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Double Trauma in Minneapolis: An Eyewitness Account of the Protests That Shook America

15 min read.

ALEX ROBERTS walks through the smouldering debris of Minneapolis, and discovers that in a country where anything can be bought, hate can also be funded.

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Mayhem in Minneapolis: An Eyewitness Account of the Protests That Shook America
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The assessment that all the trouble started after George Floyd had his life squeezed out, cuffed and pleading, is inaccurate. In the Midwest region, the Minneapolis Police Department (MPD) flew relatively below the radar of police brutality, especially compared with the notorious corruption of the Chicago Police Department, or the daily racial profiling put forth by the Milwaukee Police Department in Wisconsin.

In 2016, in neighbouring St. Paul, the murder of another unarmed black man, Philando Castile, who was shot five times by a policeman as he was reaching for his driving licence (even after announcing his intention to do so) pulled back the façade. The death of Castile was not forgotten, but it went unpunished and was left festering.

One such figure who has stood as an obstacle to progress towards a more equitable and just police department is Bob Kroll, the President of the Minneapolis Police Union. Kroll is an avid Donald Trump surrogate (even appearing on stage with the president at rallies), and has been accused of open bias in favour of police action by any means, and of having close ties to white supremacist groups. Kroll is a microcosm of the split within Minneapolis.

What is unclear now is how much of a hand the “Bob Krolls” of the city played in the last several days However, nearly every resident of the area believes the police helped stir up the situation.

The timeline of events went roughly as follows:

On the Monday Memorial Day holiday, George Floyd was murdered.

Tuesday saw primarily peaceful protests around the 3rd Precinct on Lake Street and at the site of the murder; but also on Tuesday there seemed to be some sort of instigation, although the exact “who threw down first” question is impossible to say, but in one instance a suspected officer was filmed breaking glass with a hammer at an auto shop while carrying an umbrella.

On Wednesday, the protests escalated as the officer had not been arrested yet and police actions began to intensify.

Thursday split into two protests: a more peaceful one outside the murder scene at Cup Foods (where George Floyd was killed); and a rowdier one at the 3rd Police Precinct. The latter one spiraled, although there are multiple reports of overzealous and violent police actions, as well as outside instigation. By late night Thursday, Lake Street for several blocks on either side of the precinct had devolved into chaos and fires had been lit, most notably destroying the police station itself, forcing police into a hasty retreat.

The situation continued on Friday as police initially stayed out of the area entirely, letting it burn and allowing residents to fend for themselves. They then went in with no mercy in the evening hours. (All or nothing for the MPD.)

With the police department dead set on “enforcing order” instead of calming the situation, the riot police were widely reported to be enacting a policy of violent action first, consequences be damned. Authority in America truly does despise any pushback.

Thursday split into two protests: a more peaceful one outside the murder scene at Cup Foods (where George Floyd was killed); and a rowdier one at the 3rd Police Precinct. The latter one spiraled, although there are multiple reports of overzealous and violent police actions, as well as outside instigation.

Instigators began to come out at night, both from inside the community and many from outside of it. There were multiple reports of white supremacists taking action and clashing in the area, as well as ANTIFA instigators, undercover cops, random out of state people, white kids in from the suburbs to kick up some shit and loot, Minneapolis citizens venting rage and Lake Street residents fighting the would-be instigators. All this, not to mention undercover cops stirring the pot and marked police cracking down on the crowd.

One man, a resident of the area, said of the previous night: “I was at the precinct last night. It was not what you want; people were walking up behind protesters and putting big ass fireworks at the feet of protesters. I watched Wells Fargo burn down. Now you see people who live here out here and cleaning? You know at night it’s a different thing. I think it is hired people. I don’t know who or from where but it is a coordinated effort. I’m hoping there’s just not much less to destroy down here.”

The fire-setters were of particular concern, as random Molotov cocktails were seemingly accompanied by more organised elements. The fires had ripped through seemingly dozens of businesses; large and small alike were not spared. Cars, burned down to white-hot ashy metal dotted parking lots in the surrounding area, particularly in the parking lots of bigger stores like the Target at the corner of Lake and 26th. Graffiti was everywhere, tagged in red and black. Slogans of “Fuck 12” (meaning police), “Death to Pigs”, “No Justice”, “Say His Name” were becoming ubiquitous across exposed brick and hastily thrown up plywood covering shop windows.

The area is the hub of the Twin Cities Somali community, a group of immigrants that has thrived in Minnesota over the last quarter century. Families from all over East Africa and beyond have made these leafy avenues one of the major centres of the diaspora, and now their shops were facing down a situation far outside of their control.

Some of the plywood had desperate pleas to be spared: “Don’t Burn: We Live Upstairs” and “No Fire: This is A BLACK OWNED BUSINESS.” Even stores that seemed to have managed to protect themselves were not spared on closer inspection; in several stores, water poured out from the cracks underneath the sheets of spray paint covered boarding. The low buzz of alarms was everywhere, some gurgling last chirps through the damage of flames, baseball bats and fire system flooding.

As a retired gardener named Madeline who lived off Lake Street said of the situation: “There is a criminal element looking to set fires. We just took a fire bomb out of a cooler outside the Precision Tune store. There’s no sense to this. The criminal elements are coming in on the coat-tails of the protesters and taking up the opportunity. They are very organised. Get your block club organised, coz it is up to us now.”

Now on Saturday, all of this served as an absolutely bizarre tableau. Empty hulking shells of businesses stood wobbly on pillars, surrounding ash and smoldering ruin within.

In front of one building, fluorescent yellow caution tape circled the structure, and a sign read, “Do NOT pass! Building WILL Collapse!”

Streaming past were brooms. Lone people at first, then twos and threes, and looking down Lake Street, a constant stream running up for miles, thousands of people, carrying brooms, shovels, dustpans, snow shovels – all making their way in to clean and salvage.

So many were willing to help their city, and so thorough a job they did that many commented that Lake Street was in fact cleaner than it had ever been. The result gave the impression of a Hollywood movie set – smouldering ruins of structures scattered around spotless asphalt.

In front of one building, fluorescent yellow caution tape circled the structure, and a sign read, “Do NOT pass! Building WILL Collapse!”

Outside an Ethiopian restaurant burned to a husk, with only the sign seeming to survive wholly intact, hundreds of people swept and shoveled up bricks and glass, some even tossing pieces of rubble into wheelbarrows. Inside, not even the floor had survived; it was now a smouldering plank looking down into the cellar of twisted beams intermingling with cracked and leaking water pipes.

Down the road, two doors down from the Kismayo Bakery, they continued, picking up glass by hand, scrubbing at graffiti with sponges, serving as fire brigades and throwing buckets of water onto embers.

