Abstract
By investigating the contribution of the ‘informal sector’, this article explores the resourcefulness of place-based practices and how they shape the urban water provision in Lagos. It also provides a detailed and critical view of the enormous efforts of inhabitants in urban slums in the daily water provision. Analysing the qualitative field data collected from observations, 89 semi-structured interviews (field notes), 6 focus group discussions and 12 expert interviews, water supply systems, the utilisation in slum communities and power and politics around it are exposed. Even if people can afford to pay the bills, the provision of urban services by state actors (or commissioned firms) is erratic and often not available. The daily infrastructure provision remains the responsibility of individuals and groups, mostly organised in complex yet fragile and changing networks. Drawing from the research on the existing, largely informal water supply in slum communities, this article argues for the recognition and pro-active implementation of hybrid approaches in the planning, implementation and administration of urban infrastructure. It calls for co-production and ‘hybrid water governance’.
Keywords
Introduction
The present research works across the divide between ‘formal’ institutions and ‘informal’ service provision, including illegal practices in the water supply in urban slums. The term slum is used in this article with a politically empowering meaning, recognising the reality of the lives of slum dwellers not primarily as a problem (without neglecting the urgent need to improve the lives of people) but as already existing answers to urban problems. The definition of a slum by UN-Habitat (2003, p. 12) refers to inadequate access to safe water, inadequate access to sanitation and infrastructure, poor structural quality of housing, overcrowding and insecure residential status.
Water is essential to life. Whereas the availability of water is for some countries a concern, water scarcity is rooted in power, poverty and inequality (UNDP, 2006). The strongest indicator of social inequality is access to water (Gandy, 2006), which is reflected by the UN (2022) claiming water and sanitation for all by 2030 (see SDG 6). In 2017, 61% of residents in sub-Saharan African cities had access to piped water (Livingston, 2021). As Africa’s urban population is projected to be 1.5 billion by 2050 (OECD/SWAC, 2020), the access to water is likely to decrease (UN Water/Africa, 2022). Whereas these numbers require urgent action, academic literature fails largely to grasp the paradox of the contemporary sub-Saharan city to be both, dysfunctional yet dynamic and thriving, as it still focuses on deficit analyses and problem-solving approaches to ‘development issues’ (Gandy, 2006; Simone & Pieterse, 2017). Stereotyped representations of failed African urbanism prevail in a significant part of the academic and policy-oriented literature (see Myers, 2011, pp. 1–20, 112), but worse yet, millions of people are told every day, in some way or other that the manner they live their lives has no value (Sarr, 2019, p. xi).
The article is structured in five parts. (a) First, Lagos and its slums will be portrayed, including the historical perspective on water infrastructure planning during and after colonial rule, and objectives and research questions. (b) The data and the methodology will be presented. (c) The approach of the Lagos State Government (LSG) to the water infrastructure crises, towards slums, and to urban planning in general will be discussed. (d) This will be followed by a detailed presentation of the community water supply systems, the political-administrative machineries, power-connections and actors involved in that water supply system. (e) The article concludes with the call for co-production and ‘hybrid water governance’, hence the suggestion to work towards the aggregation of the existing contribution of the informal water supply system with the challenges formulated by Lagos Water Corporation (LWC).
Lagos and Its Slums
In Lagos, 20 million people live in slums (Human Rights Watch, 2021), reflecting the share of 71.8% of urban slum dwellers in overall sub-Saharan Africa, the highest proportion in the world (Ramin, 2009). Lagos has less infrastructure than any of the world’s other largest cities (The New Humanitarian, 2006), yet to become home to up to 80 million people by 2100 (Hoornweg & Pope, 2017). Lagos may hopefully begin to articulate its own vision of African urbanisation, separate from colonial ideals and postcolonial models (Iyal, 2016), however, it can certainly be declared representative of contemporary global South cities, both conceptually and materially (Gandy, 2006). Koolhaas (2000) argued that the form of urbanisation found in Lagos could become a generic model. While some activists lament that despite of Lagos’ importance due to its size and growth; it is one of the cities least studied, understood and planned for (Morka, 2007), some scholars raise the hope that Lagos can ‘bring the African city to the centre of policy deliberation and debate’ (Gandy, 2006).
Figures vary greatly, depending on the source, but approximately 16–24 million inhabitants turn Lagos to one of the largest urban centres on the African continent (LSG, 2023; UN, 2018, p.12). Despite of being West Africa’s largest commercial hub, 80% of the households are affected by urban poverty (LSG, 2016) having less than $1.9 World Bank Purchasing Power of Parity (PPP) available per day (LSG, 2016). Two out of three people live in urban slums (Henderson & Venables, 2017, p. 17). Currently, there are 380 slum settlements (Human Rights Watch, 2021).
Informality is the predominant mode of operation in today’s Lagos, with 68% of the population working in the informal sector (LSG, 2013). LSG perceives informality mostly as an obstacle to a modern city (Gandy, 2006), though it could also be seen as a response to existing problems such as the delivery of urban services which LSG fails to provide. Against this backdrop, Lagos is an appropriate place to analyse the potential for the co-production of urban services, in academic literature also discussed as ‘hybrid forms’ of urban service delivery (Myers, 2011, pp. 71–103). It describes a condition, in which citizens and the government share the provision of water, waste management, and mobility, among others. In such mixed systems, infrastructure implemented and managed by the government co-exists with place-based solutions, implemented by citizens. In order to lead to more just cities, place-based solutions must be acknowledged by the government. Simone and Pieterse (2017, p. 153) refer to blended systems of urban services co-powered by government and citizens as ‘politics of experimentation’. However, the precondition for working towards co-production and ‘hybrid forms’ in urban service delivery, is the detailed understanding of the nature and form of the contribution by the informal networks in Lagos. For this purpose, four slum communities were analysed and compared through the lens of water supply systems with the aim to bring to light the enormous capacity of the informal water supply and to draw from their implications for the co-production of urban water supply.
