Politics in Kogi State is like a three-legged pot, standing on Igala, Egbira, and Okun. If one leg breaks, the pot tilts, and the soup spills. Yet, despite being Omaye (brothers), these three groups often struggle to cook a meal together. Elections come, and rather than sitting at the same table, they fight over who should hold the spoon. But must it always be like this? Can they not, like good neighbors, build a house where everyone has a room?
Power in Kogi State once sat comfortably with the Igala people, like a king on a throne. From the creation of the state in 1991, the Igala, being the majority, took the driver’s seat. For years, they held the steering wheel, directing the affairs of the state. But power is like the wind; it does not stay in one place forever. The night Prince Abubakar Audu died in 2015 was the night Igala’s grip on power slipped. It was like a giant tree struck by lightning, falling unexpectedly. That night, history changed, and the political landscape of Kogi was redrawn.
The All Progressives Congress (APC) had already won the election, but Audu’s death created a vacuum. Instead of picking another Igala son to complete what had been started, the party shifted power to the Egbira through Yahaya Bello. It was like a farmer planting a yam and another person harvesting it. Since that moment, the Igala, who once controlled the political narrative of Kogi, have struggled to return to power. They have tried, like a fisherman casting his net into the river, but the catch has been disappointing. The Social Democratic Party (SDP) gave them hope in the last election, but like a bird with a broken wing, it could not fly high enough.
Kogi’s politics is an interesting drama, a play where the actors keep changing roles, but the script remains the same. The battle for power is fierce, yet the people, the ordinary men and women in the streets of Lokoja, Idah, Okene, and Kabba, often remain bystanders, watching the game unfold. While the elites fight over who should sit on the throne, the common man is left struggling with bad roads, poor healthcare, and schools without teachers.
Jesus Christ once said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” This truth echoes loudly in Kogi’s politics. The state was designed to be a unity project, a place where the North, Central, and West would work together like a choir singing in harmony. But instead of harmony, there has been discord, like a drum beaten out of rhythm.
The politics of “our turn” has defined Kogi’s leadership battles. The Igala once held power for many years, and when it slipped away, they have sought every means to reclaim it. The Egbira, now in power, believe they should consolidate their grip. The Okun people, though fewer in number, are watching and hoping for their own day in the sun. But what happens when every group is waiting for their turn instead of working together? It becomes a relay race where no one ever reaches the finish line.
Saint Augustine once said, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.” If Kogi must move forward, its leaders must embrace unity where it matters—good governance, development, and justice. Elections will always come and go, but development should not be seasonal. The roads in Kogi do not know if an Igala, Egbira, or Okun man is in power. The hospitals do not ask patients which tribe they belong to before treating them. Poverty does not recognize ethnicity. Hunger does not check voter registration cards.
Power, when not properly managed, is like water held in a leaking basket. It keeps slipping away, no matter how tightly one grips it. The Igala, after losing power, have been trying to patch the holes, hoping to hold water again. The Egbira, now in charge, must learn from history, for power that is not used wisely often moves to another hand. The Okun, though yet to taste full leadership, must not sit and wait for a turn that may never come but must position themselves strategically.
But politics is not just about who holds power; it is also about how power is used. When power becomes a tool of oppression, voices are silenced, and democracy suffers. Chief Austin Okai, a fierce critic of the government and a strong voice for the opposition, has been in detention. His case is a reminder that power can either be a shield that protects the people or a sword that cuts down dissenters. When leaders begin to see critics as enemies rather than as checks and balances, democracy is in danger. The story of Chief Austin Okai is not just his personal struggle; it is a reflection of the state of politics in Kogi. If leaders cannot handle opposition, then leadership becomes dictatorship in disguise.
Yet, an interesting shift is happening in Kogi’s political space. Many Igala people, despite losing power, have begun to praise Governor Usman Ododo for what they describe as a more responsible style of governance. Unlike his spiritual father, Yahaya Bello, who was heavily criticized for handling the state like a personal estate, Ododo appears to be taking a different path. It is as if the son is correcting the mistakes of his father. The same Igala people who once resisted his emergence are now watching with cautious optimism, seeing glimpses of a leader who might finally understand that governance is about service, not self-interest.
This development raises an important question: Can Kogi politics finally move beyond the bitterness of ethnic rivalry? If an Egbira governor can win the praise of the Igala people, then perhaps there is hope. Maybe, just maybe, Kogi can break free from the cycle of ethnic politics and focus on competence. Power should not be a prize for a particular group but a responsibility to all. If Ododo can continue on this path, he might just set a new standard for leadership in Kogi—one that is not built on favoritism, revenge, or political godfatherism.
Nigeria has many states, but Kogi is unique. It sits at the heart of the country, a meeting point for different tribes and cultures. This should be its strength, but it has often been its weakness. Instead of working together to build a strong and prosperous state, ethnic politics has turned brothers into rivals. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, once said, “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, to all the people you can, as long as you ever can.” This should be the guiding principle of Kogi’s leaders. Governance should not be about personal gain but about service. Leadership should not be about securing power for one’s ethnic group but about improving the lives of all Kogites.
If Kogi must move forward, its three major ethnic groups must begin to see politics differently. Elections should not be battles for supremacy but opportunities to choose the best hands to move the state forward. Development should not be focused on one region while others are neglected. Appointments should not be given based on ethnic sentiments but on competence and merit. The time has come for a new political thinking, one that puts Kogi first before tribe.
Kogi’s three-legged pot must stand firm, or it will continue to tilt. The Igala, Egbira, and Okun must stop pulling each other down. A river does not drink its own water; it flows for others. The day these three groups agree to put the state’s interests above personal or ethnic ambitions, that is the day Kogi will rise. The future belongs to those who build, not those who destroy. The time to build is now.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah, Igalamela/Odolu
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