A Review of House Of Ijaya Comic Exhibition
On the 14th of December 2025, a quiet but significant gathering took place in Ikoyi, Lagos—one that felt less like a conventional pop up, exhibition and more like a statement. Creators, artists, writers, and comic enthusiasts came together for the Ijaya exhibition, an event that celebrated creativity, conviction, and the boldness required to tell stories on one’s own terms.
From the moment attendees stepped into the space, it was clear that this was not just about displaying artwork on walls or selling merch. The exhibition carried intention. It asked questions about the state of African storytelling through animation, while confidently asserting that African creators do not need permission to imagine boldly.
At the centre of it all are Okiki Laoye and Deji ‘Jaye, the creators of Ijaya, who both speak of the project the way one speaks of something living—because, in many ways, it is. Ijaya is not a concept hastily created or designed to chase trends. It is an idea nurtured over years, refined patiently, and protected fiercely. Watching these two discuss the project made it clear that this exhibition was not a finish line, but a milestone—an unveiling of the potential of a comic.
The comic itself introduces itself as an African Epic Reborn, a mythic universe where the boundaries between heaven, earth, and the underworld blur. gods, spirits, and humans coexist in uneasy balance, each wrestling with fate, power, and moral consequence. Good and evil are not presented as absolutes, but as forces in constant tension. This layered world-building draws deeply from African cosmology while remaining accessible to a global audience—a reminder that local stories, when told honestly, are never truly small.
Visually, the exhibition was striking. Original panels, concept art, and character designs revealed the depth of thought behind Ijaya. Each piece carried its own weight, inviting viewers to linger, to ask questions, and to imagine the larger narrative beyond the frames. There was a sense of restraint in the presentation—no excess, no spectacle for spectacle’s sake. Instead, the focus remained on craft, detail, and storytelling.
What made the exhibition particularly resonant was its broader implication. In creative spaces, African stories are often framed as emerging, niche, or incomplete. Ijaya pushes back against that framing. It does not ask whether African stories are “enough.” It assumes they are—and moves forward from that certainty. The exhibition felt like a refusal to explain or justify itself, which in itself was powerful.
Conversations sparked naturally throughout the event. Attendees discussed the state of African comics, the challenges of independent publishing, and the importance of building ecosystems that allow original intellectual property to thrive. Ijaya became both a case study and a symbol—proof that African creators can build expansive worlds without dilution or compromise.
In the end, the Ijaya exhibition succeeded because it trusted its audience. It did not over-explain or over-sell. It simply presented the work and allowed it to speak. And what it said was clear: African stories are not lacking. What has been lacking are platforms willing to take them seriously. You know? Putting money where the mouth is.
In a time when African creatives are often told there are “not enough stories,” Ijaya stands as a quiet but powerful rebuttal. We have always had stories. What we need is the courage to tell them—and the space to let them grow.
Read Ijaya
