In Lagos, amid hope they cope
Overcrowded city offers rare opportunities

by Roy Greene
Reprinted with permission of the Boston Globe

February 25, 2007

LAGOS, Nigeria -- Leave it to the industrious residents of this steamy megacity to find opportunity in a traffic jam.

Amid honking horns, they sweep through the gridlock peddling a mind-boggling array of wares to the stalled drivers and their passengers: cookies, peanuts, phone cards, newspapers, dish towels, small bags of drinking water, sodas, beer, gasoline, shoes, socks, hats, fruit, gum, jewelry -- even computer keyboards.

One recent afternoon, a nimble young man balanced a sewing machine on his head as he weaved down the street, offering a quick fix for any wardrobe emergencies.

With such activity, the roadways in Lagos can resemble street theater. Near the Eko Bridge , which connects Lagos Island to the mainland, a stalled bus carrying "The Dwarf Association of Nigeria -- Comedians" sat beside the highway, one member of the troupe staring off into the distance. He wasn't laughing.

Lagosians have developed coping mechanisms to deal with the staggering traffic. Some simply pull over and sleep, listen to music, or eat. Later in the day, a few impromptu parties are known to break out streetside.

To get ahead of the rush, some people wake up as early as 4 a.m. to drive to work, and then leave at 3:30 p.m. Others might pass the time in a local bar or cafe until 9 or 10 p.m., when the traffic thins out, before heading home.

To the horror of Western visitors, some fed-up drivers execute U-turns and barrel down one-way streets or navigate roadside drainage ditches to evade the mess.

Nobody knows precisely how many people live here (estimates range from 12 million to 18 million.) But it looks like Lagos, which was Nigeria's capital until the seat of government moved northward to Abuja in 1991 , is bursting at the seams -- and growing by hundreds of thousands a year.

Rural Nigerians who lack opportunities in their villages are streaming in to eke out a living amid the city's frenetic, informal economy or attend school or embark on a life of petty crime. Lanre Arogundade, coordinator of the International Press Center, says nearly every Nigerian can point to at least one relative who lives in the city.

But even for those with local contacts, options are few and jobs and housing are scarce. So many melt into the streets. "One thing that Lagos guarantees is anonymity," Arogundade said.

Some end up in places such as Ajegunle , known locally as "the Jungle," a massive, fetid slum of at least 3 million people. There, families crowd into wooden shacks amid smoking garbage heaps and waste-choked canals. Adding to their misery, they say they feel detached from the rest of the city and forgotten by its leaders.

"The only time the people see the existence of the government is when they send in the security service" to quell unrest, said Daggar Tolar, a poet, musician, and teacher who grew up in Ajegunle.

Residents say that when the monsoon rains arrive in the spring, sewage floods homes in low-lying areas.

Churches dot nearly every corner. Home-grown Pentecostalism is growing rapidly , and many Nigerians find comfort in the promise of salvation that the churches promise in billboards around the city. Religious Nigerians often leave decisions -- like whom to vote for in April's national election -- up to providence.

The nagging feeling of being left behind also weighs heavily on residents of several islands just a 10-minute boat ride from the mainland. On one , Ituagan, inhabited mostly by fishermen who sell their catches in the city, Bernard Michael reels off their woes: "No electricity, no doctor, no fresh water; we need a hospital, schools, and a bridge to the mainland."

Despite the hardships, many Lagosians say they thrive on the city's excitement and vibrancy. Young middle-class residents praise the night life and a music scene that is famous throughout West Africa. Even a rehearsal session by the Afropop star Femi Kuti drew a funky, feisty crowd at the legendary Shrine nightclub on a recent weeknight.

"Lagos has its peculiar dynamics," Arogundade said. "You take risks because the unusual is the rule and not the exception."

Still, he acknowledges that living in Lagos can weigh on you. "You never get to inhale fresh air."

Copyright © 2007 International Reporting Project. All Rights Reserved.