Oyofe: A Village Made of Rhythm and Love

I Have Always Loved to Dance.

As a child, dance for me was pure joy, the movements were spontaneous and full of life. I didn’t think too much about it back then; I just knew that dancing made me feel free. Somewhere along the way, though, life got heavier. Responsibilities piled up, relationships shifted, and the version of myself that danced without inhibition got quieter until she disappeared almost completely.

Becoming a mother changed me in meaningful ways. It showed me what unconditional love really looks like but it also challenged me to the core. I was navigating early motherhood while trapped in a toxic and emotionally abusive relationship with my then husband, and I felt like I was losing myself... slowly, silently, piece by piece.

I think many mothers can relate to this feeling… not just fading into the background while tending to everyone else’s needs, but becoming “Mama,” and suddenly that’s who you are to the world. And while it’s a name full of love, it can feel like your own identity, your dreams, your desires, your old self… gets pushed aside and slowly disappears. There’s a silent grief for those parts of you, not because you stopped caring about them, but because there’s simply no space to hold them. Navigating the new version of you while still trying to stay connected to who you were is one of the hardest things to adjust to and, for me, dance became the bridge between the two.

It was during one of those painfully disorienting moments of my life that I returned to dance; not just as a hobby, but as a lifeline to feel whole again.


Dancing as Medicine

I joined an all-styles dance studio, nervously and with no big expectations; I just needed something that was mine, something that reminded me of who I used to be. That space gave me the chance to explore different styles: Hip Hop, Twerking, Sexy, Dancehall… Each one helped me reconnect with my body in a new way. I was waking up again, piece by piece.

But the real turning point came when I took my first African dance class. I still remember that moment so vividly: the rhythm dropped, the energy in the room shifted, and something inside me changed. There was joy in the air and everyone was smiling, moving, celebrating. It didn’t matter if you didn’t know how to do a step because people were cheering each other on, hyping each other up, reminding each other that the most important thing wasn’t perfection, it was joy.

I wasn’t just dancing, I was having fun. The kind that takes you out of your head and brings you fully into your body and makes you forget that you were ever afraid.

It clicked instantly. I knew I had found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.

Beyond that, I came to realize something deeper: dance helps my mental health in a way nothing else does. These last six years have brought a lot of ups and downs. Life, work, single motherhood… it can all become so overwhelming. Stress weighs heavily on me, especially when work pressure builds. And yet, when I dance, it’s like everything else pauses. It’s the only thing that truly grounds me. Dance is my therapy... it’s how I survive.


The Day the Music Made Me Brave

After a couple of years of dancing at the studio, I wanted more. I knew I didn’t just want to learn steps; I wanted to understand the history, the meaning behind the movement. I wanted to feel the soul of the dance; not just in my body, but in my bones. I knew that if I was going to continue this journey, I needed to learn from someone who embodied the culture, someone who could teach me not just technique, but also context.

That’s how I found Nico, also known as Oulouy, from Côte d’Ivoire, living in Barcelona.

Funny enough, I had followed him on social media for years. For two whole years, I kept telling myself I wanted to go to his classes while looking at his Instagram stories, but something always held me back; mostly fear, insecurity, and that old voice whispering “what if you can’t keep up?”

In the summer of 2020, I went to a Dancehall and African party at the beach and Nico happened to be there. I remember standing next to him for a moment, watching him move to an Afrobeats song. The way his body responded to the rhythm with so much grace and soul that it left me completely mesmerized. I wanted so badly to say something, to tell him how much I admired his movement… but I didn’t because I’ve always been shy.

Fast forward to September of 2020. That’s when I finally told myself: enough. I needed to stop letting fear hold me back. I decided to show up to his class even if I messed up, even if I didn’t know the steps. So I walked into a small studio in Gràcia, not knowing a single person. I was quiet, nervous, almost shrinking into myself. But the moment Nico hit play… everything shifted. The music started, and it was like my body remembered how to breathe and I forgot about fear, about everyone else in the room, and all that was left was rhythm and presence.

From that first class on, I knew I had found something different. Nico introduced me to an entire world of African dance styles from across the continent. He gave me the space to explore, to learn and to grow. Through him, I rediscovered my love for Coupé Décalé and Ndombolo; two styles that now live deeply in my body and heart. He taught me the foundations, the cultural significance, the social nuances… and in doing so, he helped me find a confidence I didn’t even know I was searching for.

