Chinwe Agbeze, BDSUNDAY investigative reporter, recently took up accommodation in a stilt house in Makoko waterfront community on Lagos mainland where majority of the residents live in clusters on water. She recounts her experience in this report.
I see them every time I pass on the Third Mainland Bridge – people on canoes and shanty houses on water. I heard they live on water but I cannot help but wonder what life in such a place would be like.
To satisfy my curiosity, I decided to pay Makoko community a visit and probably dwell among the people to get a feel. My inquiries showed that the community is less than 20 minutes’ drive from the popular Tejuosho market, just off Murtala Muhammed Way in Lagos.
On Monday, May 29, 2017, I got to Tejuosho market around 11.17am because of the heavy showers that kept most people indoors since it was a holiday. Just at the bus-stop, I heard a tricyclist shouting, “Makoko! Makoko going!” The tricycle was empty but I entered and sat down when I did not sight another.
After waiting for 15 minutes, I saw the tricyclist hauling two baskets with a middle-aged woman trailing behind him. He dropped the baskets inside a tiny space at the back of the tricycle that serves as a boot and the woman settled beside me. Both the woman and the baskets reeked of smoked fish.
I greeted the woman warmly, hoping to start a conversation that might give me more useful information about the community I knew little or nothing about, but language was a huge barrier. Maybe the next passenger would be helpful, I thought. But alas, I was wrong.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted the next passenger who also smelled of smoked fish like the first passenger, but she responded in Yoruba language.
The last passenger who looked like a teenager had a baby strapped to her back. Immediately she settled on the seat, the driver drove off and in no distant time, I saw a big signboard: “Welcome to Makoko community. Mak town. One love, one mind.”
Searching for a room on water
I alighted as soon as I sighted motorcyclists and tricyclists waiting for passengers. I asked for a real estate agent and was taken to the office of one. I was told he was the only one in the community and could give me an apartment in any location of my choice as far as Makoko was concerned.
The motorcyclist dropped me by the roadside and pointed at a small shop. In front of the shop was a board that had names of some locations where the property agent has properties to let. They were written neatly in chalk, including his phone number.
I went inside the shop to meet a man who should be in his fifties. He was on the phone but ended the call when he saw me.
“I need a room in Makoko. I was told you could get me one in my choice area,” I said after exchanging greetings.
“A good room is N180,000. That’s two years rent including agent and agreement fees,” he said.
“I need one on the water.”
I could see the surprise on his face. He looked at me for a while and concluded my choice location had to do with financial constraint.
“If you cannot afford that one, I can get you a cheaper one,” he said.
“On water?” I asked.
“No, on land. I don’t rent houses on water,” he said. I could see he was getting a little bit impatient.
“I need one on water. Do you know an agent who can help me get one?” I insisted.
He said he didn’t and I left his office disappointed.
I sought for direction on how I could get to the bank of Makoko River. Perhaps I could find someone there who wants to let a room or who knows someone who wants to, I thought to myself.
At the bank of the river, I saw few canoes with children about the ages of 10 to 16 inside chatting away their time. I checked my wristwatch and the time was 12:14pm. I asked them how I could get a place to stay but it was obvious they could not understand a word of what I had said because they just stared at me and said nothing.
Gradually, women carrying baskets arrived and the children jumped to their feet. It appeared they had been waiting for the women all along. The women boarded the canoe and they paddled away. They all spoke in strange tongues. I could pick the Yoruba language but couldn’t make sense of the other tongues. I tried making further inquiries as some men came by, but again, the language barrier! I kept trying until luck smiled on me.
A young man who saw how hard I tried to converse with anyone that cared to listen volunteered to be my interim interpreter. I inquired about vacant rooms, he repeated my inquiry in Yoruba to a man by the riverside and returned a verdict: the man does not know if there is any but will try and find out.
“Most of these people don’t speak English. It’s difficult to find someone who can speak English. So, you have to communicate with them in Yoruba language,” he told me.
“Is that so?” I asked. “I don’t speak Yoruba.”