Therefore, a research focus on Lagos draws attention to overarching questions about the nature of modernity and the material conditions of global South cities in the twenty-first century (Gandy, 2006; Sarr, 2019, pp. 12–17).
The extent of the lack of access to water indicates the challenge governmental institutions and policies face, though it demonstrates simultaneously the survival strategies, creative manoeuvring and resourceful responses of urban dwellers to conditions of extreme vulnerability (Harrison, 2006). Much scholarly and professional focus lies on the deficiencies of the formal water supply, discussing institutional weakness, poor governance and planning, and how better-managed formal institutions would improve access to urban water (see Monstadt & Schramm, 2017; Sakar, 2022, p. 10; Simone & Pieterse, 2017, pp. 21–29). This article aims to adopt a different attitude, conceptually drawing on the thinking of scholars like Mbembe, Pieterse, Sarr and Simone, among others by providing critically and politically aware insights into the materiality of existing conditions. Postcolonial studies of urban infrastructure in sub-Saharan Africa are still rare, with exceptions, among them Gandy (2006) on Lagos, Harris (2021) on Accra, Monstadt and Schramm (2017) on Dar es Salaam, Sakar (2020) on Nairobi, Jaglin (2014) and Rakodi (2008) on Cape Town.
This research aims at filling the knowledge gap about everyday life practices in the water supply in today’s Lagos, hopefully contributing to a different attitude and mindset in policy design and infrastructure planning in Lagos (and beyond), separate from ‘developmentalism’ (Sarr, 2019) and imported global North planning models of the networked city (Monstadt & Schramm, 2017).
Objectives and Research Questions
The present research works across the divide between ‘formal’ institutions and ‘informal’ service provision, including illegal practices in the water supply in urban slums. By investigating the contribution of the ‘informal sector’, this article explores the resourcefulness of place-based practices and how they shape the urban water provision in Lagos. In doing so, the article provides a detailed and critical view of the enormous efforts of inhabitants in urban slums in the daily water provision. It exposes how material aspects are entangled with social and political aspects, in order to decipher everyday politics. Further, it contributes to postcolonial studies on urban infrastructure and service supply and to post-structuralist debates on the co-production of urban services through the lens of urban water supply by identifying common ground between the ‘formal’ and the ‘informal’.
The following research questions guided the fieldwork:
Which water supply systems (with a focus on access and distribution) are common in slum communities in Lagos State? What is the ratio between place-based, private and/or informal water supply systems and public, centralised, networked water supply systems? What are the power relations between water corporation officers, informal water vendors, traditional leaders and slum dwellers?
Research Method
Using the qualitative research method, the grounded theory (Glaser & Strauss, 1967) approach was followed. Slums in Lagos range from clusters of sheds in leftover spaces to entire districts (Gandy, 2006). Four communities were purposively selected: Orisunmibare and Otumara are slum settlements along large-scale infrastructure or adjacent to industrial sites, whereas Amukoko-Mosafejo and Mafowoku are part of the large, densely populated low-income districts of Ifelodun and Bariga (Figure 1). The four communities have similar preconditions: there is little or no water supply by the government, as shown in Table 1.
Overview of the Existing Water supply in Case Study Communities.
The qualitative methods used for the data collection include mapping, observations and 89 semi-structured open-ended field interviews in the four case study communities and their entirety referred to as field notes, for each community separately (see Appendix A), 6 focus group discussion (see Appendix A) and 12 expert interviews (see Appendix A). The choice of methods was based on the objective of identifying the physical water infrastructure as well as the way, in which the relevant actors are involved in the water supply in the communities. As there is no official or recorded planning material available at all, the community boundaries and water points, including the water quality (as reported by the residents and vendors) were mapped with GPS coordinates and through the mentioned 89 interviews with owners, operators and users of the respective infrastructure. All of them are residents assuming different roles, yet partly acting simultaneously as water vendors, informal leaders and/or traditional leaders. The focus group discussions were conducted with water vendors and women (primary bearers of organisation of water for the family). The expert interviews were conducted with politicians and planning professionals of state and local government tiers and NGO representatives. To qualitatively analyse the data, the collected data was constantly viewed to clarify the research questions. Each day, field notes were described in a narrative form, summaries of the interviews were written and statements by the interviewees were organised according to topics, complemented by descriptions of the roles of and social interactions among the informal water vendors, traditional leaders and slum dwellers.
Water Infrastructure Crises, Slums and Urban Planning: Lagos State’s Approach
In 2022, Lagos ranked second-to-last of 172 cities in the Global Liveability Index (Economist Intelligence, 2022). The quality of the infrastructure, including water provision, has a weight of 20% of the overall calculation of the rating. Less than 10% of the population has access to public water (Environmental Rights Action, 2016; Gandy, 2006). Or: more than 90% depend on ‘informal’ or ‘self-sustaining’ place-based water supply systems. However, Lagos’ worsening water infrastructure crisis is not new.
