There’s something deeply enchanting about New Bussa, the quiet capital of Borgu Local Government in Niger State. It’s one of those towns that lives in the shadows of fame, whispering its legacy to those who care to listen. Strangely enough, even many within Niger State wouldn’t be able to point to it on a map, let alone tell you anything about its people, culture, or landscape. And yet, this quiet corner of Nigeria holds a story as compelling as any epic.
Despite being raised in Niger State, it wasn’t until adulthood that I found myself tracing the road to New Bussa. Back then, it was just another place that existed—vaguely and distantly—without a personal story to anchor it in my memory. I couldn’t have imagined that one day, it would enchant me so deeply, calling me back again and again in thought and feeling.
New Bussa, the heart of the Borgu Emirate, isn’t the kind of town you stumble upon during casual travels. It’s not on any major highway or route. Nestled near the Benin Republic border and brushing shoulders with Ilorin and Kaiama in Kwara State, New Bussa lives slightly off the grid—an outlier, both geographically and symbolically. Its remoteness is no accident. Once part of Kwara State, Borgu only joined Niger State in 1991, a detail that further deepens its feeling of separateness.
Traveling there from Minna or Bida is no joke. A trip from Minna to New Bussa will devour six hours of your day, four if you’re starting from Bida. Leave at noon, and you’ll find yourself glancing nervously at your watch—racing the sun, dreading the thought of arriving after dark. Government officials and guests often insist on being scheduled early at events involving Borgu, just to avoid the inconvenience of an overnight stay. The place demands planning, patience, and above all, respect.
Even Kontagora, another distant town in Niger, feels closer to civilization than New Bussa. When I finally made my way there for a workshop, it felt like a pilgrimage. The journey brought with it awe, reflection, and an almost cinematic unfolding of scenery—nature in its grand, raw splendor. The Kainji Dam waterfall greeted me like a scene from a dream. Massive cars from Cotonou thundered down lonely roads. I felt like I was no longer just a traveler—I was an explorer discovering a world of its own.
And yes, to outsiders, Borgu has long held the air of a punishment post. Teachers, doctors, and civil servants sent there often received whispered condolences from colleagues—as if they’d been exiled. It’s that detached. So much so that during my stay, I tried to buy a newspaper and was told the only available one was yesterday’s edition of Daily Trust. At that moment, I realized: this wasn’t just a different place; this was a different rhythm of life.
But don’t be fooled. New Bussa might feel like an isolated pocket of the country, but it thrives. It’s far from a jungle. Sure, the forests stretch endlessly, and the wildlife feels just a heartbeat away, but the town pulses with diversity. It’s home to a beautiful fusion of tribes—Baatonu, Boko, Fulani, Kambari, and Dendi—each bringing their heritage into a vibrant cultural mosaic. The electricity supply, thanks to Kainji Dam, is enviably stable. In fact, during my time there, the lights stayed on like it was Lagos!
New Bussa also boasts federal presence in grand style. There’s the National Institute for Freshwater Fisheries Research, the Federal College of Freshwater Fisheries Technology, Kainji Lake National Park, the Air Combat Training School, Federal Government Girls College, Nigerian Army barracks, the Customs office, the Road Safety Corps, the General Hospital, and even the remedial center of IBB University. It’s like a pocket of Nigeria’s best, tucked into a forgotten fold of the map.
Yet, these facilities are overburdened. The General Hospital in New Bussa ranks among the busiest in the state, comparable to those in Minna, Kontagora, and Suleja. But it’s only designated for secondary care. Tertiary cases? Off to Bida or Ilorin—another four-hour journey. That’s not just inconvenient; it’s unjust.
Now, let’s talk legacy. Because here’s the twist in Borgu’s quiet tale—the magic, the moment where obscurity meets destiny. It is from this very town, this “off-grid” gem, that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu earned one of the most iconic titles in modern Nigerian politics: Jagaban Borgu. Conferred in 2006 by the late Emir, Alhaji Haliru Dantoro, it was more than a chieftaincy—it was an anointing. A badge of acceptance. A handshake between worlds.
Since then, “Jagaba” has become a national chant. It evokes charisma, power, strategy, and street wisdom. It gave Tinubu a brand no PR agency could manufacture. Most people know the title; few know the town. But now you do.
Professor Farooq Kperogi, the sharp-witted columnist, once wrote about this. He explained that “Jagaba” means warlord, brave chief, fearless leader. And that Tinubu and the late Emir shared a bond from their days as senators in the aborted Third Republic. The First Lady, Remi Tinubu, holds the feminine version of the title—Yon BanaJagaban Borgu. This isn’t just politics. It’s history. It’s intimacy. It’s storytelling.
And that story includes the people. Borgu has raised intellectuals and leaders—like Kperogi himself. It reminds me, too, of Dr. Saleh Zayyanu, a brilliant and humble soul, and my dynamic colleague Bature, whose pride in his roots is infectious. Borgu, without shouting, has given Nigeria more than we’ve realized.
So why does it still feel forgotten?
Despite this deep connection to the presidency, Borgu has remained on the periphery of appointments and national attention. While the President is sometimes accused of favoring the Southwest, it’s hard not to wonder—what about the people who embraced him long before the spotlight? Shouldn’t loyalty birth opportunity?
But the story isn’t finished. Word has it that a Federal Medical Centre might soon be established in New Bussa. When I heard, I was moved—not because I’m from there, but because it felt like a long-overdue love letter being sent back. A reminder that those who give unconditionally deserve to be remembered, especially when they expect nothing in return.
New Bussa doesn’t ask for pity. It asks for presence. Not for charity, but for equity. A federal Medical Centre. A Federal university,. An intentional effort to match its loyalty with lasting development. Let it not be that the love Borgu gave is returned with forgetfulness.
Because sometimes, water is thicker than blood—when it’s filled with respect, shared struggle, and quiet, persistent faith. And in the case of Borgu and the Jagaba, that water runs deep.
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