The Water Beneath: My Borehole, Our Thirst, and a Hidden Geological...

I can’t remember the last time anyone in my community talked about getting water from the government. Not once in the past few years has any tap flowed in my home or community with state-supplied water. In fact, none of us knows where the government's water pipes are. Like many others, I took matters into my own hands. I dug a well right in my compound, lowered a submersible pump into it, and connected it to a tank. That’s how my household gets water every day; for drinking, bathing, cooking, and everything in between.

It’s not just me. In my street alone, barely 500 meters long, there are at least three boreholes. That’s in addition to the many hand-dug wells. Wealthier residents tend to go the borehole route, drilling deep into the earth to tap water from aquifers far below the surface. In every direction across Nigeria, this is becoming the standard. What once felt like a clever solution, an act of resilience and ingenuity, now gnaws at me with an unsettling question: Are we quietly engineering an environmental disaster beneath our feet?

To answer that, I had to dive into the science of groundwater, aquifers, and geology. And what I found is as enlightening as it is alarming.

Aquifers are essentially natural underground storage systems, porous rocks and sediments saturated with water that is slowly replenished by rainfall seeping through layers of soil. But aquifers aren’t infinite. They rely on recharge rates, how fast rain and surface water can percolate down into them. In urban areas, especially like ours, where concrete covers nearly every inch of earth and drainage systems are either blocked or poorly designed, recharge rates are abysmally low. This means that once groundwater is pumped out, it takes far longer to refill—if it even does at all.

When boreholes are drilled indiscriminately, several geological and environmental problems begin to unfold. The most obvious is groundwater depletion. Over time, as more water is extracted than is replenished, the water table drops. Wells and boreholes that once flowed easily must now be dug deeper, requiring more powerful pumps. For those of us using shallow wells, the impact is felt faster. Water levels drop, flow becomes inconsistent, and during dry seasons, the well might dry out entirely. Recently, I've considered replacing my well with a borehole, only being limited by funds.

But the problem isn’t just about access. It’s about stability. Literally.

When underground aquifers are drained, the empty spaces they leave can cause the ground above to sink. This phenomenon, known as land subsidence, has already wreaked havoc in parts of the world. Jakarta, Mexico City, and even California’s Central Valley have experienced buildings tilting, roads cracking, and entire neighborhoods dipping several inches, or even feet, because of excessive groundwater withdrawal. The danger is that subsidence is often permanent; once the ground compacts, it loses its ability to hold water again, essentially destroying the aquifer.

In Nigeria, this may seem like a far-off worry, but urban expansion without geological oversight is a dangerous mix. Cracks in walls, uneven floors, and distorted foundations in buildings might be signs of early-stage land movement. Without regulation, it’s only a matter of time before we start seeing subsidence on a scale that can’t be ignored.

Even more unsettling is the potential connection between groundwater depletion and seismic activity. Though still a subject of ongoing research, some studies have shown that dramatic changes in subsurface pressure, caused by either the extraction or injection of water, can influence fault lines and trigger earthquakes. While most of Nigeria isn’t considered a seismically active zone, there have been recorded earth tremors, such as the Abuja tremors in 2018. Scientists are increasingly exploring how human activities like excessive borehole drilling could interact with dormant faults to create microseismic activity.

Another overlooked consequence of borehole proliferation is the weakening of the structural integrity of the Earth itself. Every borehole essentially pierces through layers of soil, sediment, and rock. Without proper geological assessment, drilling can disrupt natural water flow paths, destabilize underground formations, or even create pathways for contaminants to travel into clean water zones. In many communities, septic tanks sit perilously close to boreholes, and as the water table drops, the risk of contamination rises. This isn’t just bad science, it’s a serious public health issue.

And then there’s erosion. When natural groundwater movement is altered, especially in areas with loose or sandy soil, the risk of subsurface erosion increases. This can manifest as sinkholes, sudden ground collapses that seem to appear out of nowhere. Though rare, the mechanism is simple: water holds the particles together; remove the water, and the soil can collapse.

All of this paints a stark picture, but it doesn’t mean boreholes are inherently bad. Water is life. In a country where state infrastructure has failed to meet even the most basic needs, digging your own water source is both logical and necessary. But unregulated drilling without consideration for hydrogeology is like cutting the branch we all sit on.

What we need now is not panic, but policy and awareness. Community boreholes, properly surveyed and shared, could reduce pressure on aquifers. Local governments should mandate environmental impact assessments before drilling, maintain databases of borehole density, and enforce zoning laws to prevent clustering. At the household level, rainwater harvesting and greywater recycling can reduce reliance on boreholes.

For me, the well outside my window is still a symbol of survival. But every drop I pump now carries a weight of knowledge. It reminds me that the earth may be silent, but it keeps score.

If we want to keep the water flowing for ourselves and generations to come, we need to respect the science beneath our feet and act with foresight, not just survival.

The Water Beneath: My Borehole, Our Thirst, and a Hidden Geological Crisis

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