Encounter with Lagos Area Boys Abi your mother wan die? Abi you too wan die? Wey my money? God go punish your generation’’. The scorching Lagos sun blazed, breaking sweat from unwashed and smelly bodies. The bus station was chaotic; the air of the afternoon seemed to stand still as the putrefying smell of urine and dried human faeces assailed the nostrils. The loud wailings of hawkers and passengers in a rush to get out of the bedlam added to the chaos. Inside the bus station, a long, winding line of commercial buses, parked bumper-to-bumper, competed for space with humans. At intervals, a rickety bus, filled with sweaty and forlorn looking passengers driven by dare-devil drivers would leave the station with screeching tyres throwing mud everywhere. Enraged passengers would hurl insults at each departing driver. Area boys, in their bid to extort money from the conductors would sometimes unleash violence to enforce compliance. One area boy who stood monitoring the buses looked particularly menacing. A big wrap of marijuana dangled between his lips. There were visible scars of injuries sustained in the often violent territorial battles to gain control of motor parks. I observed him closely. His left ear was missing. Half of his dentition was gone. They probably have been knocked off by Tyson-like blows in one of his many skirmishes with conductors and rival gangs. A long deep scar ran from his skull to the back of his neck. His badly battered nose gave and the spiralling smoke from his marijuana gave a chilling, grotesque look. Before a bus departs, a conductor will have to pay a mandatory loading fee. But before this, he would first have to pay homage to a group of area fathers sitting in one corner of the park. They smoked Indian hemp freely. The theatrics of the encounter is in itself a spectacle to watch. In this case, the conductor approached the group. In a flash, he raised his two hands above his head. One of his legs permanently suspended in the air. As he staggered like a drunk on the same spot, he sang the praises of the area boy and begged him to allow him drop his raised hands and leg. The area boy ignored him. Later, pacified by his effusive praises, he looked at the conductor sternly, shadow boxed for a few seconds and warned him to always pay up or risk being beaten. Grateful to be let off, the conductor rushes off to join the moving bus. All seemed calm in the midst of the chaos until another conductor got into a long argument with another tough looking area boy. Suddenly, the area boy went berserk. As if possessed by a malevolent spirit, he seized the conductor by the throat and slammed him against the body of a bus. The conductor attempted to fight back. A barrage of blows unleashed by area boys who had joined in the fight temporarily sent him reeling against onlookers. When he recovered, his face dissolved into a mess of blood. Two teeth were missing. The contours in both eyes looked as if he had been in a fight with a heavyweight boxing champion. The situation was brought under control by the driver who alighted to settle the fight. But not before the area boy had collected his money. He threw some punches in the air, reminding the dazed conductor not to mess around with him next time. He lit another long wrap of marijuana and moved to the next bus. The battered and bruised conductor picked the rumpled naira notes and disappeared into the crowd. Welcome to the world of Lagos area boys. In Lagos, the fear of area boys is the beginning of wisdom. You don’t want to mess with the typical Lagos area boy. It is often too dangerous to do so. They are the kings of the streets. If in doubt, ask the victims of their rage. At the CMS bus station on Lagos Island, some fierce looking and unkempt young men prowled around smoking Indian hemp in the full glare of the police. They looked threatening. Earlier, one of them with bloodshot eyes had emerged from the busy Mile 2/Apapa bound Motor Park chasing furiously after a commercial bus. The bus, brimming with passengers had driven out of the bus station without paying its due. Then, with the agility of a seasoned Olympic athlete, the area boy jumped into the moving bus. At some point, it appeared he would slip and fall on the hard concrete. But like a cat he clung tenaciously to the body, with the large wrap of marijuana in one hand, he gripped some crumpled naira notes with the other. But the driver drove on ignoring him as he swayed precariously. Then, the situation became a real life drama fit for reality TV. As he hung on the bus, he attempted to pull the conductor down in spite of the driver’s failed attempt to shake him off. The area boy soon gained his balance and dragged the conductor off the bus. Both of them hit the hard surface. The area boy regained his balance first. He rained a series of deadly blows on him. The conductor emerged with broken lips. Soon after, more area boys appeared at the scene and joined in pummelling both the driver and conductor. The passengers hurriedly disembarked from the bus to avoid being caught in the violence. All the while the area boys kept growling, “wey our money, u no wan pay, abi? U don die today”. Battered but not cowed, the conductor stubbornly held on to the crumpled naira notes. Curiously, as this drama played out, men of the Nigerian Police, Lagos State Traffic Management Authority and traffic officers watched the scene disinterestedly. In Lagos, street urchins, also known as area boys, have become part of our daily existence. They have also come to define the character of Lagos, the claim to a mega city status notwithstanding. But how have they become so powerful? Where did they derive their powers to confront the law and society in such a brazen manner that even politicians defer to them? At night, the Lagos area boy melts into the darkness, terrorising residents. God help you if you are caught out late at night or your car breaks down in any part of the metropolis. Then, prepare for the worst or say your last prayers. Legends also have it that the typical area boy is a friend of politicians during election. They help in instilling fear into political opponents. They are said to come in handy when the time comes to snatch or stuff ballot boxes. Lagos residents avoid the area boy like a plague. They hate his clan with passion. Area boys also know they are detested and hated by the residents. They are aware of the disdain with which people regard their existence. Not that they care anyway. Who dare confront them with the reality of their menace? Such effrontery carries dangerous repercussions. A bottle could land on one skull. A blow could give one a black eye. They are that dangerous. They are the devil’s incarnate despised and loathed by all. But no matter what we think of this class of residents, they have become part of our daily existence. And in case you are one of those who would rather have area boys removed and dumped in the Atlantic Ocean. Sorry, it will never happen. The menace is synonymous with Lagos. They make things happen. They come handy to the shakers and movers of Lagos politics. If in doubt, ask the person near you; that is if you are not new in and to Lagos.
Posted on: Thu, 14 Nov 2013 11:20:41 +0000
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