Ayo Adebanjo, 96, was a path through which Nigerian politics could be traced. The politics of the country was mainly about the ruling elites in military fatigue or civil dress ruling at the centre, and conscientious patriots opposing from the sidelines or working from the margins. Adebanjo belonged to the latter.

 At 14, in 1943, he had aligned with the radical Zikist Movement which wanted the British colonialists thrown out of the country, if necessary, by force. This was in contrast to the mainstream politicians who hoped for independence based on the benevolence of the colonialists.

The Zikists were allies of the National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroon, NCNC, led by Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe. But when a more radical and ideologically conscious party, the Action Group, AG, led by Chief Obafemi Awolowo emerged, Adebanjo joined it in 1951.

 The AG was anchored on a welfare ideology with free education and healthcare for all, rural transformation and equity. Adebanjo in contemporary partisan politics, came to embody these aspirations; he wore Afenifere principles like a cloth.

In the 1959 pre-independence general elections, the AG emerged as a pan-Nigeria party, winning 25 seats in the Northern Region, 14 in the Eastern Region, 33 in the Western Region and one in the Federal Territory of Lagos. In contrast, the Northern Peoples Congress, NPC, which had 134 seats, won its seats from the Northern Region. Yet, the propaganda out in the country was that the AG was a regional or sectarian party.

The AG proposed a coalition government with the NCNC in which Azikiwe would be Prime Minister and Awolowo, Deputy Prime Minister or Finance Minister, while the NPC would constitute the opposition party. It believed its welfare programmes would sprout under such a coalition.

It might have assumed that the NCNC would prefer a coalition in which it will be the senior partner. But the latter preferred a coalition with the NPC in which it will be the junior partner, and, rather than be the Prime Minister running the cabinet, Azikiwe would become the mainly ceremonial Governor General or President.

This meant that the AG and Adebanjo were in the opposition. Two years after independence, Awolowo and 26 other members of the AG were charged with treason. Adebanjo was some steps ahead of the law as he fled to Ghana.

Then the Balewa government was overthrown by the military in January 1966. After the second coup in July 1966, the AG leaders were freed and Awolowo became the Finance Minister.

In the Second Republic, the AG, now known as the Unity Party of Nigeria, UPN, lost the elections to the National Party of Nigeria, NPN, and Adebanjo and his fellow party members were back in opposition, taking on the ruling party.

The degenerate and bloody military regimes of Buhari, Babangida and Abacha, brought out the fighting spirit in many patriots, including Adebanjo.

After the annulment of the June 12, 1993 presidential election millions of Nigerians led by the Campaign for Democracy, CD, took to street protests.

In order to strengthen the capacity of the populace to take on the brutal Abacha junta, the CD went into alliance with various groups.

One of the most formidable alliances the CD entered was with the Afenifere, a socio-cultural group with which the AG had explained itself and its welfare policies to the old Western Region. Despite its seeming sectional origins, Afenifere is actually national in thought and action; spreading the nationalist and Pan Africanist ideals of its founding leader, Awolowo.

The CD with its leaders like Beko Ransome-Kuti, Frederick Fasehun and I, held a number of meetings with the then Afenifere leaders, including Adebanjo and former Kwara State Governor, Senator Cornelus Adebayo. The virtually secret meetings were held at the 100, Oduduwa Crescent, GRA, Ikeja, Lagos residence of then Afenifere leader, Chief Alfred Rewane.

It was at those meetings I got close to Adebanjo and learnt practical leadership from the veterans. But those were quite dangerous times. On Friday, October 6, 1995, three gunmen entered Pa Rewane’s house and shot him dead.

We relocated our now, more open meetings partly to Chief Moshood Kashimawo Abiola’s house with Mrs Kudirat Abiola hosting. Those meetings were presided over by Chief Anthony Enahoro.

But nine months later, Mrs Abiola was assassinated by the Abacha killer squad and the meetings shifted and became bigger, transforming into what became known as the National Democratic Coalition, NADECO.

The military regime simply became deadlier with assassinations and bomb blasts. People like Ransome-Kuti and Fasehun were imprisoned, and Enahoro, Bola Tinubu, Wole Soyinka and Dan Suleiman had to flee the country.

