THIS week’s reflection on Abuja @ 50 is on “How the builders of Nigeria’s capital still have no permanent home, and why Minister Wike must finish what Obasanjo and el-Rufai started in 2007.
A capital without a home…
On October 1st 1960, Nigeria became a nation. On February 3rd 1976, General Murtala Mohammed announced that a new Federal Capital Territory would be built at the centre of the country, to replace Lagos. On December 12, 1991, Abuja was formally declared the capital when General IBB formally relocated the seat of power.
On February 3, 2026, we marked 50 years since that proclamation. Abuja now has 6-lane expressways, a light rail not fully functional, the National Assembly, the Presidential Villa, 17 ministries, 1000s of estates, and billions in real estate.
But the institution that plans, builds, regulates and maintains all of this — the Federal Capital Territory Administration, FCTA — does not have a permanent office complex. After 50 years, the builders of Abuja are still tenants of some sorts. The Area 11 FCTA Secretariat isn’t a permanent and befitting edifice for the builders. The current Minister expressed this the day he assumed office in 2023.
This piece is a reminder to the current FCT Minister, Mr. Nyesom Wike, CON, that in the midst of all his achievements for Abuja@50, there is one monumental unfinished business he can complete: give the FCTA a permanent home.
It is also a story of how politics, law, and personal interest stalled a national project in 2007 — and why 2026 is the time to correct it.
The Dream of 2007 – Obasanjo, el-Rufai And The Foundation Stone
By 2003, President Olusegun Obasanjo had appointed Mallam Nasir el-Rufai as Minister of the FCT. El-Rufai came with a bulldozer mentality. Abuja was full of illegal structures, land racketeering, and a bureaucracy operating mostly from rented apartments and temporary FCTA Secretariat. The vision was clear: if Abuja was to be a world-class capital, the government that runs it must also have a world-class headquarters. Not scattered offices. Not rented buildings. One permanent secretariat in the Central Area. But he procrastinated on the secretariat project.
On May 27, 2007, just 48 hours to the end of the Obasanjo administration, the President flew into Abuja. With El-Rufai by his side, he performed the groundbreaking ceremony for the FCTA Permanent Secretariat Complex at a prime plot in the Central Business District. Speeches were made. The design was unveiled: a befitting administrative headquarters that would house all FCTA departments under one roof, save billions in rent, and signal that Abuja had come of age. Newspapers the next day carried the photos. The foundation stone was laid. The contract was awarded to Julius Berger, Plc. Then, on May 29, 2007, President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua was sworn in. And the project stopped.
And so sadly, for 17 years, that foundation stone has sat there, gathering dust, while FCTA staff continue to operate from over 15 different rented locations across Garki, Wuse, Maitama and Area 11.
What happened between May 27th and May 29th 2007?
‘The court injunction that killed a capital’s project’
According to court records and media reports from that period, shortly after the foundation laying, a businessman and contractor, Alhaji Ismaila Isa Funtua, through his company Bulet Construction Company, approached an FCT High Court and obtained an injunction restraining the FCTA from continuing work on the plot.
Funtua’s claim, in summary, was that he had prior interest in the plot of land for the FCTA Secretariat because he kept his equipment there. The plot wasn’t allocated to him. Bulet Construction had previously built the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Head of the Civil Service of the Federation offices and had other dealings with government. The details of the suit were never fully litigated to conclusion in the public space. But the effect was immediate: work stopped. Interestingly, the Chief Judge of the FCT then Justice Mohammed Lawal Hassan Gummi (2004-2013) granted the injunction against the FG and FCT. This happened at a delicate political moment. President Yar’Adua, who succeeded Obasanjo, was also from Katsina State — the same state as Ismaila Funtua. Both men were influential figures in Northern politics and in the PDP at the time.
In the Nigerian context, when a powerful individual obtains a court order and shares a political-geographic base with the President, the bureaucracy tends to freeze. No one wants to be accused of disobeying court or of ‘harassing elders’.
And so, the file was moved from table to table. Attorneys advised caution. Ministers came and went. The injunction was never vacated. The plot of land was never released.
In 2020, the very powerful Ismaila Funtua passed away. With him went the principal claimant. But the injunction, like many things in Nigerian bureaucracy, outlived the man. As of 2026, no administration has moved to formally vacate the order, settle the estate, or compulsorily acquire the land in public interest. The result: a capital city with no capital office.
The cost of homelessness – 50 years of rent and dysfunction.
Let us quantify what “no office” means in political economy terms.
1. Financial cost
FCTA currently rents many office spaces for departments including: Land Administration and AGIS, Development Control, Satellite Towns Development Agency (STDA), Transportation, Education Secretariat, etc. Estimates from budget documents and FCDA sources put annual rent expenditure at more than N5 billion.
Over 17 years since 2007, that is about N85 billion spent on rent. With that money, FCTA could have built two permanent secretariats and still had change.
