THIS is the first part of a two-part series reflecting on the rains, not as mere weather events, but as powerful teachers. In this section, we explore how seasonal floods are both a result of natural cycles and the consequences of our own habits, particularly plastic pollution and how our urban environments are increasingly unprepared to cope. Once again, the heavy rains are here, falling with an intensity that awakens memories and stirs warnings from the past. Nature, patient and silent for months, has begun to fight back, not with swords or fire, but with torrents of water, overflowing rivers, and silent, creeping floods that claim both the innocent and the careless. Lives will be lost, properties destroyed, and families uprooted. And, as it has become tradition, the chorus of blame will rise. Some will point to local governments, others to state authorities, and still others to the federal agencies. The blame will depend on where one stands both geographically and politically, but rarely will we pause to ask the harder question: What role have we ourselves played in shaping this disaster?
The rains do not come only to water the earth; they come as teachers. But like all teachers, they can be gentle or harsh. In years past, they arrived like an old friend steady showers that nourished crops, filled wells, and refreshed the air. Now, they come as storms, pushing rivers beyond their banks and sweeping through cities like an uninvited guest who demands to be noticed. Every year, the script seems to be the same. In the early days of the rainy season, warnings are issued. The meteorological agencies forecast heavy downpours and urge communities to prepare. Government officials make public announcements about clearing drainage systems. And yet, as the first floods appear, we seem surprised. People wade through chest-deep waters, clutching possessions, while others climb onto rooftops to escape the rising tide. In Ogun State, a family watched in despair as their home and street disappeared beneath the murky flood. Desperate for safety, they scrambled onto the rooftop only for the raging waters to swell with terrifying force, tearing the entire house from its foundation and carrying it away like driftwood. Relief efforts begin, donations are requested, and the conversation turns inevitably to blame.
But if we pause and listen carefully, the rain is telling us something deeper: we cannot continue to live against nature and expect safety. Our urban centres have grown faster than the systems meant to manage them. Drainage channels that were built for smaller populations now groan under the weight of millions of tonnes of water. And into those same channels, we have thrown millions of tonnes of plastic waste; water bottles, discarded nylon bags, sachet wrappers, which act like gates, blocking the flow until the water bursts free in destructive waves.
This is why the United Nations’ call to “Beat Plastic Pollution” is not a seasonal slogan; it is a year-round survival plan. FADE has long reminded us that plastics never truly go away; they break down into smaller pieces, entering rivers, soils, and even our food. In a flood, they move with the water, spreading disease and contamination in their wake. Beating plastic pollution is therefore not just about a cleaner street or a prettier city; it is about making sure the rain has a safe place to go, so it does not come knocking on our doors at midnight.
We cannot ignore the link between poor waste management and climate resilience. In some cities around the world, flood control is not only about big dams or expensive engineering projects, it is about community discipline. In the Netherlands, for example, entire neighbourhoods participate in keeping flood routes clear. In Japan, regular “disaster drills” prepare citizens to respond to floods before they happen. We may not yet have their infrastructure, but we can adopt their mindset: prevention
over reaction. If the rains are a teacher, then the lesson for this year is simple; the water will always find a way. The only question is whether that way will be through our streets or past them.
In our cities, blocked drainage have become silent traps. The rains do not fall with evil intent, but the plastic bottles, food wrappers, sachet water bags, and other debris we casually throw away choke the water’s path, forcing it to find new courses through homes, markets, and roads. A few months ago, on June 5th, the world marked the United Nations World Environment Day with the theme: “Beat Plastic Pollution.” On that day, I wrote about the urgency of tackling the plastic crisis, a problem that has found its way into every corner of our environment. What many did not realise is that the message was not only about saving fish or cleaning beaches; it was also about saving ourselves from the floods that these plastics help to create.
Every year, approximately 300 million tons of plastic are produced worldwide, with a significant portion ending up in the environment. Oceans alone are estimated to contain over 5 trillion pieces of plastic, impacting marine life and habitats. Marine creatures such as turtles, seabirds, fish, and whales often confuse plastic debris for food. For example, sea turtles may mistake floating plastic bags for jellyfish. Once ingested, plastic can cause blockages in their digestive systems, internal injuries, malnutrition, and sometimes death (NOAA, 2021). Animals also suffer from entanglement in larger plastic items like fishing nets and six-pack rings, leading to restricted movement, drowning, or fatal injuries.
This disruption extends beyond individual animals. Plastic pollution threatens the balance of entire marine ecosystems. Coral reefs, which support a vast diversity of ocean life, can be smothered by plastic debris, while toxic chemicals from plastics contaminate the water and sediments (UN Environment Programme, 2018). Over time, larger plastic debris breaks down into tiny particles known as microplastics, smaller than 5 millimetres. These microplastics are found everywhere: from surface waters to the deep ocean floor, and even in Arctic ice (GESAMP, 2015). Due to their size, they are easily ingested by plankton and small fish, which are the base of the marine food chain.
Beyond its environmental and health impacts, plastic pollution plays a direct and dangerous role in urban flooding, a growing problem for many cities, especially during the rainy season.
“Plastic waste is literally choking our cities. It’s not just a sanitation issue anymore; it’s a threat to public safety.”- Dr. Newton Jibunoh, Environmentalist and Founder of FADE Africa.