Although I had known of Coupé Décalé since I was 17, Nico was the first person who truly taught me how to dance it: with authenticity and purpose. And he didn’t stop there. Without him, I don’t think I would’ve ever dared to go to Abidjan to take private classes with local choreographers and immerse myself at the source. But he made that leap feel possible. He didn’t just teach me how to dance but he gave me the courage to own my place in this journey.


The Birth of Oyofe

Nico isn’t just a dancer or teacher. I believe he’s a visionary, and he’s the face, body, heart and mind behind the amazing Oyofe Dance Camp.

I’ve supported him from the very beginning, and I still remember walking into Oyofe Vol. 1 in December 2021 very nervous, intimidated, and unsure of myself. It was in a warehouse studio in Sant Martí. We were maybe 60 dancers, mostly from Spain, coming together for something we didn’t fully understand yet but already loved.

I was scared… scared I wouldn’t be good enough, scared I’d mess up, scared I didn’t belong. We were about to dance with well-known choreographers and incredibly talented dancers. I still don’t know how to do half the things they teach (and I often laugh at myself along the way), but from the moment I stepped into the room, I felt something shift. There was joy in the air, there was warmth, and above all, there was no ego. There were just humans sharing space, learning, growing, and vibing together whilst dancing.

That first Oyofe felt like home and it changed everything.


From 60 to Hundreds: A Family in Motion

Since then, Oyofe has grown into the biggest African dance camp in the world.

At the latest Oyofe Vol. 8, hundreds of dancers from all corners of the globe came together in Barcelona, and somehow, it still felt like family. Every edition, in July and December, familiar faces return to the city, Oyofe has become our our reunion and we count down the days all year long, not just to dance, but to reconnect: with the music, with each other, and with ourselves.

There’s something incredibly special about dancing in a room full of people who may not speak the same language, but who all understand the rhythm. You laugh, sweat, stumble, and push yourself… and you leave feeling more alive than ever.

Dancing with Nico, and being part of Oyofe, didn’t just give me technique or confidence, it gave me community. Over time, I formed deep friendships with people I never would have met otherwise. Some of them have become a true family, these are people I trust, love, and feel deeply connected to. That’s the magic of Oyofe… It brings people together through movement, and before you know it, you’ve built something bigger than yourself.


Breaking Barriers: Bringing Dancers from the Continent

One of the things I deeply admire about Nico is how he never forgets his roots and how committed he is to making sure dancers from the African continent are not only seen but celebrated.

He works tirelessly behind the scenes to bring African dancers directly to Oyofe, not just to teach, but to be recognized as cultural bearers, leaders, and artists in their own right. And I know it’s never easy.. the logistics are exhausting, the visa processes are often dehumanizing, complicated, and unfair because some applications are rejected with no explanation. Some dancers wait months for a decision that never comes, flights must be paid upfront without any guarantee of arrival. And yet, Nico keeps pushing… He fundraises, he advocates, he sends letters, he makes calls, he tries again and again all because he believes in what they bring and because he knows that for Oyofe to truly honor African dance, it has to center the people who live it at the source.

In a world that still creates barrier after barrier for African talent to move freely, share their amazing talent, and be treated with respect, Nico’s fight is not just logistical; it’s political, cultural, and deeply personal.

Because representation and opportunity matter.
Because these dancers deserve to shine on international stages too, not just for their talent, but for everything they carry: culture, spirit, legacy and pride.

And when they do arrive, whether from Côte d’Ivoire, Congo, Nigeria, Ghana, South Africa or beyond, they light up the room. You feel the depth in their steps and you hear the stories in their rhythm… You see generations of knowledge passed down through movement. And suddenly, Oyofe becomes not just a dance camp, but a living archive of African excellence.

Thanks to Nico and the team, Oyofe isn’t just about celebrating African dance, it’s about creating real access, building real bridges, and ensuring that the culture is never separated from the people who carry it.


More Than Dance: Oyofe Is Africanness in Motion

What makes Oyofe so different and sacred is that it’s not just about choreography. It’s actually a celebration of Africanness in all its complexity and beauty.

Each dance class is rooted in foundation and history. You don’t just learn the “moves”; you learn why they exist, where they come from, who created them, and what they mean. Oyofe makes that clear because it teaches respect. Every country, every region, every genre is unique and deserves to be honored as such.

And beyond the dance floor, Oyofe becomes a living, breathing village.

Black and African-owned businesses set up their stalls, selling handmade crafts, clothing, jewellery. The air smells of thieb, dibi, alloco. People sip on bissap and ginger juice between classes, while African music spills into the street. It’s sensory, joyful, alive. It’s not a festival or a dance camp, it’s an experience.

