The burial of former Kogi State Governor Ibrahim Idris in Abuja has raised a question that reaches beyond the solemnity of death: when a former governor is laid to rest in the nation’s capital rather than in his home state, should we ask whether insecurity is changing our relationship with home?
Idris, who died in the United Kingdom on September 20, 2026, at 77, governed Kogi from 2003 to 2012. The state government declared three days of mourning and announced that he would receive a state burial. Yet his family ultimately buried him at Gudu Cemetery in Abuja after the Janazah prayer at the National Mosque. The family said the decision was in accordance with his personal wish.
That explanation deserves respect. It would be irresponsible to turn a personal burial preference into an accusation that Kogi was considered unsafe. There is no credible evidence that the family chose Abuja because of fear of bandits. The fact remains, however, that Kogi is confronting genuine security concerns, particularly in parts of Kogi East. In August, the state government convened security agencies and community leaders over renewed kidnapping incidents along the Itobe–Anyigba corridor.
This is where the burial becomes a larger civic question. What happens to a society when its people begin to think twice before returning home? In Nigeria, home is more than a geographical location. It is ancestry, memory, identity and belonging. It is where families bury their dead and where communities preserve the stories of those who came before them. When insecurity threatens that connection, the damage is not measured only in kidnappings and ransom payments.
Kogi must therefore confront insecurity without allowing the debate to diminish the legacy of a former governor. Idris was not a perfect politician, nor should death erase legitimate scrutiny of his years in office. But his administration also made contributions to infrastructure, education, healthcare and institutional development, according to the current state government. His years in office remain an important chapter in Kogi’s political history.
There is another fact worth remembering. In August, 21 people abducted along the Alloma–Ejule–Itobe axis were rescued in a coordinated operation involving the military, police, DSS, local hunters and vigilante groups. The rescue was welcome. But the incident also illustrates the difficult reality facing communities along vulnerable routes: security cannot be judged only by the number of victims rescued after an attack. The real test is whether citizens can travel without becoming targets in the first place.
That is why the question should not be, “Why was Ibrahim Idris not buried in Kogi?” His family has given an answer. The more important question is: “Are Kogi communities safe enough for people to return home without fear?” Those are different questions, and the second deserves a serious answer from government, security agencies, traditional institutions and the communities themselves.
A state cannot claim lasting security simply because criminals are occasionally defeated. Security means safe roads, protected communities, reliable intelligence, effective policing and the confidence to move without fear. It means that a farmer can return to his village, a student can travel home, a family can celebrate a wedding and mourn its dead without calculating the risk of kidnapping.
Ibrahim Idris served Kogi, and Kogi has mourned him. The current administration has honoured his memory, while his family has carried out the burial according to his wishes. His final resting place, therefore, should not become a political accusation. It should become an opportunity for sober reflection.
Because the deepest question is not where one former governor was buried. It is whether ordinary Kogites still feel that home is home.
If people can no longer travel freely to their ancestral communities, if families fear returning for ceremonies, and if the village becomes a place visited only when circumstances permit, then insecurity has taken something from society that no ransom can restore.
Home must remain more than where we come from. It must remain somewhere we can safely return to.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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