In Nigeria, plastic waste has become a key factor in the worsening of seasonal floods that damage infrastructure, displace communities, and disrupt daily life. One of the primary ways plastic contributes to flooding is by clogging drainage systems. Discarded plastic bags, bottles, food wrappers, and other debris often end up in gutters, roadside drains, and canals. These items do not degrade and can easily form large blockages that prevent rainwater from flowing freely. When stormwater has nowhere to go, it overflows onto roads, into homes, and across neighbourhoods, causing flash floods that can be devastating within minutes.
II
THIS is the concluding part of the series, turning from present-day flooding challenges to a historic lesson from the Ogunkpa River in Ibadan. Here, we see how a seemingly unstoppable disaster was tamed through decisive action and what it teaches us about today’s floods. Many cities, especially fast-growing ones, lack efficient waste collection and recycling systems. In the absence of proper disposal, people often dump plastics into open drains, rivers, or vacant land. Over time, this waste builds up, turning once-functional drainage systems into plastic-choked channels.
In addition to drainage blockages, plastic pollution on the ground surface, such as wrappers and film plastics, can also prevent rainwater from being absorbed into the soil. This increases surface runoff, which contributes to higher water accumulation in flood-prone areas. Low-income and informal communities are often built in flood-prone areas and depend heavily on poor infrastructure. These areas tend to suffer the worst consequences when drainage is blocked by plastic waste. Flooding here can lead to loss of shelter, contamination of water supplies, and increased vulnerability to diseases such as cholera and malaria.
“If we don’t control our plastic waste, nature will keep reminding us through floods, disease, and destruction.”— Dr. Newton Jibunoh
Despite growing awareness of its environmental dangers, plastic consumption continues to rise globally. From food packaging to household items, clothing, and electronics, plastic has become almost unavoidable. Understanding the reasons behind this widespread use is key to finding lasting solutions to plastic pollution. One of the main reasons plastic is used so extensively is that it is cheap to produce. Compared to alternative materials like glass, paper, or metal, plastic is significantly less expensive to manufacture and mold into various shapes and sizes.
The rains have never been our enemy. They have been part of the cycle that sustained our ancestors for centuries. The problem is that we have stopped respecting the boundaries that nature set long before we arrived. The Ogunkpa River in Ibadan is a perfect example of what happens when we forget these limits. A few decades ago, long before the current conversations about climate change and plastic pollution became mainstream, there was the Ogunkpa River. To many, Ogunkpa was not just a river; it was a recurring nightmare. For over half a century, its overflow claimed lives almost every few years. In some incidents, the death toll rose into the hundreds. Families were torn apart, homes washed away, and farmlands swallowed whole. Over time, the Ogunkpa disaster took on a life of its own in the public imagination.
Some people began to see the river as a living force, angry, perhaps, or simply hungry; rituals were performed to appease it; offerings were made. Native doctors earned a livelihood from prescribing solutions, some elaborate, others simple but rooted in the belief that the river’s spirit needed calming. There was also the evil forest nearby, which some believed complemented the environmental balance of the area. It too received offerings, as part of the community’s way of giving back to nature. But despite these efforts, the waters kept coming, and each time, they came with the same destructive force.
Then came a turning point, the scale of destruction at Ogunkpa grew so alarming that the World Bank, along with other international agencies, decided not only to provide aid but to investigate the problem itself. Their reasoning was clear: a disaster that returned with such predictability must have an underlying cause, something beyond superstition, something that could be studied and perhaps solved. I was fortunate to be part of that investigation team. Together with experts in geology, ecology, and soil science, we set out to understand Ogunkpa’s true story. We walked the length of the river, studied its bends and curves, and examined the land it fed. We looked at rainfall patterns, soil types, and settlement history. What we found was startling but, in hindsight, obvious: people had built homes and structures right on the river’s floodplain, the natural path that channels water during heavy rains. By occupying and blocking this space, we had essentially tied a knot in nature’s drainage system. And when nature meets obstruction, it pushes back sometimes violently.
Our recommendation was straightforward but difficult: remove all structures on the floodplain, compensate the owners, and channelize the river so it could flow freely even in the heaviest rains. It was a politically sensitive and logistically challenging task, and a willingness to put long-term safety above short-term gain. But it was done. The result? For more than two decades now, the Ogunkpa River has not overflowed. The fear is gone, replaced by a quiet respect for the river’s course. For my role in the investigation and the success of the project, I was honoured by the then Olubadan of Ibadan with a chieftaincy title, a deeply humbling recognition of what can happen when science, governance, and community converge.
The Ogunpa story holds a mirror to our current flood challenges. We cannot simply patch the problem every rainy season, hoping the waters will be kinder next year. Just as Ogunkpa needed a bold, decisive plan, our cities today need deliberate action.
The rains will always return. Climate change may even make them stronger and more unpredictable. But if we choose to act now, combining policy, community discipline, and environmental stewardship, then the rains can be welcomed again as a blessing rather than feared as a curse.
The truth is simple: we cannot control the rain, but we can control how ready we are when it comes. If we remember Ogunpa, if we remember the lessons nature has already taught us at a high cost, then the next time the clouds gather, we will not tremble, we will stand ready.