And what makes it even more powerful is that it’s not just dancers or students from the African continent who show up, it’s also the diaspora. Over the years, I’ve seen more and more people from the African and Afro-Caribbean diaspora finding their way to Oyofe. These worlds colliding and reconnecting through rhythm and movement. This last edition, I even met a dancer from Grenada and, if you know me well, you know that’s my favourite island on earth. At one point, I saw the Grenadian flag waving in the air and my whole face lit up. It feels like a full-circle moment: Africa and her children, scattered across oceans, reuniting through movement, music, and joy.

But Nico’s work doesn’t stop here. It’s been incredibly moving to witness how he’s also bringing African dance into the world of theater. He’s showing the world that these styles, often dismissed as “just choreography,” are in fact living art forms, full of emotion, story, and cultural depth. On stage, these movements become more than steps because they become narrative, expression, and truth. They belong in theaters and scenarios just as much as in studios or clubs and they deserve to be spotlighted, celebrated, and taken seriously as art.

Watching Nico push those boundaries and elevate African dance into these spaces is a reminder that this isn’t just movement… It’s resistance, and legacy.


Behind the Scenes: Tireless Joy

What most people don’t see is how much work goes on behind the scenes. Things don’t always go perfectly, that’s inevitable with any big event. But Nico and his team carry it all with grace, humor, and relentless heart.

Even when things go wrong, Nico never loses his smile. He meets every challenge with that joie de vivre he has; a joy for life that radiates outwards and becomes contagious. That joy is the reason Oyofe feels so safe and so alive, it is also the reason as to why people keep coming back, edition after edition.

I’ll never forget the time when the electricity went out in the middle of a party. No music, no lights, nothing. For most people, that would’ve meant stopping everything, waiting and definitely stressing. But not Nico.

Within minutes, he turned the moment into magic. One of the musicians grabbed the drums, people circled up, and Nico led us into a spontaneous celebration of rhythm and energy. No playlist, no speakers, just live percussion and pure joy. We danced nonstop for 45 minutes until the power came back, and honestly? This is one of my best Oyofe memories.

It wasn’t just about keeping things going, it was about alchemizing the unexpected into joy. That ability to adapt when facing unexpected chaos, to celebrate in the face of challenge, to turn a problem into a party. It was a moment that showcased that resilient, creative, life-loving spirit that says: no matter what comes your way, you dance and have fun anyway. And that’s what Oyofe is made of.

It’s not just the choreography or the teachers. It’s the energy, the way people are held, the way everyone is encouraged to show up as they are, without fear of judgment. That’s what creates the magic and what makes Oyofe a space that feels like coming home every single time.


We Keep Going

And I know, deep in my heart, this is only the beginning and soon we will be thousands.

What started as a dance camp has grown into a global movement, and it continues to evolve. Oyofe is no longer just a twice-a-year gathering. 

In Barcelona, we keep going with Oyofe Studio, a new chapter where the energy of the festival finds a home all year round. A space where we can continue to train, connect, and grow together. And now, my son Thierry, who’s only 8, has started joining me in this journey. He comes with me to Oyofe, watches, dances, and connects. It makes me emotional to see how something that gave me so much is now becoming part of his story too. To witness him soaking in the music, the community, the culture… It's a full-circle moment I never could have imagined. Oyofe is becoming part of our family’s memories.


Gratitude

I will always be grateful for what Nico and Oyofe have brought into my life. They have given me dance, yes, but they also have given me back myself. They have given me courage, connection, healing, and family. They have reminded me that joy is a form of resistance, that movement is medicine, and that it’s never too late to come home to yourself.

To Nico, to the entire Oyofe team, and to every dancer I’ve met along the way… Thank you, please know that you will forever be a part of me. May this space continue to grow without losing its soul. May it always be a place where people feel safe to be themselves, learn with humility, leave their ego at the door, share openly with one another, dance with joy, and honor and celebrate African cultures with deep respect and pride.

And of course… we’ll see each other soon for our very own Detty December. I am ready to join the Ghana vs Nigeria dance feud and find out which country brings the most heat (because let’s be honest, we all know the best jollof lives in Senegal and Gambia anyway).

“One who eats alone cannot discuss the taste of the food with others.”
Oyofe reminds us of this every day… that the real richness lies in what we share with one another: the music, the stories, the sweat, the joy, the laughter.

And to anyone reading this who feels like they’ve lost a piece of themselves, try moving. Not to be perfect but simply to feel. You might be surprised by what you find: not only your own strength, but a community that welcomes you like family.