“If Wike were serious about legacy, he could have proposed a brand-new multi-use convention hub — one with commercial value and long-term returns. Instead, he took an old monument and used it as a billboard for loyalty, This is not how serious nations work. It’s how cults of personality operate”
When General Ibrahim Babangida (IBB) built the Abuja International Conference Centre (ICC) in the early 1990s, he did not name it after himself. He did not invite heads of state to dance over ribbon-cuttings. He did not demand applause or plaster his face across its gates. He simply built — and walked away.
But in today’s Nigeria, modesty is out of fashion. In its place, we now have showmanship, self-promotion, and the latest political disease: expensive sycophancy.
The ICC, originally constructed at the cost of ₦240 million (about $30 million) by Julius Berger in 1991, has now been renovated at a cost of ₦39 billion (about $47 million) under current FCT Minister Nyesom Wike — a staggering 160× the original cost.
And what did Wike do after spending that fortune on a touch-up? He renamed the centre after his political godfather: President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. All this while Tinubu remains in office. The optics were clear — this was not a national gesture. It was personal theatre.
The event was lavish. The high and mighty gathered. Cameras flashed. Praise singers sang. And Wike, true to form, danced like a drunken actor in the final scene of a tired play.
This wasn’t governance. It was worship. Of power. Of personality. Of political proximity.
But let’s put aside the emotion and follow the money. What exactly does ₦39 billion get you in today’s Africa?
In Kenya, the Kenyatta International Convention Centre was recently renovated at a cost of about $14 million (₦15 billion) — far less than Abuja’s, despite KICC’s size and status. That renovation led to a revenue surge, with the KICC reporting over ₦7 billion in profits the same year.
In Côte d’Ivoire, the newly built Abidjan Exhibition Centre, the largest in West Africa, was completed in 2023 for about $128 million. That money didn’t go into refurbishing old halls — it funded a brand-new, world-class facility with a 5,000-seat arena, exhibition zones, and vast parking infrastructure.
And in Rwanda, the Kigali Convention Centre, considered Africa’s most iconic, was built from scratch at $300 million, with a hotel, IT park, and revenue streams built into the design.
By comparison, Abuja’s ICC renovation added no new wings, no adjoining hotel, no commercial spaces. The building was merely polished. And then renamed.
This isn’t public service. It’s political servitude.
If Wike were serious about legacy, he could have proposed a brand-new multi-use convention hub — one with commercial value and long-term returns. Instead, he took an old monument and used it as a billboard for loyalty. He didn’t build it. He didn’t expand it. But he stamped his place in the ceremony — and attempted to etch Tinubu’s into the name.
This is not how serious nations work. It’s how cults of personality operate.
We must say it plainly: This is waste. This is ego masquerading as service. And this is the highest level of shamelessness yet in a country already drowning in performative politics.
When institutions become toys in the hands of politicians, when national assets become tools for praise-singing, and when billions are spent just to rename what already exists, we must ask: Is anyone still thinking about the Nigerian people?
If Wike wanted to honour President Tinubu, he could have done so with reforms, results, or roads. Instead, he chose ribbon-cutting and rebranding — all at the people’s expense.
History will remember who built. Not who renamed.