He said he would have loved to assist me further but he was only a passer-by.
“This area is dominated by people from Badagry and Benin Republic. Most of them cannot speak English but if you wait a little longer, you might find someone who could speak a little of English,” he assured me as he entered a canoe that just arrived. I watched as the canoe ferried away. Hard luck!
So, I hung around the seashore until the cloud began to show signs of rain again. It was getting dark too, so I decided to call it a day. I took a motorcycle out of the community and from there found my way home.
Throughout that night, I tried to think of a solution to the situation on ground. If I succeeded in getting accommodation on water, how would I communicate with the people? Most of them could not speak even Pidgin English. With these thoughts on my mind, I drifted off to sleep.
Breaking through
Before 9am the following day, I was at Makoko gate again making inquiries, but this time, on how to get to the palace of the traditional ruler. The first two motorcyclists said they didn’t know the palace.
“Na Yoruba go sabi the palace. Me no sabi,” one of them said.
But another motorcyclist by the corner who had been eavesdropping beckoned on me to come closer and I did.
“Where you dey go?” he said.
“Oba’s palace,” I replied.
“Which of them?” he asked again. “We have two Obas.”
“The one that is in charge of those living on water,” I replied.
“That would be Oba Erejuwa,” he said and I boarded his motorcycle.
“Why is it so difficult to find someone who lives on the Makoko water who could speak English or at least Pidgin English?” I asked immediately he rode off.
“It’s not difficult. My landlord lives on water and he speaks English fluently. He is a medical doctor,” he said as we drove past Makoko Police Station and I got a glimpse of the river again.
“Really? Your landlord? Do you live on water too?”
“No, I live on land,” he responded.
“Please can you take me to your landlord?”
“You don’t want to go to Oba’s palace again?”
“I would love to see your landlord first and maybe, the Oba later,” I said.
“What for?” he asked.
“I’m just a tourist. I have heard so much about this community and I have come to see for myself.”
“Okay, let me call him and know where he is first,” he said as he stopped his motorcycle by the roadside.
He put a call through to his landlord, then told me the man had gone to see someone but would be back in less than an hour. We then headed to the Oba’s palace. He dropped me in front of the palace and told me his name is Pastor Simeon. We exchanged contacts and he zoomed off.
A young lady led me inside the Oba’s palace and I met him discussing with his wife. I greeted them both and stated my mission. I told them that I was doing a school project on Makoko community and needed a tour around the community.
“Why Makoko?” the Oba asked.
“I like the community, it interests me,” I replied.
“You said you need someone to take you round?” he asked. I nodded.
He told his wife to go and fetch his son. When the son emerged, the Oba told him what I had come to do and the young man asked when I would want the tour.
“Today would be fine,” I said.
“Today? Why are you in a hurry?” the Oba asked, looking at me in a suspicious manner.
“You have to come back. I cannot take you round town today. How about on Thursday?” the son asked. I said nothing.
The Oba, who had fixed his gaze on me from the moment I said “today”, asked, “What exactly do you want to know about the community? Where do you want to go?”
As I was about to respond to his question, a man stepped in wearing a pair of dirtied white shorts and a shirt to match. He looked every inch like the people I saw by the riverside the previous day.
“Yes? What do you want?” the Oba asked him.
“I’m a resident in this community. One of my tenants told me that someone is looking for me here,” he answered calmly.
“That’s me,” I said and stood up abruptly.
When you see a bus that would take you to where you want to go, do you wait for it to stop, especially when you have waited for a while? No, you will jump on it. That was the feeling when I got to know who the man was.
Looking at the Oba’s son, I said, “I will come back on Thursday for the tour.” I thanked the Oba for his assistance and as I left his palace in the company of the new man, I could feel his eyes on me.
Meeting Dr Ogbonna
Outside the Oba’s palace, my new host and I got acquainted. He told me his name is Godwin Ogbonna and he has been living on the Makoko water since 1992.
“Simeon tells me you are a tourist. Which places have you visited?” he asked as we walked.