However, people like Adebanjo and then Afenifere leader, Abraham Adesanya, remained. Even after the military death squad opened fire on Adesanya’s car, they remained to see the back of the junta.

In the follow-up elections, Afenifere went into alliance to form the Alliance for Democracy, AD. The party had Ambassador Tanko Yusuf as Chairman and Adebanjo as Deputy Chairman.

Adebanjo was the power house of the AD in the South-West. His leadership faced two main challenges in the run up to the gubernatorial elections of 1999. In Ondo State, the primaries were conducted three times, and thrice did Mrs Cecilia Mobolaji Osomo win. But Afenifere decided it could not have a candidate who had defied its directive to resign as Abacha’s Minister of Establishment. So, the ticket was given to Chief Adebayo Adefarati. But the case in Lagos was tougher. While Afenifere was united in Ondo State, it was split in Lagos. Veteran leader, Chief Ganiyu Dawodu, backed Funsho Williams who had served in the military regime. He was leading in the disputed primaries with Tinubu.

The Adebanjo leadership cancelled results from four disputed local government areas and that gave victory to Tinubu.

When the Afenifere chairmanship was open with Adesanya giving up the position, the choice was between Chief Olanihun Ajayi and Adebanjo. But the latter pointed out that they were both from the same Ijebu axis as Adesanya. So, the leadership went to Chief Reuben Fasoranti from the Ondo axis. When Fasoranti became too old to continue, he stepped down for Adebanjo as the new Afenifere Chairman.

However, as the 2023 presidential election approached, the Afenifere declared that the path of equity, fairness and inclusiveness in line with the Afenifere philosophy, was for the country’s presidency to go to Eastern Nigeria as the South-South, South-West and the North had produced the country’s Presidents since 1999. It, therefore, endorsed the Labour Party candidate, Peter Obi.

However, some politicians went to Fasoranti to endorse the candidacy of President Bola Tinubu. But that was not an issue for Adebanjo; he had done his duty. On February 14, 2025, Adebanjo took his eternal bow.

Before and since Nigeria gained independence, the quest for balanced regional development has been a persistent challenge. The vast disparities between the country’s geopolitical zones, each with unique socio-economic needs, have fueled ongoing debates about the most effective development models. Over the decades, Nigeria has experimented with various strategies, yet the gaps remain, feeding a sense of marginalisation and underdevelopment in many regions. The need for tailored solutions to address these disparities is not just pressing, it’s a necessity. One prominent approach has been the establishment of Regional Development Commissions (RDCs), agencies designed to address the peculiar challenges of each region. But as the number of these commissions continues to grow, a fundamental question arises: Are Regional Development Commissions the new deal Nigeria needs, or are they merely political tools serving the interests of an elite few?

The idea of regional development agencies in Nigeria is not new. It dates back to 1960 when the outgoing British colonial government established the Niger Delta Development Board (NDDB). This initiative responded to the recommendations of Sir Henry Willink’s Commission Report of 1958, which identified the Niger Delta as a region requiring special intervention due to its challenging terrain and historical neglect. The Willink Commission was a landmark in Nigeria’s pre-independence political history, tasked with investigating the fears of minorities, particularly the ethnic groups in the Niger Delta, and proposing solutions to address their concerns. Its findings were clear: the Niger Delta faced unique environmental and developmental challenges that would require special attention. Thus, the NDDB was born, intended as a special-purpose vehicle to drive development in the oil-rich but underdeveloped Niger Delta.

However, despite its promising start, the NDDB failed to achieve its objectives. Seven years after its creation, it was dissolved without having made any significant impact. Historical records indicate that political interference, inadequate funding, and a lack of clear strategic direction contributed to its failure. Moreover, the NDDB lacked the legal authority and institutional framework to implement large-scale projects, rendering it ineffective. This failure highlighted the complexities of centralised regional development and set the stage for decades of agitation for more effective solutions. From that period until now, demands for creating region-specific agencies have persisted, with each region clamouring for a development model tailored to its unique needs. This agitation was further fueled by the discovery of vast oil reserves in the Niger Delta, which, while contributing significantly to national revenue, left the region impoverished and environmentally degraded.

