Livelihoods that communities have relied on for centuries are being criminalized through harsh state restrictions.
We were in Obalende: a bustling working-class area of office buildings, shops and residential areas on Lagos Island, Nigeria. During the day, the neighborhood is full of small market stalls selling everything from fruits and vegetables to electronics, bespoke clothing and household items.
In the evening, new stalls pop up to cater to the needs of commuters queuing to catch the bus, and noisy bars open in the street to distract and refresh people returning from a long day of work.
But we weren't there to buy an iPod or have a drink. We were in Obalende, in August 2019, to explore the clandestine world of Tramadol distribution.
Our research work examined the consequences of the criminalization of previously informal but legal activities, and the confusion between what is considered legal and illegal created by new regulatory restrictions. More precisely, our project examined how the criminalization of Tramadol in Nigeria, and stricter rules governing the movement of people and goods in the Sahara region, affected the local population and society as a whole.
We have chosen to focus our research on the sale of Tramadol and the transport of migrants in West Africa because these activities have particularly attracted the attention of political decision-makers and the media in recent years. Both of these activities have also been directly linked to a supposed increase in organized crime, as well as other activities, such as sex work or gold panning (artisanal small-scale gold mining). Our aim was to challenge these media and political representations – and to highlight the narratives of those involved in, and affected by, these two activities.
In both cases, it seemed that restrictive new laws had, almost overnight, turned people into organized crime who previously thought they were making an "honest living." We have found that policy changes – especially criminalization – often do not have the intended impact, and that the enormous impact that this criminalization has on communities that have depended on it, sometimes for centuries, is overlooked.
We conducted a total of 40 in-depth interviews in Nigeria and Niger. Of these, we conducted 21 in Lagos (Nigeria) with street vendors of tramadol as well as pharmacists who sell this drug legally. We spoke to staff from state and local agencies, including the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) and the Nigerian National Drug Control Agency (National Drug Law Enforcement Agency - English acronym NDLEA).
In Agadez, Niger, we conducted 19 interviews, including with former migrant transporters (or “smugglers”) and local and international humanitarian organizations working in the region, such as the international organization for migration (IOM), the International Red Cross and l'Nigerien NGO Alarme Phone Sahara.
The 'Doctor' will receive you now
Back in Obalende, a contact explained to us that tramadol was still sold and consumed publicly, despite the restrictions.
Tramadol is a synthetic opioid, which provides almost immediate relief from moderate to severe pain. Its sale is not illegal in Nigeria, but since 2018 it has been heavily regulated by the government and should now only be available from licensed pharmacies – doses above 100mg per tablet being prohibited.
Therefore, the availability of tramadol is restricted as only a few licensed medical authorities and pharmacy dispensers can dispense it. This measure was intended to curb its abuse, turning the informal sale of the drug into a criminal activity.
Our contact arranged for us to meet with a retailer of Tramadol, known locally as 'Doctor.' 'Doctor', in his twenties, agreed to meet us later that evening at his shop.
A modest wooden shed, the 'Doctor''s shop functioned as a kiosk, with a small lounge for him and his customers, where he sold small retail items and a variety of pharmaceuticals, including tramadol. He had to deal with the crowds of customers queuing outside his store before he could take the time to talk to us. It gave us the opportunity to people watch and see him interact with his regulars.
Clients would approach the doctor and explain to him that they had particular ailments, after which he would recommend a medicine for them, which they would then buy. Curiously, we observed the same operation as a legal pharmacy. But sometimes the customer knew exactly what drug he wanted and we have witnessed some requests for “illegal” Tramadol.
Nevertheless, the distribution by 'Doctor' of Tramadol and other drugs to purchasers was not done surreptitiously. Some of Doctor's customers even wore uniforms indicating they were members of the Nigerian police, and the store itself was near a police barracks.
When we finally had the chance to talk to him, 'Doctor' explains that he had worked as a farmer in northern Nigeria, before settling in Lagos. He had moved in search of better opportunities, but the lack of steady employment had led him into the drug business.
While people like 'Doctor' are increasingly categorized by the state as criminals, our conversation with 'Doctor' was not like meeting a trafficker; his work, carried out openly, was considered legitimate in his eyes and those of his clients.
moral panic
How did Nigeria end up in this situation? Although tramadol has been imported into Nigeria for more than two decades, it has only recently received media attention, particularly following the opioid crisis in America and because of the ban on codeine cough syrup by the Nigerian government.
The cough syrup ban rule was passed after the release of a BBC documentary in 2018, 'Sweet, Sweet Codeine', which reported that millions of bottles of this codeine syrup were consumed daily across Nigeria. The government's response to this situation was to ban the production of codeine-based antitussives. based on codeine.
In 2018, another BBC report claimed that a tramadol crisis was “fueling death, desperation and [Boko Haram](Boko Haram](https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa -44306086)” in Nigeria, which echoed reports published by theUNODC and l'World Health Organization amplifying the moral panic around tramadol.
Again, in 2018, the Nigerian government responded with a ban, restricting the sale of Tramadol to a very limited number of licensed distributors and cracking down on the production of high-dose tablets. The harsh state crackdown on unlicensed Tramadol distributors has certainly forced vendors to turn to the black market.