The city is produced by the values of the respective society (King, 2007), and so is Lagos’ urban infrastructure development rooted in its colonial past. Colonial administrations since the 1850s failed to meet the challenges of overcrowding, disease and inappropriate urban infrastructure (Gandy, 2006). Under British colonial rule, Lagos was spatially organised to the service of a small metropolitan elite (Iyal, 2016); strategies of segregation between the wealthy enclaves and the poor African majority were actively advanced (Gandy, 2006; Myers, 2011, pp.71–72). A cultural dualism between ‘modernity’ and ‘tradition’ was produced to justify infrastructure investment in the wealthy neighbourhoods only (Gandy, 2006). In 1964, shortly after Nigeria’s independence, a United Nations survey identified Lagos’s rapidly growing slums and inadequate sanitation, inter alia (Gandy, 2006). In the following decades, Lagos’ ruling class attempted to maintain the sanitised colonial districts, whereas ordinary Lagosians continued to live in unregulated, underserved urban settlements (Iyal, 2016). Most of the (90%) metropolitan Lagos had to rely on shared taps, wells and polluted creeks, while 10% of the dwellings were directly connected to the municipal water system (Gandy, 2006). In the 1970s, Nigeria’s oil-rich economy led to a divided society with extreme wealth for a few and rising poverty and unemployment for the majority. The global recession in 1981 resulted in collapsing oil prices; planned infrastructure programmes were abandoned (Gandy, 2006). Since the 1980s, Lagos has suffered from intense social polarisation and spatial fragmentation, and the state has been unable to improve the urban conditions for the majority urban poor (Gandy, 2006). To this day, this is reflected in the fact that many households, poor and wealthy, must provide their own water supply, power generation and security services, presenting an ongoing crisis of legitimacy for urban government.
Addressing the mentioned challenges, in 2013 former governor Fashola drafted the Lagos State Development Plan (LSDP), seeking to provide an overall vision for Lagos’ development until 2025 (LSG, 2013). An updated version was circulated in 2022, valid until 2052 (LSG, 2022). The LSDP continues the elitist urban development approach. It envisions Lagos to become Africa’s model mega city and a global hub for infrastructural development, though it remains unclear where the massive funding should come from and how the majority of urban poor can benefit (LSG, 2022). Since 2007, LSG sought to deliver large-scale infrastructure projects and services in the public sector through private-public partnerships (PPP), focusing on concessions and foreign direct investments (FDI) (Heinrich Böll Stiftung Abuja, Fabulous Urban, 2018/19, pp. 195–202). Despite of the high number of people living in slums, there is only one government institution responsible for low-income communities and urban regeneration, the Lagos State Urban Renewal Agency (LASURA) (LSG, 2024). It is low in the hierarchy of the government institutions delivering urban development and infrastructure, subordinate to the Ministry of Physical Planning and Urban Development, and not even mentioned in the LSDP 2022.
The Lagos Metropolitan Development and Governance Project (LMDGP) was a World Bank-assisted project starting in 2007 and aiming to intervene in nine major slum communities in Lagos State. The LMDGP focused on infrastructure such as water, roads, education, inter alia. It closed in 2013, achieving only 75 completed boreholes with 20 operating satisfactorily, 31 km of project roads and 70 classrooms, both under construction (World Bank, 2014). In 2019, during the fieldwork for this research, none of the implemented boreholes was found in operation (Field notes Mafowoku, 2019). In 2015, the French Development Agency (AfD) initiated in cooperation with the Ministry of Economic Planning and Budget the follow-up programme EKO-UP focusing on the low-income districts Ifelodun and Bariga (Expert interview 2, 2019). It was cancelled in 2018, due to ‘insufficient profit’ for the involved consortium including the government (Expert interview 5, 2019). LASURA intends to implement the projects with tax money (around USD$7.8 million) and PPP funds, simultaneously acknowledging the limited prospects of success as slum regeneration projects offer little profit for investors (Expert interview 2, 2019).
Lagos Water Corporation (LWC) is officially in charge of the water supply in Lagos State. The 2018 Lagos Water Supply Master Plan focuses on the quantity of water supply, the demand and the demand gap (LWC, 2018). The water supply covers theoretically 30% of the population, requiring 800 million litres of water daily (Expert interview 1, 2019). Practically, this amount cannot be achieved, due to technical and administrative issues (Expert interview 1, 2019). Often, there is no water for weeks or even months, reinforcing the unwillingness to pay the bills (Expert interview 1, 2019). LWC offers two billing systems: flat rates and metre rates, while the first is common for households and the second is offered to commercial customers. Unpaid bills are one of the major challenges. Attempting to supply the majority of poor and off-grid slum communities, LWC has issued ‘contracts’ with informal water vendors who sell water to their neighbours (Expert interview 1, 2019). Table 2 gives an overview of the water infrastructure systems in Lagos State.
Water Supply Systems in Lagos State.
