“What on earth possessed me, you ask? Well, it all started with a WhatsApp message from my editor.”

The Setup: A Love Story in the Market

There’s a saying in my culture: “A good story never stays in one place.” Well, in my case, it seemed like a good (read: ridiculous) story would take me to a dusty, overcrowded market in Lagos, armed with a notebook, a borrowed gele (traditional Nigerian head wrap), and the thundering optimism that I could find answers about love and modern relationships in the midst of pepper sellers and second-hand shoe stalls.

The assignment? Explore how marketplaces—traditional hubs of interaction—still spark unexpected connections in a world of Bumble and Instagram DMs. The pitch sounded poetic when I typed it in. But in reality, mingling with strangers while dodging traders advertising tomatoes by the basketful isn’t exactly Netflix rom-com material. What I didn’t anticipate was just how awkward—and enlightening—the quest for love stories in Balogun Market would get.

What did this excursion teach me about both love and this thing called "dedication to the craft"? Pull up a chair, sip on some zobo, and let me take you through the weirdest thing I’ve ever done for a story.

How I Became Cupid at a Market Stall

First, let me paint the scene: Balogun Market is chaos personified. Think of New York’s Times Square but replace tourists with traders haggling ferociously, street hawkers balancing trays of gala sausage rolls on their heads, and the scent of fresh suya floating through the air. Romance? Not exactly the vibe you’d imagine.

Determined to sniff out signs of old-fashioned attraction in modern Lagos, I convinced my friend Risi to tag along for moral support and bargain-hunting expertise. Risi had a data-gathering strategy she swore by—buy small items to open up conversations. (In theory, it was foolproof. In reality, it’s how I ended up lugging a 10-yard ankara bundle I have yet to sew into anything.)

While Risi gently coaxed stories out of vendors about meet-cutes over cassava flour (there were surprisingly a few!), I, in my infinite wisdom, decided to try matchmaking some of the stall owners. Because why observe romance when I could blatantly meddle in it, right?

Cue one Okada mechanic, who rolled up to buy dried crayfish from trader Aisha. For reasons that could only be described as "Harriet’s audacity unleashed," I became convinced the two were destined for more than business transactions. Aisha laughed at his joke about crayfish being “the secret to long life probably,” her cheeks shyly dimpled in a way that was truly beguiling.

“Do you two know each other?” I asked. (Spoiler: They did not.) Emboldened by their blushing silence, I joked, “Maybe this could be the start of something. She provides the food, and you fix the Okadas. Balanced partnership, no?”

Dear reader, if you think they appreciated my interference, let us simply say I was promptly reminded of why meddling with strangers’ lives is frowned upon. Aisha waved her hand in mock chastisement—“Aunty, abeg call your friend”—and Okada Mechanic fled with his dignity intact (and his crayfish well-bagged).

Was I embarrassed? Absolutely. Did it stop me? Of course not. Instead of setting people up, I turned to gathering lessons people had learned about love from working the market.

Love’s Subtle Lessons From the Stalls

  1. The Art of Patience Is Key.
    "Look for customers who won’t waste my time,” one fabric seller told me, “but you can't rush everybody either. The same thing goes for love. Sometimes the true customers, the true lovers, will look like they’re just browsing first.” Touché. I suspect he was hawking this wisdom to prepare me for my fabric negotiation (spoiler: he still won), but it stuck with me. Relationships, like markets, can’t always be rushed—sometimes you hang back and sift carefully before committing.

  2. Know Your Value—Even if You’re Selling Plantains.
    One of my favorite exchanges came from a woman selling plantains who turned down a price by a man trying to charm her instead of paying up. “I like money,” she told him bluntly before turning to me to laugh. “A smile is good but it won’t buy me a new basket.” Her unapologetic standard was refreshing—a reminder that self-worth matters, even if her tone was all humor. Relationships require reciprocity: she’ll soften for someone willing to meet her where it counts.

  3. Laughter Really Is a Love Language.
    Market traders, despite their long, grueling hours, can turn one-sided haggles into full-blown comedy sketches with customers. It's their bread and butter—joy sells better than anything. Their quippy banter reminded me that even when times are tough, shared humor lightens the load, an underrated quality with broader applications beyond markets. I mean, who hasn’t laughed their way through a tough fight with their partner to stop it escalating?

That (Awkward) Realization About Myself

By the end of the day, I was sweaty, spent, and still a little red from my matchmaking debacle. Unsurprisingly, love stories in Lagos markets aren’t served intimately on a plate like a bowl of Nigerian jollof rice. What I found, instead, were bits and pieces—a trader flirting here, a couple reminiscing after years of selling side by side, and life lessons tucked into one-liners about business.

What hit me as I rode home in a danfo, adjusting my gele that now smelled faintly of fish, was this: perhaps my assignment wasn’t just about clothes vendors who exchanged smiles across banana crates. It was equally about observing how I interacted with my own sense of curiosity—and discomfort—while chasing stories. Balogun Market didn’t just teach me about fleeting connections or enduring partnerships; it reminded me that it’s okay to fail a little—and sweat a lot—on the journey to better understanding. That day taught me to laugh at myself often (crucial for my line of work)—a skill that, honestly, has spilled into every other part of my life and (thankfully) my relationship too.

Love Is in the Small Gestures

So, what’s the takeaway here? Love—and life—aren’t only about dramatic declarations and moonlit balcony scenes (although, if you’re in a Nollywood film, those help). Sometimes, it’s in the simple things: the shared laugh over botched flirtation, the patience of letting someone truly see you, or the confidence in knowing your worth without apology.

Oh, and market matchmaking? Strictly optional. But storytelling in unexpected places? Highly recommended—just maybe leave the crayfish buyers alone next time.