…if we, in Nigeria, do not think of tomorrow, if we do not worry about the future, then tomorrow will surely catch up with us; unprepared, unready, and unable to meet its demands. The wealth of knowledge, the richness of our culture, and the wisdom of our struggles must not end with us. They must become the foundation on which our children build something greater
I BEGAN this weekly column on my 80th birthday, eight years ago, and since then I have written more than 400 articles. My decision to write was inspired by a desire to give back to a country that has given me so much.
My education came not only from schools, colleges, and universities, but also from the wisdom of the remarkable people of Nigeria, across the many communities where I lived, worked, married, and raised my children. That education enabled me to build friendships in nearly all of the 36 states of the nation and gave me the privilege of exploring the wider world. It also gave me the honor of representing Nigeria, carrying her flag with pride, and serving as a global teacher. Having journeyed so extensively, I often felt that perhaps the only frontier left for me was outer space for I had already traversed the breadth of this land, from Lagos to Maiduguri, from Chad to Talata Mafara in Sokoto, and onward to Agadez in the Niger Republic.
I have lived and worked in every part of the South-West and South-East, and the experiences from these journeys shaped the path that later took me far beyond Nigeria to China, Israel, the whole of Europe, the Americas, and even across the vast stretches of the Sahara Desert. Over the last fifty years, I have visited some of these countries not just once, but three or four times, watching them evolve with the passage of time. In China, for instance, I witnessed one of the greatest transformations in modern history: more than 40 million people lifted out of poverty, and a massive wave of infrastructural development that changed the face of the nation. In just a few decades, China moved from being considered underdeveloped to a developing nation, and today it stands among the most advanced countries in the world.
One of the oldest cities in the world, London, has been visited thousands of times by Nigerians. Yet, hardly can one pass through any county in the United Kingdom without noticing continuous activity, upgrading, maintenance, and restructuring of existing roads, bridges, and other infrastructure. These works are carried out daily, monthly, and yearly, not as a reaction to collapse, but as a proactive measure to prepare for the future. Most of the projects are designed to handle the increasing number of vehicles, to align with modernization, and to adapt to standards set by regulatory and technological developments. What is most striking is that the same culture of constant renewal extends beyond London. Even in the small towns and villages of the United Kingdom, one sees consistent improvements. Despite the temporary inconveniences caused by road diversions, construction noise, or delays, the results are undeniable: each visit reveals positive changes, visible progress, and a people accustomed to growth as a normal way of life.
I remember my first visit to Morocco in 1967, when I drove from Rabat to Casablanca and onward to Marrakesh, crossing roads that were then narrow, uneven, and in many cases poorly maintained. Today, when I retrace those same routes, the transformation is astonishing. The roads have been modernised to standards that rival those of the industrialised world, smooth, wide, well-marked, and supported by modern infrastructure. Morocco’s investment in its roads and cities has not only improved mobility but also played a key role in lifting millions of its citizens out of poverty. Development, I have learned, is not just about concrete and steel; it is about the dignity and opportunities that follow when a nation decides to prioritise its people’s future.
These travels opened my eyes to what is possible when a nation commits itself to progress. In Israel, I saw how innovation and determination turned deserts into fertile farmlands and made the country a global leader in agriculture and technology. In Europe and the Americas, I witnessed societies strengthened by systems that prioritise education, accountability, and long-term planning. Even in the harsh stretches of the Sahara Desert, I learned how resilience and adaptation enable people to survive in some of the toughest conditions on earth.
Each journey reminded me of what Nigeria has the potential to become. We are blessed with vast resources, a youthful population, and a cultural richness that few nations can match. Yet, while others moved steadily from poverty to prosperity, from instability to stability, our nation has often stumbled under the weight of missed opportunities and unfulfilled promises.
When I look at these examples, I cannot help but reflect on Nigeria. We are a nation blessed with immense human and natural resources, yet we struggle to maintain the infrastructure we already have, let alone expand it to meet the needs of a rapidly growing population. Roads collapse after only a few years of construction, projects are abandoned midway, and modernization often comes as a promise rather than a reality. The contrast is painful, for we too have the capacity to achieve what London, Morocco, and countless other nations have done but only if we embrace a culture of continuity, accountability, and vision.
This brings me to an article I wrote some time ago, which I believe is still very relevant today. I have decided to bring it forward once again as it captures, in clear terms, my reflections on the state of our roads and railways in Nigeria. The article is titled: “WHERE ARE THE ROADS AND RAILWAYS IN PRESENT-DAY NIGERIA?”
In reflecting on the pressing issues that confront present-day Nigeria, it becomes evident that the state of our roads and railways stands as a poignant symbol of both our nation’s potential and its challenges. Two years has elapsed since I released the publication of an article addressing this very topic, yet the urgency of the matter remains undiminished. Therefore, it is imperative to revisit and expand upon the discourse initiated in that initial article, delving deeper into the complexities, ramifications, and potential solutions concerning Nigeria’s transportation infrastructure.
