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 problemitself. 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 honored by the then Olubadan of Ibadan with a chieftaincy title, a deeply humbling recognition of what can happen when science, governance, and community will converge.
The Ogunkpa 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 Ogunkpa, 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.
