A Train System in Crisis and Path Forward
(Notes from Rigasa Station) This week, I am ceding my colum to Abubakar Widi-Jalo, who is writing on the state of Nigeria’s train system. Widi Jalo writes… Yesterday, I witnessed the most chaotic scene at any train station I have ever encountered. This was at Rigasa Station in Kaduna, the northern terminus […]
A Train System in Crisis and Path Forward
(Notes from Rigasa Station)
This week, I am ceding my colum to Abubakar Widi-Jalo, who is writing on the state of Nigeria’s train system.
Widi Jalo writes…
Yesterday, I witnessed the most chaotic scene at any train station I have ever encountered.
This was at Rigasa Station in Kaduna, the northern terminus of the Abuja-Kaduna rail line. A boarding announcement for the 2:30 PM Sunday service to Abuja had just been made, and passengers proceeded towards the gates. Yet, hundreds of people remained jammed at the initial security checkpoint. Some held valid tickets; many did not. Sensing the building tension, security personnel decided to close the doors.
What followed was a spectacle of desperation. The crowd surged, breached the gate, and streamed onto the platform. Nigerian Railway Corporation (NRC) staff stood by, utterly helpless, as people overwhelmed them and poured into the train. Every carriage was filled far beyond capacity, a scene reminiscent of the crowded trains we see in Indian movies. I could scarcely believe this was the same Abuja-Kaduna service that once boasted four daily departures. This was not mere congestion; it was the visible collapse of a critical public service.
The root of this chaos is the drastic reduction of the service to just one train per day, a direct consequence of the tragic derailment on August 26, 2025. This single daily service is now tasked with meeting an unprecedented demand, creating a pressure cooker environment at both Idu and Rigasa stations. Tickets vanish minutes after sales portals open, often scooped up by sophisticated racketeering gangs. Ordinary passengers are left at the mercy of black-market sellers, many of whom are rumoured to be NRC staff themselves. The system is broken, and the symptoms are playing out in dangerous, undignified scrambles on the platform.
This descent into chaos is a profound tragedy, for this train service began with so much promise. When it launched in March 2016, the 186-kilometer standard gauge line was initially met with a mix of excitement and scepticism. The excitement was justified: after decades of neglect, Nigeria’s railways were stirring back to life. The service instantly provided a quicker, safer alternative to the perilous Abuja-Kaduna highway, which was and still remains, a hotspot for kidnappings and accidents. The trains offered air-conditioned coaches, comfortable seating, clean restrooms, and the reassuring presence of armed security personnel. With classes ranging from Economy to Executive and even onboard catering, it represented a modern vision for Nigerian transit.
The logic was sound, particularly for civil servants, entrepreneurs, and others who could live in more affordable Kaduna and commute conveniently to Abuja. Demand soared, prompting an increase from two to four daily services. For a time, it worked. But the cracks soon began to show.
The first fissure appeared in the ticketing system, which devolved into a racketeer’s paradise. Then, the physical infrastructure started its steady decline. Air conditioning in the stations have failed, elevators were perpetually out of service and restrooms became filthy. Most alarmingly, the trains themselves began to break down mid-journey. I have personally experienced at least three such breakdowns. Each incident cast doubt on the quality of the original rolling stock and, more critically, the maintenance culture.
This pattern of decay culminated in a sequence of devastating shocks. The 2022 terrorist attack and kidnapping of passengers at Katari Station dealt a severe psychological blow to public confidence. The derailment of August 2025 then delivered a physical and operational catastrophe from which the service has not recovered. Reduced to a skeletal single trip, the system is now in a death spiral of scarcity, desperation, and chaos.
This high-level, deeply embarrassing inefficiency is entirely avoidable. The solution lies not in pouring more public funds into a structurally flawed model, but in fundamentally restructuring the system. I propose a partial privatisation of Nigeria’s rail transport, adopting a model similar to that of the United Kingdom.
In the UK, the railway industry operates under a framework that separates responsibilities. Network Rail, a public company, owns and manages the railway infrastructure: the tracks, signals, bridges, and major stations. The train services themselves are run by various Train Operating Companies (TOCs), private entities like Avanti West Coast or Great Western Railway, which compete for franchises. They are responsible for the trains, staff, customer service, and ticketing. Overseeing this ecosystem is the government’s Department for Transport, which sets safety standards, allocates franchises, and ensures public interest is served.
This model could be ingeniously adapted for Nigeria. Imagine a scenario where a dedicated entity, perhaps a concession managed by a consortium with proven technical expertise, is responsible for maintaining the tracks and stations. Simultaneously, separate private companies bid for the right to operate the trains on the route. We could see a consortium like Dangote Group managing the rail infrastructure, while transport-focused firms like Air Peace, Umza, or Rano invest in modern coaches and engines to run the actual train services. The Federal Ministry of Transportation would transition from a struggling operator to a strict regulator and policy overseer.
Privatisation introduces efficiency through competition, accountability, and specialized management. Private operators, driven by profit and customer satisfaction, have the flexibility to manage resources, innovate services, and make swift decisions unencumbered by government bureaucracy. Financial efficiency improves as companies are incentivised to control costs and optimise revenue. Customer service becomes a priority, not an afterthought.
We have a powerful precedent in our own history: the aviation sector. From the 1970s through the late 1980s, Nigerian Airways was synonymous with inefficiency and unreliability. The game-changer was the deregulation of the industry and the issuance of licenses to private airlines such as Concord Airlines (owned by MKO Abiola), Okada Air, Kabo Air, and IRS Airlines. These private entrants revolutionised air travel in Nigeria through competition, better service, and improved safety records. The same transformative energy is needed for our rails.
The current state of the Abuja-Kaduna line is a national embarrassment and a severe economic bottleneck. It is a stark warning for the broader national rail project. We must act decisively before this vital service grinds to a complete and irreversible halt. The government must acknowledge that its role is best served as a regulator and infrastructure custodian, not a day-to-day operator. By embracing a partially privatised, professionally managed model, we can rescue this service from collapse and build a rail system that is safe, reliable, and worthy of the Nigerian people. The chaos at Rigasa is a crisis, but it can also be the catalyst for long-overdue change.
Abubakar Widi-Jalo wrote from Abuja.