By Stephanie Shakaa
The road that broke Nigeria. It’s not just tarmac and potholes. It’s a metaphor for something far deeper, the collapse of governance, the betrayal of public trust, and the slow death of patriotism. When a road is under construction for 14 years with trillions spent and nothing to show, it’s not the gravel that’s broken. It’s the system. It’s the soul of a nation. This isn’t just about infrastructure. It’s about a country that has lost its sense of urgency, its leadership discipline, and perhaps even its will to function. The story of two highways,one built swiftly by a military regime, another endlessly delayed under democracy,says more about Nigeria than any constitution ever will.
When Nigerians argue about military rule versus civilian government, emotions run high. We remember coups and curfews, yes. But we also remember something else,projects that actually got done. Real things. Like roads.
Take the Abuja Kaduna Kano expressway. Built from scratch under Ibrahim Babangida’s military regime in less than three years.The third mainland Bridge is another example. Fast forward to today, the same road has been under reconstruction since December 2018,seven years later, we’re still at 60 percent completion. Not a new road. A reconstruction.
This contrast makes the road a litmus test for evaluating the effectiveness of civilian leadership.
Now let’s talk about the Abuja Lokoja Okene Benin road. That one began in 2010. Fourteen years later, after gulping over one trillion naira, the road still hasn’t reached Lokoja. If there’s a better symbol for Nigeria’s crawling democracy, it hasn’t been built yet.
We can hide behind committees and paperwork. We can blame contractors and shifting budget lines. But the truth is clear,something about civilian governance in Nigeria is fundamentally broken. And our roads, the ones we all use, are the loudest witnesses.
There was something different about the military era. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it had a chain of command that moved. Orders given were orders executed. Roger that is the only command they know.You didn’t need to set up ten committees to decide how to build a bridge. You didn’t need to “capture” the budget for five years before breaking ground.
You know why? Because military rulers understood discipline. They trained in institutions that taught them loyalty to country above self. Their salaries were paid by the state. Their sense of identity was forged in public service. They believed they were part of something bigger than themselves.
Now compare that with what we have today. Civilian leaders, products of a battered education system, emerge from a system that teaches anything but patriotism. Many of them crawled through underfunded universities where lecturers were always on strike, where their parents begged to pay school fees, and where the system gave them no reason to love this country.
So they don’t. They love themselves. And it shows.
We often forget that patriotism is not something you stumble upon in adulthood. It is cultivated. Taught. Trained. The military, for all its flaws, understood that. It created an identity of national pride. It taught its officers to salute the flag without being told to perform for social media.
But today’s democratic leaders, far removed from national values, govern like they’re collecting rent from a house they didn’t build. Their loyalty is to private jets, not public good. Their priority is reelection, not nation-building.
This is why we can spend 14 years and a trillion naira on a road that doesn’t even make it halfway. This is why we see ministers ride over potholes in convoys and still sleep soundly at night.
A country’s roads are not just infrastructure,they are psychological landmarks. They shape commerce, culture, and trust in governance. When roads are bad, everything is bad. Businesses suffer. Travel becomes torture. Emergency services are crippled. Hope dies.
Yet, we live in a nation where road contracts become cash cows for political cronies. Where budget padding becomes a national sport. Where groundbreaking ceremonies happen five times for the same project, and no one goes to jail for it.
Under the military, there was fear,but there was also focus. Today, we have neither.
The military era was far from perfect. It suppressed freedoms, ignored due process, and ruled without the people’s mandate. It was not democratic, and no one should wish for its return. But even in its imperfections, things got done. Roads were built. Projects were completed. Orders were followed. The system, for all its faults, had motion.
Let’s be honest with ourselves. Democracy is supposed to be better. It promises freedom, participation, inclusion. But in Nigeria, it has become a circus of impunity. Everyone talks, no one acts. We don’t need another committee, we need character. We don’t need more manifestos, we need muscle behind the mission.
Until we figure out how to inject the same urgency, the same sense of purpose, the same discipline the military once had into our civilian governance, we will keep driving in circles on roads that never get finished, under governments that never truly begin.
We’re not saying bring back the soldiers,let them remain in the barracks.We’re saying bring back the spirit,the urgency, the commitment, the unapologetic love for Nigeria.
Civic education should be revived, not as a formality but as a lifeline. Leadership training shouldn’t just be about policy but about principle. Patriotism should not be an emotional outburst during elections, but a lifelong discipline.
And if you doubt that governance is broken, go take a drive from Abuja to Benin. The road will tell you everything you need to know.
So no, we are not asking for the return of soldiers. We are asking for the return of seriousness. For leaders who understand that power is not a prize but a responsibility. For a generation that refuses to accept decay as destiny. For a people who will demand more than promises and hold leaders accountable beyond campaign seasons.
It’s just like a wolf telling sheep it will become a vegetarian if elected, many politicians promise peace, prosperity, and justice during campaigns,only to turn around and devour the very people who trusted them once they gain power. It’s a classic tale of manipulation, where the predator speaks the language of prosperity just long enough to get through the door.
When will the sheep stop believing in wolves with podiums?
Because if we do not raise the bar, we will keep traveling these broken roads with broken spirits, in a country that pretends to move but goes nowhere.
Until we stop mistaking movement for progress, Nigeria will remain a nation stuck on a road to nowhere.
Stephanie Shaakaa
shaakaastephanie@yahoo.com
08034861434
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