“I’ve been to Jos, but that was before the last crisis,” I said and immediately changed the topic. “What is it like living on water?”
“I know the impression most people have about Makoko is negative, but I am telling you that Makoko is more secured than any part of Lagos,” he said with a smile. “You can sleep with your eyes closed. Even in the middle of the night when people are no longer moving on land, you will see people moving on water.”
He looked at my face and, feeling I was not convinced, continued.
“The negative impression people have about Makoko is because of the notorious criminals that used to reside here. Those miscreants had their roots in Makoko. There was a notorious criminal that dribbled the police for 15 years. Anytime he committed a crime somewhere else, he would run from that environment back here. He lived on water and anytime the police came after him, he would flee through the water. He did that for 15 years until he was finally caught in Ogun State where he had gone for an operation. When he was interrogated, they got to know that his root was in Makoko,” he narrated.
“The people in Makoko are responsible people who do responsible businesses out there and come back home. They are industrious and peace-loving people,” he said.
We were walking towards the bank of the river as he spoke. Then, all of a sudden, he asked, “Where do you want to see? I’m a very busy person but I’m free for now.”
“I would love to see your hospital. Is it on water?” I asked and he nodded.
Makoko waterfront
Back at the bank of the river, I heard Dr Ogbonna speak in Yoruba to the people. They all knew him because some called him “doctor” while others called him “Oko Sister” (Sister’s husband).
“Do you speak Yoruba?” he asked.
I shook my head. “That was exactly the problem I had. It appears you are the only one that speaks English around here,” I said as I watched passengers get onboard the canoe.
“You need Yoruba here. Most people speak Yoruba. It’s like the lingua franca here. Most of these people are from Benin Republic. We also have the Ijaw, Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa. Those that speak English here are very few,” he said looking far into the river as if he was expecting someone.
Noticing my curiosity, he explained, “I’m waiting for Albert. He is the one that ferries me around most of the times. He is a cool-headed fellow and paddles the canoe with so much care, unlike most reckless people you would see as we go around.”
He told me that the people paddling the canoe make so much money. The children rent canoes for N200 per day and charge N50 per passenger and N100 when it rains.
“They charge N200 per basket of fish and some women carry up to four baskets of fish to the market on a daily basis. Albert was living on the water but he now lives in Ikorodu with his family. He stays in Makoko and only goes home weekends to visit his family because he makes so much money here ferrying passengers,” he told me.
After waiting for a while and seeing that Albert was nowhere close to the bank of the river, we boarded a canoe paddled by a boy who would not be more than 12 years old.
As we travelled on water, I saw people defecating inside the water and others swimming inside the same water. Assorted wastes – excreta, chunks of perishable food items, polythene bags and plastics, etc – danced on top of the water.
Seeing clearly that the water was contaminated, I tried to ensure it does not touch my body, but Dr Ogbonna told me that was not possible.
“You cannot be inside the canoe and expect water not to splash on you,” he said.
Some canoes were so old that water entered inside it while in motion. A number of canoes paddled by children collided with ours at different times, splashing water on me. I couldn’t tell if they were just mischievous or were still learning the ropes.
Hospital on water
Our canoe stopped beside a shanty house and Dr Ogbonna announced we had got to our destination. The house serves as both his residence and hospital. Inside there were pots, stove, plates and cutleries.
His wife, a midwife whom everyone called “Sister”, was attending to a patient when we came in. There was another patient who was waiting to be attended to. I looked up and saw bags of drips tied to the wood holding the roof.
Adaobi, one of the patients who had come all the way from Palmgrove area of Lagos, complained about time and the doctor had to set a drip for her after he gave her injection. I was curious to find out why she had come this far.
“I was looking for the fruit of the womb,” she told me. “I have been married for four years and have been to so many hospitals but they couldn’t help me. Someone referred me to this place and after a month, I took in.”
Although she has phobia for water and disliked the filthy environment, she said this was the only place she could get what she had been searching for.
