A gateway into Lagos that welcomes visitors with congestion, disorder, and environmental chaos… If gateways define cities, then Kara is giving us a very loud introduction… Surely, we can do better.
WELCOME back, dear readers.
After missing the last three Saturdays, I thought I should return by visiting an old Nigerian friend: Collective Amnesia.
If there were an Olympic competition for forgetting painful lessons, we would surely qualify for the finals.
After 9/11, America completely changed its aviation and homeland security systems. The message was clear:
“This happened once. It must never happen again.”
That is how societies learn.
Now come home.
Years ago, tragedy struck on the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway when a vehicle carrying associates of Anthony Joshua collided with a trailer parked on the shoulder of the road. Lives were lost.
The nation mourned.
The newspapers screamed.
The experts analysed.
Then everyone moved on.
Today, trailers are still parked on the shoulders of the expressway as though nothing happened.
Apparently, the lesson got lost in traffic.
Then there was the reconstruction of the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway itself.
A mere 100 kilometres took over sixteen years to complete across several administrations. During that period, Nigerians lost productive hours, businesses lost money, and some people lost their lives in endless traffic.
The major culprit?…
Poor maintenance.
Now, only a few years after completion, signs of neglect are quietly returning.
The median is becoming a forest reserve.
Drainages are clogging up.
Shoulders are unswept.
Some sections have become public conveniences.
One begins to wonder whether preparations have started for another sixteen-year rehabilitation project.
To be fair, somebody appears to have learned one lesson.
Pedestrian bridges are springing up along the corridor.
Excellent.
But then comes the Nigerian twist.
Many of them start exactly at the edge of the expressway and land at the edge on the other side.
In other words, pedestrians must first survive crossing traffic before reaching the bridge built to prevent them from crossing traffic.
Only in Nigeria can a safety facility require you to first survive danger before using it.
One would have expected proper fencing and extended walkways to channel people safely onto the bridges.
Perhaps that lesson is still under consideration.
And while we are asking questions:
Why are U-turns still common on high-speed expressways?
Why do settlements spill directly onto major highways?
Why are traffic signs treated like decorative ornaments?
Why do we build infrastructure but neglect maintenance?
Most importantly, can we begin to cultivate belonging through the built environment?
Can our roads, bridges, and public spaces tell citizens:
“We care about your safety.”
Because maintenance is not merely engineering.
It is an expression of care.
Before I go, let me stop briefly at Kara.
The famous ram market.
A gateway into Lagos that welcomes visitors with congestion, disorder, and environmental chaos.
If gateways define cities, then Kara is giving us a very loud introduction.
Surely, we can do better.
Moral of the Satire
▪️ Smart societies learn from tragedies.
▪️ Maintenance is cheaper than reconstruction.
▪️ Infrastructure should communicate care.
▪️ A society that forgets yesterday’s lessons pays for them tomorrow.
And so I ask:
Must we always wait for another tragedy before learning from the last one?
Eko o ni baje.
Nigeria o ni baje.
Provided memory does not take another holiday.
