Babachir, Atiku, Tinubu and the 2027 election.

By Olusegun Adeniyi

Born on 29 May 1926, former Senegalese President Abdoulaye Wade celebrated his 100th birthday last Friday, becoming the first West African leader to reach a century of age. Wade’s life story, however, is not solely about longevity. A long‑time opposition figure, he contested the presidency four times between 1978 and 2000, finally winning at age 74. He served 12 years before his third‑term bid was halted in 2012. Wade’s experience illustrates that the number of times a former Vice President, such as Atiku Abubakar, has run for president is less relevant than the broader political context in which he now operates.

Atiku’s recent decision to run for president under the African Democratic Congress (ADC) has exposed fractures within Nigeria’s opposition. Just before Atiku was named the ADC’s presidential candidate last week, former Transportation Minister Rotimi Amaechi and businessman Mohammed Hayatudeen issued separate statements condemning the nomination process, alleging widespread irregularities. Atiku attempted to quell the controversy by visiting both Amaechi and Hayatudeen at their homes, but former Secretary to the Government of the Federation (SGF), Babachir Lawal, issued a scathing public statement. Lawal dismissed Atiku as unfit for the presidency and suggested that incumbent President Bola Tinubu would be a better choice. In a subsequent interview on Channels, Lawal reiterated these criticisms.

Lawal’s remarks are unsurprising given his history of outspoken, identity‑based politics. Two encounters illustrate this pattern. In 2015, shortly after being appointed SGF by former President Muhammadu Buhari, Lawal met with a group of senior journalists and media owners from the North. While ostensibly briefing them on the administration, he spent much of the time praising Bola Tinubu and making uncomfortable comments about the Fulani community, despite the fact that his principal was a Fulani man and many of the attendees were Fulani. He questioned why he could not praise Tinubu and suggested that northern Christians like himself were marginalized in the political landscape.

A second encounter, in August of the previous year, occurred at the home of former Sokoto State Governor Aminu Tambuwal, who had just been released by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) after a 24‑hour detention. Lawal dominated the conversation, joking that Tambuwal’s release was due to his Fulani identity and that Christians in the North were treated differently. He also made a remark about former Imo State Governor Emeka Ihedioha, implying that a Christian “Nyamiri” brother would face a longer detention.

Atiku’s media team has responded to Lawal’s comments, but the real issue lies in the ADC’s rapid unraveling. The party, launched last year with the intention of challenging the incumbent, has revealed that it is essentially built around Atiku. This has led to the exit of former presidential hopefuls Peter Obi and Dr Rabiu Kwankwaso, who now co‑lead the National Democratic Congress (NDC). Amaechi and Hayatudeen also appear hesitant to fully support Atiku’s presidential bid.

An opposition platform’s value extends beyond its individual members; it must generate momentum among the electorate and challenge the myth of incumbent invincibility. The current opposition is fragmented across parties, and even within those parties, there is no unified purpose.

During the 2010/2011 academic session, I was a Fellow at the Harvard Weatherhead Centre for International Affairs, researching presidential elections in Africa where incumbents are on the ballot. I found that a fragmented opposition is counterproductive. Dr Issaka K. Souaré, a senior governance and mediation advisor at the Institute for Security Studies in Pretoria, South Africa, described most African opposition leaders as “macro democrats” and “micro autocrats” who preach what they do not practice. He argued that these leaders form parties primarily to seek personal power rather than to advance democratic processes. If their leadership of an opposition coalition is not secure, they prefer to act alone, even if it reduces their chances of winning.

Last Friday marked 27 years of uninterrupted civilian rule in Nigeria. The persistence of leaders who make no real commitments, and the lack of accountability, is evident across the country. Lawal’s public criticism of Atiku has become a trending topic at a time when many Nigerians struggle to provide for their families and schoolchildren, and where incidents of abduction in major cities are rising. Lawal has since retreated to his farm in Adamawa State, but the conversation must refocus on substantive issues rather than personal attacks. Parties that rely on ethnicity, religion, or name‑calling cannot produce leaders who champion clear directions.

