Erosion Is Swallowing Communities!

Across Benue, Kogi, Taraba and Adamawa, expanding gullies are consuming farmland, threatening homes and cutting off roads. As governments announce interventions and billions of naira are committed to erosion control, residents are asking: why does the water keep winning?

By Aviashima Toom, Abuja

The earth is opening up beneath communities.

What begins as a narrow channel after heavy rainfall can, over time, become a deep and expanding gully. Water follows the path, cutting deeper into the soil with every storm. Farmland disappears. Roads crack and collapse. Houses that once stood safely away from the danger begin to edge closer to the precipice.

For residents of erosion-prone communities in Benue, Kogi, Taraba and Adamawa States, this is no longer a distant environmental threat.

It is happening in their backyards.

Across the four states, erosion is eating into farmland, threatening homes and public infrastructure, disrupting movement and putting livelihoods at risk.

But beneath the visible destruction is another story — one involving drainage systems, government interventions, incomplete projects, maintenance failures and communities that say they have waited years for lasting solutions.

The central question is becoming harder to ignore: are communities losing the battle against erosion because nature is overwhelming them, or because infrastructure and interventions are failing to keep pace?

The answer varies from one location to another. But for residents living beside the expanding gullies, the demand is the same: action before the next rainfall takes another piece of their lives.

Kogi: A Gully That Grew Into a Threat

In Olubo-Ojo, Ankpa Local Government Area of Kogi State, the scale of the erosion is difficult to dismiss.

According to the Kogi ACReSAL project, a gully that had existed for more than two decades had grown to approximately 6.13 kilometres long, 10 metres wide and nine metres deep.

The project says the erosion has destroyed farmland and roads and placed more than 150 houses, four schools, Ankpa Waterworks and Ankpa Market at risk. It also reports that families have been displaced and a life lost.

For residents living near the gully, however, the measurements tell only part of the story.

The real measure is what has disappeared.

A farm.

A road.

A house.

A school route.

A source of income.

In April 2024, the Kogi State Government announced that it had signed contracts worth about ₦29.93 billion for erosion-control projects at Etahi in Okene, Omigbo in Kabba-Bunu and Olubo-Ojo in Ankpa.

The Olubo-Ojo project was valued at approximately ₦9.397 billion.

The figure raises an important accountability question:

What has ₦9.397 billion achieved at Olubo-Ojo?

The answer should not rest solely on official statements. It should be visible on the ground.

How much of the gully has been reclaimed? How much of the drainage work has been completed? Are homes, schools and other public facilities still exposed? How much of the contract sum has been paid?

These are questions that require both documentary and physical verification.

Government officials have subsequently reported progress on erosion-control projects, including Olubo-Ojo. That makes independent assessment even more important.

If a project is progressing, residents should be able to see the difference.

If it has stalled or failed, the reasons should be established.

For the people of Olubo-Ojo, the issue is ultimately less about the language of project announcements and more about whether the gully is still advancing towards their homes.

Benue: When Water Finds the Wrong Path

In Makurdi, the capital of Benue State, erosion is closely connected to another problem: how stormwater moves through the city.

Research on the Demekpe drainage basin in the Wadata catchment identified gully development and sediment loss in the area.

The study found that runoff from roads and other hardened surfaces, together with abandoned excavated gutters, contributed to the concentration and movement of sediment. Researchers also identified the area's sandy-loam soil as particularly susceptible to erosion.

The findings point to a problem that goes beyond the simple explanation of heavy rainfall.

Sometimes, the question is not only how much water falls.

It is where the water goes afterwards.

A poorly designed drainage system can concentrate runoff. An unfinished channel can redirect it. A blocked culvert can force water across a road. An unprotected outlet can discharge large volumes of water onto vulnerable ground.

Over time, a drainage problem can become a gully.

Makurdi has already received government investment in drainage infrastructure.

In January 2020, a 3.35-kilometre drainage channel in Idye Community was inaugurated as an ecological intervention intended to address erosion and flooding.

The project now presents an opportunity for a different kind of question.

What condition is the drainage in today?

Has it reduced flooding and erosion?

Are sections blocked or damaged?

