January
27, 2002, exactly 13 years ago, about a thousand people, most of them children
perished while several thousands were injured in explosions that rocked Ikeja,
the capital city of Lagos.
The explosions were a result of accidental detonation
of a large stockpile of ammunition stored at the (Armour Transit Depot),
located within the Ikeja Military Cantonment.
The
memories of that day’s event and the aftermath still continue to haunt many
Lagosians especially those who heard and experienced the disaster in one way
or the other even as that day has come to be regarded by many as ‘Black
Sunday.’
Prior
to the explosion, a lot of people never knew that such a facility existed in
that environment except maybe for the privileged few in top military circle
and the soldiers themselves. According to a source who once resided in Ikeja
Cantonment, “walking past that area was restricted for all, as soldiers on
duty never allowed any person or vehicle to park or stop around the area. Even
after the bomb explosion, movement around that area was still restricted,” she
said.
The
Ikeja military cantonment is a large military base in the city of Lagos
situated north of the city and sandwiched between the districts of Isolo and
Onigbongo Local Development Area. The cantonment also provides accommodation
for soldiers and their families. Prior to January 2002, the base was used to
store large quantities of “high calibre bombs”, as well as other sundry
explosives.
On
that fateful afternoon of 27 January, according to reports, a fire broke out
on a street market next to the base. The fire apparently spread to the
Barracks’ main ammunitions store, igniting the lethal weapons and causing a
large explosion. The blast sent debris flying allover the area and starting
several other fires that rocked the environment and nearby streets. Tremors
from the explosion also collapsed many buildings in the area, trapping people
in the ruins. The tremors were so strong that houses that were 15 kilometres
away had their windows shattered and their walls cracked while the blasts were
felt more than 50 km inland.
Also
thrown up by the blasts were thousands of yet unexploded military munitions,
which fell in a rain of exploding shells, grenades and bullets, causing further
destructions across most of the northern section of the city. The fires created
by the debris from the explosion burnt down a large section of northern part of
Lagos and created a panic that spread to other areas.
In
the midst of the confusion and panic, civilians residing outside the barracks
who had also heard the explosion and the resonating sound, out of fear, took to
their heels to avoid the affected areas. No sure of where the explosions were
coming from, speculations were high that armed robbers were invading Lagos
while others thought it was a foreign attack on Nigeria.
As
the streets became more and more crowded as people fled, hot shells and fires
from the explosions were falling on people, thus creating more panic.
As
stampede of panic-stricken people continued, many were trampled upon leading
to several deaths. Eye witness accounts described how people were jumping from
burning high-rise buildings and being killed in desperate attempts to cross
the busy Ikeja dual carriageway.
As
people fled from the flames, they surged towards a popular canal located in one
one of the several suburbs of Lagos, Oke-Afa. The canal runs from the north to
the south of the area, parallel to the Isolo-Oshodi Expressway through the
centre of the city. It borders a banana plantation, which many escapees
thought might be safe from the falling shells and fires.
Unfortunately,
the canal separated the plantation from the city and was covered by water
hyacinth, a menacing see weed that made it difficult to see the water surface
in the dark. In the ensuing melee, hundreds of panicking people fell into the
water, many stumbled into the concealed canal and were drowned. Some were
crushed by yet more people falling into the waterway, and in the struggling
confusion, at least 600 people were killed, many of them children. Many of the
bodies drifted down the canal, some being found as far as ten kilometres from
the explosion a day after the disaster.
The
explosion and its aftermath were believed to have killed at least 1,100 people
and displaced over 20,000, with many thousands injured or rendered homeless.
The
government launched an enquiry, which blamed the Nigerian Army for failing to
properly maintain the base, or to decommission it when instructed to do so in
2001.
The
affected areas of the city burned through most of the night, with explosions
continuing to boil out of the wrecked armoury until the afternoon of January
28. The emergency services were woefully inadequate to deal with the devastation,
as there were not enough fire crews or water points available to cope with the
fire, which consequently consumed large parts of the city’s northern suburbs.
City hospitals were also utterly overwhelmed, many injured went for hours
without medical attention even if they did manage to reach an undamaged medical
facility.
The
military, too, having suffered the loss of many of its Lagos-based personnel in
the initial explosion, was not in a position to assume control of the city and
did not appear in large numbers until late on January 28.
Following
the explosion, according to a soldier who was resident in the barracks and
also a witness to the day’s incident, miscreants who had wanted to take
advantage of the situation felt it was time to get back on the soldiers that
had been dealing with them. Such miscreants got military uniforms and identity
cards of soldiers and invaded the barrack to loot and some of them met their
Waterloo. On approaching the gate, they were surprised to see soldiers on duty
who questioned them to verify their identity and when they couldn’t answer
correctly questions they were asked, got the beating of their lives.