In those initial hours of the afternoon, there was an eerie absence of voices; only the scrap of shovels and the swish of brooms broke the silence. The closest historical resemblance was that of Londoners removing rubble after Nazi bombing runs during the Blitz. As most were wearing masks, the eyes spoke of shell shock in the blocks around the Third Police precinct.

An older Somali man stood at the corner, looking at the ruins of a four-storey building about to collapse. He never stopped shaking his head, “This is not good, it is useless. This? You hurt people like this? No…no…no.” He didn’t say this to anyone in particular. Tears were welling up in his eyes. He turned and walked, defeated, up a side street.

Outside a half burned dentists’ office block on Chicago Avenue, a fire truck finally made an appearance, pouring down water that subsequently spilled out onto the street, washing chunks of charred debris around the feet of volunteers who stood in line waiting for the Afro Cafe workers to hand them packed samosas and veggie pilau.

It seemed like every half a block, people — the real representatives of Longfellow – offered up food, bottled water, and sunscreen. Some just asked the passersby if they needed to talk, whether they were holding up alright. The US media, somehow, managed to not highlight any of these organised efforts, though they stood in multitude in solidarity together – masked up and wearing T-shirts painted with “JUSTICE FOR GEORGE”. They took up the mantle of helping their neighboruhood, even as the police abandoned them, the overriding sentiment being “Let them burn each other down”. Instead, the people of Lake Street collected food, redistributed it, and did their damnedest to save every business on the block, even risking their necks to clean the inside of a giant burned-out Target superstore that surely never raised the minimum wage.

As often rings true, those most at risk do the most work. Perhaps this is why it was first- generation immigrants, many from the African diaspora, who spearheaded efforts to galvanise the community towards rebuilding, even as the fires smouldered around them, and the smell of chemical spray paint and the sickly sweet remains of tear gas intermingled with smoke from torched cars. In the midst of the fumes, they painted the word “Love” on the outside of a boarded-up grocery store.

On the nightly news, anchors feigned shock that convenience stores got robbed by three white teenagers in balaclavas, but there was no mention of the thousands who faced down the pandemic together for change and then took up brooms instead of bricks.

Two local teachers barked out this order to a waiting contingent of volunteers: “Get the chalk! Draw lines around this block so it is not hit!”

One of the women stopped to pause a second, murmuring to a random lady on the sidewalk, “Those people aren’t from Minneapolis, the ones burning? They’re not. All of us are here with this COVID? This is a double trauma. This is a great city. I can’t believe this would happen here. People live in some of the buildings being burned. Why would we do that to ourselves?”

A major question rings through: If anger is rightfully centred on the MPD, where were other first responders? If the city truly supported the cause for change, then where were the crews of medical workers handing out PPE?

This was failure at every level: an already stretched thin city abandoned, an already marginalised community threatened; the looming spectre of COVID hanging over it all.

Indeed, if it is possible to be simultaneously aggressive and passive, the emergency systems of Minneapolis managed to achieve both, threading the needle of uselessness. The city government isn’t entirely blameless either; while it may be convenient to blame only the Bob Kroll cop-fetishist types, the city’s “openly progressive” mayor, Jacob Frey, rightfully deserves criticism for his decision to let the protests continue unabated even as they became volatile into the nights of Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. While instigators set up fire bombs, the police, dressed to kill, stayed on the sidelines, seeming only to break their holding pattern to beat, arrest and pepper spray the wrong (non-white) people, often pulling from the peaceful crowd to do so.

“Hands Up!” at the Fifth Precinct

Then there were the dressed-to-kill cops. They were huddled, half a dozen or so, behind trash cans and barricades on the roof of the 5th Precinct. Across the street, the Wells Fargo bank branch was in ruins; a car burned down to the rims lay next to a drive-through ATM machine.

Fences surrounded the station, and as the protesters moved closer, the officers silently put on bulky blue plastic riot helmets.

This initial reaction of gearing up to do battle seemed strange, particularly as how this same group of protesters, minutes before, was in the Uptown district of Lake Street, blocking off an entire intersection, taking a knee and chanting, “SAY HIS NAME! GEORGE FLOYD!” With signs they came in, perhaps six thousand of them, crowding in around the fences, chanting in unison.

Not a stone was thrown and the cops kept gearing up.

“What do we want? ALL FOUR!” the crowd chanted incessantly. It was led by a tiny teenage girl in a “HANDS UP! DON’T SHOOT!” shirt, yelling into a megaphone while steadying herself on top of a concrete barricade.

“All four” means arresting, trying and convicting all four cops that were present when George Floyd died. The sentiment is clear, there are no halfway measures to justice this time. All or nothing and f**k compromise. That road just leads back to this point.

The sentiment of the real South Minneapolis is that this killing truly was the last straw and now there is a need for systemic change or he died for nothing. They believe that George Floyd’s murder was premeditated because for nearly nine minutes, the pressure on his neck was unrelenting. He died cruelly, needlessly, helplessly, and three other cops let it happen; they were complicit in a daylight murder on Chicago Avenue. Not even a live cell phone camera recording and pleas of onlookers could change Floyd’s fate.

“These are the people that really live here,” one man said as he pushed an overloaded dumpster out of the road to help ease traffic. “This is actually us.”

Non-violence seemed the overall sentiment; anger definitely, but not a violent energy that wasn’t the centre of this movement. Even the non-violent were met with brutal police response, however, seemingly unprovoked in many instances.

Even some of the shop owners who had their shops burned still stood in solidarity, with the mantra of “possessions can be replaced but justice needs to be permanent”.

A man on a bicycle wearing a lime green Nigerian national squad football jersey elaborated on what he’d seen. He’d driven all the way from New York City and was quickly lumped in with the rowdier elements, as the police opened up on all of them: “I was there last night man, I was just there, not doing shit, not holding shit. I got shot in the leg with a rubber bullet, anything that could be burned was, from my eyes. My leg is swollen as shit man.”

The sentiment of the real South Minneapolis is that this killing truly was the last straw and now there is a need for systemic change or he died for nothing. They believe that George Floyd’s murder was premeditated because for nearly nine minutes, the pressure on his neck was unrelenting.

There has been a lot said about the outside elements, and the truth seems murky at best, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

At the corner of Wells Fargo, a fifty-something black woman, N-95 mask dangling around her neck, gathered a crowd around her, rebuking the destructive elements and calling on the crowd to do the same: “We gotta get some control in this, we really, really do. Don’t sit here and try to blame the cops, the only thing they’re to blame for is not standing their ground. They left us. Do the peaceful protests man But if you go out and tear up the stores? Don’t go into that! I told my sons that! They pulled guns on my sons and I told them not to be out here. Don’t tell me how to feel!”

