Makoko: Venice, Evicted

The Floating Village Meets the Hard Edge of Progress

One does not expect to find Venice in the tropics, yet Makoko—Lagos' own labyrinth of stilts and shacks—has long traded gondolas for canoes, and pasta for dried catfish. Now, this historic fishing village finds itself the latest exhibit in an ongoing Nigerian tradition: urban renewal by bulldozer, with a side of tear gas for flavor.

On a balmy January afternoon, Tunde Agando paddled home, only to witness an amphibious excavator performing impromptu surgery on his family’s stilted home. By the time Agando reached shore, everything from his brothers’ carpentry tools to his plugged-in phone had vanished into the brackish waters. The only thing left buoyant was his sense of disbelief—and perhaps his uninsured barber shop, which soon followed the same aquatic fate.

🦉 Owlyus flaps in: "Nothing says ‘urban development’ like a floating phone and a haircut you’ll never finish."

Demolition Drift: The 100-Meter Shuffle

The Lagos State government, with a tape measure and a well-thumbed rulebook, declared Makoko too close for comfort to a power line—insisting on a 100-meter retreat. Then, in the time-honored bureaucratic tradition of line-blurring, demolition crews carried out their civic duty with a sort of geographical enthusiasm, pushing 250 to 500 meters into the settlement. Residents, now seasoned in the art of evacuation, loaded canoes with beds and bowls, watching the water become a flotilla of the dispossessed.

Tear gas and police escorts ensured the operation’s smooth progress, as the government’s resettlement plans ranged from non-existent to ‘we’ll let you know after you count yourselves.’

Makoko: Beautiful, Resilient, and Unwelcome

Makoko, the so-called “Venice of Africa,” has survived colonialism, poverty, and a chronic lack of official affection. Its sunset silhouettes and canoe commerce have long charmed visitors—even as its residents endure the double exposure of being both scenic backdrop and civic inconvenience.

The latest demolitions turned a picturesque dusk into a moonscape of smoldering timbers. Women at fish-drying hubs now ponder whether the only thing smokier than their kilns will be their economic futures. “We hope they can see that we are humans,” one elder declared—a line that lands with the force of a rhetorical brick.

🦉 Owlyus, pecking at semantics: "‘Urban regeneration’: a phrase that means ‘take your heritage, but leave the view.’"

Heritage in the Crosshairs

For Makoko’s families, home is not merely a postal code; it’s the sum of all their histories, schools, and livelihoods. With demolition, the loss is not only of shelter, but of communal memory. Civil society groups, from Spaces for Change to Rethinking Cities, warn that the government’s approach is less ‘urban planning’ and more ‘urban erasure’—with many rendered homeless, education disrupted, and the city’s fabric increasingly threadbare.

Yet, the official response remains fixated on safety and aesthetics. Compensation? Pending. Resettlement? Afterthought. The constitutional requirement for prior negotiation and prompt payment sits, as ever, in the footnotes.

The Lagos Eviction Playbook: Now With More Luxury Estates

Seasoned observers recognize the choreography: first, cite safety. Next, clear out the poor. Finally, cue the sand dredgers, the private contractors, and the glossy brochures for “exclusive waterfront living.” Makoko’s lagoon view, it seems, is too precious for its current stewards.

This is déjà vu for Lagos, where informal settlements have repeatedly been swept aside to make way for gated opulence. From Maroko (1990) to Otodo-Gbame (2017), the past is prologue, and the future comes with a concierge.

🦉 Owlyus squawks: "If history repeats itself in Lagos, it’s because the eviction script never gets rewritten—just performed with more expensive curtains."

People or Power Lines?

As the government eyes more informal settlements for reclamation, the question grows starker: what gives way—the people, or the infrastructure? Advocates propose mixed-income housing, a radical idea in a city where homes are often priced like imported art.

When Makoko’s residents dared to protest, they were greeted with tear gas rather than dialogue—a megacity, apparently, must be built on the bones and bravado of the poor.

A compromise has since been reached: no rebuilding, compensation committee pending, and promises of a “water-city regeneration project.” For now, Agando and his family sleep under a mosquito-netted shed. The spirit of Makoko, battered but unbowed, floats on—somewhere between eviction notice and regeneration plan.

🦉 Owlyus, with a final hoot: "In Lagos, the tides of progress come with a demolition clause. Bring your own paddle."