Improved Infrastructure, Impaired Integrity? Delta State Polytechnic Governing Council Chairman Faces Heat Over Shady Payments

Nestled amid the heart of Nigeria’s Delta region, Delta State Polytechnic, Ogwashi‑Uku, emerges as an architectural marvel—an education retreat seamlessly blending serenity with ambition. Groomed lawns and tree‑lined avenues frame grandiose edifices; students drift between buildings in a dance of purpose, ambition etched on their faces. The polytechnic hums with academic life, a testament to its commitment to fostering innovation and equipping students for a rapidly evolving world.

Stepping into the fully renovated event center, one finds oneself in an almost theatrical space: scarlet conference chairs arranged in immaculate precision, under soft lights that amplify a studio‑like ambiance. The venue has become a magnet for intellectual gatherings, hosting high‑profile conferences and academic symposiums. It is a stage where the institution projects its most polished self to guests, government officials, and stakeholders—an emblem of pride and prestige.

A short stroll leads to the engineering workshop—a bustling crucible of ingenuity. In one corner stands a prototype vehicle, proudly assembled by students. This home‑grown automobile, designed on campus, symbolizes the ethos of the polytechnic: marrying theoretical acumen with hands‑on experimentation. Underneath the hood, electrical wiring and mechanical fittings bear the marks of youthful determination. Faculty members observe the process with measured pride, acknowledging the bridge this initiative builds between knowledge and real-world application.

Venturing further, one is drawn into the labyrinthine world of science laboratories. Each lab—meticulously stocked with modern instruments—hums with activity. In the chemistry wing, students engage in titrations and colorimetric analyses. In biology labs, they study cellular cultures under ultraviolet lamps. Across those gleaming benchtops, each test tube and microscope stands as silent proof of the institution’s investment in scientific rigor and discovery.

Nearby, the ICT center and Microsoft Academy beckon the tech‑aspiring student. Rows of high‑end computers line the space; cables are neatly routed; lively interactions unfold on glowing screens. Here, digital literacy is both promise and practice—coding, cloud computing, and cyber‑security workshops occur side by side. In the subdued click of keyboards, one hears the future taking shape: the next generation of Nigerian innovators emerging from this cradle of collective aspiration.

But what visitors don’t see are the growing accusations that this academic edifice is being quietly siphoned of its resources—allegedly by those seated at the apex of its governing council.

At the center of the firestorm is Hon. Pastor Paul Adingwupu, the embattled Chairman of the Governing Council. Revered in some political circles, his leadership within the Polytechnic has become increasingly controversial amid rising claims of excess, exploitation, and financial irregularities.

Multiple insider accounts and leaked financial documents reviewed by reporters suggest that between July 26 and 29, 2024, Adingwupu received ₦750,000 in sitting allowances for what amounted to two working days of meetings. While generous compensation for public officials is not unprecedented, the corresponding payments of ₦40,000 to his Personal Assistant and ₦20,000 to his driver for the same short period have raised eyebrows—especially within a public institution battling resource constraints.

But the scrutiny doesn’t end there. From July 16 to 22, records show that Adingwupu received ₦587,000 as a refund for flight tickets to Abuja. Staff insiders allege that these trips had no direct connection to Polytechnic business. What is particularly alarming is the method of payment: the funds were not disbursed directly to Adingwupu, but instead wired to a Zenith Bank account belonging to a third party, one Peter Okwe.

For critics, this use of a proxy account suggests a deliberate attempt to avoid detection and raises urgent questions about the council’s adherence to public-sector financial compliance laws. “This is not just misappropriation—it’s institutional sabotage,” said one staff member, who spoke under condition of anonymity for fear of reprisal. “If they can move money through personal accounts, who is really accountable?”

Perhaps even more damning than questionable allowances are the Polytechnic’s recent procurement decisions under the Council’s watch.