Another patient called Iya Sarah was also on the queue. She lives on the water, so she was not as much in a hurry as those that had come from a far distance.
Looking out through the only window in the room, I saw people on canoe selling different items. The women sold food and household items inside their canoe. I watched them paddle their canoe around makeshift houses and those that cared to buy did. They kept moving.
Some sold cooked food, others sold raw food items like noodles. Soft drinks, bottled water, clothes, footwear, biscuits, and even drugs were loaded inside canoes and hawked on water.
“That’s the moving market,” the doctor said when he saw me looking out. “They keep moving on water from morning till night. There is nothing you want to buy that you will not see them sell on water.”
Sister was done attending to the last patient and the doctor introduced us. I asked to know more about their operations and why they decided to pitch their tents on the water.
“Before we came to live in Makoko, we had a hospital in Ikoyi. The people here were sick and some of them were dying, so we decided to assist. Whenever there were emergency cases, we were called to handle them, but in 1992 we decided to come down here so we could be closer to the people,” Sister told me.
“Which cases do your patients present more often?” I asked.
“We specialise on infertility cases. All the patients that you met when you came, with the exception of that young woman, are all fertility cases. Most of our patients with fertility cases live outside Makoko. It’s mostly infertility and hepatitis cases, but for those that live on Makoko water, it’s cholera, malaria and typhoid. We treat malaria every day and typhoid once in two days. When cholera is at its worst, hospitals don’t handle it but we do and very well too,” she said.
“What are your fees like? The residents look poor. Just wondering if they can afford your services?”
“The people have money,” she answered. “We are not even charging them much. Most of them are fish merchants and money is the least of their worries. We do what most big hospitals cannot do and we don’t charge them that much. For delivery, we charge less than N15,000. We have taken delivery of over 3,000 babies since we settled here in 1992.”
“How is the power supply here and what do you use for deliveries, especially when there is no power supply?”
“The power supply is okay and when there is no light, we take delivery using torchlight,” she told me.
“Any causalities? Have you lost any patient?”
Sister said they had not, but they almost lost one two months earlier.
“She was very stubborn. When we tell her to come for antenatal on Monday, she would choose to come a week later, most times at her own convenience. So, I had to refer her to another hospital. I heard both she and the baby died during delivery,” she said.
I asked if they have a laboratory where they carry out tests and what happens to cases they cannot handle, like a patient that needs surgery.
“We send our patients outside if they have to do laboratory tests and they bring back the result. The cases we cannot handle, which is only surgery because we don’t have the equipment for now, we refer our patients to Federal Medical Centre, Apapa or elsewhere,” she said.
I looked at the clouds and it looked as if it was going to rain. I asked them how they coped now, especially with the rain.
“The rain does not disturb us. It’s those that live on land that should worry about the rain,” Sister replied.
“Do you like it here?”
“The place is good. The people are making money. They are happy with their business and they are doing it with joy, so are we,” she answered.
I asked how much it costs to build a house or rent a room on water. Sister said between N35,000 and N50,000 depending on the type of wood.
“If you are going to use white wood, it would be cheaper, but iron wood is expensive because it lasts longer,” she said.
“I want to rent a room on water. Do you know how I can get one?” I asked.
She asked how long I intended to live on the water and I said for one week. She nodded.
I went back home, packed a bag, took a shower and returned to Makoko. I got to the bank of the river around 7.30pm, called the doctor. Few minutes later, he came with Albert who ferried us home.
Living on Makoko waterfront community
My first night in the shanties was a torture. After showing me to my room, the doctor said I could open the window if the room became stuffy.
I got inside and was greeted by the buzzing sound of mosquitoes. They were bigger than usual that you could mistake them for flies. I succeeded in killing a few of them that perched on my skin but I noticed that they kept on increasing in number. Even with the mosquito net?
I opened the window to let in some air but all that greeted my nostrils was the strong odour of urine and excreta. I closed the window immediately. The mosquitoes kept on terrorising me and I was battling with them until I slept off.
