LAGOS AGBERO: A Nightmare in the Shadows of Lagos!

In telling the tale of the daily travails of an average Nigerian resident in Lagos, the tale may not be complete without the Lasgidi spice of a regular encounter with the street-lords who administer the proliferation of impunity on the streets of Lagos. The name street-lord however sounds like a sophisticate off-beat; it doesn't quite exude the familiar persona of the character of reference. Perhaps a more relatable name like area-boy or agbero would fit better; these names are all laced with a dark aura that perfectly connotes the art of being a wildly serrated and dreaded street vermin. The truth is, these names are all befitting, and well interwoven into a distasteful tapestry of a societal menace; one name being synonymous with the other, and at its mention, any audience who can relate readily has a crisp mental-picture of the referenced character.

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‎It is almost impossible to be a Lagosian and not have encountered any of these human leeches. However, if any claims not to have encountered these base humans, and in the knowledge of them, fervently prays never to, then it would be worthy to affirm such a prayer with a resounding Amen. And if for any reason, curiosity pricks you to ponder on the need for a solemn affirmation, then, with unfeigned humility, I urge you to walk with me as I recount a mild one-of-many experience I had with these sons-of-a-gun called Agbero.

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‎Depending on the circumstance, to have an encounter with a typical Lagos agbero could mean anything but a pleasant experience; from the loss of valuables to being extorted, psychologically traumatized, maimed, and in other bizzare cases, such an encounter could end in fatality. In any of the listed cases, one thing is guaranteed; an encounter with an agbero never leaves you the same, unless of course, you’ve got an equal or superior street credibility yourself. This is your ability to go past the domains of these human leeches unscathed using any means within your power; from appeasing them with a familiar tone of street-lingua to the use of your own Lagos madness. Sometimes, the use of wealth-influence subjugation is the escape route, while at other times, being in the company of your own gang would do the magic, though could sometimes degenerate into blood-spilling fisticuffs. In any possible scenario, a typical Lagos agbero who perceives the superior street credibility of his prospective prey usually would employ inherent techniques to call the bluff of such superiority, because to them—agberos—none should be so privileged enough to deprive them of their perceived entitlement, especially as far as the streets of Lagos are concerned. To put it more correctly, in the Lagos street-lingua, calling one's bluff means ‘shakara o l’oje’. Yes, the same one you probably have heard in one of Fela Anikulapo's evergreen hits. Despite your oozing of superior street credibility, an agbero would still brazenly wield his ever-present wand of 'shakara o l'oje' just to ensure his primary aim of not leaving you the same is achieved. But then, the reality of the test of superior street credibility mostly doesn't end well for either of the parties, except in cases where one party willingly concedes to the other.

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‎In whatever form they appear, think of the Lagos agbero as the same product of distinct variants, each specializing in one or more forms of crime; from armed-robber to pick-pocket, house-burglar, street-extortionist, highway-robber, political-thug, traffic-robber, cult-member, and whatever other vile tendencies you can imagine. These lots have long acculturated themselves with extreme impunity, with which they make life unbearable for the hapless residents of Lagos who have been so constrained into sharing their essential habitats and daily travails with them.

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‎I, not being as lucky as those that have been singing the hallelujah chorus for not having been a victim of these lot, have had several personal experiences of them in my years of residing in Lagos. Some as direct encounters, while some, as a mere spectator. Often times, these encounters were ones that ended with serious casualties, but as one, born and bred in Lagos, this was a usual occurrence which we have become acquainted with. In fact, within my cerebral archives are numerous chronicles of Lagos agberos enough to make blockbuster documentaries. Most Lagosians would definitely relate, particularly the ones around Bariga, Somolu, Fadeyi, Mushin, Oshodi, Ebute Metta, Oyingbo, Mile-2, Orile, Ajegunle, etc. Sometimes, living a typical day in these areas of Lagos is nothing different from a scene cut out of a Nollywood script.

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‎For one of my unfortunate encounters, one that ended with a loss of valuable at my detriment, and first of its kind for me in all my years as a Lagosian, it was indeed a traumatizing experience. This was about 10 years ago (from when this article was first published), while still a staff of a top tier Nigerian bank, and on one of our routine trainings. I had earlier relocated to Akwa Ibom on account of work transfer from Lagos. Life in Akwa Ibom exuded the feeling of sanity, a sharp contrast of what I was used to in Lagos, where we lived a fast-paced life, rushing through everyday as if the angels had just blown the trumpet and there was no chance of a tomorrow.

