Makoko, the historic floating fishing settlement perched on the Lagos Lagoon, has been plunged into a deep humanitarian crisis following an ongoing demolition exercise by the Lagos State Government.
Once alive with the rhythms of fishing, trading and communal living, large sections of the community now resemble a disaster zone—broken planks bob on the water, household items lie scattered, and thousands of displaced residents struggle to survive without shelter, income or certainty about the future.
Entire rows of wooden homes and shops have been pulled down, forcing families—many of them women, children, widows and the elderly—to sleep inside canoes, under open skies or along the lagoon’s edge.
Residents say the demolitions, which began quietly in parts of Makoko in December 2025, intensified in January 2026 and expanded deeper into the community with little warning or engagement.
“They started from one side and kept moving,” said Mr Sunday Adebayo, a community elder who has lived in Makoko for over 20 years. “At first, we thought it would stop. Then it kept coming closer—one house after another.
By January, it became massive. That was when we knew they wanted to wipe us out in the name of development. Everything we own don finish.”
Livelihoods washed away
For generations, Makoko residents have depended on the lagoon for survival. Fishing, fish smoking, petty trading and small-scale craftsmanship—often run directly from their homes—formed the backbone of the local economy. With the demolitions, those livelihoods have vanished overnight.
Oyomide, a 35-year-old fisherman, said the destruction of his home also destroyed his means of survival. “Na this water we dey take survive. I go fishing every morning, my wife dey smoke fish, we dey sell small-small,” he said in Pidgin English. “But when dem break the house, everything go. My net spoil. My canoe nearly sink. Since that day, we never chop better food.”
His wife, fighting back tears, added: “Sometimes my children go sleep without food. As a mother, e dey pain me well well. Every night I dey cry, how I go raise my children now?”
Many residents said they lost cash savings, fishing tools, goods and personal belongings because they were not given time to evacuate. “Dem no even give us time to pack,” an elderly man said quietly. “My money, my mattress, my radio—everything don go.”
Makoko is not a transient settlement for many of its inhabitants. Several families trace their roots there across multiple generations. Balogun Adekunle, a 52-year-old fisherman, said his family has lived in Makoko for more than four decades. “My father lived here. I was born here. Now my children live here. This is the only home we’ve known,” he said.
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For widows and the elderly, the impact has been especially severe. Mrs Bidemi, a widow with three children, said she has nowhere else to go. “My husband died five years ago. This house was all we had. Now they’ve destroyed it. I’m alone. Where am I supposed to go?” she asked, sobbing.
Since the demolitions began, displaced residents say no Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp or temporary shelter has been provided. When it rains, families are drenched. Under the scorching sun, there is no shade. At night, mosquitoes swarm freely as mothers clutch their children inside wooden boats.
“If rain fall, na rain go beat us. If sun hot, na sun go burn us,” a young trader lamented. “Dem break my shop. Everything scatter. How my children wan chop?”
Night Demolitions and Trauma
One of the most disturbing allegations from residents is that some demolitions were carried out at night, while families were asleep. Multiple witnesses claimed bulldozers arrived at odd hours, sparking panic.
“One night after midnight, we heard noise,” said Mr Adekunle Hassan. “Before we understood what was happening, houses were already coming down. People were shouting. Children were crying. Nobody listened.”
Others alleged that some structures were set ablaze, forcing occupants to flee. Mrs Blessing Okonkwo, an Igbo trader whose shop was destroyed, claimed: “They burnt houses while people were still inside. We ran out with only the clothes on our bodies. Everything I worked for burned.”
Children Out of School, Lives Lost
The demolitions have had a devastating effect on children. Several parents said their children have dropped out of school because uniforms, books and fees were lost. “My two children have stopped going to school,” said Mrs Esther Ajayi. “Their uniforms were destroyed. I have no money. How do I explain this to them?”
Teachers in nearby schools confirmed that attendance from Makoko pupils has dropped sharply since January.
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Beyond displacement, residents and civil society groups allege that at least 12 people have died in connection with the exercise, some from stress-related illness and trauma. Mr Ibrahim Lawal said his younger brother died shortly after their home was demolished. “He was healthy before. After we lost our house, he fell sick. We had nowhere to sleep, no money for hospital. He died quietly. Is this development?” he asked.
While the Lagos State Government has not confirmed these deaths, residents insist the losses are real and devastating.
Government’s Position and Growing Pushback
The Lagos State Government has defended the demolition, insisting the structures were built under high-tension power lines and posed serious safety risks. Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu said the buildings had been marked long ago and that compensation arrangements were underway.
However, residents dispute this claim. “Some houses they destroyed are more than 500 metres away from the cables,” said Mrs Funke Olawale, whose home and shop were demolished. “How can they say it’s about safety?”
On 20 January 2026, the Lagos State House of Assembly formally backed the demolition, despite protests. The Chairman of the House Committee on Information, Security and Strategy, Mr Stephen Ogundipe, described the exercise as necessary to safeguard lives and ensure sustainable urban development, arguing that shoreline settlements had become havens for crime.
Residents, however, saw the decision as a dismissal of their humanity. “We protested. We cried. We carried signs,” said a youth leader, Mr Adewale. “But they said development must continue, even if it kills us.”
Experts Weigh In
Urban planners and rights advocates warn that the Makoko demolition highlights deeper failures in Nigeria’s urban development approach. Dr Tunde Agbola, an urban planning expert, said forced evictions without resettlement plans often create more social problems than they solve. “Development must be inclusive. When you remove people from their homes without alternatives, you are simply transferring poverty and instability elsewhere,” he said.
Human rights lawyer Ms Chiamaka Okeke described the exercise as a potential violation of constitutional and international housing rights. “Even where safety concerns exist, the law requires meaningful consultation, adequate notice and resettlement. Demolishing homes without these safeguards amounts to collective punishment of the poor,” she said.
Public health experts also warned of looming health risks. “Exposure to rain, cold and mosquitoes increases the risk of respiratory infections and malaria, especially for children and the elderly,” said Dr Aisha Bello, a community health physician. “What we are seeing in Makoko is a slow-burning public health emergency.”
National Debate and Political Fallout
The crisis has sparked national debate. Former Education Minister Oby Ezekwesili condemned the demolitions as inhumane and unconstitutional, describing them as “systemic violence against the poor.” Governor Sanwo-Olu, in response, accused some NGOs of exploiting the situation for foreign funding—an allegation civil society groups strongly rejected.
APC chieftain Joe Igbokwe also raised concerns about the impact on Igbo residents and traders in Lagos, calling for dialogue and an amicable solution. “I want bridges for understanding. I want peaceful peace in Lagos,” he appealed.
A Community Adrift
As night falls on Makoko, fear and uncertainty hang heavy over the lagoon. Fishermen stare at the water, unsure if they can still fish. Traders wonder how to start again. Parents worry about how to feed their children the next day.
For now, Makoko remains a community floating between loss and uncertainty—a stark reminder that development, when pursued without empathy or inclusion, can destroy lives faster than it builds cities.