Young People In Jos Are Taking Climate Action Into Their Own Hands

By Peace Isama

When Amarachi Nwachukwu walked into the event hall in Jos, Plateau State, she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Like many of the young people who had gathered for ClimaCon 2025 on April 5, climate change was something she knew about mostly through headlines or tweets. But five hours later, she left with something different: a resolve to live more consciously, and the belief that she could be part of the solution.

“I’ve decided to be more mindful of my energy and water usage,” she said. “I’m going to recycle more. I won’t just throw things away like before.”

Amarachi, a linguistics student at the University of Jos, was one of dozens of students, climate advocates, and professionals who gathered for what organisers described as “not just a conference, but a movement.” ClimaCon was convened by Itse Collins Arin, a medical laboratory science student at the University of Jos, and co-convener Kitgak Simon. Their goal was simple: bring the climate conversation home, make it relatable, and show that local action is not just possible, but essential.

Known for its cool weather, fertile farmland, and gentle hills, Plateau State has experienced unpredictable rainfall, rising temperatures, and reduced crop yields in recent years, making the once-stable climate increasingly hostile. 

“Plateau State is the hydrological centre of northern Nigeria,” said Zeenret Zamani, a passionate environmentalist and founder of Murya Na Environmental Sustainability Initiative. “But now, floods are wiping out farms. The very soil people depend on is vanishing before our eyes.”

He told the story of Langtang, a local government area southeast of Jos, where floods recently destroyed acres of farmland. “These are not just natural disasters,” he added. “They’re disruptions to people’s lives, people who already have very little.”

Official data shows Jos is warming by 0.011°C annually, while rainfall is dropping by 3mm each year. For many farmers, the shift has meant smaller harvests, less food, and more uncertainty.

One of the toughest challenges, Zamani said, is changing mindsets, especially in rural areas. “You talk to farmers about sustainable agriculture, and they say, ‘This is how we’ve always done it. We burn the bush and plant.’”

To demonstrate, he mimicked the gestures of the farmers he often works with, raising laughter in the room, but also highlighting the deep cultural resistance to change. “Climate change is here,” he continued, “and while change is inevitable, we have to make sure it’s the right kind of change.”

Collins, who opened the event by reciting Nigeria’s national pledge, echoed that sentiment. “Everyone has a role to play,” he said. “Climate action isn’t something far away. It starts with simple things, reducing waste, planting trees, conserving energy, and staying informed.”

Mr Charles Chiwendu Nwaeze, another speaker and founder of the CircleTeam Foundation, brought a deeply personal angle to the discussion. For him, the connection between climate and health is not abstract; it’s lived.

“I love yams,” he said with a grin that briefly lifted the room. “But it’s becoming scarce, and that scares me.”

He turned serious, explaining how food shortages caused by erratic weather are affecting nutrition and well-being. “When food supply is cut, health suffers,” he said. “And now, in both cities and rural areas, we’re seeing more malaria, more typhoid, more cholera.”

Diseases once considered rare or seasonal have become everyday threats. “Asthma patients suffer more in polluted environments. To make life livable, we must match adaptation with mitigation,” he added. “We’re at 1.4°C already. At 1.5°C, things get much worse.”

One of the most impactful voices came through a screen. Dr Salamatu Fada, a conservation biologist and climate specialist, joined virtually but spoke with conviction. “If you want rural communities to change, speak their language,” she urged. “Don’t go there with PowerPoint presentations and jargon. Make things make sense. Use what they know and what they have.”

She drew a clear line between global action and local consequences. “Africa contributes the least to the climate crisis, yet we suffer the most. It’s unjust. But we must respond, because the causes are human-made, and the solutions can be too.”

From illegal mining threats to poorly managed waste and the absence of strong local policies, the challenges are daunting. But Dr Fada believes community-led engagement is key.

For Collins and his team, the work does not end with one event. “We’re developing a year-round climate education programme to be run in schools across Plateau State,” he announced. “We may not undo all the damage, but we can slow it down. We can adapt.”

The dream, he said, is to see ClimaCon evolve into a pan-African movement, grounded in grassroots action and local ownership.

Dr Fada agreed. “The Sahara is moving at six kilometres per year. Lagos is seeing new levels of flooding. We cannot keep waiting for someone else to act.”

The real success of ClimaCon, she added, would not be in the applause at the end of the event, but in what the participants do next.

As the chairs were cleared and the hall emptied, the energy remained. For Amarachi and many others, this was not just a science lesson; it was a call to live differently.

“I used to think this was someone else’s problem,” she said. “But now I see it’s all of ours.”

The organisers had described ClimaCon as a space to preach the climate gospel. But by the time the event ended, it was clear: the message had landed. And those who heard it weren’t just ready to share it—they were ready to be it.