By
the evening of 28 January, most of the fires were under control and people
began returning to the city while there were attempts to find loved ones lost
in the stampede. Many of the dead were children, separated from their families
in the confusion and subsequently crushed in the crowds that filled the streets
and canal .
When
the dust settled, the authorities were unable to come out with the accurate
final death toll, although the Red Cross claims that at least 1,000 bodies were
recovered and a number of people were reported missing and never found. In
addition to the dead, at least 5,000 people were injured in the disaster and
over 12,000 left homeless, with entire districts of the city gutted. About
20,000 people had fled the city on the night of the explosion, and the
survivors gradually returned over the course of the next week.
The
Nigerian president then, Olusegun Obasanjo arrived in Ikeja on 28 January along
with some senior politicians, and he publicly demanded answers from the
military as to why such a huge ammunition dump was kept in such a poorly
maintained public location. It later emerged that a small explosion had
occurred at the base the previous year, following which the army was advised by
city officials to remove or modernize the armoury, but took no action. On the
evening of 28 January, George Emdin, the commander of the Ikeja base who had
not been present during the explosion, issued a statement.
The
statement, however provoked the fury from the people of Lagos, who claimed that
the military was making excuses for their mistakes and that nothing would be
done to improve safety at other neglected ammunition dumps, many of which have
not been properly maintained since Nigeria gained democracy in 1999 following
twenty years of military rule.
There
were widespread fears in the immediate aftermath of the explosion that it
signified the beginning of a military coup, although the government later
released a statement ruling out this possibility.
Numerous
relief agencies, including the Red Cross and Red Crescent, provided aid to the
thousands of homeless and lost people in the weeks following the disaster,
attempting to reunite at least 2,000 separated or displaced families. People
whose homes had survived were evacuated from Ikeja in order that military
explosives experts could remove large quantities of unexploded munitions from
the area. The evacuees and refugees were housed in temporary accommodations at
the Ikeja Police College and the Abalti Barracks Yaba.
The
recovery process in Ikeja took some years as the rebuilding programme was both
lengthy and expensive, with many people suffering homelessness and poverty in
the period due to the loss of their houses and livelihoods to the fire.
Sunday
Sun went after many survivors of the disaster who gave
an account of their experiences.
Mrs
Kareem
I
lost a pregnancy from that day’s event .
What
happened on that day was horrifying for me. “I can’t forget that day- I really
suffered” she said. I was about six months pregnant at that time; I lived at
No. 16 Adekoya Street, Bolade Bus stop and had a shop on No. 19 of the same
street. That January 27, 2002, when the bombs exploded, I was actually ill and
had visited the hospital and was given drugs. So, I left the hospital, locked
up my shop and went home to rest. But then I asked Chiamaka, my neighbour’s
daughter to help me look after my child who was just 18 months old so I could
rest.
But
while I was sleeping, explosive sound suddenly got me awake; I had to force
myself to get up from the bed to find out what was happening. When I stepped
out of my room into the compound, I couldn’t find anyone except my little girl,
all by herself- everyone had ran away. So, I strapped my daughter with a
wrapper to my back while scantily dressed in maternity dress and started
running.
When
I got to the roads, I saw a lot of people running helter-skelter; that was how
I joined in the crowd. As we were running, we kept hearing the sound resonating
and increasing in intensity. Then the next thing I realized was that I fell
face down with my baby while I was running but got up and continued running.
Unknown to me, my nephew Ibrahim was behind me; he took my child from me and
strapped her behind, held my hand and we continued the race.
Along
the way, we met another of our town’s woman (now late) who also joined us and
we trekked from the Mile Two Expressway and found ourselves at Ikotun. “I
really suffered that day” she added. It was at Synagogue Church that they
bought sachet water and poured on my head to calm my nerves; by this time it
was already night. Then suddenly, I remembered the address of one of my
sisters residing at Ikotun-that was where we headed for.
Fortunately,
we met my sister who took us in, gave us food and water to freshen up. At dawn,
she woke us up and gave us money to get back to Oshodi. Back home, the next
day, people had started coming back to their homes; then I discovered I was
already bleeding and was rushed to the Mandela Hospital at Bolade. They cleaned
me up and asked me to go and do a scan. But still I wasn’t feeling any better.
It was one of my sisters who had heard about the news of the bomb explosion
that came from Festac to check on me.
Then
she saw the state I was in and took me to the hospital. That initiated my
journey from one hospital to the other until finally I got better. I eventually
lost that pregnancy, but from January to July I was moving from one hospital to
the other until I got better.
