On Tuesday, 15 September 2026, a journey from Ibadan to Lagos that should ordinarily have taken me about two hours ended up taking 13 hours.
I have experienced some terrible traffic jams in Lagos and elsewhere, but this surpassed anything I had ever encountered.
The most unbelievable part was that it took us approximately 10 hours to travel barely 10 kilometres, from the entrance of Mountain Top University, near the Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries, to the U-turn before Kara Bridge.Get me right: 10 kilometres in 10 hours!
We left Ibadan shortly before 3.00 p.m. Before setting out, I checked Google Maps. It showed a delay of about 20 minutes caused by an accident. I assumed, quite reasonably, that the accident would have been cleared before we reached the area.I continued checking Google Maps throughout the journey. At no time did it indicate a delay of more than about 30 minutes. Had it given any indication of the catastrophe ahead, I would have diverted at the Sagamu Interchange and travelled to Lagos through Epe.
As an aside, I often joke that Nigerian traffic confuses Google Maps. On this occasion, the joke was painfully accurate. The technology simply could not comprehend the scale of disorder Nigerians had created.
We reached the entrance of Mountain Top University shortly before 6.00 p.m. That was where the nightmare began.At first, we remained hopeful. Every few minutes, the traffic would inch forward, giving us the false impression that movement had resumed. We would advance a few metres and stop again.Joke like joke, minutes became hours.
Evening became night, and night gradually moved towards morning. We remained trapped inside the vehicle, sustained largely by the expectation that surely—surely—the road would soon open.
While sitting in the traffic, I searched online and discovered that the accident had reportedly been cleared shortly after it occurred. The usual suspect was involved: a container truck.
Reports indicated that a 40-foot container-laden truck developed a mechanical fault, lost control and collided with several vehicles.
Barely 24 hours later, another serious accident involving articulated vehicles occurred around Otedola Bridge. The alarming frequency with which container trucks overturn, break down, lose their loads or become involved in major accidents on Lagos roads deserves separate and urgent examination.
Are these vehicles roadworthy? Are their brakes and mechanical systems regularly inspected? Are the containers properly secured with functioning twist locks? Are the drivers properly trained and sufficiently rested? Who certifies these vehicles, and who is held responsible when negligence causes death, injury and paralysis on our roads?That is a story for another day.
Eventually, we reached the opening in the expressway where vehicles make a U-turn. The location, design and traffic arrangements around that opening are themselves worthy of investigation. How does an expressway carrying such an enormous volume of traffic remain so vulnerable to total paralysis at one badly managed point?That, too, is a story for another day.
However, I subsequently discovered—but was not surprised—that what transformed a serious traffic problem into complete mayhem was something depressingly familiar: the impunity of Nigerian motorists.
The moment the accident occurred and Lagos-bound traffic stopped moving, some motorists abandoned their proper lanes and began driving against traffic on the carriageway reserved for vehicles travelling from Lagos towards Ibadan.
They then attempted to force their way back into the Lagos-bound lanes farther ahead.Predictably, vehicles travelling from Lagos eventually met this invading stream of vehicles head-on. Both directions became blocked. The result was total paralysis.An accident that should have caused a temporary delay became an all-night ordeal.
Every motorist who drove against traffic probably believed that he was cleverer than those patiently waiting in line. Each considered his own journey more urgent than everybody else’s. Each assumed that the rules applied to other people but not to him.By attempting to escape the traffic individually, they succeeded in ensuring that nobody could move.
This is Nigeria’s problem in miniature.Impunity: the disease beneath the symptomsWe complain about corruption, banditry, kidnapping, electoral malpractice, unbridled fraud, oil theft, examination malpractice, reckless driving, illegal construction, abuse of public office and the diversion of public funds.
Yet these are often symptoms of a deeper national disease: impunity.Impunity is the belief that one can break the law, violate the rights of others, abuse public office or endanger society without suffering any meaningful consequence.It is the motorist who drives against traffic because he believes no officer will stop him.It is the official who steals public funds because he expects to retain the proceeds.
It is the politically connected person who believes that a telephone call will make an offence disappear.It is the bandit or kidnapper who has seen others commit similar crimes repeatedly without being arrested or prosecuted.It is the fraudster who flaunts unexplained wealth and is celebrated rather than questioned.It is the public officer who ignores a court order because experience has taught him that nothing will happen.It is the container-truck operator who puts an unsafe vehicle on the road because enforcement is weak and the consequences are negligible.
Different offences, different degrees of harm—but the underlying mentality is the same: “I can do it, and nothing will happen to me.”Impunity begins with apparently small acts. A motorist drives against traffic. Another follows him. A third joins them. Before long, hundreds of vehicles are facing the wrong direction and an entire expressway has become impassable.In the same way, one public official steals and goes unpunished. Another observes that nothing happened and steals even more. Criminals see that arrests are rare and prosecutions uncertain.
Citizens learn that connections matter more than rules. Gradually, illegality stops being exceptional and becomes a way of life.That is how a society loses order.Why do we avoid the root of the problem?
I have searched for evidence of a sustained national conversation on impunity during the last 25 years.
