N. F. Kenure
For many of us who live outside the coastal towns and cities that bear the brunt of Nigeria’s reliance on oil exploration, the state of environmental devastation in these regions remains a distant concept—a reality we only glimpse through hazy windows of media coverage or the occasional conversation. Yet, this environmental calamity is all too real for those who live amidst it—an ever-present crisis masquerading behind the elusive promise of economic prosperity.
Oil has been both a blessing and a curse for Nigeria for decades. It is the backbone of the economy, promising wealth and progress yet leaving devastated ecosystems, ruined farmlands, and polluted water bodies in its wake. The Niger Delta, often painted as the lifeblood of the nation's oil production, is also where the dream of prosperity crumbles into despair. There, the waters run black with oil, the soil toxic, and the air thick with the consequences of unchecked exploitation. We are forced to ask: has the dream of Nigeria been hijacked by the oil that runs through its veins, or was the promise of development built on a fragile foundation from the start?
During a recent visit to Port Harcourt, once known as the Garden City, I was confronted with the visceral reality of environmental decay. The thick black soot that clung to everything—walls, skin, and lungs—was impossible to escape. PHC is currently mired by a heavy coat of dark soot that invades the innards of objects and beings. A stark reminder of the city's fall from grace, a city now choking under the weight of illegal oil refining and bunkering operations that poison the very air its people breathe. It's one thing to read about it in a tweet or an article, but quite another to experience the suffocating pall of soot first-hand. I had planned to spend the weekend in Port Harcourt, but as my business was concluded earlier than expected, I hightailed it out of the city the next day.
Why aren't the voices louder? I asked myself this question as I scrolled through social media when I returned. Yes, there are scattered posts, but where is the outrage? Why isn't the entire nation standing in solidarity with Port Harcourt, with the Niger Delta? The silence is deafening, a testament to a systemic failure of governance and a society too accustomed to ignoring its own wounds. No soothsayer is needed to predict the long-term implications of breathing in the black air.
The situation in Port Harcourt is a microcosm of Nigeria’s wider oil-induced environmental collapse. Illegal oil bunkering—tapping pipelines to siphon crude for local, unregulated refineries—is rampant, driven by poverty and desperation. This practice may line the pockets of a few, but it is poisoning entire communities. The soot problem is merely a symptom of a much deeper issue: the exploitation of Nigeria's natural resources with little regard for the lives destroyed in the process. Oil, it seems, is not just fueling our economy, but also our destruction.
Many years ago, I visited Warri frequently. I would journey through sludges of red mud, so thick during the rainy season, to get to the SHELL compound in Edjeba. The manicured lawns and pristine quarters of oil company employees living within this fortified compound were a sharp contrast to the exploitation of the community from which it suckled. These enclaves were paradises of privilege, nestled within a sea of despair. Even then, it struck me as deeply ironic: these corporations had come to exploit our land with the complicity of our government. They lived like kings, shielded from the consequences of their actions hiding behind. Outside their walls, the effects of deforestation, oil spills, and economic stagnation were impossible to ignore. The pollution of farmlands, rivers, and ecosystems in the Niger Delta and the toll on the lives of people in these communities is unquantifiable.
Yet, the Nigerian government continues to sit idly by, watching as the situation spirals out of control. Multinational corporations are just as complicit. They pretend to be at the forefront of attempts to reverse the environmental crises in these regions, funding corporate social responsibility initiatives that soothe nothing but the pockets of corrupt Nigerians. Shell and other giants operating in the region claim to invest in cleanup operations and environmental recovery, but what I saw in Warri years ago is proof of how little has changed. In the shadow of their gleaming facilities, local communities remain mired in poverty while the land around them continues to deteriorate.
The government’s response—or lack thereof—is infuriating. Agencies like the National Oil Spill Detection & Response Agency (NOSDRA) exist in name only, their mandates toothless against the vast machinery of corporate greed and governmental apathy. NOSDRA claims its mission is to preserve the environment and ensure sustainable oil practices, but the reality is far removed from this noble goal. What good is a regulatory body that lacks the will, the power, or the resources to hold corporations accountable?
Communities that have depended on the rivers that nourished them for centuries have been decimated. Left to fend for themselves, the youths have resorted to taking matters into their own hands. Many have turned to illegal bunkering not just as a means of survival but as a form of protest. Some have even taken up arms, becoming militant opposition groups frustrated by decades of neglect and exploitation. They are demonised in the media, but what choice do they have when the government has abandoned them and corporations continue to plunder their homeland?
The time has come for a reckoning. We can no longer afford to ignore the environmental and human costs of Nigeria’s oil dependency. Stronger environmental regulations, corporate accountability, and investment in sustainable development for these communities are the bare minimum that must be done. Without urgent action, we are poisoning not just our rivers and our air but our future.
Sep 11, 2018
