Lagosians don’t want to be told the state is ‘smelling’ – here’s why

Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial nerve centre and entertainment hub, has faced stinging remarks over its environmental conditions in recent times. But residents are not having it.

The average Lagosian is invested in the hustle. It’s something about the city that adds a dash of hope to the dreams of young people.

A wise (wo)man once said, “If you want it done, do it anywhere. If you want it done in an unusually mega way, do it in Lagos.”

And the mega city vision has been brought to life over the years across successive administrations: magnificent edifices, vibrant nightlife, celebrity hangouts, you name it.

It’s where society’s crème de la crème retreat and fund lavish escapades at elite clubs. It’s the city for dreamers and doers alike. Welcome to Lagos.

The ‘unpleasant smell’: a price to pay for a densely populated city?

City life comes with its peculiarities: high-density neighbourhoods, sewage systems, and waste management. Visitors come and go. And as residents remain, citizens migrate from other states too.

It then happens: ‘The city that never sleeps’ comes under scrutiny. A conversation is sparked.

Their verdict: Lagos smells-and offensively so.

This is where acceptance becomes too much of a price to pay. The pushback kicks in. Why should residents welcome the information that their city reeks?

What visitor comes to Lagos only to criticise the air so loudly and disrespectfully? The pushback heightens.

The resistance, explained

Smell expert, Dr Ally Louks seems to have a befitting explanation for this. Hear her: “People might perhaps be defensive because the way a place is described often reflects the way the people who occupy it are perceived, and since smell is so often connected with notions of worth and morality, saying Lagos stinks might be regarded as an indictment of its people.“

We can then deduce, from this rationale, that the counterarguments and resistance come from an underlying desire to not be seen as inferior.

Beyond that, Lagosians own their crafts, hard work, and resilience loudly. They are emotionally connected to the city where dreams are not buried but nurtured into greatness.

It can be difficult to reconcile such a haven of opportunities with the abysmal criticism it now suffers.

To custodians of the state who have synced their personas with the identity of being a Lagosian, the ‘smelling’ remarks are far from objective; they are denigratory.

It’s not farfetched that the criticism stings. It’s because it serves as a reminder of our inherent limitations as a people in spite of our best efforts.

We can carve barbed wire fences. We can throw talk-of-the-town parties. But at our core, what we do have control over are our immediate surroundings.

As a people, we are almost always at the mercy of external (in this case, environmental) forces. Our fancy lifestyles hide helplessness underneath.

Not even our grit can save us.