Before Wike Turns Abuja City to Jakarta, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

There is something deeply unsettling about watching Abuja, a city conceived as one of Africa’s most ambitious experiments in planned urban development, repeatedly surrender parts of itself to floodwater.

The latest flooding in parts of the Federal Capital Territory is not merely another rainy-season inconvenience. It is a warning. And the warning is bigger than the immediate political argument over whether Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike, should be blamed for what happened.

The more important question is whether Abuja is gradually developing the same urban pathologies that have made Jakarta a global symbol of uncontrolled urban expansion, disappearing waterways, inadequate drainage, environmental degradation and the expensive consequences of allowing development to outrun planning.

That comparison should not be misunderstood. Abuja is not Jakarta. Abuja is inland, while Jakarta is a coastal megacity battling sea-level rise and severe land subsidence. Parts of North Jakarta, for instance, have recorded subsidence of between 15 and 25 centimetres annually, dramatically worsening its exposure to flooding. But cities do not have to share the same geography to share the same mistakes. That is where Wike must be careful.

The former Rivers State governor has unquestionably changed the physical appearance of Abuja since President Bola Tinubu appointed him FCT minister in August 2023. Roads have been reconstructed, bridges completed, neglected infrastructure revived and several long-abandoned projects pushed towards completion.

By July this year, Wike said the FCT had inaugurated its 50th project since the Tinubu administration came into office. The projects include roads, water infrastructure and other public works across the territory. To be fair to him, that record deserves commendation. However, roads alone do not make a city.

A city is a living system. Its roads, drainage channels, wetlands, parks, residential districts or areas, commercial centres, waterways and population must function together. When one element is aggressively developed while another is ignored, the consequences eventually become visible.

The flooding witnessed in Abuja this August should therefore force a more uncomfortable conversation about the direction of the capital. On August 18, Wike visited flood-affected areas in Maitama and reportedly discovered a structure sitting on a drainage area whose allocation had been revoked in 2011 in the public interest. That discovery is important for a reason that goes beyond the particular building because if a plot officially designated as a drainage area could be allocated, revoked and subsequently developed despite the restriction, then Abuja’s problem is not simply rainfall. It is governance.

And governance is precisely where the Jakarta analogy becomes relevant. Jakarta’s flooding crisis was not created overnight. Years of rapid urbanisation, excessive groundwater extraction, loss of natural absorption areas, pressure on drainage systems and development along waterways combined to produce a crisis that became progressively more difficult and expensive to reverse. The World Resources Institute has noted that Jakarta’s land subsidence averages about 12 centimetres annually, with parts of the northern coast experiencing rates as high as 25 centimetres.

As it stands, Abuja does not face Jakarta’s sinking-land problem. But Abuja faces a related urban danger: the gradual destruction of the spaces through which water is supposed to move. A drainage channel is not an empty piece of land waiting for a developer. A wetland is not idle property. A green area is not necessarily undeveloped land begging for a building. They are components of the city’s natural infrastructure. And once politicians, civil servants, developers and influential residents begin treating them as disposable, the city starts paying the price.

This is why Wike’s decision to order the demolition of structures obstructing designated waterways is both necessary and politically dangerous. To some extent, that is the right principle. But principles become meaningful only when they are applied consistently. If Wike demolishes the house of an ordinary resident while a politically connected developer is allowed to retain an equally illegal structure, then the exercise will become another chapter in Nigeria’s familiar story of selective enforcement.

The minister should therefore resist the temptation to turn the demolition campaign into a spectacle. What Abuja needs is not demolition theatre. It needs urban discipline. There must be a comprehensive audit of drainage corridors, floodplains, wetlands and waterways across the Federal Capital City and the satellite towns. Every questionable allocation should be investigated. Every revoked plot should be reconciled with the physical structures standing on it. And where demolition becomes unavoidable, compensation and relocation questions must be handled according to law and due process.

The Abuja Master Plan was conceived precisely to prevent the kind of urban disorder now threatening the capital. The original plan was formulated in 1979, while the detailed plan for the central district was developed in the early 1980s under the direction of Japanese architect Kenzo Tange. That is one of the ironies of modern Abuja. A city designed with extraordinary attention to order is increasingly being tested by disorder.