The return to democratic governance in 1999 rekindled hopes for a more equitable distribution of national wealth and balanced regional development. It was against this backdrop that the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) was established in 2000 to replace the defunct NDDB and its successor agencies. The NDDC was conceived as a bold solution to the peculiar development challenges of the Niger Delta, which had been plagued by environmental degradation, poverty, and social unrest. With a clear mandate to drive sustainable development, alleviate poverty, and promote peace and security in the region, the NDDC was envisioned as a catalyst for positive change.

However, over two decades later, the NDDC has become synonymous with corruption, political interference, and mismanagement. Numerous audits and investigative reports have exposed how political elites siphoned funds for the region’s development. For example, a 2020 forensic audit revealed that over 6 trillion Naira allocated to the NDDC between 2001 and 2019 was largely misappropriated. The commission’s projects were often abandoned or poorly executed, reflecting a pattern of waste and inefficiency. In 2021, the Nigerian Senate’s investigation into the NDDC’s activities uncovered 12,128 abandoned projects across the Niger Delta, raising serious questions about the commission’s effectiveness and accountability.

The NDDC’s failure to deliver on its mandate has had far-reaching consequences. The Niger Delta remains underdeveloped, with high poverty rates, poor infrastructure, and widespread environmental degradation. Youth unemployment is rampant, contributing to social unrest and militancy in the region. The inability of the NDDC to address these issues has fueled public disillusionment and increased agitation for alternative development models. In 2020, protests erupted across the Niger Delta, with communities demanding accountability and transparency from the NDDC. These protests highlighted the growing frustration among the region’s inhabitants, who felt betrayed by an agency supposed to improve their lives.

The need for targeted regional interventions became even more pronounced in the aftermath of the Boko Haram insurgency in the North East. The insurgency, which began in 2009, devastated the region, displacing millions and destroying infrastructure. In response, the North East Development Commission (NEDC) was established in 2017 to rebuild communities, resettle displaced people, and drive the region’s development. Its mandate included reconstructing schools, hospitals, and other public facilities, reviving the local economy, and promoting peace and stability. However, despite its noble intentions, the NEDC has faced significant challenges. Security concerns have hindered project execution, while corruption and bureaucratic inefficiency have undermined its impact.

In 2022, the Socio-Economic Rights and Accountability Project (SERAP) report revealed that over 100 billion Naira allocated to the NEDC was unaccounted for, sparking public outrage and calls for greater transparency. Investigations uncovered inflated contracts, ghost projects, and political patronage, leading to questions about the commission’s commitment to its mandate. Additionally, the NEDC’s projects have been criticised for being poorly targeted, with many communities most affected by the insurgency receiving little or no support. This has created a sense of neglect and abandonment, exacerbating regional social tensions.

In 2024, the quest for regional development took a new dimension with the establishment of three more RDCs: the North West Development Commission (NWDC), the South East Development Commission (SEDC), and the South West Development Commission (SWDC). Additionally, plans are underway to create the North Central Development Commission (NCDC) and the South-South Development Commission (SSDC). This unprecedented expansion of RDCs was driven by the belief that targeted, region-specific solutions are necessary for addressing Nigeria’s diverse challenges. Proponents argue that these commissions represent a new deal for Nigeria’s regional growth, providing the framework for decentralised governance and fostering regional collaboration, offering a ray of hope for the country’s future.

Supporters of RDCs further argue that regional development agencies are necessary because different geopolitical zones face different challenges that require targeted solutions. For example, the environmental degradation and oil pollution in the Niger Delta require a different approach than the rebuilding of communities devastated by insurgency in the North East. The SEDC could promote industrialisation and entrepreneurship in the South East, while the NEDC could prioritise educational rehabilitation and security in the North East.

RDCs are also seen as a step towards regionalism and political restructuring, enabling greater autonomy and self-determination. By tailoring programmes and projects to leverage regional strengths, RDCs can stimulate economic growth, foster collaboration among states, and enhance synergy with federal development agencies. Advocates argue that this decentralised model can bridge regional inequalities and promote national unity by giving marginalised areas a sense of inclusion and ownership.

