In Lagos, a Homegrown Ballet Academy Leaps Into the Spotlight

Anthony Mmesoma Madu, left, with fellow students from the Leap of Dance Academy, in Ajangbadi, Ojo.Stephen Tayo for The New York Times
Anthony Mmesoma Madu, left, with fellow students from the Leap of Dance Academy, in Ajangbadi, Ojo.Stephen Tayo for The New York Times
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In Lagos, a Homegrown Ballet Academy Leaps Into the Spotlight

Anthony Mmesoma Madu, left, with fellow students from the Leap of Dance Academy, in Ajangbadi, Ojo.Stephen Tayo for The New York Times
Anthony Mmesoma Madu, left, with fellow students from the Leap of Dance Academy, in Ajangbadi, Ojo.Stephen Tayo for The New York Times

In June, a minute-long video featuring a young ballet student dancing in the rain began circulating on the internet. As the rain falls, forming puddles between the uneven slabs of concrete on which he dances, Anthony Mmesoma Madu, 11, turns pirouette after pirouette.

Though the conditions for such dancing are all wrong — dangerous, even — he twirls on, flying barefoot into an arabesque and landing it. He indulges the camera with a smile, but only for a moment, before assuming a look of fierce determination, lifting his eyes toward the sky, his lithe arms and graceful fingers following closely along.

The wide reach of the video — it has been seen more than 20 million times on social media platforms — has turned a spotlight on the unlikely story of a ballet school in a poor suburb of Lagos, Nigeria: the Leap of Dance Academy.

Founded in 2017, the academy has transformed the lives of its students, affording them a place to dance and to dream. And in the last few months, it has inspired influential people in ballet to lend a hand. Seemingly overnight, a world of opportunity has opened up: for the students, scholarships and invitations to attend prestigious schools and companies overseas; and for the school, sizable donations, which will allow for building a proper space, outfitted with a real dance floor.

For now, the Leap of Dance Academy is housed at the home of its founder, Daniel Owoseni Ajala, in Ajangbadi, Ojo, on the western outskirts of Lagos. Every day after school, Mr. Ajala’s 12 students walk to his apartment, where he pushes aside his furniture and spreads a thin vinyl sheet over the concrete floor for class, throwing open the doors and windows to let in the light.

AAgainst swaths of candy-colored chiffon — intended to make the humble setting a little more festive — students move through their lessons in small groups, leaning against a short, stationary ballet barre and craning their necks to watch Mr. Ajala, or an overseas instructor on Zoom, give corrections.

Much of this is filmed and posted to the school’s Instagram feed, where the students’ joy is evident in each video, their movements precise and praiseworthy — as the comments, hearts and trembling star emojis left by their fans attest.

In the early days of Leap of Dance, many Ajangbadi families were suspicious of ballet. The form’s strict, regimented movements were very different from the more fluid African dances they knew well — as were the skimpy costumes and painful-looking shoes, which, they soon learned, could leave feet cracked, calloused and bruised.

“In the beginning, people kept saying, ‘What are they doing?!’” Mr. Ajala said. “I had to convince them that ballet wasn’t a bad or indecent dance, but actually something that requires a lot of discipline that would have positive effects on the lives of their children outside the classroom. I always say, it’s not only about the dance itself — it’s about the value of dance education.”

When Mr. Ajala, 29, founded Leap of Dance three years ago, he was a self-taught recreational dancer with a dream: to open a ballet school for students who were serious about learning the art form and possibly pursuing it professionally one day. “I wanted, more than anything, to give that opportunity to those younger than myself so they wouldn’t miss their chance like I did,” he said, in a recent Zoom call. “It was too bad that I was as old as I was when I realized I wanted to dance.”

As a child, Mr. Ajala became obsessed with ballet after watching “Save the Last Dance,” the 2001 movie about a lapsed ballet dancer (Julia Stiles) who moves to the South Side of Chicago after her mother dies; she falls in love with a classmate (Sean Patrick Thomas) who shares her passion for dance and helps nurse her dormant dream of becoming a ballerina back to life.

Though he found the love story formulaic and glib, Mr. Ajala said he was captivated by the movement he saw onscreen and, perhaps even more, by the discipline and sacrifice that was evidently required to master it. Ballet appealed to him for another reason, too: It wasn’t widely taught or practiced in Nigeria. “I wanted to be different,” he said. “I loved that ballet is not common here. When you talk about dance in Nigeria, it’s like hitting one-way traffic: Everybody does the same thing, and they all end up in the same place.”

He taught himself what he could by watching lessons and professional companies on YouTube; he also signed up for a few crash courses in ballet at a local dance center. When it came time for college, he studied business administration at Lagos State University at the request of his parents, intending to pursue dance on the side. But after taking his final exams, he decided his calling lay elsewhere: in dance. “I had to explain to my friends and family that sometimes white-collar jobs are not the picture they paint themselves to be,” he said. “They lack heart.”

