Stede is soos broers en susters in ’n groot poligame familie. Elkeen het ’n unieke persoonlikheid en volg sy eie bepaalde pad. Maar almal het soortegelyke herkomste. Soms dink ek postkoloniale stede is soos die kinders van die twee minste geliefkoosde vroue, wat die heeltyd gevra word: "Ai, hoekom kan jy nie meer soos jou suster wees nie?"
Cities are like siblings in a large polygamous family. Each one has a unique personality and is headed in a distinct direction. But they all have somewhat shared origins. Sometimes I think postcolonial cities are like the children of the two least-favorite wives, who are constantly being asked, "Ah, why can't you be more like your sister?"
(Gelag)
(Laughter)
Die "waarom" van stede is grootliks dieselfde, ongeag waar hulle is: ’n gunstige ligging wat handel en administrasie moontlik maak; geleenthede wat kan opskaal, vir beide die geskooldes en ongeskooldes; die mense se ontvanklikheid vir voortdurende beweging en, natuurlik, taaiheid. Die "hoe" van stede is egter ’n totaal ander verhaal. Hoe word hulle bestuur? Hoe groei hulle? Hoe besluit hulle wie daar hoort en wie nie?
The "why" of cities is largely the same, no matter where they are: an advantageous location that makes trade and administration possible; the potential for scalable opportunities for the skilled and unskilled alike; a popular willingness to be in constant flux and, of course, resilience. The "how" of cities, however, is a whole other story. How are they run? How do they grow? How do they decide who belongs and who doesn't?
Lagos is my tuiste. Jy kan altyd die Nigeriërs vind as jy die geraas en gedans volg, nè?
Lagos is my home. You can always find the Nigerians by following the noise and the dancing, right?
(Gelag)
(Laughter)
Soos enige grootstad, is Lagos baie dinge, en baie daarvan is uiters teenstrydig. Ons publieke vervoer werk nie heeltemal nie, so ons het dié helder geel privaatbusse wat gereeld ongelukke veroorsaak. Vertoonlokale vir luukse motors staan op bouvallige strate wat gereeld oorstroom. Straatpredikante is net ’n raps minder volop as teistering op straat. Sekswerkers het soms twee grade, ’n werk by die bank en ’n prominente rol in die kerk.
Like any major city, that place is a lot of things, many of which are highly contradictory. Our public transportation doesn't quite work, so we have these privately owned bright yellow buses that regularly cause accidents. Luxury car showrooms line badly maintained and often flooded roads. Street evangelism is only slightly less ubiquitous than street harassment. Sex workers sometimes have two degrees, a bank job and a prominent role in church.
(Gelag)
(Laughter)
Op enige gegewe dag kan daar óf ’n partytjie óf ’n gebrande lyk in die middel van die straat wees.
On any given day, there can be either a party or a burned body in the middle of a street.
So baie is moontlik in Lagos en so baie is nie en die verskil tussen moontlik en onmoontlik is meestal eenvoudig wie jy is en -- as jy gelukkig genoeg is -- watter konneksies jy het. Tuishoort in Lagos is ’n wisselende konsep wat bepaal word deur etniese herkoms, seksuele oriëntering, geslag, maar mees kennelik en gereeld mees geweldadig deur klas.
There is so much that is possible in Lagos and so much that isn't, and very often the difference between possibility and impossibility is simply who you are, and if you're lucky enough, who you're connected to. Belonging in Lagos is a fluid concept determined by ethnic origin, sexual orientation, gender, but most visibly and often most violently, class.
Voor Nigerië ’n nasie geword het, het visservolke van die binneland na Lagos se strandmeer toe begin kom en dorpies langs die kus gevestig. Omtrent 60 jaar later het my oupa, Oludotun Adekunle Kukoyi, ook in Lagos aangekom. Soos ek was hy ’n alumnus van die Universiteit van Ibadan, ’n jong lid van die opgevoede elite in die onafhanklikheidsera. Mettertyd het hy ’n uitmundende loopbaan as ’n landmeter opgebou. Hy't vandag se bedrywige buurte uitgestippel toe hulle nog heuphoog onder wilde grasse gestaan het. Hy's oorlede toe ek nege was. En teen daai tyd het my familie, soos die families van die visservolke, Lagos as hulle tuiste geken.
Before Nigeria became a country, fisherpeople from the inland creeks started to come down the Lagos lagoon and establish villages along the coast. About 60 years later, my grandfather, Oludotun Adekunle Kukoyi, also arrived in Lagos. Like me, he was an alumnus of the University of Ibadan, a young member of the educated elite in the independence era. Over time, he built an illustrious career as a land surveyor, mapping out now-bustling neighborhoods when they were just waist-high wild grass. He died when I was nine. And by that time, my family, like the families of those fisherpeople, knew Lagos as home.
