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Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city, has been transformed into what many now describe as a construction site. Under the administration of the current Federal Capital Territory (FCT) Minister, Nyesom Wike, a wave of infrastructure development has swept across the city. These efforts have garnered praise in some quarters for reviving long-neglected projects; they have also stirred […]
Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city, has been transformed into what many now describe as a construction site. Under the administration of the current Federal Capital Territory (FCT) Minister, Nyesom Wike, a wave of infrastructure development has swept across the city. These efforts have garnered praise in some quarters for reviving long-neglected projects; they have also stirred a different kind of debate, one that questions the motivations behind the names now being given to these renewed structures.
A contentious case emerged with renovation of the iconic International Conference Centre (ICC). Originally built in 1991 by former military Head of State, General Ibrahim Babangida, the ICC underwent renovations in 2025. Upon its completion, the centre has been renamed the Bola Ahmed Tinubu Centre, which triggered widespread criticism and accusations of political idolatry.
This incident is not isolated. In fact, it appears to be part of a growing trend that began as early as March 2024 when the Niger State Government renamed the Abubakar Imam International Airport in Minna to Bola Ahmed Tinubu International Airport. The backlash was swift and particularly intense from residents of Rafi Local Government Area, the hometown of the late Abubakar Imam Kagara, who was celebrated for his literary and educational contributions to Northern Nigeria. The airport had only just been named after Imam in June 2023, a symbolic recognition that was erased within a year.
That same year, the National Assembly Library and Resource Centre was commissioned and christened the Bola Tinubu Building in May. In December 2024, the Nigeria Immigration Service followed suit, naming its ultra-modern technology complex after President Tinubu, justifying the choice by citing his supposed dedication to digital innovation.
Even more telling is the legislative backing now being used to formalise this naming spree. In October 2024, a bill was introduced in the House of Representatives to establish the Bola Ahmed Tinubu Federal University of Nigerian Languages in Aba, Abia State, purportedly to advance local language education and cultural heritage. This was shortly followed by the federal government’s approval of the Bola Ahmed Tinubu Polytechnic in Gwarinpa, Abuja, and the naming of a newly constructed military barracks in Asokoro after President Tinubu.
A Pattern of Political Immortalisation
This trend of naming public institutions and facilities after sitting or recently retired political figures isn’t limited to President Tinubu. Several politicians, past and present, are guilty of similar actions, and often using public funds to build infrastructure only to name them after themselves or political allies.
Femi Gbajabiamila, former Speaker of the House of Representatives and the President’s Chief of Staff, facilitated the construction of a hall of residence at the University of Lagos through a constituency project. The hall now bears his name, despite being funded with taxpayer money. In Maiduguri, a learning centre for children orphaned by the Boko Haram insurgency was named the Vice President Yemi Osinbajo Learning Centre while he was still in office. In December 2024, Borno State Governor Babagana Zulum unveiled a 500-unit housing estate in Njimtilo, Maiduguri, naming it after his Yobe counterpart, Mai Mala Buni. In Ebonyi State, multiple state-funded projects, including the David Umahi International Market and a university, were named after David Umahi, the current Minister of Works and former governor of the state. Akwa Ibom’s former governor, Udom Emmanuel, had a 21-storey tower named after him by his successor, Umo Eno, who supported him into office.
Nyesom Wike, during his time as Rivers State governor, also named several projects after himself, including a local council administrative building, and even extended the gesture to his wife.
In Amuwo-Odofin, Lagos, a primary healthcare centre was named after the First Lady, Remi Tinubu, by the local government chairman.
Former President Muhammadu Buhari, too, had multiple buildings and facilities named in his honour while still in power, including an airport.
Military Traditions vs Civilian Politics
Historically, naming practices in Nigeria, particularly in the military era, were handled with greater caution and reverence. Barracks, for instance, were traditionally named after battles, war heroes, or significant locations tied to Nigeria’s military history. This began to change in the early 2000s.
In an insightful article titled “Barracks: The History Behind Those Names,” military historian Nowa Omoigui recalled how in 2002, then Minister of Defence, Lt. Gen. TY Danjuma (rtd), set up a Military Installation Naming Committee. The panel, comprising retired top brass including Brig-Gen Mobolaji Johnson, Gen. D.Y. Bali, and others, was tasked with reviewing the propriety of naming military installations after individuals and suggesting more historically appropriate alternatives. The committee’s recommendation led to the renaming of several barracks, including reverting Obasanjo Barracks to Mambilla Barracks, Buhari Barracks to Lungi Barracks, and Babangida Barracks to Maimalari Barracks.
The objective was clear: to depersonalise military assets and uphold military traditions over political preferences, and concurred by the then-President Umar Musa Yar’Adua, who believed the military should remain a symbol of collective national pride, not individual glorification.
A Culture at Odds with Democracy
The tendency of politicians to name state-funded projects after themselves or their allies during their tenure is widely seen as an erosion of democratic values. In a democracy, public infrastructure should be named in recognition of exceptional service, sacrifice, or posthumous honour, not as a vehicle for vanity or political entrenchment.
Prior to the Fourth Republic, the honour of having a public structure named after someone was reserved for individuals of notable legacy, often posthumously. For example, Obafemi Awolowo, former premier of the Western Region, was honoured with the renaming of the University of Ife to Obafemi Awolowo University, due to his landmark contributions to education. Similarly, Ahmadu Bello University, Nnamdi Azikiwe University, and Tai Solarin University were named after iconic leaders whose lifelong service to the country warranted public recognition. Other institutions that followed this tradition of merit-based posthumous recognition include: Michael Okpara University of Agriculture, named after the Premier of the Eastern Region, renowned for his agrarian revolution and public sector reforms. Mallam Aminu Kano International Airport in Kano was named after the legendary Northern politician, Aminu Kano, who championed the rights of the talakawa (common people). Stephen Keshi Stadium in Asaba was named after the late Stephen Keshi, former captain and coach of the Super Eagles, who led Nigeria to multiple football victories. Jakande Estates were named after Lateef Jakande, former Lagos governor, famed for pioneering mass housing and education projects. These estates remain home to thousands of low-income families. Such honours were rare and revered, earned through merit, not office, but today’s political class seem increasingly fixated on self-immortalisation. Ironically, many of the same leaders now indulging in this practice once criticised the military for doing the same.
The Cost of Erasing Collective Memory
This current wave of self-naming doesn’t just reflect a shift in values; it poses a deeper threat to historical continuity and national memory. When names like Abubakar Imam are erased from public consciousness barely a year after being honored, what message does that send about our collective respect for history, scholarship, and legacy?
In a country where public institutions are constantly under pressure from underfunding, poor maintenance, and corruption, the naming of these structures should serve as a beacon of inspiration, not as trophies of political ego.
As Nigerians reflect on this worrying trend, the question remains: Is it a legacy we are building, or just larger-than-life egos?
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