“The deep rottenness of Nigeria’s political system threatens all the economic gains this giant country has made.”
“Big men, big fraud and big trouble.” The Economist, 18 April 2007
KANO, NIGERIA – The press criticized Nigeria’s first election to transfer one democratic government to another, but it missed the larger, and arguably more exciting political story: a quiet revolution in how water is governed transparently.
Dr. Muslim Idris sits on the coordinating committee of the Green political party. His candidates ran for office but were crushed by the ruling People’s Democratic Party. Yet in another field, facing higher odds, he might just win.
Under democracies and dictatorships alike, social unrest crackled over a shrinking river and exploding population. Droughts alternated with deluge, and humans tripled from 10 to 30 million in two decades. “You cannot imagine the scale of the conflict,” said Idris.
Cattle herders and farmers clashed with each other in villages, with hundreds of violent incidents each year. But the worst part, he said, was state governments’ inability to cope within and between departments: the River Basin development Authorities, the State Agricultural Agencies and the Local Government Authorities ignored each other.
“Yobe state had to drive upstream to Kano to see what is happening with the water resources they shared, and complain about the wrong volume of flows at the wrong time. Accusations flew. Everyone said ‘it wasn’t our fault.’ Politics became debilitating.”
At some point, water priorities overtook paralysis. “The governors of the six states were sensitized to understand the water stress and displacement problems within the basin and couldn’t neglect it,” said Idris. “In my own state, Jigawa, a senator refused to do anything about water, so his community constituents came to beat him up.[A similar incident was reported in Yobe] He escaped, but the message came through to all.”
That message was the urgent need to collaborate on the linked pressures related to the Komadugu Yobe River, shared by all six states. A vague vision for the basin had been taking shape for years, but it took the two-year- KYB project to crystallize the institutional framework into an Integrated Water Resources Management Committee.
All six states contributed equally to a shared Trust Fund, and two trustees – one technical and one policy, plus three national members from Abuja (water, environment and agriculture) – to oversee the disciplined investments of the funds into coordinated river basin restoration. In a nation often accused of corruption, one might worry that the funds would be siphoned off, or vanish, but the IWRM committee is not only transparent; it has checks and balances and oversight embedded in its function.
The basin-wide scale was appropriate to the need; the power was apportioned to the funds that each stakeholder raised. The members can represent the communities and act through the states, with federal support where necessary. All parties have oversight of each other.
“In the whole country there is no integrated water management like this KYB basin,” boasts Idris, with some justification: in the southwest part of the country, Cross River is trying to copy the KYB model, seeking to apply its strategy. “Because everyone is on board and everyone is integrated. Like this one. We understand our issues publicly.”
But understanding the issues was half the battle. To end the shrugging, finger-pointing paralysis of the past, the KYB project ensured everyone understands their obligations, too.
That meant painstakingly drafting a Water Charter, which was to the KYB what a Constitution is to the nation. “The Charter specifies everyone’s roles so there is no conflict. The community will have their responsibilities. IWRMs will have their own. It is not possible to avoid responsibilities without rights and roles.” But the IWRM wanted the Charter the most, said Idris, “since we are the ones caught in between the community and the bigger technocrats higher up.”
What this amounts to is a quiet shift in clarity and clout. “In the past,” says Idris, IWRMs existed in name only. “They had no power to do anything. You can talk but no one will listen to you.”
But things have changed, fast and, he thinks, for the better. Already the conflict has reduced from hundreds to barely a dozen. Reform is taking place on the ground, inside the agencies, and on the river, with funds waiting, earmarked for action.
There is a sense of hope for Idris, even as the Greens pull down their faded campaign posters. “Now,” he says with a smile, “now you can come in and get things done.”
Written by Jamie Workman