The original planners could not have predicted Abuja’s current population pressures, real estate boom, traffic density, climate pressures and sprawling satellite settlements. The city has changed dramatically since the 1970s. Yet the answer cannot be to abandon planning. The answer is to update it. Indeed, an urban planning review has noted that Abuja’s 1979 master plan has remained largely unchanged despite more than four decades of rapid urbanisation. This is where Wike’s legacy will ultimately be judged. Will he merely construct more roads within an old urban framework, or will he help create a modern Abuja capable of surviving the pressures of the next 50 years?

Abuja needs an integrated storm-water management strategy, not sporadic intervention after every major rainfall. Drainage channels must be mapped, cleared and maintained before the rains. Construction permits must be linked to proper hydrological assessments. Developers should be required to demonstrate how their projects will manage storm-water runoff. The administration must also look beyond Maitama, Wuse, Garki and the other affluent districts.

The real test of Abuja’s planning system lies in its rapidly expanding outskirts. Kuje, Gwagwalada, Bwari, Kubwa, Lugbe, Karu and other growth corridors are experiencing enormous development pressures. Wike has invested heavily in connecting these communities with roads and other infrastructure. That is commendable. But every new road creates development pressure. Every new interchange increases land value. Every improved corridor attracts houses, shopping centres, estates, filling stations and commercial activity. Infrastructure therefore creates both opportunity and responsibility.

If roads arrive without drainage, planning enforcement, waste management and environmental protection, today’s infrastructure investment can become tomorrow’s flooding problem. This is how cities drift into crisis. Not because one administration deliberately sets out to destroy them, but because thousands of individual decisions accumulate until the city itself begins to malfunction.

Jakarta offers that warning. Its experience demonstrates that once urban environmental damage reaches a certain point, governments spend enormous sums trying to repair problems that could have been prevented much more cheaply through planning and enforcement. Jakarta has consequently had to undertake massive flood-control interventions while simultaneously confronting the consequences of decades of groundwater extraction and uncontrolled urban expansion.

Abuja still has the advantage Jakarta wishes it had, which is time. Wike should therefore see the August flooding as more than an opportunity to order demolitions. It should be the beginning of a comprehensive Abuja Resilience Strategy. That strategy should combine the enforcement of the master plan with a modern review of the master plan itself. It should protect wetlands, restore drainage corridors, expand green infrastructure, improve waste management and establish a transparent digital register of land allocations and planning approvals.

Most importantly, it must end the culture in which political influence can bend urban planning rules. The Maitama discovery is a warning in this regard. A drainage area revoked more than a decade ago should not later become a building site.

Abuja does not need another powerful minister who can demolish structures. It needs institutions powerful enough to prevent illegal structures from being approved in the first place.

Wike has shown that he understands the politics of physical development. He has demonstrated urgency in pushing contractors and completing projects. His administration has been particularly aggressive about roads and other visible infrastructure, with dozens of projects commissioned. Now he must demonstrate that he understands the politics of urban sustainability.

Wike still has an opportunity to change the trajectory of anyhowness building of structures in the city. He can leave Abuja with hundreds of kilometres of roads and dozens of commissioned projects. Or he can leave something more enduring: a capital whose development respects the ecological systems that make urban life possible.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

Tinubu, EFCC and the Danger of Political Interference, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

There are moments when the intention behind an official decision may be defensible, yet the decision itself opens a door that ought to concern every citizen. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s intervention in the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission’s freezing of an Osun State Government account is one of those moments.

On August 6, 2026, with the Osun governorship election only nine days away, Tinubu directed the EFCC to return to court, vacate the order freezing an account belonging to the Osun State Government and discontinue the action it had instituted. The President said he was “deeply embarrassed” not by the EFCC’s exercise of its mandate, which he acknowledged was backed by a court order, but by its timing.

His explanation was understandable. Tinubu said actions taken by federal institutions were ordinarily attributed to him as President, whether or not he had prior knowledge of them. Since the election was approaching, he argued, nothing should be done that could create the impression that the EFCC or another Federal Government agency was being used to influence the election.

The argument is “morally” correct. But it also creates a difficult constitutional and institutional question: where does legitimate presidential concern about an election end and operational interference in an anti-corruption agency begin?

The EFCC did not arbitrarily descend on Osun. The commission said it had observed “huge transfers of funds into different corporate entities” from the state account and had acted to halt what it considered suspicious movement of public money. It argued that the approaching election could not become an excuse for an anti-corruption agency to ignore suspected movement of public funds.

Governor Ademola Adeleke, however, said the account was used for workers’ salaries and had been placed on a “Post No Debit” status. He demanded an explanation from EFCC Chairman Ola Olukoyede and described the action as another assault on Osun’s democracy.