Nigerian leaders have spoken repeatedly about corruption, insecurity, indiscipline and the rule of law. Governments have launched anti-corruption campaigns, security operations and institutional reforms.Yet I have struggled to find any serious, sustained and coordinated national programme that identifies impunity itself as the thread connecting these problems.
We advertise symposiums, conferences, summits, retreats and public lectures on almost every imaginable national issue. There are conferences on security, governance, economic development, restructuring, corruption, leadership and national unity. But where is the major national conference on impunity? Where is the sustained public campaign? Where is the presidential initiative? Where is the programme addressing the everyday Nigerian conviction that rules can be ignored without consequences?Why do we keep running away from the root causes of our problems?Perhaps it is because discussing impunity forces all of us to accept responsibility.
It is more convenient to blame “the government”, “the politicians”, “the system” or one particular leader. It is far more uncomfortable to confront the man in the mirror.The corrupt politician did not arrive from another planet. The policeman collecting money on the road is somebody’s relative. The civil servant demanding a bribe is a member of a family and community. The motorist driving against traffic may be the same person who later goes online to condemn the government for failing to maintain law and order.
We demand discipline from others while seeking exemptions for ourselves.We condemn corruption until we benefit from it. We demand enforcement until a friend or relative is arrested. We insist on due process until due process delays something we want. We complain about lawlessness while celebrating those who are wealthy or influential enough to escape the law.
That contradiction is at the heart of our national crisis.
No leader can save a society determined to evade its own rules.
Nigerians can shout “Tinubu” from now until kingdom come. We may replace him with Peter Obi or Atiku Abubakar. We may bring 500 Peter Obis, 500 Atikus and 500 Barack Obamas. We could wake Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew from the dead and make 500 copies of him. We could recruit 500 versions of Dubai’s Al Maktoum.With this level of impunity, we are going nowhere.
This is not to absolve political leaders. Leadership matters enormously. Indeed, leaders carry the greatest responsibility because their conduct establishes what society rewards and what it punishes. When leaders disobey laws, misuse public resources, protect offenders or selectively enforce rules, they legitimise impunity throughout society.
But no single leader can build a functional nation where millions of people insist that rules are for others. Institutions cannot work when citizens, officials, businesses and political actors are united only in their determination to circumvent them.
Countries do not succeed merely because they discover exceptionally gifted leaders. They succeed because they build institutions that make rules predictable, enforcement impartial and consequences unavoidable.The true test of a country is not whether it has good laws. Nigeria has no shortage of laws. The test is whether those laws apply equally to the powerful and the powerless, the connected and the unknown, the government official and the ordinary citizen.
Where consequences are uncertain, misconduct becomes attractive. Where enforcement is selective, obedience becomes foolish. Where offenders are rewarded, lawlessness becomes culture.We need a national conversation on impunityI challenge our political, religious, traditional, professional and business leaders to begin a serious national debate about impunity.Let us stop discussing only the symptoms and confront the disease.
The conversation must not become another expensive conference ending with speeches, photographs, communiqués and refreshments. It must produce measurable action.
Traffic offenders must be identified and punished consistently, regardless of the vehicles they drive or the people they know. Commercial trucks must undergo genuine roadworthiness inspections, and companies must be held responsible for unsafe vehicles and unsecured containers. Public officials who disobey laws or court orders must face real consequences. Criminal investigations must not disappear because suspects are wealthy or connected. Regulatory agencies must publish enforcement statistics so Nigerians can see whether rules are actually being applied.
Technology should also be used more effectively. Cameras can record vehicles driving against traffic. Registration numbers can be identified. Penalties can be imposed without roadside negotiation. Emergency traffic plans should be activated immediately whenever an accident occurs on a critical corridor.
Accurate information must be communicated to navigation platforms and road users so that motorists can divert before becoming trapped.
Above all, enforcement must be certain and impartial. The purpose is not to punish Nigerians endlessly; it is to make responsible conduct normal and irresponsible conduct costly.
Ten kilometres, ten hours—and a warningMy 13-hour journey was more than an unpleasant travel experience. It was a warning about what happens when a society allows impatience, selfishness and impunity to overwhelm collective order.The accident may have triggered the congestion. The bridge repairs may have made the corridor vulnerable. Poor road design and inadequate traffic management undoubtedly contributed to the problem.But impunity converted congestion into catastrophe.
Thousands of people lost an entire night because some motorists decided that they were too important to wait in line and too clever to obey the rules.Traffic impunity can prevent an ambulance from reaching a hospital. Political impunity can destroy institutions. Financial impunity can impoverish millions. Security impunity allows bandits and kidnappers to terrorise communities. The scale may differ, but the disease is the same.It took us 10 hours to travel approximately 10 kilometres and 13 hours to complete a journey that should have taken two.That must never be accepted as normal.
Nigeria will not change merely by replacing one leader with another. It will change when political office no longer confers immunity from consequences; when wealth and connections no longer place people above the law; when enforcement becomes impartial; and when ordinary Nigerians stop treating obedience as foolishness.
Our leaders must start the debate. Our institutions must enforce the rules. And each Nigerian must confront the man in the mirror.
Until we deal decisively with impunity, one broken-down truck, one reckless motorist, one corrupt official or one protected criminal will continue to hold an entire nation hostage.
