WARIZ Alimi is one of those who bid the brown rusted roofs of Ibadan farewell for the commercial city of Lagos, in search of greener pastures. His Idi-Arere hometown had failed his dream of a comfortable childhood that his daily bread was subject to his quotidian hustle.
His determination was to ensure his adulthood was not recruited a general in the hierarchy of poverty. His mother died before he clocked ten and was left in the care of his aged grandmother. His mother, father, uncle, aunt, cousin and all was encapsulated in Mama Agba. He had no link whatsoever with his relatives; after Mama Agba was nothing else.
His determination was to ensure his adulthood was not recruited a general in the hierarchy of poverty. His mother died before he clocked ten and was left in the care of his aged grandmother. His mother, father, uncle, aunt, cousin and all was encapsulated in Mama Agba. He had no link whatsoever with his relatives; after Mama Agba was nothing else.
But he had some street brotherhood that had a work base in Lagos. The nature of their work did not have a clear definition but they returned to Ibadan once or twice in two weeks, with a trimmed appearance and some big loaves of bread from Iwo Road. Although the financial returns were neither substantial nor massive, they were an improved version of what obtained at Idi-Arere.
Teenager Alimi was soon forced to abandon his bus-conductor job and Mama Agba to join the brotherhood gang. He hitherto would tag along commercial buses on rounds through the city to make a token but soon departed it. He had acquired no skill or learnt any vocation except conducting, and on leaving, he didn’t need more than a T-Shirt,a pair of trousers,a pair of sandals, his soul and body.
Life in the weed wielding country of Akala
The derivation of Mushin’s synonymy with violence, notoriety, crafty pick pocketing, acute knack for weed wielding, marijuana resourcefulness, prostitution and other shades of boisterous lifestyle come from a grand sponsorship of the country of Akala. The not-so-long but mighty street sits behind Adedoja and Igbarere streets, off Ogunmokun Road, Mushin, Lagos State. Its in-house nomenclature is the ‘Ghetto’. The ever-smoky haven of the finest of miscreants knows no boundary with carbon emissions. In fact, the climate change campaign of limiting human activities that boosts toxic concentration of carbon-dioxide is an alien rhetoric that may never gain reception. A newbie might erroneously launch a hunt for a burning building, vehicle or even dial the 767 code to alert the Lagos State Fire Service for a rescue mission. It’s a country of sleepless citizens who hardly go a second without the weed-oxygen.
It also boasts of a fierce army of youths predominantly between ages 12 to 30. The alarming rate at which adolescent girls were recruited in this force is a near-perfect archetype of the peril of poor girl-child education. Their slim legs flock the street with shorts in discord with the knee, scary dark eyelashes, pro-rainbow hair attachments, multiple pierced ears laced with rings, hole in the nose and vampire shaped nails and of course a golden or silver tooth chewing ever elastic gum. Worse is the fact that fragile newborns are raised in the murky terrain of a hopeless future.
Their grooms similarly decorate the street round the clock in circles of betting, fight, and bottle stripping among others. Bigger boys and interested allies across the state also cruise in – in their sophisticated machines (vehicles) for relaxation at a relatively low cost environment where they could pass freely on anonymity.
Unlike the auspicious fashion of some Lagos foreigners from the hinterland, Akala country-people usually have no relative or prepared accommodation, since its loving arms eagerly await them. The nature of Akala and its modus operandi are what attract and reassure this set of tourists.
Alimi, on arrival from Ibadan, soon found abode at Akala where his ‘area brothers’ dwelled. In no time he had integrated into the system and earned himself a signature, ‘Sobo’ just like his predecessors. The name is boldly tattooed on his chest alongside a big figure on his right arm signifying strength. He continued his conducting job and found a new boss at Oshodi, another ‘centre of excellence’ and managed to gather N30,000 through a thrift collection.
