HISTORY OF MAKOKO

<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/34907.png"/> --- History of Makoko Long before Lagos became noisy with horns, traffic, and people rushing nowhere, there was a quiet place where water ruled the day. Makoko began with a splash. Fishermen paddled into the lagoon one calm morning in the 1800s, their canoes cutting through the water like curious questions. They were Egun people, following fish, following instinct, following the promise that water always keeps. When they found a place where the lagoon was generous and the land was welcoming, they smiled and said, “This will do.” They built small huts near the shore, surrounded by green akoko leaves, leaves used for blessings and special moments. Someone called the place Makoko, and the name stuck like wet wood to the sun. Life was simple then. Fish in the morning. Stories at night. Children learned how to paddle before they learned how to walk properly. Falling into water was not an accident — it was a normal part of growing up. Then Lagos started growing.And growing.And growing. People came from everywhere, land disappeared quickly, and Makoko faced a problem: where do you go when there’s no land left? Makoko shrugged and said, “We’ll float.” Wooden poles were pushed deep into the lagoon. Planks were laid. Houses rose above the water like stubborn ideas. Soon, streets became waterways, and boats replaced buses. If you wanted to visit a friend, you paddled. If you wanted to sell fish, you paddled. Even school sometimes started with a canoe ride. Makoko wasn’t one place anymore — it became six little villages, some on land, some dancing gently on water. From far away, people stared and whispered. From inside, it felt like home. But not everyone understood Makoko. Some officials looked at it and saw “illegal.” Some called it “temporary.” In 2012, trouble came loudly — homes were pulled down, and fear moved faster than the water. Yet Makoko refused to vanish. Water people know how to survive storms. Hope even floated once — a floating school, shaped like a giant triangle, teaching children and teaching the world that creativity lives anywhere people dare to dream. Today, Makoko still wakes early. Boats still glide like quiet jokes across the lagoon. Laughter still echoes between wooden houses. Lagos may pretend not to notice, but Makoko remains — clever, stubborn, alive. Because Makoko is not just a place. It is proof that when land says no, water can say yes.

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