? Green Zones Fast Disappearing as Illegal Buildings Spring Up ?

By SENATOR IROEGBU

Wuse is Abuja?s restless heartbeat.

Its streets?named after African towns and cities?carry a certain poetry. They whisper history, while its stretches of green affirm its Nigerian authenticity. Alongside Garki, Maitama, Asokoro, and the Central Business District, Wuse forms the living core of the Federal Capital City (FCC)?that tightly woven cluster where Nigeria?s power, commerce, and culture converge.

Unlike Maitama and Asokoro?whose ghost estates and silent mansions often betray absentee owners?Wuse is alive?entirely peopled?buzzing from dawn until well past midnight. Here, the upper-middle class rubs shoulders with ?old money? aristocrats, civil servants with clout, expatriates, diplomats, politicians, and discreet business magnates. It is one of the few places in Abuja where MSMEs and retail truly thrive?not just because people live here, but because they have the purchasing power to keep the wheels of commerce turning.

Every street, crescent, and alley is animated. Markets jostle with malls. Eateries hum with chatter?gyms and sports centres pulse with evening energy. From roadside suya stands to upscale restaurants, from tech shops to tailoring ateliers, Wuse is not just real estate?it is a living organism.

The New Noise In Town

In the past year and a half, Wuse has been undergoing a dramatic transformation, one that is as loud as it is relentless. The pace of change under the Tinubu administration has accelerated into something close to a construction frenzy, raising urgent questions about the city?s future.

Paradoxically, this is not happening in empty, undeveloped parts of the city. Wuse is already densely built up. Yet, the district now feels like a single, sprawling construction site. Old, modest but dignified buildings are being snapped up, demolished, and replaced with towering plazas, glitzy malls, and palatial duplexes that speak in the language of excess.

What?s more alarming is the quiet erasure of Wuse?s green belts and recreational spaces. These are the city?s lungs, designed to keep Abuja?s master plan breathable. But now, chunks of these green zones are being carved up, fenced off, and built over?often under the suspiciously passive gaze of authorities. In a city where zoning laws were once sacrosanct, the silence feels like permission.

Who?s funding the takeover?

In an era when Nigerians openly lament economic hardship, when inflation gnaws at wages and food prices climb beyond the reach of many, Wuse?s property market is inexplicably awash with cash.

Four currents help explain the flood:

The Buhari-Era Hoarders ? Those who accumulated and quietly stored away vast sums during the last administration are now putting that money to work, particularly in Abuja?s real estate, where assets are both prestigious and inflation-proof.

The Subsidy Windfall ? A small circle of beneficiaries from Tinubu?s fuel subsidy removal have found themselves flush with sudden gains. Many are parking that windfall in high-value districts like Wuse, where land and property rarely depreciate.

The Landlocked Market ? For eight years, the FCT saw no significant development of new districts. With prime land scarce, the wealthy have turned to the few existing high-prestige areas. Wuse?with its infrastructure, location, and prestige?was the inevitable target.

The Diaspora Effect ? A decade of ?japa? migration has thinned Abuja?s middle-income homeowner base. Many sold properties before leaving. Buyers?often cash-rich?move in, gut the old structures, and rebuild to personal taste.

The most controversial undercurrent is political. Allegations abound that green areas are being leased or sold to ?friends of government? under the guise of development. While these claims remain unproven, they are repeated often enough in Abuja?s corridors of power to feel more like whispered consensus than idle gossip.

The Human Cost

This transformation is not just architectural?it is social, and it is personal.

One rainy evening, I witnessed families being forcibly ejected from an ageing apartment block in Wuse. Their belongings lay scattered across the street, drenched under the pounding rain. The building they once called home stood like a condemned sentinel behind them. Within days, it was rubble. Within weeks, fresh foundations were already in place?promising something newer, taller, shinier, but for someone else entirely.

These stories repeat across the district. The long-established ?old money? residents?many of whom value privacy over display?are being steadily replaced by ?new money? owners whose investments are as much about status as shelter. Some call it renewal, others see it as cultural erosion.

The stakes go beyond property values. Wuse?s green spaces, its mixed-income diversity, and its understated dignity are part of its soul. As plazas replace parks, and gated duplexes displace community-oriented compounds, the city risks losing not just heritage, but the social fabric that makes it liveable, a loss that would be deeply felt by all who call Wuse home.

The Crossroads Ahead

Wuse is shedding its old skin. The restless shine of its present is chasing the quiet dignity of its past, whether this is the pulse of progress or the tremor before decline depends on where you stand.

Urban renewal is inevitable in any capital city. But the speed, scale, and secrecy of Wuse?s transformation raise questions: Who gets to shape a city?s future? What price is too high for development? And how much of Abuja?s soul can we trade before it stops feeling like the city we built it to be?

One thing is sure?if the green lungs vanish, if the old networks of trust dissolve, Wuse may keep its heartbeat, but the rhythm will be different. Louder. Faster. And perhaps, less human.

?Iroegbu, a journalist, security and public affairs analyst writes from Abuja

Update news