A turbulent voyage through unmanned waterways

Poorly-secured Lagos waterways put coastal communities, travellers and investments along the coastline at a risk, GEOFF IYATSE writes

It was few minutes before 2pm on a Tuesday.  Other part of Lagos, including the Ikorodu town I had just traversed, beamed with activities. A few major roads in the city, including the Ikorodo/Surulere road, were still blocked even though it was already afternoon.

I had just been welcomed to Ebute Jetty by a lone attendant who cared less about nothing save the tattered life jackets he was distributing. The sight of the guy reminded me of the frightening tales of how boats capsize before passengers would realise that the so-called life jackets they wear have expired.

Apparently, the safety materials were unwashed for, possibly, months and had changed colour. But I was not sure this was a sufficient reason to conclude that they had expired?

A lady who had collected before me and was walking towards the anchored boat was probably also not comfortable with the life-saving jackets. Even after boarding, she continued to dust the safety kit. 

I collected the one given to me and feigned a smile with the boatman. I would need him as we embarked on the journey. And an argument could put me at a disadvantage when I needed his favour.

The premises of the jetty were as quiet as the unmanned ticketing office. And the 20-seater speedboat that was to take us through the heart of the Atlantic Ocean in the next 35-minute was all alone on the jetty.

Standing on the vehicle, one could view several miles away without sighting any other boast, whether parked or on a motion. The only facilities that were visible looked like rusty installations that were rotting away and contaminating on the sea.

The only audible one could hear was occasional singing by birds. Indeed, it was an escape from the animated city life, but a frightening one. Nothing in the environment looked like there was a military presence around the jetty. Here was a town where criminals struck some banks less than two months earlier and escaped with N80m via speedboats.

At another nearby jetty, there was no boast at all, not even for a charter service. It was not yet 4pm when normal commercial services would start. And except for two security guards that looked after a garage of cars, the entire place was like a ghost community. At the jetty also, there was no presence of a public security agency.

In a company of five other passengers and three operators, we left the shore of Ikorodu at 1:52 pm. I was a little nervous even though I had spent countless number of hours on speedboats before. It appeared every other co-traveller, apart from the boatmen, was also apprehensive.

In about five minutes into the turbulent sea, it was obvious that we were going to be alone on the aggressive Atlantic, and to our fate. No boat was travelling in or opposite our direction. Mostly importantly, there were no surveillance boats in sight.

About 10 minutes into the journey, the fading sound from Ikorodu’s industrial activities had disappeared completely. There was no single reminder that we were still in Lagos territory. As we cruised on the turbulent sea, all we could hear was the humming of the boat engine and the splashing wave. This was continuous and deafening.

There was still no sight of any patrol boat. Then, I began to ponder the risk we all faced supposing we were transporting valuable items and were intercepted by criminals. “Who would save us from privates? And what if we met with the kind of robbers that laid a siege on Ikorodu banks about two months ago?” I asked myself.

This particular journey reminded me of an experience on a route in Delta State. From Warri to Ugborodo, the host community of Escravos, you could count more than five military checkpoints in less than 30 minutes on the creeks.

But rather than guaranteeing safer navigation, the security personnel had commercialised the posts and would threaten to drown passengers of ‘stubborn’ boatmen, those who refused to ‘settle.’ The presence of military men was my fear on the trip on dangerous Warri creeks. But on Ikorodu/Marina route, I dreaded their absence.   

In recent times, the Lagos waterways have provided a secured means of escaping arrest for daredevil robbers. The Ikorodu and Lekki cases are reference points. “Was there any link between the unsecured nature of the waterways and the emerging trick of robbers?” I pondered.

There was a relief eventually when I sighted the Third Mainland Bridge from a distance. A few villagers, perhaps, residents of floating Makoko, were seen paddling ferries within a reachable distance. One could also sight fast-moving flowing traffic on the bridge. The expansive Victoria Island and Lekki were also visible.

But that was after we had spent over 20 minutes on the lonely. Now, we were no long a ‘Lone Ranger’ on the Atlantic. Even on the ocean, there was ‘life’ again.

Ikoyi, VI, Lekki investments are endangered

One thought that that part of the city would get more security attention. Sadly, with the vast cluster of investments lining along the shoreline of Ikoyi, Vitoria Inland, Lekki and Marina, there were no military boats patrolling the sea to wade off a possible threat.                       

We were welcomed to Marina by some loafers, several of them were loitering the jetty.  They were frightening enough to remind us that we were, after all, in Lagos.

There were a cluster of boats waiting to commence the evening commercial services to especially Ikorodu. A few of them were shuttling between the Lagos commercial nerve and Apapa Wharf. Unlike Ikorodu where one could not get a bottle of coke to buy that afternoon, Marina jetty was jam-packed with an array of commercial activities, such as trading and ticketing.

But clearly missing in the basket of activities that kept the place alive was the all-important security presence. There were no naval officers on the shore; there were no policemen at the boisterous jetty to ensure that each passenger that boarded a boat was going on a legal assignment.  

On Ikorodo to Ajah, another route that takes hundreds of restive Lagosians off the busy metropolitan roads daily, the experience is not different.

On a lonely Ojo to Ikaare route

From Apapa to Badagry is a stretch of sea, separating several communities from Lagos city. Residents of the communities, unlike their Ikorodu’s counterparts, know no other life than that of a boat and water. For every errand and business they need to carry out in the city, these guys take to a boat ride.  

Before now, I had heard some tales about life in Ikaare, fragmented villages occupied by majorly Béninoise and Togolese immigrants.  Finally, there was a need to navigate the lagoons that encircle the place two weeks ago.

