We have been in Nigeria for six weeks now and the fact that I had not yet visited Lagos was starting to niggle. So I was excited to have the opportunity this week to head to the commercial capital for some meetings - and to see the sprawling mega-city, known for its violent crime, stupendous traffic jams and vibrant arts and music scene, for myself. Africa's largest city (current estimates put the population of the Lagos metropolitan area at around 21 million) is only just over an hour's flight from Abuja, so quite manageable in theory, but the flights can be unreliable and are often extremely delayed. I decided to see whether I could manage the trip in a day, not least because Simon was returning from a 2-day visit to Lagos himself last night and I was slightly nervous that if I headed off before he landed back in Abuja, we could potentially face the scenario of leaving the children to fend for themselves for the night. (And, besides, there was no way I was going to miss that Czech play just to get to Lagos early).
This was the first time I'd taken a domestic flight within Nigeria - and as most passengers travel on e-tickets, often only with hand-luggage, I had been told that check-in was relatively straightforward. I was therefore rather non-plussed to arrive at the airport at 6am for my 7am flight to find a large queue snaking through the ticket hall. We had to wait 30 minutes until the desks opened and we were able to get our boarding passes issued. I joked to the smartly-dressed Nigerian lady waiting beside me that the airline desks had probably run out of ink in their printers. I finally reached the front of the line and was greeted by a very friendly member of Arik Air staff, who apologised for the delay and explained that there had been an 'equipment failure at the check-in desk this morning'. It was only as I went through security that my fellow passenger informed me that the 'equipment failure' was indeed due to the printers at the check-in desk having run out of ink. I almost jumped for joy when she added, 'It seems you know Nigeria well'. Never have I been so elated at a random guess hitting the mark.
Having consumed two bottles of water whilst waiting in line, I nipped into the ladies before boarding the flight. I was greeted by two uniformed attendants, one of whom was holding a pile of paper napkins and the other a can of air freshener:
"Good morning. Do you wish to ease yourself?"
"Yes."
"Just a wee?"
"Yes."
"Ok, go ahead," said the first attendant, handing me a paper napkin and ushering me into a cubicle. Goodness knows what would have happened had I wished for more than a wee. Although I suppose that the alternative scenario is where attendant no. 2 comes into her own.
The flight itself was very comfortable and we made up time en route, arriving in Lagos more or less on schedule. I amused myself on the journey by tucking into a fabulous little guidebook that Simon had found on a shelf in his office, entitled 'Lagos: A Tourist Dream', published in 1999 by the Lagos state government and the African Newspapers of Nigeria with (I can only assume) the express purpose of providing material for my blog. I am having considerable difficulty restraining myself from reproducing the entire publication word-for-word - the sections on 'Peopling' and 'Drainage' were particularly edifying. However, it was the section on 'Fashion/dressing' which caught my attention, not least because I had spent some time trying to decide what to wear this morning. In Abuja, Nigerian women tend to cover their shoulders and I wasn't sure if this would be the same in Lagos (it wasn't).
My guidebook advised me that "Fashions and dressing modes among the citizenry of Lagos state reinforce the fact that the state is a cultural crucible. The trends, by virtue of the cosmopolitan nature of the state, are eclectic, appropriating Yoruba, European, Brazilian and Sierra Leonean elements. [...] The womenfolk have their own buba which usually tucked into abroad wrappers (Iro) with a fitting headgear (gele) and shawl (iborun) to match. For the most part, fashion-conscious ladies in Lagos state tend to such exotic styles as up-and-down a two-piece attire (consisting chiefly of a close-fitting blouse and knee-reaching skirt) mini-skirt or 'see-through' (a provocative dress which emphasises the vital statistics) the usual loose flowing skirt of Sierra-Leonean origin (Kaba Saro) and the rather casual outlandish (as some see it) tee-shirt or sports wear atop jeans trousers often preferred by the younger breed".
As we came into land, I found myself wondering whether I should have perhaps opted for a 'see-through' rather than a sleeveless linen dress.
The first impression of Lagos is one of traffic, fumes and hustle and bustle - a complete contrast to Abuja. Passengers are crammed into the ubiquitous yellow minivans (danfos) and the larger/sweatier/fumier/noisier buses (molues). It took us a little over an hour to get from the airport to Ikoyi and, contrary to my expectations, the traffic did keep moving for most of the time. As we neared Lagos island, the number of street vendors increased, as did the range of products they were hawking. In Abuja, the standard offering at any junction comprises nuts, water, phonecards and a selection of pirated books (limited to business/management guides, religious tomes or 'Americanah'). In Lagos, the informal economy operates on another level: the selection of goods on offer included string vests, envelopes, cooking oil, a folding wooden coat rack, wire wastepaper bins, CDs, sunglasses, handbags, a florescent pink broom and dustpan set and (my personal favourite) a tuxedo for a small child.
The route from the airport took us over the impressive third mainland bridge, which connects Lagos Island to the mainland; at 11.8km long, it is the longest bridge in Africa. The bridge took us past the suburb of Makoko, which is a vast slum extending almost the entire length of the waterfront, consisting of decrepit wooden shacks built on stilts.
Makoko is apparently home to around 250,000 residents (so says The Economist although figures are extremely hard to substantiate) who eke out a living collecting wood, working on sawmills and fishing. Sanitation and clean water are major issues, diseases such as cholera and typhoid are common and life expectancy is under 40.
There are a number of projects working with the community to improve the living conditions of the Makoko dwellers, particularly children. Perhaps the most innovative is the floating school project, a primary school designed by Nigerian architect Kunle Adeyemi and constructed in 2013, that has caught the attention of the international architectural community (see here for some amazing photos of the project). As yet, it appears that only one school has been built, but the vision is bold and potentially transformative, should the funding and community support be sufficient to sustain it.
Musing on the project in the car back home to the airport (after a succession of meetings focusing on the parlous state of education and teacher training in Nigeria), I couldn't help think that however ingenious the design of the school, the key will be to staff it with inspirational, capable teachers. This project literally feels like a drop in the ocean - one school to support a community of tens of thousands of children - but it will be interesting to see how it develops over the next couple of years. I'll report back in due course...
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