Op-Ed: What It Costs to Create Third Spaces in Lagos

At the beginning of 2024, a few months after the passing of a dear friend and around the time many of my closest friends were making their way out of the country to lead new, permanent lives, I began to feel as though I couldn’t recognize Lagos, where I live. The Lagos I know, the one before the slow dissipation of my long-established community of friends and artists, brimmed with interesting activity. 

In 2021, I remember watching experimental films at HFactor, a multidisciplinary art space which, at the time, was set in an old Lagos commercial building, and attending underground raves on its ground floor. I remember readings and open mic sessions at Ouida Bookstore (which went quiet for a while but has thankfully returned), and the thrilling sense of community and possibility that came from being in a large bookstore amongst some of the country’s then-rising literary talents. I also remember spending an entire evening at an outdoor brewery with my closest friends after work, splitting lean tacos and going Dutch on drinks.

Although containing vastly different activities, the throughline between these experiences was the sense of camaraderie they provided, the freeing delight of being in a space that wasn’t work nor a traditional recreational space. Some days, you could begin the night at HFactor and end it at a garden party at Nok. You could start the day at a collage workshop in Victoria Island and round it off with a laidback evening at 16 by 16.

At the time, there was a real sense of wonder, an easy charm in the way the community was organized and presented. What I was feeling in 2024 was a profound loss of all of that - owing to the country’s rising economic difficulties, migration, and a pervading sense of instability. Many of the spaces I mentioned have downsized, closed, or are being revitalized. I also felt a strong urge to do something about it. I began wondering what it would look like to create a space for experimental yet thoughtfully curated art practices and a way of gathering built around that. 

The answer came in the form of A Third Space — the multidisciplinary art practice I have been running since 2024. This practice, which takes over galleries, concept shops, and modular spaces, has changed how I think about art, how I articulate the concept of community, and, more than anything else, has opened my eyes to the true cost and sacrifice that goes into creating third spaces where people can simply be. In recent years, the need for third spaces has grown considerably. 

From Lagos to Nairobi, people are coming to terms with the insufficiency of binary spaces: school, work, church, bars. A shift towards more modular, less commercial spaces has become more important than ever. What I believe is even more important than an in-between space that allows people to simply be are modular spaces that enliven our concept of gathering, and doing so in intimate and original ways.

First things first

When A Third Space was getting off the ground — first with a vinyl listening session where we asked guests to bring their own vinyl and set up a turntable in the middle of a charming old Nigerian flat — the recurring issue always came in the form of breaking down just what exactly it is and what kind of programs we curate. Traditionally, the Nigerian events and recreational space is familiar with art exhibitions; they are familiar with fashion pop-ups, literary festivals, raves, dance parties, etc. As I began developing the program for A Third Space — one guided by original and surprising ways of delivering art and bringing people together — it was often tricky to help people understand what we were trying to do. Instead of a typical reading, we’ve often adapted essays into monologues, and instead of a classic exhibition, we’ve offered artists physical space to simulate an imaginary living room that connects back to their work (we call it The Artist’s Living Room). Our programs are also often hybrid, a screening of short films preceded by a reading of short stories by an actor. Simulating an old Nigerian film rental shop to celebrate a music album that references and is built around Old Nollywood sensibilities.

It has always been a delight to play with forms and break the rules of conventionalities around what an event can look, feel, or sound like. Even when you have the right amount of social media followers, even when the marketing language is oversimplified, the very oddness of experimental programs means they are landing at the feet of people who truly care about the specific practice being explored at the program. In many ways, this has helped us build an honest, committed audience. It’s also even harder to explain. But it gets easier. What doesn’t get any lighter, though, is the financial cost of bringing unconventional ideas to life.

The true cost

For the past two years since A Third Space has been running, it has mostly operated out of pocket. A simple program like our communal listening session, A Lazy Sunday, could cost N50,000 to N150,000 (about $35 to $107) to produce, excluding space. Our higher-level programs, such as our live storytelling experience, could cost between N1 million and N1.5 million (about $719 to $741) to produce, sometimes more. Because we are nomadic, we always have to account for space and are often constrained by its scarcity, as is present in other parts of the continent. 

In the early days, space rental alone could cost up to N350,000 (about $259), but thankfully, we’ve built a strong, supportive community of space partners who are generous enough to split profits with us or offer their space free of charge. But for other founders of third spaces and creative gatherings who have their own space, the country’s many infrastructural difficulties slow growth.  That same problem can be traced to how little disposable income many prospective third-space members have, forcing them to choose between paying for a vinyl session and saving the money.

While funding a space out of pocket can be a lot, it's also become easier to explain our ideas to brands that have supported us over the years. But this ease has come because A Third Space is no longer an anomalous concept. Our programs, while radical, now fit within a larger ecosystem in Lagos’ creative scene. In the year since we launched, many other wonderful third places, each with their own original ideas of bringing people together, have sprung up around Lagos. There is Suudu Lagos, Mic and Minds, Polygon, Joydragger’s House (which runs out of a cute living room in Mainland Lagos), Homecoming Concept Space and many others. These spaces, and the many that will come after, remind us that cities will always find ways to reinvent themselves.

There are still many difficulties with running third spaces in this city. The economy is still volatile; some programs never make money, while others only manage to break even. Traditional event programs still outweigh the liminal spaces, but the scene persists. The scene feels relieved and hopeful right now. I love seeing a broad range of programs that go against the grain or present familiar experiences in refreshing ways, which makes it so exciting to be a part of. The best part, though, is that when the noise quiets and the program wraps up, I am warmed by the feeling that Lagos somehow feels like itself again.