Even more to the core than “outside elements” the common theme always circles back to how the police cracked down to such an extreme that people were forced into a corner, thinking that they were suddenly facing down a deadly circumstance with a riot gear-laden officer representing a department that just asphyxiated an unarmed, handcuffed black man in broad daylight and now were in their face swinging clubs and firing tear gas canisters with the intention of hurting people.

When forced into such circumstances, can it really be expected to never swing back?

Three men in their late twenties, Sam, Marvin and Anish (Marvin had moved to Minneapolis from Eldoret, Kenya, years ago), who all live north of the metro line in Minneapolis, attested to the conditions that primed the city’s protests.

“I don’t think they take the precautions they need to when it comes to black folks,” Marvin said, stone-faced.

Sam weighed in. “As black men we go out our way to say ‘hi’ to people, just to make them feel comfortable. Now Trump calling people thugs and shit, now saying ‘hi’ to you might not be valid anymore. F**k him man. That’s his first tweet, why not George Floyd? Why not the protests? We’ve been quiet for too long. This is exactly what happens when you don’t think about change. What do you want us to do, sit back and be quiet?”

There has been a lot said about the outside elements, and the truth seems murky at best, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

“Exactly!” Anish exclaimed, while holding a sign that read “Where’s Justice For George? No Justice For Us?” and shifting the sign onto the handles of his bike before continuing, “Everybody’s frustrated. Enough is enough It’s a cycle though. Same as Baltimore and St. Louis. Rodney King was when? We don’t have to do this, we don’t have to get to this point. This woulda been another closed case. People in Minnesota avoid these issues. Things get swept in this city man.”

A few blocks away, the echoes of “Say His NAME! GEORGE FLOYD” reverberated around store fronts. All up and down the block, countless hands worked furiously, scrubbing away, and screwing in more plywood barricades to stave off the inevitable.

In the adjacent alley, four tactical police units, shaved heads and wrap-around reflective sunglasses, buckled up their flak jackets.

A cocktail of volatility stirred

“When the looting starts, the shooting starts!” There, in small Twitter font, Trump quoted a white supremacist police chief from Miami back in the 60s, and the reaction on the ground was a sarcastic, “Tell us how you really feel”.

Much has been made of the fermenting of some uglier sentiments of American culture, old ghosts bubbling back up to prominence in the age of Trumpism. On Sunday, May 31st, the right-wing talking heads made little mention of the white supremacist who attempted to mirror the truck attack in the French city of Nice by plowing a petrol tanker into the peaceful protesters marching down interstate 35. He missed them, and in his panic that he hadn’t committed mass murder, slowed down, only to be swarmed by people jumping onto the hood and the sides, kicking out the windshield and dragging him out, ensuring he wasn’t beaten so badly that he couldn’t be handed over roughly to the police, who promptly tried to detain one of the would-be-terrorist’s captors.

When the “looting” starts, the shooting starts…clearly. For this administration, all black faces are looters and all those who demand justice for George Floyd are violent ANTIFA thugs. It matters not that they hold signs that read “I Can’t Breathe!”, and that they walk in solidarity with hands up and that there are young people, even children, in the crowds demanding change. This peaceful movement, for the Trump administration, is terrifying and they’re desperately grasping at straws to paint it only through negativity, and further drown out the growing voices who see the obvious realities of inequity.

The disconnect of political ideologies is clearer than ever within the age of COVID and Trumpism, but during the opening salvo of what seems to be a movement, it rings all the starker.

Now, across the US, the simmering has begun to boil over. Protests are breaking out in dozens of cities. Peaceful marchers are revealing that the callousness of the Minneapolis police is not a Minnesota problem, but an institutional system of brutality. It feels as though a moment has arrived, and that true change may, finally, at last, be possible.

The unfortunate part for Minneapolis is how heavily the movement got hijacked.

Sitting out in her lawn ten blocks from the 3rd Precinct, Amy Froiland Parada, a social worker focusing on health services for lower income families from a St. Paul high school, reflects on the last few days.

“People are stirring up all kinds of fear. On my block, (she points around at houses) those guys all fled. I didn’t feel scared until this morning, when I heard that the fire bombs could be organised. When I heard the helicopters, when I heard about the precinct burning down, I thought, you know what? We need a change here. And now…now we’re texting our neighbours and telling them to hide their propane tanks, keep hoses and buckets handy.”

Now, across the US, the simmering has begun to boil over. Protests are breaking out in dozens of cities. Peaceful marchers are revealing that the callousness of the Minneapolis police is not a Minnesota problem, but an institutional system of brutality. It feels as though a moment has arrived, and that true change may, finally, at last, be possible.

Parada has made inroads into the community here through her work and through neighbourhood meetings with members of local predominantly black churches. Now those very same neighbours are under threat. “Tonight, there are people taking shifts to guard the black church around the corner. There’s that fear, the fear it could be targeted. I just truly, truly don’t believe that it is people from this neighbourhood doing all of this.” Her primary concern is how organised the violence seems.

There is truly an element of the Lake Street protests that doesn’t make sense, namely, why Lake Street? Sure the 3rd Precinct is there, but that doesn’t answer the riddle of why the street has been the focal point of the conflict.

In a primed America, however, it might. As coronavirus has brought the world’s “most powerful nation” and “best economy” to its knees, ugly truths have been revealed. Cops are shooting journalists with rubber bullets at point blank range on live television. Young people of colour are so frustrated that they are willing to put up with brutalisation just to be heard – and brutalised they are.

All of this, during the greatest global pandemic in a century, and the desperate clinging to bullshit ideals of “normalcy” from the political class and the controlling interests of the economy. America was never for everyone; African Americans have known this all along. And now, as the financial stability of everyone has cratered through unreachable floor after unreachable floor, such sentiment is spreading. People are risking brutalisation on their heads from clubs while risking brutalisation of their lungs and lives from COVID-19.

There is truly a severe anger right now- the altruistic tendencies that marked the early weeks of the COVID pandemic have been replaced with people who have been left behind and told by their leader that “the White House has handled everything perfectly”.

The young people are sick and tired of being sick and tired. Black America is tired of seeing the movie on repeat, an endless loop.

As one man said of the issue in Minneapolis: “I ain’t burned shit yet, but I am. They put their knee on us too much, it isn’t like a typical way, it’s like a system way. A lot of people feeling the same way, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Now, with money running thin and the crises deepening, the marginalised are gaining a voice that’s becoming a deepening bellow. But for every action, there’s a reaction. Those who would quell those voices, the elements on the other side of the divide mobilised too.

All those elements hit Lake Street like a cyclone; the anger fermented in a desperate and politically divided America poured out into the fires set to Longfellow shops.

The melting pot of the upper Midwest became a cauldron in the days since George Floyd, and as things stand economically, who can say if it’ll ever return to prominence. All of those immigrant-owned businesses, generations of work, gone in a fire bomb.

