Lagos: the survival of the determined

UNESCO Courier, June, 1999 by Amy Otchet

The informal sector is where a man pushes a cart from one home to the next, making $65 per month for hauling away garbage and then earning another $55 by salvaging the reusable junk. A tanker pulls up to fill a 100-gallon water tank for $6 to the owner who then sells a bucketful for five cents. It's the barter that takes place when a baker has too many loaves left over at the end of the day or the flurry of motorcycles gathered at the street corner where buses don't stop. And it's at the heart of a basic code ruling Lagos, from the thriving fruit market to the quiet fishing community: Do It Yourself.

A maze of planks stretch into the lagoon of Ebute Metta, where about 400 wooden shacks sit on stilts over the water, removed from the surrounding soot and speed of Lagos. Naked kids swing from the planks, while women bathe and prepare the evening meal. "We built this place on our own," says Chief Johnson Aibe, by trading fish for wood from mills nearby to build homes and canoes. There are no official deeds or titles in this community. A council of elders decides who can build a new home at what price. Harsh experience has taught these people that the less interface with officialdom, the better. They used to live on the other side of the lagoon but in 1985 the government decided to demolish their homes to build housing estates that these people couldn't afford. Many lost everything, never receiving a naira in compensation. Their options lay in rebuilding, by their own means, on their own terms.

In some ways, Ebute Metta reflects a lost Lagos of the 1950s and 60s, when people flocking from the countryside basically built small communities within the city along ethnic and geographic lines. Today's cosmopolitan Lagos has moved past this tradition. "Eko gbole o gbole," an expression in Yoruba, one of the country's 250 local languages, has a double meaning: "Lagos is a melting pot" or "Anything goes in Lagos." The bonds of the extended family still weave this city together. Spare rooms, for example, are virtually non-existent as there is always a brother or a cousin needing a place to stay. Church groups also play a key role in celebrations and tragedies, providing a safety net of support for their members. At the same time, Lagos is like any other major city, where personal contacts are the key to finding a decent apartment or a new job. Yet in this city, connections are also essential for finding basic services like electricity, security and water. For example, power outages lasting eight hours are a routine part of the day. Only the rich can afford a generator, but the crafty will work together to lay cables and pirate electricity from a government building nearby.

Tapping into water pipes

Break-ins are a major concern for rich and poor communities alike. So each household in the neighbourhood will chip in about $25 a month to hire local patrols which go so far as to close local roads late at night.

"Do not vandalize!" reads a public announcement painted on a water main lining a highway. "Stop the thieves who deprive you of water." But in a city where only an estimated 30 per cent of families have running water, tapping into a pipe is not a crime but a chance for home improvement.