Ogun: Abiodun’s Built-for-the-Cameras Roads

By Jelili Ariyibi

Senator Olamilekan Adeola, Ladi Adebutu, Gboyega Nasir Isiaka, Segun Sowunmi, Noimot Salako-Oyedele and others circling the Ogun State governorship in 2027, consider this your warning label: the state you seek to govern has, for decades, produced some of Nigeria’s most grotesque roads. These are road projects announced with fanfare, which are then washed away within months in a long-running system showing that the state has long mistaken visibility for vision.

Three governors-Gbenga Daniel, Ibikunle Amosun and now Dapo Abiodun, have all come as saviours, promising redemption by asphalt. Each left potholes, craters and billboards boasting of “transformative infrastructure.” Each wore the hard hat of reform and departed as a foreman of failure. Daniel came with his cosmetic Ogun State Road Maintenance Agency (OGROMA) but left broken roads. Amosun built six-lane highways of dubious quality and flyovers where they were not needed, some still abandoned. Abiodun has followed in similarly dire footsteps, commissioning roads that crumble faster than the banners used to advertise them. Ogun’s asphalt obsession has produced more spectacle than substance.

Since taking office, Abiodun has turned roads into his signature pursuit. The photo opportunities, press releases and television clips have been endless. Yet for many residents, the experience has been the opposite of durable infrastructure. Roads disintegrate within months, bridges collapse after a few rains, and stretches of asphalt turn into credible imitations of a river, not even a fish streams. Every newly tarred surface now carries a silent question: are these roads built for cameras or for endurance?

The government insists it is working. Officials brandish lists of completed and ongoing projects from Sagamu Interchange to Ilaro–Owode–Imeko as proof of progress. No one doubts the ambition. The problem is the pattern. Roads that should last for years begin to fail in months. The Adigbe–Opako Bridge in Abeokuta collapsed less than a year after reconstruction. It was opened with ceremony; then nature returned to finish what engineers should have done properly. That collapse was not just an engineering failure — it was a metaphor for a government that mistakes motion for progress.

Across the Ayetoro–Itele and Lafenwa–Itele corridors and around Ota Junction, the same tragedy plays out. Rains turn new asphalt into mud. Buses grind through trenches. Traders wade through floodwater to save their wares. Children splash through brown pools on their way to school. Each viral video of these scenes becomes an unpaid audit of governance, exposing shallow work, poor subgrades, inadequate drainage and hurried construction meant to satisfy political calendars.

For residents, this is not an academic debate. Every pothole is a tax on survival: broken shock absorbers, higher transport fares, spoiled goods and a huge toll on physical as well as mental health. For farmers, bad roads mean harvests that rot before reaching the market. For traders, it means shrinking profits. For those trying to run businesses where roads are ruins, there is nothing like ease of doing business.

Independent assessments have only confirmed public frustration. Ogun was recently ranked among the worst-performing states for road quality. When rankings, citizen complaints and visible failures align, the conclusion is clear: something is deeply wrong with how Ogun builds and maintains its roads.

The rot begins before the asphalt. Contracts go to firms without capacity. Drainage and soil conditions are ignored. Supervision is weak. Political deadlines override engineering logic. Maintenance, when attempted, is reactive. These are not secrets — they are habits that guarantee the next collapse.

The Adigbe–Opako Bridge is the most infamous example but not the only one. The Itele–Lafenwa–Ayetoro corridor has become a seasonal swamp. The Olusegun Osoba Road that leads to the new Agbado Train Station, commissioned in 2022, has failed in over 40 places. The Buba Marwa Road, commissioned last year, is going the same way. The Ishashi Road linking Ojodu Abiodun to Akute, completed in 2023, lasted barely longer than lettuce. The same road failed within six months under Daniel, and within a year its bridge was washed away, cutting off the area from Lagos. Each road is a scar — a reminder that Ogun builds in haste and repairs in despair.

When questioned, the government reels out new lists of “completed” projects, blames predecessors and accuses critics of politics. But all the press statements in the world cannot explain why the roads do not last. Accountability begins with independent audits and the courage to name contractors who take public funds and deliver private disasters.

Durability must replace drama. Ogun does not need more ceremonies — it needs roads that outlive campaign posters. Citizens who drive, walk and trade on these roads are unmoved by slogans. Their verdict comes every rainy season when the asphalt either holds or disappears.

Abiodun’s ambition has been visible, but ambition without endurance is theatre. The applause should not come from ribbon-cuttings or purchased awards but from commuters who arrive home safely, traders whose goods reach the market intact, farmers whose produce survives the journey and businesses that can function without navigating craters.

So, to whoever becomes the next governor: learn from the ruins. Ogun is tired of being a rehearsal ground for infrastructural incompetence. Do not repeat Daniel’s blueprint of grand talk and little delivery. Do not follow Amosun’s pattern of vanity projects without drainage. Do not imitate Abiodun’s PR-driven construction that melts before the next rainy season.

If you build for show, your roads will not outlive your term. If you build for posterity, the state may finally escape this asphalt cycle of shame. Ogun’s soil has swallowed enough promises. The next governor must decide whether to keep feeding it more.

-Ariyibi writes from Matogbun.