Grand Infrastructure Ambitions Meet Ground Reality, Who Accounts For The Cost?
When the Federal Government announced the Lagos–Calabar Coastal Highway, it promised a road that would do far more than carry vehicles from one state to another. The proposed 750-kilometre corridor, designed initially as a ten-lane concrete highway along Nigeria’s Atlantic coastline, was presented as a gateway to new economic opportunities, better access to markets, stronger maritime commerce and a new lease of life for communities that have long stood at the edge of the country’s development ambitions.
It was an enormous undertaking, and the promise was equally enormous. But building a highway of this scale requires more than political will, a grand design and the money to get the bulldozers moving. It requires a thorough understanding of the ground on which the road will stand, the communities it will serve and the costs that may emerge before the work is finished.
Now, as construction progresses, the original plan is changing. The Minister of Works, David Umahi, has explained that sections of the highway are being redirected inland to connect with existing corridors, including the East-West Road, while some stretches initially designed for ten lanes are being reduced to six. The government says these changes respond to difficult terrain and will improve the integration of the highway with the existing road network.
There may be good reasons for doing so. No responsible engineer would insist on an expensive design simply to avoid admitting that the terrain makes it impractical. If a section of the coastline presents serious geological difficulties, and an inland route can deliver the intended benefits at a more reasonable cost, changing course may be the sensible decision.
But Nigerians are entitled to ask a question that goes beyond the engineering: how much of what the government is discovering now was known, or should have been known, before the original design was approved and construction began?
That question is not an attempt to obstruct infrastructure development. It goes to the heart of responsible public spending. When a government commits enormous sums to a project, it must be able to explain not only why the project is necessary, but also how its design was chosen, what risks were identified and what happens to the original financial commitments when the plans change.
Umahi has publicly cited difficult subsoil conditions along parts of the proposed route, including reports of deep marine depressions and difficulties sourcing suitable sharp sand. The precise dimensions and technical implications of these reported conditions need to be checked against the relevant engineering investigations. The underlying problem, however, is clear enough: building a heavy concrete highway across unstable coastal ground can be complicated and expensive.
A road cannot be made safe simply by pouring concrete over unsuitable soil. Its foundations must support the weight of the pavement and the traffic it will carry for years. Depending on the ground conditions, engineers may need extensive stabilisation, deep foundations, substantial embankments and carefully designed drainage systems. Coastal erosion, groundwater and flooding can add further complications, increasing the cost of construction and the difficulty of maintaining the finished road.
Anyone familiar with civil engineering knows that these are not minor details. They can determine whether a proposed route is practical in the first place.
If the cost of preparing the ground along a particular stretch becomes excessive, an inland alignment may be preferable. Connecting the highway to existing roads could also bring wider benefits, provided the new links are useful to the communities and businesses the project is supposed to serve.
The government should therefore not be faulted merely for changing the design. Sometimes, changing the plan is the most responsible thing to do. What matters is whether the decision is supported by sound engineering evidence and whether the government is prepared to explain its consequences.
This is where the questions about the project’s original planning become unavoidable.
Before a highway of this magnitude reaches the construction stage, its proposed route should have been subjected to detailed engineering assessments, geological and bathymetric surveys, environmental studies and an examination of the communities likely to be affected. These investigations help engineers identify serious obstacles, compare possible routes and estimate what construction will actually require.
No survey can uncover every problem beneath the earth’s surface. Difficult conditions can emerge after work begins, even when the preliminary investigations have been properly conducted. The discovery of an engineering problem during construction does not, on its own, prove that somebody failed to plan adequately.
But the public deserves to know whether the problems now being cited were genuinely unforeseen or whether the original investigations were insufficient for a project of this scale.
Which geological conditions were identified before the coastal alignment was approved? What did the original feasibility studies say about the difficult sections? Were alternative routes examined, and why was the original design preferred? What has the government learnt from the investigations that led to the subsequent changes?
These are questions the Ministry of Works should be able to answer with documents and technical evidence. If the original planning was sound and the problems could not reasonably have been anticipated, the evidence should help establish that. If important risks were overlooked, the public deserves to know that too.
