In a city where the line between order and chaos is as thin as a mangrove’s root, the Lagos State Commissioner for Environment and Water Resources, Tokunbo Wahab, has chosen a path few leaders dare tread. His methods—deemed draconian by critics—have drawn protests, lawsuits, and vitriol. Bulldozers demolish illegal markets, styrofoam vendors are cautioned. Yet beneath the clamour lies an inconvenient truth.

As a sprawling metropolis and a mega city teetering on ecological collapse, Wahab has embarked on an unrelenting mission to safeguard Lagos’ ecological future not minding the intense criticism and backlash.

Like a dogged fighter that the Commissioner is, he remains resolute in his pursuit of environmental reform, and many stakeholders believes his unyielding resolve may be Lagos’ last, best hope of maintaining the environmental master plan

When Wahab was moved up to the helm by the leadership genius, Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu, it wasn’t a conceivable choice. From being in charge of Education to the hotbed that is Environment and Water Resources in Lagos, the appointment has made a lot of changes in the state as we know it. It’s that conspicuous. To dismiss him as a tyrant with a wrecking ball is to ignore the stakes.

Lagos, home to 24 million people, teeters on the edge of ecological collapse. Annual floods displace millions, as coastal erosion swallows three meters of the shoreline each year. Drainage channels clogged by decades of plastic and apathy turn the streets into rivers, therefore, exacerbate the crisis.

The city’s infrastructure is overwhelmed by the 13,000 metric tonnes of daily waste generated, which on the other hand, threatens the quality of of the residents. Against this backdrop, Wahab’s approach, rooted in urgency, not compromise, is not cruelty but clarity.

Wahab has led an aggressive but strategic campaign to restructure waste management through a sustainable circular economy. Given this development, Lagos state is shifting from a linear “collect-and-dump” model to a system where waste is treated as a resource.

Under his leadership, the Lagos State Government has signed a number of strategic MoUs with international partners like Lafarge Africa, Harvest Waste Consortium, and Belstar Capital to convert solid and liquid waste into energy and recyclable materials.

A flagship project includes the construction of a 60–80MW Waste-to-Energy plant on the Epe landfill capable of consuming 2,500 tonnes of waste daily, providing both clean energy and waste reduction.

A separate MoU signed with Belstar and ENKA Consortium will address water infrastructure through the construction and rehabilitation of waterworks across the state.

In August 2024, citing the encroachment of some part of the Alaba International Market, a sprawling electronics hub built had encroached on the Ojo Creek floodplain, something had to be done.

The move displaced traders and ignited outrage. Critics called it “anti-poor,” but the commissioner’s rationale was irrefutable. Hydrological studies showed that the market’s location blocked a critical drainage corridor, putting 70 percent of Ojo at risk of submersion by 2030.

Similar operations followed in Lekki Phase II, luxury estates built on protected wetlands were removed. In Mushin, illegal dumpsites were cleared. Each action sparked fury—yet each was backed by laws ignored for decades. “We cannot prioritise individual convenience over collective survival,” Wahab argued.

The Commissioner’s unwavering commitment to environmental reform has sparked debate. Critics accuse him of being ruthless, while supporters see a leader enforcing rules long flouted by the powerful and the poor alike, and prioritising collective survival. His mantra, “No one is above the law,” resonates in a city weary of inequality.

Flood durations in cleared areas like Ikorodu-Itamaga have dropped by 40%. Drainage capacity, per the World Bank, has increased by 25 percent since 2023.

For residents like Funke Adeyemi, whose home in Agege flooded annually for a decade, the change is visceral. “Last rainy season, our floors stayed dry. That’s worth the noise on Twitter,” she said.

Lagos environmenal reforms under Wahab’s watch as Commissioner for Environment and Water Resources have not come without resistance. His crackdown on illegal structures in flood-prone areas, like those seen in Ojo Alaba International Market, Lekki Phase II, and under major bridges—has drawn significant public backlash. But these actions are backed by long-ignored environmental laws and hydrological studies.

The demolitions are part of a larger flood control framework that includes the deflooding of major drain channels across all local governments.

Wahab’s critics accuse him of prioritising punishment over solutions. Yet his policies are laced with foresight. The “Drain Lagos” project, a $17 million overhaul of the city’s drainage system, targets 32 flood-prone zones with reinforced concrete canals and solar-powered pumps.

The Dutch-funded “Living with Water” initiative, set to break ground in 2025, will armour the coastline with seawalls and mangroves: a blend of foreign expertise and local grit.

Even his war on styrofoam, mocked as elitist has yielded dividends. Plastic waste in drains has dropped to 60 percent, and partnerships with local startups are scaling production of biodegradable alternatives.

“Change is painful, but stagnation is fatal. We cannot cling to convenience while our children inherit a wasteland,” Wahab said during one of his address in September last year.

The Commissioner’s tactics are not unique—they are necessary. To most people, it seems treating the crisis like a crisis. Without fear or favour, he has dispelled the myth that only the poor bear the brunt of enforcement.

“No one is above the law,” he stated—a mantra that resonates in a city weary of inequality. Even critics concede his impartiality. “He’s tough, but he’s fair,” admitted Tunde Alabi, an urban planner who opposed the Alaba operation.

A Model for Africa’s Megacities
Lagos serves as a bellwether for Africa’s rapidly growing cities. By 2100, 13 of the world’s 20 largest cities will be in Africa – facing Lagos’ trifecta of population growth, climate vulnerability and infrastructural decay. Wahab’s playbook—enforcing laws, partnering globally, and prioritising infrastructure—offers a blueprint for the continent.

The World Bank has praised Wahab’s “transformative rigour.” Dutch engineers hail his “unsentimental pragmatism.” Even protesters, grudgingly, admit his impact. “I lost my shop, but my children won’t swim to school,” said an Alaba trader

Amid the rubble, the Ministry of Environment and Water Resiurces under Wahab’s watch unveiled a softer initiative in October 2024: a solar-powered floating school in Makoko, built on recycled plastic pontoons.

Funded by the UNDP, the pilot project educates 200 children while teaching climate adaptation—a nod to the slum’s vulnerability. But for Makoko residents like Emmanuel Sheku, the gesture feels hollow. “We need drainage systems, not floating classrooms,” he said. “Our boats sink yearly. Will this school stop the flood?”

Wahab’s vision is undeniably bold. He has leveraged legal acumen and political will to confront issues that his predecessors buried under empty rhetoric. Early data show flood reductions in targeted areas; plastic waste in drains has dropped

The road ahead remains fraught. Compensation must accelerate. Grassroots voices must shape policy. But for the first time in decades, Lagos has a leader treating its environmental crisis with the urgency it demands. The city’s survival hinges on a simple equation: short-term pain for long-term salvation. Wahab, flaws and all is solving it.