Flaunting of wealth amid poverty

In Lagos, the tiny middle class waits in vain for politicians to cure the corruption and improve the infrastructure.

Nigeria has only the smallest of middle classes sandwiched between the desperate and the fabulously wealthy.
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The waiter at the Caliente bar sticks a sparkler into yet another bottle of champagne and hits a siren mounted behind the bar to draw everyone's attention to the sleek Nigerian businessmen who ordered it.

Near their table, oil traders, sports stars and politicians' children grind to a hip-hop beat. Most of Nigeria's 150 million citizens may live in desperate poverty, but the West African oil giant also has an elite that revels in "shakara" - the flaunting of success. "Nigerians who have money like to splash it," says Naomi Okaja, whose company imports goods into Lagos, the commercial capital. "There are a lot of bad things about this country, like the leadership, but there's a real entrepreneurial spirit."

At the Megaplaza mall, a flat-screen TV taller than a man sells for US$53,000 (Dh194,670), a crystal chandelier for $10,000. A survey this year by the American consulting firm Mercer finds Lagos pricier for expatriates than Berlin or Madrid. Meanwhile, 80 per cent of Nigerians live on less than $2 a day. In this city of more than 17 million people, power shortages caused by neglect and mismanagement mean even rich areas get only a couple of hours of electricity a day. A fleet of diesel generators keeps the Megaplaza lights burning. The wealthy import everything from refined petrol for their Mercedes-Benzes to their children's favourite foods.

At night, the line of lights from vessels waiting to berth stretches across the horizon like a diamond necklace on the throat of a Lagos socialite. They enter heavily laden but head out riding high above the water. Only the tankers leave low-bellied; crude oil accounts for 95 per cent of Nigerian exports, but production has been slashed after attacks by militants protesting against widespread pollution and poverty.

Violent robberies, fraud and kidnappings pit the haves against the have-nots. Restaurants post armed guards; the homes of the wealthy have walls with razor-wire, floodlights, cameras and security guards. Newspaper advertisements for luxury armoured Hummers blare: "You are a person in authority and influence. Protect yourself." The best residential area is on an island in Lagos Lagoon and the connecting peninsula. At night the neighbourhoods become the ultimate gated communities, reachable only by bridges and checkpoints guarded by sullen police with rifles. But the guns cannot protect against fraud.

"This home is not for sale" is spray-painted across the walls of many mansions in case fraudsters get the keys and sell the home for a briefcase full of $100 notes. Since even Hummers must contend with Lagos's legendary traffic jams, there are yacht moorings and helipads for the superrich. All great cities have gaps between rich and poor but Nigeria has only the smallest of middle classes sandwiched between the desperate and the fabulously wealthy. Ms Okaja, the importer, a svelte, black-clad 30 year old, sees the positive side of conspicuous consumption, calling it an African tradition and a celebration of businesses overcoming poor infrastructure, corruption and political unrest. But success stories, especially for the politically unconnected, are still the exception.

"You must have a big man behind you to succeed," insists Ifane Okuro, 25, as he haggles with customers over his brightly coloured swaths of cloth. "Can you give me a job?" Mr Okuro's margins have been squeezed by the closure of most of Nigeria's textile factories and a ban on importing fabrics, meaning that he must smuggle in cheap Chinese cloth through neighbouring Benin. Police collect unofficial "taxes" and he was also robbed on his way home from work three months ago.

Authorities say 600 newcomers arrive in Lagos every day to find work. Most end up living in crime-ridden slums or sleeping under bridges, or in shacks they build on stilts in the fetid lagoon. The inequality continues to the grave. Ebony, Nigeria's top funeral provider, offers a replica of Michael Jackson's coffin plus 30-piece brass band. The poor are disposed of wherever there is space; newspapers reported last month that 24 bodies were found abandoned under a Lagos bridge.

Everyone has a different vision of Nigeria's future. The dancers at Caliente and the shoppers at Megaplaza think the wealth will trickle down, a growing middle class will push for better governance and a better government will provide better services. For Mr Okuro and other stall holders around him, such visions provoke bitter laughter. "When will it come? Tell me when," he demands to shouts of approval. "We are tired of waiting."

* Associated Press