By Chris Osa Nehikhare
A seemingly ordinary visit to a car stereo technician’s workshop became an unexpected lens through which the true sentiments of the people came into sharp focus.
As we tried to fix a malfunctioning car stereo in my son’s vehicle, I couldn’t help but notice the mood among the technicians. Beneath the sound of tools and the rhythmic beats from other functioning stereos, a mockery echoed: “Edo is Shining! Edo is Shining!” The words, once meant to inspire pride and project progress, were now being used sarcastically—taunts passed between young men who clearly felt disillusioned by the realities they faced daily.
They laughed, but not out of joy. The slogan had become a bitter joke, a punchline in their shared frustration. Around us, the evidence of their cynicism was hard to ignore—filthy surroundings, blocked drainage, overflowing refuse bins, and a general atmosphere of neglect. These were not the scenes of a city “shining.” These were symptoms of governance gone tone-deaf.
Their grievances went further. They spoke of government agents—often called agberos or thugs—whose aggressive behavior made daily life not only frustrating but sometimes dangerous. These agents, emboldened by the silence of the state, often act with impunity, harassing traders, motorists, and ordinary citizens in the name of revenue collection or traffic control. Instead of being public servants, they have become public threats.
One phrase particularly struck a chord: “scavengers in government.” It was their way of describing the insatiable greed and impropriety they believe characterizes some state officials. These so-called leaders, they said, are not building the state—they are picking its bones clean. From alleged financial infractions, to outright theft, the people feel they are being governed not with vision but by vultures. In just 8 months, this government has suspended or accused more senior appointees than the previous government did in eight years for “financial infractions”. I hope someone will call the governor and give him this stat! And this government is less than 40% constituted.
And as the conversation continued, one truth became increasingly clear: the people are watching. The electorate may be poor, they may be battered, but they are not blind. Take the electorate for granted, and they will teach you a lesson.
This impromptu political clinic in the backstreets of Benin City left me reflecting deeply. Government is supposed to be about service, about leadership, about hope. But when the only thing shining in a city is the sheen of official propaganda, the people will see through it—and they will speak, even if only in jest, in garages and markets, on street corners and keke rides.
Edo cannot shine if its streets are dirty, its people harassed, its treasury looted, and its leaders detached. Real leadership is not in billboards or slogans; it is in clean streets, empowered youths, responsive institutions, and a government that earns—not demands—the respect of its citizens.
Until then, the people will continue to speak. And leaders, if they are wise, would do well to listen.