Who is responsible for maintaining it?

And have new erosion points appeared downstream?

For residents, these are not academic questions. The effectiveness of a drainage project is ultimately measured by what happens when the rains come.

Taraba: When Protection May Become Part of the Problem

In Jalingo, erosion has affected several parts of the city and surrounding communities.

One case that requires particular scrutiny is Kpanti-Napu, where residents have raised concerns about erosion and drainage around the Jalingo Trailer Park.

Local reports say residents allege that drainage associated with the trailer park has redirected stormwater towards their community, contributing to multiple gullies and damaging houses and farmland.

Residents have reportedly submitted petitions to relevant authorities in 2023, 2024 and 2025.

The allegations remain allegations and require independent verification.

But they raise an important question for the investigation:

Can infrastructure intended to solve one problem create another elsewhere?

To answer that question, the movement of water must be traced.

Where does runoff from the trailer park begin?

Where does the drainage carry it?

Where does it discharge?

Was the drainage designed and approved by the appropriate authorities?

Was an environmental assessment undertaken?

Were affected communities consulted?

And what action, if any, followed the residents' complaints?

The answers could determine whether Kpanti-Napu is simply experiencing the effects of natural erosion or whether decisions surrounding infrastructure have contributed to the problem.

The Taraba State Government and any contractors involved must therefore be given an opportunity to respond to the allegations and explain the design, approval and performance of the drainage system.

Adamawa: 163 Gully Sites and a Landscape Under Pressure

In Adamawa, the numbers reveal the scale of the challenge.

A 2026 study identified 163 gully sites across Madagali, Michika, Mubi North, Mubi South and Maiha Local Government Areas.

Researchers recorded more than 12.3 kilometres of combined gully length and estimated approximately 73,133 cubic metres of displaced soil.

The study estimated annual soil loss at about 58,471 tonnes.

Behind those figures are communities.

Farmers.

Families.

Road users.

Children walking to school.

And land that may never return to its former condition without substantial intervention.

The Mubi axis provides an important case study because the recent scientific research offers a baseline against which changes can be measured.

Have the gullies expanded since the study?

Have more houses or roads been affected?

Has government intervened?

Are erosion-control projects located at any of the identified sites?

And where interventions exist, are they working?

The answers could reveal the gap — if one exists — between the scale of the erosion problem and the scale of the response.

Following the Trail of Abandoned Projects

The story of erosion does not end with the gully.

In many cases, the more important story lies behind it.

Was there a government intervention?

If there was, what was promised?

Who received the contract?

How much was budgeted?

When was the project supposed to begin and end?

How much has been paid?

Was the contract varied?

Was the work completed?

Who certified it?

And who is responsible for maintaining it?

Where a project appears to have stalled, the reasons must also be established.

Was funding delayed?

Was there a contractual dispute?

Did the contractor fail to perform?

Was the original design inadequate?

Did a change of government affect the project?

Was there a land dispute?

Or was supervision inadequate?

These distinctions matter.

A project should not be labelled “abandoned” simply because work has temporarily stopped. Equally, a project should not be described as completed simply because an official ceremony was held or a government statement says so.

The physical evidence must tell the story.

Following the Money

For an investigation of this nature, the money trail is as important as the erosion trail.

The Olubo-Ojo project provides a clear example.

With the publicly announced contract value of approximately ₦9.397 billion, the next questions are straightforward:

How much has been released?

How much has been paid?

What does the bill of quantities provide for?

Have there been variation orders?

What percentage of the physical work has been completed?

Has a completion certificate been issued?

And does the work on the ground correspond with what the public paid for?

The same questions should be applied to selected erosion-control projects in Benue, Taraba and Adamawa.

The issue is not merely how much government has spent.

It is what the public received in return.

Residents Are Paying Too

Official project costs do not capture the full price of erosion.

When a gully reaches a farm, a farmer loses crops and productive land.

When a road collapses, transport becomes more difficult and expensive.

When a house becomes unsafe, families may be forced to relocate.

When a school route is cut off, children may struggle to get to class.

And when government intervention is delayed, residents often spend their own money trying to protect what remains.