However, the optimistic vision of RDCs as drivers of regional transformation is not universally shared. Critics argue that RDCs are often politically motivated, serving as elite channels to siphon public resources. They contend that these commissions are another layer of bureaucracy, adding administrative costs without delivering tangible results. Corruption, patronage politics, and political interference are rampant, with RDCs frequently serving as tools for political manipulation and agents for funding the ruling party’s elections rather than vehicles for genuine development.

Another major criticism is that RDCs are plagued by a democratic deficit. Although they are perceived as regional initiatives, they often lack the power to make critical policy decisions. Instead, powerful political actors outside the respective regions control decision-making processes, prioritising personal interests over regional needs. This undermines accountability and reduces public trust. Furthermore, the standardised template used for all RDCs, regardless of the unique challenges faced by each region, is counterproductive. A one-size-fits-all approach fails to leverage the comparative advantages of each region.

The harsh reality is that RDCs have become centres of corruption that add little value to genuine development. They have evolved into extractive institutions in the mould of what Economist Daron Acemoglu described as institutions created to enrich select members of the elite political class at the expense of the general populace. From the NDDC experience, intervention agencies can function as alternate states, duplicating projects for other government tiers, such as waste management and road construction. This results in resource wastage and project duplication. In many cases, RDCs engage in projects outside their mandate, straining already scarce public funds.

Fundamental reforms are necessary for RDCs to fulfil their promise as regional growth drivers. First, patronage politics must be eradicated through stringent anti-corruption measures and enhanced transparency. RDCs should not serve as political slush funds but as accountable entities focused on real development. Second, strategic planning and effective project execution should replace poor planning and haphazard implementation. Development models should be context-specific, reflecting the unique challenges of each region rather than adopting a one-size-fits-all approach. Public accountability must be prioritised by involving local communities in decision-making, ensuring that projects reflect the people’s needs. Finally, robust monitoring and evaluation systems should be implemented to assess performance and impact.

Regional Development Commissions were conceived as catalysts for equitable development and regional prosperity in Nigeria. However, they have often fallen short due to corruption, inefficiency, and political manipulation. For RDCs to genuinely serve as engines of sustainable development, they must be adequately conceptualised, and we must prioritise transparency, accountability, and effectiveness. It is time to confront the failures of the past and reimagine RDCs as genuine vehicles for regional empowerment and national unity. Whether they rise to this challenge or remain tools of political patronage will determine the future of regional development in Nigeria.

In his inaugural address on May 29, 2015, Governor Ifeanyi Ugwuanyi roused the state with the promise that his tenure would be defined by the development trajectory he would diligently pursue. Of the many facets he reeled out, two stood out. The first was the promise to pay special attention to Nsukka by giving the area a face-lift befitting a university town. He also told the people that “Ninth Mile is an economic hub that we need to harness to enjoy the benefits of our newly-acquired status as a free trade zone…to create fresh economic opportunities and reduce pressure on Enugu metropolis”.

For each of them, there was a well-deserved applause; nobody would begrudge Nsukka the face-lift that the State’s second largest city rightly deserves. And there was no denying the fact too that 9th Mile occupies a key position in the state’s industrialization plan. But while he may have delivered substantially on the uplift of Nsukka, the promise to upgrade 9th Mile as the state’s major commercial centre was, to all intents and purposes, empty.

Successive administrations in Enugu state have, by acts of omission or commission, systematically jettisoned the initial vision of 9th Mile as an industrial hub, a vision that dates back to the days of the defunct East Central State. Nothing better indicates this than the fact that all roads leading into the area have, for most of the last 10 years, been impassable. Once a converging point for travellers from Nigeria’s Middle Belt, Southern Igboland and Enugu state’s eastern neighbours, 9th Mile has become an isolated settlement with nearly all the traffic now diverted to the capital city. Whether you are coming from the East, West, North and South, commuters no longer have access to the good old 9th Mile where roads from all cardinal points once converged.

The promise of restoring the roads that will benefit 9th Mile and save Enugu metropolis the avoidable traffic build-up that Ugwuanyi spoke of at his inauguration was not kept. At a time calls were rising for the state government to undertake the remediation of the Obollo-9th Mile federal highway, the state government famously chose to rehabilitate only the portion from Obollo Afor to Opi for what one official called ‘VIP movements’. While this effectively cut off access to 9th Mile, it funnelled more vehicles into Enugu metropolis through Ekwegbe.

