Nigeria: Where State Governors Fly While Citizens Cry

 

Broken roads below. Costly airlines above. Nigeria’s governors call it development—but who pays when their flying ambitions crash into public poverty? Before you applaud another state airline, ask what your hospital lost. Political prestige takes off while essential services struggle to survive.

 Several Nigerian state governments want their own airlines while their citizens battle broken roads, weak railway connections, insecurity, and inadequate public services. I find that ambition laughable. Nigeria already has a grim history of government-owned airlines leaving unpaid bills behind. Yet governors keep reaching for aircraft as though the missing ingredient in a struggling state is a painted tail and a boarding announcement.

“Why an airline?” I ask.

“To connect our people.”

I look at the road leading to the hospital. Apparently, that connection can wait.

I understand the attraction of flying. Nigeria is vast. Roads can turn a routine journey into an endurance test. Rail service remains too limited to offer dependable alternatives across much of the country. Insecurity adds another ugly calculation: arrival time versus survival odds. For genuinely isolated places, air connections can serve a serious economic purpose.

But I cannot follow the argument from dangerous roads to government-owned aircraft without stopping at the obvious question: why does the road remain dangerous?

An airline allows some people to escape a problem that everybody financed the government to solve. The governor calls it connectivity. I see selective evacuation. Those who can afford tickets climb above the trouble. Those who cannot remain below, paying taxes and praying that the next journey ends at home.

Ebonyi supplies the expensive close-up.

Radio Nigeria reported in September 2023 that the state’s airport had cost about ₦36 billion ($27.16 million) and already required a runway rehabilitation contract worth more than ₦13 billion. Its inaugural test flight had taken place in April. By September, the aviation commissioner said no aircraft had landed there for two months because of the runway’s condition.

I pause at that sequence. Construction. Celebration. Defect. Reconstruction.

Nearly ₦50 billion in construction and early rehabilitation commitments, and the runway was already demanding another appointment with the contractor. I have seen second-hand cars offer more reassuring introductions.

“Is the airport ready?”

“For commissioning.”

“And aircraft?”

“Let us handle the ceremony first.”

That is the political joke I cannot shake. A project can be ready for cameras before it is ready for customers. The ribbon behaves perfectly. The runway has other ideas.

I want to know who approved the original work, who inspected it, and who answered for the repair bill. Public money does not become less public after concrete covers it. If a new runway needs major rehabilitation almost immediately, I expect accountability before another cheque.

Instead, Ebonyi’s ambition acquired wings.

The state announced aircraft procurement while questions about the airport’s value remained painfully alive. I see the logic: the airport needs traffic, so buy an airline. The airline needs support, so provide more money. When the accounts become uncomfortable, explain that the government cannot abandon its investment.

I recognize that trick. Throwing good money after bad becomes a development strategy once the paperwork carries an official stamp.

Enugu makes the case harder to sell. Federal Airports Authority of Nigeria (FAAN) identifies Abakaliki and Afikpo among the cities served by Akanu Ibiam International Airport. New Telegraph reported that Enugu’s airport was about 65 kilometres from Abakaliki, describing the journey as less than 1 hour. Road conditions can change the timing, but the nearby alternative is real.

I would start with reliable access to that airport. Repair the route. Improve safety. Arrange dependable transfers. Encourage existing airlines to serve genuine demand.

But those solutions have a terrible political flaw: they work without looking magnificent.

A connecting road does not come with cabin crew. A shuttle service does not give the governor an aircraft to stand beside. Maintenance rarely produces a glamorous campaign photograph. I suspect that is where practical transport loses the argument.

“We must put Ebonyi on the map.”

I thought it was already there. Perhaps the map needs a business-class section.

Bayelsa’s proximity to Port Harcourt raises a similar question. I accept that airport access, schedules, local industries, and passenger demand require examination. But I want the examination before the expenditure. A neighboring state’s airline does not create a business case. It creates temptation.

Governors are human. Unfortunately, public treasuries cannot afford every human weakness.