Ons het ’n Yoruba gesegde: "Èkó gb’olè, ó gb’ọ̀lẹ," wat vertaal kan word as: Lagos sal enigiemand verwelkom. Maar dié gesegde raak al minder waarheidsgetrou. Baie inwoners van Lagos, ook afstammelinge van dié visservolke, wat generasies voor my oupa aangekom het, word nou uitgedruk om plek te maak vir ’n opkomende stad wat al as "die nuwe Dubai" beskryf is. Julle sien, Lagos wek groot drome op, selfs in haar leiers, en een regering na die ander verklaar hulle strewe na ’n megastad waar geen armoede bestaan nie. Ongelukkig, in plaas daarvan om op die uitwissing van armoede te fokus, soos mens sou dink, fokus die gekose strategie op die uitroeiing van die armes.
Among the Yoruba, we have a saying, "Èkó gb’olè, ó gb’ọ̀lẹ," which can be translated to mean that Lagos will welcome anyone. But that saying is becoming less and less true. Many Lagosians, including the descendants of those fisherpeople who arrived generations before my grandfather, are now being pushed out to make room for an emergent city that has been described as "the new Dubai." You see, Lagos inspires big dreams, even in its leaders, and successive governments have declared aspirations towards a megacity where poverty does not exist. Unfortunately, instead of focusing on the eradication of poverty as you would expect, the strategy of choice focuses on eliminating the poor.
Laas Oktober het die goewerneur planne aangekondig om elke waterkantnedersetting in Lagos te sloop. Daar is meer as 40 sulke inheemse gemeenskappe oral oor die stad en meer as 300 000 mense woon in hulle. Otodo Gbame, ’n honderdjarige vissersdorpie met ’n bevolking omtrent driekwart so groot soos Monako s'n en met soortgelyke potensiaal vir luukse strandlewe --
Last October, the Governor announced plans to demolish every single waterfront settlement in Lagos. There are more than 40 of these indigenous communities all over the city, with over 300,000 people living in them. Otodo Gbame, a hundred-year-old fishing village with a population about three-quarters that of Monaco and similar potential for beachfront luxury --
(Gelag)
(Laughter)
was een van die eerste teikens.
was one of the first to be targeted.
Ek't die eerste keer daarvan gehoor na die sloping begin het. Ek't in November 2016 besoek afgelê en Magdalene Aiyefoju ontmoet. Sy is nou ’n hawelose vrou wie se van beteken "die wêreld is blind." Magdalene se seun Basil was een van die meer as 20 mense wat geskiet, verdrink of vermoedelik dood is tydens die grondrowery. Van haar skuiling af kon ek die twee witsandsokkervelde sien waar Basil voorheen gespeel het. Oral om ons het skole, kerke, ’n primêre gesondheidsentrum, winkels en duisende huise in puin gelê. Jong kinders het gretig gehelp om skuilings te bou en omtrent 5000 van die inwoners, met nêrens anders om te gaan nie, het eenvoudig gebly. En toe in April was staatsekuriteitspolisie weer daar. Dié keer het hulle die gemeenskap heeltemal uitgedryf, met slae, koeëls en vlamme. Soos ek hier staan is daar boumaatskappye wat Otodo Gbame se strande voorberei vir enigeen wat ’n multimiljoen- dollaruitsig kan bekostig. Die nuwe ontwikkeling se naam is "Periwinkle Estate."
I first heard of Otodo Gbame after the demolition started. When I visited in November 2016, I met Magdalene Aiyefoju. She is a now-homeless woman whose surname means, "the world is blind." Magdalene's son Basil was one of over 20 people who were shot, drowned or presumed dead in that land grab. Standing outside her shelter, I saw the two white-sand football fields where Basil used to play. Spread all around us were the ruins of schools, churches, a primary health center, shops, thousands of homes. Young children enthusiastically helped to put up shelters, and about 5,000 of the residents, with nowhere else to go, simply stayed put. And then in April, state security personnel came back. This time, they cleared the community out completely, with beatings, bullets and fire. As I speak, there are construction crews preparing Otodo Gbame's beaches for anyone who can afford a multi-million-dollar view. The new development is called "Periwinkle Estate."
Gedwonge uitsettings is ongelooflik geweldadig en, natuurlik, ongrondwetlik. En tog gebeur hulle so dikwels en in so baie van ons stede, want die eerste ding wat ons geleer word om van arm mense te vergeet is dat hulle mense is. Ons glo dat elkeen ’n reg op ’n tuiste het, tensy die persoon arm is en die huis op ’n sekere manier in ’n sekere buurt gebou is. Maar daar is nie slegs een definisie vir "tuiste" nie. Buitendien, wat is ’n krotbuurt anders as ’n organiese reaksie tot hewige behuisingstekorte en inkomste-ongelykheid? En wat is ’n plakkershut anders as iemand wat ’n tuiste skep ondanks alles? Krotbuurte is ’n gebrekkige behuisingsoplossing, maar hulle is ook puik voorbeelde van innovasie, aanpassingsvermoë en taaiheid wat die fondasie -- en die hart -- van elke funksionele stad vorm. Jy hoef nie die nuwe Dubai te wees as jy reeds Lagos is nie.
