Interconnected stories explore love, identity and queerness in Lagos

Vagabonds! is Nigerian writer Eloghosa Osunde’s riveting debut, a work that blends magical realism with raw depictions of life in Lagos, the most populated urban area in Africa — and capital of Nigeria where homosexuality is punishable by law.

It’s a series of interconnected stories narrated by animating spirits, unseen entities that observe the people of Lagos. They relay their stories to the chief spirit of the city, Èkó, themselves a mercurial force made up of 21-million people all watching and being watched. Through these forces, Osunde explores love, identity, queerness and the survival of those who live on the fringes of society — people who are often cast out simply for being themselves. 

The book’s cast of characters lives in an unregulated and wild megacity where magic, violence and spiritual forces shape daily life. Whether it’s a man who loses his voice while driving for a trafficker, or a group of women lifted from their abusive lives into the sky, Osunde’s writing captures the power of individual and collective resistance. She talks here about her writing.

What inspired you to write Vagabonds!? 

My inspiration came from Lagos itself — its life, loves, and the way identity is experienced there. Lagos is a city full of energy, contradictions, and extremes, and that was a major force behind the novel. Even after travelling and living in other parts of the world, Lagos continues to fascinate me. I wanted to explore the city’s spirit, its unique personality, and how it influences the people who live there. The idea of Lagos as a sentient city spirit, Èkó, came from my belief that cities have energies and characters. I asked myself: if Lagos were a spirit, what would it be like? The answer was something dark, powerful and controlling, but also chaotic, much like the city itself. 

Why is the theme of surveillance central to the narrative? 

Lagos feels like a place where you’re constantly being watched. There’s a pervasive sense of surveillance — not just by government or authority figures but socially as well. People always feel eyes on them, which creates pressure to present yourself in certain ways. That’s why I wanted to explore masks in the novel — the masks people wear to navigate life in Lagos, to hide parts of themselves in response to that constant scrutiny. 

I was also influenced by the religious idea of an omnipresent God, one who sees everything, even the secret parts of your life. Growing up, I had this strong sense of being watched, and I mapped that onto Lagos. It’s a city where people feel they have to be careful, where surveillance leads to pretence and masks. Some characters in the book have thin masks, some wear full-body masks, and some have none at all, depending on how safe they feel in the city. 

How does queerness intersect with Lagos in your writing? 

Lagos is home to many queer people, but their experiences are vastly different depending on factors like class, privilege and appearance. In Nigeria, queerness is criminalised, but not all queer people live under that law in the same way. Some have enough wealth or social standing to live above the law, while others face oppression daily.

There’s a misconception that all queer people in Nigeria are marginalised in the same way, but that’s not true. Some people are both queer and powerful, even making the laws that oppress others. Others can pass unnoticed because of how they present themselves physically. I wanted to show how queerness is experienced across different social strata in a city like Lagos, where laws exist but aren’t enforced equally for everyone.

How difficult was it to achieve the balance between violence and tenderness?

Life itself is filled with contrasts, and I wanted to reflect that. We don’t experience constant pain or marginalisation; there are always moments of tenderness and joy that people create for themselves, even in hostile environments.

Characters like Daisy and Divine, for example, are sex workers who are lesbians. According to the way society works, they shouldn’t have access to love or joy, but they do. They’ve built a chosen family, a community of people they love, cook for, laugh with, and find safety in. That’s crucial for survival. Even in places that try to strip you of your humanity, it’s possible to create spaces of love and gentleness. Those moments matter. For queer Nigerians, or queer Africans in general, I wanted to demonstrate that tenderness is not only possible but necessary. 

Why did you choose to structure the novel as a collection of short stories? 

For a long time, I tried to write Vagabonds! as a conventional novel, but it didn’t feel right. My brain naturally works in focused bursts and clusters, and short stories were a better fit for how I think. I struggled with the idea that a novel should have a continuous, linear narrative, but I kept noticing that the themes and characters in my short stories were overlapping and connecting.

Eventually, I realised that these stories were in conversation with each other, and that’s when I embraced the idea of structuring the book as a series of interconnected short stories. If a character from one story wants to reappear in another, that’s still a cohesive narrative. It’s the overarching spirit of Lagos that brings it all together. 

Tell us more about Tatafo, the book’s quick-tempered, all-seeing narrator? 

Tatafo, whose name means “gossip”, was inspired by the biblical story of Lucifer. I was fascinated by the idea of an angel who was once beloved by their creator but was cast out and how that experience would shape them. That kind of character is perfect for narrating the lives of people who have also been cast out by society — marginalised, labelled as vagabonds. Tatafo provides a guiding voice throughout the novel, offering insight into these lives from a perspective of both distance and empathy. 

Resilience is a major theme in the novel. Can you speak to that? 

Yes, resilience was crucial to portray. The characters in the book face oppression from various forces — government, religion, capitalism, social norms — but they also find ways to survive. That’s what resilience is about: getting back up after being beaten down. I wanted to show the full spectrum of that experience, from the harsh realities of life in Lagos to the ways people carve out spaces for themselves to thrive. 

How has Vagabonds! been received in Nigeria? 

The response has been really positive, far better than I expected. The book has been a best-seller in Nigeria for two years, staying in the top 10 for the first year and the top 20 in the second. When I was writing, I wasn’t sure how it would be received, especially given its focus on queer characters in a country where queerness is criminalised. But it’s reached a wide audience — teenagers, people in their 20s, even those in their 50s. Recently, someone gifted it to their grandmother, who loved it for its depiction of spirituality. I’ve been blown away by it all. 

What do you hope readers take away from Vagabonds!? 

I wrote the best book I could, and I want readers to take away whatever feels true to them. What I’ve loved about the journey so far is that people interpret the book in so many different ways. Some see it as a collection of fantastical short stories, some as a novel. Others call it a religious text, while others refer to it as a queer bible. All these interpretations are valid. For me, that’s a success — the fact that Vagabonds! speaks to people in different ways and on different levels. 

You call yourself a “world-bender”. Can you explain that? 

My purpose is to create alternate realities that challenge the dominant narratives we’re used to. The stories I tell aren’t just fiction — they’re a way to inspire real-world change. Vagabonds! has become more than just a book; it’s a movement. People are writing poetry, creating art, and even getting tattoos inspired by it. I see my work as a way to scatter different possibilities into the world and bend it in a new direction. 

Your creative output is impressive. How do you manage your time? 

My parents created the perfect environment for me to discover my love for all forms of art, even though I didn’t learn to be an artist at home. I do this full-time, which helps, but more importantly, I’ve dedicated my life to making time for creativity. Whether it’s writing, painting or making music, I’m always creating something. It doesn’t feel like work — it’s how I stay rooted in the world. Art is how I express my aliveness.