By GEB
The proposal by the Lagos State House of Assembly to relocate residents of Makoko, Oko-Agbon and Sogunro to Agbowa and Epe raises urgent questions that go far beyond the narrow frame of urban planning. It is, at its core, a test of Lagos’ commitment to equity, inclusion and sustainable development.
While the official narrative presents relocation as a humane response to displacement, a closer interrogation reveals a policy direction that risks deepening poverty, undermining livelihoods and worsening urban insecurity. At first glance, the idea of moving displaced residents to a low-cost housing estate may appear progressive. However, such an approach rests on a flawed assumption that physical structures alone define habitation.
Communities like Makoko are not merely clusters of informal housing; they are living economic and cultural systems that have evolved over decades. The residents are largely fishers, traders and artisans whose daily survival is intricately tied to their proximity to water. Their location is not incidental; it is fundamental to their economic existence.
Relocating these communities to Agbowa, a distant inland settlement, raises serious doubts about feasibility. The suggestion that affected residents can continue their traditional fishing activities from such a location exposes a disconnect between policy formulation and the realities on the ground.
Fishing is not an abstract occupation that can be transposed at will; it requires immediate and constant access to water bodies, established trade routes, and networks of buyers and processors. Uprooting these communities from their ecological and economic base effectively dismantles their livelihoods.
The implication is clear. Once relocated, many residents would either face severe income loss or be forced to abandon the resettlement scheme altogether. History has shown that when relocation schemes fail to align with economic realities, beneficiaries often drift back toward the city centre, creating new informal settlements in even more precarious conditions. What begins as a state-led attempt to “organise” urban space often ends up reproducing disorder in more complex forms.
This brings into sharp focus the options available to the government. One path, which Lagos appears to be pursuing, is peripheral relocation. This approach prioritises clearing high-value urban land while shifting low-income populations to the outskirts.
It is often justified on grounds of environmental management, urban renewal or infrastructural development. Yet, in practice, it amounts to spatial segregation, where the urban poor are pushed out of sight without addressing the underlying drivers of informality.
The alternative is in-situ regeneration, a model that has gained global acceptance as a more sustainable and humane approach. Regeneration involves upgrading existing communities by improving infrastructure, sanitation, drainage, housing quality and tenure security without displacing residents.
It acknowledges that informal settlements are not anomalies to be erased but realities to be improved. By preserving existing social networks and economic systems, regeneration enhances resilience while maintaining the city’s economic fabric.
For Lagos, the regeneration option is not merely idealistic; it is pragmatic. Waterfront communities can be redesigned into climate-resilient, environmentally sustainable neighbourhoods through collaborative planning involving residents, government agencies and urban experts. Such an approach would also align with broader climate adaptation goals, especially in a coastal megacity increasingly vulnerable to flooding and sea-level rise.
Beyond feasibility and planning models lies a more fundamental concern: trust. The relationship between Lagos residents and government authorities has long been shaped by a pattern of demolitions carried out with limited consultation and inconsistent follow-through on resettlement promises. From waterfront evictions to inner-city clearances, many affected populations have been left to fend for themselves after initial displacement.
This history casts a long shadow over the current proposal. For residents of Makoko, Oko-Agbon and Sogunro, the promise of low-cost housing in Agbowa is likely to be viewed with scepticism. Without clear legal guarantees, transparent funding frameworks and defined timelines, such assurances risk being perceived as aspirational rather than actionable.
Trust cannot be demanded; it must be earned through consistent and verifiable actions.
The sequencing of events further complicates this issue. When demolitions occur before comprehensive resettlement plans are in place, it signals a governance approach that prioritises land recovery over human welfare. In such circumstances, relocation becomes an afterthought rather than an integral component of urban planning. This not only erodes public confidence but also heightens social tensions.
Equally critical is the question of compensation. For many affected residents, their homes are not just shelters but economic assets. They serve as sites of small businesses, storage for goods, and anchors for community life. Demolition, therefore, represents both a physical and economic loss. Compensation must reflect this dual reality.
A just compensation framework should account for the full value of destroyed structures, including informal investments that may not be captured in official records. It should also recognise the loss of income and provide pathways for livelihood restoration. Simply offering alternative housing, particularly in a location disconnected from economic opportunities, does not address the broader impact of displacement. Support systems must extend to education, healthcare access and transportation, ensuring that relocation does not translate into long-term marginalisation.
Failure to provide adequate compensation has consequences that extend beyond individual hardship. It contributes to an increasingly difficult-to-manage cycle of urban poverty.
Displaced residents who cannot sustain themselves in relocation sites often return to the city in search of opportunities. This movement fuels the expansion of informal settlements in new areas, perpetuating the very challenges the government seeks to resolve.
Perhaps the most troubling dimension of forced relocation is its link to urban insecurity.
When large populations are displaced without viable alternatives, the social fabric is disrupted. Established community structures that once provided informal systems of order and accountability are weakened. In their place, a landscape of uncertainty emerges, where survival becomes the primary concern.
Young people are particularly vulnerable in such contexts. Stripped of stable livelihoods and disconnected from support networks, they face limited opportunities for productive engagement. This creates fertile ground for criminal activities, substance abuse and social unrest. In effect, policies intended to sanitise the city may inadvertently contribute to its destabilisation.
It is important to recognise that insecurity does not arise in a vacuum. It is often a symptom of exclusion, inequality and lack of opportunity. Addressing it requires more than enforcement; it demands inclusive policies that integrate all segments of society into the urban economy. Relocation strategies that isolate the poor on the periphery run counter to this objective.
Lagos, Africa’s largest city and economic hub, has a unique opportunity to redefine urban development that balances growth with inclusion. Rethinking Cities’ stance in advocating regeneration over relocation reflects a broader shift in thinking among urban practitioners. There is increasing recognition that cities cannot achieve sustainability by displacing their most vulnerable residents.
The choice before the state is not merely technical; it is moral and strategic. Pursuing relocation without addressing its inherent flaws risks entrenching inequality and undermining social cohesion. Embracing regeneration, on the other hand, offers a pathway toward a more inclusive and resilient urban future.
In the final analysis, relocating waterfront communities to Agbowa may satisfy immediate political and developmental objectives, but it falls short of addressing the complex realities of urban life in Lagos. Without credible guarantees, robust compensation mechanisms and a clear strategy for livelihood preservation, the plan risks becoming another chapter in the city’s long history of contested urban interventions.
Urban development must not be reduced to the aesthetics of cleared land and new construction. It must be measured by its impact on people, particularly those at the margins. If Lagos is to truly evolve into a world-class city, it must recognise that its strength lies not in excluding the poor but in including them. In this instance, regeneration, not relocation, offers that possibility.
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