In the end, rather than develop an alternative road network, it was more convenient for the government to undertake the construction of ‘the State’s first fly-over’ at Nike to manage the exponential build up in vehicular traffic, instead. For a project that was largely seen as vainglorious, only the Ebeano tunnel under the rail line at Asata received a bigger media hype.

The systematic neglect of 9th Mile has been showing negatively in the balance sheets of the giant companies that operate in the area. As the once busy highways became quiet, drivers of articulated vehicles who have severally been promised a ‘trailer park’ that was never built, turned the roads into parking lots. Those companies that could not survive the harsh realities, including the multinational Coca-Cola, closed their factory and moved out. Ecobank and Keystone, two of the earliest banking institutions to open office in 9th Mile, also shut down and moved out. Guinness Nigeria Plc that had acquired a 19-hectare land for their first brewery East of the Niger, decided to invest in Aba instead. There are dozens of other smaller industrial concerns negatively affected. The effect on the state’s internal revenue was huge and only the Ama Brewery – the highest such investment by Heineken in West Africa – and 7Up Bottling Company continue to brace the odds.

Not much has come by way of the Free Trade Zone which approval was well celebrated. Rather, it was the Lion Business Park, a private concern, that the government chose to package as a quasi-government project. It facilitated the acquisition of over 2,000 hectares of farmland from Imezi Owa, Eke and Akama Oghe communities for the project which was promoted as an economic game-changer that would accommodate hundreds of small and medium-scale Chinese businesses. Eight years down the road – apart from the controversies surrounding the underhand land acquisition from the communities in Udi and Ezeagu local government areas – the business park has not moved from the grandiose plan it is on paper.

Governor Ugwuanyi is not alone in this litany of woes for Agbajaland and 9th Mile. The promise to restore the Anambra Vegetable Oil Products, AVOP, in Nachi has lasted through the two preceding administrations of Dr. Chimaroke Nnamani and Mr. Sullivan Chime. The International Market that was already under construction at 9th Mile since 2005 was allowed to die, just like the Ebeano bye-pass, the dual carriageway that took off from the old toll gate on the Enugu-Onitsha highway. Flagged off in 2007 by President Olusegun Obasanjo, the by-pass which signalled a future East-North highway, was motorable for all of 3 years before it was abandoned.

The 2 kilometer Toll Gate – Ameke Ngwo bye pass and the rehabilitation of the 12-borehole water project started during the administration of Chief Jim Nwobodo as governor of the old Anambra State, remain the only footprints of Ugwuanyi’s administration in the area. While the byepass has helped in easing traffic flow, the fact that the water project – the critical factor in Governor Peter Mbah’s 180-day timeline he gave on assumption of office for taps in the state capital to come alive again – has not benefitted 9th Mile and the host communities of Nsude and Ngwo, leaves a sour taste in the mouth.

The sorry state of 9th Mile, especially its bad roads, decayed infrastructure and dilapidated environment, is food for thought for Governor Peter Mbah. For an administration that has done exceedingly well in attracting investments and promoting commercial activities in the state, one would expect a deliberate policy to restore the state’s once-bustling commercial centre. Rather than abandon it to the consequences of wrong-headed policies of past administrations, Governor Mbah would do well to revive the industrial hub once promoted as the third leg of the South-East’s commercial triangle, after Onitsha and Aba.

With the right attention, 9th Mile still has the potential to impact industrialization drive in the South-East, enhance job opportunities for the citizenry and contribute substantially to his government’s internal revenue.

United States President Donald Trump signed an executive order to create a sovereign wealth fund. While the media speculates whether the US government will invest in crypto, let’s take a broader look at the past and the potential future of Bitcoin BTC-0.65%Bitcoin.

What formed Bitcoin’s trends?

Over the last 17 years, Bitcoin’s price climbed from $0 to a historic high of $110,000, yet its trajectory has been anything but linear. In 2010, for instance, you needed five thousand BTC just to buy a pizza. The dawn of the infamous Silk Road marketplace in 2011 contributed to an early price spike. When the US authorities took down the marketplace, the subsequent US Senate public hearing unexpectedly propelled Bitcoin’s price from several hundred dollars to over $1,200 per coin.

