observations about context and events that vastly improved the content and narration of the story. I am
particularly grateful to her and her family for their affection and belief in me during those challenging
years.
Issam Darwish is a person of rare kindness, and not surprisingly a close friend of my brother Bashir.
Issam provided the apartment in Dubai from which most of this book was researched, written and re-
written over the three year period. I am very grateful to him. Omar Ibrahim El-Beloushi was my
sponsor and business partner in Dubai in those difficult days, and I remain appreciative of his support
and encouragement.
My ever-reliable brother Idris Othman, my Nigerian lawyers Bamidele Aturu, Abdul-Hakeem
Mustapha, Kanu Agabi, and Akin Olujimi, collaboratively defended my name and reputation in
Nigeria during my exile and continued when I returned home. Without the support and encouragement
of these friends and distinguished professionals, I might have given up on the project even before
starting.
Writing does not come naturally to me, as I am more comfortable with numbers than words. Ulysses
De La Torre and James Kimer helped get me started by recording the series of stories, interviews and
answers to questions derived from my Aspen outline that constituted the primary foundation for this
book. My lawyers abroad, Jared Genser and Bob Amsterdam, and the Washington publicist Riva
Levinson, coaxed me out of bouts of lethargy to keep writing, even when under incessant attack by the
Yar’Adua-Jonathan administration.
I am forever thankful to God for a few friends that have been pillars of support both in and out of
public office. This circle of friends, brothers and sisters, particularly Idris Othman, Tijjani
Abdullahi, Dr. Angela Onwuanibe, Husaini Dikko, Balarabe Abbas Lawal, Sagir Hamidu, Alhaji
Aminu Saleh, Alhaji Ahmadu Chanchangi, Pastor Sarah Omakwu, Kabir Shuaibu, Dr. Goke
Adegoroye, Osita Chidoka, Tanimu Yakubu, and Oby and Chinedu Ezekwesili took turns keeping an
eye on me and my family members. I am grateful to them and their families for the love and care,
without which this book would not have been written.
Idris Othman, Uba Sani, Osita Chidoka, Husaini Dikko, Hakeem Belo-Osagie and Jimi Lawal
supported me materially and emotionally during these most difficult and challenging years. They were
all unquestioning in their loyalty and belief in me even when I began to doubt my ability to withstand
the viciousness and vindictiveness of the Nigerian government. Tijjani and Jimi also read and re-read
several drafts of the book, contributed to the editing and reminded me of many forgotten events that
took place in the BPE and FCT that ended up enriching the book.
Pastor Tunde Bakare, egbon mi atata , deserves special mention because he became another elder
brother virtually from the first moment we met in March 2010. He has been a source of strength,
inspiration, and spiritual and material support since then, while also leading me into activism with the
Save Nigeria Group and into opposition politics with the Congress for Progressive Change. I am
grateful that he became an integral part of my life in many ways, and for writing the foreword to this
book.
Dele Olojede and I met face to face for the first time at an Aspen Institute seminar in 2006, and
bonded instantly. More than anyone, Dele encouraged me to write pieces for his magnificent
newspaper, NEXT, and also this story as a necessary public service. Dele also helped read and re-
read the earliest drafts, undertaking extensive editing of the drafts, making suggestions to improve
clarity and consistency that is the hallmark that earned him a Pulitzer Prize in Journalism. Whenever I
got discouraged about writing, Dele was there to remind me that my story needs telling to make our
country a better place. I am not sure of this, but I sure hope Dele is right that this book helps in a small
way to make our public service and politics even a little better. He also graciously accepted my
request to write the afterword for the book. My heartfelt appreciation goes to this true friend, brilliant
writer and passionate patriot.
Peter Akagu Jones has been my assistant and personal administrator before, during and after my
public service years. He kept my diaries, correspondence and the official files, and meticulous notes
of conversations and meetings. Without Peter’s patience, intelligence and dedication, the level of
detail and accuracy required for this book would never have been attainable. In his absence, Umar
Farouk Saleh took over many of these roles with ease. My close circle of family and friends including
Mohammed Salihu, Japheth Omojuwa, Mohammed Bello El-Rufai, Tijjani Abdullahi, Hadiza Bala
Usman, Amina Othman, James Bura Mamza, Roz Ben-Okagbue, Dr. Omano Edigheji, Salisu Suleiman
and Ajayi Olatunji Olowo all helped review earlier drafts and gave me their frank and varied
perspectives which led to extensive rewriting and changes to the script. I am grateful to all of them.
