Moses Adabara feels a familiar sense of dread whenever he prepares to attend the annual convention of the Redeemed Christian Church (RCCG) at its Redemption Camp in Ogun State. He knows the task ahead is daunting.
As an usher at the church’s Good Shepherd Parish in Kogi State, he usually joins other volunteers to clean the camp during the massive gathering attended by an estimated 3–5 million people. His job includes picking up empty water bottles, empty water sachets, biscuit wraps, and other discarded items.
“It is not always an easy job at all,” he says. “You will pick and pick, yet it looks like you have not done anything at all because of the large crowd throwing trash indiscriminately.”
Experiences like this at mega-religious grounds in Nigeria beg one environmental question: Behind the prayers and worship, what happens to the waste left behind?
From Christ Embassy to Winners Chapel to Mountain of Fire to Dunamis to RCCG and others, Nigeria is home to dozens of megachurches with vast congregations and followings. These ministries host numerous crowd-packed programmes several times yearly, producing heaps of solid waste and significant air emissions.
Islamic organisations like the Nasrul-Lahi-l-Fatih Society (NASFAT), the Islamic Movement of Nigeria, and the Sufi Orders also hold large physical events. During Ramadan and festivals such as Eid, mass distribution of communal meals results in large amounts of organic food waste and single-use plastics. Volumes of styrofoam takeaway packs and water sachets discarded after these feasts place an enormous strain on municipal waste systems, showing that the ecological toll of mega-gatherings crosses all religious boundaries.
Nigeria generates at least 2.5 million tonnes of plastic waste annually, and recycles less than 12%. Muyiwa Gbadegesin, managing director of the Lagos Waste Management Authority (LAWMA), says Lagos dumpsites received an average of 576 waste-truck trips per day during religious festive periods, a 44% increase from normal times.
Without proper management, trapped trash inhibits the free flow of water, blocking drains and increasing flood risks. Researchers are also warning of chemical contamination.
A 2019 study of leachate (contaminated liquid) leaking from a landfill in RCCG’s Redemption Camp found heavy metal concentrations above recommended limits, raising concerns about contamination of nearby water sources.
When laboratory rats were exposed to contaminated water from the landfill for 21 days, researchers found evidence of liver damage, suggesting potential health risks associated with poorly managed waste sites.
Carbon footprint
Beyond the visible mountains of plastic and discarded food packs lies an invisible, yet equally severe threat: the actual carbon footprint of these mega-gatherings. Because Nigeria’s national power grid remains unreliable, these campsites rely on giant diesel generators that may run for days, emitting carbon dioxide and other pollutants that might degrade local air quality. Traffic compounds the impact, as thousands of vehicles can remain trapped for hours on routes like the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway, producing additional exhaust emissions.
Despite attracting millions of worshippers each year, the carbon footprint of Nigeria’s largest religious gatherings has not been publicly quantified. There is no publicly available evidence that organisers or environmental regulators have conducted comprehensive carbon audits, leaving the events’ full climate impact largely unknown.
While Nigeria has never publicly measured the carbon footprint of its religious gatherings, researchers have done so for the Hajj pilgrimage. The findings offer a glimpse of the scale such gatherings can reach when their emissions are measured.
A 2013 study estimated that Hajj generated an average of 60.5 kilograms of CO₂-equivalent per pilgrim per day, accounting for transport, accommodation, meals, and waste management. Air travel contributed 55% of the estimated carbon footprint, accommodation 18%, and meals 13%.
Although the figure cannot be transferred to Nigerian conventions, as Nigerian religious gatherings rely far more on road transport and diesel generators than international travel and often claim attendance of several million people, the Hajj study shows why transport, energy, and waste at Nigerian religious events deserve systematic measurement rather than assumption.
Regulatory gridlock
Regulating Nigeria’s large religious centres is challenging because authorities must balance environmental enforcement with the constitutional right to freedom of worship. Many large religious camps operate like self-contained communities, managing their own roads, housing, and utilities. Jennifer Nashima, a former general manager of the Benue State Environmental Sanitation Authority, argues that enforcement is often weak because officials from agencies like the National Environmental Standards and Regulations Enforcement Agency (NESREA) are sensitive to the influence of religious institutions.
State officials may avoid confrontation to prevent public backlash or accusations of restricting freedom of worship.
“In Nigeria’s social structure, religious leaders hold strong moral influence. This can make regulators cautious about issuing sanctions, or restricting activities—even when environmental risks exist,” says Nashima.
Still, the associated risk threatens all human life and existence, irrespective of religion.
“The impact from waste doesn’t care whether you are religious or not; the dangers are the same and can be fatal,” Mrs. Nashima says. “Poor waste management creates long-term soil and water contamination. Plastic bottles, food packaging, nylon bags, and disposable materials from large gatherings do not disappear after events end. They reduce soil fertility, contaminate groundwater, affect nearby farms, and even expose livestock to ingestion risks.”
Slow, little shifts
Historically, the focus of religious organisers has been on logistics, crowd control, and spiritual fulfilment, with environmental concerns taking a back seat. However, there is growing awareness during pre-event planning.
Beyond planning the spiritual activities, some organisers are now paying attention to the health risks. Organisers are increasingly recognising that caring for worshippers also means protecting the water they drink and the air they breathe. RCCG, for example, now works closely with LAWMA to prevent the camp from turning into a dumping ground.
“We understand the health risks. That is why we don’t wait until the programme ends. Our sanitation officers are placed around the camp to collect waste immediately. They move to central points where LAWMA trucks take it away. We have realised we cannot handle a problem this big alone—we need professionals,” says Ezekiel Aladejana, a member of the organising committee for the RCCG programmes.
“Before anyone arrives for any major programme, either Holy Ghost Night or the annual convention, the sanitation department maps out high-traffic zones (canteens, bus parks, and auditoriums) to place hundreds of reinforced waste bins.”
While this shift in awareness is a critical first step, experts argue that good intentions are not enough.
“We have to move from a ‘clean-up’ mindset to a ‘design’ mindset,” Nashima says. “Installing industrial-grade water filtration systems and encouraging pilgrims to use reusable containers can reduce waste by 40%.”
Nashima also says a more comprehensive approach would include partnerships with private recyclers so that more waste can be repurposed rather than sent to landfills.
For Adabara, he does not plan to stop his volunteer work anytime soon, but he believes true change starts with the individual worshipper.
“Government and church leaders can bring all the bins in the world, but meaningful change starts with worshippers. If each person drops their waste in the right place, nobody would have to fall sick because of dirty water or blocked drainages,” he says.