Author: The Nation

Managing Director of Lokoja Dialogue, Mrs. Polly Alakija explores the mission and vision of a burgeoning initiative aimed at transforming Nigeria’s water crisis into an engine for economic growth. Through an extensive conversation, we look into the organization’s unique “bottom-up” approach to policy and its commitment to community-led solutions. Assistant Editor, Nduka Chiejina reports

In the heart of Nigeria, where the Great Niger and the Benue rivers meet, lies a symbol of abundance that has, for decades, masked a harsh reality. While the country is often described as water-rich, millions of its citizens remain trapped in a cycle of poverty fueled by a lack of access to clean and usable water. This paradox is the driving force behind a new initiative seeking to bridge the gap between policy and the person on the street.

Mrs. Polly Alakija, the Managing Director of Lokoja Dialogue, is not interested in the traditional, top-down approach to development. Speaking from her office, she outlines a vision that is as much about listening as it is about engineering. For Alakija, the solution to Nigeria’s water crisis does not lie solely in the hallowed halls of government ministries, but in the resilient, entrepreneurial spirit of the rural communities that feel the brunt of the crisis every day.

“We have two goals,” Alakija explains. “One goal is policy recommendations—interrogating where we are with the governance frameworks we need to break the poverty cycle brought on by lack of water access. The second is identifying implementable, scalable, bankable solutions for communities.”

The Lokoja Dialogue, recently launched at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, enters a space where talk is often cheap and implementation is rare. Alakija is acutely aware of the skepticism that follows new NGOs and policy think-tanks. Her strategy to combat this is a four-step process centered on what she calls “bottom-up intelligence.”

The Listening Project: Intelligence from the Grassroots

Central to the Lokoja Dialogue’s methodology is the “Listening Project.” Rather than arriving in a village with a pre-packaged solution, the team embeds itself within the community to hear their genuine challenges. However, entering these spaces requires more than just good intentions; it requires the blessing of those who hold the keys to the community.

“Our gatekeepers to the communities are vital,” Alakija says. “They are our traditional fathers and rulers. We have three patrons: the Emir of Argungu, the Alake of Egbaland, and the Olu of Warri. The Emir of Argungu is particularly key; he is a water engineer by training, with a background in dam management. These leaders validate us, they give us access, and thereafter we embed ourselves to hear what the challenge is, not just from the gatekeepers, but from the communities themselves.”

This approach acknowledges a fundamental truth that many development projects overlook: a sustainable solution is one that the community itself invests in. Alakija is firm on the idea that “free lunches” are a thing of the past in the development world. If a community does not believe in a solution enough to invest their own time, resources, or effort into it, the project is destined to fail.

“The keys to any solution must be with the community,” she asserts. “When people understand you are there to listen, they are ready to talk. Our challenge then is that we must deliver, because we have raised an expectation. The proof will be in the pudding over the next few months.”

Breaking the Silos: The WEFE Nexus

The “Dialogue” in the organization’s name refers to a series of working groups held under Chatham House rules. These sessions bring together ten to fifteen subject matter experts from academia, the public sector, the private sector, and the communities themselves. They interrogate challenges and case studies to see what might actually work on the ground.

The framework guiding these discussions is known as the “WEFE Nexus,” an acronym standing for Water, Energy, Food Security, and Ecosystems. It is a trans-sectoral approach already gaining traction in countries like Egypt and Morocco, but one that Alakija believes is sorely needed in Nigeria.

Read Also: FG, states, councils share ₦1.969tr December revenue at FAAC meeting

“At the moment, our water governance space tends to be somewhat siloed,” Alakija notes. “You do irrigation, you do water transportation—we have these little silos and we are not collaborating effectively. WEFE is a way to integrate an approach across sectors. Water is trans-sectoral. We need to start seeing our governance structures through that lens.”

At the launch, the presence of representatives from the ministries of Budget and Planning, Finance, Water Resources, and Foreign Affairs served as a testament to this integrated vision. Alakija argues that you cannot talk about food security without talking about water, and you cannot talk about water without discussing the energy required to move it.

