Airborne Governance
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By Frank Ofili
When those who govern can fly over the problems that the governed must drive through.
There is something interesting happening in Nigeria.
This so-called “windfall” under this Federal Government is apparently very real — at least if you are inside a Government House.
Outside Government Houses, however, many Nigerians are still looking for the windfall with binoculars.
But let us leave the economy for a moment and talk about security.
Have you noticed something?
Governors no longer seem to enjoy travelling by road.
There was a time when a Governor could jump into his convoy, activate the sirens, and hit the highway with the confidence of a man who owned the road.
Not anymore.
Today, even when the destination is just across the road, the Governor prefers the airport.
If the Governor of my home state of Delta, Sheriff Oborevwori, wants to visit neighbouring Edo State, for instance.
He flies.
If the roads were good, driving from Asaba to Benin City ought not take more than 40 minutes.
The journey is so short that the aircraft may spend more time climbing than actually flying.
But who can blame my Governor? Or any other Governor for that matter.
The road is no longer merely a road.
It is now a security assessment centre, obstacle course, pothole museum and potential kidnapping corridor — all rolled into one.
And those sirens?
They have lost their magic.
Once upon a time, when Nigerians heard “peeeeeeee!”, they knew a VIP was approaching and everybody should clear the road.
Today, when Nigerians hear sirens, they probably ask:
“Who is running away from whom?”
The Governors have done the mathematics.
Why spend hours on a dangerous road, with security vehicles forming a convoy and everybody praying that nothing happens, when you can simply fly above the problem?
From the air, there are no potholes.
No kidnappers.
No failed bridges.
No angry commercial drivers.
No “one-way” driver who believes traffic laws are merely suggestions.
Just clouds.
Peaceful clouds.
Unfortunately, ordinary Nigerians do not have this luxury.
We must still use the roads.
We must still dodge potholes.
We must still negotiate with armed bandits, unknown gun men, kidnappers, bad roads, broken-down trucks and drivers who suddenly discover Formula One halfway through a journey.
So perhaps the real meaning of the much-advertised windfall is becoming clearer:
Government has enough money to fly above Nigeria’s problems.
The rest of us are still driving through them.
And this is where the irony becomes painful.
If our roads are so dangerous that Governors cannot comfortably travel by them, and if insecurity is so serious that even the people surrounded by security personnel prefer the skies, then perhaps the question is not whether there is a windfall.
The question is:
Who is the windfall actually working for?
Because a country where Governors fly over the roads while citizens struggle on them has a rather interesting development model.
The leaders are enjoying “airborne governance.”
The citizens are experiencing “ground-level reality.”
Maybe one day the roads will be fixed.
Maybe one day travelling from one state to another will no longer require the courage of a soldier and the prayers of a pastor.
Maybe one day our Governors will once again travel by road — not because they have no alternative, but because the roads are safe, smooth and reliable.
Until then, please fasten your seatbelts.
If you are a Governor, your flight is probably boarding.
If you are an ordinary Nigerian, God dey sha.