The Akala/ Alamutu debacle that doomed Alimi
Like other traditional markets in Lagos, the Alamutu market was developed by a group of traders and farmers who planted jute leaves. It became reputed for freshly harvested Ewedu and food vendors, especially from Amala kitchens, topped its lists of patrons. The Old Olosha market was concurrently a huge market for seasonal fruits ,chiefly oranges, but the need for expansion arose and traders moved downwards Alamutu. It gradually expanded and became a mainstream market for plantain and other produce directly sourced from the farms. Bendel traders predominantly shipped in Garri; Ondo, plantain; while Ishan, Ibadan and other interstate traders generally brought in various products depending on the season. Mango is the fruit for the current season. As early as 4am, produce laden trucks would barricade the market, with their customers eagerly waiting to get the pick of the bunch. Retailers from Obalende, Ikoyi, Surulere, Orile and Alaba among others were regular subscribers.
Then emerged a certain Sakiru whose mother runs a huge business in the market. He was said to have chaired a committee that taxed traders for several years until rival factions began to question his operations. The Akala boys were much interested as the homeowners otherwise termed ‘Omo Oniles of Alamutu’. The market leadership waded in and took over the collection of dues since they were the operators. The move pleased neither of the factions and it culminated into several attacks unleashed on the market.
The fiasco climaxed around 8am on April 24 when Akala boys pounced on those from Alamutu,racing about 12 shops. Of course, it didn’t pass without sporadic shots that left a number of people dead and others seriously injured. In the heat of the fight, Alimi was returning to Mushin from Oshodi, where he didn’t find his boss. He and a friend decided to cruise down the heart of the imbroglio at Idi-Oro for a glimpse. He had barely moved past LUTH Junction in Mushin when a stray bullet pierce through his chest, leaving a slight tear and a deep hole close to his heart. Without a second thought, he bolted away with profuse bleeding and the painful image of a 20-year-old grandson of Mama Agba on the verge of death, who was not rich yet, who had not married or bore a child and who had not taken home the gains of Lagos.
My encounter with Alimi
At 10:09am on that fateful day, I was assigned to report the fight. Barely had I got past LUTH Junction when I encountered Alimi in a pool of his own blood. He sped as fast as he could, sobbing and pleading with fearful onlookers for a second chance at life. “Please don’t let me die! Please I beg you. You won’t meet the corpse of your child at home. Help me!”, were the lines he chanted repeatedly to no avail. The motorcyclists were sternly unwilling and equally apprehensive to assist him for fear of implication. Since he hadn’t collapsed yet, I pleaded with a motorcyclist who eventually agreed to rush him to the hospital on the condition that someone went with him. We got to the Aisha Hospital at Idi-Araba but he was rejected on the ground that he had no police report.
We proceeded to the Lagos University Teaching Hospital, (LUTH) where a female doctor promptly assessed the injury. She left us in hopeful wait but returned with a disenchanting tale of dearth of space and exhaustion of resource beds.
One of the security personnel was also quick to intimate us of the private section of the hospital administered by the LUTH management, hence not a public facility. Inquiry revealed a down payment of N50,000 must be made before the administration of even first aid. When I returned to the emergency unit, a resource bed had suddenly surfaced and Alimi was wheeled in. But to commence treatment, a prerequisite of N1,000 registration card had to be met, after which apparatuses like hand gloves, syringe, bandage, plaster and a pack of drip was recommended. He was cleaned-up and prepared for an X-ray. Alimi kept wailing, “Aunty, what will they do now. I’m dying of pains’. The radiology department was lenient enough to prioritize Alimi’s case and brought the result on a video CD which came faster than waiting for the imprint. Viewing the X-tray constituted another roadblock as there was no available digital system or any other viewing facility at the unit.