I woke up the following morning to see big mosquito bites on my skin and this happened every night. I dreaded nights because they were usually a nightmare for the period I stayed at the shanties.
It was around 8am when I asked for the bathroom that I realised that the bathroom which doubles as a toilet shares same window with my room.
Inside the bathroom, there were two white paint buckets that were covered and two black buckets that had water in them. I saw a toilet brush hanging on a nail. I was instructed to pour the urine or excreta directly inside the water.
When Sister saw the look on my face, she blamed their predicament on those who had chosen to feed out of their pain.
“The Canadian government gave money to build very good toilets and houses for everyone on water but Lagos State government squandered the money. We know it’s not good to pour all our waste products inside the water but we are left with no other choice. This kind of place exists in the United Kingdom; the only difference is that they built it well. It’s just that our government cares less about its citizens,” she explained.
Sister said they had been getting lots of assistance from NGOs in the form of mosquito nets, but the money to develop their communities ended up in the wrong hands.
I hurriedly took a shower and rushed out of the bathroom. I came out to see children playing and when I asked why they were not in school since education was said to be free, they said the teachers demand they pay N50 on a daily basis. No money meant no school, so the parents kept their children at home on the days they didn’t have N50 to give to them.
Whanyinna Makoko Waterfront School
That same day, I visited this school which I learnt is the only one on the waterfront after the floating school collapsed last year. I was taken upstairs to see the head teacher, Afolabi Abiodun, who confirmed that the school was tuition-free. When I asked why they asked the children to pay N50 daily, he said such demands were made only when there was no chalk or markers for the teachers to write with.
Afolabi, a secondary school certificate holder who said he is saving money for his university education, has been teaching in this school for five years because he had no better offer. From my checks, the entire school had 11 teachers and 278 pupils as at last term.
Afolabi said the heavy rains and language barrier were their major challenges.
“Water comes inside the class anytime it rains heavily and we are in the rainy season now. This has been disrupting our classes. Most of our junior class teachers are having a difficult time because they do not speak the same language with the students,” Afolabi explained.
The artist on water
On my way back from the school, I sighted an artist and crossed over to have a chat with him. His name is Samson. He has been painting officially for the past three years and has mind-blowing paintings to show for it.
His portrait-sized paintings go for N30,000 and the full-sized pictures for N45,000. He delivers within two weeks, he told me.
He told me his customers reside outside Makoko and he displays his works on Adekunle Street, close to the Makoko Police Station.
The high sea
Leaving Samson, I journeyed to the high sea close to the Third Mainland Bridge. I saw cars moving on the bridge and wondered if the people on the bridge also saw me, just as I saw the waterfront community people anytime I passed on the bridge.
I could see a lot of activities at this place. I saw people selling petrol (PMS) to those who sold fish on the high sea to power their generating sets because they preserve the fish in their refrigerators. There were also people buying from them in large quantities to resell in the markets.
Women sold food and drinks on canoe, and any other item people on the high sea might need. There were also people constructing big canoes but on a land-filled area close to the water. This area of the water is so deep and so big that canoes are used.
The Makoko people
Makoko waterfront may be dirty and uninhabitable, but the people are very enterprising. Their women wake up as early as 4am to prepare for the market. When they come back from the market at noon, I see the women with cartons of ‘Kpanla’ fish. The bend the fish into the shape they want before smoking and sell them the following morning at different markets.
The area I stayed is called “Mi-gbe-we”, meaning “I don’t want trouble”. After Migbewe is Okeagwo and Sogungbo, all on the waterfront.
The people get power supply at least for five hours every day. I was told the bill for a month is N500 per house. We fetched water in the borehole; 20 litres of water is sold for N10. There is also the tap water with pipes connected underground.
Different ethnic groups here are known for different trades. The Itsekiri sell kerosene and fuel on the high sea and are also into the sawmill business.
The Igbo deal in stockfish, cooked ukwa (breadfruit), African salad and fried groundnuts. They take their wares to Oshodi, Apapa, Ikoyi and Lekki areas to sell. Some of them own beer parlours and canteens.