According to internal memos and supplier records, the Governing Council Chairman Adingwupu ordered the released ₦26 million for the procurement of 21 desktop computers—a unit price that vastly exceeds the prevailing market rate in Nigeria, even for high-end systems. Yet multiple departments have reported that many of the computers delivered are non-functional or incompatible with the Polytechnic’s digital infrastructure.

In another transaction, ₦8 million was reportedly disbursed Adingwupu for the acquisition of two biometric verification devices—critical for streamlining staff attendance and preventing ghost workers. Only one device has been delivered to date.

These discrepancies have alarmed many within the institution, prompting whispers of kickbacks, collusion, and reckless financial oversight. “There is no way this level of overspending happens without complicity,” said a procurement officer familiar with the transactions. “These are inflated contracts—plain and simple.”

In what many faculty members have called the most humiliating episode yet, Adingwupu allegedly authorized ₦7 million to be paid to a group of external consultants with no academic experience to conduct a sweeping staff verification exercise.

The move, insiders say, bypassed normal procedure and ignored existing internal mechanisms for auditing staff records. “People who have never taught a day in their lives were brought in to ‘verify’ professors,” lamented one department head. “It was an insult to our collective integrity and a massive waste of resources.”

The outsourcing decision has incited widespread discontent among the Polytechnic’s academic and non-academic staff, who argue that the Governing Council is now more focused on surveillance and control than on academic advancement or student welfare.

Repeated efforts to contact Hon. Adingwupu for comment were unsuccessful. Calls, messages, and formal interview requests sent to the Polytechnic’s Council Secretariat and bursary department went unacknowledged as of press time.

Their silence only fuels speculation—and frustration.

“It’s not just about one person,” said a former Council member, now a whistleblower. “It’s about a culture that allows a few individuals to treat a public institution like their private business. If we don’t stop this now, we risk turning the Polytechnic into a monument of squandered potential.”

Students have also entered the fray. The National Association of Polytechnic Students (NAPS) recently issued a formal call for the investigation and possible dissolution of the Governing Council, citing alleged certificate racketeering and systemic corruption.

“The future of this institution must not be sacrificed for the greed of a few,” said a spokesperson for NAPS during a student-led press conference. “We are demanding full transparency in all financial dealings and an independent audit of the Council’s activities.”

Their demands echo a growing sentiment across Nigerian tertiary institutions: that governing bodies should serve as stewards of development—not exploiters of public trust.

The controversy has also divided the surrounding community. While some local youth groups have voiced support for the Council, accusing critics of waging a politically motivated smear campaign, others are calling for an overhaul of Polytechnic leadership altogether.

This fracture highlights the precarious intersection of politics and education in Nigeria—a relationship that often muddies institutional governance and diverts focus from student-centric priorities.

The situation at Delta State Polytechnic, Ogwashi-Uku, is not just a local crisis—it’s a microcosm of the accountability deficit that plagues many Nigerian institutions. The allegations of corruption, ghost payments, and procurement fraud demand a swift, transparent response—not just from the school, but from the Delta State Ministry of Higher Education and anti-graft agencies.

Stakeholders are urging a series of immediate reforms: An independent forensic audit of all Council-managed accounts and procurements; Public disclosure of all allowances, reimbursements, and travel-related expenditures by Council members and Mandatory conflict-of-interest declarations for all Governing Council members.

Without these steps, the institution risks not just reputational damage—but functional collapse.

Delta State Polytechnic, Ogwashi‑Uku, was designed to be a launchpad for innovation, a driver of regional development, and a symbol of Nigeria’s capacity to cultivate homegrown excellence. Its lecture halls, labs, and workshops still pulse with that promise.

But the rot at the top threatens to hollow out its foundation.

The task ahead is clear: remove the cobwebs of corruption, restore integrity to governance, and return focus to where it belongs—on the students, faculty, and the future they are working to build.

Until then, the Polytechnic remains a paradox: a shining institution overshadowed by the very hands entrusted to protect it.