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‎Even though I struggled at first to settle-in back in Akwa Ibom because I was simply unfit for the slow-paced terrain, when I eventually did, I immediately fell in love with the way life was lived over there—serene, like normal humans were meant to. But just then, take nothing away from the hustle and bustle of Lagos, despite how insanely the Lagos life is, the nostalgic feeling never leaves, it only lies dormant waiting to be reignited by the slightest step on any of the Lagos borders. Take it or leave it, the Lagos madness is a thing, and it is as infectious as it is killing. As postulated by my older friend, Dele Farotimi—a man I admire greatly—our abilities to successfully and peacefully live nonaversively to the ways and manners characterized by the Lagos lifestyle, is the only affirmation required to prove our individual states of insanity. Trust me; this is an undiluted fact not to be gainsaid. Live a minute outside the shores of Lagos and you'll readily admit that Lagos is an unreal place. Anyway (pardon my digression), as I was saying, so here I was, back in my beloved city of Lagos, the supposed center of excellence.

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‎On the fateful day, after my training rounds at my head office located on Victoria Island, I cabbed to Ikoyi to see a friend who had also just closed from work. On arrival, my friend jumped into the cab, and we headed off to Festac. It was a good time to relive the nostalgia of the famous black-striped yellow taxis of Lagos; it was pure bliss. The more I recalled that I was no longer resident in Lagos, the more it felt therapeutic, especially as we journeyed through the signature chaotic traffics. The journey afforded us ample time to catch-up on old times and general life progressions.

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‎On arriving Festac town, I dropped off my friend after due pleasantries, and told the driver to proceed to the Mainland, where I was based. Moments later, still enroute, while stuck in a mild traffic at Mile-2, the driver had just connected the highway but still on the service lane. At that point, there was no car behind the cab yet. Mind you, this was the blackberry era that was characterized by the frenzies of the social media which took the world by storm; the frequent browsing, chatting and Facebooking, plus the rest of the trends. It was no surprise that while I was now alone at the back of a cab commuting back home, I was fiddling my blackberry phone. This was in total oblivion of the fact that I was back in Lagos. Both windows behind were halfway down, exactly the way they were when I boarded the cab, and I never bothered to put it up, talk of losing touch with the reality of Lagos, no thanks to my newly found way of life due to relocation (you won't blame me now, I had been brainwashed by a saner and healthier way of life).

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‎Just then, in a twinkle of an eye, a mysterious hand from nowhere snatched the phone from me, and in that instance, it was as though someone whispered in my ears, "Solo, this is Lagos!" It was in that moment that the reality hit me that I had foolishly dropped my guard... Ha! A whole 'omo Eko' like me. It dawned on me again that I wasn't in Akwa Ibom where you could literally tack currency notes onto your suit-and-tie while going to work, and not a single note would be missing by the time you arrived at the office. Again, I recalled 'Solo' (moniker for Solomon), the protagonist of the 90's Nigerian comedy, who came with his big portmanteau to Lagos for a better life, but was instead shown 'shege' by the agberos who pervaded his host city. Honestly, I don't know where you're reading from, but to fully comprehend a Nigerian literature, you'll need to have a good grasp of the Nigerian slang, a necessary literary spice deliberately infused in writings to add the needed satirical flavour. As you'd have noticed the use of 'shege', it means an extreme and unpleasant situation. Again, pardon my detour! Guess what though, this miscreant didn’t run. After snatching the phone, he remained beside the cab, sizing up the phone, while his partner, slightly away from him, unveiled a pistol—tucked in his shorts—to my notice. Obviously, while I was engaged in the euphoria of Zuckerberg's darling invention, I had already become a targeted prey no sooner I arrived that traffic. This was their typical modus operandi. I mean, you wouldn't blame them, they obviously read the room so well noticing a careless commuter fiddling his phone in a Lagos traffic with the window-glass halfway down, must definitely be a JJC (acronym for Johnny just come, implying someone who's new in town, and totally oblivious to the possibilities of the town). I tell you, they didn't miss their chance. This was sometime between 6:30 and 7pm. He gazed at the phone and said, “ti o ba fun wa l’owo, a ma pa e ni sin” (meaning, if I don’t give them money, they will kill me now). The nerve of him to have attempted taxing me after obtaining my phone, "what do these boys sniff?” I asked myself rhetorically. That guy's audacity was straight out of hell, especially when the routine we're familiar with is to snatch and run, elope, bolt, or whatever vocabulary that fits one taking flight out of sight with an ill-gotten largese. Well, this one was a hardened breed I was dealing with, who cared less that I could have been a military staff who wouldn't flinch in pulling a James Bond on them both in an instant. Now, in my trying to calm him, I pretended to frisk my pockets, and just then, the driver's attention, which was initially on the traffic, was suddenly drawn to the happening behind him upon hearing the miscreant's threat of killing me. Immediately (in a James Bond style), the driver put the cab on reverse with speed, and zoomed away from them. They initially attempted a chase with few steps, but then halted. The driver had now reversed some meters away, managed to link the main lane and turboed off.