Embarking on a project such as writing about experiences in government is risky. Even those
involved may end up disowning or denying one’s version of events. Asue Ighodalo, Husaini Dikko,
Nuhu Ribadu, Oby Ezekwesili, Dele Olojede and Muyiwa Adekeye gave extensive and often
conflicting points of view on the effort which resulted in this book being written. Some encouraged
me to write while others were far more cautious. I am grateful to all of them, but in the end take full
responsibility for the decision to go ahead with the story as well as any errors contained in the book.
My faithful and remarkable media adviser Muyiwa Adekeye deserves special mention. He not only
kept me out of trouble in the public space many times, but suggested many exclusions and inclusions
for this story. He also gave insights into what public expectations are regarding a book of this nature,
read the script several times and made excellent improvements. I am particularly grateful to him.
Many friends and white knights in the media and public commentariats were helpful in various ways
throughout my tenure and the interesting years after I left office. I am particularly grateful to Dele
Olojede, Kadaria Ahmed, Kayode Akintemi, Musikilu Mojeed, Omoyele Sowore, Dr. Pius
Adesanmi, Philip Adekunle, Idang Alibi, Sam Nda Isaiah, Sam Amuka-Pemu, Gbenga Adefaye,
Nduka Obaigbena, Segun Adeniyi, Kayode Komolafe, Ijeoma Nwogwugwu, Constance Ikokwu,
Emeka Izeze, Martins Oloja, Emmanuel Asiwe and Yomi Odunuga for their support at all times.
The early ideas of writing about my years in the FCT came from one of my special assistants in the
FCT Administration, Amina Salihu, and two journalists, Shamsudeen Adeiza and Tunji Ajibade.
Shamsudeen went ahead to write and publish his work that will soon be ready for presentation, along
with another book on my years in FCT, by Tunji Ajibade. The passion of these two author-journalists
pushed me to try writing my own version of events not only to cover the FCT years but partly to
include some of the BPE years. I want to thank them for the inspiration and encouragement to write
this book, and their willingness to delay presentation of their works until this book is completed.
My first literary attempt would have ended up as another incomplete project but for the intervention
of Chief Joop Berkhout and his energetic young son, George Berkhout. The two publishing pa
rtners
pushed and encouraged me to complete a rough draft and then handed that over to two outstanding
professionals who polished and rendered my modest effort into a readable material. Professor
Ismaila Abubakar Tsiga was my senior in Barewa College and FCT colleague who offered to help do
an initial review of the draft. His experience as an author, public servant and teacher substantially
improved the context and content of the book. This was further sharpened and made clearer by the
awesome editing skills of Safari Book’s editorial manager, Seni Pinheiro. Dele Olojede then
undertook another review and editing of the improved work. If this book turns out to be readable and
sensible, it is the result of the surgery done by Professor Tsiga, Seni Pinheiro, and Dele Olojede,
even if all the errors remain mine. I thank them for trying to make a writer out of the applied
mathematician that I think I am!
Nasir Ahmad El-Rufai
Abuja, Nigeria
October 2012
I n t r o d u c t i o n
“The Accidental Public Servant” was not the original title for this book. The phrase was used by a
Harvard Kennedy School publicist who interviewed me as part of the 50th Anniversary of the Mason
Fellows Programme and I liked it. I thought it a fitting description of someone who never
purposefully set out to be a public servant, but rather fell into it through a series of accidents – strokes
of luck met with fortuitous preparedness – that landed me in the stormy waters of Nigerian politics
and governance. Nearly nine years after the first accident, I left public service as a well-known
minister and loyalist of President Olusegun Obasanjo and since May 2007, I have gone through a
roller coaster period of surviving attacks on my person and family, sustained smear campaigns, death
threats, persecution at home and abroad through withdrawal of my Nigerian citizenship, malicious
prosecution and involuntary exile, on the one hand. On the other hand, I have received awards and
recognitions for my service, particularly for bringing order into the chaos that was Abuja, our
nation’s capital. All these constitute major departures from what I thought was my life plan.
As a child, when I first conceived of the idea of what I might want to be when I grow up, my role
model at the time was the single native authority policeman in my village of Daudawa, in Katsina
state. What called my attention to him was the uniform. The first time I ever saw a thief was when the
policeman, passing through the village, single-handedly apprehended him as he was breaking into
people’s houses to steal their belongings. My admiration for his valour made me fall in love with the
job and the uniform. Then at about the age of six I was circumcised and I met the village doctor. He
was not actually a doctor, but a paramedic, yet he looked so clean and professional in his crisp, clean
and starched white uniform, and was so kind, that I believed I had to be a doctor when I grew up. As
I grew a little older, I realized that the agricultural officer who was the head of the local agricultural
settlement and who lived in the Daudawa Government Reservation Area (GRA) was not only my
father’s boss, but the most important man in town, so then I wanted to be an agricultural officer, and
then at the outbreak of the civil war that saw two of my brothers join the army, and another the air
force, I thought of joining the armed forces. This series of aspirations and adjustments remained a
regular feature of my youth, and I guess, is typical of most people of my generation. What I did not
realize then was that it would be assignments, never sought for, rather than ambition that would
define my private and public life.
