FCT grows, but indigenes left behind

The choice of Abuja as Nigeria’s capital uprooted several communities. For years, residents forgotten in the wake of the growing capital complained. Not anymore. Now they are fighting back, with a citizen petition calling on FCT administrators to “step down poverty and step up human rights.” More than 21,000 residents from Kuchingoro, Karmo, Basan Jiwa […]

The choice of Abuja as Nigeria’s capital uprooted several communities. For years, residents forgotten in the wake of the growing capital complained.

Not anymore. Now they are fighting back, with a citizen petition calling on FCT administrators to “step down poverty and step up human rights.”

More than 21,000 residents from Kuchingoro, Karmo, Basan Jiwa and Kayache signed the petition they presented to lawmakers, and more residents are still signing up.

The petition lists the needs of the communities—water, road, schools, health centres, waste disposal, all basic amenities that characterize the sprawling capital but alien to them.

The FCT’s growth came with some resettlement around the area councils of Abuja. It also created sharp contrasts between super wealthy and urban poor.

One resettlement in Kuje is Kayache, a community where Emmanuel Dikko lives, but the nearest usable stream he can fetch water is 3km away.

Settlers built new homes and modern waste jammed up streams around the community.

“There are streams nearby but resettlement has brought in new people and the streams are filled with leather and pampers [plastic waste and diapers],” he says. Without that, he buys water from a private borehole at N20 per jerrican.

“Sometimes we queue for hours and we still will not get water. The area council promises us borehole but did nothing. The hospital is for people resettled here. The primary health centre doesn’t have staff at night. We don’t have an actual hospital in our community,” Dikko maintains.

"We are all humans”

The contrast between his Kayache and a greater Abuja is startling.

“I feel sad. We are all humans, we want the government to consider. Remember they were communities there before you resettled them, so they need social amenities too.”

Laraba Haruna’s life is in Karmo Sabo, but a trip into Maitama shocks her. The district is high brow, and embassies line clean streets named after the world’s longest rivers.

“When I get into Maitama, I say, ‘how I wish here is my community.’ It touches me,” Haruna says.

The school in her community has no chairs or qualified teachers, and waste disposal is alien. The community tries to dispose its own waste, “but without help of government it won’t work,” Haruna admits.

Kemi Suleiman, a mother of five from Basan Jiwa hasn’t seen any government help. Community representatives have come, taken names and did nothing, she says.

“Private hospital is costly, and when you get there, they won’t attend to you. By night, they say the doctor is not around.”

Her village is near the international airport and her only choice is the air force base hospital or the teaching hospital in Gwagwalada.

“At some times, some children will give up before they arrive at the hospital, when they are transferred to UATH, Gwagwalada,” she remembers.

Her children have been in accidents from riding on bikes to get to school. The private school closest charges up to N18,000 for a new term, compared with N1,000 for the public school, but the public school has teachers teaching kids in Bassa language.

“The teachers leave school during school hours and some take their bikes to go and hustle,” Suleiman says. The nearest other school is 30-minute trek away.

Not just complaining

Suleiman and her fellow residents have taken their concerns to their representatives, and demanded action to end poverty and improve human rights.

Ummi Bukar, project officer for the Women’s Advancement Through Cinema and Human Exchange (WATCH) helped coach women in determining their needs.

“It is not just about complaining about the problems, but what would you do about it,” Bukar says.

The urban poor in the sprawling metropolis of Abuja is not a myth.

“You have people in these communities having to buy water, spending more than N200 every day. When you do the calculations, people who live in Maitama and get water from water board Spend much less on water,” says Bukar.

“Even health care. They spend more. you keep going to chemists but in the end, you still have to go to hospital. Not having access to these facilities actually makes them spend more.”

Williams Ngwakwe works with the Shacks and Slum Dwellers Association, which regularly deals with people who remember their father’s farmland are now the famous city gates that lets up to 15,000 migrants into Abuja each day.

“Nobody can stop the FCT growing, but people need to be carried along,” says Ngwakwe.

“Their forefathers owned the land, but it is being taken away from them and nobody is saying anything. There was supposed to be compensation for indigenous residents but that was not properly handled,” he says.

“We feel, for the government, there is need to start looking into some issues. We are hoping what we have in some other states, in terms of demanding for resource control, will not emanate from the FCT.”

The FCT is characterized by an influx of people from all over the country, many unable to afford the rent and expenses the FCT commands and having to live in satellite towns.

“They are part of the urban poor, and government should start having a roadmap about what to do,” says Ngwakwe, noting a need to whip FCT representatives into action.

“The action we want them to take is to address these needs. If within 2km, or less than a kilometre from the city centre, we are still having people having challenges with childbirth, then it is a concern.”