This is the definition of capital flight — not to Dubai, but to private landlords in Abuja.
2. Administrative cost
A minister cannot hold one meeting with all directors. Files move across town in traffic. Citizens looking for C of O in one secretariat are sent to another 8km away. Morale is low. There is no corporate identity. Compare this to Lagos State Secretariat in Alausa. To Kano. To Rivers. Every serious sub-national has a headquarters. Only the federal capital does not have a befitting one even as it is still building for others.
3. Symbolic cost
Abuja@50 is about legacy. We are celebrating bridges, roads, and parks. But what does it say that the institution that approved those projects does not have its own significant address? It says we are a nation that celebrates infrastructure but not institutions. That we can build for others but not for ourselves.
The political economy of why it stalled.
This is not just about one court case. It is about four (4) structural problems that mirror the crisis of Nigerian governance:
The ‘powerful person’ problem
When an individual with political capital obtains a court order, the state pauses. Even when public interest is clear. The FCTA case shows how private interest can hold a national project hostage for 17 years. It is curious and tragic.
The ‘transition’ problem
The foundation was laid two days to handover. New governments in Nigeria inherit projects but not commitment. Without a legal and budgetary lock-in, projects die at transition.
The ‘no data, no pressure’ problem
Because no one has consistently published how much FCTA spends on rent, there has been no public outrage. The media depends on FCTA ads. So the story is not told even to appropriation authorities.
The ‘succession’ problem
With Funtua’s death in 2020, the legal obstacle should have become easier. Estates can be settled.
Compensation can be paid. But without a champion in government, files sleep. This is why leadership matters. And this is why the arrival of Hurricane Nyesom Wike as FCT Minister in 2023 presents a unique window that is still open.
Why Wike? Why now? Abuja@50
Minister Wike has, in 3 years, done what many thought impossible: revived stalled road projects, completed the Vice President’s residence, cleaned up parks, restored street lights, and given Abuja a sense of pride again. His style is “action, not talk.” His politics is “finish what you start.” That is his signature.
Abuja@50 is his moment.
And so nothing will be more monumental, more symbolic, more legacy-defining than this: “I gave the builders of Abuja a permanent home.” Here is why it is possible now:
The legal obstacle has changed: The principal claimant is deceased. The estate can be engaged. The FCT Legal Secretariat can file a motion to vacate or negotiate a settlement. Public interest doctrine is on FCTA’s side.
The political will exists: Minister Wike does not shy away from tough decisions. He has already shown he can demolish, reclaim, and rebuild.
The timing is perfect: 50 years. Donors, contractors, and the National Assembly are all looking for signature Abuja@50 projects. A secretariat is shovel-ready.
The economics is clear: Spend N50bn once to build, instead of N5bn every year to rent. In 7 years the building pays for itself.
This will not be about erasing Funtua’s name. It will be about honoring the original intent of Obasanjo and el-Rufai completing it for the people of Abuja. And Tinubu and Wike will harvest the glory.
A 6-point roadmap for the Minister
To turn this from essay to action, here is what FCTA under Wike can do in the next 12 months:
1. Legal audit and motion to vacate
Direct the FCT Legal Services Secretariat to trace the suit from 2007. File for abatement, settlement with the estate, or compulsory acquisition under the Land Use Act in public interest. Pay fair compensation if needed.
2. Publish the rent bill
Release a white paper: “How much FCTA has spent on rent 2007-2026.” Let Nigerians see the waste. Transparency creates pressure and budget support.
3. Re-validate the 2007 design
The Obasanjo/El-Rufai design can be reviewed by Nigerian architects. Make it greener, smarter, lower-energy. But keep the location in Central Area.
4. Budget and PPP
Put N30bn in 2027 budget as first tranche. Invite PPP: “Build-Operate-Transfer” for parts of the complex. Or get support from Abuja@50 sponsors.
5. Name it Right
Call it “The FCTA Unity House” or “Abuja@50 Secretariat.” Not after any individual. After the city and the people.
6. Groundbreaking Before December 2026 If foundation is laid before the end of Abuja@50 year, it becomes part of the 50th anniversary story forever.
What Nigeria can learn
The FCTA secretariat story is a microcosm of Nigeria. We start projects with fanfare. Powerful interests stall them. Bureaucracy buries them. And 20 years later we wonder why nothing works.
Countries that work do three (3) things differently:
1. They protect public projects from private injunctions through expedited public-interest courts.
2. They publish the cost of inaction so citizens can demand change.
3. They give leaders legacy projects that outlive them.
If Minister Wike finishes this, students in 2076 will read: “In 2026, during Abuja@50, Minister Wike built the permanent home of FCTA.”
That is how you move from a “performing minister” to a “founding father of modern Abuja administration.”
