Forever owó dà

Unauthorised revenue collectors compound the problems of small businesses in Lagos, writes OBODO EJIRO.

When the Peugeot truck carrying Mr Ezenwa Okonta’s consignment stopped in front of his shop, he alighted from the passenger seat and was immediately accosted by two groups of young men, desperate for his attention.
The leader of the first group was interested in being paid to offload the books, which had just arrived from the UK, while the leader of the second group, composed mainly of natives, repeatedly called out in an aggressive baritone, “owò dà, san owò ile!” (Yoruba for “where is money, pay for this ground”).
This is a common sight in Lagos, as groups of unauthorised revenue collectors milk defenceless small businesses. They present themselves in different shades and operate across the state, but have one logic. To them, Lagos is their heritage and to do business here, businessmen must pay different sums of money before being allowed to carry out legitimate activities like the one Ezenwa was about to embark on.
On this hot afternoon, in order to be allowed to offload his books, Ezenwa was glad to part with N15, 000 ($92) instead of N20, 000 ($122), which his colleague paid a few days earlier.
That the activity of the illegal collectors is harming businesses is an understatement. The most visible impact is the higher prices customers have to pay, as businesses push part of the unlawful costs they bear to customers.
Bigger still is the impact on the ease of doing business in the city. The harassment and aggression of the collectors have a negative impact on the ‘animal spirit’ of businessmen.
Also, many businessmen believe that one way or the other, the state government benefits from this activity, but the government directly or indirectly denies this.
When an official at the office of the Special Adviser to the Governor on Taxation and Revenue was asked about what government was doing to stop the collectors, she said “… we must correct the impression; what they (illegal fund collectors) collect is not classified as taxes by the state government. It’s totally illegal.
“It’s sad that before this dispensation, even government contractors were not free from these miscreants. Contractors had to factor in monies given to miscreants when they gave project estimates to government. But the present governor stopped that practice.”
This is not an official statement from the government, since the official claimed she was not authorised to speak to the press. Attempts to reach the governor’s Special Adviser on Taxation and Revenues for an official comment were unsuccessful as he was busy on other assignments.
“The government is aware of this extortion and no one is doing anything to stop it,” says Ezenwa, as he mopped sweat from his obviously sad face. This menace affects even property developers. Builders are forced to pay when laying the foundations of new houses; they also have to pay when they are renovating existing buildings.
While big and highly connected businessmen suffer less, smaller ones face the full brunt of the collectors. But traders are not the only ones who face this problem.
Just in front of Ezenwa’s shop, a group of Toyota Coastal buses are parked, one at a time, they meander through the streets from Ojuelegba to Ijeshatedo with passengers. The operators of these buses also face the fury of unauthorised fund collectors, as young men draped in all manner of uniforms (white, green, yellow, blue and plain clothes) jostle over one another for slices of the small amounts these transporters make.
Though some say they are authorised by local governments, it is a Herculean task to distinguish between those backed by law and those that are not.
On this route, a transporter pays N6, 500 ($40) to different groups in the morning, in the afternoon, he pays N850 ($6), while he pays N2, 300 ($15) in the evening. On Sundays, the amount paid is doubled.
The enormity of what is collected can be better understood if one considers the fact that there are 50 coastal buses on this route, most of which operate daily.
Lamenting the level of extortion, Segun Obey, a bus conductor who has worked on several routes in Lagos, says “we would have been richer if these collectors didn’t exist. If government wants funds from us, why not make the process more formal.”
“What makes it worse is that they beat us up when we don’t have the money to pay,” he says further, as he touches a cluster of scars on his left hand.
For transporters who do not comply with the demands of these collectors, the consequence could be very sever: either the transporter or his conductor is beaten severely or their vehicle is vandalised. It is therefore common to see hoards of fiendish collectors harassing a transporter who has defaulted.
Smaller transporters are not left out of the collection dragnet. “It’s all a bunch of confusion,” says Ayo Olatunde, a tricycle rider, who conveys passengers from Ijesha to Kpako. “I took up this job because I couldn’t get anything else, however; I’m left with almost nothing after settling different collectors, fuelling the tricycle and giving the agreed sum to the owner of the tricycle.”
In the case of tricycles operating on the route, the police are also involved in the collection process.
Though the police do not collect funds directly, they designate civilian to do the collection while they stand afar off. When asked about measures the force is taking to stop this practice, the Lagos State Police Public Relations Officer, Ngozi Braide, says “we run a very transparent organisation. I do not believe that this is really happening because no one in the area has come to complain to me.”
Just two months ago, two officers, caught on camera extorting motorists were sacked.
Indeed, there is no question as to the illegality of police extortion in Lagos, but what has remained certain is that only those that are caught red-handed are disciplined. “The police also constitute a huge leak to our fund flows,” says Olatunde, “as tricycle riders on this road pay N400 ($3) daily.”
According to the source at the state’s revenue office, “the major fear in permanently stopping the civilian fund collectors is the perceived effect such a policy could have on crime rates. There are fears that if the collectors are stopped, crime rate could escalate.”
Last year, a sweeping state legislation outlawed those that collect levies from transporters, but less than three months after, they reappeared.
What is the origin of the hoard of fund collectors in Lagos? Investigation shows that most of them are either students who dropped out of school or those that missed out on the privilege of being raised in decent homes. They do this “job” just to survive.
Akin, who collects funds at Mobil bus stop, Ikorodu road, says “I was completely jobless when Fashola’s government ordered us off the road last year. I spent most of my time sleeping or watching football matches in the evenings. After sometime, I returned to my spot and started collecting again.”
Asked about who gets the money, he replies in pidgin English, “Oga, I dey work for our big man. I get target, when I don meet that target, the extra is left for me. Whatever happens to what I give to our big man is none of my business.”
It was impossible to get to any of the ‘big men’ for a comment. But it is clear that the collected funds change hands along a chain until everyone involved in the business, directly or indirectly, gets a cut.
But can these collectors be put off the street to be trained and employed in better vocations? Most of the collectors interviewed were hostile and suspicious, but according to Akin, “I dropped out of secondary school in JSS3 after my mother died, and have had to struggle on these streets to survival.
“If I am given another opportunity to be trained, I will take it”, the 27-year old said as he displayed a pale smile. “I don’t mind becoming a motor mechanic,” he added as his smile broadened.