When floodwaters rise across Nigeria, they leave behind more than submerged homes and ruined farmlands. They wash away livelihoods, scatter families, and test the resilience of communities that often have little to fall back on. In these moments, government agencies are judged not by the policies on paper but by the speed and compassion of their interventions. Over the past weeks, the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA), under the leadership of its Director General, Mrs. Zubaida Umar, has been thrust into the heart of this challenge, navigating both the human and logistical complexities of disaster response.
Flooding has become an annual tragedy in Nigeria, cutting across rural and urban divides. From communities in Anambra displaced by river overflows, to families in Adamawa forced out of their homes by heavy rains, the stories carry a common thread of despair. Yet, amid this despair, NEMA’s presence has been visible in the form of relief convoys delivering food, temporary shelter, medical supplies, and even psychosocial support to the displaced. What stands out in the current wave of responses is the effort to ensure not just delivery of items, but delivery with empathy—a feature that many observers attribute to the leadership style of Mrs. Umar.
Relief distribution is not a simple task. It requires navigating difficult terrains, balancing limited resources against overwhelming needs, and often mediating between communities with competing claims of neglect. In Ebonyi, for instance, displaced farmers were not only handed food and shelter kits but were also engaged in discussions about rehabilitation and rebuilding. In Benue, survivors of flash floods received mattresses and essential household materials alongside the standard food rations. These gestures may seem small in the grand scheme of things, but for families who lost nearly everything, they represent a crucial bridge between despair and hope.
It is also important to recognize the symbolism of these interventions. In a country where public institutions are often dismissed as distant or indifferent, the sight of NEMA trucks navigating flood-hit villages, or officials engaging directly with victims, reinforces the notion that government can still respond with a human face. The DG herself has emphasized in several fora that disaster management is not just about logistics but about dignity—ensuring that people, even in crisis, feel seen and valued. That framing has quietly reshaped how NEMA operates in the field.
Yet, a fair assessment must acknowledge the daunting challenges. Nigeria’s disaster landscape is vast and unpredictable. Relief materials alone cannot erase the trauma of displacement, nor can they replace farmlands swept away by floods. Critics point out that distribution exercises are often one-off and struggle to meet long-term needs. This is true, and it is a weakness that NEMA cannot resolve alone. But even within these limits, the agency has tried to stretch its mandate—working with state emergency agencies, traditional rulers, and civil society groups to widen its reach.
One subtle but notable development under Umar’s stewardship has been the attempt to build trust through transparency. Relief distributions are increasingly conducted in partnership with local authorities and community leaders, reducing allegations of favoritism or diversion of items. This model does not erase the systemic pressures of scarcity, but it does create a measure of accountability that victims and observers can point to.
For many Nigerians, however, the ultimate test of NEMA’s humanitarian face is not in the relief it brings but in the consistency of its presence. It is not enough to show up once with a truckload of rice and beans; what matters is the continuity of care. On this score, recent weeks have seen NEMA maintaining visibility, returning to affected communities for follow-up distributions and assessments. This continuity is a quiet but significant departure from the past, when agencies might retreat after initial interventions.
There is also a larger narrative at play. Flood disasters are not isolated incidents but part of a recurring cycle tied to climate change, poor urban planning, and weak enforcement of environmental policies. While NEMA’s role is largely in response, the way it responds shapes public expectations and trust in government. When survivors in Kogi or Bayelsa speak about the “quick arrival” of relief or the fairness of distribution, it signals a shift in perception. And perception, in times of crisis, is as important as material aid.
Looking ahead, the humanitarian face of flood response will depend on how well NEMA can sustain this people-centered approach while advocating for deeper structural changes. Relief must go hand in hand with resilience-building—supporting farmers with seedlings after floods, pushing for better drainage systems in cities, and strengthening community awareness on disaster preparedness. These are longer-term goals, but they begin with the kind of compassionate, consistent response currently being witnessed.
In the end, the story of NEMA under Mrs. Zubaida Umar is still being written. Each flood disaster adds a new chapter, testing both the agency’s capacity and the DG’s vision. But one thing is clear: in a landscape often defined by indifference, NEMA is trying to humanize response—turning relief from a transactional act into a bridge of trust between government and the governed. That bridge may yet prove to be one of the most enduring legacies of this period.
Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu writes on disaster management, humanitarian response, and national development
