They promised us light but handed us lanterns. They swore on ancestral thrones, yet turned our lands into ghost towns. From Dekina to Ibaji, silence greets the promise of progress. Roads crumble like forgotten oaths, hospitals wheeze without breath, and schools recite the same outdated curriculum of abandonment. The Igala people, once kings among tribes, now find themselves at the mercy of their own political children who traded vision for vanity and destiny for diesel contracts. The myth of Igala dominance has not just cracked — it has shattered like a calabash dropped by careless heirs.
The fall was not sudden; it was whispered into reality through years of compromise, coated with titles and peppered with praise-singing. What began as hope degenerated into hunger. Our leaders, once entrusted with the fire of Ayegba’s legacy, now warm their bellies by the firewood of Abuja contracts. Development here is no longer measured by lives changed but by how many buildings carry one man’s name. The cries of widows in Idah and the frustration of jobless graduates in Anyigba are not just statistics — they are indictments written in the tears of a betrayed people.
In place of conscience, we have convenience. Loyalty has been auctioned in the market of personal gain, where political thrones are exchanged for token appointments. Igala politics mutated into the politics of stomach infrastructure, where the only qualification is who you know and what you can sell — even if it’s your people’s future. And the church, once the soul of our land, now anoints oppressors and calls them ‘destiny helpers.’ Prophets are now contractors. Our voices have become echoes, and our thrones mere decoration.
But the youths are no longer clapping. They are watching — not with folded arms but sharpened minds. The era of docility is dying. There is a stirring beneath the soil, a movement within the margins. From grassroots thinkers to returnee dreamers, a new generation is refusing to inherit failure. They’re not waiting for power to be handed down — they’re building from the ground up, with passion, prayer, and purpose. They may not have godfathers, but they have God. And that alone is power enough.
Still, if we must rise, we must first repent. Igala land does not need another election; it needs a resurrection — of values, of vision, of voice. Our problem is not the other tribe; it is the betrayal within. Our thrones are not weak; they have just been hijacked by men with loud mouths and small minds. Let us not build statues for those who broke our backs. Let us not clap for mediocrity with both hands. Let us not say “e no concern me” when the roof is already on fire.
The blood of our ancestors is speaking. The voice of Ata Idoko still cries from the river: Igala ny’eneche, oma nyogba. We were never built for begging. We were carved for leadership, molded for sacrifice, and crowned for responsibility. We must return to our Ibegu — to the sacred codes that frown at betrayal and spit on political greed. The land is tired of promises. It demands justice, renewal, and truth.
So let the drums sound again, not for another thief, but for a rebirth. Let the masquerades dance, not for a decaying throne, but for a fresh covenant. Let the people rise, not to clap, but to choose wisely. Because if we miss this moment, we won’t just lose power — we will lose purpose. And a people without purpose is already buried, even if they still breathe.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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