At least 614 buildings have collapsed across Nigeria between October 1974 and July 2024, according to the Building Collapse Prevention Guild (BCPG).
Lagos alone accounted for 348 of these cases, making up more than half of the national total. Anambra followed with 26 incidents, Abuja with 25, and Oyo with 21.
In contrast, states like Zamfara, Yobe, Bayelsa, Sokoto, Katsina, Gombe, Kebbi, and Taraba recorded only a single collapse each in five decades. Despite these variations, the human and economic toll is devastating across the board.
The pattern in recent years is particularly troubling. In 2022, Nigeria recorded the highest number of collapses in a single year, with 62 incidents, nearly a third of them in Lagos.
The following year added another 52, while by July 2024, 22 more collapses had already been recorded, including eight in Lagos.
By the end of that year, the tally rose to 47. These figures show that the problem remains far from resolved, particularly at its root causes.
Beyond the loss of property, the cost in human lives is staggering. In November 2021, a high-rise collapse in Lagos killed 52 people, the deadliest incident in recent memory. The first documented case in 1974 had already set the tone: 27 people lost their lives in Oyo when a multi-storey structure failed under excessive loading.
Over the decades, hundreds of Nigerians—construction workers, tenants, office staff, even children—have perished in similar disasters, while many more have been injured or displaced.
The statistics point to a disturbing reality: building collapse in Nigeria is not merely accidental but a symptom of weak enforcement, poor maintenance, and a culture of cutting corners.
How long should buildings last?
To shed light on what can be done, Ọlúwatóyìn Caulcrick, the executive director at ATO Architects Limited and an international associate of the American Institute of Architects (AIA), explains what every homeowner, developer, tenant and policymaker should know about the life cycle of buildings in the country.
Globally, buildings can last centuries if they are well constructed and maintained. Nigeria, however, tells a different story. Caulcrick notes that the professional estimate for a building’s lifespan in Nigeria is 30 to 60 years.
This is not a fixed rule but a broad range shaped by structural integrity, quality of materials, workmanship, and environmental conditions. While buildings here could last much longer in theory, poor practices and a weak culture of maintenance often cut short their potential. Structural strength is central—foundations, beams, slabs, and columns must be sound.
The use of adulterated cement, wrong mixing ratios, and weak reinforcement bars remains a persistent problem. Equally important is workmanship; buildings constructed under the supervision of qualified professionals and in compliance with the National Building Code are far more likely to endure.
Yet even when design and materials are adequate, the absence of regular maintenance is often what accelerates a building’s decline.
Knowing when a structure has reached the end of its lifespan is critical. Renovating old houses to meet modern trends is common, but not every building can be safely upgraded. Caulcrick warns that the most serious signs of danger are often visible.
Large, diagonal cracks in walls and columns, uneven floors, sinking walls, doors and windows that no longer shut properly, persistent dampness that resists repair, rusting reinforcement rods, sagging roofs or floors, and concrete that begins to crumble or flake are all red flags that a building may be unsafe.
Nigeria’s legal framework for renovation and demolition is fragmented. There is no single national law dictating when buildings must be renewed or replaced.
The National Building Code provides safety and design standards but does not prescribe a lifespan. States regulate enforcement, with the Lagos State Building Control Agency (LASBCA) standing out as an example. It has the authority to mark distressed buildings and order their demolition, but only after structural reports from certified engineers.
In practice, however, enforcement is inconsistent, often undermined by corruption, political compromises, or limited technical capacity. According to Caulcrick, the emphasis of the law is not on a building’s age but its structural soundness, yet weak enforcement means this principle is rarely upheld.
Geography further complicates matters. Nigeria’s diverse environments subject buildings to very different stresses. In coastal states such as Lagos, Rivers, and Bayelsa, saline air, humidity, and flooding accelerate corrosion and weaken foundations.
In the northern states like Kano, Sokoto, and Borno, extreme heat and dryness crack concrete and wood, while Harmattan winds erode surfaces.
In the South-East, severe gully erosion eats away at foundations, while rocky and hilly areas like Abuja and Plateau face risks of erosion and landslides. These variations underline the need to design buildings suited to local conditions, rather than relying on generic construction methods.
Building smarter for local realities
So how should Nigeria adapt its construction practices to meet these challenges? Caulcrick emphasises that choosing the right materials and designs is essential. Corrosion-resistant reinforcement, high-strength concrete, and waterproofing systems should be used in flood-prone areas.
Elevated or stilt foundations may be necessary where flooding is frequent. In unstable soils, raft foundations distribute weight more evenly. Structural steel frames can provide flexibility and resilience compared to traditional blockwork.
Beyond conventional materials, Caulcrick also advocates for the use of sustainable, locally sourced options such as treated bamboo, stabilised earth bricks, and certain types of timber, which when used properly, can be both durable and affordable.
Policy, however, remains disconnected from practice. Nigeria has policies such as the National Urban Development Policy, alongside state-level planning laws, but they are often ignored. Caulcrick points out that regulations exist but are rarely enforced.
Rapid urbanisation, development pressure, and corruption frequently override safety concerns. As a result, buildings are erected in high-risk zones with little regard for long-term stability. Worse still, the nation has a reactive rather than preventive approach, often demolishing buildings only after tragedies occur.
Developers sometimes bribe officials to overlook violations, while tenants are rarely educated on warning signs or given clear channels to report concerns. Even when problems are flagged, legal disputes and bureaucratic inertia can delay action.
Developers also face a dilemma. Quality materials are expensive, while demand for affordable housing is immense. In this environment, many cut corners, sacrificing safety for profit.
Yet Caulcrick insists that reputable developers understand the long-term benefits of building with quality: fewer repairs, reduced liabilities, and stronger reputations.
Government regulators, he stresses, must play a larger role by inspecting projects during and after construction, enforcing codes without compromise, and sensitising the public to the dangers of distressed buildings.
Too often, however, properties marked “for demolition” are targeted for road expansions or political reasons, not because of structural defects. This practice, he warns, undermines public trust and diverts attention from genuine safety concerns.
For Nigeria to escape this cycle of collapses, Caulcrick calls for a multi-layered solution. Stronger regulation and consistent enforcement are essential, but so is fostering a culture of preventive maintenance among property owners.
Investment in research and innovation could produce affordable local materials suited to Nigeria’s diverse environments.
Digitalising approvals and monitoring systems would help curb corruption and increase transparency. Above all, professionalism must be non-negotiable, ensuring that only qualified and certified experts handle the design and construction of buildings.
With Nigeria’s population projected to reach 400 million by 2050, pressure on housing and infrastructure will only intensify.
Building setbacks and planning regulations, which mandate minimum distances between structures, are not mere technicalities but safeguards that allow ventilation, emergency access, and fire protection. Yet they are too often ignored.
The future of Nigeria’s cities depends on safe, resilient buildings. Collapses are not sudden events; they are the product of years of neglect, poor planning, and ignored warnings.
Fifty-one years after the first recorded collapse in Oyo State, the question remains: are we finally ready to listen before the next tragedy strikes?
Summary not available at this time.
