When last year, the Nigerian Meteorological Society predicted more flood in 2020, Ajiran, an inconspicuous town in the Lekki area of Lagos State lived on as if nothing would happen. Nevertheless, OMOLOLA AFOLABI describes the havoc wreaked by torrential rain in that community and its impact on the community’s life.
We can’t stop the birds from flying in the air, but we can stop them from building nests in our hair. We can’t stop the rains from coming down on us but we can stop it from carrying our houses away.”
Ajiran, a royal ruling dynasty of the Ojomu Royal House, is a community sandwiched amid sprawling estates in Lekki area of Lagos. The living condition is, however, opposed diametrically, to the kind of affluence the community holds. The residents are too complacent to improve on the inherited buildings and environs handed down to them by their forebears.
The community boasts a lot of youths, who are bereft of the vibrancy and energy expected of such a group. Many are lethargic to take their destinies in their own hands. They are lackadaisical because they have some inheritances from their fathers. They are fortunate to be born into the dynasty of Omo-Onile,
An eight-month experience in the community during one’s National Youths Service Corps was a rewarding one. One received special treatment as members of the community seemed to relish the only graduate among the youth; an achievement considered a “rare feat.”
Many of one’s contemporaries in the community had either dropped out of school or never even got enrolled in school at all. They would jocularly chorus “we only learn wisdom, we don’t learn books.” This appeared shockingly outlandish in a consistently progressive city such as Lagos.
The youth possess all manner of positive characteristics. The only thing they lack, unfortunately, is ambition. No sense of mission sustains them. As a result of their status as Omo-Onile, they feel so stuck-up so much so that they often ask their traditional leader, the Kabiyesi and his chiefs for their share of the property that is in abundance.
Early Monday morning when the typical city dwellers are out to engage in their daily bustle and hustle in order to eke out a living, many of the Ajiran youths sit at their “base” to watch people struggling to make ends meet instead of deploying adequately their youthfulness for any productive cause. They waste away their precious time, consuming bottles of liquor, including opium. Most times, they are found congregating at their opium den. Ajiran has the knack for a false display of ostentatious lifestyle.
The community has had major land deals with gigantic estate management firms, including the popular Chevron Oil Company, around the highbrow Lekki. Despite this, the community remains largely impoverished.
Chevron, however, reciprocated the community’s gesture through the sinking of a borehole system at the centre of the community to solve the water problems of the community.
For one reason or the other, one couldn’t spend the Ramadan and Sallah celebrations with one’s family in Ibadan as one was stuck in Ajiran. During the festivity, it became clearer why the community seemingly lacks resourcefulness.
Reckless megalomania was on display, like a travesty used to cover up the rot and decay therein. The community was turned into a sort of cattle ranch with the remnants deployed in troops, the women became chefs, with makeshift tents everywhere engrossed in the culinary business of meeting the community’s cookery demands.
For several hours in more than three days, the wining and dining was on till the crack of dawn. Knives clashed and cows went down. Massive pots stuck with beef, contents of green bottles were gulped down their oesophagus and Aso Ebi fabrics were styled into gorgeousness.
Gaily-dressed women known for their panache and active social lifestyle were a marvel to behold as they wore the Aso Ebi round their rotund, fleshy torso. The men equally in their beautiful attire of the Aso Ebi swirled to the suiting rhythm of drums and other musical instruments in that somewhat balmy afternoon. It was a gathering of who is who in Ajiran community.
The streets were empty. Tricycle operators, vehicle drivers and pedestrians were warned to steer clear of the party zone for those three grooving days.
The party was somewhat prolonged and seemingly boring. I thought maybe the frivolity would last a lifetime. It appeared as if the razzmatazz would be never-ending.
As a fact, the leftover pieces of meat from the lavish celebrations were not given to the poor as stipulated by Islamic injunctions. Rather, in a wasteful show of lack of fellow-feeling by the residents, the enormous chunks of meat were “salted and dried” amid swarms of flies, hovering over the meat as a result of their malodorous condition was left to decay.
The party inappropriately ended the same way Molly’s “sugar candy mountain” fantasy ended in George Orwell’s Animal Farm. Few days after the lavish, wasteful celebrations, the heavens opened and there was torrential on the community. It cast a gloom on the booming previous days’ celebrations.
In a jiffy, Ajiran became submerged in polluted water; with no apparent structures to channel the water. In the circumstances, the community was swept off as the flood visited every ramshackle habitat.
A first-timer who had not witnessed such trying, sapping moment, would be caught unawares. The dirty and foul-smelling water was an aftermath of a grim lifestyle of a people who had no serious regard for the environment.
All efforts made to retrieve some important documents drenched were futile, even though some were rescued wrenched. The surging water was ferocious, as if, perhaps it was out for retribution over residents’ nonchalant attitude toward the environment. The water level was up to the window lintel, even as the water soaked people’s mattresses and other household items.
One would have thought that the residents would be jerked by the havoc the rain wreaked. They were not because they have become accustomed and somewhat immune to it. This is so because, year in, year out, the floods have become part of their lives and they have found ways to make the abnormality normal.
In the face of it all, they would mount buckets one on top of the other, put their mattresses on them. Staying afloat of the river within, they would drift off to sleep.
Necessity and the limited choice made them become desperately ingenious. They would hang their delicate possessions on nails and roofs, on rafts and masts, on just anything, so that the damage would be minimal.
However, the “corper” living in the compound was oblivious of all the incidents. So, she was badly affected by the ruins of the raging water. She was left to grieve for her losses. Of course, no damages would be paid.
Tagged as “village” by the estate’s residents, it is easy to say they are referring to the people’s way of life. A typical housewife mentality is dominant in the hamlet.
While staying in the community, there were moments of anger and disappointments, even before the watershed moment of the flood. In some moments of indignation, one felt very radical about it. The thought of writing to some of the stakeholders in the community presented itself.
The long period of inertia on the part of the stakeholders was akin to Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett’s play in which two characters, Vladimir (Didi) and Estragon (Gogo), engaged in a variety of discussions and encounters while awaiting Godot, who never arrived. No replies were received from those written to.
In the circumstances, therefore, it became apparent that one shouldn’t have meddled into issues concerning the community as questions were asked about how the problems of the community became another’s business; more so as one is only new in the community and a bird of passage.
Apparently, the residents have not been complaining about their predicaments so what exactly is the grudge of a “corper”?
After the devastating flood, one was rescued by a cousin who stays in one of the neighbouring estates. While moving the soiled belongings, some of them irrevocably damaged, to the cousin’s car, the residents engaged in a show of derision. They were convinced that one’s endurance level is low; in a very condescending manner. They also boasted about how well they have adapted to the situation.
When, last year, the Nigerian Meteorological Society predicted more flood in the sinking city of Lagos in 2020, the information was relayed to my then neighbours. They were not pleased with the information as they regarded it as grim and bespeaks bad omen to their existence.
In a chat last month, Auntie Rose, a former neighbour said: “Corper Lola, thank God you moved. The rains are even heavier this year. We have all left our houses and we are hoping the sun comes up so that it can dry up and we can return to our houses. If only we can afford better accommodation, we would have moved just like you did.”
That sort of existence that sprouts anxiety at every rumble of thunder and the rains are not worth it. Rains should be seen as showers of blessings and not a source of unsettling weariness.
One prays that the economy will improve so that they get enough money to acquire new and befitting accommodation. This way, they will see the sunny side of life.
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