And so the Leap of Dance Academy was born, its name a nod to the leap of faith Mr. Ajala took in leaving more secure job prospects behind. Turning again to online platforms, he joined an international dance teacher network on Facebook. He posted a note explaining that he was starting a ballet school in Nigeria that would provide free instruction and asked if anyone had used or unwanted dance kits they could send him, since many families in Ajangbadi wouldn’t be able to afford costumes. Soon, he was put in touch with someone from Traveling Tutus, a nonprofit organization in Florida that donates gently used dance wear to students around the world.

The New York Times



Chinese Slimmers Trim Down at Weight-Loss Camps

Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP
Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP
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Chinese Slimmers Trim Down at Weight-Loss Camps

Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP
Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP

Yang Chi'ao takes her place next to gym equipment and waits to be called by an instructor at a weight-loss camp in China, where over half of adults are overweight.
Boasting strict daily exercise regimens, mandatory trips to the scale and rigid surveillance to guard against snacking, the facilities have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis, said AFP.
They have also sparked controversy -- last year an influencer died while attending a facility in northern China as part of efforts to shed more than 100 kilograms, local media said.
Yang, 23, quit her teaching job earlier this year and signed up for a weight-loss camp on the outskirts of southwestern megacity Chengdu, and since then has followed a rigorous regime of diet and exercise.
She was one of around 60 slimmers who turned out early to train, a large poster looming overhead extolling their goal: "Become thin! Become beautiful! Become refined!"
Among the activities at the Chengdu camp are long brisk walks -- with instructors keeping an eye on participants tempted to stop for snacks at roadside carts.
"There will definitely be people who secretly want to buy food," Yang told AFP, walking with a steady stride.
"I've had the idea but never succeeded because the coaches keep following me."
Yang said she had lost nearly 30 kilograms (66 pounds) since arriving in July at 114 kg.
And while some fellow participants struggled with the 10-kilometer hike, she said her "stamina has probably improved".
"I might have felt very tired a month or two earlier," she said.
Yang's parents pay around 3000 yuan ($421) a month for her stay at the camp, where she shares a room with three others.
She lives nearby but says that participants are not allowed to leave from Monday to Saturday -- unless under "special circumstances".
"No one sneaks out because there is surveillance everywhere, and if you get caught, you'll be punished," she said, with disciplinary measures including running for five kilometers or doing burpees.
Obesity challenge
The country has ranked obesity the sixth leading risk factor for death and disability and ramped up efforts to tackle the issue.
Beijing's National Health Commission has said that "the prevalence of overweight and obese people in China has continued to rise".
That has sparked a fitness craze -- exemplified by "YOLO", a film about an overweight woman who takes up boxing to regain her self-esteem, that topped China's box office during Lunar New Year this year.
Jia Ling, who directed the film and played the leading role, reportedly lost over 50 kilograms during filming, with her physical transformation going viral.
This upward trend may be linked to increased disposable income and higher spending on food, often high in calories and rich in oil, said Charles Poon, medical director at Raffles Hospital Beijing.
Additionally, many people are facing more demanding work environments.
"Jobs are getting more complicated... and so a lot of stress is involved," said Poon, adding that this could lead to hormonal imbalance and contribute to obesity.
In June, China launched a three-year campaign to address obesity, recommending actions such as reducing foods high in salt, sugar and fat in school canteens and encouraging employers to support staff fitness.
The country will also ensure that primary and middle school students engage in at least two hours of physical activities a day.
For camps like the one in Chengdu, experts warn of the risks.
Pan Wang, an associate professor in Chinese and Asian studies at the University of New South Wales in Australia, said the government should monitor and restrict workouts and diets which could be potentially dangerous.
"The beauty industry is booming... (and) the concept of 'thinness' has translated into a kind of social capital," Wang said.
"Businesses like weight-loss camps can profit from it."
'It takes time'
At another camp activity, music blared from speakers as participants threw punches and jabbed in a boxing routine, their faces dripping with sweat.
Trainer Chen Hang shouted instructions from a stage while demonstrating the moves.
"The reason they came to a weight loss training camp is because they can't control their diet outside... and they can't get themselves moving," Chen told AFP after the workout.
The number of people coming to the facility was "continuously increasing", he added.
Yang posts daily videos on Chinese social media apps Douyin and Xiaohongshu -- China's equivalent of TikTok and Instagram -- which she said helps keep her accountable.
"If I don't get up every day to shoot, I will have no content to post, and everyone will know I'm slacking off," said Yang, who plans to stay in the camp until at least the end of March next year.
One of her roommates, Zhao Yuyang, discovered her videos online and was inspired to join the camp.
The 30-year-old has lost more than five kilograms in the past month, but is in no rush to shed more weight.
"You can't become a fat man in one bite, so losing weight has to be done slowly," Zhao told AFP during an evening gym session.
"It takes time."