Then came the first altcoin season, fueled by the arrival of Ethereum ETH-0.12%Ethereum in 2016 and the initial coin offering boom ending in 2017. This period pushed Bitcoin to an unbelievable high of $20,000. After its first crypto winter of 2017–2018, Bitcoin gradually rebounded. The rise of decentralized finance and the explosion of nonfungible tokens injected renewed energy as innovative projects and enthusiastic adopters bid up prices again. Although Bitcoin itself was not the driving force behind DeFi—Ethereum’s smart contracts took that role—Bitcoin remained the main gateway for crypto investments, with its “wrapped” version appearing on decentralized exchanges and automated market makers from 2018 to 2020. NFTs also accompanied Bitcoin’s climb. After a modest rollback, COVID-19 struck, and governments all over the world poured out a rain of freshly printed money to their citizens, fueling another wave of investor interest.

Just as it appeared trends were slowing, institutional investors entered the scene. Traditional financial institutions began embracing Bitcoin, launching exchange-traded funds around 2022, which peaked in popularity between 2024 and 2025. This broadened access for both retail and institutional investors and reinforced Bitcoin’s status as “digital gold.”

National wealth funds

Now, with rumors swirling that the US government might soon hold direct crypto investments through newly initiated Sovereign Wealth Funds, it’s worth considering what would happen if this becomes reality. 

Undoubtedly, the United States would set a global precedent for other countries. This trend could shape the next two to five years and potentially send Bitcoin’s price skyrocketing, perhaps fulfilling the wildest dreams by reaching $1,000,000 per coin. There is a catch, though. Even the most powerful financial organizations can suffer from short-sightedness.

What drives Bitcoin’s value?

Bitcoin never fully became the “electronic cash” envisioned in Satoshi Nakamoto’s white paper. Its Silk Road era may have been its golden age for real-world transactions. For clarity, it remains the go-to option for shady trades worldwide. In legitimate markets, Bitcoin functions primarily as a store of value—a speculative asset traded by investors with little regard for its original utility.

We’ve seen it evolve through multiple eras, and we now stand on the threshold of potentially the biggest one yet: national investments. Many governments already own some BTC, often seized from criminal enterprises. Still, if treasury departments jump in late, they might miss significant profits, while early movers like El Salvador could enjoy a larger windfall. Each trend so far has expanded Bitcoin’s investor base, but what could surpass the participation of institutional organizations, superannuation funds (yet to embark), and national treasuries? Eventually, you run out of buyers on Earth—there’s certainly no one on the Moon to continue the trend once Bitcoin gets there.

That is why I consider it short-sighted to expect that Bitcoin’s speculative value will continue to be fueled by these trends indefinitely. Those who could shape Bitcoin’s future and make its use truly sustainable, beyond mere speculation, unfortunately, show few signs of having a long-term vision. My prediction is that they will quietly exit before the trend turns downward.

Alternative (sustainable) future

Many question Bitcoin’s reliability, but such skepticism often relies on flawed assumptions. Bitcoin is neither centralized nor vulnerable: it has operated as a publicly accessible ledger for over 17 years without major disruptions—an unparalleled feat.

If national treasuries recognize Bitcoin’s resilience, it could pave the way for long-overlooked applications. Bitcoin has the potential to evolve into a robust application platform similar to Ethereum. While some engineers debate this, I believe their skepticism stems from a lack of in-depth expertise in this area.

Imagine leveraging Bitcoin’s blockchain for a national land registry, a decentralized alternative to ICANN’s TLD system, or even a voting system for democratic countries. Bitcoin’s higher fees could be justified by its unprecedented security—particularly for mission-critical public and private systems that handle valuable assets. While cheaper, less secure blockchains may appeal to speculative or experimental projects, Bitcoin is designed for scenarios where reliability trumps cost.

Conclusion

I’ve long advocated for building dApps and smart contracts on Bitcoin (and I am deeply involved in the technical side), contending that its high fees are a worthwhile trade-off for top-notch security. It’s for the “big boys”—sectors where reliability is non-negotiable. If national treasuries finally embrace Bitcoin as the ultimate digital store of value, it will open the door to its true utility as the digital fortress for the most critical pieces of public infrastructure—its price will never turn back, literally reaching the Moon and even Mars.