Still an oily dangerous mess

DEEP within the labyrinthine creeks of Nigeria’s oil-producing delta, dozens of plumes of thick, black smoke tail into the sky as gangs of oil thieves labour at illegal refineries that are springing up all over the vast mangrove swamplands every day. Three years ago militants ruled the waterways and creeks of the Niger Delta, holding the government to ransom by kidnapping foreign oil-workers and damaging pipelines. An amnesty in 2009 persuaded them to silence their guns, while training and stipends have kept many of the 26,000 ex-militants busy.

But criminality on a new scale has filled the vacuum. Record levels of oil theft and a boom in illegal refining are devastating the environment and costing Africa’s second-biggest economy $7 billion a year, according to the oil minister. Fumes suffocate the delta’s vegetation, black resin clings to the mangroves and a shiny layer of oil carpets the waters with poison.

Smaller entrepreneurs hack into pipelines to siphon off oil, which is turned into fuel in bush refineries, while bigger operators weld taps onto pipelines with generators to help pump thousands of barrels of oil into barges. Some of the oil makes its way to international markets but much gets turned locally into fuel. A makeshift refinery can ruin swathes of swampy bush, as fires lit beneath cauldrons of crude oil rage out of control. The roughly refined fuel is then mixed with other petroleum products and sold on the black market. “It’s a deadly job, a dirty job,” says a man involved in the business, displaying cracked hands encrusted with oil.

Many believe the problem persists because security people and powerful politicians are complicit. But an official in the police Joint Task Force (JTF) in President Goodluck Jonathan’s home state of Bayelsa says such accusations are “grossly untrue”. Considering the scale of the theft and the brazen nature in which the gangs operate, this is hard to believe. Oil theft plainly helps fund powerful people who provide cash for heavy machinery and boats to extract and transport the oil. The threat of violence is a potent political lever.

Royal Dutch Shell, Nigeria’s biggest producer, estimates that 150,000 barrels a day are still lost to oil theft, roughly 6% of total production. The need for bunkering together with the insecurity around it is deterring investors. Only three exploratory oil wells were drilled in 2011, down from more than 20 in 2005. The operational risks and costs have resulted in long-term production deferments across the region. In the waterways outside Warri, Nigeria’s JTF carries out sporadic crackdowns, burning barges and equipment for illicit refining. Godfrey and his family are looking to start up their small bush refinery again, salvaging what is left. “There are no jobs for people, so what can we do?” he says, ankle-deep in the oily mire enveloping his patch of land. “Half the region is involved in illegal activities, one way or another.”

Despite millions of dollars of oil being pumped out through their back yard in the delta, few Nigerians seem to benefit from the wealth. Local communities complain bitterly about dwindling fishing business. It is hard to grow anything on the oil-saturated soil. Infrastructure, medical and basic services are sparse; sickness is rife. One woman describes a journey of six or seven hours to get to the nearest hospital. “Children die on the way,” she says.

The government amnesty programme cost $405m in 2012 alone. At first, people hoped that the 26,000 beneficiaries would stay away from crime. Several ringleaders were drafted into high-paid government jobs; some now enjoy a lavish life in Abuja, the capital. Thousands of the rank and file have been trained abroad as pilots, underwater welders and crane operatives.

But the oil business is not labour-intensive, and there are far too few jobs to go around. More than 10,000 militants have yet to be trained in anything. Little has been done to address the underlying issues that fuelled the militancy. “The amnesty has stopped the armed struggle but I have not seen any development as a result,” says a former militant who was sent for training in Ghana but has been unemployed for six months.

Payments to former militants may stop before 2015. “Where there are jobs, there is peace,” says another former militant, who has been without work for eight months. Though some vow never to resort again to violence, others who took up the amnesty have been tempted to go back to oil theft, unable to find jobs. The amnesty programme is in grave trouble.