I’ve spent the last seven weeks in Nigeria. I am currently sweating bullets in the backseat of one of Lagos’s ubiquitous early-2000’s Toyota Camrys, grimacing at every honk of the maniacally effective driver, praying to all that is holy that I make my flight and get out of this place. This is not because I hate Lagos, or Nigeria; in fact I am amazed, impressed, and bewildered by this massive, diverse country. But it has shattered me. It has taken every bit of life-force that I had, and now it is spitting me back out. And I wouldn’t have it any other way, even if I got to choose. This trip passed in a haze of aggressive arguments in offices and hotels, unprecedented yogurt consumption, nights spent on the floor of the Lagos airport, mornings up early working, endless time on the road passing endlessly interesting people; also missed meals, missed sleep, cramped rooms, bribes and tips and terrifyingly swift cash outflows, life-giving bright spots in conversations with good people. My job was to finish setting up an impact evaluation for an impressive agricultural social venture. The job is done; but damn, it was hard-earned. It constantly strikes me in Nigeria that I am not getting good pictures. I see so much here that is fascinating, and I want to remember and share it; but there is always too much to capture in a frame. I am left feeling that Nigeria kicked my ass and left me nothing to show for it. But this is the point. It makes sense. Unlike almost everywhere else I’ve been, Nigeria in general (and Lagos in particular) is fundamentally not built for tourists, travelers, people trying to find themselves. It’s tangibly a place to strive. A place where an incomprehensible mix of humanity is grinding hard to make money and make lives. Every Lagos Taxify driver has a startup idea and also a farming operation in their home state, and is working two jobs in the meantime. Not a place to be observed, understood, weighed, measured, compared. In this sense Nigeria strikes me as the future of our world. Part of that is the crushing heat, and the deluges in the south and the dust storms and herder-pastoralist killings in the north, and the never-ending oil conflicts, and the militarized terrorist group waiting at the edges, held at bay for now, ready to strike. A more important part is the wild, awesome reality of how people and communities find ways to move forward when there are simply too many of them, from backgrounds that are too diverse, in too little space. There’s something tremendously exciting about it. --------- I took a chance today and, following the trail laid by a great friend, bargained my way to a community called Makoko, which is where I took this picture. I had seen Makoko many times when coming into Lagos; it sits on the ocean, visible from the Third Mainland Bridge that carries me to the rich part of the city. From the vantage point of the bridge, Makoko delivers a striking contrast: wooden structures built on stilts sunk into the mud, inundated by trash, seemingly sinking more each day, while the skyscrapers of Lagos stand tall in the background.
Makoko deserves to have a book written about it, and I certainly know nothing about the community that would let me do it justice in description. I saw wriggling buckets full of catfish, and smoky alleyways the width of one boat, and docking points with brightly-attired mamans loading smoked fish for the market, and everywhere, countless little kids- poling canoes, and wrestling, and laughing, and sitting around. The people come from Benin, and speak Yoruba and French. They treated me incredibly well. During my very few minutes in the community, I could not escape the thought that if Nigeria is all of our future, then Makoko is the heart of it. A group of people living their lives with little government support, on an ocean which gives them life and threatens to engulf them. A community on the margins, made up of migrants who came for a better life and found almost nothing for them, yet made something of it. What a way to say goodbye for now to Nigeria, one of the throbbing veins of this beautiful, terrible world. MH