Lagos is home to more than 200 slum districts, up from roughly 42 a few decades ago, and the settlements range from clusters of shacks beneath highway overpasses to entire neighborhoods stretching across lagoon waters.1Journal of Contemporary Urban Affairs. Exploring the Contemporary Challenges of Urbanization and the Role of Sustainable Urban Development: A Study of Lagos City, Nigeria Millions of people in one of Africa’s fastest-growing megacities live without reliable running water, paved roads, or formal waste disposal, and much of what keeps these communities running is organized by the residents themselves. The reality on the ground is more layered than the word “slum” suggests, and understanding it means looking at water, food, air, evictions, mental health, and the resourcefulness of people who have been largely left to fend for themselves.
How the Number of Slum Districts Multiplied
Lagos grew explosively in the second half of the twentieth century, fueled by rural-to-urban migration, oil-economy growth, and the relocation of Nigeria’s commercial center of gravity. The city’s formal housing supply never came close to matching the pace. The result was predictable: when affordable housing is not built, people build for themselves. Informal settlements filled in the gaps on marginal land, along waterways, on reclaimed swamp, and in pockets of urban terrain that formal developers avoided. What were once a few dozen recognized slum areas have now multiplied to over 200 distinct settlements.2Journal of Contemporary Urban Affairs. Exploring the Contemporary Challenges of Urbanization and the Role of Sustainable Urban Development: A Study of Lagos City, Nigeria
Some of these districts are relatively small, a handful of corrugated-metal structures squeezed into leftover space. Others, like Makoko or the former Otodo-Gbame, are large communities with their own schools, markets, and social hierarchies. The term “slum” flattens the enormous variation between them. A settlement built on stilts over the lagoon faces different challenges from one hemmed in by expressway embankments. What they share is a lack of formal infrastructure and the precariousness that comes with it.
Water on Your Own Terms
If you live in a Lagos slum, your water supply is almost certainly not coming from the municipal utility. Even in parts of the city with nominal pipe connections, service is unreliable. In slum communities, the situation is starker: people and local groups organize their own water provision through boreholes, wells, water vendors, and improvised distribution networks. A study of urban slum water systems in Lagos found that daily infrastructure provision remains the responsibility of individuals and groups, often arranged through complex, fragile, and constantly shifting local networks.3The International Journal of Community and Social Development. Water Supply Systems in Urban Slum Communities in Lagos, Nigeria: Between Self-supply and Co-production
This means water costs more per liter for the poorest residents than it does for wealthier Lagosians connected to the municipal grid. It also means quality is inconsistent. Groundwater drawn from shallow wells in densely packed areas faces contamination from the very settlements relying on it. Research on shallow aquifers beneath informal areas in Lagos found that pit latrines and domestic solid waste dumps drove dramatic increases in groundwater pollution, with nutrient loads rising by a factor of nearly 50 for some contaminants downstream of latrine sites.4Journal of Environmental Management. Nutrient pollution in shallow aquifers underlying pit latrines and domestic solid waste dumps in urban slums When the water you drink is drawn from the same ground that receives untreated human waste, the health consequences compound quickly.
Flooding, Disease, and Coastal Exposure
Many of Lagos’s slum communities sit on low-lying land near the coast, the lagoon, or drainage channels. During rainy seasons, these areas flood repeatedly, sometimes for days at a time. A study of four urban poor communities near the Lagos coast documented the scale and frequency of flooding and its impacts through interviews with residents and community discussions.5Environment and Urbanization. Vulnerability of poor urban coastal communities to flooding in Lagos, Nigeria Floodwaters carry sewage, solid waste, and contaminated runoff directly into homes.
The health toll is predictable. A survey across three Lagos slums found that residents faced perennial flooding from blocked drainage systems, which in turn drove repeated bouts of malaria, diarrhea, and respiratory infections.6South East Asia Journal of Public Health. Living conditions and public health status in three urban slums of Lagos, Nigeria Standing water provides breeding habitat for mosquitoes. Open drains become vectors for waterborne pathogens. And because health care access in these communities is limited and often out-of-pocket, people endure illnesses that could be prevented with basic drainage and sanitation infrastructure. The cycle reinforces itself season after season.
What People Breathe Indoors
The health problems in Lagos slums are not only waterborne. Indoor air quality in low-income housing is a separate and often overlooked hazard. Many households cook with kerosene stoves, rely on small gasoline generators for electricity (since grid supply is intermittent), and use insecticide sprays to combat mosquitoes. A study measuring hazardous air pollutants and volatile organic compounds in low-income Lagos homes identified these three sources as the dominant contributors to indoor air pollution.7Advances in environmental research. Indoor exposure to hazardous air pollutants and volatile organic compounds in low-income houses in Lagos, Nigeria
The consequences are respiratory. Residents exposed to these pollutants reported wheezing, asthma attacks, eye irritation, nausea, and frequent hospital visits.8International Journal of Bioassays. Levels of hazardous air pollutants and volatile organic compounds in low-income houses in Lagos, Nigeria What makes this especially frustrating is that each individual source of pollution is a workaround for a missing public service. Kerosene stoves compensate for the absence of piped cooking gas. Generators compensate for unreliable electricity. Insecticide compensates for the lack of mosquito control measures. People are essentially poisoning their own air in order to cook, keep the lights on, and avoid malaria, because no one is providing the alternatives.
