VANGUARD
LAGOS — In the bustling markets of Lagos, a shocking sight has become an all-too-familiar reality. Groups of married women and mothers, once proud and self-sufficient, are now forced to rummage through discarded remnants of the day’s market activities.
Their hands, once gentle and nurturing, now dig through rotting food and filth, driven by the desperation to feed their families.
The downward spiral of these women’s lives was triggered by a combination of devastating factors. For some, it was the sudden loss of their husband’s job, which shattered their financial stability. Others were crippled by illnesses that ravaged their savings, leaving them vulnerable to the whims of fate. Yet, others lost their bread winners to the unexpected — premature death, terminal illnesses, and the like. And for the rest of the populace, the relentless rise in the cost of living proved to be the final push, sending them tumbling over the edge into a desperate struggle for survival.
At first glance, they may be mistaken for lunatics, reveling in the squalor for some twisted thrill. But the truth is far more painful. These women are not scavenging for pleasure; they are fighting for survival. The harsh economic realities have left them with no other choice but to seek solace in the dumps of cast-off fruits and vegetables from the market.
This heart-wrenching scene unfolds under the cover of darkness. Their mission is to scavenge for survival, searching for anything edible amidst the rotting vegetables and trash to feed their starving families. The odour of rotting waste hangs heavy in the air, yet these women press on, undeterred by the overwhelming stench. Rather, their determination is ignited by the gnawing pangs of hunger and the unbearable thought of their children going to bed on empty bellies.
Scavenging in disguise
Some of them at Jakande Gate market, Oke-Afa, Ejigbo, would often meet any intruder’s gaze with a piercing stare, their expressions a clear warning to mind one’s own business. In a city like Lagos, where anonymity reigns and everyone fights for survival, these women have learned to be guarded and secretive.
To further conceal their identities, they would wrap their scarves around their faces, covering themselves up to the neck, rendering them almost unrecognisable as they go about their daily struggles to scavenge for food in trash bags, usually kept on the median for onward collection by Lagos State Waste Management Authority, LAWMA.
From Jakande market, to Ikotun, Ijegun, Isolo, Oshodi, down to Igando and the Junction market at Iyana-Iba, the sorry sight of these women is the same. They sort through the trash, their hands moving with practised ease, separating the rotten from the salvageable. They fill their bags with perished peppers, spoilt potatoes, and yams, the spoilt produce carefully selected for its potential to be redeemed.
As the night wears on, these women disappear into the shadows, their bags filled with the discarded produce of a society that seems to have forgotten them. They return to their homes, where they will transform these discarded remnants into meals that will sustain their families.
At Oke-Afa market
During a visit to Oke-Afa market, separated by the canal from the mass burial site, a distressing scene unfolded as a woman in her 60s caught the attention of this reporter. Her weathered face is a topographic map of wrinkles and lines, her eyes sunken into the orbits of her skull. Her frail frame bent over the trash bins of over-ripe, rotting plantains that had changed colour.
Her presence raised so many questions — what had led her to this point? Had she been abandoned by her family? Was she a widow struggling to survive? The sight of her scavenging for food at such an advanced age was a stark reminder of the harsh realities of poverty and the struggles that many elderly women face.
From rotten to crispy
Beneath the surface of this particular market lies a fascinating story of ingenuity and determination. Some women who regularly visit the Oke-Afa Mass Burial bridge market were discovered to have developed a remarkable enterprise, salvaging rotten plantains and transforming them into crispy, peppered snacks, then sell their creations to commuters stuck in traffic, within that vicinity that is prone to traffic.
Beyond the market
Behind the resilience and resourcefulness of some of these women lies a heartbreaking reality. Many of them were not only forced to live on the fringes of society, scavenging for survival in a desperate bid to make ends meet. The harsh truth is that some of them are homeless, with no place to call their own.
At night, they seek shelter in makeshift homes fashioned from waste bins, known locally as “bollers.”
These makeshift shelters,located on the contiguous Isolo refuse dump, serve as a stark reminder of the precarious existence these women lead. Before dawn breaks, they emerge from their humble abodes, ready to face another day of searching for discarded plantain and other fruits, their struggle for survival a never-ending cycle.
Another scenario
But the struggle for survival doesn’t end here. Some of these women also beg for alms during the day, some with babies strapped to their backs. They frequent busy bus stops like Ladipo and PWD on the Agege Motor Road, pleading for spare change from passersby and motorists. After a long day of begging, they trek to Arena market, where they scavenge for food to feed their families.
There’s another category of food scavengers — women who visit major markets like Arena, Ketu, and Mile 12, as well as Katangua, Ikotun, Iyana Iba, Idi-Oro, and others, as early as possible. Armed with bags, they stand by and watch out for any produce that is about to be thrown away. They rush to catch it before it hits the floor, often competing with other scavengers for the spoils.
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