A training doctor was sent to another department to get the results which luckily, for Alimi, revealed absence of bullet in his body. He became relieved by the news. No sooner had they administered his drug than he started agitating for release. I explained to him that his injury needed close monitoring but he insisted on leaving the hospital for Ibadan, saying he must set eyes on his grandmother that day. That was not feasible as the Chief Security Officer (CSO) had detained both of us. It was the hospital policy to ensure that a patient had a relative or guardian to look after him all through his stay. Since I was the only one they could identify with him at that moment, they declined my request to return to my duty until the Division Police Officer of Alakara Station approved that I left. In all, I spent six hours at the hospital.
Brunt-bearers of the clash
Mrs. Taiwo Ojikutu is one in scores of people writhing in pain and loss from the deadly clash. The 45-year-old began trading at Alamutu market 15years ago and had witnessed numerous clashes but none to compare with this . She and her elder sister who came to sympathise with her from Orile were locked in the narrow passage of her bungalow home situated in the heart of the crisis zone. They were separating rusty grains of old rice from the fair ones when The Nation visited. Her preoccupation that morning was how to feed the rude protestors in her stomach but she managed to air her painful experience, regardless.
“It’s was about 30 days ago when the initial fight broke out. “Hey! Cut them! Kill them! Catch them!” was all we heard from our hiding. On the second attack, they began to destroy shops and looted several goods. A Phamacy shop was emptied, our shop was broken and our stock stolen. It started around 9pm in the evening through the midnight and policemen followed them. The tear gas canisters they fired are still in our compound. We couldn’t go out or do anything. The matter got to the Panti Divisional Police station and some landlords were invited.
“This last chaos began around 8am on Monday. We just heard threats from some boys on the other side (Akala area) challenging us to make any slight move. The next thing we saw was tear gas everywhere. Our shops were set on fire that morning while the Police accompanied those boys with armoured vehicle. The boys wielded cutlasses and guns. My sister was already here by then. I lost N80,000 in that inferno apart from my goods including soft drinks and two freezers. I cannot estimate the amount of goods destroyed. The boys here in the market resisted them and insisted they shouldn’t destroy people’s wares as this is a market. In the first attack property like generators, television sets among others were carted away. This time about 12 shops were razed and scores of people wounded. A young man who was carrying a sack of Garri was shot and he died instantly. Our hope was shattered seeing the market leveled to the ground. The market boys who were defending were the ones arrested by the police and charged with possessing weapons. The following Tuesday some people were here with petrol to further destroy the market. It took the effort of well-meaning people to contain the fire.
The police have not done well in securing us.
“That Ghetto (Akala) is a terribly worrisome den of criminals. You find homeless young boys and girls there devouring hard contents. When night falls they wake up to the call of stealing by their bosses and they flee after wreaking havoc.”
On the night of the crisis at Labinjo Street, about three streets away from Idi-Oro, the cry of Mrs. Bilikisu Adeyemo at 9:25pm was what forced Chief Imam Bashiru Ajani and Alhaji Asimiyu Esupofo out of their rooms. Unfortunately Adeyemo missed her steps as everyone fled the veranda on sighting armed policemen who were chasing some residents. The last she heard before tripping was a forceful bullet entry through her butt-cheek. It was one of those dark evenings.
On her sick bed at Aisha Hospital, Idi-Araba, her fervent prayer was that she survives the agonizing process. Speaking tearfully, Adeyemo said: “”There was heat inside the room and we sat outside.
We didn’t even suspect anything. We just saw people running because the police were chasing them. We ran as well. I wanted to jump over the gutter but people were already there so I decided to climb a plank. It was at that point a shot hit my back. I was left outside gnashing my teeth in pain before my neighbours rushed me here. I didn’t believe I could survive due to the way it happened. The news of my death had even spread.”
Corroborating her, Esupofo said: “We were about six here in front of our house, relaxing and eating. There was no light. Suddenly we saw some policemen approach and they started questioning us: ‘Who are you!’ Everyone fled immediately and rushed into the house. The officers were about eight. But while the woman was running, they shot her in the buttocks. It was about 8.35 on Monday evening.”
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