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‎Not surprisingly, few meters ahead from the exact spot I was robbed, were mobile policemen, engulfed with their routine collection of ‘roger’ (slang for the despicable illegal tolling of commercial vehicles by Nigerian Security personnel), while the agberos were having a field day unabatedly. As we proceeded, the driver asked me, “Oga, hope say u no give dem anything?” I told him my phone was already snatched before the time he heard them requesting money and threatening to kill me. He was surprised and said, “Ha! When? Now-now?” That he was totally oblivious of what was going on. The reality is that, everything happened in less than a minute. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I was the present day 'Solo', who had just been dished his own share of the 'Lagos na wah' experience! The rest from then on was the trauma that followed, especially as I journeyed on without my beloved blackberry. The Lagos life is brazenly sordid, no thanks to the vile contributions of the Lagos agberos.

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‎Oshodi under-bridge at the time too (prior to my relocation, wouldn't know if it's any different now with the rebranding), was another dreadful lair of these daredevils. A conglomerate of disgusting elements made this place such a despicable nightmare for an average Lagosian. Anyone familiar with this place would readily consider my description of it a mere euphemism. To pass through Oshodi under-bridge even in broad daylight required you to own your own pretty well. A place always swarming with countless number of agberos, and with that characteristic incessant smell of burning 'weed' filtering through your nostrils as you strut your stuff along mindfully of what could befall you at any second. These hoodlums have a swell time here ripping their victims off minute by minute. They prey on them like a clan of hyenas would on hapless preys.

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‎My Oshodi under-bridge encounters were the most fascinating, but of course I've bored you enough, I'll save this for later. For the Oshodi experiences, the little street credibility I had got me through a couple of times, and from then on, familiarity accorded me some privilege in accessing that route even at odd hours, having been considered ‘ara‘le’ (family), but of course still having to part with ‘small-change’ for ‘tafe’ every now and then. ‘Small-change’ meaning tip and ‘tafe’, is street lingua for weed. Having earlier worked with one top Nigerian bank retiree at sometime around the Egbeda-Idimu axis, Oshodi under-bridge was my exit corridor back home, so I was a regular on that route at unholy hours. You see, sometimes, to be on the side of these daredevils comes with savory perks, one that absolves you of many unnecessary fears. And while you leveraged the privileges conferred, be mindful that they are not irrevocable. To sustain the perks, you'd have to occasionally oil its wheels with necessary friendly dues like I used to. Conversely too, to be considered prey by them is sometimes worse than a nightmare as you'd have already understood.

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‎As it may seem in the polity today, we’ve been made to believe that it would be such a herculean task, one with a greater chance of impossibility, to rid the streets of Lagos of these miscreants that have rendered plying same a living nightmare. The infamy of the Lagos agberos is not one characterized by invincibility; this was proven by the erstwhile Governor of Lagos (or military administrator as they were then called), Col. Buba Marwa (rtd). Even though I hold reservations of the man due to his alleged role in the Dele Giwa saga, he did an excellent job in Lagos during his time as helmsman. He won the hearts of many Lagosians with the popular Operation-Sweep, a joint venture security apparatus between the Police and the Army. Operation-Sweep was a smooth tactical unit that matched the Lagos notoriety tit-for-tat, purged the streets of Lagos of the dreadful agberos, our streets became safe, and Lagosians breathed a sigh of relief.

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‎Sadly, upon Marwa’s exit, trouble started again, no thanks to his touty successor, Tinubu, who upon taking the reins of power rather reignited the proliferation of the Lagos notoriety. Alas! The agberos were let loose again; they lurked around every nook and cranny. The streets of Lagos were once again covered in a familiar darkness, and Lagosians became subjugated once again by the familiar nightmare in the shadows of Lagos!

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‎Today, the audacity with which agberos exercise the monopoly of impunity on the streets of Lagos is evidence of the fact that the erstwhile government of Lagos, under the leadership of their patron, Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu, gave them a permanent seat at the Council of State Affairs, engraining them as integral parts of policy making and general governance in a State whose public perception should have been that of excellence, but has somehow plummeted beyond the depths of quality mediocrity. As these daredevils have suddenly become State actors, and the affinity between them and the government wax stronger each day, one can only hope that they don't get too deeply entrenched in governance, enough to hold sway at considerable capacities that could cause them to overrun the Lagos government someday!

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