Benue’s Hidden Crisis: Life & Decay Inside Makurdi’s Overcrowded IDP Camp
By AUGUSTINA McSOLOMON-OGHAKPERUO
AT first glance, the Makurdi Ultra Modern International Market still bears traces of its former life—a grid of empty stalls, fading signboards, and abandoned trading spaces. But inside what was once a bustling commercial hub now thrives a different kind of economy—one of survival. The market has become Benue’s largest camp for internally displaced persons (IDPs), home to thousands uprooted by violence.
What greets visitors today is not the chatter of traders, but the stench of decay. Open refuse pits, overflowing toilets, and stagnant wastewater dominate the air. The smell—thick and persistent—hangs over everything: the makeshift homes, the food stalls, even the laughter of children who play barefoot among littered waste.
The Daily Struggle for Dignity
For many residents, survival here means enduring indignity. Terhile Gbakaan, a cobbler who fled his home in Yelwata after a deadly herder attack in June, sits by his workbench surrounded by filth.
“The garbage is always beside me. The smell is too much,” he says, adjusting a broken sandal. “It makes people avoid my work. But I have nowhere else to go.”
Nearby, 70-year-old Akera Aondover, who lost a leg in a past attack, faces even steeper odds.
“I can’t queue for water or toilets,” he says, his voice heavy with resignation. “If cholera comes here, people like me won’t survive.”
Aondover’s story is shared by more than 70 people living with disabilities in the camp. For them, accessing basic sanitation—already scarce for the able-bodied—is nearly impossible.
Stench Beyond the Camp
The crisis has spilled beyond the camp’s boundaries. At MJ Resort Bar, separated only by a fence, business has collapsed.
“People come, smell the air, and leave,” says manager Joseph Shausu. “We used to make ₦200,000 daily; now we barely earn ₦30,000. The smell drives everyone away.”
That stench, experts warn, could soon carry disease into Makurdi’s heart.
A Crisis UNICEF Can Barely Contain
UNICEF, which oversees water and sanitation in the camp, admits that it’s fighting a losing battle.
“Many here have never used toilets before,” says Joseph Labe, the agency’s WASH officer. “We built 46 toilets and truck in 45,000 litres of water daily, but open defecation persists.”
Even worse, the programme’s future is uncertain. Global funding cuts threaten UNICEF’s ability to continue its work. “If we pull out, it will be catastrophic,” Labe warns.
The Benue State Emergency Management Agency (SEMA), which oversees IDP affairs, declined to comment when asked about sanitation and the risk of UNICEF’s withdrawal.
A Crisis of Neglect
The origins of the crisis trace back to mid-June, when suspected herders attacked Yelwata, killing over 100 people. Nearly 6,000 survivors fled to Makurdi, joining an already overcrowded camp system. Across Benue, the International Organization for Migration (IOM) estimates over 500,000 people are displaced—many living without access to safe water or toilets.
Public health experts now warn that if nothing changes, disease—not bullets—may become the next killer. The World Health Organization estimates unsafe sanitation kills over half a million people annually, mostly through cholera and typhoid. In camps like Makurdi’s, those numbers are not abstract—they’re an imminent threat.
Trading Violence for Disease
For Terhile, Akera, and thousands of others, displacement was meant to offer refuge from violence. Instead, they’ve found themselves trapped in a new war—against disease, filth, and neglect. The air that once carried gunfire now carries the smell of human waste, a reminder that in Nigeria’s protracted humanitarian crisis, survival itself is a privilege.
Unless urgent action is taken—clean water, functioning toilets, sustained funding—the Makurdi camp could soon bear witness to another tragedy: a preventable epidemic born not of conflict, but of abandonment.