LWC competes with other ministries and departments for funds (Expert interview 1, 2019). Much of new or existing water infrastructure is destroyed when roads or drainage is constructed (Expert interview 7, 2019). Also, the liaison between the ministries is insufficient, and upcoming or pending projects are not coordinated (Expert interview 1, 2019). To meet the current and future water demand, LWC intends to implement heavy-donor-oriented, large-scale infrastructure (Expert interview 1, 2019), despite of the fact that plans to construct large-scale systemic water infrastructure have hardly materialised over the last 100 years; both under colonial and postcolonial administrations, for many reasons unlikely changing in predictable time. Among these reasons are the huge amounts of necessary funds, danger of debt traps, danger of corruption, necessary infrastructural adjustments to accommodate a growing population, and the necessary relocation of communities to implement the infrastructure (Expert interview 1, 2019; Expert interview 8, 2019; Expert interview 11, 2019; Monstadt & Schramm, 2017, Simone & Pieterse, 2017, pp. 17–29). The investment should be accelerated through PPP and FDI approaches (Expert interview 1, 2019; LWC, 2018, p. 14; LSG, 2022, p. 112), despite of the fact that water infrastructure is not popular among investors due to the elaborate implementation process and the small revenue, as widely discussed by scholars (Sarkar, 2022, p. 16) and confirmed by LWC itself (Expert interview 1, 2019). The acknowledged economic reality on the ground is that the majority of urban poor cannot afford to pay high enough fees for the water supply to make the necessary extensions and improvements in urban water systems viable let alone profitable; be it in Lagos (Expert interview 1, 2019; Gandy, 2006) or beyond (Monstadt & Schramm, 2017; Sarkar, 2020). Nevertheless, there are plans by UK-based WaterAid to implement a large-scale water ring (Expert interview 1, 2019). To date (2023), there is no official document accessible.
The most elusive aspects of Lagos’ official water supply are nepotism and corruption (Expert interview 8, 2019; Expert interview 12, 2019). According to LWC officials, pro-forma contracts are issued by the ruling elite of the All Progressives Congress (APC) to favourites (Expert interview 10, 2019). The bills are settled, the repairs remain undone and the little existing infrastructure further decays (Expert interview 10, 2019). Figure 2 summarises the limited reach of LWC.
Case Study Communities and Water Supply Systems
Profile of the Community Water Infrastructures
The four case study communities rely mainly on two sources of water: private water tanks and shallow wells (Table 2). Both sources do normally not offer drinking water quality, making the supplementary purchase of drinking water sachets necessary.
The private water tanks are either powered by nearby boreholes (inside or outside of the community), linked to LWC water mains or filled by water trucks, usually by private operators. The boreholes are privately drilled, owned and maintained. The extracted water is used for their own consumption and/ or sold and/ or given to neighbours (Figure 3). In order to connect private tanks to official LWC mains, an application must be filed with the LWC headquarters. The billing is usually issued as a monthly flat rate. The water supply via the official mains is not reliable as LWC has serious issues providing water. LWC water is also delivered per truck by private operators and paid upon delivery. The water in tanks connected to the LWC mains or filled by private operators is as well sold and/ or given to neighbours, depending on the area (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019; Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019).
There are basically two distribution models in place. One is the radical ‘free-market economy’ approach with private water vendors dominating the water supply (Orisunmibare, Otumara) (Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019). The other one is the ‘solidary sharing’ approach, in which water tank owners, among them traditional community leaders (baales, baloguns) share their water for free, complemented by donated boreholes by politicians during election campaigns and/ or erratically functioning boreholes by international organisations (Mafowoku) (Field notes Mafowoku, 2019). In Amukoko-Mosafejo, a blend of the ‘free-market economy’ approach with the ‘solidary sharing’ approach is implemented (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019).
In the radical ‘free market economy’ approach, the water vendors implement a ‘cartel-like’ organisational structure and determine the price structure, regardless of whether they own borehole-powered tanks or LWC water-powered tanks. Some water vendors own several boreholes powered and LWC-linked water tanks to ‘diversify’ their business. Power cuts are frequent and lasting, making the use of generators necessary and leading to increased prices. Erratically and unpredictably functioning water sources lead to an expensive and fluctuating supply structure for the slum dwellers. A bowl of 10 or 15 l of water is usually sold for USD0.16 or more (Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019).
In Otumara, the dominance of the water vendors is only ‘interfered’ by migrant workers from the north, young men from the Hausa tribe operating as water pushers (Figure 4). They deliver jerrycans for USD0.07 to USD0.1 each to the doorsteps. The water is fetched from boreholes of inferior quality, used for washing. In Otumara, the water vendors rely nearly 100% on their own boreholes inside or outside of the community, offering different qualities of water. Only three people have connected their tanks to the LWC mains (Field notes Otumara, 2019).
Water Vendor (Left) in Otumara at Her House.
Hausa Water Pushers in Otumara.
In Orisunmibare, the dominance of the water vendors is even stronger than in Otumara. A handful of water vendors own together approximately 10 tanks. Water from the tanks linked to LWC mains costs about USD0.4 per bucket (drinking water), and water from borehole-powered tanks costs about USD0.15 per bucket, if there is electricity. Otherwise, prices almost double. Since the water scarcity in Orisunmibare is so stark and selling prices are so high, residents also rely on shallow wells with extremely substandard quality, sourced from polluted surface water. The misery of the residents is a little eased as Hon. Oputa, a parliamentarian, donated during his campaign in 2016 one borehole, from which water can be fetched for free if there is electricity. Otherwise, a token must be paid (FGD 1, 2019).