Forced evictions are incredibly violent and, of course, unconstitutional. And yet, they happen so often in so many of our cities, because the first thing we are taught to forget about poor people is that they are people. We believe that a home is a thing a person absolutely has a right to, unless the person is poor and the home is built a certain way in a certain neighborhood. But there is no single definition of the word "home." After all, what is a slum besides an organic response to acute housing deficits and income inequality? And what is a shanty if not a person making a home for themselves against all odds? Slums are an imperfect housing solution, but they are also prime examples of the innovation, adaptability and resilience at the foundation -- and the heart -- of every functional city. You don't need to be the new Dubai when you're already Lagos.
(Applous)
(Applause)
Ons het ons eie identiteit, ons eie ritme, en soos enigiemand wat Lagos ken jou sal sê, is die arm inwoners van Lagos juis die bron van die stad se karakter. Sonder haar armes sou Lagos nie bekend wees vir haar musiek of eindelose energie of die feit dat jy ’n yskoue drankie of ’n klein hondjie deur jou motorvenster kan koop nie.
We have our own identity, our own rhythm, and as anyone who knows Lagos can tell you, poor Lagosians are very often the source of the city's character. Without its poor, Lagos would not be known for its music or its endless energy or even the fact that you can buy an ice cold drink or a puppy through your car window.
(Gelag)
(Laughter)
Die omstandighede wat veroorsaak dat ons sekere buurte as krotbuurte beskou kan effektief verbeter word, maar nie sonder dat die menslikheid en mag van diegene wat daar woon erken word nie. In Lagos, waar openbare goedere selde openlik beskikbaar is, is inwoners van krotbuurte gereeld die mees innoverende probleemoplossers. Na hulle maande lank van die kragnetwerk ontkoppel was, omdat die verskaffer nie kon uitpluis hoe om fooie in te samel nie, het een nedersetting ’n sisteem ontwikkel wat betalings saamvoeg en boonop vir almal goedkoper pryse onderhandel. ’n Ander buurt het ’n verbeteringsprogram geskep wat plaaslike skollies as sekuriteit gebruik. Hulle ken elke skelmstreek en wegkruipplek, so nou kan moelikheidmakers makliker gevang en aan die polisie rapporteer word en minder jong mense raak by misdaad betrokke. Nog ’n buurt het onlangs ’n vloedbestande, omgewingsvriendelike gemeenskaps-toiletsisteem ontwikkel. Modelle soos hierdie word oral oor Lagos opgeneem.
The conditions that cause us to define certain neighborhoods as slums can be effectively improved, but not without recognizing the humanity and the agency of the people living in them. In Lagos, where public goods are rarely publicly available, slum dwellers are often at the forefront of innovating solutions. After being disconnected from the grid for months because the power company couldn't figure out how to collect bills, one settlement designed a system that collectivized remittances and got everyone cheaper rates into the bargain. Another settlement created a reform program that hires local bad boys as security. They know every trick and every hideout, so now troublemakers are more likely to get caught and reported to police and fewer of the youth end up engaging in criminal activity. Yet another settlement recently completed a flood-safe, eco-friendly communal toilet system. Models like these are being adopted across Lagos.
Informele nedersettings word verkeerdelik as die probleem gesien. Die werklike probleme is die faktore wat hulle skep, soos hoe diep ingewortel armoede, maatskaplike uitsluiting en staatmislukkings is. Wanneer ons regerings krotbuurte as bedreigings uitmaak om gewelddadige landrowery of gedwonge uitsettings te regverdig, maak hulle staat op ons wat in formele behuising woon om stilswyend en oningelig met hulle saam te stem. Ons moet hulle eerder herinner dat regerings daar is om te dien: nie net diegene wat luukse huise bou of in hulle woon nie, maar ook diegene wat hulle skoonmaak en bewaak. Ons --
Informal settlements are incorrectly named as the problem. In fact, the real problems are the factors that create them, like the entrenchment of poverty, social exclusion and state failures. When our governments frame slums as threats in order to justify violent land grabs or forced evictions, they're counting on those of us who live in formal housing to tacitly and ignorantly agree with them. Rather, we must remind them that governments exist to serve not only those who build and live in luxury homes, but also those who clean and guard them. Our --
(Applous)
(Applause)
ons werklikhede verskil dalk, maar ons regte verskil nie.
our realities may differ, but our rights don't.
