Consider this: Right inside the major car park on inner Marina on Lagos Island, stretching from directly opposite the UBA Headquarters Building to the Old Kingsway Building (just before Oando gas station), is a public toilet.

Five years ago, it had eight pit latrines and four urinaries. The stench oozing forth from inside is better left for the imagination. The methane effluvium from the pits is unmistakably hazardous as it stings the nose.

The handler sits by its entrance, in the midst of area boys and car wash attendants.

There is also, just by the entrance, a barber who plies his trade. From time to time, buckets of water are moved in to either wash the always very wet and dingy floor or flush human waste. It used to cost just N100 for a turn. Today, the same place looks tolerably passable to meet an immediate need to ease self. Yet, it is still not a place you want to spend more than a minute because of the stench. To do anything there – including bathing – costs N200.

Rain and faeces shouldn’t mix
When the rain falls in Lagos, it does not just bring water. It washes (human) wastes from drains, gutters, roadsides and open dumps into homes, markets and waterways.

Nigeria’s open defecation crisis is not just a sanitation problem; it is a public-health emergency, an environmental hazard and a stain on the country’s development image. In community after community, the absence of safe, affordable toilets pushes people to riverbanks, drains, bushes and vacant plots, with dangerous consequences that return when rain falls and floodwater carries human waste back into homes, streets and water sources.

A sobering scale
The scale is sobering. National monitoring, World Health Organization and UNICEF-linked reporting show that millions of Nigerians still practise open defecation, even as the country has repeatedly pledged to end it.

The burden is not evenly spread.

Some states and local government areas have made visible progress, while others remain trapped in a cycle of poor sanitation, weak enforcement, poverty and inadequate infrastructure.

Behind every percentage point are families who have no toilet, settlements where public facilities are absent or broken, and children exposed daily to diseases that should have been prevented decades ago.

In many Nigerian communities, the problem is easier to see after rainfall. Waste deposited in open places does not stay there. It is washed into gutters, creeks, ponds and low-lying streets, where it contaminates water sources and deepens the public-health risk.

In flood-prone areas, the danger is even more severe: residents wade through polluted water, children play in it, and households are forced to live in an environment where the line between drainage and disease has all but disappeared. What should be a basic human necessity has instead become one of the country’s most stubborn development failures.

Health experts have been warning
Health experts have long warned that open defecation fuels diarrhoea, cholera, typhoid, intestinal worms and other faecal-oral diseases. The impact is heaviest on children under five, whose immune systems are weaker and whose exposure to contaminated environments is often greater. The result is missed school days, avoidable medical expenses, lost productivity and, in too many cases, death.

Beyond the household level, communities pay a broader price through polluted waterways, degraded surroundings and the erosion of public confidence in the state’s ability to provide even the most basic services.

Not just behaviour but access

Yet the crisis is not merely about behaviour. It is also about access. A person cannot use what does not exist. Across much of Nigeria, public toilets are too few, badly maintained or located far from the people who need them. In some YET, consider this: Right inside the major car park on inner Marina on Lagos Island, stretching from directly opposite the UBA Headquarters Building to the Old Kingsway Building (just before Oando gas station), is a public toilet. Five years ago, it had eight pit latrines and four urinaries. The stench oozing forth from inside is better left for the imagination. The methane effluvium from the pits is unmistakably hazardous as it stings the nose. The handler sits by its entrance, in the midst of area boys and car wash attendants.

There is also, just by the entrance, a barber who plies his trade. From time to time, buckets of water are moved in to either wash the always very wet and dingy floor or flush human waste. It used to cost just N100 for a turn. Today, the same place looks tolerably passable to meet an immediate need to ease self. Yet, it is still not a place you want to spend more than a minute because of the stench. To do anything there – including bathing – costs N200 Rain and faeces shouldn’t mix When the rain falls in Lagos, it does not just bring water. It washes (human) wastes from drains, gutters, roadsides and open dumps into homes, markets and waterways.

Nigeria’s open defecation crisis is not just a sanitation problem; it is a public-health emergency, an environmental hazard and a stain on the country’s development image. In community after community, the absence of safe, affordable toilets pushes people to riverbanks, drains, bushes and vacant plots, with dangerous consequences that return when rain falls and floodwater carries human waste back into homes, streets and water sources. A sobering scale The scale is sobering. National monitoring, World Health Organization and UNICEFlinked reporting show that millions of Nigerians still practise open defecation, even as the country has repeatedly pledged to end it.

The burden is not evenly spread. Some states and local government areas have made visible progress, while others remain trapped in a cycle of poor sanitation, weak enforcement, poverty and inadequate infrastructure. Behind every percentage point are families who have no toilet, settlements where public facilities are absent or broken, and children exposed daily to diseases that should have been prevented decades ago. In many Nigerian communities, the problem is easier to see after rainfall. Waste deposited in open places does not stay there. It is washed into gutters, creeks, ponds and low-lying streets, where it contaminates water sources and deepens the public-health risk.

In flood-prone areas, the danger is even more severe: residents wade through polluted water, children play in it, and households are forced to live in an environment where the line between drainage and disease has all but disappeared. What should be a basic human necessity has instead become one of the country’s most stubborn development failures. Health experts have been warning Health experts have long warned that open defecation fuels diarrhoea, cholera, typhoid, intestinal worms and other faecal-oral diseases. The impact is heaviest on children under five, whose immune systems are weaker and whose exposure to contaminated environments is often greater. The result is missed school days, avoidable medical expenses, lost productivity and, in too many cases, death. Beyond the household level, communities pay a broader price through polluted waterways, degraded surroundings and the erosion of public confidence in the state’s ability to provide even the most basic services.