In a free-market economy, scarcities are resolved through changes in relative prices rather than through regulation. Buyers and sellers come together voluntarily to decide on what products or services to produce and sell and buy, and how the resources of labour and capital are used (OECD, 2004). The radical nature of this approach in the water supply is reflected in the vulnerable and marginalised environment where it takes place, neglected slum communities. The provision of this valuable good in Otumara and Orisunmibare is entirely left to the law of supply and demand, whereas the first is permanently precarious and the second is permanently high. Prices are high and people are extremely poor. One can hence not speak of a voluntary decision on the use of resources. It is rather a daily survival struggle without any chance or hope that a superordinate body would regulate at least a bit to ease the cruelty (FGD 1, 2019; FGD 2, 2019; FGD 5, 2019). However, the struggle is on both sides (vendor and buyer), which is another aspect of the radicality. The implementation and maintenance of water infrastructure are expensive (borehole drilling, connecting pipes often several 100 m long), and it is a daily struggle to defend it against vandalism of area boys at night (sometimes ‘commissioned’ by jealous rivals in the community) and random destruction due to soaked untarred roads during the rains (FGD 6, 2019). There is a lot of competition and pressure among the vendors to provide reasonable water quality (no smell, no colour, etc.) (FGD 6, 2019). It is hard to say who suffers more, the vendors or the buyers; it is a system of mutual exploitation (Figure 5). It seems to be a lose-lose situation and hence the opposite of what free markets promise: an efficient allocation of a good or service, here water, and a win-win situation for vendors and buyers (Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019).
Waiting for the Water: Women in Orisunmibare Put Their Bowls in the Queue.
In Mafowoku (‘solidary sharing’ approach), several water tanks with free water are available (FGD 4, 2019). The traditional community leader (baale) offers from his borehole water for free. A token must be paid for the expenses of the generator, usually USD0.03 per bucket if applicable. Several state and federal politicians standing for elections donated boreholes. The Community Development Association implemented one public borehole, referring to it as a ‘self-help’ project, funded through donations by the residents. The organisation Save the Children donated another borehole, though not operating smoothly (Expert interview 6, 2019). There are LWC pipes along one of the main streets, but people complain about pipes running along or even in the drainage canals, serving de facto as open sewerage and about the erratic service. Hausa water pushers sell jerrycans for USD0.5 each. Like in the other communities, people need to buy drinking water sachets (Figure 6). Prices vary locally, 20 sachets cost about USD0.5 (Field notes Mafowoku, 2019).
In Amukoko-Mosafejo (‘solidary sharing’ approach blended with ‘free-market economy’ approach), the main water source is a steadily functioning borehole, donated by Hon. Rita during the 2019 election campaign for the State House of Assembly (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019). The traditional community leader (baale) operates a borehole at his house, offering water for free if there is electricity. Other water tanks are partly borehole powered, shared for free or sold, while others are filled by private water trucks and shared for free or sold (FGD 3, 2019).
Drinking Water Sachets Seller in Amukoko-Mosafejo.
Overview of Water Distribution Principles, Costs for Water Supply in Relation to the Distribution, Water Quality, Service Reliability and Availability in the Case Study Communities.
In any case and in any approach, the communities organise themselves, whereas water supply by the government hardly exists (Table 3). In the investigated communities, few people have their water tanks connected to LWC mains, and if, the reliability of the governmental water provision is extremely limited. Standpipes hardly exist, and if, they are out of order (Mafowoku) (Field notes Mafowoku, 2019).
Concluding, Amukoko-Mosafejo and Mafowoku face serious issues with access to reliable and usable water sources. Nevertheless, they cope with it, implementing specific community-led water provision systems that can be described as ‘successful’, especially as the state is not considerably involved. The drinking water problem is unsolved in both communities. Orisunmibare suffers from dramatic water scarcity, not only in terms of drinking water. The community undergoes deep internal power struggles, reflected in the community-led, ‘free-market economy’ driven water supply system with high and fluctuating prices. The situation concerning the water provision is not acceptable. Otumara is similarly ruled by a handful of powerful water vendors dominating the water supply system. The water provision though can be described as ‘moderately successful’. The ‘solidary sharing’ approach (Mafowoku; partly Amukoko-Mosafejo) is ‘regulated’ by community associations and baales, replacing the function of the government and exposing the vulnerable slum dwellers a bit less to the allocation battle of water.
Political-administrative Machineries, Power-connections and Actors involved in Water Supply Systems
The four case study communities are governed by complex networks of traditional and informal leaders; formal actors are hardly involved. The traditional informal networks have elusive ‘interfaces’ with formal actors (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019; Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019). Formal actors in this context are LWC, Local Governments (LGA) and Local Council Development Areas (LCDA). LCDAs are informal subdivisions of LGAs.
Slum dwellers often refer to LWC officials as ‘plumbers’ (Figure 2). They ‘officially’ connect private pipes to water mains and issue sometimes ‘contracts’ with informal water vendors (Expert interview 1, 2019; Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019) (Figure 7). For the informal water vendors, it is difficult to verify whether these ‘plumbers’ work on behalf of LWC or whether they perform undeclared work, earning some extra money (FGD 6, 2019). Either way, the interface between LWC regional managers, ‘plumbers’ and ‘certified’ water vendors involves bribes (Expert interview 1, 2019; Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019). The relationship between the ‘plumbers’ and the water vendors, and the water vendors and the community is conflictual and often violent, filled with mutual accusations of not fulfilling the ‘agreement’ (unpaid bills or bribe), resulting in the destruction of connections (FGD 6, 2019). The general accusation by LWC is the illegal sale of water and/or illegal tapping into mains (Expert interview 1, 2019; Expert interview 7, 2019), whereas the slum dwellers accuse LWC of denunciation and discrimination (FGD 6, 2019).
