Living in bondage

By Chinedu Ozordi


February 27, 2010 09:41PM
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After an uninterrupted 11-year stay in Spain, Teniayo Martins visited Nigeria, and gamely offered to stay with her elder sister, Bisola, in the two rooms that she lives in the slums of Ijesha, a suburb of Lagos.

“Even before I came back, I knew it wouldn’t be easy staying in such a place, but I wanted to spend time with my only sister and not go and waste money in some hotel,” she said. “I wanted to show her that my love for her is greater than whatever discomfort I might face in living there.”

But Ms. Martins bravely endured the living conditions of tenants of the building for two days, woke up to find rashes all over her body on the third day, and then fled to a nearby hotel.

The house is one of the slums that dot the metropolis resulting from the massively growing population of the city and its attendant effect on the rent rates.

The buildings in these slums are usually constructed in such a manner that as many single rooms as possible are crammed into a building, often with a single toilet and bathroom. Some of these buildings have no kitchens, and tenants cook inside their living rooms in some cases.

“The living conditions in these ‘face me-I face you’ arrangements are quite awful,” said Elizabeth Kadiri, an estate agent. “But the fact is that they are very important for the low-income earners. For one to be able to afford living in at least a three-bedroom flat, that person definitely needs to earn a decent wage in this city.”

Tenants of such living quarters have had to devise ingenious means of adjusting to the harsh conditions of living in these public ‘compounds’.

The communal life

For one, residents living in such close quarters are forced to adopt a communal life; often with undesirable consequences.

“My room is the first room as soon as you enter the compound, and as long as my door is not locked, everybody wants to greet me on his way out or in,” said Amechi Emecheta who lives with thirty-seven other tenants in a twenty-six room bungalow in Ojo. “Sometimes I will be asleep, and because my door is always open because of the heat, people will just disturb because they simply want to greet you. It always gets on my nerves.”

For 15-year-old Henrietta Odewale (not real name), the communal spirit which resulted in undergoing errands for every older resident of the 24-room one-storey building in Ijesha, Surulere, resulted in her being allegedly raped serially by a middle-aged co-tenant who frequently lured her into his room by sending her on errands.

“The worst thing is that the idiot is a (member of) Chosen (Charismatic Church), and was always preaching to neighbours,” said Henrietta’s mother, when contacted by NEXT. “I never suspected anything initially. It was after my daughter started walking somehow that we suspected and asked her.”

The chairman of the tenants’ association, Anthony Okoye, invited the police to take over the case; but was surprised at the consequence of his actions.

“To my utmost surprise, they came and started insulting me for taking the man to the police,” he said. “They said I was too rash. What else should I have done when the man confessed to rape? They eventually settled the case when he agreed to pay N60,000 to the girl’s mother.”

The hazards

Fumes from generators, inadequate ventilation arrangements, overcrowded rooms, and filthy toilet facilities are some of the dangers that tenants of such houses face.

“Me and my wife sleep on the floor, and our three children sleep on the bed,” said Chinedu Oguejiofor, a refrigerator seller who resides in a one-room apartment with his family at Odo-eran, Ijesha; shrugging like this was only a fact of life.

Paul Udemba and his family have a slightly better living arrangement; they live in two adjoining rooms in an eighteen-room public building at Mushin. However, there is a catch: the toilet facilities are so dirty that Mr. Udemba and his wife have not used the toilet in their home since 2005. Their two children, ages four and three, use plastic buckets behind the residence.

“I make sure I leave the house as early as 6am, and usually use the toilet near my office (at Lawanson, Surulere where he trades in fairly used microwave ovens),” he said. “My wife also leaves early, and uses the toilet at her own office. The toilet is not conducive for a reasonable man to use in discharging his duties.”

Yearning for better digs

If there is one thing that tenants who live in such conditions share, it is a desire for escape. Unfortunately, many have struggled with raising the required amount to meet the stiff rent charges associated with the metropolis for years.

The average rate for a three-bedroom flat in the city is N300, 000 per annum; and most property owners demand for two or more years’ rent in advance before letting out their property.

However, for low-income earners like Sheriff Ade, a generator repairman, leaving is not an easy option. “I used to live with my uncle and his wife in a single room (apartment) for three years, but now I live in my own room,” said Mr. Ade, a generator repairman. “By God’s grace, I will move into two rooms before I marry.”

Still, there are those, like Ms. Martins’ sister, who have turned their quarters into such comfort zones that they are loathe to move into better accommodations. “I tried to get her to move into a flat but she asked me what she will be doing in a flat,” she said. “I don’t understand how people can be suffering like this and happy.”


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