, disembodied knowledge. Like knowing a friend of a friend of a Frederick. I knew the hits. I had heard a few songs. I had even listened to the new album. My boyfriend knew this, so he encouraged me to 'revise' in preparation for the concert. This man gave me homework. He urged me to listen to 'We Are All Alone in This,' Dave's prior album. In the week leading up to the show, I studied, marveling at Dave's talent. This is an artist who knows how to look at his demons, funnel them into the vessel of his artistry and transform them into music that at once hypnotizes and electrifies his listeners. This is an artist who understands struggle needs confronting and soothing.
For two nights in the middle of October, Lagosians flocked to the iridescent Wole Soyinka Centre for Culture and Creative Arts–formerly, yet commonly, called the National Theater–to watch Dave perform. The newly renovated building, shaped like an army general's cap, glows at night with a kaleidoscope of colors. Five years ago, the federal government handed the National Theatre over to the Bankers' Committee–organized by the Central Bank of Nigeria–to spearhead its renovations. Our government could not handle the billings. Would Dave have had a Lagos stop on his tour if this renovation hadn't happened? What opportunities have slid past us because of a lack of infrastructure? Will this development completely change the game for artists in the diaspora who want to display their talents at home? Nigeria could now be seriously considered as a stop on future international tours.
Our group of five attended the second night of the Lagos stop and was subjected to a typical occurrence in Nigeria. In order to be let onto the grounds of the venue, a palm had to be greased, even though we had followed the concert organizers' instructions to arrive through the back gate. There is indisputable hunger in the land. Once we made it through multiple checkpoints, we entered the air-conditioned and comfortable 4,000-capacity auditorium with its plush red seats. Then, at 10:12pm, Dave strode with purpose onto the stage, singing 'History,' which is the first track off his latest album. To watch Dave perform on stage at the National Theater was to witness an artist reveling in the ecstasy of a victory lap in a place his family calls home. This was Dave's first time headlining a concert in Nigeria. He was bringing his acclaimed tour to a triumphant end here. 'Lagos, I've waited so long for this,' he said, emphasizing every word. There was something special about this homecoming. It's one thing to perform in front of a crowd that adores you and another to do so in front of an audience that is proud to call you one of their own, even when they are fighting their own demons.
The weekend before, while I was on a ride, the driver asked if we could go 'off the app.' He shared that he had worked all weekend but didn't have anything to show for it. Between the app's commission charges and the exorbitant fuel price, he had not made any profit. His plea to be paid off the app eventually devolved into a monologue about the point of it all. 'It' being the hustle. Sometimes a car becomes a confession booth. Instead of their sins, drivers will often reveal their hardships to the rider. I have listened and empathized with many monologues. There is a unique pain that comes from working so hard to survive only to find oneself barely scraping by. That pain needs an audience. The average Nigerian is feeling this pain now more than ever. Still, we embrace moments of joy and aspiration.
When Dave began performing 'Clash,' a young man behind me screamed, then started belting out the lyrics. Amused and impressed, I turned around to get a good look at him. He blushed and piped down, self-conscious and repentant. 'Don't hold back,' I said. 'Keep going!' This wasn't a song that preached modesty. With the whole room chanting 'Jordan 4s or Jordan 1s, Rolexes, got more than one…,' the pain of filling up one's tank, if one even has a tank to fill, in this economy falls to the wayside. The frustration of trying to live with dignity in this socioeconomic climate dims for a moment. Why not fully surrender to pleasure when it arrives, when you know that on the other side of it lies the struggle to continue surviving?
Over the course of the night, Dave sang most of his hits. Some from his latest album, of course, and quite a number from his previous albums–that revision came in handy! When you go to a concert in Nigeria, it would be prudent to arrive, as I did, with tempered expectations about the production quality. However, Dave's show took my expectations by the ankles, turned them upside down, and gave them a proper shaking. The sound was incredible. The lighting, precise and full-bodied. The stage was moderately sparse. This wasn't a show interested in the spectacle of aesthetics. At some point Dave took the pulpit, flexing his lyrical word flow as he delivered his sermon: 'My talent is not up for debate.' I believe in the magic of watching someone do what they love and are undeniably excellent at.
Beyond the night's liveliness, the show had a palpable undercurrent of sincerity. When he sang 'Selfish,' Dave sat on a stool and played his guitar. His emotions felt so honest that they transformed my connection to the song. I've always understood 'Selfish' to be about the artist's sense of worthiness. For the first time, I saw my own insecurities reflected at me in the song. Many times over the past year, I had questioned the decisions I had made in my life and career as a filmmaker. In the Bible, David eventually became king, but he still had to deal with his own set of demons. Sometimes we expect art to have a resolution, but there are no answers here. Just questions. With the album's titular song, 'The Boy Who Played the Harp,' Dave was center stage at the mic, uttering the lyrics with a delivery so piercing, it was impossible to look away. Then 'Sprinter' broke the spell and got us properly loose and limber. The air was thick with euphoria.
As the night went on, Dave featured several Nigerian artists. BOJ strutted out to sing 'Lazarus,' Oxlade serenaded us with 'Intoxicated,' and Zaylevelten, the opening act, had a solo performance. Sadly, no Tems. 'Location' was a highlight of the show. After the first line, Burna Boy bounced onto the stage, and the crowd erupted. The video clip I recorded of the minute leading up to his surprise appearance has an abrupt end–hard evidence of my shock. As Dave and Burna Boy performed, they both grinned from ear to ear, buoyed by the voracious response from the audience, enjoying the effect of their link-up on the crowd. Isn't that the dream? To have people respond rapturously to your work?
At this point, you might think this was a sold-out show. It wasn't. But as I looked around at the packed venue, the energy in the room was that of a sold- out show. Dave knew this too. Towards the end of the show, after he performed the sensual 'Raindance,' Dave thanked the audience. 'There are so many hardships right now… Thank you, Lagos, for showing up.' He ended the night, and his tour, with 'Starlight,' a jaunty single he dropped in 2022. The song ends with the line 'In other words, I love you.' With that, Dave made a heart shape with his hands, pointing it at us.
After Dave's departure, the crowd milled out of the auditorium in droves. Some of us sat down in the comfy auditorium, processing what we had just witnessed. It wasn't long before security sent us on our way, but it was enough time. Outside, we met the chaos of concertgoers trying to leave the venue. Despite its glorious renovation and prime real estate, the National Theater is not in a central location, making it difficult for attendees who need to request rides to make their way home in good time. From the highest floor of the Theatre's parking complex, a few of us watched as a long line of cars snaked around the premises. It seemed there was only one way out despite the existence of two gates. We waited for about an hour, taking in the sight of the luminous building at the center of all the serpentine traffic, and the trains that passed intermittently behind us. It is not every day one gets to gradually come down from the high of a concert.
After David played the harp for King Saul, the evil spirit departed, and Saul was healed. Lagos is not yet free of its demons, but we are a people who seize moments of reprieve when they present themselves. Otherwise, our struggles will consume us. I'm not free of my chaos, but I do feel refreshed.