The Human Cost of a Changing Climate

While the policy discussions are vital, the urgency of the Lokoja Dialogue is driven by the visible, devastating effects of climate change, particularly in Northern Nigeria. Alakija speaks with a sense of mourning for the landscapes she once knew.

“If you go into a community and talk about ‘climate change,’ it is not relevant to them,” she says. “Their reality is here and now, and that reality is a lack of access to water for irrigation and economic empowerment. If you have no water to farm, you won’t have the prosperity needed for WASH (Water, Sanitation, and Hygiene) facilities. It is a chicken-and-egg situation.”

She points to Lake Chad as the most “obvious illustration” of the crisis. The lake has shrunk to a mere ten percent of its size from forty years ago. This is not just a geographical shift; it is a human catastrophe. The drying of the lake and the shrinking of wetlands like those in Nguru have dismantled ancient ecosystems where fishing, herding, and farming once existed in a delicate balance.

“The women in those communities talk about their husbands historically being fishermen,” Alakija shares. “They say that now the fishing is much reduced, their husbands go to fish elsewhere, and quite often, they don’t come back. The women talk about being abandoned. They aren’t even widows, because the husbands say they are going to find water elsewhere, but there is no other water for a long way. One can only imagine where they are going to find a livelihood.”

In the Northwest, the story is similar. The Emir of Argungu has shared stories of a time when the skies were filled with migratory birds and the rivers were so rich that fish would literally fall from the trees where birds nested. Today, those skies are silent. The rivers have become stagnant ponds, and the soil in parts of Kebbi State looks like “burnt toast.”

“The soil is depleted,” Alakija describes. “There are barely any trees. It is dust. To eke anything out of that soil, you have to use artificial fertilizers which might bring a crop this year but mean your soil is burnt for next year. Farmers are now doing migratory farming, moving to Niger State to find viable land. They are just carrying the problem with them.”

The Water Paradox: Abundance Amidst Scarcity

The central irony that the Lokoja Dialogue seeks to address is that Nigeria possesses immense freshwater resources. The problem is not a lack of water, but a lack of management and education.

“Nigeria is one of the African countries with the most freshwater,” Alakija says. “It is just not right there where the community is. There are places around the world that have turned their deserts into farming land. It can be done. It is not even complicated technology; it is about education and maintenance.”

She cites a conversation with an ambassador of a country that successfully reclaimed its desert: “I asked what the number one action they took was, and he said ‘education.’ People need to understand about managing their water resources—what you can do and what you can’t.”

Alakija points to the “pincushion” effect of NGOs sinking boreholes across the country. “How many NGOs train people in that community to maintain that borehole? They do not. They sink it and leave. A year later, it breaks down. For every one borehole working, there are probably three that are not. We need to go and fix what is there and build capacity to maintain it. It’s not complicated; it’s water in a pipe and a few pumps.”

Empowering the Real Problem Solvers: The Women

When it comes to implementation, Alakija’s “number one go-to” is women’s organizations. Drawing from her experience with education NGOs, she has seen firsthand the resilience and entrepreneurial capacity of rural women.

“In my experience, these women in rural communities are so entrepreneurial and resilient,” she says. “They can problem-solve like nobody else. There is an inherent bias that a rural woman is uneducated and therefore can’t implement programs. But if you have lived in those communities for 48 hours and survived, you are a problem solver. If they can feed their families in those conditions, they are ready to help implement a program.”

The Lokoja Dialogue plans to tap into the existing self-organized networks of women across the country. Alakija believes that by training these women and giving them the tools to manage water resources, the “community gap” in governance can finally be closed.

Policy Gaps and the Conflict Crisis

On the policy front, the challenges are equally steep. The National Water Bill has been stuck in a bottleneck since it was first drafted in 2020. Alakija questions whether a bill drafted four years ago is even fit for purpose today, given how rapidly the geopolitical and demographic realities have changed.

