Lagos Waste Crisis, One Year Later: When Government Failure Turns Citizens Into Culprits
By: Kehinde Kenku
Last year, I called it a waste war. It felt dramatic at the time, but it was honest. Lagos was battling refuse, and both the government and the people had their share of blame. Residents needed to act better. The Lagos State Government, through LAWMA and its operators, needed to fix access, improve communication, and be consistent. Simple.
Now it’s 2026. And here I am again. Writing about the same thing. Only this time, patience is thinner.
Because nothing has really changed. In some places, it’s worse. And if we’re being sincere, the weight of responsibility has shifted. It no longer sits evenly between citizens and government. It sits heavily on the government’s table.
Last year, officials insisted trucks were deployed. Announcements were made. They said residents didn’t cooperate. That people were careless. That argument sounded convenient then. It sounds hollow now.
In my community and nearby areas, waste has not been collected for almost six months. Six whole months. Not a delay. Not a temporary breakdown. Just silence.
I called. Twice. Asked why the trucks stopped coming. The answer was blunt, almost casual: there is nowhere to dump the waste.
The landfill near Alimosho, around Igando General Hospital, is full. Completely filled. The alternative site is said to be somewhere in Badagry. Too far, operators say. Too expensive. Not sustainable for regular trips.
So what happens? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Meanwhile, refuse gathers in homes. Bags stack up behind gates. Flies multiply. The same diseases we are warned about — cholera, malaria, respiratory infections — begin to feel less like statistics and more like looming threats.
And then something shifts.
People start dumping at bus stops. On road medians. By the roadside. Not out of recklessness, but out of frustration. When a system leaves no lawful path, it quietly pushes people toward the unlawful one.
Even I, someone who advocates for climate responsibility, have been forced into compromise. I now pay informal collectors — the “abokis” — to take my waste away. Where it ends up, I truly don’t know. And that ignorance is part of the problem.
A functioning system shouldn’t force law-abiding residents into moral grey areas. Yet here we are.
Can we still blame the citizens?
The pattern is familiar. Government action often comes when embarrassment becomes public. When videos trend. When refuse blocks major highways. When outrage is loud enough. Inside estates and inner streets, however, there’s quiet neglect.
Yes, Obalende bridge and its surroundings were recently cleared. The area is expected to transform into a structured transport hub known as Y’ELLO Bus Park. That’s commendable. Truly. But governance cannot be selective. Cleaning one visible corridor while ten hidden streets overflow is not policy. It is optics.
And then there’s the climate conversation.
There are speeches about sustainability. Panels on climate action. Statements about environmental leadership. Yet the most basic environmental function — routine waste disposal — remains broken. It feels contradictory. Almost ironic.
How do you preach climate resilience while residents are drowning in refuse?
This is no longer about unwilling citizens. Many of us are ready to pay. Ready to comply. Ready to partner. But compliance requires structure. It requires infrastructure. It requires somewhere to dump the waste.
So the questions for 2026 are not complicated. They are urgent.
What is being done about new landfill sites?
What long-term infrastructure is being built for a city that keeps expanding?
Where is the sustainable waste management roadmap?
Until those answers move beyond press briefings and into visible action, the cycle continues. The piles grow. The articles repeat themselves.
And sadly, the biggest obstacle to solving the Lagos waste crisis may remain the very authority entrusted to fix it.
