Mmachi Tobechukwu
Member
Anambra: Before all Our Villages Become Vast Slums
By Dr. Chiogo Constance Ikokwu (Ugonecheora)
I’ve been travelling regularly to Anambra in the last four years. I love the village because African villages have a character and soul that cannot be manufactured; their warmth, spaciousness, community, trees, sounds and sense of place tell stories about who we are and where we come from. But I’m concerned that all of this is slowly disappearing before our eyes with the way we are building today. I agonize over the fact that we are slowly turning Anambra into one giant marketplace.
Drive through many parts of the state and you will see the pattern. A road is constructed. Almost immediately, shops begin to appear along it. Then more shops. Houses become commercial premises. Mechanics move in. Food sellers take over junctions. Traders spill onto the road. Before long, the road is congested, the drains are blocked, refuse accumulates and the noise becomes relentless.
What was meant to connect a community and bring development begins to destroy the very environment it was supposed to improve. There is nothing wrong with commerce. Far from it. Our entrepreneurial spirit is one of our greatest strengths. But entrepreneurship without planning can become chaos, and this is where government has a responsibility.
We cannot allow every road to become a commercial corridor and every junction to become a market. We cannot allow commercial activity to steadily swallow residential neighbourhoods until there is nowhere left for people simply to live. Even in many traditional African societies, the market was distinct from the residential compound, although the exact arrangement varied from community to community. It was not necessarily a modern “commercial zone,” but markets were generally recognised communal spaces where people gathered to trade, while homes and compounds retained their own social and residential functions. Plus, markets do not have to spill into the roads.
In the Igbo context in particular, markets were often organized around designated market spaces and market days, rather than every residential street becoming a permanent commercial strip. This distinction helped preserve the privacy of compounds and the social character of the village.
This means that planning is not foreign to our culture. Our ancestors understood that a community needed spaces for living, trading, gathering and worship. The problem is not that we have become modern; it is that, in the name of modernity, we are abandoning even some of the spatial order our traditional communities understood.
Today, I ask, where are the master plans? Where is the zoning? Where is the enforcement? Every time I go to Onitsha or Nnewi, I want to lose my mind because the congestion, noise, chaos and sheer lack of planning can be overwhelming. If care is not taken, many of our villages will become like Onitsha and Nnewi.
The Obosi-Nkpor-Ogidi-Ojoto corridor is another ordeal. Part of it sits on beautiful hilly grounds before the terrain slopes sharply downward into the lowlands of Onitsha. I often imagine what a magnificent community it could be if properly planned; instead, from the top of that hill, what you see is a sprawling maze of concrete boxes, shops and unregulated commercial activity stretching as far as the eye can see.
A properly functioning community needs different spaces for different purposes: residential areas, markets, commercial districts, industrial zones, schools, hospitals, parks and recreational spaces. Roads need adequate setbacks, drainage, parking and pedestrian space. Instead, we often build first and think later. That is not development. It is disorder masquerading as development.
It seems once we say Ka anyị kwa ụzọ, complete chaos follows once that road is constructed, and in some cases, the roads are quite narrow. In addition, planning is even more critical in the Southeast, where the devastating erosion problem means that where and how we build, manage drainage and direct water flow can determine whether development protects communities or accelerates their destruction.
I think we should talk about something else we rarely discuss in Nigeria: beauty. Why do we travel abroad and admire beautiful neighbourhoods, clean streets, green spaces and carefully planned communities? Why do we photograph them, praise their aesthetics and marvel at how pleasant they are to live in? Why don't we demand the same standards at home?
Our villages were not always like this. Many were once quiet, green and spacious. They had character. They had breathing room. They had a sense of place. We are gradually replacing that with concrete, shops, noise and traffic, and the consequences go beyond aesthetics.
Who wants to live permanently in a place that is noisy, congested and chaotic?
Where do you find quiet enough to think? Where do children play? Where do families walk? Where are the trees and open spaces? What does constant congestion and environmental disorder do to our sense of wellbeing? And what kind of state are we building for the future?
If Anambra wants to attract highly skilled professionals, entrepreneurs, investors, researchers and young people with choices about where they live and work, we must build environments that make people want to stay. We must build livable urban areas.
A state cannot be one giant market. People need places to live, work, relax, raise families and think. This is why urban and rural planning must become a serious political issue in Anambra, not an afterthought.
Government must enforce zoning. Designate and properly develop markets. Protect residential areas. Plan commercial corridors. Control building along roads. Improve waste management and drainage. Create green and public spaces. And, most importantly, enforce the rules consistently, as well as plan for the future. Start planning ahead.
Yes, people will complain. They will say government is stopping them from doing business. But government exists partly to balance individual interests with the collective good. Your right to run a business does not give you the right to destroy the environment in which everybody else must live.
We must also stop confusing construction with development. Putting up a building is construction. Creating a functional, beautiful and sustainable community is development. Anambra is growing, and growth is inevitable. But chaos is not. We still have time to decide what our communities will become, because if we do nothing, the quiet villages we once knew may gradually become sprawling, overcrowded and poorly serviced urban settlements, without the infrastructure to support them.
By then, it will be much harder and far more expensive to fix. Let us plan Anambra before we have to rescue it.
Our villages deserve better. Our cities deserve better. And frankly, we deserve better.
Dr. Ikokwu aspires to serve Idemili North and South Federal Constituency of Anambra State in the House of Representatives.
