I was once a star.
Drawn on tracing paper, rolled out on massive drafting boards, drawn manually for hours on end.
The pointed-nosed consultant proudly reeled out the concept, while officials in agbada nodded in approval as if they would actually follow me.
I was Lagos’s Master Plan.
The map of order in a city of chaos. The voice of reason in a marketplace of noise. The dream that density could be managed without a rural–urban migration strategy in place, that roads could connect, that drains could flow, and open spaces could remain open.
But alas, my fate was sealed the moment I left the architect’s board.
They wooed me with promises:
“We will protect your green belts.”
“We will follow your zoning.”
“We will not build estates on wetlands.”
Ha! Today, my green belts wear concrete corsets, my zoning is a free-for-all,…night clubs in Residential areas and wetlands have become dry land … or worse, restless land that refuses to stay quiet after being reclaimed…always flooding!
I sit abandoned in dusty offices, my pages eaten by termites and my ideas eaten by politicians.
Every new administration flirts with me for photo-ops, then dumps me for quick “site and services” projects. In some estates, the first casualties are the green spaces , exchanged as political favour for campaign support.
Sometimes, they even dress me up in new clothes and call me “revised Master Plan.” But don’t be deceived; it’s the same neglect, only with glossy covers.
Dear Lagosians, you think your traffic is bad? Try being me: stuck for decades, unmoved, unseen, unimplemented.
You think your houses are overcrowded? Try watching your density triple while your infrastructure remains the same.
Then came the quick fixes. The odd-and-even number plates — today your turn, tomorrow mine. A solution that could never stand the test of time, yet succeeded only in multiplying the number of cars.
They toyed with “Park and Ride,” but never made a deliberate attempt to expand the road network.
Eventually, it all came to a head. The Aguda Commission was set up.
Its verdict? “Lagos can no longer be the seat of government.”
And so Abuja arrived , the new bride , while I, the iyale, was left behind to fend for myself.
Politicians tried to patch me together again. They invited Al Handasah and friends to prepare a fresh master plan for the five zones of IBILE. Lofty proposals, rich in detail. But as always, no political will to implement. After all, how could they demolish the houses that lacked approval when votes were at stake?
And so I became abandoned again.
One day, in the name of “decongestion,” scores of migrants were loaded into buses and hauled back to their home states. Yet the truth is, it wasn’t their presence but the absence of planning that broke me.
I am the Forgotten Master Plan of Lagos.
I was supposed to guide your growth. Instead, I have become a punchline, a cautionary tale, a relic.
One day, perhaps, you will dust me off.
One day, you will realize that planning is not a luxury but survival.
Until then, enjoy your chaos ; I’ll be here in the archives, laughing bitterly, waiting for democracy to finally remember its duty to plan.
Failing to plan is planning to fail.
Moral of the Satire
We must stick to plans and follow through.
Laid-out plans should not be subverted for political patronage.
Rural–urban migration must be stemmed by providing opportunities in rural areas.
Urbanization must be controlled with deliberate planning strategies.
Gbenga Onabanjo
Founder – GO-FORTÉ FOUNDATION
Chair – RCL Environment Committee
06-09-2025
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