CHAPTER SEVEN
1123 Words
The morning sun streamed through the worn-out curtain of their small room, nudging Grace awake. She blinked groggily, the events of the night before already fading like a dream. It had been a long week, filled with classes, walks in the sun, and trying to make sense of their new content journey.
Maddie was already up, perched on the window edge with her hair wrapped in a scarf, brushing through her edges with careful concentration. The day had a different kind of buzz to it, the kind that wrapped itself around your shoulders and whispered, "Something good is coming."
Grace stretched. “Today feels weirdly hopeful.”
Maddie grinned. “That’s because we’ve got a plan now, babe. No more hopeless garri nights.”
They had decided—together—to take their shot at content creation. Not just any content. Grace was a killer dancer, with moves that could shut down a whole street if given the chance. Maddie? Maddie had the vibe, the storytelling, and the camera presence.
They’d be the perfect duo: dance, lifestyle, skits, and maybe some school struggle chronicles in between.
Grace sat up on the mattress. “I had a dream we were dancing at an event, like an actual booked performance. I was wearing these glittery shorts and you—”
“Don’t say I wore a corset.” Maddie laughed.
“No! It was worse. You were in a full ankara wrapper, I swear.”
They burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that filled the room and eased the tension in their shoulders.
“Let’s not waste the day,” Maddie said, hopping off the ledge. “We need to start filming. We can choreograph something, just freestyle even. You know you’ve been itching to dance.”
Grace laughed. “You know me too well.”
They decided to keep things chill at first. Something light, fun, and energetic—just to get their feet wet.
---
Later that afternoon, Grace and Bami walked back from a shared lecture. The sun was merciless, and the path back to the hostel seemed longer than usual. Bami, always relaxed in his low-slung jeans and graphic tees, had a bottle of Pepsi dangling from one hand.
“So you and Maddie are doing that t****k thing seriously now?” he asked, tone light.
Grace nodded. “Yeah. We’re just starting out, though. Trying to see where it takes us.”
“I’m happy for you,” Bami said genuinely. “Just don’t forget me when you're famous and hanging out with fine t****k boys with six packs and ring lights.”
She chuckled, nudging his arm. “You dey whine me?”
He smiled back. “No, I’m serious. I think you’ll do great.”
As they turned the corner toward the hostel block, Grace’s smile faded slightly. A group of guys were gathered under the mango tree, voices loud, arguing about clients, VPNs, and some app that “wasn’t paying again.”
“Guy, I swear that client don drop. I just need confirm the Payoneer stuff,” one said.
Another scoffed, “Una no dey learn. No be Wetin crash last week be that?”
Bami’s steps faltered for a moment. He waved at the group but didn’t stop. Grace didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to judge. She wasn’t even sure what to think. But the words stuck in her mind like gum on a shoe.
---
That night, the fluorescent light above their bed flickered once, then steadied. Maddie sat cross-legged, parting her hair into sections with a broken-toothed comb while Grace lay on her belly, scrolling through her gallery.
“Do you think Bami is into—like… the yahoo stuff?” Grace asked carefully.
Maddie shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. But babe, we’re in Nigeria. Everyone’s trying to survive.”
“But he’s so cool,” Grace whispered. “He’s your childhood friend. I just…”
“I get you. But you can’t let that distract you. If he’s your guy, he’ll figure himself out. Our own focus now is content. It’s us against poverty.”
That made Grace laugh, the heaviness lifting a little.
“I want to do something bold, you know? Not just the dances we see all the time. I want to show we’re versatile. Maybe a mix of storytelling with transitions and moves.”
“Oya now! Let’s even plan our next shoot. We’ll go viral one way or the other.”
---
Later that evening, the entire hostel block seemed to come alive. It was one of those rare nights where NEPA did the unthinkable and left the light on for hours. Someone had bought suya, another person brought soda, and soon, a Bluetooth speaker was blasting Ayra Starr and Asake from someone’s window.
Girls were streaming in and out of the corridor, wrapping towels around their chests or tying wrappers at the waist, fanning themselves with plastic hand fans. The corridor smelled like a blend of body spray, sweaty armpits, and suya spice.
Grace and Maddie changed into shorts and loose tops, the kind of fit that made dancing easier. When a few girls in the block shouted, “Dance battle o!” it was like a signal fired off.
They moved the beds, cleared the small common room, and the hostel became a mini party. Girls took turns showing off moves, giggling and screaming in support.
“DJ, give me beat!” someone shouted, and the music jumped to Joeboy’s “Body & Soul.”
Grace stepped up when “Sability” came on. Her moves were crisp, fast, and hypnotic. Even the girls who weren’t dancing were clapping and yelling. Maddie joined her midway, and the two of them danced in sync—flawless, confident, electric.
“You people should go and win Grammy!” a girl screamed over the music.
“Abi!” another one added. “Grace, you no dey fear?”
They laughed and danced until sweat ran down their backs. It wasn’t about impressing anyone—it was about feeling alive.
By the end of it, the entire room was laughing, breathless from joy and sweat.
Maddie, still grinning, whipped out her phone. “We’re posting that. This one has to go online.”
She uploaded the clip to t****k, captioned it: “Just a hostel night with the girls. Who did it better?”
They didn’t know yet what would happen. Didn’t know how far that one video would travel. But in that moment, they were just two girls dancing with their friends, soaked in joy and laughter, hopeful and full of dreams.
And sometimes, that’s the best place for a new chapter to begin.
- Writer
