The water we once drank

MY return to Scotland marked the beginning of my contributions to Nigeria’s fuel-subsidy debate over the past three weeks.

I proposed a productive-energy subsidy—an amendment to former Vice President Atiku Abubakar’s Production-Subsidy proposal. I subsequently challenged President Tinubu’s Independence Day promise of prosperity, arguing that it is delusional without energy availability and affordability. Last week, I questioned Finance Minister Oyedele’s proposed 30-day petrol discount and ₦1,350 ex-gantry ceiling, outlining an elastic subsidy for large-scale farmers, food-haulage transporters, essential-goods manufacturers, teachers and police personnel, with costs and accountability mechanisms. Nigeria’s low per-capita crude oil production cannot sustainably support a universal fuel subsidy, but targeted intervention can reduce the effective cost of fuel for priority users, even amid global energy-market volatility.

But Scotland also reminded me of another fluid, one we often take for granted: clean drinking water. As an elite member of IHG hotel, I requested complimentary bottled water. The receptionist replied: “In Scotland, we don’t do bottled water. We drink directly from the tap.”I knew Scottish tap water was drinkable. But I did not expect her response.  Her words transported me to my hometown of Oyo, my primary-school days, and a tap outside our family compound.

From rain to the glass

Scotland’s drinking water originates from rainfall feeding rivers, lochs and reservoirs, supplemented by groundwater. Scottish Water treats and disinfects raw water before distributing it. In 2024, 99.92 per cent of 156,814 tests at consumers’ taps met the regulatory standards. What connects the rain to the drinking glass is an engineered and institutional system: treatment plants, pumps, pipes, laboratories, trained personnel, funding and regulation. Its reliability depends not on commissioning ceremonies, but on sustained maintenance.

The tap outside our family compound

Between the ages of six and twelve, I walked five to six miles daily to and from Aatan Baptist Primary School, Oyo. Afternoon journeys under the scorching sun were exhausting. But a public tap outside our family compound rescued me from thirst. I would turn it on, cup both palms and drink. Growing up, I knew neither sachet nor bottled water. No “kanga” orborehole. That water came from Erelu Waterworks, supplied by Erelu Reservoir on the Awon River, commissioned in 1961. The reservoir covered 161 hectares, while its treatment plant had an initial design capacity of 7.5 million litres per day, serving Oyocommunities.

Barely a year after independence, Nigeria was collecting, treating and distributing water as a public service. More than six decades later, we have regressed from collective provision to household self-provision.

What happened to Erelu?

I contacted Hon. Kamil Akinlabi (ADC), who represented my constituency in the House of Representatives (2007–2015). He facilitated a federal intervention to rehabilitate Erelu, including pipes, industrial generators and pumps. Asked about the project’s status, he replied: “Erelu Waterworks is at the level we left it in 2015. When I made it a campaign issue during the 2015 election, Governor Ajimobi hurriedly approved some money for laying pipes to connect Soro Hill reservoir with Erelu Dam. The work stopped in less than two weeks. Since then, nobody has done anything about it.”

During a 2022 visit, Akinlabi found the pipes and ancillary materials still there but could not establish the whereabouts of the generators and pumps. Where are these assets today? On current water supply, Akinlabi asserted: “No household is receiving pipe borne water in Oyo today.”

Hon. Moruf Akinwande (APM), Akinlabi’s predecessor in the House and former Chairman of Oyo State Water Corporation (2022–2023), offered his account when he left office: “Activities were ongoing at Erelu Waterworks. Major renovations were carried out on the filters, and new water pumps were installed. Extension work was awarded between Saabo and Aafin, while Soro reservoir was equally renovated. The much-talked-about pipes supplied by the Ogun-Osun River Basin authorities were intact.”

He said water supply had reached parts of Saabo and Oyo-Dero, but efforts to extend supply to Aafin failed. He also lamented that “urban development is urban destruction,” explaining that construction damages existing water pipes without accountability while expanding communities outgrow their infrastructure. He cited funding, poor maintenance and electoral politics that reward cash inducements over development. I also sought explanations from Hon. Akeem Adeyemi (APC), who succeeded Akinlabi in the House in 2015 and is seeking a fourth term, and Senator Yunus Akintunde (APC), the incumbent Oyo Central senator whom Akinlabi is challenging in 2027. Both received WhatsApp enquiries and follow-up calls but had not responded before this column was completed.

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The Oyo State Government should publish an inventory of its waterworks, detailing installed and operational capacities, water production, household connections, equipment, rehabilitation status and timelines. In November 2019, the Water Corporation reported 22 waterworks to the State House of Assembly, claiming 12 were functioning. Yet in a February 2020 Nigerian Tribune interview, the same official identified only 14. What explains the discrepancy, and how many supply water to households today? Governor (Engr.) Seyi Makinde, as you seek Nigeria’s presidency under the APM’s “Reset Nigeria” agenda, how can you promise to rebuild national institutions when Oyo State’s Water Corporation has yet to demonstrate reliable service delivery?

Hidden prices of Nigeria’s water crisis

Across Nigeria, households dig wells, drill boreholes, install pumps and tanks, and purchase generators or solar equipment. Many depend on sachet or bottled water. These are the costs of failing public water systems, alongside environmental and contamination risks from unregulated groundwater extraction.

As affluent households abandon public water for private boreholes, water corporations lose paying customers and maintenance revenue. Services deteriorate, leaving poorer households unable to afford alternatives and exposed to unsafe water. WHO/UNICEF estimates for 2024 put safely managed drinking-water access at just 30 per cent in Nigeria, compared with 80 per cent in Morocco, 79 per cent in Egypt, 68 per cent in South Africa, 63 per cent in Botswana and 43 per cent in Ghana.  Singapore combines catchments, imported water, desalination and recycled water through integrated institutions. Denmark offers another model: more than 95 per cent of its population receives drinking water from approximately 2,600 public utilities, many locally operated.

Natural water is a resource. Safe drinking water is an engineered public service.

A call for restoration

Restoration must begin with an asset audit. Every state should assess its dams, treatment plants, pumps and distribution networks, and publish a costed ten-year recovery plan. A World Bank assessment estimated Nigeria’s water, sanitation and hygiene investment needs at $30 billion over six years—approximately $5 billion annually. Engineering surveys must establish current requirements.

States should operate viable water utilities, supported by local governments and communities in rural areas. A federal Water Infrastructure Recovery Fund should provide matching finance tied to independently verified water quality, reliability, leakage reduction and new household connections. Every project must include funded maintenance, sustainable cost recovery and safeguards for low-income households.

I remember households making contributions to maintain the public tap outside our compound. Even then, we understood that shared infrastructure required shared responsibility.

A society without collective infrastructure

Nigeria’s water crisis mirrors its electricity crisis. But a nation cannot build prosperity by requiring every family to become its own water utility and electricity provider. Individual ingenuity cannot substitute for public institutions. We must rediscover the value of collective provision. Water and electricity should not depend on a household’s ability to finance its own infrastructure. Government must provide reliable services, while citizens share responsibility for sustaining them. A borehole may solve a family’s water problem, and solar panels its electricity problem. Neither, by itself, builds a functioning society.

As a six-year-old boy returning from school, I knew nothing about reservoirs, treatment chemistry or public budgets. I only knew that I could reach the tap in front of our compound, cup my palms and drink clean water. That simple privilege was made possible by collective infrastructure.

We owe future generations more than memories of functioning public services. We owe them the water we once drank.