Lagos is a city that never sits still — a place where chaos and beauty wrestle in the same breath. For Godiva, one of the most compelling young voices in street photography, the streets are both canvas and classroom. Through his lens, the danfo buses, market stalls, rain-slicked pavements, and fleeting human gestures become more than snapshots — they transform into stories of resilience, humor, faith, and identity.
In this conversation with 49th Street, Godiva opens up about his journey, influences, and vision, revealing how street photography allows him to preserve Lagos’ cultural heartbeat while telling stories that resonate far beyond the city.
What first drew you to street photography, and what keeps you committed to it?
I was drawn to street photography early on, especially during the rainy season when NFTs seemed to be everywhere. Watching Chris Idum’s work sparked my curiosity about this kind of photography, leading me to explore it further. To me, it’s the purest way to tell a story — no staging, no pretenses, just life happening naturally.
Growing up in Lagos, the vibrant energy of the streets deeply influenced me, and I wanted to capture that same lively spirit with my camera. What keeps me passionate about it is the element of surprise; every walk unveils something new, a reminder of the resilience and beauty of everyday people.
How would you describe your style, and what cultural influences shaped it?
My style is cinematic yet grounded. I aim to create images that feel immersive, like the viewer is part of the frame. Lagos, with its chaos and rhythm, profoundly influences my work. I’m also inspired by photographers like Alex Webb for his mastery of layering, Gordon Parks for his ability to merge art with social commentary, and Malick Sidibé for the way he captured African life with authenticity and joy.
Do you see yourself more as a documentarian of reality or a storyteller who interprets the street?
Both actually. The street gives me reality, but my role is to frame it in a way that tells a deeper story. I don’t manipulate what’s there, but my perspective — where I stand, what I choose to include — makes me a storyteller as much as a documentarian.
Do you plan your walks with specific themes in mind, or do you let the streets guide you?
When I started, I wasn’t theme-oriented, but along the way, I realized that if I wanted to build something substantial, I needed to work on personal projects. That’s how Made in Lagos came about. Still, I sometimes let the streets guide me and stay open to surprises.
How do you balance being present in the moment with anticipating the shot you want?
Great question. I see the process as a dance; I immerse myself in the crowd, almost like I am part of it, but always as an observer. During my self-learning process, I discovered two types of photographers on the street: the fisherman and the hunter. As a fisherman, I wait patiently, casting my line until life reveals itself. As a hunter, I move with precision, ready to strike the second a gesture, expression, or scene appears. Street photography requires both, and my task is to know when to become each one.
Have you ever formed lasting relationships with the people you’ve photographed?
Not really, I plan to do this with my current project, Cabinet of Curiosity.
In your work, what cultural details do you try to preserve that others might overlook?
Lagos is a beautiful city, and I often wish I had started photography earlier — during the time of Ama Kip Kip and My Money Grows Like Grass. Still, it’s never too late. In my projects, I focus on small but telling details — slogans painted on buses, graffiti, and dashboards of danfo buses. Over time, the street reveals even more layers.
Do you see street photography as art, journalism, or both?
Both. It’s art in how I compose and interpret, but it’s also journalism because it captures real life, unfiltered. The strength of street photography is that it sits in between — poetic truth.
How has the rise of smartphones and social media impacted the authenticity of street photography?
It has made people more aware of cameras. But one thing remains true: it has never been about the tool, but the handler. I’ve seen wonders done with a smartphone. At the same time, social media has democratised photography — anyone can share their perspective. For me, the challenge is to go deeper, to see beyond what’s staged or surface-level, and to trust my process.
In the age of AI and staged images, what role do you think raw, candid street work still plays?
One word. Authenticity.
Which of your photographs feels most culturally significant, and why?
Not a single photograph, but my current project, Cabinet of Curiosity. It’s not just a photo series but a living archive of Lagos. It preserves and amplifies a disappearing layer of street culture, showing how bus drivers transform dashboards into shrines of faith, memory, and identity — reflecting the city’s resilience and creative survival.
How do you want people to feel when they look at your images?
I want them to feel the warmth, the energy, and most importantly, to feel present — like they’re part of the photograph. Beyond that, I want them to connect with the humanity in the frame.
What legacy do you hope your work will leave in documenting the streets?
Very important question. I hope my work becomes a visual archive of our time — a way for future generations to understand what it felt like to walk the streets of Lagos and beyond. More than images, I want my legacy to be about preserving memory and showing the richness of African life with honesty and dignity.
Street photography, in Godiva’s hands, is not just about pictures — it’s about memory, truth, and cultural preservation. His work reminds us that the streets, often overlooked in their ordinariness, hold the essence of who we are and where we come from. As projects like Made in Lagos and Cabinet of Curiosity unfold, Godiva is not only documenting moments but archiving the very soul of a city in motion. For him, every frame is a reminder that Lagos is alive, and through his lens, so too is its story.
