The third Saturday, the queue stretched around the corner. Men in agbadas and women in gele headties filled the room. When Chuka dropped the needle on “Nekwa Nekwa” by Celestine Ukwu, Uncle Benji’s guitar cried out like a morning bird. And then—a miracle. An old man rose from a back table. He wore a worn cap and a torn sleeve. He began to dance: the ankara shuffle, the nwaeze spin, the foot-drag that mimics a man pulling a fishing net.
That night, Chuka didn’t scrap the records. He drove to a small club in Surulere called The Palm Wine Spot . The owner, a stout woman named Mama Ifeoma, agreed to let him host a Saturday night— Igbo Highlife Revival —for just three weeks.
“That is the sound of a man dancing even when his pocket is empty,” Nnanna said, tapping Chuka’s chest. “Listen.”
The third Saturday, the queue stretched around the corner. Men in agbadas and women in gele headties filled the room. When Chuka dropped the needle on “Nekwa Nekwa” by Celestine Ukwu, Uncle Benji’s guitar cried out like a morning bird. And then—a miracle. An old man rose from a back table. He wore a worn cap and a torn sleeve. He began to dance: the ankara shuffle, the nwaeze spin, the foot-drag that mimics a man pulling a fishing net.
That night, Chuka didn’t scrap the records. He drove to a small club in Surulere called The Palm Wine Spot . The owner, a stout woman named Mama Ifeoma, agreed to let him host a Saturday night— Igbo Highlife Revival —for just three weeks. igbo highlife songs
“That is the sound of a man dancing even when his pocket is empty,” Nnanna said, tapping Chuka’s chest. “Listen.” The third Saturday, the queue stretched around the corner