One afternoon as I strolled through a neighbourhood on the Lagos mainland, I paused in front of a familiar two-flat building. Right in front of the building sat two middle-aged men chatting casually, yet what caught my attention was not their conversation but the stench wafting from a nearby open drainage channel. I instinctively pinched my nose, a reflex every ‘Lagosian’ understands. These days, many residents glide past filth and litters, almost unbothered, having become conditioned to the daily sights of environmental decay across the metropolis, particularly in poorer neighbourhoods. Another time, while waiting to pick someone at night by the Berger lay-by along the ever-busy Lagos-Ibadan expressway,near the pedestrian bridge where a police truck was usually stationed, I observed discarded orange peels and empty sachets of alcoholic beverages strewn everywhere. It was a stark reminder to how normalised our collective nonchalance towards environmental sanitation has degenerated.
In recent months, viral posts on social media have captured the dumping of refuse on highways and street corners, ubiquitous garbage heaps, plastic bottles floating in canals and rats scurrying past food vendors. To his credit, however, the Hon. Commissioner for Environment and Water Resources, Tokunbo Wahab, has intensified the name and shame as well as timely prosecution of culprits while enforcing extant environmental laws as regularly updated on his social media handles. Unfortunately, these laudable efforts remain inadequate in tackling a sanitation crisis that threatens to overwhelm Africa’s fastest-growing megacity.
To be clear, Lagos is not alone. History reminds us that cities like London and Manchester were once hubs of filth leading to cholera outbreaks until sweeping reforms such as the 1848 Public Health Act and an army of sanitary inspectors swung into action. Singapore’s march from “Third to First World Country” in the 1960s was also underpinned by strict enforcement of environmental hygiene under its former leader, Lee Kuan Yew.
Interestingly, Lagos once had its own version of these officers; the ‘wole-wole’ (i.e sanitary inspectors). It was a system introduced in the colonial era which evolved and continued well into Nigeria’s post-colonial years. These inspectors patrolled schools, homes, markets, eateries and factories, shutting down any premises that fell short of basic hygiene. Their presence instilled discipline and environmental consciousness. Over time, particularly from the late 20th century, the system declined, creating a vacuum now exploited by indiscriminate dumping of refuse and widespread apathy to sanitary observance. Were the public health architecture still functioning as intended today, no food vendor would open for business without first demonstrating proper waste-management practices, while small-scale water producers would undergo routine sanitary inspections to ensure compliance with hygiene standards.
Given its geographic significance, Lagos has always been central to Nigeria’s fortunes. From an Awori fishing settlement dating back to the 15th century, to a Portuguese trading post by the 16th century, a colonial capital, and now a sprawling megacity, its influence across finance, manufacturing, entertainment and logistics is unrivalled. With these glowing attributes comes staggering population pressure. From around 30,000 inhabitants at British annexation in 1861, Lagos is now home to an estimated 22million residents and adds over 600,000 people each year,thereby placing tremendous strain on existing infrastructure, especially sanitation.
The consequences are everywhere: indiscriminate refuse dumps, blocked drains, smoky vehicles and chaotic settlements have become defining features of Lagos. Beyond aesthetics, the health implications are unsettling. Recent figures indicate that the city produces about 13,000 tonnes of waste daily, roughly 5.46 million tonnes annually, yet only 40% is formally collected, with just 13% recycled. At an average of 274 kg of waste per resident annually, Lagos is now the largest waste-generating city in Africa, producing about 1.48% more waste per person than the global average. Clearly, moral persuasion alone can only carry the state so far; meaningful change demands behavioural shifts driven by a sanitation tax. Open drains continue to harbour malaria-carrying mosquitoes and ignite cholera outbreaks, undermining public health and workforce productivity, while trucks and commercial buses belch toxic fumes into already-polluted air. Indeed, some would argue that the COVID-19 lockdown, when mobility was restricted, marked the last time Lagosians experienced truly clean air.
Reviving a modern ‘wole-wole 2.0’ sanitary inspection corps empowered to routinely monitor eateries, sachet/bottled water producers, markets, streets, bus parks and residential areasshould be a top priority for the state government. Observance of environmental hygiene must become a licence to operate, not just an afterthought. Equally, Lagos should undertake a deliberate programme to cover its open drains, following Johannesburg’s example, where enclosed systems discourage dumping, reduce flooding and enhance the urban environment. This is particularly urgent given climate-change projections that already placed Lagos at high risk of sea-level rise. Alongside, the state must invest heavily in garbage trucks capable of serving the entire expanse of Lagos and overhaul the management and expansion of dump sites, so that refuse is not simply shifted from one eyesore to another.
To sustain momentum, Lagos should introduce a transparent online community cleanliness rating index. Estates, streets, parks, markets within Local Government Areas should be graded and published publicly, with the results displayed for all to see based on established sanitation and environmental criteria. LGAs that perform well should earn incentives and recognition, while poorly rated areas should face levies, rate increases, or sanitation taxes much in the spirit of the 19th-century “door and window tax” (impôt des portes et fenêtres) once imposed in Britain and France, or the Ottoman vergi-i ağnam. A community-based sanitation tax regime not only encourages self-policing, but it would also help curb the exorbitant real-estate prices charged in poorly maintained neighbourhoods, a trend that has drawn sharp criticisms in recent public debates. Likewise, the longstanding appeal for building owners along major roads to repaint and maintain their structures would shift from rhetorics to measurableoutcomes due to the sanitation tax implications for non-conformance, helping to restore Lagos’ beauty and orderly appearance.
Food vendors, water producers and small-scale processors should not operate without periodic hygiene certifications; approvals must never be one-off. Meanwhile, public urinals and toilets must be provided and maintained along major transport corridors to curb open defecation and urination, a key contributor to the foul smell within Lagos metropolis. Equally critical is enforcement of emission standards. Soot-belching trailers and buses must be removed from the roadsduring daytime, where possible. This would help in mitigating the unpleasant effects of carbon monoxide in the atmosphere.
‘Wole-wole’ officers should play an active role in a new environmental compliance rating system where, much like Fitch and S&P assess financial institutions, Lagos publicly rates communities based on cleanliness and sanitation criteria. Communities found wanting should see this reflected in real estate values within their enclaves, with fines and levies cascading down to individual residents according to their area’s rating. Once estates, markets and streets realise that environmental scores affect their pockets, they will begin to police themselves. In this way, the casual conversations once shared by men like those two chatting outside that Lagos mainland house, unfazed by the repugnant stench around them, can evolve from everyday neighbourhood banter into a shared sense of responsibility because a dirty bus stop or street corner will cost everyone, not just government. In the end, Lagos will only ever be as clean, disciplined and liveable as the people who call it home.
Leonard Ohakpugwu writes from Lagos. He is the Head of Procurement for a leading FCMG company and currently pursuing a PhD in Trade & Development Finance. He is passionate about the impact of regulatory systems on African markets, public policy, governance and sustainability Kpugwu@gmail.com, +238124029826