Hunger in a City of Commerce
Lagos is Nigeria’s economic engine, home to the country’s busiest port and largest concentration of businesses. The idea that people there go hungry may sound contradictory, but a survey of household food security across urban Lagos families found that only about a third of households were food secure. Roughly 45% were food insecure without hunger, meaning they worried about food or cut quality but did not go without meals, and about a fifth were food insecure with hunger, meaning they actually skipped meals or went whole days without eating.9PubMed Central. Hunger in the midst of plenty: A survey of household food security among urban families in Lagos State, Nigeria
A quarter of the surveyed households spent between 40% and 80% of their monthly income on food alone.10PubMed Central. Hunger in the midst of plenty: A survey of household food security among urban families in Lagos State, Nigeria In a slum context where incomes are irregular and expenditures on water, transport, and rent already eat into earnings, food becomes the budget line that gets squeezed. Residents who earn money from informal trade, artisanal work, or domestic labor often face the bitter arithmetic of choosing between feeding a family and paying for shelter or a child’s school fees.
What Happens When the Government Demolishes a Slum
Lagos authorities have repeatedly tried to eliminate slum settlements through forced eviction, and the track record is grim. The most studied case is Maroko, a large waterfront settlement demolished in 1990. Research following the displaced residents found that most were worse housed after the eviction than before it, with lower housing quality, more overcrowding, higher rents, and reduced access to basic services.11Environment and Urbanization. Forced eviction and forced relocation in Nigeria: the experience of those evicted from Maroko in 1990 The land Maroko sat on was redeveloped into upscale real estate. The people who had lived there simply moved to other slums or created new informal settlements elsewhere.
The pattern has repeated itself. The 2016 and 2017 demolitions of Otodo-Gbame, a fishing community on the Lagos lagoon, followed a similar script. A study examining the impact of forced eviction on residents of Otodo-Gbame and the nearby Njemanze settlement in Port Harcourt concluded that the evictions permanently damaged the lives and livelihoods of the target population in a single stroke, causing deeper housing problems and security challenges. The study’s blunt conclusion was that forced eviction does not lead to the eradication of slums but instead causes a humanitarian crisis.12Asian Research Journal of Arts & Social Sciences. Perceived Impact of Urban Waterfront Dwellers’ Forced Eviction on Housing, Security and Social Support System in Njemanze and Otodo-Gbame Informal Settlements, Nigeria
This should not be surprising. If people are living in a slum because there is no affordable housing elsewhere, demolishing the slum does not create affordable housing. It destroys the housing that existed, scatters social networks, and displaces people into other overcrowded communities or onto new marginal land. The underlying demand for cheap shelter does not vanish with the bulldozers. It just relocates.
The Psychological Weight of Insecure Tenure
Living in a settlement that might be demolished at any time does something to your mental health. A study assessing the impact of urban redevelopment on mental health in Lagos informal settlements found that residents with insecure tenure were roughly twice as likely to experience anxiety and depression compared to those with more stable housing situations. Displacement by redevelopment carried a similarly elevated risk.13International Journal of Environmental Design and Construction Management. ASSESSING THE IMPACT OF URBAN REDEVELOPMENT ON MENTAL HEALTH IN LAGOS INFORMAL SETTLEMENTS Limited access to green space was an additional predictor of poor mental health outcomes.
The anxiety is rational. When you have no legal claim to the land your home sits on, every rumor of a government development plan becomes an existential threat. Residents invest in their homes, build social networks, establish businesses, and enroll children in nearby schools, all while knowing that a political decision could erase everything with little warning and no meaningful compensation. That chronic uncertainty, layered on top of the daily stresses of poverty, flooding, and illness, creates a psychological burden that rarely shows up in statistics about Lagos’s growth or its GDP.
How Women Experience Displacement Differently
An ethno-demographic study of women displaced from the Badia community in Lagos found that forced eviction brought a cascade of economic, social, and psychological hardships. Women lost not only their homes but also their trading spots, customer networks, and the informal childcare arrangements that allowed them to work. The study documented that displaced women devised a range of survival strategies, and it found that women generally coped better emotionally and economically than men in similar situations. Extended family members emerged as a critical support pillar for displaced individuals regardless of gender.14African Population Studies. Socio-economic consequences of development-induced internal displacement and the coping strategies of female victims in Lagos Nigeria: An ethno-demographic study
The finding about women’s relative resilience is worth pausing on. It does not mean women suffered less. It means they were more likely to activate social networks, seek out new income sources, and maintain psychological stability under acute stress. Whether this reflects deeper social bonds among women, greater experience navigating informal economic systems, or something else entirely, the study did not fully unpack. But it does push against the common assumption that vulnerability in slum settings falls uniformly on everyone in the same way. Gender shapes the experience of displacement, and it shapes the recovery.
