Smooth Roads, Broken Health Facilities:  Bumpy Politics of Development in FCT

Iyobosa Uwugiaren writes that while Minister of Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike and Minister of State, Dr (Mrs) Mariya Mahmoud, deserve credit for uplifting infrastructure development in the FCT, true development cannot be measured solely in kilometres of asphalt. It must be judged by the quality of life of the people who live beyond the roads—those who walk into hospitals seeking care, sit in classrooms hoping for opportunity, and navigate a city that must work not just in appearance, but in reality.

Visit many healthcare centres in Abuja, and the contrast is trembling. The roads leading to these facilities are smooth, expansive, and impressive—one of the most visible signatures of the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike’s infrastructure drive.

But step inside, and a different reality unfolds. Peeling paint cleaves willfully to cracked walls; benches are overcrowded or broken; patients wait endlessly in poorly ventilated rooms.

In some centres, including Maitama District Hospital, basic drugs are out of stock. In others, medical personnel are stretched thin, forced to improvise in the face of limited tools and institutional neglect. For many Abuja residents, this is not an exception—it is the everyday experience of seeking care in the Federal Capital Territory.

This obvious contradiction—modern roads leading to struggling health facilities—captures the fundamental predicament of governance in Abuja today. It is a tale of two realities: one visible, celebrated, and politically rewarding; the other silent, systemic, and persistently overlooked.

Development experts largely agree that any fair assessment of the current administration must be situated within this tension. President Bola Tinubu and even critics concede that infrastructure development has gained remarkable momentum under Wike. Roads have been rehabilitated, new ones constructed, and long-abandoned projects revived.

Yet, the deeper question remains: is this progress sufficiently balanced to improve the overall quality of life for Abuja’s residents?

At the heart of the debate lies a familiar but troubling imbalance—between physical development and human development. Roads, bridges, and urban renewal projects may reshape Abuja’s prospect, but they cannot, on their own, sustain its people.

To understand the full picture, one must look beyond asphalt and concrete to the condition of healthcare, education, and environmental sanitation—sectors that ultimately determine whether development is merely seen or genuinely felt.

A city is not defined solely by its flyovers and boulevards, but by the dignity and well-being of its residents. When put side by side with deteriorating health centres, struggling public schools, and declining sanitation standards, the minister’s infrastructural achievements risk appearing unfinished—perhaps even politically calibrated for visibility rather than impact.

This brings us to the politics of visibility. Infrastructure projects are tangible, photogenic, and easily communicated. A newly inaugurated road offers immediate, measurable proof of governance—it can be showcased, celebrated, and converted into political capital with minimal delay.

In contrast, investments in healthcare systems, education reform, and sanitation are less visible and far more complex. They demand systemic thinking, institutional reform, and sustained funding. Their results are gradual, often intangible in the short term, and therefore less attractive in a political environment driven by optics and immediacy.

While this dynamic is not unique to Abuja, it is especially pronounced in the FCT due to its symbolic role as Nigeria’s capital. Political leaders are often drawn to projects that reinforce Abuja’s image as a modern administrative showpiece.

But this emphasis on aesthetics can obscure the lived realities of ordinary residents, particularly those in area councils and underserved communities.

A closer look at the health sector reveals a troubling picture. Beyond a handful of well-equipped tertiary hospitals, many primary healthcare centres—the first point of contact for the majority—are in poor condition. From Gwarinpa to Bwari, Kuje to Gwagwalada, reports of inadequate staffing, lack of essential drugs, obsolete equipment, and crumbling infrastructure are common.

In some cases, these facilities are barely functional, forcing residents to travel long distances or resort to private healthcare, which remains prohibitively expensive for many. This undermines the broader goals of public health and widens the gap between policy and lived reality.

There is near consensus among development experts that infrastructure expansion without corresponding investment in healthcare creates an illusion of progress. A well-paved road leading to a poorly equipped clinic does little to improve health outcomes. If anything, it sharpens inequality—making the disparity between visible development and lived deprivation even unambiguous.