Domestic passenger figures offer little encouragement for this rush. FAAN data reported by Nairametrics showed traffic rising from about 12.54 million in 2024 to 13.09 million in 2025. That represents growth of 4.33%, roughly 4%. I see modest expansion. I do not see a market begging every governor to arrive with aircraft.

Those figures count passenger journeys, too. Frequent travelers appear repeatedly. I cannot turn an executive’s regular flights into proof that an ordinary family can afford air travel.

“Everybody wants to fly.”

Certainly. Everybody also wants to eat. I suggest checking which desire has money behind it.

Most Nigerians cannot casually buy an airline ticket. The National Bureau of Statistics’ 2022 multidimensional poverty survey found that 133 million people, or 63% of the population, experienced multidimensional poverty. It documented deprivation involving healthcare access, sanitation, food security, and housing.

I read those findings and see a brutal spending choice. Public money can improve daily life for people struggling with basic needs, or it can enter a difficult commercial business whose services many cannot purchase.

The governor gets to call both options development. The citizen gets to experience the difference.

I can picture the household arithmetic without inventing a household: transport fare, food, school expenses, medical bills. Every payment pushes against the next. Then an administration announces an airline and expects applause from people calculating whether they can afford tomorrow’s bus.

That applause should come with a refund.

Nigeria Airways already taught us how long an aviation bill can survive its aircraft. The carrier stopped operating in 2003. Former workers pursued unpaid benefits for years. In September 2026, Premium Times reported that the federal government had settled outstanding severance benefits for 2,100 former employees, with another 600 being processed. The reported exercise covered ₦18 billion across 2,700 beneficiaries.

More than two decades later, the financial aftermath was still demanding attention.

I find that history more persuasive than another launch speech. Officials can leave office. Airlines can stop flying. Workers remain. Families remain. Obligations remain.

The ceremony lasts an afternoon. The consequences can grow old.

Still, I will acknowledge Ibom Air. Akwa Ibom’s carrier began operations in 2019 and offers a serious example of commercial progress under state ownership. Its June 2025 public Annual General Meeting (AGM) announcement reported ₦96 billion in revenue and ₦6.8 billion in net profit for 2024, following an ₦8.7 billion net loss in 2023.

I respect that result. I also refuse to crop the loss out of the picture.

Ibom Air demonstrates what planning and capable management can achieve. It does not establish that every state should own aircraft. Copying a successful carrier’s branding is easy. Copying its discipline requires something more demanding than a governor’s enthusiasm.

“Ibom Air made money.”

Then study how it operates. Do not study where to place the logo.

Fuel suppliers expect payment. Engineers expect proper maintenance arrangements. Aircraft financing carries obligations. Currency movements can hurt the accounts. Empty seats remain empty even when a commissioner calls the route strategic.

I want those realities in the business plan before they arrive in a supplementary budget.

Ebonyi’s promised aircraft make that demand urgent. Governor Francis Nwifuru announced on January 1, 2026, that the state had procured 3 aircraft expected to arrive that month. Punch reported that their whereabouts remained unclear by July 1. It also reported allegations that ₦50 billion had been released for aircraft acquisition. Those allegations do not establish theft, but the reported absence of the promised aircraft demands a detailed public explanation.

I want delivery dates, contracts, payment records, and responsibility for delays. I want answers sturdy enough to survive outside a press conference.

“Where are the aircraft?”

That question should require an address, not a lecture about patience.

My objection is specific. I oppose unnecessary state airlines consuming scarce public resources while roads, security, schools, clinics, and ordinary transport remain inadequate. I oppose spending more simply because an earlier expensive project needs rescuing. I oppose making citizens finance commercial risks that officials have failed to explain.

A credible airline proposal can defend itself with evidence. Prestige needs a microphone.

Before another governor announces takeoff, I want to see what happens to the people who remain on the ground. The farmer moving produce. The patient seeking treatment. The teacher travelling to school. The trader carrying goods along a damaged road.

Their journeys count even when nobody serves refreshments.

I am tired of being told that a state is moving forward because its government wants an aircraft. Give me roads that work, safer travel, functioning services, and honest accounts. Then we can discuss the departure lounge.

Until then, I see the arrangement clearly: governors buy wings, citizens eat dust, and the treasury pays for both.

 

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