As Parada describes the situation, “It is almost like someone is trying to come in and stir up a race war up here.”

It is that concern that encapsulates the darkest thoughts that creep in – that in a country where anything can be bought, hate can also be funded. Through this lens, is it truly an act of chance that all of these minority and immigrant-run shops and restaurants started being targeted early on?

In the winding streets of the wealthy lakeside homes south of Lake Street, no less than 20 police SUVs, lined up in a row: they were calming the situation down by guarding the rich miles away from the problem. It was then that the class segregation parallels between a city like Nairobi and Minneapolis become crystal clear: when the chips are down, keep the masses away from true wealth.

To that end, if South Minneapolis is truly ahead of its time, is it so hard to believe that there are elements within America that seek to drag it backwards?

Indeed, the George Floyd protests have been a litmus test for the progress of the neighbourhood. But if the last few days are any indication, residents of Lake Street will come out with brooms, and together they’ll sweep up America’s mess.

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Alex is a journalist and social media expert based in Nairobi, Kenya

Politics

Moving to the Metropole: Migration as Revolution

In an act that should be seen as revolutionary, Africans are moving to the centre to benefit from the resources that continue to be extracted from their continent.

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Moving to the Metropole: Migration as Revolution
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When African students and other black persons escaping Ukraine at the start of the Ukraine-Russia conflict were being ejected from exiting transport (trains and busses) and denied entry into neighbouring Poland, many Africans were enraged with the shameless display of racism. One of these Africans was a middle-aged man from Congo—must have been a graduate student—only recently settled in Germany. Seated inside a café at the Berlin central train station with five of his German and British friends, he exploded: “One wonders how they built all these things? From where did you get all this money? Look where we are, this Hauptbahnof [main train station] must have consumed a fortune. The vehicles you make? No way!” His monologue lasted a while as his friends listened either in agreement or disbelief: “This is our money,” he went on.  “This is why you never stop these civil wars on the continent only to treat us like sub-humans. But we will not stop coming, whatever the cost!” he declared. His voice sounded austere, choked with emotion. None of his friends volunteered an immediate response. Then one said, this Ukraine situation is embarrassing.

While the angry tirade was sparked by the treatment of Africans trying to escape a war zone, clearly, this man had thought about all this stuff for some time. He must have been educated or observant enough to make the connections between the extraction back home in the DRC, the endless violent wars, the resources in Europe (as coming from his home), and the racist treatment of his kindred who otherwise deserve some respect for sustaining the beautiful lifestyles and infrastructures of the western world. Had he listened to Mallence Bart-Williams’ viral TEDx Talk? The story of this Congolese man, whom I will call Tshibumba Matulu (after the painter Tshibumba Matulu that Dutch anthropologist, Johannes Fabian writes about in Remembering the Present) is the story of “the metropole and the periphery” that dependency theorists Samir Amin, Immanuel Wallerstein and Andre Gunder Frank developed in the 1970s and 1980s. The last line of his vitriol is interesting enough in the sense that now, Africans are seeking to see the world as one whole and thus determined to move to the centre—follow up on and seek to enjoy their resources—at whatever cost. Indeed, despite the innumerable roadblocks (immigration laws, expensive and convoluted visa processes, slave traders in the Maghreb, drowning in the Mediterranean, rank racism, and Islamophobia in the western world), Africans are moving to the centre, to the metropole, en masse. They are determined to follow up on their resources.

This is the story of both the open and disguised violence of neoliberalism, where Africa is heavily mined on the cheap, exploited through unequal exchange, climate/conservation colonialism, with the proceeds coming from African human and natural resources being stolen through inexplicable claims of value addition. This point of view has been recently, succinctly and loudly expressed by Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni in her fight with French President Emmanuel Macron over immigration policies in Europe. Known for her anti-immigrant policies, Meloni’s (selfish) position is that if the French stopped stealing resources from 14 African countries through the clearly colonial and extortionist CFA, Africans would not be forced to make the dangerous journeys to Europe (where, by implication, they come to follow up on their resources, which are violently extracted leaving behind absolute poverty and suffering). In that viral clip doing the rounds across the globe, Meloni concludes that the solution to stop Africans from moving from their country to Europe is to leave them alone and have them receive the full benefit of their God-given resources:

So, the solution is not to take Africans and bring them to Europe, the solution is to free Africa from certain Europeans [especially France] who exploit it and allow these people to live off what they have.

While this message seemed directed at the French, the spread of (both violent and structural) capitalism across the African continent is real and threatening. With the collapse of the African economies about 30 years ago (via structural adjustment programmes), where foreign-owned companies returned under the neoliberal order and took over Africa’s major resources or the pillars upon which these economies stood—mineral resources (gold, oil, coffee, diamonds), banking, telecommunications, selling of agricultural products which used to be a function of cooperatives and direct government help—the continent has been left in a clear condition of morbidity. The bold choice, which I argue should be seen as revolutionary, is to move to the centre and demand the benefits of the resources that have been endlessly stolen from the continent, violently and through disguised extractivist structures.

***

Being a Congolese from Goma, Tshibumba Matulu must have witnessed the scramble for Congolese resources by the rich and mighty of the western world very up-close and personal—Dan Gertler International (DGI), Glencore Plc. and Alain Goetz, all of whom have a strong foothold in the country’s mining sector. These multinational companies own almost all the mining sites in the DRC, and have been implicated in the unending violence in the country, which is connected to the ways in which resources are mined. Take South Sudan as the other example where Glencore has a strong foothold in South Sudanese oil. In early November 2022, Glencore Plc. executives were found guilty of bribing the South Sudanese leadership—starting just four weeks after the country’s independence—as “they sought to profit from political turmoil . . . they inserted themselves into government-to-government deals that had been negotiated at preferential rates”.  The Africa Progress Panel estimated that in a period of two years (2010-2012), DRC lost US$1.3 billion in asset sales to DGI. A 2021 study showed that DRC risked losing US$3.71 billion to controversial Israeli businessman Dan Gertler. This is a lot of money—which ends up in Israel where Gertler is one of the richest men and has been controversially implicated in a thousand scandals in Congo. To understand the fact that modern extraction follows a colonial model, one has to appreciate the fact that colonialism’s extraction was and is always outsourced to corporations. King Leopold operated in his individual capacity as a businessman, using his loot to build estates, infrastructures and palaces in Belgium (and not on the African continent). That an independent businessman, Dan Gertler, would promise guns to a government and actually deliver on his promise exposes the ways in which governments in the west outsource businessmen to colonise Africa on their behalf.

These multinational companies own almost all the mining sites in the DRC, and have been implicated in the unending violence in the country.

