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.
The first time Chuka heard Igbo highlife , he was seven years old, sitting on his grandfather’s lap in a village near Enugu. The evening air smelled of woodsmoke and frying plantains. From an old transistor radio, a horn wailed like a joyful ghost, then a guitar answered in shimmering loops. His grandfather’s chest vibrated with a hum—low and deep. igbo highlife songs
The second Saturday, he invited an old guitarist, Uncle Benji, whose fingers still remembered the lead rhythm of Prince Nico Mbarga’s “Sweet Mother.” They played for two hours. Twenty-three people showed up. A young couple slow-danced, the woman resting her head on the man’s shoulder, whispering, “This was my father’s wedding song.” The third Saturday, the queue stretched around the corner