Here is my letter to the future, Mr. Minister
Honourable Minister, FCT, the people who approve your building plans have no building. The people who collect your ground rent pay rent themselves. The people who design Abuja’s skyline work from scattered bungalows. This is not sustainable. It is not dignified. And it is not necessary. You have barely one year left in this first term. You have political capital. You have Abuja@50.
On May 27th 2007, a foundation was laid and abandoned. In August 2026, we are asking you to lay a new one — and this time, finish it. Let history record that when Abuja turned 50, its builders finally got a home. That will be more monumental than any road.
*We should continue the reflections on Abuja@50 on Abuja, politics and policies.
– Oloja is former editor of The Guardian newspaper and his column, Inside Stuff, runs on the back page of the newspaper on Sunday. The column appears on News Point Nigeria newspaper on Monday.
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Abacha: History Must Inform, Not Merely Entertain – By Hafsat Salisu Kabara
AS a student of History, I have always believed that the past deserves to be documented—not because we cannot move on, but because future generations deserve to understand where we came from and why we are where we are.
That conviction is precisely why I find the latest controversy surrounding a memoir by a former Department of State Services (DSS) official rather unsettling.
Nearly three decades after the death of former Head of State, General Sani Abacha, Nigerians are once again debating—not what he did for or to the country, not the policies that shaped his administration, not the political climate of his regime, and not the lessons Nigeria ought to learn from that era. Instead, public discourse has been consumed by a graphic account of how he allegedly died. A newly released memoir claims that the late military ruler suffered cardiac arrest during an intimate encounter, and, predictably, social media has erupted.
I cannot help but ask: to what end? What exactly are we trying to achieve?
Will this revelation reduce the price of petrol? Will it make foodstuffs cheaper? Will it stop bandits from invading villages? Will it end the long queues at our hospitals? Will it create jobs for graduates struggling to find employment?
Or is this simply another national distraction dressed up as “history”?
History ought to educate, enlighten and provoke thoughtful reflection. It should challenge established narratives where necessary, encourage deeper understanding and help societies make sense of their past. What it should never become is a marketplace for sensationalism.
If the author’s intention was to document an important chapter of General Abacha’s years in power, there were countless meaningful conversations that deserved attention. Nigerians already know who Abacha was. History has, in many respects, rendered its judgment on his years in office. His leadership style, his relationship with Nigeria’s democratic journey, the economic realities of his administration, the security architecture of the period and the controversies that defined his government remain subjects worthy of rigorous historical examination.
Even if one wished to discuss the circumstances surrounding his death, it would have been sufficient to acknowledge that the events remain disputed before proceeding to the broader historical narrative. Whether General Abacha died in a hospital bed, on a treadmill or in the arms of a woman changes very little about the Nigeria he left behind or the legacy of his administration.
What baffled me even more was watching respected analysts on national television discuss the matter almost with amusement. I had expected conversations about the historical significance of the memoir, the evolution of Nigeria’s intelligence community, the institutional lessons contained in the book, or what it contributes to our understanding of governance, national security and statecraft.
Instead, much of the discussion drifted towards sensational details surrounding a man who has been dead for nearly three decades.
Death is the final court every human being must eventually face. Whatever judgment awaits General Sani Abacha is no longer in the hands of journalists, politicians, commentators or former intelligence officers. That judgment rests solely between him and his Creator.
Dragging intimate details of his final moments into the public square almost three decades after his passing serves very little purpose beyond feeding society’s growing appetite for sensational stories.
Ironically, the chapter or section dealing with General Abacha’s death represents only one episode among many contained in the memoir. Yet it has become the dominant headline—not because the entire book is about Abacha, but because it offers the most sensational revelation.
That, perhaps, says as much about us as readers as it does about the author.
When history becomes little more than sensational headlines carefully designed to provoke curiosity and generate publicity, it gradually loses much of its educational value.
If this memoir truly contains decades of rare insights into Nigeria’s intelligence architecture, intelligence operations, institutional development and national security, why has virtually every conversation been reduced to one man’s alleged bedroom death?
Have we, as readers and consumers of information, become so addicted to sensationalism that we now overlook the far more valuable historical contributions contained within such publications?
Nigeria has no shortage of urgent national conversations. We face enormous challenges in governance, security, education, healthcare, economic development and national cohesion. These are issues that demand serious reflection and informed historical analysis.
We owe ourselves histories that enlighten rather than merely entertain. We deserve books that deepen our understanding of our institutions, our leaders and our collective journey not narratives that become famous primarily because they dwell on controversy.
It is therefore unfortunate that what could have stood as an important contribution to Nigeria’s intelligence history has instead been overshadowed by a single sensational claim. That reality says something not only about the choices made by the author, but also about the kind of public conversations we increasingly reward.
History deserves better. And, ultimately, so does Nigeria.
Voice, just cleared its throat!
- Kabara is a writer and public commentator. Her syndicated column, Voice, appears in News Point Nigeria newspaper on Monday. She can be reached at hafceekay01@gmail.com.