The Party Spirit

source

"Who brought the banger!"

Someone shouted over the pounding afro beats as the compound erupted into chaotic cheers. A handsome young man in a glittering Ankara jacket slid across the dusty courtyard, holding what turned out to be a harmless fire-breathing prop, shooting bursts of colored smoke into the air. People screamed with laughter, phones flashing in every direction.

"Jay, you no well!" a girl with pink braids shouted.

“Jay don mad oo!” a girl next to her screamed.

The whole crowd booed and hooted.

Jay grinned and winked. "Na madness dey spice party, abeg." He said and hopped on.

---

Everyone knew Jay. Not because he was a politician’s son or a tech-bro or an underground activist, but because he was the life of every party in Lagos. Jay didn’t just attend parties, he possessed them. Like some wild spirit of celebration, he ignited all dance floors, made every leisure night legendary, and could turn a dead gathering into a carnival with a single well-timed joke, dance steps, and endless happiness.

No one ever saw him arrive, and no one ever noticed him leave. He was just there, like harmattan dust on Christmas morning.

People whispered about him. Some swore Jay was a trust-fund baby from Lekki. Others claimed he was a juju incarnate made from a wish at Olumo Rock. But the truth was far stranger, and stronger.

Jay wasn’t born. He was… conjured?
Well, let's find out.

---

Some decades ago, Sharon, an introverted teenager spent her 16th birthday alone in her room in Ibadan, headphones on, face bathed in the glow of her rechargeable lamp.

Sharon was a very happy and lively person right from her birth. A girl who gave her all to see someone else smile. In her little family of six, she was the last child and the happiest among them all. Whenever Sharon is around, sadness takes its flight.

She brought so much happiness and joy to everyone she came across until one very pitiful day when she lost everyone she loved in a fatal car accident, her family.

---

Tired of being invisible, she scribbled a wish on a page from her old exercise book: "I wish someone existed who made everyone feel alive. Someone unforgettable. Someone who could walk into a gathering and light it up."

Then she cried for a few minutes, fell asleep, and forgot all about it.

The universe didn’t.

Jay appeared at his first party some years later at a university hostel bash where the generator died and the small chops finished too early.

"This party don spoil finish," someone groaned, sighing repeatedly.

Out of nowhere, Jay appeared with a Bluetooth speaker, a deck of cards, and a dance move that somehow fused Azonto with the butterfly. Within minutes, the party was revived, and Jay became a legend.

From then on, he was everywhere. Naming ceremonies, compound parties, rooftop lounges, surprise birthdays, even awkward wedding receptions – Jay showed up, smiled, and transformed awkward silences into symphonies of laughter.

But no one knew where he lived.

---

One day, curious journalist Mara Ayobami decided to follow him. She was writing a series called "Naija Mysteries" and figured Jay was perfect. Using a keke and a borrowed drone, she shadowed him after a wild masquerade-themed beach party.

"He dey waka enter one corner for Bariga," she whispered into her recorder. "No streetlight. No signboard. Just..." She rounded the corner. "Ah! Where the guy disappear enter?" She exclaimed.

Jay had vanished.

Frustrated but obsessed, Mara dug deeper. Every appearance of Jay was tied to a wish. A wish made by someone desperate to escape loneliness, heartbreak, or plain boredom. A wish never spoken aloud, but felt deeply enough to echo through whatever invisible world we barely understand.

Mara published her findings in a half-satirical blog post titled: "The Party Spirit: Jay, a mystery in sunglasses.”

The post went viral on Naija Twitter, some magazines and newspapers, and all social media platforms. And then, Jay disappeared.

For months, no one saw him. Parties grew dull. The jokes fell flat. It was like enthusiasm and enjoyment had packed and left Lagos. Some thought Jay was hiding; others claimed he never existed and was just a mass hallucination caused by cheap palm wine and bad lighting.

Sharon, now 45 and a mathematics teacher, stumbled on the blog post by accident. When she saw the name Jay, something clicked. She went into her family house’s storeroom, searched and found her old exercise book, and saw the wish she’d written nearly thirty years ago.

“Good Lord.” She laughed.

---

That night, she hosted a small reunion party. Just a few old friends attended. Fried rice and suya. Highlife music on loudspeakers, nothing wild.

Sharon sat still and watched the party struggle, happiness flickering, shadowed by frustrated minds and shattered hopes; the party was nothing but dull and dragging. She thought of how her wish came true, how her wish changed lives, and how her wish became unforgettable.

She deeply thought she'd revive the wish, but deep down, she made the wish again.

At 10:43 PM, there was a knock on the gate. Soon, the doorbell rang. Sharon walked slowly to the door, hoping to expect the unusual.

Jay stood there. It was the same dazzling grin, the same impossible aura of excitement, the same Ankara jacket that shimmered like Lagos traffic lights in the rain. His smile was still constantly glittering.

"Aunty Sharon!" he teased and winked. "Na you call me back na." He said, laughing.

Sharon blinked, and stood quiet for a few seconds, "You sabi me?" She asked, leading him in. Their smiles looked alike.

Jay stepped inside. The music swelled, and the fairy lights strung around the compound flickered as they recognized him. The speakers became more thick and down for action.

"I be you," he whispered. "The part of you wey want make everybody feel say dem matter. That part of you wey don die since, the part wey dey dance when nobody dey look. The wish wey universe grant... and forget to cancel."

---

The reunion turned into a sensation. Videos of Jay dancing zanku with elders went viral. People started wishing again. Not just for parties but for magic, for connection, for that thing. Naija life tries to beat out of you, but your spirit still craves.

Jay didn’t just come back. He evolved, he lived, he stayed.

He became a symbol.

And every time someone needed a little spark to remember how alive they were, Jay showed up. Not always in person, but in the sudden perfect song from a danfo radio, the unexpected old friend who stopped by with small chops, the joke that made someone laugh till dem belle pain, that little word that gave hope and meaning to a shattered hope.

The life of the party wasn’t a person.

It was a gift.

And Jay? He was the wrapping paper that never finishes.

The dance steps that never end.

The wish that keeps granting itself again and again without permission.

So next time you feel lonely, or at the depth of boredom, or when you're at your lowest state of sadness, or when thoughts have clouded your mind and someone tells a joke that lights up the whole gloomy room, or a music hits directly at the right message when you needed it the most... look around.

Jay might be there, smiling, dancing.

Or maybe...

Jay is you.