On Sunday, July 27, 2025, Adamawa State woke up to scenes that residents described as nothing short of apocalyptic. Torrential rainfall, which began as most people slept, transformed calm streets into raging rivers, sweeping away homes, animals, livelihoods, and tragically, lives. As dawn broke over Yola North and Yola South Local Government Areas (LGAs), the full scale of devastation emerged: five confirmed dead, over fifty injured, and hundreds displaced. But beyond the statistics lies a complex web of human stories, systemic failures, and natural forces converging into what experts warn could be a sign of even worse disasters to come.
It began innocently enough. Rain had been predicted, after all, and July in Adamawa often brings downpours. But this night was different. The rain started before 1 a.m., steadily intensifying until, by 3 a.m., floodwaters had broken through walls and surged into homes in communities like Sabon Pegi, Yolde Pate, Shagari Low Cost, Modire, and the Ibunu Abbas area along Yola Bypass.
Pam Bature, an eyewitness in Shagari, recalls the moment panic set in: “We heard screams and saw houses submerged. We carried what we could, but water was everywhere.” By the time dawn broke, entire families had lost everything.
For Jared Enock, a resident of Sabon Pegi, the nightmare began with a loud thud. “It was my wall collapsing,” he said. “Water surged into the house with incredible force. I grabbed my children, and just after we escaped, the living room gave way, taking all our belongings.” Jared lost not only household items but also livestock, chickens and rabbits that helped sustain his family. “But I thank God my family made it out alive,” he added, his voice cracking.
While the rain was the immediate trigger, experts and residents agree the disaster had been years in the making. Dr. Yusuf Idris Garba, an environmental management expert at Bayero University, Kano, pointed to the undeniable impact of climate change. “Erratic rainfall and extreme weather are increasingly common,” he noted, “and communities are simply not prepared.”
Deforestation, soil encroachment, and unregulated urban development have left the land unable to absorb water, turning heavy rain into lethal floods. Sabon Pegi resident Emmanuel Andrawus Jalo blamed houses built on drainage paths: “Water had nowhere to go but into our homes.”
Another dimension adds urgency: the proximity of Adamawa to the Benue River and the history of flooding worsened by water releases from the Lagdo Dam in Cameroon. Though the 2025 flood was driven by rain, previous floods, including the 2022 disaster that affected 260,000 people, were amplified by dam releases. Despite Cameroon providing early warnings, many residents in flood-prone zones refuse or are unable to relocate, often citing poverty and the lack of alternative shelter.
This year wasn’t the first time Adamawa faced such a disaster, but for many, it was the worst they could remember. Residents of Yolde Pate and Shagari described water levels rising to windows and beyond, collapsing walls and sweeping away food, clothes, and animals. The Adamawa State Government had previously identified high-risk LGAs, including Yola North and Yola South, and NEMA had conducted flood awareness campaigns as recently as May 2025. Yet when the rain came, the same familiar pattern played out: communities overwhelmed, infrastructure buckling under pressure, and rescue efforts struggling to keep up.
A resident of Ibunu Abbas, along the Yola Bypass, described how floodwaters cut off roads, making rescue nearly impossible. “We saw police and Red Cross vehicles, but some turned back because they couldn’t access the area,” he recounted.
Beyond numbers lie human tragedies that linger long after floodwaters recede. In Modibbo Adama University Teaching Hospital, over 50 people received treatment for injuries ranging from fractures to infections. Among the dead were children, and though officials confirmed five deaths, residents fear the real toll could be higher, as some bodies were recovered by local volunteers rather than authorities.
Economic loss is harder to calculate but equally devastating. Farmlands around Yola North and Yola South were submerged, threatening food supplies in a state already battling rising food prices. Traders at local markets lost stock to the floodwaters, and many small businesses remain shuttered. For families like Jared Enock’s, who also kept animals for food and income, recovery will be slow and uncertain.
Health risks loom large too. Stagnant floodwaters, contaminated wells, and overflowing latrines set the stage for potential outbreaks of cholera and other waterborne diseases. In 2022, a similar flood led to over 7,000 cholera cases and 319 deaths in northeastern Nigeria, a grim reminder of what could follow if urgent measures aren’t taken.
The Adamawa State Government has set up temporary camps at Aliyu Mustapha College and Fatudde Girei Secondary School, offering displaced residents a place to stay. Relief materials, including food and basic medical supplies, have been distributed, and Deputy Governor Prof. Kaletapwa Farauta visited affected communities, promising further support.
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Yet frustration runs deep. Many residents criticized what they see as a slow and inadequate response. As of late July, the Adamawa State Emergency Management Agency (ADSEMA) had yet to release an official statement. Nationally, the Federal Government had already issued a red alert for flooding in 11 states, including Adamawa, but local preparedness fell short of expectations.
Community leaders are calling for more than temporary fixes: “We can’t keep blaming rainfall every year. The government must investigate and fix the real problems: blocked drainages, poor planning, and building on waterways.”
Adamawa’s vulnerability didn’t happen overnight. Experts point to years of neglect: inadequate drainage systems, deforestation, unplanned urban expansion, and delayed policy reforms. With climate change accelerating, these structural weaknesses make each rainy season a gamble.
The situation is worsened by poverty. Many residents can’t afford to move out of flood-prone areas. And even if they could, suitable housing is scarce. Jared Enock’s family, now temporarily staying with relatives, has no clear plan for rebuilding: “We don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” he admitted.
Experts and residents alike are united on what needs to happen. First, Adamawa must invest in robust drainage and enforce laws to stop building on water channels. Second, afforestation and soil conservation must become central to land management, helping the land absorb water rather than shed it.
Urban planning reforms are overdue, ensuring new developments don’t increase flood risk. At the same time, early warning systems need upgrades so residents can get timely evacuation alerts. Finally, Nigeria and Cameroon must strengthen cross-border cooperation over the Lagdo Dam, as upstream releases can devastate communities downstream if poorly timed.
NEMA and the Adamawa State Government also need to prioritize education and long-term relocation plans for communities most at risk—a challenging but necessary step to protect lives.
As one exhausted resident of Shagari put it: “This flood was swift, unforgiving, and merciless.” It’s a haunting summary of a disaster that was partly predictable and largely preventable. The Adamawa floods of 2025 aren’t just a story of rain, they’re a story of systemic failure, human resilience, and a stark warning that without bold action, worse could come.
The question now is not whether another flood will come, but whether Adamawa, and Nigeria as a whole, will finally be ready.