Die Lagos staatsregering, soos te veel ander op ons kontinent, bring lippehulde aan idees van insluiting, terwyl hulle optree asof vooruitgang slegs moontlik is deur uitbuiting en selfs uitwissing van groepe wat hulle as ontbeerlik beskou. Gestremde mense wat smous of bedel op Lagos se strate word opgetel, afgepers en gevange gehou. Vroue in arm buurte word opgetel en van prostitusie aangekla, ongeag wat hulle beroepe eintlik is. Gay burgers dien as sondebokke om aandag van regte politiese probleme af te lei. Maar mense, soos stede, is taai en geen hoeveelheid wetgewing of intimidasie of geweld kan ons heeltemal uitwis nie. Prostitute, vroue en vroue wat werk as prostitute het nog nie uitgesterf nie ten spyte van eeue se aktiewe onderdrukking. Queer Afrikane bestaan voort, al is queer-wees in meeste dele van die kontinent nou ’n misdaad. En ek's redelik seker dat arm mense nie net verdwyn omdat alles wat hulle gehad het gestroop is nie.
The Lagos state government, like far too many on our continent, pays lip service to ideas of inclusion, while acting as though progress can only be achieved by the erasure, exploitation and even elimination of groups it considers expendable. People living with disabilities who hawk or beg on Lagos streets are rounded up, extorted and detained. Women in low-income neighborhoods are picked up and charged with prostitution, regardless of what they actually do for a living. Gay citizens are scapegoated to distract from real political problems. But people, like cities, are resilient, and no amount of legislation or intimidation or violence can fully eliminate any of us. Prostitutes, women and women who work as prostitutes still haven't gone extinct, despite centuries of active suppression. Queer Africans continue to exist, even though queerness is now criminalized in most parts of the continent. And I'm fairly certain that poor people don't generally tend to just disappear because they've been stripped of everything they have.
Ons is almal reeds hier, en dit beantwoord die vraag van of ons behoort of nie.
We are all already here, and that answers the question of whether or not we belong.
Toe daai visservolke afgeseil het op soek na nuwe tuistes, het hulle nooit kon droom dat die stad wat om hulle sou oprys eendag sou aandring dat hulle nie daar tuishoort nie. Ek wil glo dat my oupa, met die optrek van nuwe grense vir Lagos, dit probeer oopmaak het om ruimte te skep vir mense om deur die stad verwelkom te word nes hy verwelkom is. Op pad hierheen het my ouma my gebel om my te herinner hoe trots sy is, hoe trots [my oupa] en my ma sou gewees het. Ek is hulle drome wat waar geword het. Maar daar's geen rede hoekom hulle drome -- of myne -- mag waar word terwyl ander s'n in nagmerries verander word nie. Ons moenie vergeet nie: Die minimum vereiste om te kan droom is ’n veilige plek om jou kop neer te lê.
When those fisherpeople started to sail down the lagoon in search of new homes, it could not have occurred to them that the city that would rise up around them would one day insist that they do not belong in it. I like to believe that my grandfather, in mapping new frontiers for Lagos, was trying to open it up to make room for other people to be welcomed by the city in the same way that he was. On my way here, my grandma called me to remind me how proud she was, how proud [my grandfather] and my mother would have been. I am their dreams come true. But there is no reason why their dreams -- or mine, for that matter -- are allowed to come true while those of others are turned to nightmares. And lest we forget: the minimum requirement for a dream is a safe place to lay your head.
Dis te laat vir Basil, maar nie vir Magdalene of honderde duisende ander of die miljoene ander wat steeds in Lagos of ander stede bedreig word nie. Die wêreld hoef nie blind te bly teenoor die swaarkry wat ontstaan as ons ander se menswees ontken of teenoor die ongelooflike potensiaal vir groei wat bestaan wanneer ons alle bydraes herken en waardeer nie.
It is too late now for Basil, but not for Magdalene, not for the hundreds of thousands, the millions still under threat in Lagos or any of our cities. The world does not have to remain blind to the suffering that is created when we deny people's humanity, or even to the incredible potential for growth that exists when we recognize and value all contributions.
Ons moet ons regerings en onsself aanspreeklik hou vir die behoud van veiligheid in ons gedeelde stede, vir almal in hulle, want die enigste stede wat die moeite werd is om te bou -- voorwaar die enigste toekomste wat die moeite werd is om van te droom -- is dié wat ons almal insluit, ongeag wie ons is of hoe ons tuistes vir onsself skep.
We must hold our governments and ourselves accountable for keeping our shared cities safe for everyone in them, because the only cities worth building -- indeed, the only futures worth dreaming of -- are those that include all of us, no matter who we are or how we make homes for ourselves.
Dankie.
Thank you.
(Applous)
(Applause)