Vendor’s certificate, issued by LWC ‘plumbers’.
The Community Development Associations (CDA) operate at the intersection of formal and informal institutions. Their existence goes back to pre-colonial times, when people organised themselves to provide physical improvement in their localities (Akinsorotan & Olujide, 2006). CDAs exist in Lagos State under different names and sizes, developing rules and regulations themselves. They plan and implement projects with little or no interference from external institutions. Theoretically, every resident can become a member, practically the membership is often limited to landlords. The CDAs report issues around broken or dysfunctional infrastructure to the LCDAs who should report to the LASG. Water supply is one of their key concerns (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019).
Informal actors are water vendors, mostly landlords residing in the community. They are supplemented by water pushers, mostly migrant workers from the Hausa tribe. Politicians donating boreholes during election campaigns are among the most important informal actors in the community water supply (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019; Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019). However, they also mirror the perverted understanding of politics and public administration. Politicians donate the much-needed water supply before the election, while being in office or in parliament, the infrastructure crisis of the city is not addressed or rather, cannot be addressed due to the ‘rent-seeking activities’ (Gandy, 2006; Simone, 2005, pp. 1–26) of a small, but highly influential yet entangled economic and political elite (Expert interview 5, 2019; Expert interview 8, 2019).
Traditional actors on the community level are baales and baloguns. Baales, always male and descending from a certain family, act as mediators in minor disputes among community members. They are crowned in long-lasting processes by appointment or by heritage, confirmed by LCDAs/LASG and appearing on the payrolls of LASG. In three of the four analysed communities, the baales have boreholes at their house but only two of them work, offering water for free (Amukoko-Mosafejo and Mafowoku) (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019). In Orisunmibare, the traditional leader is a balogun (Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019). Baloguns are traditional chiefs, mostly male, subordinate to the baale and usually responsible for a specific street or an entire community. The role of traditional leaders is seen rather critically, both by LSG and academic literature. LSG and LCDAs perceive baales and baloguns as ridiculous relicts that need to be removed in the aspiration of becoming a modern African city (Expert interview 4, 2019), whereas the scholarly writing considers the significant influence of traditional rule in the modern African city as problematic as they represent non-democratic, patriarchal sources of power in a fragile yet fully to emerge strong civil society (Gandy, 2006; Mbembe, 2021). Though the present research reveals that baales, if of integrity (Amukoko-Mosafejo, Mafowoku) can have a positive equalising influence on the access to water supply (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019).
LCDAs are supposed to consult the baales and the CDAs. However, in practice, this does not happen. Rather, the CDAs write letters to the LCDAs to report issues like broken infrastructure. Usually, these letters are not forwarded to responsible state ministries and agencies, giving the impression that the local government tiers are not willing and unable to support the communities (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019; Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019). Similarly, LCDAs report hardly getting responses from LASURA upon their complaints concerning community development issues (Expert interview 3, 2019; Expert interview 4, 2019). The ambiguous role of traditional leaders is reflected in the fact that corrupt CDAs and LCDAs use them for revenue-raising activities among the slum dwellers (Orisunmibare) (FGD 1, 2019; Gandy, 2006). Non-existent regulatory authorities in the water supply in Lagos’ slums demand the communities’ self-management, resulting in radical and cruel deregulation of the water supply which then turns into a ‘water market’. Weak or corrupt LCDAs, CDAs and traditional leaders enable the rise of ‘water-cartels’ (FGD 1, 2019; FGD 2, 2019). ‘Water lobbies’ consisting of baloguns and CDA members who sell water (Orisunmibare) charge high rates. Arrangements among water vendors (Orisunmibare, Otumara) (FGD 1, 2019; FGD 2, 2019) hinder initiatives from baales (Otumara) or NGOs (Orisunmibare) to bring free water into the communities (Expert interview 9, 2019; FGD 6, 2019). The combination of both, a weak state and a weak civil society, lead in Lagos’ slums to the exploitation of almost everything and everybody. Simone (2006) describes such a condition as piracy: political-administrative machines lack will, interest and interest in implementing regulatory normative politics and politics, allowing for all kinds of unregulated and illegal activities.
Formal/Informal Actors and Their Efficiency in the Water Supply System of the Case Study Communities.
Key: • (yes) x (no) – based on field interviews, focus group discussions and own observation/mapping
Informal and traditional actors are partly efficient in the water supply, whereas formal actors do not contribute to the water supply (Table 4). Donated boreholes by politicians during election campaigns contribute significantly to the overall water supply in three of four communities. Regarding the analysed power relations, Orisunmibare represents a dramatic case. CDA board members sell water, using the CDA for their own private interests. The balogun’s own borehole is broken, and the community accuses him of corruption as he’s involved in the water business of CDA board members. Consequently, the CDA has no regulating capacity in the interest of the community. A rather successful case is Mafowoku where the CDA is effective in maintaining the donated boreholes by politicians, in engaging the community, and to a certain extent, the LCDA in implementing additional public boreholes with international donors such as Save the Children. The CDA reports as well damaged hoses to the LWC regional manager. The repairs are usually not implemented. The baale’s private borehole functions as ‘public’ borehole. The CDA and the baale respect each other, implementing a collaborative approach. Consequently, water vendors do not play a role in the water supply. Amukoko-Mosafejo has a well-established CDA that controls the water vendors. Opposite to Mafowoku, water vendors sell from their private tanks to supply the community but there is free water at two boreholes: one at the house of the baale, one donated by Hon. Rita in 2018. The third ‘public’ borehole, implemented by the LMDGP in 2013 is broken. The residents of Otumara depend solely on private water vendors, once organised in the informal Water Vendors Association and as such also LWC ‘certified’. In 2010, they dissolved voluntarily all relations with the government concerning water supply, due to a conflict around unpaid bills and the subsequent destruction of water pipes by LWC ‘plumbers’. Whether the latter acted officially or privately, remains unclear. The two baales competing for power and influence struggle both to bring free water into the community. In Otumara, neither the baales nor the CDA can control the water vendors. The borehole at the house of baale Festus, donated by a politician dried up.
