Behold: Horror of a people living ‘underground’

This community that has no name and contains no streets is hidden some 90 feet below ground level, walled in by Arochukwu Street, Tobias Alaribe, Nnokwa and Kofoworola Akah Streets and sealed off by Billiaminu Akinsanya Street in Ejigbo Local Council Development Area of Lagos State from where passers-by can catch a bird’s eye-view of the community which is sealed off roundabout but visible only through the backyards of the houses (See sketch of the area mapped by our correspondent last Friday).

Our correspondent went round the four streets, searching for access to the small underground community but found none, except perhaps, three little gaps between buildings on Nnokwa Street through which one can peep without drawing attention to be able to see footpaths leading downwards into the community, and the footpath itself has cash crops planted on both sides shielding the houses down below and making it look like those farm roads you find in a typical village.

A resident of one of the buildings, Mr. Innocent Ezekwe, who reluctantly responded to inquiry from The Daily Times, advised that it is unsafe to go down there because according to him, “The people are very hostile and they don’t entertain visitors. They are suspicious of any visitor because government officials used to go and threaten them and extort money from them.”

Having seen a bricklayer at work on a decked house from up Billiaminu Akinsanya Street earlier, our correspondent asked if he could go down under cover of looking for a room to hire in the community.

“Good idea”, Innocent said, “But you are on your own. Don’t expect anyone to come to your aid if you run into trouble. As far as I am concerned, I haven’t seen you or even spoken to you.”

As seen from afar, the footpath turned out to be a long strip of land snaking through crops and bush paths and led to an open still water covered by weeds in some part. One has to walk through some slippery kind of ground to reach the first of three completed modern buildings; the first is a long boy’s quarters-like yellow house containing three sets of two-room apartments each. This building merged into a modern three bedroom bungalow of the same colour which has one end of its roof yet to be covered.

To its left lay a decked house of two blocks of flats. A bricklayer seen earlier laying block work on the decking disappeared upon sighting our correspondent; some four other make shift buildings dotted its side. Right opposite the finished buildings are clusters of make shift houses at different stages of completion.

While waiting for someone to talk to, our correspondent moved around the community. The almighty Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN) did not withhold power from this hamlet. A radio set was blaring in one of the rooms but nobody answered the door. A tour of the small neighbourhood revealed a people completely self-sustaining.

With no source of potable water within sight, electricity tapped from behind the buildings surrounding them on the level ground above revealed the source of their power supply.

One of the residents has sunk a borehole from which the others buy their water, while those not given to pipe borne water, fetch from the large pool of still water that has formed a stream where the inhabitants even wash their clothes.

A short while later, one of the residents who, apparently, had been watching our correspondent from his house, came out and inquired what he was looking for and this dialogue ensued.

“I am looking for a place to hire. Who can I talk to here?”

“We don’t hire house here. Who are you? How did you enter here? I have been watching you. What are you looking for in this place?” He spoke in Yoruba but changed to English when he thought our man did not understand him.

“I’m a retired soldier from the barracks at Oshodi. I am looking for a place like this where I can do some farming and manage myself. Who’s in charge here?”

“Oga, we don’t rent house here. Go and find another place because there is no place here you can stay.”

As he was speaking, another of the residents came sneaking in from one of the small roads. He looked more civilised and approachable, so our correspondent took him aside and introduced himself properly. “I can’t talk to you here,
Sir”, he said. “Let me lead you out of here and we can talk “up there”.

We took about five minutes to virtually climb our way back to Nnokwa Street before the resident, a boat tender at Takwa-Bay and who does fishing on the side, said they don’t welcome inquiries about that hamlet for fear of attracting government attention.

“Everybody here came because of house problem; you can see that there are two kinds of people there: government and private workers and farmers and fishermen. There are about 12 families from different parts of the country but mainly we are Yorubas and people from Epe. Two Igbo people came last November but they have travelled for now. We don’t want any trouble from government and we don’t want anybody coming and going anyhow. We are a small community and we are happy the way we are,” he explained patiently, expecting the visitor to understand and go away.

On the recent rains of July which swept through many parts of Ilamoshe Estate, the man who said it would be better if his name is kept out of this conversation, said rain or flood does not worry them.

“All the waters that come here flow into that large stream you saw. People think that water will carry us or cover our homes but we have been here many decades and we have seen heavy rainfalls that didn’t trouble us,” he said.

Is it true they pay land rates and make contribution to the local government office?, our correspondent asked.

“What are you talking about? All those houses were built by people who bought land from the owners of this place.
We have more landlords than tenants but we have our own tenant-landlords agreement which we all abide with and one of them is never to bring strangers here or talk about us. I have seen you taking photographs up there before and I know you are a journalist.

“Please, don’t think we are in danger of flood or drowning, because we are not. If the rain falls for one week, the waters will not affect us. It is the fear that this place is dangerous that is why we have been able to keep ourselves small as we are. We don’t want attention and we are not in any trouble,” he stated.

Why is there no good access road into the hamlet?, our correspondent asked again.

“One of us has a pleasure car but we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. We are happy the way we are. Just
leave us alone, that is what I am begging you. It is accommodation problem that brought us all here to live inside the ground. If we had a better choice, many of us will not be here. You can see how we are developing the place. We have water and we have light. That is okay for now. I know in time we will make it better. Just leave us the way we are for now,” he pleaded.

That is the story of a people in their own country. They are not refugees, and not aliens. This is part of the story of Lagos, the mega “City of Excellence” still in the making.

With the canal about half a kilometre away and the rains approaching its peak, neighbours think their continued stay down there is a looming disaster waiting to happen while some others corroborate the community’s story that the former site of laterite can never be flooded. One of them, a building engineer, Mr. Nnamdi Rockwell said the gulf is too wide to be swallowed by any rainfall.

“People fear that a burst water dam which is nowhere near here could cause disaster, but that fear is far-fetched,” he said.

He concluded that “since the government has no plan to fill the gulf anyway, what is the use of evicting them – and to where?”

So that is the state of the hamlet in the belly of the ground. Whatever the government may decide, it won’t make any difference. Even if government wants to do something, it will not come in a hurry and may never see the light of day. Maroko is a living example: government forcibly evicted the people under the pretence that it was not habitable and a disaster to health. Later on, the then state government turned around to sand fill the place and shared it to the rich and mighty. Some part of Makoko has just gone under the same hammer.

Gbubemi God’s Covenant Snr, Lagos