Dependency theory so succinctly exposed the roots and execution of underdevelopment in Black Africa, which is, in brief, resources being extracted on the cheap from the periphery (Africa), to be moved and generate more value in the metropole. If these resources ever come back to the continent (Latin America or Africa), they return more expensively. In this periphery-metropole dichotomy, endless capitalist exploitation (which mostly thrives on violence) not only depletes resources and opportunities at the periphery, but also makes life unliveable and unbearable. It then enacts tougher controls to keep the peoples of the periphery at the periphery so that they do not move to the metropole and overwhelm its amenities. This is why African journeys to the metropole are not only dangerous, but are also defined by more drama that tends to generate an incredible amount of grim news broadcasts. Dependency theory does not explicitly follow up on the revolutionary journeys where the exploited—like Tshibumba Matulu—painstakingly seek the benefits of their resources in the metropole. This is perhaps because it pursued another route out of this colonial conundrum, which was to de-link the metropole from the periphery.

Capitalism’s violence, revolutionary journeys

Transiting through airports in Dubai or Doha, one will encounter East African languages, especially Kiswahili and Luganda. Manning a counter in twos or threes, staff tend to speak to each other in their languages. While duty stations may not be allocated depending on the mutual native linguistic intelligibility between workers, since all speak English, somehow, workers from the same Great Lakes linguistic community find themselves together. That the numbers of labour migrants moving to the Middle East have soared over the past years is not just testament to the availability of job opportunities in the Middle East, but also to the dire conditions in which they live in their countries—conditions made difficult by the capitalist neoliberal reforms of the 1980s, and in some cases by conflict (especially in Northern Uganda, Karamoja, Turkana areas, South Sudan and Somalia). Middle Eastern salaries are not the greatest attraction as they range between US$600 and US$900 depending on seniority (far much less for domestic work). But that the same amounts cannot be earned back home speaks more to the dire conditions at home.

Data from the Uganda Ministry of Gender, Labour and Social Development published in the Daily Monitor, indicates that for the last six years (2016-2022), an average of 24,086 Ugandans left the country annually in search of employment, especially in the Middle East. What makes conditions so hostile in the Great Lakes Region?  Besides Somalia and Central African Republic—where there is outright violence—why is the scale of movement of young people in particular so high in the Great Lakes region? It is the ravages of both internal capitalism (by the petty bourgeoisies) and foreign capital moving from South Africa northwards, but also coming from Europe and North America—and China exploiting the neoliberal environment. This is evident in cases of land grabbing, forced evictions, refugee crises caused by resource wars, especially in DRC and South Sudan, and the terrible business environment in the region.

Dependency theory does not explicitly follow up on the revolutionary journeys where the exploited painstakingly seek the benefits of their resources in the metropole.

Theoretically and practically, without the violence of the state and other related state actors, it is difficult for capitalism to reproduce itself.  States do not only set the conditions under which extraction occurs (such as banking regimes, neoliberal regimes), but they are also ready to commit violence on the exploited. In Uganda, cases of land grabbing by local capitalists have made land ownership and agriculture difficult. In other cases, collusion between the state and foreign capitalists to evict peasants off their lands is causing first, rural urban-migration, and then journeys abroad. Among the most memorable cases is that of the 2001 evictions in Mubende where the German coffee company Neumann Gruppe used outright violence (with the help of the state), including shooting, burning houses and animals, and maiming people to create way for a coffee plantation. Over 2,000 families remain destitute and are yet to find justice. Faced with mass unemployment, extortionist banking regimes with high interest rates that have stymied creativity and made business difficult across East Africa, many young people struggle to start thriving businesses.

Violent evictions have also taken place in Kenya and Tanzania to create way for capitalist expansion or capitalist ostentation (Franz Fanon warned that political elites would turn the continent into an entertainment centre for foreign capitalists). This is the story in Samburu where evictions have taken place to create way for American charities. It is the story of the green colonialism that led to the Ogiek and Maasai evictions from the Mau Forest in the name of conservation. Guillaume Blanc’s recently published book, The Invention of Green Colonialism, demonstrates how the rhetoric of conservation (by colonially founded organisations including UNESCO, WWF, IUCN) perpetuates a colonial model of conservation that privileges animals and plants over humans. While capitalists in Europe and North America—consuming endlessly—have destroyed nature, they have maintained a mythical, fictionalised Eden in Africa, insisting that peasants, who have developed ways of coexisting with nature, who eat very little meat, have neither cars, nor computers nor smartphones, are a danger to the environment. They are evicted from huge swathes of land that are then reserved for white people to hunt and gaze at wild animals.

Away from the forests and the plains, the poor are also being “cleansed” from the capital cities. The 2021 Mukuru Kwa Njega eviction in Nairobi that left 40,000 people homeless is etched in the memories of Kenyans. In what Mwaura Mwangi aptly termed “Demolition Colonialism”, thousands of poor Nairobians have had their houses demolished so that the rich can enjoy easy transit. This is not anti-development position, but rather a reading that seeks to recognise the rights of the poor, and make visible the history of slums in major cities across Africa.

Theoretically and practically, without the violence of the state and other related state actors, it is difficult for capitalism to reproduce itself.

Then come the wars in the DRC, Somalia, CAR, and South Sudan—a product of business dealings by multinationals including Glencore and CNOOC, among others— that have led to an increase in refugees numbers, now reaching 2.3 million people according to UNHCR. In his book Saviours and Survivors, Mahmood Mamdani implicates CNOOC and ExxonMobil in protecting oil wells using different rebel groups in the Sudan-South Sudan conflict. The end product of these clandestine oil dealings are the over 1.5 million refugees hosted in Uganda, making it the country with the largest number of refugees in the world. The influx of people escaping resource-related conflicts has overwhelmed resources in the Great Lakes region.  And while many of the refugees will stay in the region, many others are making the journey to the Middle East, to Europe and to North America.

With all this aggressive capitalist expansion manifesting in different forms, the African in the Great Lakes (and other places on the continent) is left with no choice but to make the journey to Europe and to North America. I want to read these journeys not just as migration, but as revolution. They might seem puny, unorganised and migrating out of desperate need, but Africans are moving to the centre to benefit from the resources that continue to be extracted from their continent. This is how the extractors perceive these journeys—not as migration, but as revolution—which explains why there are so many roadblocks along the way.

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The Campaign that Remembered Nothing and Forgot Nothing

Once a master of coalition building, Raila Odinga killed his own party and brand, handed over his backyard to William Ruto, threw in his lot with Uhuru Kenyatta, ended up being branded a “state project”, and lost.