Roads and railways all over the world are an integral part of the nation’s economic and social development that brings communities, local and state institutions, and sometimes, nations together. They help to create employment, create easier access to education, and open doors for industries for millions of people that live across borders as they commute goods and people on the roads and rail lines. Good roads and railways help to open up hamlets, villages, and towns and encourage the movement of goods, trade, and services. They also help to reduce migration to urban centres and curb conflict, wars, and the security risk that follows. It also reduces the threat to food security and will empower the people, the farming community, and especially women. Railway lines and stations passing through the hinterlands also contributed to the development of the informal sector of the economy. “THAT WAS THE NIGERIA I KNEW”. Those were the roads and railways that I knew operated in Nigeria in the 50s.
It became the people’s project and belonged to the people. The communities carried out the maintenance and security of the rail lines, and it was the responsibility of the community to clear and secure the lands 24/7. Anytime a tree fell across the line, it was also the responsibility of the community to clear it. Anytime there was a derailment, the community took it upon themselves to report to the divisional headquarters and follow up until repairs were done. Therefore, the community maintained the stations with very little authority from the divisional headquarters and it was done on a daily basis. Many of the workforce were local farmers who had their farms along the rail lines and earned daily wages to enable them to attend to their farm plants during the farming season. Only very few of the workforce maintaining the railways were under the civil service practice. All that was needed by the community were lamps (special lamps), boots, and uniforms. Each community took charge of the stretch of the rail line that fell in their community, leading up to the next community, they all knew themselves and exchanged responsibilities because the security of the rail line was of paramount importance to all the communities.
Now to the next most important infrastructure to the community, “the roads”. The roads were categorised as Trunk “A” and Trunk “B” roads. The Trunk A-roads were built and known as Federal roads that connected all the Regions in the country, whereas the Trunk B-roads were the divisional and provisional roads, but all roads were built by the Federal Government. This scenario is what is obtained all over the world. There were road overseers in every community; unlike in the case of the railways, the roads were people’s projects because they brought them development. Every road overseer, usually from the communities, was given an advance to buy a bicycle and sometimes given a 40–50 miles stretch or to the next community to maintain.
The road overseer was responsible for riding through the stretch of the road every day and reporting any cracks, erosion, flooding, or overgrown grass by the edges of the road and would report to the headquarters to be empowered to mend the cracks before it becomes a pothole, to dig some gutters to stop the erosion and sometimes prepare a drainage structure to take care of flooding.
There were people – many people – that travelled the roads of the country from North to South, East to West, sometimes with our families because it was a way of knowing our country and integrating despite our diversity, making it possible for every Nigerian to live anywhere irrespective of our ‘states of origin.’ I lived and worked in Mubi, Adamawa State, and fished in Lake Chad when it was a big ocean. I lived and worked in Talata Mafara in Sokoto. I lived and worked in Ijebu Igbo. I lived and worked in Warri and Sapele in the then mid-west building bridges in the 1700s.
Today’s Nigeria is so different and unfortunate for our children and grandchildren because we cannot expose them to the once beautiful albeit imperfect country I knew. One that gave me so much in education, so much in adventurism, and so much in building friendships across boundaries. Very sad to note that with all that is happening on our roads and railways, the only answer and solution from the authorities is to send security agencies to occupy and take over villages and hamlets looking for bandits, terrorists, and unknown gunmen.
My children and grandchildren that came to visit me in Delta state where I now reside came by air and on their flight back to Lagos, the flight was delayed for almost five hours, that was the time it took us when they were very young to drive from Lagos to my hometown because in most cases, it was like a picnic and it was also like knowing your country driving through four states to my hometown.
So what happened to my Nigeria? What happens to most Nigerians who cannot afford Air travel, which now seems to be the safest means for millions who want to move themselves, their goods and services across the nation?
The only way, therefore, is to rethink the ways of governance and accountability we owe the people, especially now that those wanting to govern us are not known to the people because they cannot move around their constituencies by road or by train. Even with their private jets, we do not have airports in many localities where they can land. Therefore, the roads and the rails must work even if it means giving back the roads and railways to the communities.
I still cannot comprehend and accept that the Nation Nigeria that was emerging soon after the civil war that lasted 3 years (1966- 1970) can now become a failed nation despite the immense human and natural resources that followed the introduction of the 3Rs (Reconstruction, Rehabilitation and Reconciliation) that was promised the nation by the then Head of State General Yakubu Gowon. Most times, Nations rebuild and reconcile better after wars. Till date we have not been able to rebuild, reconcile and rehabilitate; instead, we have had many coups, many flood sensors, and elections followed by political rascality that is now responsible for different types of wars all over.
