There’s something about Lagos in December.The air changes.The city glows differently.And somehow, the weekend starts on Thursday. If you know, you know. The rest of the year might belong to the 9–5 crowd but December? That’s Lagos’ season. A time when the city becomes a living, breathing festival. The Energy Shifts By the first week of December, Lagos starts to hum with a new kind of energy. Beach events, concerts and pop-up markets spring up overnight. Suddenly, everyone’s out, old friends, returnees, randoms you haven’t seen since NYSC. The traffic? Forget it. You’ll be in it for hours but somehow it feels different. Music blasts from every car. People roll down their windows to dance at red lights. The stress becomes part of the fun. The Soft Life Agenda Lagosians don’t just party. They curate. Every outfit, every drink, every story on Instagram is part of the December performance. Rooftop bars turn into mini runways. Even a simple lunch at the beach becomes an event. The new Lagos weekend routine goes like this: Friday night — link-up.Saturday — brunch to beach to after-party.Sunday — recovery day… that still somehow ends at a day party. By mid-December, no one remembers what day it is and no one cares. The Homecoming December is reunion season.The diaspora crowd is back, accents in full effect. “Ah, London don change you o!” “Guy, na small breeze.” Every weekend feels like a reunion, laughter, gist and that shared Lagos nostalgia that only makes sense when you’re here. You’ll see people hugging at events like long-lost family. Because in a way, they are. Lagos is the home everyone comes back to, even if just for a few weeks. The Real Magic But beyond the noise and nightlife, there’s something deeper happening. Lagos December isn’t just about partying, it’s about belonging. You’ll see it in the markets, in the street food stalls, in the unplanned drumming circles by the beach. You’ll smell it in the suya smoke and palm wine. The real Lagos weekend isn’t bought – it’s felt. It’s culture meeting energy, old traditions meeting new rituals. EWA 2025: Where Culture Comes Home And when you’ve danced, partied and lived the Lagos December dream, there’s one more stop that completes the story — EWA 2025. Because after all the rooftop events and beach parties, you’ll want something deeper. Something real. At EWA, Yoruba culture takes center stage, food, music, art and rhythm. It’s not just another event, it’s a homecoming. A return to roots. A reminder that even in the loudest city in the world, culture still speaks loudest. See you at EWA 2025 — December 26th. Let’s celebrate where it all begins.

Before Wi-Fi, there was ‘who go first?’Before PlayStation, there was “Ten-ten!”And before TikTok challenges, we had the original viral trends, played barefoot, fueled by Fanta and powered by pure joy. When Childhood Meant the Street Was Your Playground Growing up in Lagos in the ’90s wasn’t about gadgets or screens. The street was our stadium, our stage, our universe. You didn’t need money to have fun, just chalk, bottle covers and the ability to run when Mama shouted your name from the window. The games we played were more than pastimes; they were lessons in rhythm, strategy and community. Each one carried a slice of Nigerian childhood nostalgia that still makes our hearts warm. Let’s go back to the smell of dust after rain and the sound of “oya let’s play!” echoing across the compound. 1. Ten-ten Two girls face each other. The rhythm begins, legs tapping, clapping, switching in sync to a beat only they can hear.Miss a step and you’re out. It wasn’t just a game,  it was choreography, friendship and reflex training rolled into one. Ten-ten girls walked so TikTok dancers could run. 2. Suwe (Hopscotch) Drawn with chalk or charcoal on the bare ground, suwe taught us balance and patience.You toss your stone (usually an old bottle cap), hop on one leg and pray you don’t land outside the box.It was a test of skill, yes but also of respect: only the truly agile could play on the older kids’ court. 3. Catcher / Police and Thief Forget hide-and-seek. Catcher was Lagos cardio.One person chases, others scatter, through gutters, behind gates, under parked cars.You learned speed, street sense and the art of pretending to fall so your best friend could escape.It was survival training disguised as play. 4. Tinko Tinko / Whot Battles Some afternoons, when the sun was too hot to run, Tinko Tinko or Whot ruled the day.“Pick two!” “Hold on!” “General market!”The table shook, tempers flared, alliances formed.If you’ve ever lost five rounds to a ten-year-old, you know Nigerian games were never just for fun, they were mental warfare. More Than Play: The Culture Beneath the Games These weren’t random childhood moments, they were rituals that built community.Every rule, chant and move carried the rhythm of Nigerian culture: unity, creativity and joy in simplicity.You didn’t need a referee, only trust, laughter and sometimes a sachet of pure water. The nostalgia isn’t just about the games, it’s about a time when connection was face-to-face, not screen-to-screen. Why We Still Remember Maybe it’s the rhythm of Ten-ten in our heads.Or the memory of suwe lines drawn on  sand.But deep down, these Nigerian childhood games remind us that joy was and still is something we make together. EWA 2025 Is Bringing It BackAt EWA 2025, we’re recreating that Lagos street energy, the laughter, the movement, the shared joy. Come play, dance, eat and relive the magic of home. Because growing up Nigerian was an experience  and we’re not done playing yet.

