"This place is full—I don't believe it," Duncan Mighty says into the mic. He's standing on stage at the prestigious Hard Rock Cafe in Lagos, decked in a floral-patterned golden shirt watching hundreds of people stare back at him with smiling faces. His surprise is genuine—this is a man impressed by his turnout numbers. The crowd, jubilant for the occasion, is responding to his every word with raucous shouts of "Yeah yeah," or "Wene Mighty"—his nickname.

As Mighty breaks into an acoustic version of "Fake Love," his smash collaboration with afrobeats superstar, Wizkid, all hell breaks loose. A lady, who until now has been lost in the glare of her phone screen, jumps on a chair and begins to wind her waist to the rhythm.

Her boyfriend catches me staring, but instead of aggression he stretches his bejeweled right hand for a handshake, with a smile lighting up his face. "I love Duncan Mighty," he says, as his other arm reflexively moves to steady his girlfriend who is about to fall. "This moment is so special to her," he explains. "We love Duncan Mighty."

"Only fake girls be loving when you have…" the hall shakes as a thousand voices sing in unison, led by Mighty.