Instead of dialogue, protesters on Wednesday were met with tear gas. They were protesting the recent demolition of their abode by the Lagos State Government.
Police deployment at the Lagos State Assembly complex escalated tensions as canisters were fired to disperse the crowd. Panic followed. Protesters, residents, traders, and commuters fled in different directions, choking and scrambling for safety. The disruption spilled into surrounding areas, temporarily paralyzing movement around the complex.
Though the protest was dispersed, the grievances were not.
Makoko is not just a place on the Lagos lagoon; it is a living history of migration, survival, and cultural continuity that predates modern Lagos State. Long before skyscrapers and expressways defined Nigeria’s commercial capital, Makoko existed as a fishing settlement established by the Egun (Ogu) people, who migrated from present-day Benin Republic in the 18th and 19th centuries.
The community grew organically along the waterfront, sustained by fishing, canoe-making, fish smoking, and lagoon-based trade. Homes were built on stilts above the water, schools and churches floated, and generations were raised navigating life by canoe rather than road. For residents, the lagoon was not a symbol of poverty—it was livelihood, heritage, and home.
Yet, as Lagos expanded into a megacity, Makoko’s existence became increasingly contested.
From Indigenous Settlement to “Illegal Slum”
Colonial and post-colonial urban planning largely ignored waterfront communities like Makoko. Without formal land titles—common among indigenous settlements across Nigeria—Makoko residents were excluded from official city plans, public infrastructure, and basic services such as electricity, sanitation, and healthcare.
Over time, this exclusion hardened into stigma. Makoko was rebranded in official narratives as an “illegal settlement” or “slum,” despite its long history and vibrant internal economy. This label has repeatedly been used to justify demolitions rather than development.
Major demolition attempts date back to at least 2012, when the Lagos State government destroyed hundreds of waterfront homes, displacing thousands. Each wave of demolition followed a familiar pattern: little or no notice, no meaningful consultation, no resettlement plan, and no compensation.
Residents have consistently argued that they are not opposed to development—but to development without people.
Today, Makoko is home to an estimated 100,000 to 300,000 people (figures vary due to lack of official census recognition). Despite systemic neglect, the community remains economically active:
▪︎ Fishing and fish processing supply markets across Lagos
▪︎Informal schools educate thousands of children
▪︎Artisans, traders, and transporters sustain local commerce
▪︎Community groups and NGOs provide healthcare, legal aid, and advocacy
Makoko has also drawn global attention through architecture projects, documentaries, and urban studies that frame it as a model of climate-resilient, water-based living. Ironically, while international observers study Makoko as an innovation hub, its residents face daily threats of displacement at home.
The protest at the Lagos State House of Assembly in Ikeja was part of a growing resistance to renewed demolitions across waterfront and low-income communities in Lagos, including Makoko.
Residents and activists marched carrying photographs of flattened homes, displaced families, children, and elderly persons, chanting:
“Makoko Is Not a Slum”
“No Justice, No Peace”
“Consult the People”
Their demands were clear:
▪︎An immediate halt to forced evictions
▪︎Respect for existing court orders restraining demolitions
▪︎Genuine dialogue between government and affected communities
Activists described the demolitions as inhumane, arguing that they violate constitutional rights to dignity, shelter, and fair hearing, as well as international human rights standards Nigeria has signed onto.
For Makoko residents, the use of force reinforced a long-standing belief that the state views them not as citizens to be engaged, but as obstacles to be removed.
Beyond Demolition: The Question Lagos Must Answer
The Makoko struggle raises a fundamental question about Lagos’ future: Can Africa’s largest city modernize without erasing its poorest and oldest communities?
Urban experts argue that forced evictions deepen poverty, increase homelessness, and create long-term social instability. Community leaders insist that upgrading, land regularization, and participatory planning are not only possible—but cheaper and more humane than demolitions.
Makoko’s residents are not asking for luxury. They are asking for recognition, security, and a seat at the table when decisions about their lives are made.
Despite repeated threats, Makoko endures.
Canoes still cut across the lagoon at dawn. Fish still smoke over open fires.
Children still paddle to school. And residents, now joined by lawyers, activists, and civil society groups, continue to insist on a simple truth:
Makoko is not a mistake. It is a community.
And until that truth is acknowledged, the struggle—for justice, dignity, and the right to remain—will continue.
