This is more than a story about bad roads, abandoned projects, or the difference between two neighbouring communities. It is a painful reflection of the state of Edo and the tragedy of a people who appear to have lost sight of their own possibilities.
There was a time when Edo was regarded as the elder brother—the mother from which Delta emerged. Yet today, a journey from Urhonigbe in Edo to neighbouring Umutu in Delta can feel like crossing an invisible border from neglect into development. Good roads, functioning streetlights, hotels, and a 24-hour solar-powered water supply greet the visitor on one side, while potholes, darkness, inadequate infrastructure and the absence of visible benefits from our enormous natural resources confront him on the other.
The irony is heartbreaking.
Orhionmwon sits on enormous oil and gas wealth, yet many of its communities still struggle with basic infrastructure. What should ordinarily be a blessing has become almost invisible to the ordinary citizen. Meanwhile, neighbouring communities in Delta State demonstrate what can happen when leadership, planning and development are given serious attention.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy is not that Delta is developing. We should celebrate the progress of our neighbours. The tragedy is that Edo, with its rich history, abundant human resources, intellectual capacity and enormous potential, appears to be watching from behind.
The story of Akwa Ibom should also provoke serious reflection. Its transformation demonstrates that development is not necessarily about where a state started, but about the quality of vision, planning, continuity and leadership. The mention of professionals such as Engr. Daniel Enahoro, an Edo indigene who designed the structural component of the Bank of Industry headquarters in Abuja, reminds us that we do not lack competent sons and daughters. What we often lack is the deliberate policy of identifying, trusting and utilising our own human capital.
We must therefore ask ourselves the uncomfortable question: What happened to us?
Perhaps Edo does not need another political argument. Perhaps we need a conversation with ourselves—a genuine Edo Development Summit or Town Hall Meeting, where politics is temporarily put aside and Edo people sit together as one family to confront the reality before us.
We should stop asking only, “Who is responsible?” and begin asking, “What are we going to do about it?”
Our elders built institutions. Our professionals have excelled across Nigeria and the world. Our sons and daughters occupy important positions in government, business, academia and the professions. We have oil, agriculture, forests, tourism, a strategic geographical location and a remarkable history. Yet development remains uneven and, in many communities, painfully inadequate.
There is a profound irony here: the state that once stood as an elder brother now finds itself learning lessons from its younger neighbour. It is a painful reversal of fortunes—an earthly illustration of the biblical paradox that “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.”
But this must not be the end of the story.
Edo can rise again.
The question is whether we are prepared to put aside partisan politics, tribal sentiments, personal interests and the search for political appointments, and begin a serious conversation about the future of our state.
Let us talk to ourselves.
Let the professionals speak. Let the traditional institutions speak. Let our businessmen and women speak. Let our youths speak. Let our academics speak. Let our political leaders listen. Let those in the diaspora contribute their knowledge and resources.
Edo does not lack people. Edo does not lack talent. Edo does not lack history. Edo does not lack resources. What Edo desperately needs is a collective vision, purposeful leadership, continuity and the courage to demand better.
May the pain we feel today become the awakening that our state needs.
May we rediscover the Edo that once inspired others.
May God bless Edo State.
JULIUS EKHOVBIYE ONAGHISE
WRITES FROM BENIN CITY
