There’s something about this famous spot on the Kaduna – Abuja highway which commends it for serious comparison to the state of affairs in Nigeria. No, it’s not the swirling early morning mist that shrouds its dome like a turban. Speeding by, one catches a whiff of the contrariness that so defines our national journey in the billboard photographs of the state governor, the “Chief Servant” as he calls himself, of the Power State. That is the pet name of Niger State, you know: The Power State. “One good term deserves another”, one of those outsized posters says and you can’t help wondering if that is why his gap-toothed namesake is angling for a return to Aso Villa.
Another super sheet, to use the outdoor term, has the lesser known Master of the House, Babangida in other words, gazing benignly down the Low Cost Housing Estate, begun by his predecessor; all 300 or so plots with roofs on, left to rot since 2007. Chief servant? No, the abandoned housing estate calls for a more fitting title.
Further ahead is the popular Madalla Market, scene of widely reported accidents involving upturned petrol tankers, hapless roadside merchants and harried commuters. The last of these happened in the first week of August 2010. No fewer than ten people were set ablaze, I was told, including a suya seller and a woman and child trapped in their family car. Crawling past the burnt-out shells of tanker, cars and wares, the mind is forced to contemplate the arid future of people who refuse to learn from history.
A throng of outdoor signs compete for what little attention the eyes and brain can muster. Among the screaming corporate slogans and commercial hooks is a signpost from the 2007 Buhari campaign. Covered in grime, it makes a bold grab for the fleeting awareness of passers by, with the resonating yell of his stubborn ambition. If indeed old soldiers never die, then old politicians die even harder. Atop the busy, dusty, noisy Madalla roadside, Buhari’s 2007 outdoor campaign board confirms it squarely.
The journey flips a page when we turn into the main Abuja highway through the Zuba overhead bridge. Abuja beckons frantically from beyond the expanse of road works in progress and slowly piling traffic. It needs no telling that the road is spreading itself from four to ten lanes to take in the broad convoy of dreams and desires that converge in the Federal Capital daily on the hour, the minute, and the second. Zuba is only about thirty kilometers away, but on this Monday morning, it takes all of three long hours to reach my destination in the Central Business District. A top bureaucrat, to whom I complain, sneers at my impractical sense of what she called, “Abuja Time.”
I wonder if this explains the sluggish pace of decision making in the nation’s capital. It’s no faster, I know, in my “clean and green” Imo state capital. But Abuja presents a pervading façade of modernist ethos far removed from the grit and gristle of the provinces as anywhere outside old Lagos used to be known. It’s there in the clean swept streets and hi-tech buildings, the shopping malls and ever-sprouting, sleek housing developments. And yes, a certain Abuja mentality, that’s so different, so strange, yet so Nigerian and so home grown at the same time.
The distinction must be made quickly enough that we are talking here of Abuja Municipal Area Council, or AMAC in short, the heart of the FCT- where the streets are paved, the walkways swept and residences adequately spread out for breathing space. The other Area Councils- Kubwa, Kuje, Kwali and Karu- may strive all they can for that distant second place behind sparkling AMAC. But everyone acknowledges a definite effort on the part of these satellite towns to live above the common standards of urban Nigeria.
All over the federal capital the credit for this refreshing spirit is ascribed to one fellow: Nasir El-Rufai. Often, a label is attached to his name by the press, to distinguish him from other pretenders or give notice to the herculean dimensions of his achievement, it’s hard to say: Diminutive. Be that as it may, the man Nasir has won a victory for residents and visitors alike. It is rather instructive, I find, that the common people against whom his bulldozers wrought the most havoc are complimenting him on his vision and courage.
I met a man in my friend Reginald Ibe’s Maitama office, who narrated to me what a taxi driver had told him: “If you see where I dey live before, enhen!. I thank God say El-Rufai drive me comot there!”
Those words called to mind the old Fela song wherein he berates his listeners thus: “We must to dey craze for head to dey live inside dustbin.” Development planning is certainly not a jamboree or night out at the Shrine. It takes real guts to pull it through most times, because all kinds of interests are affected by even the smallest project. Along the line, we may end up doing the easy thing so that we do not step on some really powerful toes. And before anyone can say, “develop…” the entire plan has been watered down and distorted beyond recognition, execution or redemption.
Sure, it’s patently crazy to sleep in a dust bin, but how for do, abi? Till, a puny, yea diminutive fella with focal lenses comes along, who says, “Ah-ah, this is not right. Bayi kama ta ba!” Sure also, we hate his guts for a long while, till the breath of fresh, clean air gets to us and we are forced to acknowledge that well, de guy try sha…
For all the sleaze and slime that has clearly gone underneath its expansive, well laid foundations, the dream of a brand new federal capital and its continuing revelation, speak very loudly of a dormant Nigerian spirit. The clean swept streets and walkways of Abuja Municipal say quite clearly that we can plug the massive haemorrhaging of our national wealth and do other great things besides, if we put our heads and hearts to it.
Sadly, this very huge potential is yet to be fully stirred into service for the nation and the continent.
'By 4 Now...
Pita
No comments:
Post a Comment