When President Shehu Shagari assumed office in 1979, one of his most ambitious undertakings was the introduction of the Fourth National Development Plan (1981–1985). It was a blueprint designed to address Nigeria’s critical infrastructural gaps, diversify the economy, and modernise the nation in line with global standards.
At the heart of Shagari’s vision was agriculture. He believed that Nigeria must be able to feed itself and even produce enough to export, and so he launched the Green Revolution, an ambitious programme aimed at mechanising farming, improving productivity, and reducing dependence on food imports. Alongside agriculture, he placed strong emphasis on industrialisation. His administration sought to build industries in steel, petrochemicals, and textiles, convinced that the growth of these sectors would create employment, stimulate the economy, and push the country onto the path of modernisation.
Infrastructure and social services were also a major part of the plan. Roads, housing schemes, schools, and health facilities were expanded with the goal of meeting the demands of a rapidly growing population. The government invested heavily in large-scale housing projects, while efforts were made to broaden access to education and healthcare. On paper, Shagari’s plan held the promise of lifting millions out of poverty and setting Nigeria on the same trajectory of growth that countries like China and Morocco would later achieve. But the challenges soon became overwhelming. Nigeria’s heavy dependence on oil revenues proved to be its undoing when global oil prices collapsed in the early 1980s. Many projects stalled, funding dried up, and the government turned to borrowing, which plunged the nation deeper into debt. Corruption, inefficiency, and poor implementation further weakened the plan, and what could have been a defining moment in Nigeria’s development became another unfulfilled promise.
Yet, Shagari’s plan remains significant in Nigeria’s history. It was one of the few times the country attempted a comprehensive, nationwide development strategy. It showed foresight in agriculture, industry, and infrastructure, areas that remain critical to our progress today. The tragedy is not only that the plan faltered, but that successive governments abandoned it entirely instead of refining and sustaining its vision. Unlike nations such as the United Kingdom, where development is continuous, or Morocco, where road networks and infrastructure have been steadily upgraded over decades, Nigeria has too often chosen to discard the past and start afresh with each new administration.
Looking back now, one cannot help but wonder what Nigeria would look like if Shagari’s development plan had been faithfully continued. Perhaps the Nigeria we still dream about today would already have been a reality for our children and the generations after them.
Just some weeks back, as I drove through the busy streets of Nnewi in Anambra State, a shop was playing very loudly a song I was familiar with, “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.” That was how the title of this series came to me. The lyrics echoed in my mind, not because of Argentina, but because of Nigeria, my Nigeria. The degradation of our roads, the decay of infrastructure, the poverty that hangs heavy in the air, and the silent mental health struggles born out of the frustration of moving goods and services under unbearable conditions, all painted a picture that was too familiar. It is the kind of picture that tells you people have given up, that millions of Nigerians have accepted that we must continue to move backwards instead of forward.
For me, it was unfulfilling, even haunting, because I have known and walked through these places for decades. I have seen the change, not in the direction of progress but in the direction of deterioration. I could not cry, because in a sense, I have been part of this history, part of the story of a country that once had a future and promise but somehow slipped into this abyss of neglect. I could not cry, but I could not rejoice either.
And so, I began to ask myself: Why do we insist on building new things when we cannot maintain the ones we already have? Why do we break ground for new projects while the bridges that once carried us groan under neglect? Why announce railways, airports, expressways, when those that once gave us pride have been abandoned to rot and ruin? Maintenance -the simple discipline of care- has eluded us, and without it, no amount of new construction can carry us into the future.
This is not just about roads, railways, or buildings. It is about a mindset, a culture that celebrates the new but abandons the old, a governance that thrives on ceremonies of commissioning but avoids the less glamorous work of sustaining. It is about a society that forgets that true development is not in how much you build, but in how long what you build continues to serve its people.
Yet, my deepest worry remains this: why am I not able to bequeath all these experiences, lessons, and opportunities to my children and to the generations after them? I have seen what nations can achieve when they plan for tomorrow, when they take bold decisions today for the sake of those yet unborn.
But if we, in Nigeria, do not think of tomorrow, if we do not worry about the future, then tomorrow will surely catch up with us; unprepared, unready, and unable to meet its demands. The wealth of knowledge, the richness of our culture, and the wisdom of our struggles must not end with us. They must become the foundation on which our children build something greater.
We must ask ourselves: what legacy are we truly leaving behind? Will it be a story of wasted opportunities or a testimony of resilience, vision, and progress? For the future does not wait for anyone, it arrives, whether we prepare for it or not.
As I left Nnewi that day, the song still lingered in my mind. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. But I wondered who would cry for Nigeria? Who will take up the responsibility of restoring what we already have, of maintaining the heritage of infrastructure that once connected us, empowered us, and gave us dignity? Until that question is answered, we will remain a nation building castles on sand, while the ground beneath us quietly crumbles.