Health care and unemployment
But the crackdown on the Tramadol trade fails to explain why Nigeria – Africa's most populous country – lacks adequate and affordable health care. Indeed, the thriving black market in pharmaceuticals is inextricably linked to a lack of health infrastructure for the country's 211 million people, encouraging the normalization of self-medication among the vast majority of disadvantaged citizens from the country.
Another factor is the high rate of unemployment, which affects a third of the population. Thus, for Tramadol sellers like 'Doctor', clandestine work constitutes a stable source of income. Bashir*, another Tramadol seller we met, told us:
We are just involved in this trade because we want to survive, because there are no jobs in the country…
Bashir said he tried to sell only to a group of loyal customers, to avoid arrest, but explained that Tramadol was his most popular product.
Transport of Saharan migrants
In Agadez, the issues are not related to tablets, but the regulatory issues are the same. Agadez is the fifth largest city in Niger with a population of around 110. It is located at the gates of the Sahara and is at the crossroads of the main Sahelian and Saharan migratory routes.
Agadez has been an important trading hub in Africa since the XNUMXth century, providing a vital source of income for the sahelian region - moon of the poorest in the world. However, Niger's migration policy has changed dramatically to restrict the movement of people and goods in the region; which resulted in particular in the adoption of a law in 2015. This change came in the wake of political and media debates around the so-called “migration crisis” and, in particular, concerns about the smuggling of migrants from West Africa to Algeria, Libya and then to Europe.
Niger is a member of the Economic Community of West African States, which is supposed to guarantee the free movement of people within its 15 member countries. The new legislation essentially criminalizes trans-Saharan migration towards the countries of North Africa.
This radically transformed the socio-economic structure of Agadez. Before 2015, migratory movements to Algeria and Libya, and for some to Europe, were common and stimulated various sectors of the local economy of Agadez. The economic benefits of migration were felt across the country.
Locally, businesses in Agadez thrived on the constant flow of travelers passing through the city. But today, any visitor familiar with its past as a Saharan crossroads sees Agadez as a ghost town.
After the fall of the Libyan regime of Muammar Gaddafi in 2011, Niger came under strong external pressure from the European Union to prevent northward migration. The EU would have promised to implement specific initiatives to mitigate the loss of income of ex-transporters and offer alternative means of income generation (as the Nigerien government has done).
But according to former transporters we interviewed in Niger, those promises were not kept, and several told us of the devastating impact the law had on their ability to earn a living. A former carrier, Abdul*, said:
We can not do anything. We don't have any activity…it totally destroyed us, we have nothing left.
die in the desert
Like the ban on Tramadol in Nigeria, the criminalization of migrant transport has not completely ended this practice. In response, carriers have been forced to adopt more stealthy strategies to maintain business and evade authorities. All of this has forced transporters to take more perilous routes across the Sahara to avoid arrest, and to abandon routes that previously centered on water points.
While the transporters we spoke to boast of their ability to get people through the Sahara safely, our interviews with humanitarian agencies, including the International Organization for Migration, reported that an increasing number migrants are abandoned in the desert, which can be attributed to the use of less familiar routes by transporters. The risks transporters are forced to take to cross the Sahara have been greatly increased by the criminalization of migration. The director of a humanitarian organization working in the region told us:
Lots of people disappear in the desert, lots of people die, and now there are military patrols chasing people in the desert… Drivers can throw passengers out of the car… in case they get arrested.
Local initiatives have been implemented to help the reintegration of ex-carriers and humanitarian agencies are implementing actions on the ground to rescue migrants stranded in the Sahara. Nevertheless, the region continues to suffer from the legislation and those who continue this once legal activity are now considered “traffickers” who have committed offenses related to human trafficking. Another ex-carrier explained to us:
It wasn't illegal…we took an official route…we paid taxes, we did everything according to the rules and what we were supposed to do and then the men came and made this migration a crime. They said that we were criminals, that we trafficked in human beings.
Government agencies and foreign NGOs say they prioritize vulnerable migrants. But we have seen that these legislative changes are actually channeling formerly legal workers into more precarious situations and ruining regional economies with very limited job opportunities.
What to do now?
These measures must be completely reconsidered. Pressure from international agencies and foreign governments has contributed to the governments of Nigeria and Niger resorting to coercive and repressive measures in an attempt to address the challenges posed by Tramadol distribution and trans-Saharan migration.
But what the affected communities need is more protection and less criminalization.
NGOs and grassroots organizations are doing important work in addressing these issues on the ground. The International Rescue Committee, the International Red Cross and Alarme Phone Sahara, for example, help migrants stranded in the Sahara and support the reintegration of ex-carriers. In Nigeria, there are several national initiatives addressing drug use, including awareness campaigns (Lagos State Kicks Against Drug Abuse– Editor’s note Lagos Against Drug Abuse) and support groups promoting alternative youth-focused projects like Youth Rise Nigeria.
But uncertainty about economic survival continues to affect large numbers of unemployed and precariously employed people. Instability pushes them to exploit employment opportunities, whether they are “legal” or not. As 'Doctor' explained before we let him take care of his clients:
There is no one who offers to help me and give me money… I manage like that, I manage and I circulate my goods…
*All names have been changed to protect the anonymity of those involved.
Ini Dele-Adedeji, Research Associate, University of Bristol; Amanda Schmid Scott, ESRC Postdoctoral Fellow, Newcastle Universityand Gernot Klantschnig, Associate Professor in International Criminology, University of Bristol
This article is republished from the site The Conversation under Creative Commons license. Read theoriginal article.