A narrow escape on Lagos Lagoon by @bayoolupohunda

Bayo Olupohunda
| credits: File copy

Oga, wetin be this now? Dis nah why I no dey like to carry you office people o, small time una go begin shake like leaf. Abeg siddon well before this boat go sink.”

We were in the middle of a turbulent Lagos lagoon. The rickety boat conveying us to Ikoyi, a high-end neighbourhood of Lagos had grounded to a frightening halt. After several futile attempts at reviving the oldSuzuki engine, the area boy-looking navigator gave up trying.  Sitting on the wooden edge of the boat, he brought out a crumpled wet cigarette and lit it. All the while, a mischievous grin played on his face. I looked down to see the ominously dark water of the lagoon. Heavy waves buoyed by heavy winds of the evening lashed on the edge of the boat rocking it violently. The wind was particularly high that evening. The turbulence increased as the wind blew ceaselessly tossing the canoe back and forth like a reef.

As the boat swayed precariously at the deep end of the vast lagoon, cold water seeped slowly in from under the canoe’s wooden seat. It was scary. I became alarmed. Earlier at the start of our journey, I had not noticed the cracks underneath the boat. The fissures had been covered by thin layers of dark paint which had gradually suffered corrosion. And now that we were stuck on the same spot, it seemed the lagoon water had found a way to flow more rapidly in. The discovery of the rising water in the boat created panic among the already scared passengers.  The thought that the boat could capsise because of the rising water flowing inside it filled the passengers with horror.

Even the desperate efforts of the navigators to bail water out did nothing to calm the growing horror among the passengers. The situation had even become more complicated because many of the passengers were women. They had lost their nerves as soon as the engine stopped working midway into the journey. Their constant wailing created a stampede in the overloaded boat. Most of the passengers were also office workers. They had joined the ride to Ikoyi in their attempt to avoid the heavy traffic on Ozumba Mbadiwe Street on Victoria Island. Now stuck in the middle of the Lagoon with no help in sight, the short but often risky trip had become life threatening.

One of the young female passengers whom I had earlier struck an acquaintance with looked horrified as she held on to me tightly.  Her tenacious grip on my arm presented a clear danger considering that she won’t let go off me. This is in spite of assurances that another engine was on its way to replace the one that had become the cause of our misery. As the boat swayed violently to the rocking waves, she would tighten her grip on me.  As she held me very closely to herself, several panicky thoughts ran through my mind: What if the boat capsised? What if help does not come? How do I save myself with a plus size lady clutching my arm as if we were both locked in a marriage of “till death do us part?” I tried to wriggle free from her vice-like grip and assure her that there was no cause for alarm.

My calm words did little to convince her to release her grip which tightened, as a surging wave, thrown by a passing speed boat, shook our boat violently. Every time a boat sped past, water would get into the boat. The navigator continued to bail water out frantically. Then from behind me, a woman began a dirge-like song. Her mournful tone reminded me of funeral rite for the dead. I looked round to see the petrified faces of passengers as the woman began her dirge.  “Nearer my God to thee, nearer to thee…” At first, she sang alone among the cacophony of wailings and cries of anguish. Then slowly as if the other passengers had suddenly realised that the end might truly be near, they joined in singing a song that might well be our last prayers. We were in that situation for several minutes that seemed like an eternity. Meanwhile, the navigator and his assistant continued to bail out water. Even some passengers helped in scooping water from the boat. One man frantically removed his jacket to mop water. The women increased their “praise and worship’’ songs.  At a point, a man assumed the role of a pastor. He was a “prayer warrior’’. He asked God to forgive our sins and demanded the sinners among us to confess and repent.  He said perhaps God is angry with one of the passengers.

The prayer was intense. At a point, I feared that the wild gestures and vibrations might actually sink the boat. Another man beside me brought out a Koran and began to chant verses from the book. Sitting in the boat, I suddenly realised that we all had lifejackets that could make us stay afloat if the boat decided to go down the bottomless lagoon. But taking a closer look at the old, worn out jackets, I realised they would do little to save us. I turned again to look at the lady that clung to me, she was praying, singing and sobbing at the same time. What was I going to do now, I thought to myself? The only option I had was to make do with the lifejacket and hope help arrived on time.

I joined in the supplication hoping a miracle would save us from the jaws of the imminent death. But I had myself to blame.  I had always avoided using the shortcut from Lekki to Ikoyi. I had often favoured the Ozumba Mbadiwe-Law School and Falomo Bridge route. But on this day, the traffic on the route was “bumper-to-bumper’’. I had remained stuck on the same spot for more than two hours before I decided to use the waterway. It is always short but it also presents a risk. I should have known, the boat was overloaded at the point of entry. The operators were intent on making the most of the rush hour that they did not mind overloading the rickety boats with impatient passengers. Trust Lagosians, they scurried, pushed and shoved to secure a seat not minding the danger. Some in their desperation even offered to adjust to accommodate their friends.

After what seemed like an eternity, we saw a rescue boat approach us from a distance. The passengers were visibly relieved. A call had been placed to the operators who had responded. The old engine was replaced and we continued the journey. How the two navigators managed to stabilise the boat with the long planks they dug deep into the lagoon belt remained a mystery to me. As we arrived safely on land, my “lady companion” gave a wry smile as our eyes met. After a brief hug, she disappeared into the crowd of commuters waiting for Obalende bus. I turned to look at the flowing lagoon. Its calm and dark waters looked ominous. Looking back now, we could have all been drowned without any form of rescue. What a narrow escape!

My experience on that fateful evening is a statement about the operation and management of water transport in Lagos in the past few years. Boat accidents which claim many lives have become a regular occurrence on Lagos waterways. Many of these accidents were, however, avoidable. But it must be noted that the deaths mostly occurred because of the absence of effective disaster management by the relevant authorities. The Lagos State Waterways Authority is the agency responsible for regulating, developing and managing all aspects of waterways in Lagos. According to the organisation, its action plans in ensuring that the waterways are safe include patrols, zero tolerance to the operation of defective vessels and  compliance checking to prevent unsafe  practices such as overloading and absence of safety jackets. The agency’s mission also includes focus on boating education and safety campaigns. But how effective are these measures in promoting safe and appropriate navigation? For example, many Lagos residents are still scared of commuting by boat in spite of the congestion of land travel. This is because they consider Lagos waterways very unsafe. The agency should be alive to its responsibilities.

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