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The Campaign that Remembered Nothing and Forgot Nothing
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The Original sin

A seasoned Nairobi politician, Timothy Wanyonyi had cut a niche for himself in the Nairobi governor’s race that was filled with a dozen candidates who had up to that point not quite captured the imagination of Nairobians. Some candidates were facing questions over their academic qualifications while others were without a well-defined public profile. In that field Wanyonyi, an experienced Nairobi politician, stood out. On 19th April, the Westlands MP’s campaign team was canvasing for him in Kawangware. They had sent pictures and videos to news teams seeking coverage. But that evening their candidate would receive a phone call to attend a meeting at State House Nairobi that would put an end to his campaign. Before Tim made his way to State House, insiders around President Uhuru Kenyatta told reporters that Wanyonyi was out of the Nairobi governor’s race.

Wanyonyi’s rallying call “Si Mimi, ni Sisi”—a spin on US Senator Bernie Sanders’ “Not me. Us” 2020 presidential campaign slogan—distinguished him as a candidate who understood the anxieties of Nairobians. “They were looking for someone who would see the city as a home first, before seeing it as a business centre,” one of his political consultants told me. But the Azimio coalition to which Wanyonyi’s ODM party belonged was very broad, with several centres of power that didn’t take into account—or maybe didn’t care about— Nairobi’s political landscape. Wanyonyi’s candidacy was hastily sacrificed at the altar of the coalition’s politics. Former President Uhuru Kenyatta, the coalition’s chairman, had prevailed on Raila Odinga, its presidential candidate, to essentially leave Nairobi to Kenyatta’s Jubilee Party in exchange for ODM picking the presidential candidate.

That was the only consideration on the table.

However, it was a miscalculation by the coalition. Azimio failed to appreciate the complex matrix that is a presidential election in Kenya. While the top ticket affects the races downstream, it can be argued that the reverse is also true. It is ironic that Raila Odinga, a power broker and a master of coalition building who was running for presidency for the fifth time, was choosing to ignore these principles. His own ascension in politics had been based on building a machine—ODM—that he used carefully during every election cycle. Yet in this election he was killing his own party and brand. The Azimio La Umoja coalition party was built as a party of parties that would be the vehicle Raila would use to contest the presidency. However, the constituent parties were free to sponsor parliamentary candidates. It sounded like a good idea on paper but it created friction as the parties found themselves in competition everywhere. To keep Azimio from fracturing both itself and its votes, the idea of “zoning”—having weaker candidates step down for stronger ones, essentially carving out exclusive zones for parties—gained traction, and would itself lead to major fall-outs, even after it was adopted as official Azimio policy in June.

However, beyond the zoning controversy, Wanyonyi’s candidacy served as a marker for a key block of Odinga voters—the Luhya—assuring them of their place within the Azimio coalition. Luhya voters have been Odinga’s insurance policy during his last three presidential runs. With Nyanza and the four western Kenya counties of Kakamega, Bungoma, Vihiga and Busia in his back pocket, he would be free to pick up other regions. Odinga claimed 71 per cent of the Luhya bloc in 2017 but this time, western voters were feeling jittery about the new political arrangements.

There is also another consideration. The Luhya voting bloc in Nairobi is also significant, and Odinga had carried the capital in his previous three presidential runs. The Nairobi electoral map is largely organized around five big groups: the Kikuyu, Luo, Luhya, Kamba, and Kisii. For the ODM party, having a combination of a Luo-Luhya voting bloc in Nairobi has enabled Odinga to take the city and to be a force to reckon with.

However, it appeared that all these factors were of no importance in 2022. So, Tim Wanyonyi was forced out of the race. He protested. Or attempted to. Western Kenya voters were furious, but who cared?

Miscalculation

The morning after the State House meeting, a group calling themselves Luhya professionals had strong words for both Odinga and Azimio.

“We refuse to be used as a ladder for other political expediencies whenever there is an election,” Philip Kisia, who was the chairman of this loose “professional group” said during a press conference that paraded the faces of political players from the Luhya community. The community had “irreducible minimum” and would not allow itself to “to be used again this time.” Other speakers at that press conference—including ODM Secretary General Edwin Sifuna—laid claim to what they called the place of the Luhya community in Nairobi. The political relationship between Luhyas and Luos has not been without tensions; in the aftermath of the opposition’s unravelling in the 90s, Michael Kijana Wamalwa and Raila Odinga fought for supremacy within the Ford Kenya party. Wamalwa believed the throne left by Jaramogi Oginga Odinga was his for the taking. However, Odinga’s son, Raila, mounted a challenge for the control of the party, eventually leaving Ford Kenya to build his own party, the National Development Party (NDP). The Luhya-Luo relationship was broken. Luhya sentiment was that, having been faithful to Odinga’s father, it was time for Wamalwa to lead the opposition.

These old political wounds have flared up during every election cycle, and Raila Odinga has worked for decades to reassure the voting bloc and bury the hatchet. This time, however, he was different. He didn’t seem to care about those fragile egos. After the press conference, a strategist in Odinga’s camp wondered aloud, “Who will they [Luhyas] vote for?”

The next 21 days were to be pivotal for Kenya’s presidential election. Azimio moved on and introduced Polycarp Igathe as their candidate for Nairobi. A former deputy governor in Nairobi who had quit just months after taking office, Igathe is well known for his C-suite jobs and intimate links to the Kenyan political elite. His selection, though, played perfectly into the rival Kenya Kwanza coalition’s “hustlers vs dynasties” narrative which sought to frame the 2022 elections as a contest between the political families that have dominated Kenya’s politics and economy since independence. The sons of a former vice president and president respectively, Odinga and Uhuru were branded as dynasties while the then deputy president claimed for himself the title of “hustler”.

These old political wounds have flared up during every election cycle, and Raila Odinga has worked for decades to reassure the voting bloc and bury the hatchet.

But, William Ruto’s side also saw something else in that moment—an opportunity to get a chunk of the important Luhya vote. Ruto first entered into a coalition with Musalia Mudavadi, selling their alliance as a “partnership of equals”, and then followed that up with the offer of a Luhya gubernatorial candidate to Nairobians in the name of Senator Johnson Koskei Sakaja.

Meanwhile, Wanyonyi’s half-brother, the current Speaker of the National Assembly, Moses Wetangula, was a principle in Ruto’s camp. Up to this point, Wetangula had struggled to find a coherent message to sell Ruto’s candidacy to the Luhya nation. But, with his brother being shafted by Azimio, Wetangula saw a political opening; he quickly called a press conference and complained bitterly about the “unfair Odinga” whom he said the Luhya community would not support for “denying their son a ticket to run for the seat of the governor of Nairobi”. His press conference went almost unnoticed and it is not even clear if Azimio took notice of the political significance of Wetangula’s protestations.

