Some days feel like a long, held breath; a slow gathering of air in the lungs before the world finally exhales into color. Day three in Johannesburg was exactly that. It was a quiet inhalation, a steady pulse of energy before the night finally decided to bloom.
Being my last full day in South Africa, everything felt a little heavier, a little closer to the skin. With Lagos already pulling at me — whispering of home and the coming Christmas heat — the day carried a soft, dull ache. It’s that familiar, lonely realisation: endings never wait for the clock. They start early, settling into the marrow of your bones while you’re still trying to find a reason to stay. I spent the afternoon trying not to notice the sun setting, but the light knew I was leaving before I did.
A morning built for stillness
I let myself rest — truly, deeply sink. I stayed tangled in the sheets, which held onto the morning’s chill long after the sun had climbed. My limbs felt heavy, but it wasn’t the weight of exhaustion; it was the weight of surrender. There is a rare, liquid kind of quiet that settles over you when you finally stop negotiating with your body and just listen to its silence.
From my window, the venue was a hive of distant, frantic motion. I watched the crew haul heavy crates and saw the stage lights flicker to life — staccato bursts of violet and gold against the daylight. Thankfully, I was spared the thrum of sound check. My room was adequately sound proof.
There was a strange, private comfort in watching them build the world I was meant to inhabit later. It felt like a secret, as if I were a ghost watching a story assemble itself around me, gathering my strength to eventually step into the light. People rushed past the glass, but I stayed tucked away, half-dreaming, half-listening. To be still in the face of a looming spectacle felt like a small, luxurious rebellion.
The ritual of becoming
As the afternoon light began to stretch and bruise into evening, I finally rose. Getting ready wasn’t a task; it was a slow, private ceremony. I stepped into the Lavender Reina Dress, feeling the weight of the fabric settle against my skin. It felt sculptural yet impossibly soft, the floral details blooming under my fingertips. It’s the kind of dress that doesn’t just take up space; it grants you the permission to do the same. I felt held by it, as if the silk were an encouragement, a quiet prompt to stand a little taller.
Then came the gold. I draped the Kofo Chunky Necklace around my neck and felt the cool, heavy press of the metal, followed by the matching earrings. They were unapologetically bold, their metallic glint pulling a deeper, richer life out of the lavender. I slipped into the Gaze Mules, the gold leather catching the lamplight. They were my one practical promise to myself: the ability to dance, to walk, to move through the night without the distraction of pain.
Reina Dress in “Lavender”
₦150,000
Studio Bonnitta
Gaze Mules in “Gold”
₦95,000
Kora Shoes
Kofo Chunky Long Necklace
₦250,000
Rèfainì
Kofo Earrings
₦180,000
Rèfainì
There is a profound grounding in this ritual — the rhythmic blending of makeup, the soft click of a clasp, the way you watch your own reflection shift into the version of you the night requires. I wasn’t performing for anyone yet. I was just easing into the evening, one deliberate, quiet breath at a time.
Read also: TikTok Sub-Saharan Awards: Day Two — Exploring Johannesburg and Soweto’s rich history
The vibrancy of the TikTok Sub-Saharan Awards
By the time I stepped out, the skeleton of the morning had grown skin and a pulse. The space I’d watched through my window was now a world unto itself—a high-voltage hum of creators, breath, and ambition.
The red carpet felt electric underfoot, but I wasn’t navigating it alone. Chidirm, Editor of Guardian Life, shimmered beside me, her energy a perfect match for the glow of the room. Together, we let the night take us. There was a decadent, easy joy in it — clinking glasses of champagne, the bubbles sharp and cold, as we immersed ourselves in the thick vibrancy of South African culture. Our hearts swelled at the beauty unfolding around us. Laughter spilled into the corners of the room, and the constant flare of cameras felt like a frantic, staccato kind of applause that never quite let up.
Then, the air changed.
One by one, Nigerian names began to fill the room, ringing out with a frequency that felt like a summons. Our creators stood tall, and our excellence became the gravity we all pulled toward. When Raja’atu Muhammed Ibrahim was announced as Creator of the Year, pride swelled within me. It was heavy and warm, a sudden, fierce ache of belonging. It is a singular feeling: realising that home has traveled across borders just to meet you in a crowded room.
Between the flashes and the speeches, I found the quiet anchors. Meeting Lord Kez, who carried an effortless, magnetic aura, and Thabsie, whose warmth felt like a soft, steady glow in the middle of the noise. These were the moments that stitched the night together for me — not just the spectacle, but the small, human pockets of connection.
It meant something to be there, not just as a witness, but as a part of the reflection. To see the continent’s creativity thrown back at us in high definition, shimmering and undeniable
Preparing for my return
After the frenzy, I needed to touch the ground. I sought out sushi — quiet, precise, and exacting in its simplicity. It was the perfect bridge between the night’s neon roar and the velvet solitude waiting for me back at the hotel. Johannesburg is a city that knows how to hold both: the grand and the gentle, the spectacle and the silence, never once breaking its rhythm.
Packing that night felt like an act of surrender and anticipation all at once. Every fold of fabric, every zip of a suitcase, felt like saying goodbye to the city’s dramatic bougainvillea and that secret pulse that thrums just beneath its streets. But Lagos was already pulling at my centre. With the Christmas holidays only days away, I could already feel the shift toward home — the heat, the family, the beautiful, familiar chaos that waited for me at the airport gate.
The final anchor of the night was a FaceTime call to my partner. His face on the screen was the sweetest tether to my “real” life. I told him everything — the way the lavender dress moved, the roar of the crowd for the wins, the small moments that made me ache. There is a specific kind of grounding that only love provides; it reminded me that beneath the glitter and the gold jewellery, I am still just me.
As I climbed into bed for the last time, I felt heavy with a different kind of fullness. Day three had been a gift of layers: rest, ritual, pride, and softness.
Before sleep finally took me, I whispered a quiet thank you to the TikTok international teams for their immeasurable hospitality, and for the wonderful work they do platforming African creators. They’ve built an experience that felt, for the first time in a long time, truly and genuinely special.
Read also: Nigeria dominates with 6 wins at the TikTok Awards for Sub-Saharan Africa in Johannesburg
