Since the days when Nkrumah dreamt of freedom and gutters still ran free, the rains have come, and every single time, we act like it’s the first flood since Noah.
Streets turn to rivers, homes sink beneath brown waters, and properties are washed away, with lives lost, time and dignity swept.
We cry, we blame, and we point, but rarely do we build. And the question lingers: Who is responsible?
We blame the government for poor drainage, failed enforcement, and empty promises.
But what of the citizens who build in waterways, who choke gutters with waste and wait until the water rises to remember it flows, and we all who do nothing until disaster comes knocking? What of the local assemblies who look the other way, the institutions that prioritise paper over people and ceremonies over infrastructure, the educators who teach compliance but not conscience?
And where is faith in all of this?
Even religion, which is meant to be a bridge between man and meaning, seems more focused on rituals than renewal. Sanctuaries overflow, yet our spirits stay low.
We have prophets, priests, and prayer lines, but no clear path. Our altars echo with hope but not with instruction. Spirituality has become a shelter from responsibility instead of a force that calls us to it.
We are drowning not just in floodwaters but in neglect, ignorance, and moral inertia.
We’re flooding in marriages that were never built to last. In parenting that shelters but doesn’t shape. In education that fills heads but not hearts. In careers that pay but don’t fulfil. In lives that drift because they lack direction. And all the while, we wait for someone else to save us.
We wait for a superhero. For divine intervention. For a miracle. But the flood rises and still we don’t move.
“I’m drowning” is no longer just about rain. It’s about a generation lost in the storm of its own making. A people who saw the signs but turned away. A society where the spiritual is disconnected from the practical and the sacred has grown silent in the face of decay.
We’ve mistaken survival for success. We’ve turned waiting into worship. We’ve forgotten that flooding doesn’t begin when the rain falls. It begins when we ignore the cracks, when we abandon wisdom and when we stop building bridges that actually hold.
It’s time to stop looking for saviours and start becoming stewards of our lands, our lives and our legacies.
Because the waters are rising. And this time, no one is coming to save us.
