By Abdulrauf Aliyu
In the Book of Ecclesiastes, the Teacher observes, “There is an evil under the sun—wealth kept by its owner to his hurt.” Nowhere in contemporary Nigeria does this ancient warning ring louder than in the South-South region. This is a region blessed with black gold, vast waterways, fertile land, and a resilient people. Yet, according to the 2025 Phillips Consulting State Performance Index (pSPI), it is also a region where the promise of prosperity continues to be squandered. States that ought to be among the most developed in the country are instead among the most underwhelming in both performance and perception. Here, the pSPI does not simply expose underperformance; it indicts a failure of vision.
Of the six states in the South-South—Akwa Ibom, Bayelsa, Cross River, Delta, Edo, and Rivers—only Cross River managed to finish within the top half of national rankings, at 14th place. The others either regressed or languished in mediocrity. Bayelsa, perhaps the richest per capita state in the entire country, fell from 6th in 2024 to 29th in 2025. Rivers, another oil giant, landed at 25th. Delta managed a modest 17th. And Akwa Ibom, long admired for its infrastructure ambitions, came in at a lowly 21st despite a perception score that suggested citizens still cling to some optimism.
The common thread? A stunning mismatch between wealth and impact.
Like the opulent courts of Louis XVI before the French Revolution, South-South governance often appears more preoccupied with display than delivery. Flyovers, glass-fronted government buildings, and flamboyant anniversaries—these are the tools of political theatre. Meanwhile, the actual machinery of public service—the schools, the hospitals, and the water supply systems—either creaks or collapses. The pSPI findings reflect this disconnect. Citizens across the region consistently expressed dissatisfaction with public utilities, employment, and grassroots engagement. They see the wealth. They just cannot feel it.
Bayelsa’s dramatic fall in the rankings encapsulates this tragedy. For years, the state has received among the highest federal allocations in the country, bolstered by derivation funds and energy company royalties. But in 2025, it was ranked dead last in citizen perception. Not only that, but it also failed to publish audited financial statements, a basic requirement in public transparency. In governance, silence is often more damning than scandal. The pSPI methodology punishes opacity, and rightly so. In a state where oil flows but tap water doesn’t, the refusal to account for public finances amounts to contempt for the governed.
Rivers State, with its vast industrial footprint and historical significance, fared little better. Though it maintained infrastructure projects and urban regeneration programmes in parts of Port Harcourt, the broader impact remains limited. Public transportation is scarce. Informal settlements grow unchecked. Youth unemployment festers beneath the bridges and billboards. Once, under leaders like Peter Odili and later Rotimi Amaechi, Rivers was considered a policy innovator, experimenting with educational reform and public-private partnerships. But the present trajectory suggests drift. Governance now seems reactive, almost grudging, a far cry from the energetic planning once associated with the state.
Delta State, always caught between its oil-rich southern territories and the agrarian north, continues to operate like a patchwork of inconsistent intentions. The 2025 pSPI placed it 17th, with middling scores in both performance and perception. Citizens report frustration with corruption, inconsistent policy, and poor delivery of basic services. Yet Delta, like others, clings to high-cost infrastructure projects that rarely meet the needs of its people. The legacy of economic exclusion is palpable in Warri, Sapele, and Ughelli. Roads that were promised remain dreams. Schools are underfunded. Local government councils function more as political outposts than development centres.
Then there is Akwa Ibom, a state that once inspired cautious admiration for its orderly capital and commitment to infrastructure. But even it now shows signs of exhaustion. Ranking 21st in 2025, it suffers from a widening gap between elite ambition and grassroots reality. The perception score, 5th nationwide, suggests the people still believe. But belief is not enough. Reality must catch up. What use are smart stadiums and lit highways when public hospitals lack staff and rural communities face endemic poverty? Akwa Ibom’s challenge now is to pivot from aesthetics to substance. That will require uncomfortable questions, especially about debt levels, procurement practices, and local accountability.
Edo State, meanwhile, seems to hover in ambiguity. Often praised for its governor’s technocratic posture, it still ranks only 16th overall. The people, it seems, are yet to be convinced. Perception scores remain tepid. This reflects the broader problem of governance without political buy-in. A policy can be elegant on paper, but if it does not resonate with those it is meant to serve, it becomes performative. In Edo, reform seems to live in the air-conditioned corridors of Benin City’s civil service, rarely touching the hands of those in Ovia or Esan.
Cross River, by contrast, has quietly done more with less. Long cut off from the oil riches of its neighbours, and stung by the loss of Bakassi, it has had to think differently. While not spectacular in any one domain, it ranks consistently across key metrics. Roads are being built. Education reform has some structure. And citizens report rising levels of trust. That trust, more than any cash allocation, is a state’s most valuable currency. Cross River’s example shows that it is not how much a government earns, but how honestly and intelligently it spends.
What makes the South South’s collective underperformance especially painful is its symbolism. This is a region that once ignited national conversations. In the 1990s, the South South was not merely a region; it was a resistance. From the Ken Saro-Wiwa movement to the Niger Delta militias, its leaders demanded inclusion, equity, and resource control. Billions flowed in as a result. A Ministry of Niger Delta Affairs was created. An entire development commission—NDDC—was born. Yet decades later, the people still wait for justice, only now from their own sons.
This irony is almost biblical. Like the Israelites after the Exodus, the South South escaped Pharaoh, only to grumble in the desert. Only this time, it is not a lack of manna, but a crisis of leadership. The governors of the South South are not beholden to colonial overlords or federal neglect. They are victims and perpetrators of a self-inflicted mediocrity. They blame Abuja, yet squander allocations. They declare youth empowerment, yet celebrate contracts over curriculum.
The pSPI offers them no escape. It shows where the rot lives—in procurement offices, in non-transparent budgeting, in short-termism, and in PR masquerading as policy. If they ignore this data, they will not only lose credibility. They will lose a generation.
But there is still time. The South-South can reclaim its destiny. Its governors can convene—not just to cut ribbons or pose for headlines—but to agree on a regional economic and governance compact. They can audit their budgets. Empower their LGAs. Reform public education. Clean their cities. Train their youth. Restore faith.
If they do not, history will judge them more harshly than any report ever could. Because to have wealth and waste it is not just incompetence. It is betrayal.