The political atmosphere surrounding the matter had also been poisoned long before the account was frozen. In June, the Diaspora Committee of the All Progressives Congress Governorship Campaign Council in Osun asked the EFCC to freeze accounts allegedly connected with a reported N13.7bn annual ghost-workers payroll scandal. The committee claimed the money could be diverted to finance vote-buying ahead of the August 15 election. That background makes the EFCC’s action politically sensitive. But sensitivity is precisely why institutional independence matters.

The EFCC is a creation of statute. Under the EFCC (Establishment) Act, its chairman and members are appointed by the President, subject to Senate confirmation, while the law also provides for the chairman’s tenure and removal. The Presidency therefore has substantial influence over the commission’s leadership. That, however, does not make the President the operational head of every EFCC investigation.

There is an important distinction between constitutional authority over an institution and operational control of its investigations. A President may appoint the EFCC chairman, exercise statutory powers concerning the office, formulate broad government policy and demand accountability from federal agencies. But an anti-corruption agency must retain sufficient operational independence to determine whom to investigate, what evidence to pursue and what enforcement action to take.

Curiously, Tinubu himself made this case in the same statement. He said that since assuming office in May 2023, he had consistently maintained that anti-corruption and law-enforcement agencies should perform their statutory responsibilities independently and professionally, “without fear or favour, or political interference.” He added that he had deliberately refrained from directing or interfering in EFCC operations. That is why the Osun intervention becomes more concerning.

If a President can intervene in an operational decision because its timing might create an appearance of political interference, then the President has necessarily exercised influence over an operational decision. That does not automatically make the intervention unlawful. But it creates a precedent that future administrations may exploit.

Tinubu may genuinely believe the EFCC action could have been interpreted as an attempt to influence the Osun election. Another President could make the same argument about an investigation involving a governor, a minister, a major campaign financier or a politically influential contractor. If the principle becomes that the Presidency can intervene whenever enforcement action creates political controversy, the exception could eventually swallow the rule.

Nigeria’s history with the EFCC offers enough warnings. The commission was established in 2002 and began operations under President Olusegun Obasanjo, with Nuhu Ribadu becoming its pioneer chairman in 2003. Ribadu’s aggressive pursuit of governors, ministers, bankers and other powerful Nigerians gave the EFCC international prominence. But his controversial removal in 2007 also generated questions about the vulnerability of the commission to presidential and political interests.

Farida Waziri’s tenure produced another controversy. Appointed by President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua in 2008, she was removed by President Goodluck Jonathan on November 23, 2011. Years later, Waziri alleged that Jonathan’s administration had interfered with investigations and that her refusal to back down from a probe contributed to her removal. Though Jonathan rejected the allegation and challenged her to identify whom he had allegedly ordered her not to investigate.

The significance of those disputes is not simply who was right. It is that Nigerians repeatedly witnessed a situation in which the political leadership had enormous influence over the institution expected to investigate politically powerful people.

The Muhammadu Buhari administration provided another example. Buhari appointed Ibrahim Magu as acting EFCC chairman in 2015, despite the controversy that followed the Senate’s rejection of his nomination for substantive confirmation. On July 10, 2020, Buhari approved Magu’s suspension to allow a presidential panel to investigate allegations against him.

Again, the larger issue was institutional. The leadership of the EFCC remained heavily dependent on the Presidency, even though the commission’s work could directly affect members and allies of the governing political establishment. That is the weakness Nigeria has failed to resolve.

The President appoints the EFCC chairman. The commission investigates people who may have enormous political connections. The chairman therefore operates within an institutional structure in which the most powerful political office in the country has significant influence over the leadership of the agency.

This is why the Osun matter cannot be reduced to whether Tinubu had the right to be concerned about the election. Of course, he did. Elections must be protected from intimidation, manipulation and the misuse of state institutions. The harder question is whether that legitimate concern should be exercised through a presidential direction concerning a live EFCC enforcement matter.

There is also an important constitutional distinction regarding Adeleke. Section 308 of the 1999 Constitution grants a sitting governor immunity from civil or criminal proceedings in specified circumstances. But immunity is not exoneration. It does not mean a governor cannot be investigated, that evidence cannot be gathered or that public funds associated with a state government are beyond investigation.

If the EFCC had credible evidence of suspicious transfers, Adeleke’s candidacy should not automatically extinguish the commission’s investigative responsibility. Conversely, the approaching election should not give the EFCC licence to turn an investigation into a political weapon. The law must be stronger than both impulses.

