I still remember the day the story began.
I was on my way back going to Asaba from Anambra, and right at the Onitha bridge sitting quietly by the window of the vehicle, letting the wind touch my face.
The sun was bright, the day was busy,, and the road was alive with traffic.
Then something caught my eye.
Under one of the bridges, I saw men moving quickly.
Engines roared, water splashed, and long pipes stretched into the river like giant arms.
I watched them closely, wondering what they were doing.
“Is it fishing?” I asked the person sitting beside me.
He laughed gently.
“No, not fishing. They are removing sand from the bottom of the water. It’s called dredging.”
Dredging.
The word stuck to my heart like glue.
That night, I opened my laptop and started reading.
And reading.
And reading.
What I saw amazed me,this simple sand, pulled from the bottom of our rivers, becomes the foundation of our homes, roads, markets, and even the bridges we walk on.
Immediately, my curiosity turned into a mission.
I told myself:
“I must see this with my own eyes. I must touch it, feel it, understand it.”
A few days later, I informed my team.
We picked a date, packed our bags, and prepared for the adventure.
That morning, we woke up before the city fully opened its eyes.
The air was cool.
The sky was clear.
The sun came out softly, blessing the day with golden brightness.
People were already outside
sweeping their compounds, opening their shops, carrying loads on their heads, riding bikes.
Nigeria is a country where dawn never sleeps.
As we drove, the road became quieter, and the journey became smoother.
It wasn’t too far, yet it felt like traveling into a hidden world.
We reached a junction and had to cross over.
In front of us spread a wide, red sandy road untarred, uneven, but full of life.Every step I took made soft red dust rise behind my slippers.Dumper trucks rumbled past, their heavy tires sinking into the sand, carrying yesterday’s dredging work to new destinations.I kept walking…the sound of engines grew louder…the air became moist with river breeze…Then suddenly ,the river opened before me.
By 7 or 8 in the morning, the place was already dancing with activity.
It felt like I had stepped into another city
one powered not by electricity or markets,
but by water, sand, and human strength.
Pipes were pumping,
trucks were loading,
workers were shouting instructions,
women were selling food,
men were carrying shovels,
and far inside the river, a dredger floated like a giant beast at work.
The whole scene was breathtaking.
The first person I walked up to was a woman.
She was beautiful,dark-skinned, curvy, confident, and glowing in the morning sun.
There was something bold about her presence.
I greeted her and introduced myself.
I told her why I came, what I wanted to learn, and that I hoped she wouldn’t mind showing me around.
To my surprise, her face lit up with excitement.
“You came to learn? To see? Ah! No problem, I will carry you around,” she said, smiling warmly.
She was more than willing to help.
And before I even asked, she shared that she owned two dredging lines
a woman thriving in a space many people thought belonged only to men.
In that moment, I felt proud of her without even knowing her name.
As she led me around, every step uncovered a new story.
I saw:
A dredger sitting on the river like a giant metal boat Long suction pipes disappearing deep into the water A mixture of sand and water rushing out of the pipe with force The sand drying under the sun, slowly turning into heaps Trucks waiting in line to carry it away Men pushing wheelbarrows Others filling tippers with shovels Some leveling the ground And the endless humming of machines
This was not just work.
This was life.
A heartbeat.
A rhythm.
A place where many families earn their daily bread.
I didn’t just watch from a distance—
I became part of the story.
I climbed onto a payloader.
The engine growled like a living creature.
I held a pumping pipe steady as sand and water sprayed out.
My hands vibrated from the pressure.
I picked up a shovel.
Yes,me.
And I pushed sand forward, laughing at how heavy each scoop felt.
It was messy, it was tiring, and it was absolutely beautiful.
Because sometimes…
to understand a story, you must let the story touch you.
This visit opened my eyes to something important:
Before a house becomes a home…
before a road becomes a path…
before a market becomes a meeting point…
before a building becomes a landmark…
…it begins right here.
At the river.
With sand pulled from the earth,
with machines roaring,
with people working together.
Construction doesn’t start with architects.It starts with the river.
As I left the site, covered in sand and sweat, a deep respect settled in my heart.
I understood the saying:
“A tree does not make a forest.”
It takes people, machines, teamwork, courage, and community to make this work possible.
And I knew this story had to be shared
for those who have seen dredging but don’t know what it means,
for those who admire buildings but don’t know where they begin,
and for those who love stories of people, work, and the world around us.
My name is Joy Oluchi,
a storyteller with a curious heart,
and this is the story of how a simple moment in a moving vehicle
led me to the river where construction is born.
In my next story, I will take you deeper
into the business, the opportunities,
and the secrets behind sand dredging.
Until then…
thank you for walking with me.
Joy Oluchi : The World Through My Eyes 