That private cost rarely appears in official budgets.

It should be part of the story.

A farmer who loses hectares of land is not simply reporting environmental degradation. He or she is losing an economic asset.

A family forced to abandon a house is not simply moving residence. It may be losing years of savings.

A trader whose customers can no longer reach a market is losing income.

These are the human consequences hidden behind statistics about soil loss and gully length.

The People Behind the Numbers

For the residents living alongside these gullies, the technical language of erosion control offers little comfort.

They want to know when the problem will end.

When did they first notice the erosion?

What have they lost?

When did they report it?

Who did they report it to?

What response did they receive?

And what do they fear will happen if nothing changes before the next heavy rainfall?

Their answers provide the human dimension to the figures.

Photographs and video from the same locations over time can provide another layer of evidence, showing whether gullies are expanding and whether interventions are changing the trajectory.

Who Is Responsible?

Erosion control often involves several layers of government and private contractors.

Depending on the project, responsibility may involve state ministries of environment or works, local government councils, ACReSAL, federal ecological intervention agencies, contractors, consultants and supervising engineers.

That makes attribution critical.

A resident may say, “Government abandoned this project.”

But an investigation must establish which government agency was responsible, which contractor received the contract and at what stage the project stalled.

Documents are essential to answering those questions.

The Questions Government Must Answer

For Kogi, one central question is straightforward:

The Olubo-Ojo erosion-control project was publicly valued at approximately ₦9.397 billion. How much has been released and paid, what percentage of the work has been completed, what is the contractual completion date, and has the contract been varied?

In Taraba, the authorities should respond to residents' allegations that drainage associated with the Jalingo Trailer Park has redirected stormwater towards Kpanti-Napu.

Was the drainage system properly designed and approved?

Has the complaint been investigated?

What remedial measures have been taken?

In Benue, what is the current condition of the Idye drainage project inaugurated in 2020?

Has a post-completion assessment been carried out?

Who is responsible for maintenance?

And in Adamawa, what erosion-control interventions currently exist in Madagali, Michika, Mubi North, Mubi South and Maiha?

How many of the documented erosion sites have received intervention?

These questions deserve specific answers, not general assurances.

What We Know — and What We Still Need to Know

There is already enough evidence to establish that erosion is a serious problem across the four states.

There is also evidence that governments and development programmes have committed resources to combating it.

But there remains a crucial gap between the existence of interventions and their effectiveness.

That is where the investigation must focus.

It would be wrong to assume that every government project has failed. Some may have succeeded.

It would also be wrong to blame every erosion problem on government negligence. Rainfall, soil composition, topography, land-use changes and other environmental factors can all contribute.

And community allegations, however compelling, must be independently tested.

The goal is not to prove a predetermined conclusion.

The goal is to establish what is happening on the ground, what has been done, what has failed, why it failed and who is responsible.

When the Land Disappears

For residents living beside the gullies, however, the consequences are painfully simple.

They are losing land.

A farmer watches part of a field disappear.

A homeowner watches the edge of a gully creep towards the compound.

A trader watches customers struggle to reach the market.

A commuter watches a road become increasingly dangerous.

And every heavy rainfall brings the same question:

What will be gone tomorrow?

In Adamawa, researchers have documented 163 gully sites across five local government areas.

In Kogi, a gully stretching more than six kilometres has threatened homes, schools, roads and public infrastructure, prompting a multimillion-naira intervention.

In Benue, research has highlighted the role of stormwater and drainage in the development of gullies. 

In Taraba, residents' complaints about drainage around the Jalingo Trailer Park raise questions about whether infrastructure designed to manage water may also be contributing to its destructive path.

Together, the cases point to a problem that cannot be solved by announcements alone.

The question is no longer whether governments are aware of erosion.

They are.

The question is whether the interventions are reaching the people standing at the edge of the gullies — and whether those interventions are designed, constructed and maintained well enough to withstand the water.

Because for communities watching their land disappear, another promise is not enough.

They need the water controlled.

They need the roads protected.

They need their homes made safe.

And they need to know that the money allocated in their name is producing protection on the ground.

Until then, the gullies keep growing.

And the communities keep shrinking.