While I began this piece to argue that Atiku should not be dismissed because of his age or past electoral defeats, I recognize that this may be his last significant opportunity. Atiku will be 80 in November. The ADC must reorganize itself if it wants its candidates to be taken seriously at the polls. For readers interested in the implications of a fragmented opposition when an incumbent is on the ballot, my 2011 publication, Federal Republic of Waste, is available.

Three weeks ago, I received a call from Pastor (Mrs.) Biodun Adebowale (née Sadiku), a former attendee of the Good Shepherds Pasture of the Redeemed Christian Church of God in Alagomeji, Lagos. She was driving through Ikoyi when she passed a building she recognized as the former Credite Bank headquarters. The building remains on prime real estate in one of Lagos’s most expensive districts, yet it is physically present but functionally absent. The Nigeria Deposit Insurance Corporation (NDIC) has long held the bank’s assets, but the building has not been repurposed.

A similar situation exists in Isolo, where another former Credite Bank property remains in decline. Adebowale lamented the lack of action, asking, “Why can’t somebody do something with it?” I explained that the issue is complex, but it also reflects a broader pattern of abandonment in Nigeria. I have previously described this phenomenon as a “morgue of abandoned projects,” where good ideas, public investments, and functioning institutions are left to decay. Projects such as power plants that were commissioned but never powered, water schemes that became monuments to inertia, and hospitals that exist only on paper illustrate Nigeria’s tendency to start projects and then abandon them.

The Credite Bank building in Ikoyi represents a different type of failure: a prime asset left to rot for three decades. According to the Chartered Institute of Project Managers of Nigeria, the total value of abandoned projects in the country stands at N17 trillion. The Nigerian Institute of Quantity Surveyors estimates around 56,000 abandoned projects nationwide. A committee convened under former President Goodluck Jonathan found that approximately 63 percent of projects initiated since independence had been abandoned.

More recent data from BudgIT’s Tracka platform show that of 2,760 capital projects across 30 states under the 2024 federal budget, 28.8 percent (valued at roughly N219 billion) were never executed despite funds being released. In Taraba State, federal allocations rose from N17.86 billion in 2023 to N56.1 billion in 2024, yet the state became the country’s largest concentration of abandoned federal projects that cycle, with 29 of 96 tracked projects abandoned outright. Benue State saw approximately 42 percent of tracked projects abandoned. The pattern is systemic: Nigeria spends heavily but plans poorly, then moves on to the next inauguration ceremony, leaving projects unfinished.

What is particularly troubling about the Credite Bank situation is that the NDIC has had legal custodianship of these properties for years, yet the properties remain idle. The NDIC’s mandate includes resolving failed bank estates, satisfying creditors, and following due process. However, the lack of physical management—such as temporary concessions, caretaker arrangements, or revenue‑generating tenancies—means that the properties remain unused while ownership disputes are resolved. This reflects a broader institutional failure: a lack of a national doctrine for completing other people’s work. Each administration brings its own priorities, projects, and preferred contractors, but there is no culture of continuity.

The consequences are visible across the country. The Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) has abandoned 1,587 projects in the region it was created to serve. The Ajaokuta Steel Company, into which Nigeria has invested over $8 billion since 1978, remains unfinished, forcing the country to import steel it could have produced domestically. The Mambilla Power Project, conceived in 1972, is still in the planning stage, and the Oyan Dam turbines, inaugurated in 1983, have never generated electricity.

Continued institutional waste erodes accountability. When citizens expect abandonment, governance loses meaning and becomes a performance staged for its own sake. The audience has largely stopped watching.

The old Credite Bank building in Ikoyi will likely stand for another decade, locked and fading, a silent witness to governance failures. Its endurance is almost ironic: the structure remembers its purpose longer than the institutions that manage it. This is the real tragedy of Nigeria’s unfinished projects: buildings often outlast the governments that built them.

• You can follow me on my X (formerly Twitter) handle, @Olusegunverdict, and on