By Barrister Habibu Aliyu
In a country burdened by debt anxieties and development deficits, caution in public borrowing is not only understandable, it is necessary.
That is the spirit behind the recent intervention of Sanusi Lamido Sanusi on the proposed Sokoto–Badagry road loan, reportedly in excess of $500 million.
His argument, as always, is framed around fiscal prudence, sustainability, and the dangers of piling debt on an already strained economy.
But prudence, when stretched too far, can quietly mutate into paralysis. And in a country like Nigeria, where infrastructure gaps cost far more than loans themselves, the cost of hesitation can be devastating.
Let us be clear: not all borrowing is bad. The real question is not whether Nigeria should borrow, but what it borrows for and what happens when it refuses to act.
The Sokoto–Badagry road is not just another highway project. It is a strategic economic corridor linking the far North-West to the commercial artery of the South-West. It promises to ease the movement of goods, reduce transport costs, stimulate trade, and integrate markets across regions that have long operated in isolation.
In a fragile federation where economic exclusion often fuels political tension, such infrastructure is not merely developmental, it is stabilizing.
To delay such a project in the name of caution is to ignore a simple economic truth: infrastructure delayed is development denied.
Those who argue for postponement often assume that time is neutral that waiting will somehow reduce costs or improve conditions. Nigeria’s experience suggests the opposite. Inflation, currency depreciation, rising construction costs, and shifting political priorities mean that projects rarely get cheaper with time. They become more expensive, more complicated, and often, more vulnerable to abandonment.
History offers sobering lessons.
During the tenure of Muhammadu Buhari as Military Head of State, a proposed underground rail system in Lagos, an ambitious project that could have transformed urban mobility was shelved. Years later, the cost of achieving similar infrastructure has ballooned, and the city continues to choke under the weight of congestion.
What could have been done at a fraction of today’s cost now requires multiples of that initial investment.
The same pattern can be traced closer to home. In Kano, plans for a metro line that would have significantly eased the city’s chaotic traffic were abandoned during the period when Sanusi himself wielded considerable influence as Emir. Whether directly or indirectly, the climate of skepticism toward large-scale borrowing contributed to the project’s demise.
Today, Kano remains trapped in a cycle of gridlock, lost productivity, and urban disorder costs that far exceed the fears that killed the project.
This is the paradox of excessive caution: in trying to avoid future burdens, it often creates them.
Sanusi’s activism, it must be acknowledged, comes from a place of deep concern for Nigeria’s fiscal health. As a former central banker, his warnings about unsustainable debt carry weight.
He has consistently called for transparency, accountability, and a shift away from consumption-driven borrowing.
These are valid concerns.
But there is a difference between borrowing for recurrent expenditure and borrowing for capital projects that generate long-term economic value.
A road like Sokoto–Badagry is not a vanity project; it is an investment in national productivity. It is the kind of infrastructure that, if properly executed, pays for itself through increased economic activity, reduced logistics costs, and expanded tax bases.
To oppose such borrowing without offering a credible alternative risks turning constructive criticism into obstruction.
More troubling, however, is the increasingly political tone of Sanusi’s interventions. His voice, once seen as that of a technocrat speaking truth to power, now sometimes carries the cadence of political opposition. This is not to deny his right to speak far from it. Public discourse thrives on dissent. But when criticism becomes predictable, reflexive, and detached from practical realities, it loses its effectiveness.
Nigeria does not suffer from a surplus of projects; it suffers from a deficit of execution. Every major infrastructure gap in this country from roads to rail to power can be traced not to excessive ambition, but to chronic hesitation, policy reversals, and the fear of making big decisions.
The Sokoto–Badagry road represents an opportunity to break that cycle, to demonstrate that Nigeria can think big and act decisively.
Of course, safeguards are necessary. Borrowing must be transparent. Procurement must be competitive. Funds must be efficiently utilized. Corruption, that perennial threat, must be aggressively checked. These are non-negotiable conditions. But they are arguments for better governance, not for inaction.
The danger of postponing loans for critical infrastructure lies not just in rising costs, but in lost opportunities. Every year of delay is a year of unrealized trade, stalled investment, and diminished competitiveness. In a global economy where speed and connectivity determine success, Nigeria cannot afford to move at the pace of indecision.
There is also a broader philosophical question at play: what is the role of leadership in a developing country? Is it to avoid risk at all costs, or to manage risk in pursuit of progress?
No nation has developed without taking calculated risks. The highways, railways, and industrial corridors that define modern economies were all built on borrowed funds, bold decisions, and a willingness to act despite uncertainty. Nigeria cannot be an exception.
Sanusi is right to warn against reckless borrowing. But he is wrong to suggest, implicitly or explicitly, that postponement is a safer path. In reality, it is often the more dangerous one.
The Sokoto–Badagry road is not just about connecting two points on a map. It is about connecting possibilities, linking farmers to markets, businesses to consumers, and regions to one another. It is about reducing the structural inequalities that have long defined Nigeria’s economic geography.
To delay it is to delay progress.
In the end, the debate should not be framed as a choice between prudence and progress. Nigeria needs both. What it cannot afford is a version of prudence that immobilizes decision-making and turns every ambitious project into a casualty of caution.
If the country is to move forward, it must learn to distinguish between necessary skepticism and counterproductive resistance. Otherwise, it risks becoming a nation that debates development endlessly but never quite delivers it.
Barrister Habibu was a Banker and a one-time Minister of Transport