Once upon a time—a time not so far away—in the grand Federal Republic of Nigeria, two noble statesmen, Sir Rotimi Amaechi and Quantity Surveyor Nasir El-Rufai, played prominent roles in government. Ameachi was Minister of Transportation for eight years. El-Rufai was Kaduna State governor. Also for eight years. Before then, he was Minister of the Federal Capital Territory (FCT). Amaechi had been governor and House of Assembly Speaker. Not in just any state, but Rivers, one of Nigeria’s wealthiest states. He was Speaker for eight years. And governor for eight years, too.
As Minister of Transportation, Amaechi was entrusted with a sacred mission: to deliver the people from the tyranny of broken locomotives and more. Under Ameachi, Nigeria had the best transportation facilities in the whole of Africa. No. It is actually in the whole world.
What he did with the rail system is enough reason for the gates of heaven to be flung open for him. Such a stunning performance. Thanks to him every hamlet in Nigeria was linked by train, and not just any kind of trains, but the types even China, the United States and the United Kingdom are yet to see.
Under his watch, Nigerians were able to have access to buses run on compressed gas. Traffic disappeared on our roads and everything about transportation went smoothly and many were looking forward to him becoming the president and making the dollar and Naira to be at par.
With a golden mandate from the sovereign of the land, he delivered an era of transportation transformation, armed with ribbons for groundbreaking ceremonies and an unshakable belief in the power of Chinese loans.
Under his stewardship, the nation’s railway system experienced a miraculous resurrection. All ancient iron tracks, long abandoned to the gods of rust and neglect, were suddenly adorned with gleaming locomotives that whistled their arrival like heralds of prosperity. True, some of these locomotives were already past their prime, having served diligently in lands far, far away—but who dared complain when progress had finally arrived?
The people watched in awe as grand promises flew faster than the Abuja-Kaduna train, though sometimes they too were derailed by unfortunate “banditry” and occasional fuel shortages. “Fear not,” the Minister declared, “for we shall install security cameras!” And when it was revealed that the cameras had no means of storage, he comforted the people with reassurances of future plans and unbreakable determination.
Don’t mind Hadiza Bala Usman, Amaechi did wonders at the ports. He killed corruption before corruption could kill the ports. He was so wonderful that his records would never be broken, records so sparkling that America, China, the United Kingdom and the rest of the developed world are still studying. Universities such as Harvard and Oxford have case studies on him about how best to run a country’s transportation sector. Because of his feat, he now needs no visa or passport to travel anywhere. He is like the King of England.
As his tenure drew to a close, the noble minister stood tall, surveying the legacy of a transportation revolution. The trains no longer broke down, ticketing systems no longer suspect, and the nation’s ports moved at the speed of a lightning.
And so, even about two years after Sir Rotimi bid farewell to his post, the people raise their voices—not in complaint, but in gratitude for the lessons learnt: that governance is about vision, speeches are more powerful than speedometers and, sometimes, the journey matters more than the destination.
How can I forget Amaechi’s time as governor in Rivers? Olusegun Obasanjo as President didn’t want Amaechi as Peter Odili’s successor so he declared that his victory at the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) had a k-leg and his way of correcting the k-leg was to give this victory to his relative, Sir Celestine Omehia. But, because power knows no blood, Amaechi fought all the way to the Supreme Court and an unprecedented judgment made him governor. Well, that is not important. What is important is what he did as governor: He gave Rivers a metro rail system that looks rusty but is the pride of the entire universe. I will not elaborate, but encourage you to visit Rivers and see for yourself.
Enough of Amaechi. Let’s turn to his colleague in the ever-dramatic theatre of Nigerian politics, the diminutive giant—Nasir El-Rufai, a man of grand visions and even grander controversies, a technocrat-turned-politician, the ultimate disruptor, a master of reforms (or, depending on whom you ask, a master of controlled demolition).
El-Rufai’s career reads like a well-scripted Nollywood film—full of plot twists, expulsions, demolitions, and the occasional tweets that sent the political class into a frenzy. As Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, he saw Abuja as a canvas and wielded the bulldozer like an artist, sweeping away “illegal” structures with the grace of a wrecking ball. The city had to be sanitised, and who better to do it than a man unbothered by the cries of displaced citizens? Progress, after all, requires sacrifice—especially when it’s not yours to make.
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Then came Kaduna, a state that had known its fair share of trouble but had not, until his arrival, experienced the full might of “reform.” As governor, he fancied himself an enlightened ruler, an intellectual with a vision too advanced for the common folk. Civil servants became casualties of efficiency, traditional rulers lost their thrones in the name of restructuring, and anyone who questioned his policies found themselves on the wrong side of governance.
Security? A mere inconvenience. Bandits roamed freely, making Kaduna the Wild West of Nigeria, but El-Rufai’s government had bigger priorities—like ensuring that teachers could pass primary school exams, even if it meant firing thousands of them in one fell swoop. A minor sacrifice for the greater good, surely?
Ever the Twitter warrior, El-Rufai was never one to shy away from verbal duels. He wielded 280 characters like a swordsman, striking down critics with sarcasm sharper than a herder’s machete. He had a particular distaste for “big men” who opposed him, often reminding them of his own “integrity”—a term he defined with creative flexibility.
As his tenure ended, whispers filled the air about his next move. Would he return as a minister? Would he finally settle his long-running feud with the Nigerian Senate, which once declared him “unconfirmable”? Or would he retreat into the shadows, content with his legacy as the man who governed with an iron fist and a tweet?
One thing remains certain—El-Rufai’s name will not fade into oblivion. Love him or loathe him, he is a force of nature, a paradox of intellect and controversy, a man who could build with one hand and (mischief makers claim) demolish with the other. The bulldozer may have parked, but the echoes of its destruction will linger for years to come.
Some troublemakers claim that Amaechi and El-Rufai have been critical of the Bola Tinubu administration due to their lack of access to “ganusi”. Maybe. Maybe not.
My final take: Because of their pedigrees, our Amaechi and El-Rufai are over-qualified to give lectures on leadership, not to commoners but to global players in the First World. They are the quintessential leaders, Nigeria’s jewels on the mountain top, fountains of knowledge, citadels of capacity and capability, and our iroko and obeche.