The Ilaje, Egun and some Yoruba smoke fish and sell at Oyingbo, Idumota, Oshodi, Songo and Festac areas. Some Ilaje men also work at the sawmill.
The Hausa go around buying disused iron, generating set and panel. Some of them are also tailors.
The Ghanaians sell cooked food including ‘Kenke’, boiled corn prepared like moin-moin and eaten with sauce. Their men sew clothes and are very good at it.
Dr Ogbonna told me there are over 500,000 people living on the water.
Young women with big dreams
I could not interact with the residents because of language barrier, but I met two young women in the slum who could speak English. Fathia and Afisa are nursing the dream of becoming great people in life despite their present condition.
Fathia, a 22-year-old from Cotonou, told me she had been living on Makoko waterfront for 20 years with her parents and siblings. She was in Primary Six in Ayetoro Primary School, Makoko, when she got pregnant last year and got married almost immediately. She gave birth to a baby girl two months ago and said she is going back to school after weaning the baby. She wants to be a medical doctor. For now, she makes little money making beads while her mother braids hair for a living.
Fathia loves the life on water because fighting and killings that happen on land don’t happen on water.
Afisa, 27, is a mother of two boys, Olamide and Caleb. She left Niger Republic more than 15 years ago in the company of her aunt. She was still in primary school when she came down to Nigeria.
Afisa’s parents moved down to Nigeria and now reside at Agbara area of Lagos. She said she met her husband, a barber, when she came to visit her friend who lives on water. She wants to be a pharmacist someday. She does not like living on water.
“If I had my way, I will leave this place right now but who do I leave my children with? Their father might marry another wife who would maltreat them and the children will spend their suffering years heaping curses on me for abandoning them,” she said.
Asejere Fish Smoking Market
On Saturday, I visited the Asejere Fish Smoking Market, popularly called Better Life Market because things are very cheap here. I was told so many buyers who live outside the community flood the market every day.
“The price of food items in this market is cheaper than at Oyingbo market. As early as 6am, you will see so many cars at the gate belonging to people who had come to shop at the market,” Sister had told me a day before.
The market was filled to capacity when I visited. I noticed that most of the buyers were interested in the seafood. The fish, crabs, snails, shrimps and lobsters were so big and inviting. The prices were also pocket-friendly.
There were also very fresh vegetables, fruits and other food items which may be about the same price with those in other markets in Lagos.
Everything buyable was seen in this market but I noticed most buyers were interested in the seafood, especially those who were not residents of Makoko community.
Challenges living on water
Apart from having to cope with mosquitoes day and night, feeding was another problem. There was no place I could buy a good meal.
I saw those who sold food in canoes scoop water from their canoes. Sometimes their goods fell inside the dirty water and they picked them up. Packaged raw meals were better, so my daily meal consisted of biscuits, bottled water and soft drinks.
The days it rained, which was almost every day, we had to contend with leaking roof which made the room where I stayed even more irritating.
When on water and it rains, there is no hiding place. Having contaminated water splashed on me by other canoe paddlers whenever our canoes collided with theirs gave me shivers. A place to defecate would have been a problem but since I ate little, this wasn’t much of a challenge.
Church on water
On Sunday, it was raining heavily but that was not enough to prevent the people from going to church. Even when it rained, you would see the people on canoes going about their normal business.
I saw Assemblies of God Church, Celestial Church of God and Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries (MFM) – all on water. I boarded a canoe in the rain like others and it took me almost 30 minutes to get to MFM because passengers took their time to alight from the canoe when they got to their destination and we had to wait for them.
There were ushers in front of the church to receive members and help them out of the canoe if they needed assistance.
As the worshippers danced and jumped, I noticed that the makeshift building was vibrating seriously. I looked down and could see the water.
After church service, I took a canoe home, packed my luggage and waited for the rain to subside. The people bade me farewell and told me to visit again.
Although the Makoko environment is polluted, the huge market for seafood will always bring people to this waterfront community.
Chinwe Agbeze
