Among the survivors, there were faces marked by disbelief, by the unimaginable terror of those hours. Goni Ba Usman, a family man in Maiduguri who survived the devastation, sat beneath a tree, refusing to drink.
His family was gone—his wife and five children—vanished into the water that swallowed whole lives in its unforgiving torrent.
“You are giving me water, how can I drink water when I have not seen my family since the flood struck?” He asked.
His last memory of them was on September 9, around 6:30 am. They were at home together, his wife and children, alive, breathing. Now, there was only silence. “I am finished,” he muttered, the words small and broken. His neighbors were found, but his family, his world, had slipped into the abyss, gone without a trace.
Maiduguri flooding
The rain came like a dark omen on September 8, a steady drumbeat against the earth, swelling into something greater—more sinister—than the people of Maiduguri had seen in decades.
It was as if the sky had unspooled its wrath, pouring it into the streets. The Alau Dam could no longer contain the deluge; it burst, ruptured like an old wound, sending water coursing through the city’s veins, filling neighborhoods, drowning hopes, hospitals, schools, and homes.
The streets told their own stories. Waterlogged, littered with debris—wooden doors, plastic bottles, broken furniture—remnants of lives uprooted, shattered. Abubakar Tijjani, his clothes still damp from the hours spent in the flood, spoke of those left behind.
“As it is now, over 50 people including men, women, old and young that have been rescued are taking refuge in the house I also relocated to,” he said. His words carried the weight of exhaustion, a kind of weariness only those who have brushed against death understand. “The number keeps increasing as the rescue operations continue.”
It was a house turned into a sanctuary—a fragile island in the flood. Yet, the resources were strained. Overstretched. Food, water, and space—all running out as quickly as they had arrived.
There were other voices, too. Ahmed Jallo, another survivor, recalled the nightmare that swallowed his home. His narration had the effect of someone who had seen too much, lived too much in a few short hours. The water had risen without mercy, consuming everything in its path, he said.
“I never thought that I would make it alive; the water had swallowed my house,” he said. “We couldn’t access drinking water; we broke into many shops and ate everything inside. At a point, we were left with nothing to eat.”
What haunted him most was the death—the bodies of people, of animals, floating for days, unattended, lifeless. The flood wasn’t just a physical force; it was a graveyard, a silent testament to those who may never be found.
Jummai, a school teacher, had been luckier than most. Her family had lived in a two-story house, an upstairs sanctuary that offered salvation. For three days, they huddled there, listening to the flood’s roar below, wondering when help would come.
Consequence of massive flooding
The once-bustling city of Maiduguri felt like a graveyard after the dam broke. Four days later, the water receded in places like Gwazari and Ali Goshe, but even then, the air was thick with the stench of decay, and the ground was a swamp of mud and filth.
Search and rescue teams combed through the wreckage, searching for life amidst the death, but many feared the worst. The survivors held onto hope with trembling hands, their prayers rising like smoke to the heavens.
Climate crisis in Nigeria
At the heart of these catastrophic events lies a broader crisis—climate change. Murtala Abdullahi, a researcher and journalist specialising in climate, peace, and security in Nigeria and the Lake Chad region, believes the devastating floods in Maiduguri are a grim reminder of Nigeria’s fragile adaptive capacity.
“Nigeria has a weak adaptive capacity and vulnerable communities in the country face a wide range of risks including disasters and resource scarcity,” Abdullahi explained to EcoPivot. “Climate change amplifies extremes, and it’s important to monitor how authorities are preparing or failing to prepare for extreme weather events.”
Abdullahi emphasises the role of journalists in this struggle. “Journalists can help highlight efforts to enhance climate adaptation,” he says. His work, grounded in environmental peacebuilding and climate security through his non-profit, the Goro Initiative, seeks to drive actions from both the government and private sector.
“It’s about more than just reporting the disasters,” Abdullahi adds. “We must also tell stories of resilience and adaptation, such as the potential use of renewable energy to drive productivity and climate-smart livelihoods.”
In a country already grappling with insecurity and limited resources, Abdullahi believes that addressing climate change requires urgent and coordinated action.