By Ebuka Ukoh
Across West Africa, cities are expanding faster than infrastructure. Wetlands that once absorbed floodwaters have been built over. Natural waterways have narrowed under unplanned development. Drainage systems designed for smaller populations now serve millions more people. Climate change has intensified rainfall, but poor placement has multiplied its consequences.
Lagos State, like several others this year, was on the national news diet. You can trust that it was for the wrong reason.
Every rainy season, we say the same things: “The rain was too much.” “Flood everywhere.” “It happened unexpectedly. What do we do now?” Then, perhaps the waters recede. The television cameras leave. Relief materials are distributed. Promises are made. Committees are formed.
Whenever another rainy season arrives, the story begins again. It may be time to admit an uncomfortable truth. Floods do not merely reveal the force of nature. They reveal the society we have built.
As communities across Nigeria and Ghana mourn the lives lost, families displaced, businesses destroyed, and livelihoods washed away, our first responsibility is compassion. I grieve with those who have lost loved ones, homes, farms, businesses, and the memories attached to them.
No editorial can restore what has been lost. I pray that those affected find comfort, strength, and the support needed to rebuild their lives.
Our second responsibility is honesty. Flooding is not new to West Africa. Climate change has increased the intensity and frequency of extreme rainfall, but heavy rains alone do not explain why disasters repeatedly become humanitarian tragedies. Human decisions often determine whether rainfall becomes an inconvenience or a catastrophe. Across West Africa, cities are expanding faster than infrastructure. Wetlands that once absorbed floodwaters have been built over. Natural waterways have narrowed under unplanned development. Drainage systems designed for smaller populations now serve millions more people. Climate change has intensified rainfall, but poor planning has multiplied its consequences. Floods are becoming disasters because exposure and vulnerability have increased alongside the rain.
Water exposes what already exists. It exposes blocked drainage systems. It exposes buildings constructed on waterways. It exposes poor urban planning. It exposes projects existing in budgets but never fully materialise on the ground, drainage systems left unfinished, and environmental regulations enforced selectively rather than consistently. It exposes weak enforcement of environmental regulations. It exposes neglected infrastructure. It exposes governments that prepare only after disaster strikes. And it exposes citizens who sometimes contribute to the very conditions that later threaten their own communities. That is why floods are not only environmental events. They are governance events. They are public health events. They are development events. And they are moral events.
The United Nations estimates that climate-related disasters are becoming more frequent and severe globally. Across West Africa, rapid urbanisation, inadequate drainage infrastructure, informal settlements in flood-prone areas, and changing rainfall patterns have significantly increased flood risks. Nigeria has repeatedly experienced devastating floods over the past decade, including the nationwide floods of 2022 that affected millions of people and caused widespread destruction. Ghana, too, continues to face recurring floods that disrupt lives and livelihoods, particularly in densely populated urban areas. These tragedies should no longer surprise us. They should educate us. Too often, our response begins and ends with government.
The government carries an enormous responsibility and should be held accountable. Citizens rightly expect functioning drainage systems, effective urban planning, early warning systems, emergency shelters, enforcement of building regulations, and disaster preparedness. Leaders should be judged not only by whether or not they visit disaster sites, but also by how effectively they reduce the number of disasters that become national tragedies. Compassion is not measured by the number of condolence messages issued after floods. It should be measured by the number of lives protected before they occur. But the government cannot do everything.
Flood resilience begins much closer to home. It begins with us. Every rainy season, countless drainage channels become clogged with plastic bottles, food containers, nylon bags, and household waste. Refuse dumped into gutters does not disappear. It waits. Then, when the rains arrive, it returns to us as floodwater. Environmental responsibility is not merely an environmental issue. It is an act of protecting human life. Families also have responsibilities. Many households prepare for weddings. They prepare for funerals. They prepare for Christmas. Far fewer prepare for emergencies.
