Lagos Airport Hotel is more than just a building; it is a living testament to the passage of time, a silent observer of the stories, dreams, and ambitions that have passed through its doors. It stands as a reminder of a time when Ikeja was a place of peace, of youthful energy, and boundless creativity. For me, it will always be the place where my journey—both personal and professional—was shaped
IN the heart of Ikeja, Lagos, there lies an establishment that’s more than just a hotel. It is a place where time intertwines with memory, and where the history of a city meets the personal journeys of those who have walked its halls. Lagos Airport Hotel, standing proudly on Awolowo Way, is one of those landmarks that transcends generations, playing host to an ever-evolving cast of characters and experiences. For me, it was much more than a hotel—it was a canvas upon which some of the most important moments of my life were painted.
My story begins on Adeniyi Jones Avenue, number 20, in the 1970s. It was an era when Ikeja was just emerging as a suburban enclave, slowly carving its identity as a hub of growth, culture, and industry. Walking down our quiet street, you would make your way to Aromire Road, where a right turn would lead you to the bustling Awolowo Way. Standing tall at the end of the street was the mighty Lagos Airport Hotel, an icon of its time, long before the glossy urban sprawl of Allen Avenue and Opebi transformed Ikeja into the commercial center it is today.
In those days, Allen Avenue was little more than a promise of future development, a quiet stretch where the possibility of modernity was slowly taking root. Opebi was a nameless, unmarked road, soon to become a lively hub of commerce and life. For a young teenager like me, Airport Hotel wasn’t just another building; it was a symbol of possibility, a place where the world beyond our small neighborhood seemed to come alive.
The 1970s in Lagos were a time of transition, as Nigeria stood on the cusp of change. The civil war had ended, oil money was flowing into the economy, and Lagos itself was slowly becoming a center of global attention. But for us teenagers, life was simpler—we were drawn to the music, the culture, and the youthful spirit that was blossoming in Ikeja.
At the heart of Airport Hotel was its swimming pool, a shimmering oasis that attracted young people from all around. It wasn’t just about swimming; it was about community, about finding a place to belong. The pool area became a meeting ground for the young, the restless, and the creative. This was where I first encountered the Soundcharters, a disco-tech group that would leave an indelible mark on my life. Led by the charismatic Dokun Orija and featuring the talents of Niyi Olasoji , who would later become known as the Babalola of Computer Village , they represented the pulse of Ikeja’s nightlife. The late Dele Shobola, may his soul rest in peace, was another key figure, part of a group that created an unforgettable atmosphere, blending music and friendship in a way that still resonates with me.
Ikeja at that time was a peaceful place, a far cry from the bustling commercial zone it has become today. It was a neighborhood of young, ambitious men, full of dreams and bound by shared experiences. Names like Nero Archer and his industrious brother Lalu were familiar faces in our circle. Tolu and Ladi Dawudu, Dotun Shobowale, the Eeogbogbo’s Yomi, and Rotimi. the Moroundiya’s. and my best friend Samuel Ikoku —we were the Ikeja boys. We had the city at our feet, and Sam and I, in particular, explored it with a passion. Whether it was rocking out to the latest hits or simply navigating the streets in search of adventure, we were inseparable. Niyi Olasoji , Josy Esheyijba, and his brother Patrick were part of that same energetic wave that swept through our youth.
Our days would often end at the humble stall of Iya Kazeem , the beloved rice seller whose spot in front of the Esheyijba’s house became legendary. After a long night of partying, dancing, and revelry, we’d gather for a breakfast of rice and stew, our laughter echoing into the early morning hours. It was these moments—simple yet profound—that defined our youth, binding us together in a shared sense of belonging and camaraderie.
But life, as it does, began to pull us in different directions. By the late 1970s, many of us had left Nigeria in search of new opportunities. I, too, ventured abroad, but Ikeja and Airport Hotel never left me. They were part of my DNA, a thread woven through the fabric of my identity.
WHEN I returned to Nigeria for the first time in 1999, now a seasoned music producer, I found myself once again at the doors of Lagos Airport Hotel. The city had changed, but the hotel remained a constant. I was back to work on a compilation album project, and the hotel became my base of operations. It was during this period that I became involved with the Nigeria 70 compilation album project, working closely with Strut Records. Airport Hotel became a hub for my activities, a place where creativity flourished. It was also here, in September of 2001, that I sat glued to the television as the world watched in horror during the 9/11 attacks. At the time, I was deep into negotiations, securing licensing for various Nigerian artists to be featured on the compilation, but the tragedy unfolding in the United States cast a shadow over everything. The world felt smaller, more connected, and yet more fragile.
Airport Hotel continued to play a pivotal role in my professional journey. One of the most significant moments came when Sony Pictures decided to include a song by Baba Ani in one of their films. This opportunity took me to Maputo , where I had to bring Nigerian musicians to appear in the movie. Once again, Airport Hotel became my de facto office in Lagos, as Sony sent frequent faxes to facilitate the logistics of our trip. It was here, amid the familiar walls of the hotel, that I met Fehintola Anikulapo Kuti , a connection that would lead to a memorable 10-date UK tour. The music, the people, the energy—it all felt like an extension of those early days in Ikeja, where everything was possible, and the future seemed limitless.
Even today, Airport Hotel remains a touchstone in my life. It’s a place where the past meets the present, where I reconnect with old friends and forge new memories. Recently, I met with Barrister Femi Kehinde at the hotel, where he was staying for his son’s wedding. We reminisced about the old days, about the shared experiences that have shaped us into who we are today.
Lagos Airport Hotel is more than just a building; it is a living testament to the passage of time, a silent observer of the stories, dreams, and ambitions that have passed through its doors. It stands as a reminder of a time when Ikeja was a place of peace, of youthful energy, and boundless creativity. For me, it will always be the place where my journey—both personal and professional—was shaped. And while the city around it continues to evolve, Airport Hotel remains a constant, a place where the past is always present, and where the future is always unfolding.
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