Audu Ogbeh was one noble son of Benue I would have loved to meet. He had something I admire, a keen sense of analysis resulting from an equally acute sense of awareness, a down-to-earth appreciation of everyday riddles with specific regard to the way they affect Nigeria.
His patriotic concern for his beloved country was not in doubt. Ogbeh could speak on any subject about Nigeria with the steadfast familiarity of a thoroughbred. He could speak in one bound, off the cuff, reeling out facts and figures with such fluid knowledge of the matter at hand that often left his audience staring at him in wonder.
As far as orators go in Nigeria, Ogbeh would be mentioned in the same breath as Maitama Sule, Joe Garba, Babagana Kingibe, Walter Ofonagoro, Tom Ikimi, Uche Chukwumerije, Chukwuemeka Chikelu, and Emeka Odumegwu Ojukwu. He was blessed with the gift of the garb, the sort of crusading eloquence that I would like to possess. He spoke with a resonant clarity that compelled attention.
And to think that this man was one student of literature who had not been sufficiently celebrated in that light. He was the author of Epitaph for Simon Kisulu , a play that enjoyed rave reviews highlighting the indomitable spirit of the men and women who struggled to let the world understand that you don’t claim superiority over another on the basis of skin colour. Simon Kisulu was the fictional alter ego of Walter Sisulu, the fiery South African activist, a contemporary of Nelson Mandela, in the heydays of apartheid.
Ogbeh, in short, was equipped with common sense solutions that still stare our country in the face, solutions we recognise but simply refuse to take, knowing that they would lead us along the path of rectitude, along the proverbial path of righteousness, which amounts to doing what is right in the sight of God, with conscience as witness.
He was puzzled about a number of fundamental flaws in the character of Nigeria. As far as he could tell, Nigerians have an obtuse sense of humour, such that they laugh at what they should be frowning upon, and frown at what they should be laughing at. Nigerians have, in the parlance of the day, an attitude problem, what the South African writer, Can Themba, would call a “devil may take the hind legs” disposition towards their country.
Ogbeh was the sort of man who could raise testy questions about Nigeria, and he had cause to speak up at the most trying times of our nation. His lament always came in valid. Nigeria is not quite the same country anymore, he would declare with an apparent ache in the heart. There is evidence of mismanagement of resources, and a blatant disregard for anything that works in the overall interest of the nation. Human life itself is taken for granted in Nigeria today, rated as it is, beneath the life of cows.
I say Ogbeh was one man I used to watch frequently on national television when I was a young student at the University of Port Harcourt in the days when he served as Minister of Communications, 1982 to 1983, under the government of President Shehu Shagari; and later Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development, 2015 to 2019, under the government of President Muhammadu Buhari. A one-time Chairman of the Peoples Democratic Party, he later resigned to join the All Progressives Congress.
The story behind his resignation is no less intriguing. It takes its roots from Ogbeh’s blunt outspokenness. By his own confession — and this can be verified in the everlasting records of the internet — he had taken vehement exception to a point of view canvassed by Obasanjo. The President could not stand the effrontery of the man from Benue. He called him out of the blue, and told him to prepare a delicious lunch of pounded yam and the most famous Benue soup to go with it.
He would stop by at the Minister’s house to enjoy the meal. Ogbeh wondered why the President would come for lunch under his humble roof after that particularly heated argument, but he went ahead to give his wife instructions and get busy in the kitchen. Perhaps Mr. President had seen reason after all. Perhaps he wanted to mend fences over the earlier misunderstanding.
At the appointed time, the President arrived amid a blare of sirens and a truly intimidating retinue of security staff. Ogbeh felt he was under siege, but he went ahead to put up the good face of a welcoming host. The President did not hide the fact that he enjoyed the meal of pounded yam and traditional Idoma soup.
Chatting freely, exchanging cheerful banters with his host, Obasanjo washed his hands, dried them, belched to his heart’s content, and drank a mug of water. Then he dipped his hand into the depths of his agbada, and brought out an envelope. In it was a document that Ogbeh soon recognised as his own resignation letter with his name duly typed at the bottom.
“Sign here,” said the President, as if nothing untoward was happening. Ogbeh did as the President requested.
“Thank you for your services,” said Obasanjo. “You have just resigned your appointment.”
And, without further ado, Obasanjo walked out to join the presidential fleet, and zoomed off in a rage of sirens. The former Minister could only stare through the window, wondering what this was all about, wondering if his life and the lives of his family members were safe. He could do no more than gripe. His loud but forthright opinions had cost him his job, but then he had no regrets for speaking his mind.
Ogbeh, in short, had the capacity to hold an audience in thrall for the better part of one hour and still sound fresh all the way. To listen to him was to be confronted with the truth in all its naked appeal, always accompanied by an entourage of facts, figures, data and statistics reeled off hand, and the audience would wish him to continue even when he had come to a stop. He did it again when he spoke at a public forum on his analysis of what he called “The Tragedy of Nigeria.”
The clip, short as it was, promptly went viral on the internet. It might have been a short clip, but it still reverberates beyond its immediate purview to touch upon the salient questions confronting Nigeria today. According to Ogbeh, Nigeria’s problems began in 1986 when the Federal Government accepted to devalue our national currency, the Naira. He should know. He was walking the corridors of power at the time in question, at the ministerial level, no less. He was in his vibrant 30s then.
And the big shame of it, he said, was that we kept devaluing our currency as many times as the International Monetary Fund demanded. “We were told that our currency was over-valued and we believed it,” said Audu. “Who does that? Which self-respecting country does that? But Nigeria did.”
If he had more time, Ogbeh would have gladly expatiated on so much more. He was, without doubt, a man who knew how to build a solid argument on the spur of the moment to canvas his point of view. It takes a patriot to change the mindset of a nation, and if Nigeria was in short supply of patriots, Ogbeh could jolly well have led the way, or else groomed a younger generation of patriots like a well-meaning teacher in a classroom.
Alas, the man died on 9 August 2025, leaving behind many unfulfilled dreams. He is sorely missed by his immediate family in Efugo and Otukpo, to say nothing of a train of admirers around the country, among which number I count as one.