Education presents a similar challenge. Public schools across parts of the FCT grapple with overcrowded classrooms, insufficient teaching materials, and inadequate facilities. While there have been improvements in some areas, they have not matched the scale or urgency of the infrastructure push.

This raises important questions about long-term priorities. Education is not merely a social service—it is a foundational investment in human capital. It drives economic growth, fosters civic responsibility, and strengthens social cohesion. Neglecting it in favour of more visible projects risks undermining the future Abuja seeks to build.

Environmental sanitation, often treated as an afterthought, is another area of concern. Abuja’s rapid urban expansion has placed immense pressure on waste management systems. In several districts, waste disposal is inconsistent, drainage systems are poorly maintained, and sanitation standards are declining. Recent reports of sewage leakages by many residents in parts of the city point to deeper systemic failures.

The consequences extend beyond aesthetics. Poor sanitation contributes directly to disease outbreaks, increases healthcare burdens, and diminishes overall quality of life. It is a silent crisis—less visible than a collapsed bridge, but no less urgent.

What makes this situation more complex is the interconnection of these sectors. Poor sanitation leads to increased disease burden, which strains an already fragile healthcare system.

Weak educational outcomes limit public awareness of hygiene and preventive health practices, perpetuating cycles of neglect. Addressing one sector in isolation yields limited results; a holistic, integrated approach is essential.

Wike’s leadership style—often described as forceful and results-driven—has undeniably accelerated infrastructure delivery.

However, this same approach may require recalibration when applied to social sectors. Building roads can be executed through centralized decision-making and contract efficiency. Reforming healthcare and education, by contrast, demands stakeholder engagement, policy continuity, and institutional strengthening. It is, fundamentally, the difference between building structures and building systems.

Equity also remains a critical concern. Infrastructure investments have largely concentrated on high-visibility areas—major roads, central districts, and key urban corridors.

While these projects are important, they do not necessarily address the needs of marginalized communities. In contrast, investments in primary healthcare, public education, and sanitation have a more direct and immediate impact on vulnerable populations. Neglecting these areas risks widening existing inequalities within the FCT.

There is also a fiscal dimension to consider. Large-scale infrastructure projects are capital-intensive, often funded through borrowing or the reallocation of limited public resources. While they can stimulate economic activity, they also create long-term financial obligations.

Social sector investments, though less glamorous, often yield higher returns in terms of productivity, public health, and human development. A balanced allocation of resources is therefore not just ethically sound—it is economically prudent.

Perhaps most concerning is the growing disconnect between perception and reality.

The visible transformation of Abuja’s roads can create a narrative of progress that does not align with the everyday experiences of its residents. For policymakers, this disconnect is dangerous. It risks fostering complacency—where success in one sector becomes justification for neglect in others.

To be fair, governance is inherently about trade-offs. It is possible that the current emphasis on infrastructure is part of a phased development strategy. But without a clear, transparent roadmap for strengthening healthcare, education, and sanitation, the imbalance remains a legitimate concern.

Development is most effective when it is integrated—not sequential in a way that leaves critical sectors perpetually behind.

The way forward requires deliberate recalibration. First, there must be sustained investment in primary healthcare—upgrading facilities, ensuring the availability of essential drugs, and improving staffing levels.

More so, the education sector requires targeted reforms focused on infrastructure, teacher quality, and learning outcomes. Third, environmental sanitation must be elevated as a core priority, supported by efficient waste management systems, public awareness campaigns, and strict enforcement of regulations.

Equally important is transparency. Regular, publicly accessible assessments of health centres, schools, and sanitation systems would enable citizens to track progress and hold authorities accountable. This would shift the focus from symbolic achievements to measurable outcomes.

Wike and Mahmoud deserve recognition for revitalizing infrastructure development in the FCT. But true development cannot be measured solely in kilometres of asphalt. It must be judged by the quality of life of the people who live beyond the roads—those who walk into hospitals seeking care, sit in classrooms hoping for opportunity, and navigate a city that must work not just in appearance, but in reality.