The location of the prom had to remain secret.
This was a strange occurrence and in Nigeria, where same-sex relationships or public displays of affection are illegal, everything dedicated to embracing this culture is in danger.
Marking Pride month here is an act of defiance in any way.
Organizers of the Fola Francis Ball – named in honor of a transgender woman who died last year – only announced venue details hours before the opening.
But this did not stop more than 500 people from turning up in a district close to the thriving waterfront of Nigeria’s commercial heart, Lagos.
Surrounding the gated location were abandoned car parts and warehouses known for their rave parties.
A thumping bassline came through the door and crossing the threshold felt like entering an alternate reality.
Inside, Lagos’ gay community was the venue, a cloak that protected them from the outside world.
For safety reasons, many LGBTQ+ Nigerians use the word “queer” as a broad term that encompasses their identity.
Excited chatter and laughter echoed through the air. This was the joy of letting go of fear.
Everyone was dressed to match the neo-Gothic theme.
In the dimly lit room, strobe lights painted the skin of those present in different colors. The flashes captured figures in various poses – a kaleidoscope of movement.
Androgyny and eccentricity were rampant. A woman with a shaved head and sparkling makeup strutted confidently next to a man in a flowing black dress.
People who had to conform to the idea of what a man should look like outside the party’s walls felt empowered to wear wigs and bodycon dresses, and use their faces as a canvas for glitter and bright hues.
The creative duo behind the ball – Ayo Lawanson and Uyaiedu Ikpe-Etim – were inspired by a similar event they had attended.
“We thought we were very queer and very outrageous, but experiencing prom really changed our perspective on what it is to be queer and what queer joy really is,” Lawanson told the BBC.
Last year the first edition of the event was held in honor of their queer film 14 Years and a Day, but this year they wanted to honor Fola Francis.
Until she drowned near a beach in Lagos late last year, she was at the heart of the burgeoning underground ballroom scene.
She organized, hosted and invited queer people to all the big parties.
For many, the Fola Francis Ball was an opportunity to pay their respects.
“I want to celebrate Fola,” said one of the partygoers in platform heels, who wore a black choker, dark corset and lace leggings under a red plaid miniskirt that matched her nails.
“When I first went out, she would always say to me, ‘You look so good,’ and it went to my head. It gave me the confidence that I could be myself,” she says.
Fola Francis had a major impact on the entire gay community in the country. But for many trans and non-binary people, her death was personal, and honoring the life she lived was important.
A transgender, non-binary person who wore an African print dress said Fola helped them realize the importance of appearing authentic. “Her existence gave me freedom,” they added proudly.
Another trans woman, attending her first ball, told the BBC that the event was a “dream come true”.
She was forced to move to Lagos after experiencing transphobic violence in Northern Nigeria. Fola Francis had offered to help her find a safe home.
LGBTQ+ ballroom culture can be traced back to the US and underground African-American drag events in the mid-1800s. It has since flourished in the US and abroad, with a well-developed infrastructure, including ‘houses’, which provide support networks and the basis for competitions.
TV shows like RuPaul’s Drag Race, Legendary and Pose have also taken the concept mainstream.
At the Fola Francis Ball, some of the attendees competed against each other in various categories: the reality of a butch queen, the reality of a femme queen, body, face, voguing and best dressed women.
The audience sang and clapped as people danced and walked onto the stage.
For organizers, the purpose of a ball in Nigeria is clear: to be a space for self-expression and to celebrate the beauty of diversity, even in the face of fear.
And that fear is never far away, because it feels like the 2014 Gay Marriage Ban Act criminalizes who they are.
“I’m not 100% relaxed or safe. One minute you can be safe, and the next minute you’re being arrested,” a gay man at the scene told the BBC, citing past cases of police arresting people at an all-male party.
While he was having fun, he thought about those who didn’t want to show up.
“Many of my friends would have been here tonight, but because of that fear (of arrest) they chose not to come.
“It makes me sad because ballroom culture, queer culture, is our way of celebrating who we are,” he added.
“I can’t fully experience it with them. It also makes me angry because there is no reason why we should have to live in fear when we can just express ourselves, be ourselves and just live and be happy.”
But the organizers did everything they could to create a safe environment.
Safety measures included providing changing rooms for those who wanted to dress as their most authentic selves but avoid homophobic and transphobic violence on the way to the venue.
They also partnered with a private security company committed to inclusion.
There was some criticism that organizers were allowing cisgender and heterosexual people to come into queer spaces, but they insisted they wanted to invite allies, families and friends.
“Queer joy is one of the greatest forms of resistance,” Ikpe-Etim said, and they wanted people to experience the culture.
“We want to push the narrative that queer people exist. Changing the narrative on how queer people are perceived in Nigeria.”
Author Eloghosa Osunde, who was one of the judges, saw the Fola Francis Ball and similar events as “spaces where people feel less ashamed”.
“There is no identity that is greater than another just because it is validated by the law. I really believe that we can create legitimacy for ourselves, and that is one way our world can grow.”
And it looks like the underground ball scene will continue to expand in Lagos as more queer people feel the support of the community.
“These kinds of spaces are so important,” said another jury member, fashion designer Weiz Dhurm Franklin.
“To know that you actually have a place to call home, and you can be free, and you can be yourself without judgment, without prejudice. It is extremely important, not only to have fun, but also to live.”
You may also be interested in:
Go to BBCAfrica.com for more news from the African continent.
follow us on twitter @BBCAfricaon Facebook at BBC Africa or on Instagram at bcafrica
BBC Africa Podcasts