Azimio had offered their opponents an inroad into western Kenya politics and Ruto wasted little time trying turn a key Odinga voting bloc. With Sakaja confirmed as the Kenya Kwanza candidate for the Nairobi governor’s race, Wetangula and Kenya Kwanza made Western Kenya a centrepiece of their path to presidency. Tim Wanyonyi was presented as a martyr. The Ford Kenya leader took to all the radio stations, taking calls or sending emissaries, to declare Odinga’s betrayal. In the days and weeks that followed, William Ruto would make a dozen more visits to Luhyaland than his rival, assuring the voters that there would be a central place reserved for them in his administration. In contrast, on a visit to western Kenya, Raila Odinga expressed anger that an opinion poll had shown him trailing Ruto in Bungoma. “He is at nearly 60 per cent and I am at 40 per cent. Shame on you people! Shame on you people! Shame on you!” he told the crowd. He would eventually lose Bungoma and Trans Nzoia to William Ruto.

To be sure, Odinga won western Kenya with 55 per cent of the vote, but William Ruto had 45 per cent, enough to light his path to the presidency. He would repeat the same feat in Nairobi and coast regions, traditionally Odinga strongholds where he would have expected to bag upwards of 60 per cent of the vote. Azimio modelling had put these regions in Raila’s column but Kenya Kwanza took advantage of the mistake-prone Odinga. And wherever Odinga blundered, Ruto mopped up. As Speaker, Wetangula is today the third most powerful man in in the country. Yet just four years ago, he was an Odinga ally who had been stripped off his duties as a minority leader in the Senate by Odinga’s ODM party. At the time he warned that the divorce “would be messy, it would be noisy, it would be unhelpful, it would not be easy, it would have casualties”. It was the first of many political blunders that Odinga would make.

Unforced errors

Looking back, Odinga’s 2022 run for the presidency had all the hallmarks of a campaign that didn’t know what it didn’t know; it was filled with assumptions, and sometimes made the wrong judgment calls. By handing over his backyard to Ruto and choosing to ally with President Uhuru Kenyatta, Raila ended up being branded a “state project”.

In 2005, Odinga had used the momentum generated by his successful campaign in a referendum against Mwai Kibaki’s attempt to foist on the country a bastardized version of the constitution negotiated in Bomas to launch early campaigns for his 2007 presidential run. However, this time, as the courts hamstrung his attempt to launch the BBI referendum, Ruto was already off to the races, having begun his presidential campaign three years early.

“He is at nearly 60 per cent and I am at 40 per cent. Shame on you people! Shame on you people! Shame on you!”

With the rejection of constitutional changes, which were found to be deeply unpopular among many Kenyans, Odinga was finally in a strange place, a politician now out of touch, defending an unpopular government, a stranger to his own political base. The failure of BBI as a political tool was really the consequence of Odinga’s and Kenyatta’s inability to understand the ever-changing Kenyan political landscape. Numerous times they just seemed to not know how to deal with the dynamism of William Ruto. He would shape-shift, change the national conversation, and nothing they threw at him seemed to stick, including, corruption allegations. For a politician who created the branding of opponents as his tool, Odinga had finally been branded and it stuck.

Bow out

In the final day of the campaigns, both camps chose Nairobi to make their final submissions. Azimio chose Kasarani stadium. It was, as expected, full of colour, with a Tanzanian celebrity musician, Diamond Platnumz, brought in to boot. Supporters were treated to rushed speeches by politicians who had somewhere else to be. Azimio concluded its final submission early and the speeches by Odinga and his running mate, Martha Karua, weren’t exactly a rallying call. It was as if they were happy to be put out of their pain as they quickly stepped off the stage and left the stadium. In contrast, Ruto’s final submission was filled with speeches of fury by politicians angered by “state capture” and the “failing economy”. Speaker after speaker roused the audience with their defiant messages. They ended the meeting an hour before the end of IEBC campaign deadline. A video soon appeared online of William Ruto sprinting across the Wilson airport runway to catch a chopper and make it to one final rally in central Kenya before the IEBC’s 6 p.m. campaign deadline.

Pictures of the deputy president on top of a car at dusk in markets in Kiambu were the last images of his campaign to be shared on social media. Ruto won because he wanted the presidency more than Odinga and was willing to work twice as hard as both Odinga and Kenyatta.

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Lagos From Its Margins: Everyday Experiences in a Migrant Haven

From its beginnings as a fishing village, Lagos has grown into a large metropolis that attracts migrants seeking opportunity or Internally Displaced Persons fleeing violence.

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Lagos, City of Migrants

From its origins as a fishing village in the 1600s, Lagos has urbanised stealthily into a vast metropolis, wielding extensive economic, political and cultural influence on Nigeria and beyond. Migration in search of opportunities has been the major factor responsible for the demographic and spatial growth of the city as Lagos has grown from 60,221 in 1872 to over 23 million people today. The expansion of the city also comes with tensions around indigene-settler dynamics, especially in accessing land, political influence and urban resources. There are also categories of migrants whose status determines if they can lay hold of the “urban advantage” that relocating to a large city offers.

A major impetus to the evolution of modern Lagos is the migration of diverse groups of people from Nigeria’s hinterland and beyond. By the 1800s, waves of migrants (freed slaves) from Brazil and Freetown had made their way to Lagos, while many from Nigeria’s hinterland including the Ekiti, Nupes, Egbas and Ijebus began to settle in ethnic enclaves across the city. In the 1900s, migrant enclaves were based on socio-economic and/or ethnicity status. Hausas (including returnees from the Burma war) settled in Obalende and Agege, while the Ijaw and Itsekiri settled in waterfront communities around Ajegunle and Ijora. International migrant communities include the Togolese, Beninoise and Ghanaian, as well as large communities of Lebanese and Indian migrants. The names and socio-cultural mix in most Lagos communities derive from these historical migrant trajectories.

Permanent temporalities

A study on coordinated migrations found that, as a destination city, Lagos grew 18.6 per cent between 2000 and 2012, with about 96 per cent of the migrants coming from within Nigeria. While migration to Lagos has traditionally been in search of economic opportunities, new classes of migrants have emerged over the last few decades. These are itinerant migrants and internally displaced persons.

Itinerant migrants are those from other areas of Nigeria and West Africa who travel to work in Lagos while keeping their families back home. Mobility cycles can be weekly, monthly or seasonal. Such migrants have no address in Lagos as they often sleep at their work premises or in mosques, saving all their earned income for remittance. They include construction artisans from Benin and Togo who come to Lagos only when they have jobs, farmers from Nigeria’s northern states who come to Lagos to work as casual labourers in between farming seasons (see box), as well as junior staff in government and corporate offices whose income is simply too small to cover the high cost of living in Lagos.

While people from Nigeria’s hinterland continue to arrive in the city in droves, the wave of West African in-migration has ebbed significantly. This is mostly because of the economic challenges Nigeria is currently facing that have crashed the Naira-to-CFA exchange rates. As a result, young men from Togo, Ghana and Benin are finding cities like Dakar and Banjul more attractive than Lagos.

