Escape to New Lagos

For many, the term "Africa" is loaded, and explodes with visceral imagery when uttered.  Regardless of our backgrounds and against our better judgment, many of us tend to paint our image of the continent with some broad brush or the other.  Be it the stark black and white of an impression formed by a collectively troubled history, or the splashes of tropical hues that adorn the garments of the continent's people--a metaphor for their tendency  to hope brightly in the darkest of night.  We all see "Africa," and its baggage, in a certain light.

With this in mind, we invite you to come anew.  Unpack that figurative and literal baggage, and consider New Lagos for your next travel destination.  The ever-present pyramids of Egypt will continue to remain the same.  The romanticism of Paris' Eiffel Tower will remain tempered by hordes of glaring camera lenses and chain-gangs of tourists toiling toward the top.  But here, amidst the culture, food and sights of New Lagos, there is room aplenty for wide-eyed wonder, for discovery of the lavish unknown, and for the future to become a present you will want to unwrap again and again.

In 2081 A.D., we welcome you to New Lagos, with a warm promise that you will never want to leave.  Ore Wa, Ekabo!


Idumoto Market

In a city so crowded that it is impossible for one to find himself without a mirror and some purposeful soul-searching, there is no space to fall;  life is standing room only.  Like a modern day Atlantis, New Lagos became an oasis in a desert of global despondence.  It was built on the backs of Nigeria's prayers and unforgettable regrets.  On top of the bomb-blast rubble, and in the wake of the political pariahs' exile, its people dared to build something beautiful...and they dared to build it so high, the whole world would see it and stare.

New Makoko Village

Once, the fishermen of Makoko village would feed their families with what their hands were able to pull from the water at dawn. They built homes on top of the water; an African Venice created from sheer resolve and necessity. Later, it would become a place that few would seek to visit alone, if at all. The outside world turned a blind eye, as Makoko slowly became engulfed by those who only met in the shadows. It was within one of these dark recesses that a tailor desperately hoping to keep his business open took in an unlikely apprentice. A young boy with sticky fingers and a keen eye for fine fabrics. A young boy who would sew at night, under the blinding searchlights of hovering drones, as his pricked fingers bled into the wax cotton. A young boy who would later become the man that they all whispered about.

Victoria Island

On the day of the Great Crude Explosion, the ground parted, erupting a rich blackness that crept over the landscape. House by house, like some biblical house-guest, it knocked on the front door of every soul in Lagos and announced itself. Barefoot children whose parents hadn't been able to afford shoes suddenly found themselves ankle deep in more wealth than any could have possibly conceived. The towers sprang from the ground next; a collage of architecture which obscured the scorching sun. Then came the flying machines; beautiful blemishes which blurred against the blue skies. Far away, in foreign boardrooms, fattened oil executives whispered amongst themselves as their stock prices plummeted and their plates became bare. This was a land of a hundred dialects, but there would be no Babel. The people spoke in one voice, and they spoke of freedom. This was it. New Lagos was born.


Later, few remembered what his real name was; or what he actually looked like. Over pints of Goulder, men swore that he was a distant relative. Amidst too-loud whispers, market women blushed and told conflicting tales of their secret moments with him. All of them would agree on this much: In the moments before the tipping point, in the days that seemed darkest from the pall of an entire world's turned shoulder, he was there.

There are few accurate accounts of his sacrifice. Perhaps he flashed a rogue's grin before disappearing into the flames; perhaps he fretted over the blood-stains that spontaneously erupted on the colorful fabric of his jacket; or perhaps he paid the simple but unspeakable price for asking that his people stand up for themselves. However he came to his end, all readily conceded that it was his end that ushered Lagos, and ultimately Nigeria, to its new beginning.

When they spoke of hope, the future, or merely spoke of a child with too much ambition for his size, they would speak fondly of him: IkiréJones.

Contact our travel agents for competitive fares via Nigerian Airways' Subspace Hypercraft or Okada Airbus.  

Travel brochure images by Vigilism.  

Tourist travel attire courtesy of Ikiré Jones for the Nigerian Ministry of Tourist Affairs.