Abuja’s residents are not opposed to change. We welcome development that uplifts, that addresses our daily struggles and builds a city worthy of its status. But we cannot abide by decisions that prioritise spectacle over substance, that favour optics over impact. The City Gate is not the problem; it is a symbol of what we can achieve when vision is matched with purpose. Let it stand. Let us turn our energies to the roads that need paving, the buses that need running, curbing escalating rent…

In the heart of Nigeria’s Federal Capital Territory (FCT), the Abuja City Gate stands as a quiet sentinel along the Airport Road, welcoming millions into the nation’s capital. Erected in the 1980s as part of the city’s meticulously planned inception, this understated yet iconic structure embodies the aspirations of a young nation carving out a new seat of power. For over four decades, it has served as a symbol of unity and ambition, a landmark etched into the collective memory of Abujans. Yet, in a decision that has sparked both disbelief and indignation, Nyesom Wike, the minister of the FCT, has tasked construction giant Julius Berger with redesigning the City Gate — a move that appears impulsive and starkly disconnected from the urgent needs of Abuja’s residents. This initiative is not only wasteful but a troubling reflection of an administration indifferent to the cries of its people and the economic realities of our time.

On the surface, the idea of a new City Gate might appear visionary — a chance to modernise Abuja’s aesthetic and project Nigeria’s growing global stature. But this superficial appeal collapses under scrutiny. The FCT and its sprawling satellite towns — places like Gwagwalada, Nyanya, and Kubwa — face a litany of developmental challenges that demand immediate attention. Roads in many areas are crumbling, with potholes, poor drainage and broken sewage system making daily commutes a nightmare. Basic amenities like reliable water supply and functional healthcare facilities remain elusive for many residents, particularly in the suburbs. The absence of a proper maintenance system for existing infrastructure means that bridges, streetlights, and public utilities deteriorate faster than they can be repaired. Meanwhile, Abuja’s commuting system, choked by chaotic traffic and an overreliance on private vehicles and informal transport, is in desperate need of a comprehensive overhaul. Investments in mass transit, inter-suburb rail or bus networks, and pedestrian-friendly infrastructure could transform the city’s mobility and quality of life.

Against this backdrop, the decision to prioritise a new City Gate is not just puzzling — it’s indefensible. Nigeria is grappling with profound economic challenges: inflation is at a 28-year high, the naira has lost significant value, and unemployment continues to climb. In Abuja, where the cost of living is among the highest in the country, residents are tightening their belts, making do with less, while hoping for leadership that prioritises their welfare. Allocating scarce financial resources to what will now be largely a cosmetic project like the City Gate is a betrayal of public trust. The construction process itself promises to exacerbate these hardships and aggravate insecurity. The Airport Road, where the City Gate sits, is a critical artery, ferrying commuters, diplomats, and visitors into the heart of the capital. Redesigning and reconstructing the gate will inevitably disrupt traffic, causing delays and economic losses for businesses and individuals alike. The ripple effects — lost productivity, increased transport costs, and commuter frustration — will compound the already heavy burden borne by Abuja’s residents.

Beyond the practical concerns, the decision raises questions about the administration’s regard for optics and public sentiment. At a time when Nigerians are demanding transparency and accountability, embarking on a project that reeks of vanity sends a disheartening message. It suggests a leadership more concerned with symbolic gestures than substantive progress. The Airport Road is not the only major entrance into Abuja — routes like the Nyanya-Keffi Road and the Kubwa-Zuba Expressway are equally vital, yet they languish in disrepair. Why, then, this fixation on a single landmark? The answer may lie in the allure of high-profile projects that offer quick photo opportunities but little lasting benefit. And the vain act of possibly naming it after an individual. Such priorities confirm a troubling disconnect between the government and the governed, undermining the democratic principles of responsiveness and stewardship that should guide public policy.

The existing City Gate, far from being an outdated relic, is a deliberate creation imbued with historical and symbolic significance. Designed by Gitto Costruzioni Generali Nigeria Limited, it blends traditional Nigerian architectural elements — such as the use of arches reminiscent of Hausa, Yoruba, and Igbo motifs — with modern, minimalist aesthetics.  Its realisation reflects the vision of a unified Nigeria, a neutral capital free from the ethnic and regional tensions that have long shaped the country’s politics. Its minimalist design — two sweeping arches framing the road — evokes both strength and openness, qualities that resonate with the city’s founding ideals. Like the Arc de Triomphe in Paris or the Gateway of India in Mumbai, the City Gate was built to endure, to earn its place in history as a landmark of enduring value.

Over the decades, the Abuja City Gate has transcended its role as a ceremonial entrance to become a globally recognised symbol of Nigeria’s capital. Its significance lies not in architectural grandeur but in its symbolic weight. Its image has appeared in international media, tourist guides, and diplomatic events, cementing its status as an icon of Abuja’s identity.

A notable moment in the gate’s global journey came in 2018, when it was lit up in green to honour St. Patrick’s Day, a collaboration between the Irish Embassy, Guinness Nigeria, and the FCT. This event placed the gate alongside global landmarks like the Great Wall of China and the Christ the Redeemer statue in Brazil, which also participate in the “greening” tradition. The gesture highlighted the gate’s growing international profile and its role as a canvas for cultural diplomacy, showcasing Nigeria’s openness to global partnerships. Ujah Kendricks, a brand expert, noted that this act elevated the gate to “an elite list of international tourist monuments,” reinforcing its status as a point of pride for Nigerians. To dismantle or redesign it on a whim is to erase a piece of Abuja’s identity, to dismiss the foresight of those who envisioned a capital that would stand the test of time.

This is not to say that Abuja should remain frozen in the past. Modernisation is necessary, but it must be purposeful and inclusive. Instead of a new City Gate, imagine the impact of investing those resources in a light rail system connecting Maitama to Nyanya, or in rehabilitating schools and hospitals in satellite towns. Picture a city where roads are maintained proactively, where commuters can rely on efficient public transport, and where the suburbs are as vibrant and well-served as the city centre. These are the projects that would truly elevate Abuja’s status, not as a showcase for fleeting grandeur but as a capital that works for all its residents.

Abuja has evolved from a fledgling city into a bustling metropolis, a place of promise and paradox. Its history is one of bold ambition tempered by persistent challenges, from rapid urbanisation to governance gaps. The City Gate, in its quiet dignity, has borne witness to this journey. It deserves to remain, not as a monument to nostalgia but as a reminder of what Abuja was meant to be — a city of unity, progress, and possibility. Minister Wike’s directive to Julius Berger, however well-intentioned, risks squandering both resources and goodwill at a time when neither can be spared. It is a decision that ignores the pulse of the city and the plight of its people.

Abuja’s residents are not opposed to change. We welcome development that uplifts, that addresses our daily struggles and builds a city worthy of its status. But we cannot abide by decisions that prioritise spectacle over substance, that favour optics over impact. The City Gate is not the problem; it is a symbol of what we can achieve when vision is matched with purpose. Let it stand. Let us turn our energies to the roads that need paving, the buses that need running, curbing escalating rent, enhanced security, and the communities that need uplifting. That is the legacy Abuja deserves — and the one its people demand.

Emman Usman Shehu resides in Abuja.