Hajia
Badia
On
the morning of that Sunday, I had prepared breakfast and even entertained the
guest we had from Kano before going to the market. I even prepared pepper soup
in the event that I will come back home in the afternoon.
Just
about after the 2 o’clock prayers, I started hearing deafening sound, so I came
outside to find out what was happening but nobody could tell me what it was and
that was the last I could remember. I saw people running and I joined them as
well. By the time I got to Bolade, there was confusion and everywhere was
scattered, then I ran towards Mafoluku.
It
was when I got to my younger brother’s house and heard the sound resonating a
second time that I remembered my husband had told me on the day he brought me
to stay in the barracks that any time I hear that ATD (Armour Transit Depot)
has caught fire, I should run and not look back. With that revelation, I told
my brother how enormous the magnitude of what was happening and he suggested we
come to the barracks but I decided we move away from Oshodi. So, we took the
route to the airport, on getting there, I couldn’t jump over a demarcating
wall between the airport and Mafoluku to the other side- my brother it was that
carried me on his back to cross over. It was there that I saw one of my
daughters (I have four children).
When
I entered the airport compound, I didn’t know where I was any more; I initially
wanted to go and see my elder brother. I realised I was at the international
airport but remembered that my brother stayed at the side of the local airport.
We continued trekking and when I got to my brother’s place, the door was wide
ajar but there was nobody at home. We moved towards the airport bus stop and
there we met a man who was kind enough to ask where I was coming from and
heading to. I told him I was coming from the Ikeja barracks but didn’t know
where I was going to and he asked me to hop into his car.
Looking
at the barracks from the airport bus stop, everything looked burnt down. So,
the man gave me a ride to Ikeja and then to Egbeda when I told him I wanted to
go to Ikotun. There, I took a bus to Ikotun. At Ikotun bus stop, I couldn’t
remember the name of the street to our house. Motorcyclists would ask for my
destination but I couldn’t tell except that I only remembered the first name of
the street, Joseph. It was when one cyclist heard the name Joseph that he knew
where I wanted to go and took me to our house- I had about N100, 000 on me.
At
home, I couldn’t sleep and there wasn’t a cell phone at that time. By 4 a.m the
next day, I got up and asked the driver to take me to the barracks. Despite the
traffic on the road, I trekked home. At home, I couldn’t find my children
anymore and when I asked my husband of their whereabouts, he told me that he
couldn’t account for one of the children. There and then I went to Akinpelu and
then Makinde police station to look for my children.
It
was at Makinde police station that I quarrelled with the police inspector when
he referred me to the canal because so many children had died at the canal. I
told him my children weren’t among those that died there because I know the God
I am serving.
During
the explosion, nobody could enter the barracks but my husband had stayed back
because he was a soldier and secondly he didn’t have any money on him as I had
taken the money to buy some items before the explosion. It was later that my
husband’s brother called to say that they had found my child at Ajangbandi.
So, I took my children and we went back to our house
Here
we are still in the cantonment since after January 27, 2002 and I thank God for
it. I know of a woman who lost all her three children (all boys); she couldn’t
find even one even as we speak. I am grateful to God that I met everything
inside my shop the way I left it and my children are safe. But the barracks
hasn’t been the same since then. A lot of people have left the barracks. After
the blast, some soldiers were posted to Lokoja and other places where there
they could be accommodated as a lot of houses were destroyed in the process.
Now, we hardly make sales unlike before because the bomb explosion forced a lot
of people out of the barracks and funny enough, no one knew what exactly
happened.
Theodoro,
a patent medicine dealer – That day was terrifying
What
happened that day was terrifying. On that fateful day, everyone initially was
confused; we who were trading in the Mammy Market didn’t know what was
happening. People around were speculating that armed robbers were on rampage,
others were saying there was foreign military invasion, but no one realised
that the source of the resonating explosive sounds were emanating from the ATD
(Armour Transit Depot).
As
the bombs were exploding, the sound was increasing in intensity, people were
running helter-skelter such that father didn’t know son and vice versa. Women
were not concerned if they were naked, they just kept running. People were
trying to figure out what exactly was happening. People were falling over
themselves and running in different directions as they were trying to get away
from the lighting explosion, leaving behind whatever it was they were doing at
that point in time.
When
I heard the sound, I ran away from the mammy market to my elder brother’s place
in Sango Ota in Ogu State. It was after two days they called me to say I should
come back home. It was easier for me because I wasn’t married; some fell into
water (canal). Some others survived it and are thankful to God. It was later
that we came to know that Ikeja cantonment ATD- where arms and ammunition
were stored caught fire.
BY
OGE OKAFOR
The Ikeja bomb explosions that killed over 1000 in 2002
Reviewed by Unknown
on
Sunday, February 15, 2015
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