Why emotion must not sink Makoko’s future

For decades, Makoko has been the subject of two irreconcilable narratives. To the romantic, it is the "Venice of Africa", a testament to human resilience and an iconic, stilt-propped heritage of the Egun fishing community.

To the state, it is a logistical and environmental nightmare, a sprawling shadow of urban neglect visible from the Third Mainland Bridge.

As the Lagos State Government announces a $10 million water city regeneration plan in early 2026, the familiar cycle of protests and emotional outcries has returned. While the empathy for displaced families is valid and necessary, we must confront a sobering reality, Makoko, in its current state, is an ecological and structural hazard that endangers the very lives we seek to protect.

The defense of Makoko often leans on its cultural status, but culture cannot be used as a shield against a public health crisis. Scientific reality tells a grim story that nostalgia often ignores. The lagoon water beneath these homes is a toxic cocktail of raw sewage, industrial effluent, and waste. With a chronic lack of formal sanitation, the venetian canals are effectively open sewers.

Beyond the water, the structural integrity of the community is reaching a breaking point. Most structures are built with low-grade timber and bamboo, materials that are inherently vulnerable to the humid, saline environment of the lagoon.

Over 40% of the community’s children suffer from preventable waterborne diseases like cholera and typhoid annually. The collapse of the landmark Makoko Floating School in 2016 served as a tragic proof of concept, organic, innovative designs are no match for extreme weather if not supported by rigorous urban engineering.

The density of wooden shanties, often using open flames for cooking and fish smoking, creates a tinderbox effect where a single spark could decimate thousands of homes in minutes.

The recent removal of structures under high-tension power lines sparked outrage, yet the alternative leaving families to live inches away from cables that could drop into the water during a storm is a far greater moral failure. In this instance, protection meant intervention.

The proposed $10 million project, backed by the United Nations, represents a rare middle ground. It promises a transition from an informal slum to a planned Water City. However, for this to work, the community and its advocates must allow the state to perform the unpleasant surgeries required for urban renewal.

"Government cannot and will not allow residents to remain in environments that pose imminent danger to their lives," a Lagos State Government Statement read.

Protecting Makoko does not mean preserving its poverty or its hazards; it means evolving its architecture. True preservation lies in adopting the modular, resilient floating systems proposed by urban architects, structures that rise with the sea level and incorporate modern waste management.

We must stop romanticizing the resilience of people living in squalor and start demanding the safety that every Lagosian deserves. If we let emotion becloud the urgent need for structural repair and waste management, we aren't protecting a community, we are simply waiting for a catastrophe to happen.