It began with a call, one charged with gentle urgency. The Honourable Commissioner for Tourism, Arts, and Culture of Lagos State, Mrs. Toke Benson-Awoyinka, summoned with clarity: “You must not miss this year’s Carnival.” Her voice bore the weight of history, and I instantly understood why.

 

After nearly a decade in slumber, the Lagos Fanti Carnival awoke from its hibernation, not just as a festival, but as a heritage reborn.

 

On Lagos Island, streets witnessing centuries of culture became a canvas once again for colour, rhythm, and the purest expressions of community.

 

The Fanti Carnival is no modern invention. It stretches back to the 1800s, birthed by Afro-Brazilian returnees, freed slaves who journeyed home with more than memories. They brought back samba beats, architectural finesse, intricate costumes, and a cultural philosophy that saw festivals not merely as celebrations but as resistance, memory, and continuity.

 

Yet even deeper roots were revealed when I sat with the head of the Eko Woro Association just before the procession began. He told me, with the calm conviction of one who carries ancestral wisdom, that long before the Fanti name came to be, their forebears were already celebrating in style since the 18th century. “The drums then,” he recounted, “were gangan, iya ilu, omele, kanrangu…” Instruments of ancient Yoruba origin. Their call to procession wasn’t mere sound. It was a spiritual bell summoning past and present into dance.

 

As the drums beat and the first float meandered through Lagos Island’s veins, my camera found it hard to rest. Everywhere I turned, Lagosians glowed. Women in vibrant adire and Ankara swayed beside masked dancers. Children ran through the crowd with wonder gleaming in their eyes. Foreigners snapped pictures with unfiltered delight, perhaps unaware they were capturing living history.

 

From the corners of Okepopo to the youthful cheers of Epetedo United, the air held a celebratory electricity, like the kind that visits just before rain, only this time, it poured colour.

 

Under the sweltering Lagos sun, even the distinguished had to find comfort. The VVIP guests were served a humble yet exquisite delight, Gari Ijebu, laced with milk, sugar, cold water, ice, and crowned with Lagos Island’s delicacy of fish and prawns. As I watched them sip and savour, I smiled. When gari is soaked just right, sweetened, chilled, and kissed by fresh seafood, there is no better food under the sun. In that moment, status dissolved; we were all just Lagosians, basking in celebration and refreshment.

 

When the second float rolled in, led by the unmistakable Honourable Fouad Oki, I was floored. He spoke of Surulere Fiesta of strategy, passion, and community, and I realised that behind the costumes were leaders with vision. Their creative genius did not exist in isolation. It was cultivated, nurtured, and rehearsed into perfection.

 

This Carnival gifted me two firsts, entrance into the solemn Cenotaph and the venerable King’s College. The former, a monument to our fallen heroes built in the 70s, stood in bold defiance of time. I whispered to a friend, almost in protest: “What stands here should be Nigeria’s national reference.”

 

At King’s College, I paused to reflect. These weathered buildings, elegant, colonial, time-worn, once housed kings in training. Men who would one day command boardrooms, brigades, and ballots once wandered these same corridors in shorts and sandals. A boy becomes a man. A man becomes a legend. And it all begins somewhere like this.

 

Each float told its own story. Lafiaji, Okoo Faji, Okepopo, and others danced not for applause but for remembrance. And then, almost as if to remind us of Lagos’ place in a global mosaic, the Chinese Dragon Dance unfurled across the square. Red, gold, and hypnotic grace, Eko truly is for show.

 

But it’s more than spectacle. This is soft power. It is tourism with texture. The 2025 Lagos Fanti Carnival reminded us that Nigeria, especially Lagos, can craft an economy out of experience, culture, and community.

 

As I close this reflection, I know this Carnival is not just a memory but a manuscript, a chapter in my forthcoming books on Lagos and Nigeria. These pages will house more than photographs; they will cradle emotion, echo drumbeats, and preserve a Lagos moment that returned in splendour after ten long years.

 

To those wondering what to gift the man or woman who has everything, give them Lagos. Give them Nigeria. Wrap the essence of our people, places, and pride into their Christmas, and then… wait. Wait for the thank-you messages that will come in hushed awe and joyous wonder.

 

Because what I’m offering is not just a book, it’s a passport to soul-stirring memories, a journey across culture, colour, and time.

 

This December, unwrap a country. Gift Lagos. Gift Nigeria. And watch their eyes light up.