In July 2018, Muhammadu Buhari, the president of Nigeria at the time, boarded a gleaming new train linking the capital city, Abuja, with its airport. At the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Buhari hailed the system as “evidence that we are a government that delivers on its promises.”
Five years on, that promise looks empty. Train cars are locked away at a depot. Cavernous stations fully equipped with escalators, ticket offices, cameras and scanners stand empty, overseen by bored security guards.
The faux leather couches in the VIP area are covered in bird and bat droppings. “It’s an abandoned project,” says Rowland Ataguba, an adviser to the government on rail strategy. “Quite clearly there was no plan on how to run the operations before they built it.”
The $823 million Abuja Light Rail—the first of its kind in West Africa—was closed in March 2020, ostensibly to slow the spread of the coronavirus. Since then, it’s remained shuttered, and there’s been scant progress toward a resumption of service on the 27-kilometer (17-mile) line.
Meanwhile, Nigeria is spending $50 million a year paying down the
project’s $500 million in loans from the Export-Import Bank of China.
“The current situation is a mystery for the next minister to unravel,” says Nasir El-Rufai, who as minister in charge of the capital area signed the
contract to build the railway 16 years ago.
The idea was to reduce congestion, helping the city avoid the polluted,
traffic-clogged fate of the country’s commercial hub, Lagos—the capital
until Abuja, a city newly carved out of the savannah in central Nigeria,
opened for business in 1991. From the time planning started in the 1970s, Abuja was always meant to have urban rail, but it wasn’t until 2007 that
China Civil Engineering Construction Corp. won the contract for the first leg, and it took another half-decade for the government to secure
sufficient funding.
“The line basically avoided where people are, where people live, where people go”
The line was intended to be the first of a half dozen in a 290-kilometer
network that would be connect the city to the satellite towns where many
workers live. Instead, it’s become a lesson in how not to create a mass
transit system, says Mohamed Lawal Shaibu of Envicons Teams Ltd., an
Lllllurban planning consultant in Abuja. The problem, Shaibu announces, is that the train serves areas with little demand. “It has been very terribly executed,” he says. “The line basically avoided where people are, where people live, where people go.”
At one end lies the airport, a place where most people who can afford to fly typically arrive by car. At the other end is an isolated area of the so-called Central Business District, where the road in front of the station is more often filled with herders driving cattle to grazing land than anyone headed to or from work. Out back is scrubland where people fleeing violence in the north of the country have built shacks. An additional 18 kilometers of track was built toward the suburbs but never saw any service.
Adapting it to create a system that might better serve residents, according
to Tonami Playman, an independent researcher who studies African
public transport. “Politicians just want something to ribbon-cut and don’t
care what kind of utility the infrastructure will provide,” he says.
During the 20 months the line was open, a maximum of four trains a7 day
made the 40-minute trip between the city and the airport in each direction, making just one stop in between while breezing through five other stations. The system failed because it was “neither a high occupancy nor a high-frequency service,” according to a report prepared for Japan’s development agency in 2019, which estimated daily ridership at fewer than 1,000 passengers, compared with a forecast of 34,000.
Bloomberg