“When it was drafted, we didn’t have the same level of conflicts bubbling up around lack of access to water,” she notes. “Boko Haram wasn’t even the same thing then. We are now beset with conflict issues over access to water. Sub-Saharan Africa is feeling the brunt of both natural climate cycles and man-made effects.”

The clashes between herders and farmers, while complex, often boil down to the most basic necessity. “These cows need water to drink,” Alakija says simply. “If your lake dries up, you are going to go to where the water is. We all would, no matter your background. We need a strategy that is regional and trans-boundary, because this issue doesn’t stop at Nigeria’s borders. It involves Chad, Niger, and Benin Republic.”

Education: The DNA of Water Management

For Alakija, the long-term solution lies in changing the “DNA” of how Nigerians interact with water, starting with children. This was a key theme at the organization’s launch, which featured a significant presence of young people.

“Nigeria has this water paradox, but even countries without our resources manage their water reality by taking basic measures,” she explains. “We need to understand how to manage our water better.”

She gives the example of “efficient irrigation.” Often, when a community gets a pump, it gushes water everywhere, wasting the majority of the resource. Education can teach farmers how to get water directly to the plant, allowing them to grow more with less.

Similarly, she points to the basic habit of water storage. “Children fetch water and tip it into a bigger tank that hasn’t been cleaned in five years. They use that same water for cooking, drinking, and washing. We teach children to keep one clean keg specifically for drinking water—straight from the well to the keg. Don’t drink from the tank. These are basic things that prevent waterborne diseases and make a heap of difference.”

A Five-Year Vision

Looking ahead, Alakija is focused on tangible impact. In three to five years, she hopes to move beyond ideas to a portfolio of successful projects that have transformed community economies.

“I want us to see that by five years’ time, I’m showing you the impact,” she says. “We would measure success in terms of economic activity for communities. This is about providing economic resilience and breaking the poverty cycle through water access.”

On the policy side, her goal is more collaborative: “I hope we can help shape strategies that are more trans-sectoral—less about working in silos and more about working together to fill that community gap.”

As the Lokoja Dialogue prepares to send out field evaluation teams in January and February to pilot its first set of ideas, the eyes of many will be on this unique confluence of traditional leadership, technical expertise, and community engagement. In a land of two great rivers, the hope is that the flow of water will finally lead to a flow of prosperity for all.

“We have to rekindle that connect with our communities,” Alakija concludes. “Our patrons—the Emir, the Alake, and the Olu—are there to keep us in check and remind us of our mandate. We have to serve our communities. That is the only way forward.”

A Royal Mandate for Change

Crucial to this mission is the support of traditional leadership. The Emir of Argungu, Alhaji Sama’Il Mohammed Mera, who serves as a patron for Lokoja Dialogue, provides a poignant perspective on why this initiative is different. As a water engineer by training, the Emir understands the technicalities, but as a ruler, he feels the human cost.

The Emir observes that Alakija has used the universal language of art to tell the difficult story of climate change, specifically the profound impact that human activities, such as mega-dams, have had on Argungu and its environs.

“The disruption of our ancient river systems and the total decimation of our wetlands and the biodiversity they used to support is a story that needs to be told, and you are giving it a canvas and a voice,” the Emir says. “For this, you have my deepest respect and the gratitude of my people.”

The Emir’s involvement signifies a shift from abstract policy to localized action. He expresses great admiration for Alakija’s decision to cast the first stone of this endeavor not in a distant location, but in the heart of a pressing need: the community of Bachaka, in Arewa Local Government.

“In Bachaka, the relentless search for water is a daily, grinding reality, particularly for our women and children,” the Emir notes. “To spend nearly six hours of every single day—hours that should be spent in school, in productive work, or in rest—searching for a basic human right like drinking water, is a narrative we must change. This is not merely an inconvenience; it is a chain that binds our community to a cycle of poverty and lost potential.”

By choosing Bachaka, the Emir believes Lokoja Dialogue has demonstrated that it is not an organization of lofty words alone, but one of tangible, life-changing action. “You are bringing the promise of the confluence directly to those who need to feel its flow the most,” he says.