Altogether, the capacity of CDAs and baales is relevant for a functioning water supply. In communities, where the water vendors are controlled by the CDA (Amukoko-Mosafejo) or are not relevant to the water supply (Mafowoku) people feel less stressed and show solidarity. This is confirmed by the findings of the field research in Otumara. Here, the community has a technically functioning water supply, provided by the water vendors but the residents lament the lack of solidarity among each other, the same applies to Orisunmibare. In both communities, the CDAs and baales are inefficient or corrupt (Table 5) (Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo, 2019; Field notes Mafowoku, 2019; Field notes Orisunmibare, 2019; Field notes Otumara, 2019).
Analysis of Relevant Actors in Relation to Their Role.
Key: • (yes) x (no) – based on field interviews, focus group discussions and own observation/ mapping
Conclusions and Policy Implications
‘The issue at stake’, Gandy (2006) wrote almost 20 years ago, ‘is whether a workable concept of the public realm can be established in a context where social and economic relationships are in a constant state of flux and uncertainty’. Acknowledging water as both a common good and a human right (Sarkar, 2022, pp. 16–19) and using water supply in urban slums as a lens to study the access to urban infrastructure in postcolonial Lagos, as this article does, one has to conclude: there is nothing really public in Lagos, if more than 90% of the population do not have access to public water. Historically, the majority of Lagosians never had access to functional water supply. In light of the enormous growth predictions for Lagos, one must assume that there will not be a public realm as such in the foreseeable future, neither in terms of infrastructure nor in terms of governance. How can these numerous and splintered realms (Mbembe, 2021), neither private nor public, form the base for improved water supply systems for the majority of urban poor in contemporary Lagos (Table 5)? To approach the water infrastructure crisis in Lagos, combined technical, organisational and anthropological knowledge of informal networks, strategies and practices is needed, including discussions about the role, legitimacy and possible transformation of traditional power structures.
The common but obviously inaccurate dichotomy of ‘formal’ versus ‘informal’ is not only unproductive when approaching the water supply problem in the slums of Lagos, but it also does not coin the entanglement and motivation of actors and institutions. A ‘hybrid’ approach is suggested in order to address the ‘conflicting rationalities’ (Watson, 2009) between the government and the poor in order (a) to stop the neglect of slums, perceived as obstacles to modernisation and development, (b) to stop the mutual exploitation of sellers and vendors in the informal ‘water market’, and (c) to ease the daily hardship of slum dwellers. ‘Hybrid’ water supply can be defined as the common ground between the formal and the informal. Such ‘hybrid’ approaches would lead to the recognised coproduction of services and infrastructure, giving legitimacy to informal and traditional actors and using the existing knowledge of community water supply. Moreover, it would immediately support LSG’s (2022, pp. 112–114) declared intentions to improve the water infrastructure but by focusing on distribution and supply instead of (increasing) demand gaps. Even if Lagos State is able to come up with the huge amount of the necessary funds to implement the required adjustment in the water infrastructure to accommodate the growing population and to adapt to the increasing water scarcity, it would have to work with a lot of uncertainty given the complex social, spatial and economic realities on the ground (Simone & Pieterse, 2017, p. 17). This includes questions on how to roll out such infrastructure and how to deal with Lagos’ densely populated neighbourhoods while implementing it. Therefore, it is likely that both financial and infrastructure inputs will happen incrementally with a major emphasis on localised systems (Simone & Pieterse, 2017, p. 17).
The Lagos Water Supply Masterplan (LWC, 2018) is focused on quantities. The actual and tangible issues though are with questions of distribution and supply, which, to a large extent, have to do with everyday life realities of the poor urban and the limitations therein (Sarkar, 2022), requiring a shift in policy thinking and making. Opposite to that, the understanding of real politics by LSG politicians and officials is guided by the claim that only large-scale infrastructure can change the economy of access and citizenship, not willing or able to see the power that micro transformations can unfold in everyday living (Simone & Pieterse, 2017, p. 156). In reaction to the enormous infrastructure crisis the city faces, slums dwellers, in different constellations, assume the task of the government (Harrison, 2006). Regrettably, their efforts in providing the water supply are neither acknowledged, nor supported. This is disastrous, for several reasons. The contribution of the informal networks is vital for people to have access to water. Community-built and -managed infrastructure and services can and should not become vehicles through which the state can bypass its responsibility (Simone & Pieterse, 2017), but communities can and should become acknowledged co-producers. The recommendation is hence to work towards politics that includes both, the systemic and the acupunctural, the formal and the informal. By nature, systemic, large-scale infrastructure must be led by the government (Gandy, 2006), but this does not mean that government cannot acknowledge, support and connect the many informal ‘mini government networks’ in place in order to achieve a better city and an acceptable water supply for all.