There were other public service and government figures featuring somewhat prominently in my
upbringing, but what loomed even larger was the fact of growing up poor. We were many children
under my father's roof in Daudawa – eight siblings growing up together and six other siblings that had
grown up and gone on to establish their own families. The first time I got a ‘hand-me-down’ pair of
shoes was when I was six years old. I got my own first pair of new shoes when I was eight. Until
today, I feel more comfortable barefooted than in socks and shoes!
As a result of these privations, I was driven to achieve financial independence as quickly as I could.
In an environment of poverty, one learns quickly that financial independence is essential to preserving
one’s dignity. Another seminal event from that period of my life was the death of my father, which
also occurred when I was about eight years old. His final words to me were about the importance of
education, specifically that my success in life would be determined by how seriously I pursued
knowledge. So I worked hard and took my studies seriously because I was led by my father to believe
that it would be the key to preserving one’s dignity and self-respect.
On the way to achieving that goal, a path that initially led me into the private sector as a consulting
quantity surveyor, a funny thing happened. I realized that in order for the private sector to flourish, the
was that for the longest time, like others aspiring to middle-class status in Nigeria, I thought that if I
just made enough money, I could buy all the things I needed. If the public electricity supply was
inefficient, I would just buy a diesel-powered generator. If the public water supply was not working,
I would simply construct my own household borehole and install a water treatment plant. However,
there came a point when I realized that even if one had those, one cannot build one’s own gasoline
refinery. When one woke up one morning, as we did in 1996, to find that all of a sudden there was no
gasoline for the electric generator and the cars – and this, in a country that was the ninth largest
exporter of crude oil in the world – a whole new level of thinking became inevitable. To provide
social services: security of life and property, decent schools, health facilities, and even a financial
system - required collective action, some level of collaboration between individuals. To provide or
enable the creation of functional infrastructure – like transportation, communications and electricity
networks, for example – a strong and effective public service was essential.
Twice before getting to that point, I had declined invitations in 1989 and 1991 to work in the public
service of my state of residence - Kaduna. Once I came to this point of realization however, I made
up my mind that if I got another opportunity to work in the public sector, I would not only accept, but
would do nothing but my very best. As it turned out, the very attributes that drove me to be financially
independent early in life -- my dedication to ongoing study and education, and honesty not just in
dealing with others but also with myself -- were the selfsame attributes that ultimately earned me the
invitation to public service at the national level.
Certain people hold the opinion that I am feisty, argumentative and antagonistic – they formed those
views about my personality based on media reports. Contrary to these perceptions however, it is
neither intentional nor deliberate. I just believe in being honest with myself and with others and in
speaking my mind frankly and preserving m
y dignity. In a society that now prizes sycophancy,
hierarchy and tradition at the cost of courtesy, frankness and pragmatism, perhaps such characteristics
are anomalous. Frankly however, I do not know any other way of being.
I have felt the calling to write this book for a few different reasons, all of near-equal importance. One
is to make the case that public service is important - a necessary thing for every well-meaning
Nigerian to consider in order to set our nation on the right track, so that it may attain the potential we
all know it is capable of realizing. For developing countries like Nigeria, where institutions are weak
and the capacity for people to help themselves is limited, a responsive public service is vital – it
gives honest people the minimum base for them to lift themselves up by their bootstraps. There are
certain things that an individual cannot achieve single-handedly; hence the mission of the public
servant is really to solve collective, public problems.
Another reason I am writing this book is to convey a message to those already aspiring to a career in
public service. To them I say: be prepared to be tested in ways impossible for you to foresee. What is
practicable in one situation will not be possible in another situation, but there will be no shortage of
voices surrounding you aiming to distract or persuade you from that fact. Although no reasonable
person would disagree with the idea that the public sector can do with better management, more
efficient processes and more transparent procurement of goods and services, quantifying the success
or failure of any given initiative is by nature far more difficult in this sector than its application in the
private sector.
A third reason I am writing this is a message for those that have opted out – the Nigerian Diaspora.
My message to those of you in this category is very simple: The Nigerian public service needs you,