Neck deep in the emergence of artificial intelligence, the rise of electric cars, the debate between originally written personal statements and those drafted by ChatGPT, and decades after man first landed on the moon with another mission already set to return there, I, along with the rest of the students in my school, find myself begging for access to one of life’s most basic necessities, clean water, while studying for a degree.

In April, when I moved into the school hostel, I left behind a home where water flowed freely from taps, where an electric heater provided warm baths daily, and where plumbing lines rarely failed. In contrast, the university hostel presented a starkly different reality. With six water tanks meant to serve the needs of more than 600 students, water scarcity became a daily battle. To fetch a single bucket, one queued for over an hour and a half. The line of buckets stretched into the night, beginning around 9 p.m. and lasting until dawn. Anyone who attempted to fill more than one bucket risked the anger of those behind them.

Before arriving, I had heard stories of the university’s unreliable infrastructure: erratic power supply, fragile plumbing, rodent infestations, and, above all, the lack of water. Yet I clung to optimism and faith, convincing myself it would not be as bad as described. Surely, I thought, it could not happen.

Eight months into my stay, however, the university had recorded more than one hundred days without electricity. This meant that an institution of higher learning, entrusted with preparing the present and future generation, was plunged into darkness. Devices could not be charged, motivation to study dwindled, learning processes were severely impaired and, most crucially, the absence of power worsened the already dire water situation.

Water scarcity is defined as the inadequate supply of freshwater resources to meet the human and environmental needs of a given area. In simple terms, demand outweighs supply. It exists in two main forms: physical and economic scarcity. Physical scarcity refers to an absolute lack of freshwater due to geographical or climatic conditions, such as arid regions, droughts, or low rainfall. Economic scarcity, on the other hand, results from structural inefficiencies or poor infrastructure, where water is available but inaccessible due to mismanagement, political instability, or conflict. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization, more than 1.6 billion people face economic water scarcity today. In my university’s case, this was the grim reality.

The absence of water struck hardest at the heart of student life. Many of us woke as early as 3 a.m. to “hustle” for water, using the Nigerian sense of the word to mean a desperate struggle for survival. Cooking, a cost-saving necessity for most students, became nearly impossible. Hygiene was compromised, exposing us to both physical and social risks, while mental health weakened under the daily strain of scarcity.

What we endured in my university was a small reflection of a global crisis faced by nearly four billion people worldwide. On a larger scale, water scarcity cripples agricultural productivity, disrupts households, and hinders industries dependent on a steady water supply.

While physical scarcity may be blamed on nature—limited rainfall, droughts, or high evaporation—economic scarcity reveals a failure of human systems. Political instability, institutional breakdown, conflict, and poor infrastructure often stand between communities and the water they need. The war in Ukraine, for example, has damaged plumbing lines, leaving more than four million people without access to clean water.

From university hostels in Nigeria to conflict zones abroad, the story is the same: when water becomes scarce, survival itself is placed at risk.

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