Some fabrics tell stories. Aso Oke sings them. Once reserved for weddings, naming ceremonies and big family celebrations, Yoruba Aso Oke, the hand-woven cloth of kings and queens is now appearing on Paris runways, London streetwear lines and New York red carpets. But what’s really happening isn’t just fashion. It’s a cultural homecoming. From Loom to Legacy The name Aso Oke literally means “top cloth” — a fabric so prestigious it was worn by Yoruba royals and nobles. Its history goes back hundreds of years to towns like Iseyin, Oyo and Ilorin, where expert weavers spun cotton and silk on narrow looms. Every thread carried meaning: Each pattern, stripe and motif wasn’t decoration, it was identity. A bride’s Aso Oke told her story long before Instagram captions existed. The Global Gaze Turns West So how did this heritage textile end up in the mood boards of fashion’s biggest names? Blame it (or thank it) on the new global appetite for authenticity. As fast fashion fades, designers are turning to fabrics that feel alive, that carry culture in their weave. Yoruba Aso Oke, with its textured finish and symbolic richness, is everything global fashion is now craving: slow, sustainable and soulful. In 2019, Lagos-born designer Mowalola Ogunlesi debuted a collection that mixed Aso Oke with futuristic silhouettes, proof that tradition could live comfortably in rebellion. Brands like Orange Culture, FUMI and Lisa Folawiyo have also played with Aso Oke textures, turning them into streetwear and luxury pieces that feel both nostalgic and avant-garde. Even Beyoncé’s Black Is King featured Yoruba-inspired garments, headwraps, woven details and beadwork reminiscent of Aso Oke’s royal lineage. Suddenly, the world was paying attention. Why It Still Matters For Yoruba people, Aso Oke isn’t just fabric, it’s philosophy. To wear it is to say, “I remember who I am.” Every strand represents iwa (character) and asa (culture). The process of weaving, patient, rhythmic and precise,  mirrors the Yoruba idea that beauty comes through discipline and time. When today’s designers remix Aso Oke, they aren’t diluting tradition; they’re translating it. And that translation matters, especially for a generation of Africans and diasporans searching for ways to reconnect without losing their modern edge. From Tradition to Trend, Without Losing the Soul The real success of Aso Oke’s global rise isn’t just its visibility. It’s the way it’s inspiring conversations around craftsmanship, cultural ownership and sustainability. As Western designers borrow ideas from African heritage, Yoruba artisans are also reclaiming their space, building cooperatives, teaching weaving to younger generations and selling directly to global buyers through digital platforms. Some Lagos fashion houses now collaborate directly with weavers in Oyo and Ekiti, proof that the fabric’s journey from loom to runway can still honour the hands that make it. More Than a Fabric, It’s a Future The next wave of Aso Oke isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about evolution. Imagine 3D-printed accessories paired with hand-woven strips or Aso Oke jackets lined with recycled denim — a bridge between worlds, between centuries. Yoruba creativity has always been like that: grounded, yet endlessly innovative. Because Aso Oke has never been afraid of change. It’s been remixed for decades, from our grandmothers’ iro and buba to our generation’s bucket hats and corsets. What’s constant is the pride. So, when global fashion looks to Yoruba tradition for inspiration, it’s really saying something timeless: Style may travel the world but roots always run home.

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