Only one man left in Owa Onire, home of West Africa’s highest waterfall 

By John Awe

The roar of Owu Waterfalls can still be heard from miles away.

The water still crashes down the ancient escarpment with the same force that once drew tourists, photographers, researchers and adventure seekers from across Nigeria and beyond. 

The rocky hills still stand guard over the landscape. The forests remain green. But the people are gone.

In Owa-Onire, a community in Ifelodun Local Government Area of Kwara State that is home to Owu Waterfalls—widely regarded as the tallest waterfall in West Africa—silence has replaced life. 

The roads are empty. Shops are locked. Farms have been abandoned. The mosque no longer calls worshippers. The church pews gather dust.

Only one man remains.

His name is Lekan.

When a joint security team comprising police tactical units, anti-kidnapping operatives and drone surveillance personnel recently entered the community as part of an operation to assess security conditions across Kwara South, they found a settlement that looked as though its residents had vanished overnight.

According to a moving account by community advocate Elder Oyin Ajirotutu Zubair, the officers encountered “nothing but silence.”

No traders.

No schoolchildren.

No farmers returning from the fields.

Just Lekan.

“Everyone ran. Lekan stayed. Now he’s the only name left to answer when the wind calls Owa-Onire,” Zubair wrote.

The description was not a poetic exaggeration.

For years, residents say, armed bandits and kidnappers have terrorised communities across parts of Kwara South. 

Villages that once depended on farming and local commerce have become frontlines in a slow-moving rural exodus.

For Owa-Onire, the breaking point came after repeated attacks, kidnappings and ransom demands.

Owa Onire: A Kingdom Under Siege

The story of Owa-Onire’s decline did not begin this year. It started when armed outlaws set their sights on the community and its environs.

They struck, pillaging and looting, leaving cries in their wake. The villagers initially thought it was a one-off incident. They bemoaned their loss and carried on with their lives. But more attacks were to follow.

In December 2025, more than 40 armed men reportedly stormed the community, killing a local blacksmith, abducting two residents and injuring several others.

Witnesses said the attackers moved from house to house, looting properties and assaulting villagers. By the following morning, many of the villagers were more than convinced that terror and death had become a permanent feature of their once beloved Owa Onire.

They picked up a few of their belongings and fled for dear life before the sun set.

Some fled to Ilorin, while others took refuge in neighbouring towns and villages.

They were convinced that was the only sane thing to do, having ceaselessly called on the government for assistance to no avail. They had requested a permanent security presence in the area to ward off the outlaws. Their cries appeared to fall on the deaf ears of the politicians in Ilorin and Abuja.

Reports indicated that even contractors working on roads leading to the iconic Owu Waterfalls, the highly regarded tourist haven, were not spared by the kidnappers.

Even the revered traditional stools were not off-limits to the bandits. Locals say Owa-Onire’s own monarch was previously abducted and released only after a ransom payment.

Other monarchs in neighbouring communities within the Ifelodun Local Government Area fared no better. Many of them were plucked from the thrones of their forefathers and marched into the forests of Kwara South. 

There, they were treated to the same indignities routinely meted out to other hapless captives by the irreverent pillagers.

Each attack pushed more families away.

Each kidnapping emptied another compound.

Until eventually, there was almost nobody left.

The last man standing in Owa Onire

Lekan did not become the last resident by choice.

The prince of the community stayed behind when others left.

Some residents relocated to Oke-Onigbin. Others moved to Ilorin. Many simply scattered across safer towns where they hoped their children could sleep without fear.

Lekan remained. He survives largely on what he can find on his farm. 

There is no functioning market in Owa-Onire anymore. No food vendors. No pharmacies. No commercial activity.

So far, the bandits have left him alone without any disturbance, perhaps because they are aware there is no one else left in the community to raise his ransom, if they pick him up.

When security operatives met him during their visit, they reportedly handed him ₦10,000 for provisions.

He told them he would travel to Oke-Onigbin, several kilometres away, just to buy food.

Imagine living in a town where buying a loaf of bread requires leaving the community entirely.

Imagine waking up every morning knowing you are the only permanent resident in what was once a thriving settlement.

That is Lekan’s reality.

Even now, he says strangers still move through the deserted community at night.

He hears them.

He sees traces of their presence.

But there is nobody else left to share the fear.

The Tragedy of a Tourism Jewel

What makes Owa-Onire’s story particularly painful is what the community once represented.

The town sits beside Owu Waterfalls, a natural wonder that cascades roughly 120 metres down a rocky escarpment. 

The site has long been recognised as one of Nigeria’s most spectacular tourist attractions and is widely described as the highest waterfall in West Africa.

For years, visitors travelled difficult roads to witness the breathtaking scenery.

Students conducted research there.

Tourists took photographs beside the falls.

Families organised excursions.

The waterfall became one of Kwara State’s most celebrated natural landmarks.

Today, however, many travellers avoid the area because of security concerns.

The waterfall still flows.

But the community that hosted it is disappearing.

More than one community

Owa-Onire’s fate is not unique.

Community leaders estimate that dozens of settlements across Ifelodun and neighbouring local government areas have been partially or completely abandoned due to insecurity.

Across Kwara South, stories of deserted villages are becoming increasingly common as kidnappings and bandit attacks force rural residents from ancestral homes.

The consequences extend beyond individual families.

Schools close. Markets collapse. Farmland goes uncultivated. Local economies die. Cultural heritage fades.

Entire communities risk becoming names remembered only on maps.

Waiting for a Return

The security officers who visited Owa-Onire reportedly left disturbed by what they saw.

They promised to advocate stronger security measures and create conditions that would allow displaced residents to return.

Whether those promises will translate into lasting change remains uncertain.

For now, Owa-Onire waits.

The waterfall waits.

The abandoned homes wait.

And Lekan waits too.

Every evening, as darkness settles over the hills and the sound of rushing water echoes through empty streets, he remains the lone witness to a community suspended between memory and hope.

A town that once welcomed tourists from across Nigeria now has only one resident.

And perhaps that is the most heartbreaking measure of what insecurity has taken away.

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