We are the sad children of the land, the indigenes of Lagos. Born under the salt breeze of Epe, raised in the creeks of Ikorodu, moulded in the streets of Isale Eko and surviving in BADAGRY, yet today, we are the strangers.
We watch as identity becomes weaponized, as non-indigenes throw tantrums over a city they migrated into just decades ago, now telling us how to own, run, and remember it. We are told Lagos is “no man’s land,” and then in the same breath, we’re mocked for not “selling enough boli” or not fighting hard enough to protect it.
But let’s be clear:
The pain of being indigenous in Lagos is not because we lack identity, it’s because our identity has been hijacked by a broader Yoruba umbrella that only shelters us when it’s politically convenient.
Hijacked Identity, Hollow Representation
You call us Yoruba when it suits state politics.
But when resources, land, or power are on the table, we become the outliers.
Have you been to LASU, Laspotech, or LACOED lately?
Look at what Lagos indigenes look like there, scuffling for crumbs in student union elections, overshadowed in appointments, outnumbered in opportunities in our own state.
Who speaks for us in Alausa?
Who calls our names in Abuja?
We have kings, yes. But even they now speak with the tongue of politics, not pain.
“You Sold Your Land”— The Lazy Refrain of the Privileged
One of the most intellectually lazy and insulting arguments is:
“You sold your land, so stop complaining.”
Who is “you”?
Which “we”?
Land was sold,
Yes, often out of poverty, desperation, or manipulation.
But did we sell our schools?
Our culture?
Our political heritage?
Our name?
No. What you see today is not natural integration; it is identity extraction.
Lagos is not just land.
Lagos is lineage.
Lagos is memory.
Lagos is being erased.
The Truth We Can No Longer Whisper
We are not angry that people came to Lagos.
We are angry that they came, prospered and then told us to be silent in our own home.
We are angry that some Yoruba people from other states hold more political and economic power in Lagos than Eko-born indigenes will ever dream of having in those same states.
Imagine a Lagosian becoming the Governor of Oyo, Ogun, or Ekiti.
The answer is obvious. So why must the reverse be normal?
To the Gatekeepers and Narrators:
If you love Lagos, don’t rewrite our story.
Don’t reduce our identity to your convenient politics.
Don’t silence our frustration with your shameful blame game.
Listen. Acknowledge. Include.
Until then, we are not citizens.
We are hostages in heritage, watching our soil turn to concrete and our history rewritten by settlers who now guard the gate.
Signed,
A Son of the Lagoon — Indigenous but Invisible.
Ibraheem Nurudeen