#PoliticsforPublicGood #TakeBackYourGovernment
By Dr. Chiogo Constance Ikokwu (Ugonecheora)
I’ve been travelling regularly to Anambra in the last four years. I love the village because African villages have a character and soul that cannot be manufactured; their warmth, spaciousness, community, trees, sounds and sense of place tell stories about who we are and where we come from. But I’m concerned that all of this is slowly disappearing before our eyes with the way we are building today. I agonize over the fact that we are slowly turning Anambra into one giant marketplace.
Drive through many parts of the state and you will see the pattern. A road is constructed. Almost immediately, shops begin to appear along it. Then more shops. Houses become commercial premises. Mechanics move in. Food sellers take over junctions. Traders spill onto the road. Before long, the road is congested, the drains are blocked, refuse accumulates and the noise becomes relentless.
What was meant to connect a community and bring development begins to destroy the very environment it was supposed to improve. There is nothing wrong with commerce. Far from it. Our entrepreneurial spirit is one of our greatest strengths. But entrepreneurship without planning can become chaos, and this is where government has a responsibility.
We cannot allow every road to become a commercial corridor and every junction to become a market. We cannot allow commercial activity to steadily swallow residential neighbourhoods until there is nowhere left for people simply to live. Even in many traditional African societies, the market was distinct from the residential compound, although the exact arrangement varied from community to community. It was not necessarily a modern “commercial zone,” but markets were generally recognised communal spaces where people gathered to trade, while homes and compounds retained their own social and residential functions. Plus, markets do not have to spill into the roads.
In the Igbo context in particular, markets were often organized around designated market spaces and market days, rather than every residential street becoming a permanent commercial strip. This distinction helped preserve the privacy of compounds and the social character of the village.
This means that planning is not foreign to our culture. Our ancestors understood that a community needed spaces for living, trading, gathering and worship. The problem is not that we have become modern; it is that, in the name of modernity, we are abandoning even some of the spatial order our traditional communities understood.
Today, I ask, where are the master plans? Where is the zoning? Where is the enforcement? Every time I go to Onitsha or Nnewi, I want to lose my mind because the congestion, noise, chaos and sheer lack of planning can be overwhelming. If care is not taken, many of our villages will become like Onitsha and Nnewi.
The Obosi-Nkpor-Ogidi-Ojoto corridor is another ordeal. Part of it sits on beautiful hilly grounds before the terrain slopes sharply downward into the lowlands of Onitsha. I often imagine what a magnificent community it could be if properly planned; instead, from the top of that hill, what you see is a sprawling maze of concrete boxes, shops and unregulated commercial activity stretching as far as the eye can see.
A properly functioning community needs different spaces for different purposes: residential areas, markets, commercial districts, industrial zones, schools, hospitals, parks and recreational spaces. Roads need adequate setbacks, drainage, parking and pedestrian space. Instead, we often build first and think later. That is not development. It is disorder masquerading as development.
It seems once we say Ka anyị kwa ụzọ, complete chaos follows once that road is constructed, and in some cases, the roads are quite narrow. In addition, planning is even more critical in the Southeast, where the devastating erosion problem means that where and how we build, manage drainage and direct water flow can determine whether development protects communities or accelerates their destruction.
I think we should talk about something else we rarely discuss in Nigeria: beauty. Why do we travel abroad and admire beautiful neighbourhoods, clean streets, green spaces and carefully planned communities? Why do we photograph them, praise their aesthetics and marvel at how pleasant they are to live in? Why don't we demand the same standards at home?
Our villages were not always like this. Many were once quiet, green and spacious. They had character. They had breathing room. They had a sense of place. We are gradually replacing that with concrete, shops, noise and traffic, and the consequences go beyond aesthetics.
Who wants to live permanently in a place that is noisy, congested and chaotic?
Where do you find quiet enough to think? Where do children play? Where do families walk? Where are the trees and open spaces? What does constant congestion and environmental disorder do to our sense of wellbeing? And what kind of state are we building for the future?
If Anambra wants to attract highly skilled professionals, entrepreneurs, investors, researchers and young people with choices about where they live and work, we must build environments that make people want to stay. We must build livable urban areas.
A state cannot be one giant market. People need places to live, work, relax, raise families and think. This is why urban and rural planning must become a serious political issue in Anambra, not an afterthought.
Government must enforce zoning. Designate and properly develop markets. Protect residential areas. Plan commercial corridors. Control building along roads. Improve waste management and drainage. Create green and public spaces. And, most importantly, enforce the rules consistently, as well as plan for the future. Start planning ahead.
Yes, people will complain. They will say government is stopping them from doing business. But government exists partly to balance individual interests with the collective good. Your right to run a business does not give you the right to destroy the environment in which everybody else must live.
We must also stop confusing construction with development. Putting up a building is construction. Creating a functional, beautiful and sustainable community is development. Anambra is growing, and growth is inevitable. But chaos is not. We still have time to decide what our communities will become, because if we do nothing, the quiet villages we once knew may gradually become sprawling, overcrowded and poorly serviced urban settlements, without the infrastructure to support them.
By then, it will be much harder and far more expensive to fix. Let us plan Anambra before we have to rescue it.
Our villages deserve better. Our cities deserve better. And frankly, we deserve better.
Dr. Ikokwu aspires to serve Idemili North and South Federal Constituency of Anambra State in the House of Representatives.
#PoliticsforPublicGood #TakeBackYourGovernment