In Nigerian politics, loyalty is often fleeting; negotiated, traded, and discarded when power shifts. Alliances fracture easily, and yesterday’s brother or sister becomes today’s rival. Yet, on rare occasions, a political journey emerges that is not driven solely by ambition, but by blood, memory, and a people’s unresolved demand for justice. Omaye’s journey belongs to that rare and difficult category.
To understand the present political stirrings in Kogi East, and the renewed momentum behind the call for Okura statehood; one must first grasp a deeply rooted Nigerian truth: Omaye – the bond of shared motherhood, shared blood, shared origin. In a political culture that rewards opportunism, Omaye represents a deliberate refusal to abandon kinship, even when the road ahead leads through hell and high water.
For decades, Kogi East has existed at the periphery of Nigeria’s political imagination. It is a region rich in human potential, cultural depth, and economic promise, yet persistently shortchanged in representation, infrastructure, and political influence. The agitation for Okura state is therefore not a cartographic exercise; it is a moral claim. It is a question posed to the Nigerian state: why must equity always arrive late or not at all?
Omaye’s political engagement with this cause has been neither comfortable nor cost-free. To align openly with Kogi East’s aspirations is to confront entrenched interests, challenge inherited power structures, and accept the isolation that often follows principled dissent. Nigerian politics rarely rewards those who disturb established arrangements; more often, it punishes them. Still, Omaye persists.
What distinguishes this political journey is its communal character. It is not framed as a personal crusade, but as a shared responsibility; rooted in ancestry, sustained by collective memory, and driven by obligation rather than spectacle. In a system that encourages politicians to ascend alone, Omaye insists on moving with his people, bound by origin and sustained by a common vision of dignity and self-determination.
Predictably, critics label the Okura state movement as premature, impractical, or politically inconvenient. But Nigeria’s own history offers a counterargument: no meaningful restructuring has ever occurred because it was convenient. States were created because agitation endured, voices refused to soften, and persistence outlasted suppression. Political reality in Nigeria has always been shaped by those who refused to be ignored.
The growing momentum behind Okura state reflects a wider national awakening. Across the country, citizens are increasingly rejecting symbolic inclusion in favor of structural equity. They demand governance that is closer, more accountable, and more responsive to local realities. They seek representation that understands not only their geography, but their history, language, and lived experience.
For Omaye, standing within this moment carries undeniable risk. Nigerian politics is unforgiving to those who prioritize principle over expediency. It invites misinformation, betrayal, and strategic sabotage. Yet leadership, in its truest form, is not defined by safety. It is defined by moral clarity. That is by recognizing the moment when silence becomes complicity.
As Kogi East stands at this critical juncture, the central question is no longer whether the struggle for Okura state is justified. It is whether enough leaders are willing to bear its cost. Through hell and high water, Omaye has chosen endurance over convenience, kinship over calculation, and purpose over position.
History rarely remembers those who played it safe. It remembers those who stood firm when standing was dangerous—and who carried their people forward when the waters rose.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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