As shown, ‘micro government networks’ are complex and dynamic yet pragmatic relations between slum dwellers, depending on the materiality (here: water supply) and the power positions due to tradition, expertise (here: water supply), and status (ethnicity, gender, land ownership). If they function well, they may be the mechanisms through which the sustainable implementation and administration of water supply in slums in Lagos might succeed (Table 5: column b). In communities, where people express a ‘moderate satisfaction’ with the overall water supply and the ‘solidary sharing’ approach is implemented, the traditional leaders are personalities of integrity and take their roles as ‘community shepherd’ seriously. They stick to their role as mediators in community quarrels and offer water for free to the community. The CDA is opposite to the baale a democratic institution. The positions of the chairman, secretary, etc. rotate and residents can run for office. Whenever these semi-formal institutions can perform efficiently their duties, the community has better access to water. The ‘free-market’ approach in which private water vendors dominate the events is only implemented if the informal-traditional ‘government’ of the CDA and the baale is not functioning. The two semi-formal and traditional institutions are familiar with the needs and potentials of ‘their’ communities to improve the water supply. They also know how to mobilise the communities, and they need themselves to be involved if the improvements in infrastructure and services should be lasting. But the research shows as well that communities with a ‘free-market’ approach, hence without any infrastructural hardware support by the government and without any ‘regulatory power’ of the CDA and the baales, are well capable of sustaining themselves in the water supply (Table 5: column (a) and (b) Otumara), technically and regarding governance despite of rougher conditions for the vulnerable dwellers.
This calls either for a targeted cooperation of LWC with the CDAs and the baales, on behalf of the communities, or for targeted cooperation of LWC directly with the water vendors in the communities. Both approaches demand the establishment of non-negotiable requirements, acknowledging the vulnerability of the slum dwellers. In both cooperation models, ‘solidary’ and ‘free-market approach’, the non-negotiable framework conditions should include the amount of spatially equally distributed water points and the delivered water quality. Ideally, one-third or half of these water points provide drinking water quality. Another aspect that needs to be negotiated is the price structure and the payment modalities. In the ‘solidary’ model, there should be a reliable yet affordable structure for the people who cannot afford their own boreholes but buy or receive from neighbours. A purely ‘donor-oriented’ model may seem sympathetic, though creates dependences on goodwill. In return, the borehole owners can use the revenues from the water sale for the maintenance of the water infrastructure. In the ‘free-market’ model, the price structure should respond to the needs of the water vendor for whom the business is their livelihood, and to the needs of the slum dwellers who live on very little on a hand-to-mouth base. In the case of the ‘solidary model’, the CDA would be the body that would hold the involved actors accountable for their duties. For internal community disputes, such as unpaid water purchases or destroyed infrastructure, the baale is traditionally the mediator. In the ‘free-market’ model, an additional, citizen-based board with an equal representation of men and women should be created to hold the water vendors accountable and prevent overcharged water prices, poor water quality or insufficient amounts of water. Such a board would also help to make the difficulties of the water vendors transparent to the slum dwellers.
The key to a functional water supply and a better city life lies in the understanding of the entanglement of the materiality (water) and its distribution (water supply system, including the people). There is no uniformity in these entanglements. To ease the struggle for the millions of slum dwellers in Lagos, the many existing water supply systems in place, in their totality, must be the starting point for improvement, rather than idealised or disapproved conceptions of good or poor governance and supply systems. The challenge lies in accepting the imperfect practices by simultaneously supporting the communities in eliminating the worst exploitation and corruption factors.
In an institutional reform, the baales should be released from the payroll of the government to be able to advocate for their communities. The ‘crowning process’ of the baales could become a democratic election process, in which the community can participate. In return, the CDAs could receive a simple set of uniform rules with both landlords and tenants becoming members. Some CDAs might need some support from NGOs or similar in running their associations as well as in the planning, construction and administration of water infrastructure. LWC should actively cooperate with the communities, rather than taking on a learning and connecting role. With such a ‘hybrid’ and certainly experimental approach (Simone & Pieterse, 2017, p. 9), finding common grounds between the formal and the informal in planning (Myers, 2011, p. 105), implementing and administrating urban infrastructure, Lagos could start to implement its own version of ‘African urbanity’, based on lived realities. The radical extension of citizenship rights based on practical needs (Gandy, 2006) and on the factual everyday production of the city would automatically constitute the ‘right to the city’.
Appendix A
Field work
Field notes Amukoko-Mosafejo. (2019, February, March, August, September).
Field notes Mafowoku. (2019, February, March, August, September).
Field notes Orisunmibare. (2019, February, March, August, September).
Field notes Otumara. (2019, February, March, August, September).
Expert interview 1. (2019, August 23).
Expert interview 2. (2019, August 28).
Expert interview 3. (2019, August 16).
Expert interview 4. (2019, August 27).
Expert interview 5. (2019, August 28).
Expert interview 6. (2019, August 29).
Expert interview 7. (2019, September 12).
Expert interview 8. (2019, September 12).
Expert interview 9. (2019, September 16).
Expert interview 10. (2019, September 18).
Expert interview 11. (2019, September 19).
Expert interview 12. (2019, September 26).
FGD 1. (2019, August 7).
FGD 2. (2019, August 20).
FGD 3. (2019, August 24).
FGD 4. (2019, August 27).
FGD 5. (2019, September 11).
FGD 6. (2019, September 11).
Footnotes
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The research stay in Lagos was funded by the German Academic Exchange Service DAAD.