That is why the better solution should have been procedural rather than presidential. If the EFCC had obtained a freezing order from a court and concerns subsequently arose about its timing or effect on essential state services, those concerns could have been presented before the court. If salaries needed to be paid, the government could have sought appropriate judicial relief.

Adeleke, too, must allow due process to take its course. If the EFCC acted unlawfully, the courts provide the remedy. If the allegations are false, evidence and due process should establish that fact.

For Olukoyede, the lesson is equally clear. The EFCC’s greatest asset is not proximity to the President but distance from political instruction. The commission must be prepared to investigate opposition politicians and members of the ruling party, governors and former governors, ministers and political financiers according to the same evidentiary standard.

Tinubu’s intervention, even if motivated by a legitimate desire to protect the integrity of the Osun election, should concern Nigerians. Institutions survive governments. Presidents come and go. Political parties win and lose elections.

If Tinubu truly wants Nigerians to believe that the EFCC is independent, the next step is obvious. He should help build an institutional framework in which no future President will need to intervene to prove that the EFCC is not being used politically. That is the real test of leadership. And that is the difference between fighting corruption under a President and building a country where the fight against corruption does not depend on the President.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

Jingir’s Words and the Challenge of Religious Tolerance, by Boniface Ihiasota 

Nigeria’s greatest strength has always been its diversity. Muslims, Christians, traditional worshippers and citizens of other beliefs have lived, worked, traded and built families across the country’s complicated social landscape. That is why recent utterances attributed to Sheikh Sani Yahaya Jingir deserve more than partisan applause or condemnation. They demand reflection.

At an event attended by, among others, Kano State Governor Abba Yusuf and Jigawa State Governor Umar Namadi, Sheikh Jingir renewed his support for a Muslim-Muslim presidential ticket ahead of the 2027 elections. He argued that Muslims should mobilise behind such a ticket and urged his audience to obtain their Permanent Voter Cards. He also referred to those opposed to his position as “infidels” and said Muslims should “show the infidels their limit.”

There is, of course, nothing inherently undemocratic about a Muslim advocating for Muslim candidates. Democracy gives every citizen the right to support candidates according to personal convictions, including religious convictions. The problem begins when political competition is framed as a contest between religious communities, particularly in a country where religious identity has historically been capable of provoking suspicion, fear and violence.

From the perspective of many Nigerians in the diaspora, this language is especially troubling. Those of us watching Nigeria from abroad understand that the country’s image is not determined only by government policies or economic statistics. It is also shaped by how Nigerians treat one another. When influential religious voices appear to portray fellow citizens as outsiders or enemies because of their faith, the damage extends beyond politics.

Nigeria is constitutionally a secular state, and Section 42 of the 1999 Constitution prohibits discrimination against citizens on grounds including religion. The implication is important: political participation is a citizenship right, not a privilege reserved for members of the religious majority.

This is where religious leadership carries an enormous responsibility. A Sheikh, pastor or traditional religious leader does not speak only to those seated before him. His words travel through social media, enter homes, influence young people and can be repeated long after the original gathering has ended.

Femi Fani-Kayode, Nigeria’s ambassador-designate to South Africa, made precisely this point in his reaction to Jingir’s comments, describing the rhetoric as provocative and warning that Nigeria is neither a Muslim nor a Christian country but a secular, multi-religious state. Human-rights lawyer Deji Adeyanju similarly warned on August 10, 2026, that religious rhetoric capable of deepening divisions between Christians and Muslims threatens national cohesion.

The lesson should not be that religious people must abandon their convictions. Quite the opposite. Strong faith should make Nigerians more committed to justice, dignity, compassion and peaceful coexistence. Nigeria does not need religious leaders who pretend that differences do not exist. It needs leaders mature enough to acknowledge those differences without turning them into political weapons.

The 2027 elections will come and go. Presidents will change, parties will win and lose, and politicians will eventually leave office. But Nigeria will remain. Muslims will continue living beside Christians; Christians will continue doing business with Muslims; and millions of families will continue to transcend religious boundaries. That enduring relationship is more important than any political ticket.

From the diaspora, therefore, the message is simple: Nigerians may disagree passionately about candidates, parties and policies, but we must never allow political competition to convince us that our fellow citizens are less Nigerian because they worship differently. Religious freedom means the freedom to believe. Religious tolerance means allowing another citizen to believe differently without treating that difference as a threat. Nigeria needs both.