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That the original
inhabitants of Abuja had to be moved out for the emergence of a brand
new capital city speaks volumes about our way of doing things. Yet,
they are luckier than the Bakassi people, whom former president
Olusegun Obasanjo signed off to Cameroun. The mass relocation of the
natives has left one indubitable fact: a fundamental element of the
city – indeed, its very essence has been uprooted. At no time is the
soulless nature of Abuja more exposed than during religious or national
celebrations. Give any public holiday, and the city is deserted in
droves.

Sallah provided
another opportunity to yet again examine this phenomenon. The streets
were so empty that for those getting used to the growing traffic chaos,
Abuja felt eerie. Driving around the empty streets almost gives the
impression of being alone in the entire city. The sight of other
vehicles is cause to cheer. The people who chose to spend Sallah in
Abuja hardly serve to provide any air of festivity.

Sallah in Abuja is
a soulless, sterile affair. It seems that the only people who suffer to
remain in the city during public holidays are those who are unable to
raise transport fares, or money for a full tank to bail out.

Not in Abuja will
you see thousands of excited children decked out in their best clothes
exuberantly celebrating the festival. Not in Abuja will you see the
Emir and his palace guards decked out in full royal regalia proceeding
to the Eid grounds. Not in Abuja will anyone participate in the
exhilarating durbars and horse-riding competitions that make Sallah
such an exciting festival. Spending Sallah in this city without the
spirit and energy that characterises Sallah in Kano, Zaria, Katsina and
other places is missing the essence of the festival.

But missing the fun
of Sallah apart, the dry empty streets of Abuja raise some fundamental
questions about our new capital city. Abuja is nicknamed ‘the centre of
unity’. But when the essence of a city is lost, when the bonds of
humanity that binds people together are missing, then the basis for the
talked-about unity is defeated. Abuja no doubt has some of the best
streets in Nigeria. The city has homes that can fit snugly into Beverly
Hills or the French Riviera. (And just outside the city centre, you’ll
also find some of the debilitating slums and poverty that will
thoroughly roil your innards).

So where are the
people to give Abuja colour? Where is the soul of the city? Beautiful
houses and wide streets do not give a place that intrinsic humanity or
character. Structures, leafy, breezy vegetation and plenty of
automobiles contribute little to the emergence of the much touted
centre of unity. It is only when Nigerians of all hues can become a
part of the new federal capital experience that a centre of unity can
emerge.

Because the
original inhabitants have been relocated, the only colour in Abuja
during festivities and public holidays is provided by political exiles
– former governors, ministers, senators and other top public officials
who are on the losing end of whatever political struggles they may be
engaged in back in their home states. For them, Abuja is a safe haven
from where they can plot political strategies. As it is, there are
quite a few former governors wanted by Interpol for whom Abuja remains
the last, and some cases only resort. The Ibori debacle in Dubai has
provided a lesson or two.

However, due to the
influx of these moneyed political exiles, even ordinary citizens are
being pushed further away to the outskirts. Residential property has
been rented out for N25 million per annum, and paid for two years. The
majority of public sector workers who man the wheels of government and
the bureaucracy are moving further and further away from their places
of work; a two bedroom apartment in the city centre goes for N1
million. The estate agents demand for two years, in addition to 10
percent agency fees. Few civil servants are able to pay these sums,
even with the new minimum wage. So, out they move.

And because efforts
to introduce a public transport system have not received sufficient
government attention, traffic in Abuja is becoming a nightmare. Very
few residents can say ‘see you in 10 minutes’, and keep the promise.
Distances than used to be covered in 10 minutes a few years ago can now
take an hour or more. Abuja, already lacking a soul, is fast becoming a
jarring, jumpy, jungle.