Photo. Taibat Lawanson

Photo. Taibat Lawanson

Aliu* aka Mr Bushman, from Sokoto, Age 28

Aliu came to Lagos in 2009 on the back of a cattle truck. His first job was in the market carrying goods for market patrons. He slept in the neighbourhood mosque with other young boys. Over the years, he has done a number of odd jobs including construction work. In 2014, he started to work as a commercial motorcyclist (okada) and later got the opportunity to learn how to repair them. He calls himself an engineer and for the past four years has earned his income exclusively from riding and repairing okada. Even though he can afford to rent a room, he currently lives in a shared shack with seven other migrants.

He makes between N5000 and N8000 weekly and sends most of it to his family through a local transport operator who goes to Sokoto weekly. His wife and three children are in the village, but he would rather send them money than bring them to Lagos. According to him, “The life in Lagos is too hard for women”.

Since he came to Lagos thirteen years ago, Aliu has never spent more than four months away from Sokoto at a time. He stays in Sokoto during the rainy season to farm rice, maize and guinea corn, and has travelled back home to vote every time since he came to Lagos.

 

The second category of migrants are those who have been displaced from their homesteads in Northern Nigeria by conflict, either Boko Haram insurgency or invasions by Fulani herdsmen. The crises have resulted in the violent destruction of many communities, with hundreds of thousands killed and many more forced to flee. With many who initially settled in camps for Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) dissatisfied with camp conditions, the burden of protracted displacement is now spurring a new wave of IDP migration to urban areas. Even though empirical data on the exact number of displaced persons migrating out of camps to cities is difficult to ascertain, it is obvious that this category of migrants are negotiating their access to the city and its resources in circumstances quite different from those of other categories of migrants.

IDPs as the emerging migrant class in Lagos 

According to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, two of every three internally displaced persons globally are now living in cities. Evidence from Nigeria suggests that many IDPs are migrating to urban areas in search of relative safety and resettlement opportunities, with Lagos estimated to host the highest number of independent IDP migrants in the country. In moving to Lagos, IDPs are shaping the city in a number of ways including appropriating public spaces and accelerating the formation of new settlements.

There are three government-supported IDP camps in the city, with anecdotal evidence pointing to about eighteen informal IDP shack communities across the city’s peri-urban axis. This correlates with studies from other cities that highlight how this category of habitations (as initial shelter solutions for self-settled IDPs) accelerate the formation of new urban informal settlements and spatial agglomerations of poverty and vulnerability.

While people from Nigeria’s hinterland continue to arrive in the city in droves, the wave of West African in-migration has ebbed significantly.

IDPs in Lagos move around a lot. Adamu, who currently lives in Owode Mango—a shack community near the Lagos Free Trade zone—and has been a victim of forced eviction four times said, “As they [government or land owners] get ready to demolish this place and render us homeless again, we will move to another area and live there until they catch up with us.”

In the last ten years, there has been an increase in the number of homeless people on the streets of Lagos—either living under bridges, in public parks or incomplete buildings. Many of them are IDPs who are new migrants, and unable to access the support necessary to ease their entry into the city’s established slums or government IDP camps. Marcus, who came from Adamawa State in 2017 and has been living under the Obalende Bridge for five years, said, “I am still managing, living under the bridge. I won’t do this forever, my life will not end like this under a bridge. I hope to one day return to my home and continue my life”.

Blending in or not: Urban integration strategies 

Urban integration can be a real challenge for IDP migrants. Whereas voluntary migrants are often perceived to be legal entrants to the city and so can lay claim to urban resources, the same cannot be said about IDPs. Despite being citizens, and despite Nigeria being a federation, IDPs do not have the same rights as other citizens in many Nigerian cities and constantly face stigmatisation and harassment, which reinforces their penchant for enclaving.

The lack of appropriate documentation and skillsets also denies migrants full entry into the socio-economic system. For example, Rebekah said: “I had my WAEC [Senior Secondary school leaving certificate] results and when Boko Haram burnt our village, our family lost everything including my certificates. But how can I continue my education when I have not been able to get it? I have to do handwork [informal labour] now”. IDP children make up a significant proportion of out-of-school children in Lagos as many are unable to get registered in school simply because of a lack of address.

Most IDPs survive by deploying social capital—especially ethnic and religious ties. IDP ethnic groupings are quite organized; most belong to an ethnic-affiliated group and consider this as particularly beneficial to their resettlement and sense of identity in Lagos. Adamu from Chibok said, “When I come to Lagos in 2017, I come straight to Eleko. My brother [kinsman] help me with house, and he buy food for my family. As I no get work, he teach me okada work wey he dey do.”

The crises have resulted in the violent destruction of many communities, with hundreds of thousands killed and many more forced to flee.

Interestingly, migration to the city can also be good for women as many who were hitherto unemployed due to cultural barriers are now able to work. Mary who fled Benue with her family due to farmer-herder clashes explained, “When we were at home [in Benue], I was assisting my husband with farming, but here in Lagos, I have my own small shop where I sell food. Now I have my own money and my own work.”

Need for targeted interventions for vulnerable Lagosians

“Survival of the fittest” is an everyday maxim in the city of Lagos. For migrants, this is especially true as they are not entitled to any form of structured support from the government. Self-settlement is therefore daunting, especially in light of systemic limiting factors.

Migrants are attracted to big cities based on perceived economic opportunities, and with limited integration, their survival strategies are inevitably changing the spatial configurations of Lagos. While the city government is actively promoting urban renewal, IDP enclaving is creating new slums. Therefore, addressing the contextualised needs of urban migrant groups is a sine qua non for inclusive and sustainable urban development.

“I am still managing, living under the bridge. I won’t do this forever, my life will not end like this under a bridge. I hope to one day return to my home and continue my life”.

There is an established protocol for supporting international refugees. However, the same cannot be said for IDPs who are Nigerian citizens. They do not enjoy structured support outside of camps, and we have seen that camps are not an effective long-term solution to displacement. There is a high rate of IDP mobility to cities like Lagos, which establishes the fact that cities are an integral part of the future of humanitarian crisis. Their current survival strategies are not necessarily harnessing the urban advantage, especially due to lack of official recognition and documentation. It is therefore imperative that humanitarian frameworks take into account the role of cities and also the peculiarities of IDP migrations to them.

Lagos remains a choice destination city and there is therefore need to pay more attention to understanding the patterns, processes and implications of migration into the city. The paucity of migration-related empirical data no doubt inhibits effective planning for economic and social development. Availability of disaggregated migration data will assist the state to develop targeted interventions for the various categories of vulnerable Lagosians.  Furthermore, targeted support for migrant groups must leverage existing social networks, especially the organised ethnic and religious groups that migrants lean on for entry into the city and for urban integration.

*All names used in this article are pseudonyms

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