Makoko and the Venice Comparison
Makoko is probably the most photographed slum in Lagos, if not in all of West Africa. Built on stilts over the Lagos lagoon, it is a waterfront community where canoes serve as the primary mode of transport between homes, markets, and schools. International media frequently describe it as a dystopian curiosity, but a recent morphometric study comparing Makoko’s urban form to Venice found something more interesting: the two settlements share structural similarities in building elongation, alignment to waterways, diversity of building footprints, and coverage area ratios. These similarities were most pronounced in the most consolidated parts of Makoko, suggesting that as the settlement continues to develop along its current trajectory, its spatial organization will increasingly resemble that of Venice.15The Urban Book Series. Urban Form of Settlements on Water: A Morphometric Comparison Between Makoko and Venice
The comparison is not about wealth or aesthetics. Venice is a UNESCO World Heritage Site; Makoko is a settlement under constant threat of demolition. The point is that communities built on water, given enough time and stability, develop recognizable urban patterns. Streets become canals, houses orient themselves to the water’s edge, and density organizes itself around transport routes in ways that transcend culture and income level. For Makoko, this research reframes the settlement as something other than chaos waiting to be cleared. It has an urban logic, and that logic, if supported rather than destroyed, could form the basis for upgrading rather than demolition.
The Informal Economy That Keeps Slums Running
One of the most persistent misconceptions about Lagos slums is that they are places of pure deprivation and idleness. In reality, they are intensely economic spaces. Markets, workshops, food stalls, barbershops, tailoring shops, and repair outfits operate in every settlement. Many residents are self-employed or run micro-enterprises that serve both the local community and customers from outside the settlement. Research surveying hundreds of entrepreneurs across six Lagos slum areas found that access to capital and strong social networks were the factors most strongly associated with business sustainability and reduced hardship. On the other hand, restrictive government policies and limited access to formal financial services were identified as the main barriers to growth.
This entrepreneurial ecosystem is fragile. When an eviction scatters a community, the local economy disappears with it. Customer relationships, supplier chains, informal credit arrangements, and the physical infrastructure of market stalls and workshops are all destroyed. Rebuilding an informal business in a new location, where you have no reputation and no customer base, is far harder than starting one in the first place. Policies that treat slums as purely residential eyesores miss the economic function these communities serve for their residents and, often, for the wider city.
Why Upgrading Beats Demolition
Given the evidence that eviction worsens housing conditions, deepens poverty, and fails to eliminate informal settlements, the alternative that development researchers and some local advocates push is slum upgrading: improving conditions in place rather than clearing people out. Upgrading can mean paved paths, drainage channels, shared toilet blocks, water standpipes, waste collection, and some form of recognized land tenure. None of these interventions is cheap, but they are dramatically less destructive than demolition and rebuild cycles that leave displaced residents worse off than before.
The mental health evidence underscores this. If insecure tenure doubles the odds of anxiety and depression, then providing residents with even a basic assurance that their homes will not be demolished next month could have measurable effects on psychological well-being.16International Journal of Environmental Design and Construction Management. ASSESSING THE IMPACT OF URBAN REDEVELOPMENT ON MENTAL HEALTH IN LAGOS INFORMAL SETTLEMENTS Similarly, improving drainage to reduce chronic flooding would cut the cycle of waterborne disease that currently burdens residents every rainy season.17South East Asia Journal of Public Health. Living conditions and public health status in three urban slums of Lagos, Nigeria And investing in cleaner cooking fuel or more reliable electricity would address the indoor air pollution that sends residents to hospitals with respiratory problems.18International Journal of Bioassays. Levels of hazardous air pollutants and volatile organic compounds in low-income houses in Lagos, Nigeria
Lagos is projected to keep growing for decades. The question is not whether millions of people will live in informal settlements; they already do and will continue to. The question is whether those settlements will be treated as problems to erase or as communities to improve. The evidence from eviction after eviction in Lagos points in one direction, and it is not the direction of the bulldozer.
Financial Exclusion and the Digital Gap
Living in a Lagos slum constrains access to more than just physical infrastructure. Financial services remain out of reach for many residents, particularly women. Research focusing on women in selected Lagos local government areas found that lower levels of formal education were the primary barrier keeping women from using financial products like mobile banking and internet banking. Older residents faced an additional hurdle: as digital financial products grow more complex, those without prior exposure to technology find themselves technically excluded from systems that are supposed to expand access.
This matters because mobile money and digital banking are frequently cited as tools that can leap-frog traditional banking infrastructure in low-income communities. In theory, you do not need a bank branch if you have a phone and an app. In practice, if education levels are low and the apps assume a baseline of digital literacy that many slum residents do not have, the technology reinforces existing exclusion rather than overcoming it. For women who also lack formal identification documents or who earn money through informal channels that leave no paper trail, the gap is even wider. Financial inclusion programs that do not account for these realities end up serving the already somewhat-connected while leaving the most marginalized behind.