People behind the problem
Statistics matter, but stories make the crisis real. A market woman on Lagos Island, Mosunmola Alawiye, says she closes shop early on some nights because the nearest public toilet is unsafe after dark. She would rather hold it in than walk through a dark, dirty passage where anything can happen. In a riverine community in Bayelsa State, a mother of five, Stella Ndutimi, who has watched floodwater push human wastes into her house knows the fear that comes with every rainy season. The dirty water does not just stain the floor; it carries sickness into the home.

The human cost
The human cost is visible in the everyday language of the streets. An ‘area boy’ at Mile 2, Lagos, Sakiru Olubo, aka, Olusaki, describes the idea of paying to defecate as an insult. He asked: “How I go pay for shit?” The remark, though crude, captures a larger truth: sanitation policy cannot succeed if it ignores culture, dignity and purchasing power. People must be persuaded, supported and enabled, not merely blamed. When the poor are asked to pay for a service that the state has failed to provide adequately, the outcome is predictable.

State Governments
State governments, to their credit, are not entirely inactive. Several have joined the federal Clean Nigeria campaign, introduced sanitation drives, and participated in community-led efforts to declare local government areas open-defecation-free.

In parts of the North, some states have made notable progress through a mix of community mobilisation, local enforcement and toilet construction. Elsewhere, sanitation officers, health educators and traditional institutions have been used to push awareness and compliance.

Uneven progress
But progress remains uneven. Too many state actions are episodic, tied to campaigns, visits or official deadlines, rather than sustained by long-term funding and maintenance. Some toilets are built and abandoned. Others are commissioned with fanfare and then rendered unusable by poor water supply, broken doors, lack of security or absence of caretakers.

Verification exercises are useful, but verification without maintenance quickly becomes paperwork.
The real test is whether families can use a clean, safe public toilet every day, in the morning, at night, in the dry season and in the flood season.

Sustainable interventions
If Nigeria is serious about stopping open defecation, the response must be broader than slogans and raids. First, there must be massive investment in public toilets, especially in markets, motor parks, informal settlements, riverine communities and densely populated urban areas. These facilities must be designed for real use: accessible, well-lit, gender-sensitive, child-friendly and maintained with water, soap and waste disposal systems. A toilet that is unsafe after dark or dirty during the day is no toilet at all.

Second, the financing model must be realistic. User-fee systems may help sustain maintenance, but they cannot be the only model in a country where poverty is widespread. Public toilets in poor communities should be subsidised. Light public toilets properly.

Safety is sanitation.
A toilet that is dark, hidden or dangerous at night is effectively unusable.

Cross-subsidy arrangements can be used, where busier commercial areas help fund toilets in low-income neighbourhoods.

Local governments can also partner with private operators, cooperatives, community associations and philanthropists, provided there is strict oversight and transparency.

Third, there must be stronger advocacy and reorientation. Open defecation is not merely “bad behaviour”; it is often a response to lack of options. Public campaigns should therefore focus on health, dignity and responsibility, while also confronting harmful attitudes that normalise filth and environmental neglect. Schools, religious leaders, market unions, transport workers, youth groups and traditional rulers should be part of the campaign.

Behaviour change works best when communities see that government is doing its own part.

In addition, law enforcement must be firm but fair. Sanitation by-laws should be implemented, but punishment without alternatives will only deepen resentment.

Fines can work only where safe and affordable toilets exist. In some cases, community service may be a more effective response than cash penalties. What matters is consistency and credibility. A law that is never enforced is no law at all; a law that targets the poor without providing facilities is a bad policy.

Furthermore, Nigeria must treat street lighting as part of sanitation infrastructure. This may sound unusual, but it is practical. Many people fear to use toilets in the darkest part of town, the cover of darkness, toilets are far away, dark or unsafe. Lighting around public facilities, footpaths, markets and neighbourhoods will improve access, reduce fear and make toilet use more feasible after dark. Sanitation policy should not ignore how safety intersects with dignity.

Finally, Nigeria needs more honest conversations about dignity. To defecate is human. To defecate in the open because the system has failed is not a moral weakness of the poor; it is a policy failure of the state.

The country cannot hope to end open defecation by 2030 without treating sanitation as a basic right, not a luxury. That means toilets in the right places, at the right price, managed properly and supported by public trust.

The call to action is simple but urgent: build more toilets, fix the ones that exist, dislodge access for the poor, enforce the law responsibly, and keep the conversation alive with sanitation becoming a standard of citizenship rather than a privilege of class.

Nigeria has talked about ending open defecation for years. What remains is the harder task of turning promises into pipes, plans into practice, and shame into change.

What works elsewhere
There are signs that change is possible. Some local governments and communities that have been declared open-defecation-free succeeded not because they had perfect budgets, but because they combined community mobilisation, traditional and religious figures, and practical toilet access.

That matters because it shows the solution is not only technical. It is social. When people believe the system is real, safe and dignified, they use it.

The Clean Nigeria campaign has also helped keep the issue visible, reminding people it is not enough to erect toilets; the real test is whether households, schools, markets and motor parks can actually use clean public toilets every day.

What citizens can do
The public should not be left out of the solution. Citizens can report broken public toilets and overflowing waste points to their local government.

Market associations and business owners can sponsor toilets and help maintain them. Government must budget for maintenance, not only commissioning.

These are simple actions, but together they can shift the culture from neglect to responsibility.

A cleaner future
By 2030, no Nigerian should have to wade through waste to get to school. No trader should have to close shop early because the nearest toilet is unsafe.

That future will not happen by accident. It starts this year with practical choices: build toilets where people are, support access in poor communities, and treat sanitation as a basic human need, not an afterthought.

Source: Vanguard