In the dim alleys of Kogi politics, the Igala race walks barefoot through a garden it once ruled with both ancestral tact and democratic elegance. Where lions once roared, echoes of concession now reverberate. Once the formidable crown-bearers of Kogi’s eastern corridor, the Igala bloc has suffered a slow erosion—from authoritative architects of the state’s formation to shadows whispering in corridors where they once thundered. The tragedy? It is not the loss of the governorship, but the loss of voice, vision, and verve. We did not merely get outplayed; we underplayed our own hand. Not by weakness, but by willing complicity. As Ibrahim Idris once remarked in a quiet post-election conversation, “The real problem is not the ballot, but the betrayal behind it.”
Igala leaders, past and present, now stand divided between silence and sentimentality, either reminiscing about the past or romancing with present oppressors. The emergence of political chameleons—those who sit at the feasting tables of those who plundered Igala mandates—has deepened this descent. While other ethnic groups tighten their grip on destiny, Igala elite scatter theirs like ashes in a whirlwind of ego and envy. The word “push over” is no longer an insult from outsiders; it is a bitter nickname we assigned ourselves through years of inaction, misalignment, and moral fatigue. Edward Onoja once alluded, with a sting of resignation, “Politics is not kindness—it is strategy. We’ve lacked that for too long.”
We have become the only ethnic majority that votes like a minority. Our enemies do not fear our numbers, because we no longer fear our disunity. Once a single directive from Anyigba to Ankpa could sway an entire election, but today, the voices are fragmented, the loyalties auctioned, and the pride bartered. The Igala political structure, once a fortified citadel, has become a leaking tent pitched on shifting sand. Late Prince Abubakar Audu may have been flawed, but he understood one truth most of his successors refused to acknowledge: “Power is not given—it is taken, and sustained by common resolve.”
No region flourishes when its brightest minds are exiled from the battlefield. Our youth, gifted and eager, have watched the old guard entangle themselves in fruitless vendettas and political brokerage. Men who once swore by the land of Ibaji and hills of Dekina now dance to the flute of Lokoja. When did it become noble to eat alone while your people fast? When did betrayal become strategy? When did silence replace courage? The Igala political soul is not dead—it is only sedated by sugar-coated rewards. We need thinkers who can rally the fragmented spirit, not just aspirants who rehearse defeat with decorated grammar.
If we must rise again, it cannot be on nostalgia. It must be on deliberate reinvention. Our silence must grow fangs, our disunity must be exorcised. Political rebirth begins when local kings stop kneeling to foreign crowns. We must build consensus not just around persons but around purpose. This resurrection demands not just votes, but vision. Not just ballots, but backbone. Real power belongs to people who not only shout during campaigns but build structures during silence. The Igala must evolve from political spectators to power restorers. The future is not for those who wait—it is for those who reclaim.
Let no man deceive himself with the illusion that time will correct our fate. Time is neutral. We must become aggressive curators of our own narrative. There is no liberation without confrontation. We must confront our past with honesty, our present with unity, and our future with bold intelligence. Power is not emotion—it is organization. And we must organize—not to beg—but to bargain. Not to chant—but to challenge. If this generation fails, it would not be for lack of numbers, but for absence of spine.
Let history not remember us as the generation that watched the Igala kingdom bleed and said nothing. Let the rivers of Idah witness that we raised our voices again. We are not push overs—we are people with history, with numbers, with thinkers, with a cause. It is time to rise—not with swords—but with strategy. Not with tears—but with truth. For the dignity of the Igala name, let us rise and restore.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
08152094428 (SMS Only)