Every family should know what to do when floodwaters begin to rise. Parents should teach children basic flood safety. Families should identify safer locations, protect important documents, maintain emergency contacts, and know which elderly relatives or neighbours may need assistance during an evacuation.
Preparedness saves lives. Communities matter too. Strong communities do not wait for disaster before organising. Residents’ associations can coordinate drainage cleanup before the rainy season begins. Community leaders can identify vulnerable households. Volunteers can check on older adults, persons living with disabilities, and families who may struggle to evacuate quickly. Disaster resilience is built long before disaster arrives. Schools have responsibilities. Do students know what to do during severe flooding? Do schools have evacuation procedures? Do they monitor weather alerts? Can parents be reached quickly during emergencies?
The same questions should be asked of hospitals, churches, mosques, markets, universities, and businesses. Preparedness should become part of institutional culture rather than an afterthought. There is another lesson these floods should teach us. Poverty magnifies disaster.
The wealthiest families rarely lose everything to floods because they often live in safer neighbourhoods, possess stronger buildings, have insurance, and recover more quickly. The poorest frequently live where land is cheapest, often in flood-prone areas lacking adequate drainage, waste management, and resilient infrastructure.
This means flooding is also a justice issue. Climate hazards do not affect everyone equally. They punish vulnerability. That is why reducing flood risk requires more than sandbags. It requires reducing poverty, improving housing, expanding access to insurance and strengthening public infrastructure. Planning cities around people rather than political convenience. This is where governments must move beyond promises and camera lights.
Disaster response should not end with distributing relief materials for the evening news. Families need temporary shelter. Children need to return safely to school. Small business owners need support to rebuild. Farmers need assistance restoring livelihoods. Communities need functioning roads, drainage, healthcare, and clean water. Recovery is measured months after the cameras leave. Not while they are still recording.
There is also a lesson for faith communities. Churches and mosques often become places of refuge during disasters. They should also become places of preparedness. Faith leaders can educate congregations about disaster readiness, encourage environmental stewardship, organise volunteer response teams, and support affected families long after public attention has faded. The media also has a responsibility. Too often, flood coverage ends when the water disappears. Yet recovery takes months and sometimes years. Journalists should return after the headlines fade to ask whether displaced families have been rehoused, whether promised relief has arrived, whether damaged schools have reopened, and whether governments have fulfilled their commitments. Accountability should not end when the cameras leave.
Perhaps the greatest lesson is this. Floods do not discriminate. They do not ask whether you voted for the ruling party or the opposition. They do not ask your ethnicity. They do not ask about your religion. They do not recognise national borders. The floodwaters that overwhelm communities in Ghana carry the same message as those that devastate communities in Nigeria. Nature is impartial.
Our preparation has not been. If there is hope in this tragedy, it is that every flood teaches us something. It teaches governments where infrastructure failed. It teaches engineers where cities need to be redesigned. It teaches communities where solidarity matters. It teaches families where preparation was missing. It teaches citizens that every plastic bottle thrown into a drainage channel has consequences far beyond a single household. The measure of a society is not whether floods come. No nation possesses that power. The measure is whether fewer people die the next time. Whether fewer homes are destroyed. Whether children return safely to school. Whether families recover more quickly. Whether governments learn. Whether communities organise. Whether citizens accept that caring for public spaces is also caring for one another.
The floodwaters will recede. The grief will not disappear so easily. The question is whether our memory will last longer than the water. Because if we forget these lessons once again, the next flood will not simply be another natural disaster. It will be another reminder that we failed to build the society we already knew we needed. Floods are often described as acts of nature. In truth, the scale of their destruction is often an act of policy, planning, preparation, and collective responsibility. Rain will continue to fall. The question is whether we will continue building societies that turn rainfall into mourning. The floodwaters will recede. What must not recede with them is our resolve to build differently.
Mr Ukoh, a PhD student and coauthor of Built By The Ancestors, writes from his base in New York, the United States.
