LIFEINSLUM

 II n the crystal ball of reality. Poverty is something that continues to live like plague in every corner of ghetto wall. Nothing is worse than seeing people living like this in the society of abundance. 

In this land of frustration, deprivation and pain in the heart, it grows like seed yielding no better fruit but fruitless life. It is like a sore that won’t stop making more injuries lingers again and again, as everyday counts itself.  And as deprivation makes the day and

After the “band” of okada riding in the Metropolitan city by the Lagos State government under the Fashola administration on the 407 roads for the okada riders not to ply it any longer; and judging from the reality recycling survival, millions of families making use of this road depend on this means to survive as the day roll on. For instance, in the slum places

Realistically, people won’t stop telling their stories in the light of experiences because they feel pain, go through hell to get it done and encrypt their heart with agonize memories for the day. Experiencing this mess in this world of ton and thorns, words remain the only thing to inscribe in their heart when they begin to break their experiences realistically, of how the today and

           This is Rufai where a lot of people that live here were highly religious and strongly believe in the unknown. It has about more than thirty houses with more working families, churches and mosques. Like the mosque has Arabic school were children

Marine bridge is a border entrance to the ghetto slum of Ajegunle where people rally everyday for survival and also, is a link towards Apapa (the industrial site), a place where workers and the poor classes burn energy to multiply the pulse of the top gunners; Is also connected to other places like Ijora-Badia (another slum), Ikeja, CMS,Victoria Island. This place focuses on what goes on everyday of the millions who strive to feed their belly, hustling day and night to meet-up with the far-reach existence the hand struggle to sustain. Passing through this “hustling quarter” when in the bus, or possibly exercising the limbs, eyes won’t deny look to see how boys, girls, mothers, fathers, the old of the same people from different tribes in Nigeria come every morning to dig the meaning of life from this meaningless society, where life already is always slaughter by the sword of the faces screen on television that chronically makes the poor bleed agony in experiences, and even psychologic