NEMA's Flood Aid Reaches Kebbi's Northwest Victims

By Kebbi Daily News on Sat Oct 18 2025

NEMA's Flood Aid Reaches Kebbi's Northwest Victims: A Lifeline That Feels Too Short

Fakai, Kebbi State – Mid-October, under the shade of a makeshift tent in Zuru's outskirts, NEMA officials from the Sokoto Operations Office finally handed out bags of rice and beans to folks hit hard by this year's floods. It was a quiet moment for the families from Zuru, Fakai, Danko-Wasagu, and Sakaba—places where the rains turned everything upside down just a couple of months back. The federal government greenlit the relief, and it's meant to ease the ache for households that lost homes and fields overnight. But as one mom from Fakai told me, clutching a carton of tomato paste, "This feeds us for now, but what happens when the sacks run empty? We've got no seeds left to plant hope for tomorrow."

The handover kicked off on October 15, with NEMA's team, led by Head of Operations Mrs. Zubaida Umar, passing out the basics: rice, beans, maize, oil, paste, salt, and those little seasoning cubes that make a meal feel like home again. They aimed it at over 500 families across these four local government areas, where August's flash floods swallowed villages whole and September's overflows kept the misery going. In Zuru, right on the edge with Niger Republic, the Gari River burst its banks and drowned 1,200 hectares of yam patches—folks there are still picking up the pieces, with 2,000 people bunking in relatives' yards or whatever dry spot they can find. Over in Fakai and Danko-Wasagu, those hilly spots that always catch the worst of it, 800 houses sit in mud up to the eaves. And Sakaba's herders? They've been chasing shadows since losing 5,000 cows and goats to raging streams. Kebbi's these northern pockets crank out 1.5 million tons of grains a year, but this season's wipeout has already shaved off 20%, says the Kebbi State Agricultural Development Project.

Haliru Isah, aide to Rep. Kabir Ibrahim Tukurah, stood in for his boss and couldn't say enough good about the timing. "NEMA and Abuja stepped up when it counted," he said, shaking hands with elders. "These communities were staring down real hardship—kids going hungry, fields turned to swamps. This isn't just food; it's a breather." And yeah, it lands right as the harmattan starts whispering in, that dry wind that makes everything feel a bit more brittle. But let's be real: While the aid hits the spot short-term, it barely scratches the surface of what's brewing here.

You see, these floods in Kebbi aren't some freak one-off—they're what happens when the Sahel's weather goes haywire, year after year. That La Niña thing everyone's talking about? It's cranking up the rains by 20-30%, according to FAO folks, and turning what used to be manageable downpours into monsters that overrun the Sokoto-Rima basin. Throw in dams upriver in Niger Republic letting loose without much heads-up, and you've got water slamming into places like Zuru before anyone can blink. Deforestation doesn't help either—15% of the forests gone since 2015, hacked for farms and fuel, so the soil just lets the runoff race straight to people's doorsteps. And in Danko-Wasagu, where bandits have been stirring trouble since July, families got pushed right into the flood zones during clashes that left soldiers dead and herds scattered. NEMA's own 2024 checkup called out 70% of the state's bridges as ticking time bombs for this exact mess, like those ones that buckled in Dandi back in August, blocking trucks full of help.

It hits people in ways that numbers can't touch. Take these four LGAs, packed with half a million souls mostly scratching out a living from the dirt. The waters claimed 3,000 hectares of cropland, ringing up ₦2 billion in damages that no one's got the cash to fix. Women, who handle 60% of the trading and hauling around here, end up walking miles for clean water, dodging spots where insecurity makes every path feel like a gamble. Kids? They're out of school now, with hunger pushing dropout rates toward 40%—imagine trying to learn when your belly's growling louder than the teacher. Up in Sakaba, the Fulani nomads who roam these parts are hurting bad; no herds means no milk for the little ones, no cash to buy back in. With Kebbi's poverty clocking in at 72%, per the World Bank, one bad season like this tips families into loans they can't climb out of, especially as food prices nationwide are ballooning 33%. It's the same story we saw in 2022, when 1.4 million got chased from their homes—northern states like Kebbi shoulder 25% of that load, and it just keeps feeding the cycle of folks heading to cities or, worse, signing up with the wrong crowds.

The government's been on it, sort of. Back in July, Governor Nasir Idris chipped in ₦50 million for Bunza flood folks, teaming up with NEMA to get blankets and meds out the door. He's been pushing Abuja hard too, calling out shoddy road contracts in Fakai-Sakaba that made the flooding even uglier—those half-built culverts might as well be invitations for more water. NEMA's Sokoto crew had already rolled out aid in Birnin Kebbi and Argungu after July storms, stuffing in mattresses and soap alongside the grub. Come August, the National Economic Council, with VP Kashim Shettima at the helm, unlocked ₦10 billion extra—₦3 billion per state, plus chunks for environment and water ministries. NEMA's big plan for 2025-2029? It's all about early warnings and beefing up state emergency outfits like SEMA, with drills like the one they ran in Dukku LGA that trained 200 locals to spot trouble coming. Director General Zubaida Umar hammered it home on Disaster Risk Day: "We fund toughness, not just the aftermath."

But here's the rub—it's moving slow. Those NEC billions? Only 60% out the door by September's end, tangled in the usual state-federal finger-pointing. And while NEMA's handing out salt packets, the real gaps stare you in the face: No cash handouts like they tried in Niger State's Mokwa floods, which reached way more people than bags of beans ever could. Insecurity's mucking it up too—bandit zones in Danko-Wasagu mean aid trucks need army escorts just to roll in, and relocations? Only 30% of folks are biting, because who trusts a government pamphlet when your roof's caving?

Pull back, and you see Nigeria's whole deal with disasters: We react, we don't prevent. This year's floods have already snuffed out 200 lives countrywide and booted 500,000 from their spots, but the root's in skimpy budgets—0.5% of GDP on adaptation when the world says 2% is the floor. Up in Niger, those Kainji Dam gates swing open without syncing with us, jacking flows 25% last month. And with banditry sucking up troops and cash, prevention takes a backseat. For Kebbi's borderlands—Zuru and Sakaba feeding ₦150 billion into ECOWAS trade with grains heading to Niamey or hides to Benin—any hitch like this jacks up garri by 15% back in Lagos. Climate crystal balls say 30% nastier floods by 2030, which could chase 100,000 more Kebbi families packing if we don't wise up.

So, what's next? Get those Local Emergency Management Committees humming in all 21 LGAs—seed 'em with ₦500 million from the state, so communities can ping alerts on phones like NEMA's flood app. Roads need lifting too: FERMA's eyeing ₦100 billion for the northwest, starting with 50 km in Zuru-Fakai, and yanking contracts from flops. On the farm side, KSADP's ₦2 billion for seeds that laugh at floods could claw back 20% of losses, like they pulled off in Oyo trials. And hey, dust off those old Nigeria-Niger water deals for real-time dam chatter. Federally, make those NEC bucks stick with audits—Shettima's got the mandate, now enforce it.

Out in Zuru, as the sun dips low on those aid tents, Aisha Mohammed sorts her ration, already sketching plots in her head for next planting. "This gets us through the week," she says with a tired smile, "but show us how to keep the water at bay, and we'll build back stronger." NEMA's drop-off buys a few meals, sure, but it's the planning ahead that'll turn survivors into thrivers. In a place like Kebbi, where hope grows from the same soil that floods take, that's the real story we're chasing.