Shadows and Sparks: Stories of Energy and Survival After the Flood

During my fieldwork in communities in and around Maiduguri, Nigeria, I witnessed firsthand how the floods of September 2024 transformed the daily realities of cooking and safety for displaced families and host communities in Bakasi Camp, Doro Camp, Fori, Gwenge, Dala Lawanti, and Maiduguri. The stories I heard from people living in and the conditions I observed painted a vivid picture of resilience amid adversity, but also of urgent, unmet needs – especially when it came to clean cooking and reliable electricity.

In Bakasi Camp, I met Amina, a mother of four, who described how the simple act of preparing a meal had become fraught with danger. Before the floods, she could gather firewood nearby or buy a small bundle for ₦300–₦500 (around $0.20-30). Prices soared to ₦1,000–₦3,000 ($0.65-2.00) per bundle, and gathering wood meant venturing far from the camp, often for hours. “We walk for hours to collect firewood, and sometimes it’s not safe,” she told me. “There’s always the fear of harassment, or even snake bites, especially for women and children.” The risk is real, and several women recounted similar stories, emphasising how insecurity on these journeys had become a daily source of anxiety.

Inside the camp’s crowded tents, the challenges had multiplied. With firewood and charcoal scarce and expensive, many families resorted to burning plastic or scavenged materials to cook. The smoke from these makeshift fuels filled the shelters, causing coughing, eye irritation, and long-term health risks. “The smoke from firewood worsens my health, and it affects everyone in the household, especially children,” Amina said, echoing concerns I heard throughout the camps.

The lack of electricity compounds these dangers. In Bakasi and Doro Camps, most families relied on solar lamps or torchlights but charging them was a struggle. Commercial charging points were mostly outside the camp, and with limited money, families often had to choose between charging a phone or a lamp. Battery-powered torches were common, but batteries cost ₦200–₦400 ($0.15-30) each and had to be replaced frequently, adding to the financial burden. Some households used locally made lanterns, which were inefficient and required at least two batteries, costing up to ₦4,500 ($3) for the larger models.

Poor lighting in communal areas and along pathways created a pervasive sense of insecurity. One elderly woman in Bakasi Camp shared,

“The darkness in the camp is very unsafe, especially for women and children. Walking to the latrines at night is dangerous because we can’t see, and there’s always a risk of harassment.”

In Fori and Gwenge, the situation is similar. Even before the flood, electricity from the national grid was unreliable and provided just two to three hours of power per day, if at all. Meanwhile, monthly bills for those on the 33 kV line exceeded ₦25,000 ($16), a sum few could afford. Many households instead relied solely on torchlights, and the absence of proper lighting made nighttime movement risky, especially for the most vulnerable people.

In Maiduguri and Dala Lawanti, which were not directly impacted by the floodwaters, the influx of displaced families drove up the cost of firewood and batteries. Many spent a significant portion of their income just to keep a lantern burning for a few hours each night. The lack of safe lighting poses risks, especially for my children. There’s always a fear of fire, accidents, or burns,” one mother of six told me.

What struck me the most was the resilience of these communities, but also their urgent need for clean, safe cooking solutions and reliable electricity. When these needs are not met, every meal and every nightfall will remain shadowed by risk and uncertainty.

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The article is written by Ahmad Ibrahim, Research Associate at UNITAR/GPA.