In a country where expectations are historically low but somehow still manage to be
unmet, the administration of Bola Ahmed Tinubu has boldly charted a new course:
redefining what it means to succeed by simply removing any lingering connection
between effort and outcome. Since May 2023, governance has evolved into something
far more sophisticated than mere administration. It is now a living experiment – part
endurance test, part theatre – where Nigerians are both the audience and the unwilling
cast.
Consider the administration’s crowning achievement: national cohesion through shared
vulnerability. Where previous governments failed to unify the country along ethnic,
religious, or economic lines, this one has found the great equalizer – generalised
insecurity. From Zamfara to the South-East, from highways to farmlands, fear has
become the most reliable federal presence. It is, if nothing else, consistent.
The economy, too, has been handled with a kind of daring abstraction. Numbers no
longer merely describe reality – they transcend it. With tens of millions reportedly
pushed into extreme poverty, Nigeria has not just retained but reinforced its global
standing in the hierarchy of hardship. In a competitive world, dominance matters.
Borrowing, meanwhile, has been elevated into an art form. Trillions of naira have been
secured in loans, deployed with such discretion that their tangible effects remain largely
theoretical. It is fiscal minimalism: maximum input, minimal visible output. And then
there is the small matter of trillions allegedly unaccounted for – proof that even in
governance, mystery remains an essential ingredient.
Currency reform has followed a similar philosophical path. The naira’s steady descent
has been less a crisis than a statement – an embrace of gravity, a surrender to
economic inevitability dressed up as policy. At this rate, Nigerians no longer check
exchange rates; they simply brace for impact. Fuel pricing has completed the
transformation of the average citizen into a reluctant stoic. The leap from affordability to
aspiration has been so dramatic that petrol now occupies the psychological space once
reserved for luxury goods. Owning a full tank is no longer routine – it is a milestone.
Security, often framed as a challenge, has quietly blossomed into a thriving informal
sector. The kidnapping economy – efficient, decentralised, and tragically lucrative – has
demonstrated a level of organisational capacity that might impress economists, if it were
not so devastating. Ransom payments have effectively become an unlegislated tax,
collected without bureaucracy but with remarkable efficiency.
Yet, if there is a unifying doctrine behind all these developments, it is the
administration’s bold reinterpretation of geography. Nigeria, as currently governed,
appears to operate on a revised map. – one in which all roads, policies, and ambitions
converge on a single city. Lagos is no longer merely a commercial hub; it is the
gravitational centre of national existence. Infrastructure projects cluster around it with
near-religious devotion. The rest of the federation exists, certainly – but more as
conceptual territory than developmental priority.
The much-discussed coastal highway project, with its enormous price tag and
impeccable sense of direction toward elite enclaves, serves as the flagship of this
philosophy. But it is far from alone. Ports, roads, and economic corridors increasingly
trace a familiar pattern: begin in Lagos, expand around Lagos, and, if necessary,
explain Lagos to the rest of the country as a national interest.
The recent decision to secure a £736 million loan for port development reinforces this
worldview. It is a bold investment in a location already synonymous with congestion,
complexity, and commercial dominance. Meanwhile, existing port infrastructure in
Calabar and Port Harcourt continues to enjoy the serenity that comes only from
underuse. Efficiency, it seems, is best achieved not by distributing capacity, but by
concentrating pressure.
In the same spirit of consolidation, the question of contractors has been handled with
admirable simplicity. Rather than burden the system with diversity and competition,
there appears to be a comforting consistency in the prominence of the Chagoury Group
across major projects. It is governance by familiarity – why risk unpredictability when
reliability, or at least recognisability, is readily available?
This approach, while unconventional, does offer certain advantages. It reduces the
confusion of multiple stakeholders and replaces it with a streamlined network of known
quantities. Whether this constitutes efficiency or exclusivity is, of course, a matter of
perspective – but perspective, like infrastructure, may depend on location.
Beyond infrastructure, the administration has also redefined the optics of governance.
The acquisition of a $150 million presidential jet sends a clear message: leadership
must remain elevated, both figuratively and literally. It is difficult to be weighed down by
national challenges when one is comfortably above them.
Budget implementation has embraced a similarly selective philosophy. Funds exist,
allocations are made, but disbursement appears to follow a logic known only to a
privileged few. Contractors wait, projects stall, but somewhere – always somewhere –
work continues, particularly where it matters most.
And then there is electricity, that elusive cornerstone of modern life. While tens of
millions of Nigerians navigate darkness with resilience honed over decades, the
Presidential Villa now glows with solar certainty. It is a powerful metaphor: renewable
energy for the few, renewable patience for the many.
Taken together, these developments suggest not failure, but a radical rethinking of
governance itself. This is not a government constrained by conventional metrics like
widespread development, equitable distribution, or measurable impact. It is a
government that dares to ask: what if success were something else entirely? What if
unity meant shared hardship?What if growth meant concentrated prosperity? What if
accountability were optional, and visibility unnecessary?
In answering these questions, the administration has produced something rare – a
political reality so exaggerated that it loops back into satire, blurring the line between
critique and description.
And so, as the drums of re-election begin to echo faintly in the distance, the message to
Nigerians is both simple and profound: continuity is not just desirable – it is essential.
After all, when a system has so thoroughly redefined the meaning of progress, the only
logical next step is to give it more time to complete the experiment.
Because if this is what one term can achieve, one can only imagine what another might
accomplish.
