The bane of Igala leadership is not an absence of followers, but a crippling overcommitment to sentimental loyalty. One of our tragedies isn’t that good men are scarce—it is that we keep bad company too long. In the corridors of power, we confuse longevity with legitimacy, and presence with purpose. Great visions have collapsed under the weight of emotional attachments that refused to discern the seasons. The crisis is not that we lack builders, but that we empower spectators and crown them as stakeholders. Leadership, at its core, is not emotional consensus—it is strategic alignment.
You can deeply love a man whose destiny is not entwined with yours. This is the mature agony of leadership. The rivers that nourish us also flood us when their timing is misunderstood. Not every friend belongs on the battlefield of vision. Some are called to your life, not your leadership. Yet we keep dragging old acquaintances into new wineskins. We put square hearts in round purposes and expect revival. In truth, not everyone is wired for your next level. Love them, release them, bless them—but do not burden your future with their weight.
“The river does not refuse the frog, but the crocodile must not be called friend.” — Prof. Ejeh Adah. His words revibrates across time, especially now, as Kogi East flirts with a dangerous nostalgia. We want to win elections without offending the uncommitted. We want to build legacies with men who fear sacrifice. Vision without pruning becomes vegetation. This is not cruelty; it is the precision of destiny. The tree that refuses to shed its dead leaves deprives new ones of sunlight. Until we learn to cut with discernment, we will keep bleeding behind smiles.
Some people were never meant to stay. Their assignment ended three seasons ago, but our reluctance to release them has turned allies into liabilities. In Kogi East, scaffolds have become shrines. We worship the memory of what someone once did and ignore the dysfunction of what they have now become. We romanticize their history and empower their inertia. The result? A region filled with titles and thrones but starving for functional leadership. We must remember: honour does not mean holding on. It means letting go, rightly.
“To keep a man whose heart is not in your journey is to walk with a ghost.” — Barr. Yakubu Obaje. These are no longer just poetic words. They are the diagnosis of our political paralysis. We are led by men whose feet are with us, but whose souls have long defected. We are encircled by advisors who speaks of our sentiments but betray our strategies. These are the deadweights of vision—polished, positioned, but purposeless. And the longer we keep them, the costlier the delay of our collective rising.
Leadership is not about keeping everyone happy. It is about keeping the vision alive. The highest proof of growth is the courage to release people who no longer fit, even if they once mattered. The firewood that cooked yesterday’s meal may be too damp for today’s hunger. The Igala man must rediscover the sacred rhythm of transition. Our ancestors knew when to bless, when to bow out, and when to burn bridges for the sake of renewal. We have forgotten. We hold on to familiarity at the expense of functionality.
“He who fears the new yam refuses to plant.” — an old Igala proverb. But the season of planting is now. Kogi East must reimagine its leadership code. It is no longer about how long you’ve been in the room, but whether you still carry light. We must stop dragging expired voices into eternal conversations. This generation is not asking for perfection, only direction. And that direction begins with a ruthless, yet sacred reset—one that removes with love and aligns with purpose. Let the pruning begin.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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