Not knowing exactly what informed my decision, I chose to ride on the water separating Ikaare from Ojo on a Sunday. 

Without much traffic trouble getting through Mile 2 and Ojo, I was standing at Ojo Jetty few minutes after 9am. With almost every boat and ferry used for local dredging, one would need the assistance of a resident to identify a commercial boat.

Unlike the noiseless Ikorodu jetties, Ojo was raucous and energetic. And unlike Marina where you have a lot of idle boys, everybody at Ojo waterfront on that Sunday morning was almost neck-deep in the shallow water packing sand into a ferry.

For several minutes, I stood wondering whom to talk to since everybody appeared too busy to be disturbed.

Eventually, I excused a young man (maybe in his mid-20s). We had a short but useful chat. Moni, as he introduced himself, ran a commercial boat service on the sea. But he had another more profitable engagement that morning with definite targets to meet. Hence, he and his boat were not available for a hire as I proposed.   

While we were still talking (on boating and the safety of the waterways), Moni made a telephone call to his friend who had visited a bear parlour to ‘prepare’ himself for the day. I told Moni how excited I was getting a two-or-more-hour ride on the sea just for a fun.

“But I am scared I could be harassed by some miscreants or overzealous naval officers,” I explained to him.

But Moni, who I later learnt was a son of an immigrant fisherman, responded, “You don’t have to worry. There is nobody to stop you on the sea. The reason you don’t see any boat on the water is that today is Sunday. Before the next two hours, you will see some people going to Ikaare Beach. Everywhere (waving across the still water) will be busy.”

With agreement on charges and the time we period we would spend concluded, I leaped into the steaming boat belonging to Moni’s friend, Ade Lemo. My offer appeared strange to him: I was not going to a particular community or a beach but just riding a boat for the fun of it.

“I have never done this. It is either a passenger is going to a particular beach or a community in Ikaare. Some people who have serious businesses to do at Ikaare are even scared of boarding a boat. And you want to ride on a boat without any mission in the place you are going to?” he asked curiously.     

Still without a definite destination in mind, we were set for a navigation that would eventually last for over two hours. The conditions were clear: an extra minute beyond the agreed one hour would be charged.

Lemo was good at boating but he was extremely reserved. Within 30 minutes we had covered several miles. He knew when to speed and the right time to slow down. And contrary to my previous boating experience, the water was calm. I could only guess it why: it was early in the morning and it was yet undisturbed.

The sea was deserted. There was no sign of fishing in a body of water surrounding communities that rely on aquatic activities for sustenance.

And there were no probing eyes on the water; there was no security patrol team on the sea. Our escapade took us round the water, cruising on a number of tributaries.

We crisscrossed the sea to view the cocoanut island called Ikaare from different angles. The question I kept asking myself was: who mans the security of the water in crime-prone Ojo and Ajangbadi? There was no signal that there would be any help should the boat rider (who I had a lot of admiration for) choose to act funny.

Perhaps, fear is not the right word to describe my emotional state the moment the thought flashed my mind. But I was disturbed. Lemo would not know what the time was; there was nothing on him that looked like a clock. But by now, we had spent over an hour on the sea.

Just to be sure his mind was not working an evil plan I suggested we returned to a local jetty we had just passed at Ikaare for a break. He obliged.

Ikaare is a lovely community of people whose excitement about life is marred by lack of public facilities – no toilets, no electricity and no water to give them comfort in their thatched houses. I was not going to waste much time on the Island because my per-minute transport billing was reading. With the company of Lemo, I walked through the community.

On the other side was a body of water stretching from the Victoria Island to Badagry. The little wonder was an SUV speeding on the unmanned and lonely sea shore to wherever. A villager said the car possibly took off from Badagry and was heading to some a destination in Lagos.

My second visit to Ikaare was on a workday, Friday to be precise. I wanted to be sure that the naval officials and other security agents who could have been assigned to the waterways in that part of Lagos were not on a weekend break during my previous trip.

Alas, the observations, except that more commercial boats were on duty, were the same. There was no security cover at the jetties. There was also no military presence on the water.

Earlier this year, a gang of 11 robbers attacked and robbed a commercial bank in Lekki, fleeing from the water with several millions of naira they carted away. Five people were killed during the robbery operation. When the suspects were arrested in May, they confessed to have accessed Lekki from Langbasa with the aid of speedboats.

Suspects of a similar crime in Ikorodu also fled on speedboats after the robbery that lasted for about an hour.

The two incidents raised concern about the security of Lagos waterways and quality of policing that is in place. 

We are everywhere in Lagos – Navy

But the Information Officer of the Western Naval Command, the Nigerian Navy, Lt. Commander Abdulsalam Sani, said the command “had a presence in all the waterways in Lagos.”

Speaking one telephone today, Sani said the programme code-named Operation ‘Awatse’, which means dislodge vandals, the command unveiled last October has increased its presence in Ikorodu coastal line.

He said the Navy currently monitors the Lagos waterways with four capital ships and several patrol boats. He, however, declined to put a figure on the number of boats operating in the state and the number of personal deployed on daily basis to provide security on the creeks and seas.

On Ojo specifically, Sani said the naval base in the areas patrol the creeks with an aircraft. He added that the patrol boats attacked to Apapa operation extended their surveillance to Ojo. Again, he would not give details on the number of personnel and boats that man security in the highly-volatile Apapa alongside Ojo.

“I cannot give the number of boats that patrol the area. But the truth is that we are everywhere in Lagos. Our officers in Ojo carry out surveillance with an aircraft while the team in Apapa extends its boat patrol to the area as well,” Sani stressed.