The Member, 8th and 9th National Assembly, House of Representatives, Hon Danjuma Usman Shiddi Wrote 


AN OPEN LETTER TO GOVERNOR AGBU KEFAS TARABA STATE GOVERNOR 


There are moments when silence becomes a betrayal—not just of conscience, but of generations yet unborn. There are times when speaking up is no longer a political act, but a moral obligation. For me, this is such a time. 


We live in a time where the truth is often traded for convenience, where many either from fear or favour—choose the shallow comfort of sycophancy over the hard labour of honesty. But I, for one, cannot remain silent. Not because I seek applause, not because I harbour political ambition—far from it. I write because the burden of conscience has become too heavy to carry in silence. 


I am not writing as a politician seeking a podium, nor as a rival coveting your seat. I am not moved by bitterness. 

Taraba is not just wounded; it is haemorrhaging—slowly, quietly, painfully.


Your Excellency, the hopes vested in your leadership are waning. The disconnect between your administration’s promises and the lived realities of Tarabans is stark. The state’s resources must be managed with transparency, and development should be inclusive and impactful. It is imperative to reassess priorities, ensure prudent financial management, and engage with the populace to restore faith in governance.


Taraba does not need empty gestures. It needs healing. It needs truth. And the truth, no matter how uncomfortable, must be spoken.

This letter is written from a place of empathy. It comes from a place of pain—real, raw, and growing. I am not writing as a political rival, but as a concerned stakeholder who belongs to the soil of Taraba. I am writing as a citizen who can no longer watch in silence while a state brimming with potential continues to spiral into dysfunction, mismanagement, and poor priorities.


When you took office on the 29th of May 2023, you carried the weight of the people’s hopes. Many believed that change had finally arrived. They believed, perhaps naively, that a new season of purposeful leadership was at hand. But two years later, what we are witnessing is not growth or transformation. It is regression. Taraba is not standing tall. It is staggering, bleeding, and neglected.


The state’s debt profile speaks louder than any prepared speech ever could. Over 400 billion naira in accumulated debt, including a 350 billion naira bond approved by the State House of Assembly, and an external debt of 21.92 million dollars as of the second quarter of 2023. Yet, what can we show for this level of borrowing? Which landmark project can we point to? What breakthrough in infrastructure or social welfare? If we are mortgaging the future of our children, should we not at least be able to show them what their future is being traded for?


There are states in this country that have not borrowed a single naira, yet they are transforming lives by prioritizing healthcare, education, and infrastructure. Meanwhile, the federal allocation to Taraba has tripled, and our internally generated revenue has improved. Still, your government continues to borrow—just to pay salaries. What exactly is the issue, my brother?


Debt can be a powerful tool when used for development. But in our case, it has become a source of pain. The roads are still impassable. Hospitals are barely functioning. Schools are collapsing. And the average citizen is left wondering what benefit, if any, these billions have brought. The only thing growing is public frustration.


Let us discuss your priorities. While essential infrastructure continues to decay, your administration is investing billions in constructing and renovating an airport. On the surface, there is nothing wrong with building an airport. But let us ask: who is this airport really for? Taraba has a population of approximately 3.6 million, but only less than five percent of our people can afford to fly. Do we need an airport before we provide good roads, modern schools, working hospitals, and basic support for farmers?


Is it not deeply troubling that in a state where children are still learning under trees, where farmers still rely on hoes and cutlasses, and where many communities have no access to clean water, billions are being invested in aviation infrastructure? For whose benefit?


Even more disturbing is the excessive spending on luxurious government lodges that will only serve you and a few members of your inner circle, while over 80 percent of Tarabans live in poverty. Is this the legacy your campaign promised? How does one justify the comfort of the privileged few while the masses remain in abject suffering?


The 2024 state budget was over 147 billion naira. That figure should have redefined the destiny of this state. It was more than enough to electrify our towns, revamp the health sector, reform education, and promote industrial development through agriculture and mining. But what do we have instead? Waste, bureaucratic delays, and silence.


Our mineral resources are another painful story. Taraba is rich in barite, marble, lead, zinc, and more. But who is mining these resources? Who is profiting? Certainly not the host communities. All we see is environmental degradation and massive exploitation. The land is being plundered, the people are being ignored, and the state has provided no reports, no transparency, and no accountability.


Our farmers have been abandoned. In a state with vast fertile land, we should be feeding the nation and exporting produce. Instead, year after year, we hear the same empty promises. There is no support for mechanized farming, no credit facilities, and no real access to markets. It is all talk, no action—while the rural poor remain stuck in an endless cycle of labor and lack.


You declared education to be free. But education is not free when school buildings are dilapidated, teachers are unpaid, and there are no books or learning materials. Telling a child to go to school means nothing if no learning is happening when they get there. The condition of our schools is nothing short of disgraceful. It is not enough to announce free education on paper. What matters is what actually happens in the classroom—and currently, there is nothing to celebrate.


You reportedly approved 17 billion naira for school uniforms to be sewn in China over a year ago. Yet our children are still without uniforms. How do you explain such waste?


Let us also speak about security. Insecurity has become a daily reality. From kidnappings to armed attacks, many communities in Taraba are under siege. Karim, Takum, Ussa, Tsokundi, Rafinda, Kente in Wukari Local Government Area, Donga, and others are living in constant fear. Yet the government’s response is either too slow or completely absent. People are dying, and your administration appears indifferent.


And then there is the matter of your repeated absences from the state. Leadership is not about holding a title; it is about presence. You cannot govern Taraba effectively if you are never on ground. You cannot feel the pulse of the people if you are not among them. What message does it send when the Governor is always away? What does it say to your appointees, civil servants, and citizens? It suggests that Taraba is not your priority.


For two years, you have been traveling the world in the name of attracting foreign investors, yet there is no evidence of a single successful investment. Your governing style has become increasingly authoritarian. The perception is growing that Taraba State is being run like a personal estate. Where is democracy in all of this?


Governor Kefas, the truth is that you still have a small window of time to rewrite your story. But you can only do that by leading with courage, clarity, and integrity. If you continue on this path, history will not be kind to you. Because this is not just about policies and programs. It is about people. People with real pain, real needs, and real hopes that are fast fading.


I am writing this letter because I can no longer pretend that all is well. I can no longer be silent, because silence would mean complicity—and I am not complicit. This is not an act of disrespect. It is a reminder. A reminder of the oath you took. A reminder of the trust the people placed in you. A reminder of the vision you once claimed to champion.


The people are watching. The future is watching. And history will judge who stood up and who chose silence.


I have chosen not to remain silent.


Sincerely,

Rt. Hon. Danjuma Usman Shiddi

Member, 8th and 9th National Assembly, House of Representatives, Abuja