Meet the Nigerian Governor Who Is Sitting on Billions of Barrels of Oil

Stories from Roads & Kingdoms
Jan. 2 2014 11:38 PM

Delta Force

You don’t know the governor of Nigeria’s Rivers State. But he is sitting on billions of barrels of oil and aspires to much more.

Governor Amaechi, centre, listens to the opening speeches at the unveiling of a Shell-sponsored water purification plant, flanked by members of his administration and Shell Nigeria reps.
Governor Chibuike Rotimi Amaechi (center) attends the unveiling of a Shell-sponsored water purification plant in the Eleme district of Port Harcourt, Nigeria.

Courtesy of Adrienne Klasa

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PORT HARCOURT, Nigeria—The governor is at his ease, as always. Even in the 5 a.m. glare of the vast white tiled waiting room in Abuja Airport, he is immaculately dressed in a blue three-piece suit offset by a red silk tie. Assistants, drivers, security personnel, and advisers hover around in suspended animation, hanging on every word of the oga, or boss.

The oga is Chibuike Rotimi Amaechi, governor of Nigeria’s Rivers State, the man who sits atop most of the more than 37 billion barrels of proven oil reserves that lie under the serpentine waterways of the Niger Delta. At 48, he is a tall, well-built man, every inch the statesman from his gold-faced watch to his measured charm. We wait for his private jet to be readied for the flight to Port Harcourt, the seat of his government and the hub of the delta’s oil industry.

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An official portrait of Nigeria’s President Goodluck Jonathan in his signature black fedora—his visage appears in nearly every public space in the country—glowers down at us. It has reason to: On Nov. 26, Amaechi and four other governors defected from the president’s ruling People’s Democratic Party to the opposition All Progressives Congress in one of the biggest upsets in Nigerian politics in recent years.

The feud between Jonathan and Amaechi has been building for the past few years, dominating newspaper headlines in Nigeria. What the “rebel governors” stand for, aside from opposing Jonathan, is unclear. As one commentator lamented, “Mainstream Nigerian politics continues to be an almost ideology-free and policy-free zone.”

Ideology or no, Amaechi is a politician to the bone. In 2007, he won his party’s primary and saw himself as rightful heir to the governorship of Rivers State after his mentor Peter Odili stepped down. On the eve of elections, however, allegations surfaced that Amaechi had amassed a personal fortune of $150 million through graft and corruption while he was speaker of the state government. His name was taken off the ballot. Furious, he formed a new alliance of convenience with alleged militant groups and had the election results overturned in court. He has been in power ever since.

As the governor of one the country’s wealthiest regions, it’s not surprising that Amaechi’s ambitions are the subject of much speculation. Many suspect that he is angling for the vice presidency in the 2015 national elections. His aspirations, along with his leadership of the coalition of rebel governors, make him a bellwether for the political and financial fortunes of Africa’s second largest economy.

“Are you scared?” Amaechi asks as we walk out onto the tarmac. All Nigerians seem to take pleasure in poking fun at outsiders’ perceptions of Nigeria as a uniformly terrifying place, but Amaechi enjoys it more than most. The question becomes a recurring joke over the course of the next few days. Am I scared now? How about now?

Each time I say no. My emphatic denial seems to amuse him. “All foreigners are scared,” he declares, as he climbs the steps and settles himself into a leather armchair in the plane’s wood-paneled interior. “But they do not know the facts,” he continues. “You are perfectly safe.”

Port Harcourt and the delta’s reputation as a dangerous place is well founded: The troubled region is one of the kidnapping centers of the world. Abductions by militant groups are a massive industry. Between 2006 and 2008 alone, ransom payments in the country exceeded $100 million. In November, two American crewmembers seized off a cargo ship were released after their capture a month earlier in an attack claimed by militant group MEND (Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta). A reported $2 million ransom changed hands, mostly paid by Nigerian officials.

Amaechi is tight-lipped when it comes to discussing the ongoing militancy in the region. At the height of the crisis in 2009, close to 1,000 abductions were reported in Nigeria according to leading kidnap and ransom insurance specialists AKE Group. By 2011, AKE claims the average number of kidnappings per month had dropped to one or two. Each time I broach the subject, Amaechi succinctly acknowledges the issue before attempting to steer the conversation toward his more photogenic development agenda. “In Port Harcourt city yesterday about 6 or 7 p.m., [I saw] a white man who was jogging. No security, nothing, but he was just jogging,” he recounts with a winning smile.

As we fly over the delta, the lush green of the wetlands is studded by orange pinpricks; fiery gas flares, rearing from the oil wells below, before tapering into thick, black smoke. A haze of burn-off hangs on the horizon on all but the breeziest days.

The delta’s oil has enriched Nigeria, Africa’s largest producer, to the point that its economy is on track to surpass South Africa’s as the largest in sub-Saharan Africa within the next few years. However, the vast majority of its 175 million people remain poor. Even as the economy expanded by an impressive average of 7.2 percent a year between 2004 and 2010, an additional 43.7 million people fell below the poverty line. The delta’s persistent security problems are a direct reflection of the depths of Nigeria’s inequality.

An hour later, we land in Port Harcourt. The governor’s entourage includes a half dozen heavily armed police officers, plainclothes security personnel, and five bulletproof Range Rovers. But Amaechi likes to show he is a man of the people when in his home state by driving himself around Port Harcourt—albeit led by a group of gun-wielding police officers in a jeep.

Heavily armed police and military officers patrol a farm road outside of Port Harcourt. Militant activity remains a problem throughout the region.
Heavily armed police and military officers patrol a farm road outside of Port Harcourt. Militant activity remains a problem throughout the region.

Courtesy of Adrienne Klasa

Port Harcourt is an unremarkable, midsize city, its streets teeming with ordinary bustle. Crowds throng street corners, wash clothes in the river’s mudflats, and wait for buses under large blue and yellow–painted awnings. Multistory buildings mix with tin-roofed shacks and shantytowns. An incomplete elevated train track snakes its way across the center of the city.

Only the occasional roving military vehicle acts as a reminder of the constant threat from militants. When years of revenue from the oil industry failed to trickle down to local populations, unrest exploded into insurgency. Beginning in 2004, groups such as MEND declared war on the government, clashing with security forces, sabotaging oil industry facilities, and blowing up pipelines. MEND is a shifting alliance of subsidiary factions, not a single group. Other independent militant groups include the Niger Delta Vigilantes—who are rumored to receive political support from Amaechi—and the People’s Liberation Front.

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