boats,” he recalls. “I managed to
sneak some wood and I took it to
a neighbour’s compound where I
shaped the board. I still don’t want
her to know, because if she knows,
she’s going to kill me!” he laughs.
With encouragement from
Micheletti and hand-me-downs
from expats, Pekipuma and his
friend David became the first real
surfers from Tarkwa Bay. A few
years ago, the kids from the village
realised how much fun there was
to be had on their doorstep and
started asking Pekipuma to teach
them how to surf. When well-to-do
visitors from Lagos started asking
the same, Pekipuma scratched up a
couple of extra boards and opened
up Nigeria’s first surf school.
“Tarkwa is good, it’s peaceful,”
says the 25-year-old. “There are
different people from all over
Nigeria living together here. But it’s
hard here, man – finding work on
the island is hard. Most people do
fishing, or transport oil out to the
boats. But usually you end up going
into the city for work.”
Pekipuma still commutes to the
mainland during the week to work
as a logistics hand on the docks in
order to support his young family,
while his surf school ticks over on
the weekend. But his real passion
lies with the next generation of
Tarkwa surfers, whom he coaches
for free.
“When these kids came to me
and said they want to learn how to
surf, I saw the future in them, that
this could be the future of Nigeria,”
he says. “If not for surfing, the boys
would just be at home, roaming
about, fighting. Surfing gives them
strength, some purpose. It’s made
our community stronger.”
He singles out two of his
star pupils, Lucky Garuba and
Emmanuel Aladin. The goofyfooted
Aladin is refining his backhand rail
grab in the wedgy right, putting
himself deep behind the peak on
every wave. “They’ve only been
surfing a short time,” Pekipuma
says proudly. “But I promise you,
in two years they will be ripping
very hard.”
Pekipuma’s eventual goal is
to establish a surfing academy
that also teaches life skills. He
believes this will help Tarkwa’s
aspiring surfers deal with the
daily challenges that come with
growing up in Lagos, like endemic
unemployment. “We’ve even found
someone in Abuja who will maybe
sponsor it,” he tells me, referring to
Nigeria’s capital further north. “But
we can’t go to meet them, it’s too
dangerous to travel there.”
Later that night a mish-mash of
expats and locals drink beer and
eat roasted goat around a barbeque
on the beach. Nobody is allowed to
leave the island after sundown, a
curfew imposed by the military to
help curb terrorist attacks.
“You always hear about all the
crime and danger, but people don’t
talk about all the positive things
in Nigeria,” says Luis Mayoral, a
Spanish diplomat who has been
living in Lagos for seven years.
“Sure, the place can drive you
crazy sometimes, but it has an
energy you won’t find anywhere
else in the world. The music and
culture is incredible. It’s one of the
fastest growing cities in the world
and things are happening – it’s
dynamic. And the people here are
very warm and they look out for
each other. You can go downtown
during the day and it’s fine.”
“And at night?” I ask.
“No, not at night,” he says,
and shrugs. “This is Lagos, things
happen.”
Talk drifts to the Area Boys, a
loosely formed gang estimated to
be 30,000 strong, spread across
Lagos Island. The Area Boys are
mostly young teens from poverty-
stricken neighbourhoods who band
together in groups and terrorise
the public. Their offences range
from intimidating and extorting
commuters stuck in the perpetual
gridlock traffic, to murder and
assault. It’s commonly held that
unscrupulous politicians use them
to intimidate opposition, or worse,
during election time. There are
simply some places you just can’t
go because of the Area Boys.
In comparison, Tarkwa is a
wave-lapped oasis, but it’s not
entirely immune to the dangers
of the mainland. Micheletti tells
us about a gruesome discovery
they made on the beach on his last
birthday. “We all came here to have
a big party,” he explains. “And what
do I get for my birthday? There’s
a body lying on the beach, and it’s
got no f--king head. Sometimes you
forget that this is Lagos, too.”The daily rhythm of tide
and wind draws us back to
Lighthouse every morning, where
we are alone with the fishermen
who ply the shoreline with their
heavy nets. The waves here are
still too demanding for most of
Tarkwa’s surfers, churned up
by rips that occasionally pullLuke Davis was right at home in this peaky right. Each day he’d share the lineup
with tons of frothing local groms, and Luke would out-froth the lot of ‘em!The high rise in the background is the exclusive Eko Atlantic
development. The first stage in the development of Lagos. Where it ends
and how far it encroaches across the bay into Tarkwa is anyone’s guess.