The financial implications make this disclosure particularly important.
The project has been associated with an average cost of approximately ₦7.5 billion per kilometre, although the source and scope of that figure need to be verified before it can be used to judge the project’s overall value. The central issue is not whether a headline figure sounds expensive. It is what the government is paying for and how much that obligation changes when the engineering design changes.
Reducing a road from ten lanes to six does not automatically cut its cost by the same proportion. Bridges, drainage, foundations, interchanges and embankments can still require substantial expenditure. An inland route may eliminate some costly marine works but require new connections, land acquisition or other construction. Savings on one section may be offset by additional expenses elsewhere.
That is precisely why the revised cost should be made public.
Nigerians should be able to see which elements of the original design have been dropped, which new works have been introduced and how these decisions affect the overall contract sum. Where the changes reduce the need for expensive coastal construction, the government should show the savings. Where additional works absorb those savings, it should explain why. If the revised project costs more than originally anticipated, the reasons should be set out clearly.
The government does not have to prove that every change makes the highway cheaper. It has to demonstrate that the revised expenditure reflects the work now required.
Without an updated bill of quantities and a clear explanation of the financial implications, the public cannot properly assess whether the changes represent prudent engineering or whether the original estimates need to be reconsidered. Neither accusation nor reassurance can substitute for the figures.
There is another part of this story that deserves attention: the communities whose expectations were shaped by the original route.
A highway can change the fortunes of a town by bringing its traders closer to markets, reducing the cost of transporting goods and making an area more attractive to investors. For communities along the proposed coastal corridor, the promise was not simply that a road would pass through their region. It was that improved access could bring new commercial activity and opportunities that had long remained out of reach.
Moving sections of the highway inland could change that picture for some settlements in Ondo, Delta, Bayelsa and other coastal areas. The actual consequences will depend on the revised alignment and the alternative connections available to each community. Some may still benefit from the wider road network; others may find that the direct access they expected is no longer part of the plan.
The government needs to establish what these changes mean on the ground.
It would be wrong to assume that every community along the original route will suffer. It would be equally wrong to insist that the benefits of a better-connected regional road network automatically compensate every settlement left farther from the highway.
For a fishing community, a small trading centre or a settlement whose residents depend on access to nearby markets, the difference between having a direct connection and being bypassed can be significant. A road that delivers national economic benefits can still leave particular communities behind.
Where the revised route removes access that the original plan was intended to provide, the government should consider practical alternatives, including feeder roads and connecting infrastructure where justified. The needs of coastal settlements facing erosion and flooding also deserve proper assessment; they should not disappear from consideration simply because the main highway is being redirected.
The people affected by these decisions should not have to discover the consequences only when construction reaches their doorsteps.
The government has a straightforward way to address these concerns. It should publish the relevant revised engineering assessments, geological findings and route maps so that independent professionals can examine the reasons for the changes. It should release an updated bill of quantities, explain the effect on the project’s overall cost and clarify any resulting changes to contractual obligations. It should also identify the communities whose access will be affected and explain what measures, if any, are being considered to address their needs.
These disclosures would allow the government to defend its decisions with evidence rather than asking the public to accept assurances on trust. They would also help distinguish necessary engineering adjustments from problems that might have been avoided through better preparation.
The Lagos–Calabar Coastal Highway may yet become an important national asset. Nigeria needs roads that connect markets, reduce transport costs and create opportunities for businesses and communities. But the value of a highway cannot be measured by the length of concrete poured or the ambition of the announcement that preceded it. What matters is whether the road is properly built, whether the money is well spent and whether the people it was intended to serve actually benefit.
The government should be willing to change a design when the evidence demands it. It should be just as willing to explain how that change affects the money already committed and the promises made to the public.
A difficult stretch of coastline may justify moving a highway inland. It cannot justify keeping taxpayers in the dark about the reasons, the revised costs or the communities that may be left behind.
The government may have legitimate engineering reasons to change the highway’s alignment, but it must account for the financial consequences and the communities affected.
The route may change. The public’s right to know what that change means must remain untouched.
Stephanie Shaakaa shaakaastephanie@yahoo.com
08034861434
