An Open Letter to the Abuja Environmental Protection Board

Dear AEPB, my ears need a break

The Director, Abuja Environmental Protection Board (AEPB),
Greetings,

I want to begin by telling you that just two days ago, I was jolted awake from a nap by the blaring speakers of a mosque in my area. I know this may seem like an unprofessional way to start, but you must understand—limits of accommodation are being tested.

I live in Abuja, the nation’s capital—a city that should embody order and regulation. Yet, peace is constantly disrupted in my residential area. A nearby church has taken it upon itself to ring out recorded hymns at scheduled hours. The numerous mosques on my small street shake the air with calls to prayer. A makeshift drinking circle gathers on the street before 6 a.m., their voices carrying far and loud.

God is my witness—I have tried to endure. I have lived with the calls to prayer for years and have even caught myself mumbling along. The drinking circle used to be at AYA, a mix of parked taxi drivers and men starting their day with a little kick. I walked past them daily on my way to the gym, ignoring the clustered stares and attempts at conversation. Then the task force came and scattered such gatherings from the major road, pushing them into residential streets. They settled comfortably just a few paces from my estate gate.

Then something changed. I traveled for a few months, and when I returned, I couldn't immediately place what felt different. At first, I thought I was simply grasping at straws. But it soon became undeniable—unrelenting noise has taken over my residential area.

I keep my windows open most of the time—not because I enjoy the noise, but because electricity bills are steadily climbing. My air conditioner now serves more as decoration than utility. The trees outside offer a breeze, and with my fan, I am set to take on the world—that is, until I realized how loud the world around me had become.

The church’s enthusiasm can be traced to December 2024, when playing Christmas songs turned into a daily exercise of unchecked volume. The mosques—especially the one directly opposite my house (on another street but with its speakers facing my way)—seem to have turned up their volume. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then, while on a call, the adhan began, and suddenly, I could no longer hear myself or the person speaking.

To make matters worse, an untraced sewage leak forced the drinking circle to shift further down the street—directly opposite my window. Now, I am awakened by their voices every single day, sometimes before 6 a.m.

According to NESREA’s Noise Standards and Control Regulations (2009), residential areas should not exceed 50 decibels during the day and 35 decibels at night. Have you measured the reality? The average Abuja neighborhood would shatter a sound meter.

Director, do you know why noise pollution thrives here? I will tell you. Because there is no enforcement. Because regulations exist only on paper. Because anyone with a microphone or speaker assumes they have a divine right to disturb others.

I am tired of pretending that noise is normal. Something needs to be done—an investigation, enforcement of regulations. Something. Abuja should not be a jungle where the loudest wins. Noise cannot be the new normal.

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Musings:

So, I’m fiddling with a book idea. I saw a mutual create a coloring book to share a habit she enjoys, and it got me thinking—why not do the same with crossword puzzles? I love them, and I love flash fiction, so why not combine them? The concept: each story has missing words, and the crossword puzzle helps you fill in the blanks. A mix of storytelling and wordplay. What do you think—would you read a book like that?

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Deep calls unto deep:

“At the same time, don’t be callous in your exercise of freedom, thoughtlessly stepping on the toes of those who aren’t as free as you are. I try my best to be considerate of everyone’s feelings in all these matters; I hope you will be, too.”

I Corinthians 10:32-33

Until the next,

Onyi.