By Abdulrauf Aliyu
The North-West is the beating political heart of Nigeria. It is the most populous region in the country and historically one of the most influential. It has produced more presidents, generals, governors, and party leaders than any other zone in the federation. Yet when stripped of its electoral weight and examined purely through the lens of governance and development, the North-West reveals a disquieting truth: political dominance has not translated into social progress.
The 2025 Phillips Consulting State Performance Index (pSPI) does not flatter. It does not care who controls the National Assembly or the Villa. It only asks a simple, brutal question: are your people better off today than they were yesterday? For most North-Western states, the answer is a resounding no.
The region, made up of Jigawa, Kaduna, Kano, Katsina, Kebbi, Sokoto, and Zamfara, tells a tale of contradiction. Only Jigawa State performed credibly, ranking 8th nationally. It is the outlier. The rest range from unimpressive to catastrophic. Kano, once considered the region’s economic giant, fell to 30th. Zamfara ranked near the very bottom. Sokoto, despite its revered place in history and religion, fared poorly. The disparity between what this region could be and what it currently is has become too wide to ignore.
Let us begin with Jigawa, the quiet miracle. This is a state with no oil, no mega city, and no political swagger. But it ranks first in citizen perception. This means its people believe in their government. In an age of cynicism, that is no small feat. Jigawa’s leadership, while modest, has been consistent. There is a commitment to rural electrification, access to basic healthcare, and localised education reform. You will not find vanity projects here. Instead, you find water pumps in villages, functioning primary schools, and a public service that still takes files seriously.
This is the same Jigawa that was once carved from Kano in 1991 with few expectations. But like the Florentine republics of Machiavelli’s Italy—small in size but rich in civic order—it has quietly constructed a system that works. It is proof that structure and discipline, not size or fame, drive results.
Kano State, by contrast, should be the Lagos of the North. It has the population, the market size, the historical significance, and the cultural cohesion. But none of that has been effectively leveraged in recent years. Once ranked 7th, Kano has dropped precipitously to 30th. The decline is not just statistical; it is existential. Insecurity festers on the outskirts. Infrastructure is decaying. The streets of Kano city, once humming with commerce and controlled chaos, are now clogged by administrative neglect and traffic mismanagement. There is little visible innovation in education, little investment in long-term healthcare systems, and very little digitalization of government services.
And it is not that Kano is poor. It is poorly managed. When a state with such natural advantages fails to even publish timely audited financial reports, it suggests a leadership comfortable with opacity. The citizens notice. Perception scores plummeted. Trust is eroding.
Zamfara State presents the most tragic portrait. The state is now synonymous with banditry and displacement. Yet even in this context, governance has a role to play. The pSPI rankings suggest that beyond the headlines of insecurity, there is also a failure of planning and accountability. Resources meant for education or healthcare are either delayed, diverted, or wasted. The state ranks near the bottom across nearly every metric. It is becoming a humanitarian zone, not because of war alone, but because of leadership fatigue. Like a castle with no watchmen, it has been abandoned to fate.
Sokoto, a state of deep cultural significance and religious heritage, suffers from an underwhelming governance apparatus. One would expect Sokoto, the seat of the Caliphate, to have cultivated a model of values-driven development. But its performance on the pSPI shows mediocrity where there should be moral clarity. Its governance is timid, reactive, and unambitious. Its schools struggle. Its health centres are underfunded. And while its leaders carry national gravitas, their local impact is minimal.
Katsina, the home state of Nigeria’s former president, has not capitalised on its connection to power. It remains tethered to security issues, and its capital projects are unevenly executed. Though ranking slightly higher than Sokoto or Zamfara, it fails to stand out in any key area of reform. Governance there feels procedural, not purposeful.
Kebbi, known for its rice revolution in years past, has lost momentum. While agriculture remains its cornerstone, it lacks diversification. The region’s youth, energetic and impatient, now see migration as strategy. Public institutions, especially in health and education, continue to struggle with underinvestment.
The deeper concern in the North West is not just underperformance, but a disturbing absence of urgency. While other regions experiment with governance innovations, the North West appears locked in an outdated model of leadership, one where proximity to power is mistaken for progress, and where state governments continue to wait on federal allocations like vassals of a forgotten empire.
It is worth asking: what happened to the Northern regional spirit that once produced groundnut pyramids, industrial parks, and textile factories? That legacy, championed by Sir Ahmadu Bello, was built on education, agriculture, and a clear moral vision. The current custodians of the region have neither revived it nor replaced it. What we see instead is a collapse of planning, a failure to invest in local government, and a widening gap between ruler and ruled.
The pSPI’s emphasis on both performance and perception is critical. It tells us that even when governments spend money, citizens can still feel alienated if they are not consulted, respected, or shown results. The North West’s perception scores are some of the lowest in the country. That should terrify any leader who still believes that silence equals consent.
There is a way out, but it will not be comfortable. The region must embark on deep civil service reform. It must digitise governance. It must invest in primary education and healthcare, not as charity, but as infrastructure. Security efforts must be paired with development strategies. Farmers need roads, not just rifles. Youths need skills, not slogans. Local government systems must be restored, empowered, and monitored.
And above all, the region must stop measuring itself by its political influence. Power is not performance. A region that controls the centre but cannot clean its cities, protect its children, or pay its teachers has no moral claim to leadership.
The North West has the numbers. But numbers alone are not destiny. Unless those numbers are translated into school enrolments, clinic visits, jobs created, and trust rebuilt, they remain hollow. The pSPI is not a prophecy, it is a mirror. If the region does not like what it sees, it must change what it does.
Or risk becoming what it fears most: irrelevant.
