History is not kind to people who live only for today. Nations rise when generations think ahead, and communities fall when leaders act as if tomorrow does not exist. The Igala people stand at such a time. The question before us is simple but heavy: will we be remembered as a people who inherited greatness and wasted it, or as a people who built a lasting socio-political legacy for their children?
An old Igala proverb captures this truth with piercing clarity: Oma ki jenyu nwu Attah nwu ajenyu nw’ola enwu onugo ge—when a child praises his father, he praises himself. In plain terms, a person’s success is tied to their roots. When you honour your heritage, you strengthen your future. When you disgrace it, you weaken yourself.
Legacy is not about nostalgia. It is not about chanting the glory of the past while failing in the present. Legacy is what a people deliberately build; through institutions, leadership culture, values, and political consciousness: that survives them.
The Igala once understood power, organization, and continuity. The Igala ruling in Luggard house from state creation was not accidental; it was a carefully sustained political structure rooted in authority, responsibility, and communal identity. Leadership was not perfect, but it was purposeful. Today, that sense of continuity has been broken. Power has become personal, not collective. Politics has become transactional, not strategic. Elections are fought as battles of survival, not opportunities to advance a people’s long-term interest.
The result is visible. Despite having numbers, intellect, history, and cultural depth, the Igala political voice remains weak and fragmented. Talented sons and daughters rise individually, but the group falls collectively. We celebrate appointments but ignore institutions. We praise individuals while the Igala unification system continue to collapses beneath them.
A socio-political legacy begins with memory. A people who forget where they are coming from will not know where they are going. The Igala problem is not lack of intelligence or opportunity; it is lack of coordinated purpose. Everyone is running, but not in the same direction. Like a canoe where each paddler rows his own way, the boat goes in circles.
Legacy also demands sacrifice. Those who built enduring political traditions elsewhere did not always benefit personally. They laid foundations they knew others would enjoy. Today, many Igala leaders think only in terms of tenure, contracts, and loyalty to power blocs outside their homeland. There is little investment in mentoring younger leaders, strengthening local political structures, or protecting collective interests. When leadership becomes a ladder for personal escape, the community remains trapped.
The proverb reminds us that when a child praises his father, he praises himself. This means that when today’s leaders build honourable structures, tomorrow’s Igala children will walk taller in Nigeria. But when leaders destroy trust, trade unity for favour, and mortgage the future for short-term gain, it is the unborn that will pay the price.
A true socio-political legacy also requires unity without uniformity. Unity does not mean silence or blind agreement. It means shared priorities. It means that despite party differences, there are red lines that must not be crossed when Igala collective interest is at stake. Other groups in Nigeria understand this unwritten rule. They quarrel internally, but close ranks when it matters. The Igala too often export their internal battles to the national stage, weakening their bargaining power.
Another pillar of legacy is values. What do we reward in our politics? Is it competence or connections? Is it integrity or intimidation? When money becomes the only language of politics, the poorest voices are silenced and the future is sold to the highest bidder. A people who want a future must raise leaders, not just winners of elections.
Socio-political legacy is also about storytelling. Every strong group controls its narrative. Who tells the Igala story today, and how is it told? Too often, others define us; our relevance, our weaknesses, our role. Without a conscious effort to document history, promote thought leadership, and shape public discourse, a people gradually disappear from serious national conversations. Silence is not neutrality; it is erasure.
The Igala must therefore move from reaction to strategy. Strategy means long-term planning beyond election cycles. It means investing in political education, supporting credible platforms, grooming leaders early, and building alliances from a position of self-respect, not desperation. It means asking hard questions before clapping at rallies: how does this choice serve the Igala ten years from now?
Legacy is not built by one messiah. It is built by systems that outlive individuals. Strong advisory councils, credible cultural institutions, independent thinkers, and accountable leadership structures are more important than any single powerful figure. When systems are weak, strong men become dangerous. When systems are strong, leadership becomes service.
The proverb does not flatter us; it challenges us. If future Igala children cannot praise us with pride, then we have failed them. If they inherit confusion instead of clarity, division instead of direction, then our titles and positions will mean nothing.
The task before the Igala people is urgent but not impossible. Other groups have rebuilt from worse positions through intentional leadership and collective discipline. What is required is courage; to think beyond self, beyond party, beyond today.
In the end, legacy asks a simple moral question: what did you leave behind? Power fades. Positions expire. But the structures you build, the values you defend, and the unity you protect will speak long after you are gone. When the Igala choose to honour their roots with wisdom and foresight, they will not only praise their fathers, they will secure their own future.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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