Obaseki’s Claims on Orhionmwon Land Grabbing are Misleading and Self-Serving

Obaseki’s Claims on Orhionmwon Land Grabbing are Misleading and Self-Serving

By Augustine Osayande PhD

Former Governor Godwin Obaseki’s recent comments accusing Pastor Osagie Ize-Iyamu and Hon. Dennis Idahosa of “harassing investors” in Orhionmwon and Ovia are yet another attempt to distort facts and evade accountability. His claims of land grabbing are not only unsubstantiated—they follow a familiar pattern in which he manufactures political villains to divert attention from the controversies and community grievances that defined his administration.

For a political officeholder who openly claims Oredo Local Government as his home base, Obaseki’s decision to allocate more than 250,000 hectares of land in Orhionmwon Local Government Area to Saro Oil Palm Limited—without due regard for the ownership rights and interests of the host communities—is deeply troubling. The people of Orhionmwon are not tenants of the state government, and they cannot be pushed aside simply because a governor wishes to curry favour with select investors. This unilateral style of governance, where critical community interests are sacrificed at the altar of executive discretion, is precisely what Edo people rejected at the polls.

For me, one of the most troubling episodes of the Obaseki years remains the ordeal faced by the Ologbo-Nugu community in Orhionmwon Local Government Area—a story that never received the level of attention it deserved. While Obaseki was still governor, the people of this small rural community were forced to issue a desperate Save-Our-Soul (SOS) message over what they described as the forceful takeover of their ancestral land by an agricultural firm.

Let me be clear: the community never opposed investment or industrial development. In fact, like many rural communities in Edo State, they welcomed meaningful projects that could create jobs and improve livelihoods. But what they could not accept—and rightly so—was the manner in which Barnsley Nigeria Limited (BNL), operators of SARO Farms, went about asserting total control over their land. Instead of being partners in development, the community members felt bulldozed, ignored, and pushed aside.

I remember the images of their protest—their placards telling their story better than any official statement. “SARO, leave 250 hectares for us to farm or quit our land.” “Stop deceiving us.” “SARO, stop oppressing us. This is the only land we have.” These were not political slogans; they were cries for survival from people whose only source of livelihood was at stake.

The community wasn’t being unreasonable. They demanded something simple, fair, and already promised: that 250 hectares of their land be left for them to farm. That was the agreement. That was the governor’s directive. Yet, even this modest allocation was allegedly denied them, leaving them with no space to grow food crops, no way to sustain themselves, and no explanation.

The testimony that struck me the most came from the Odionwere of Ologbo-Nugu, Pa Aduwa Osaigbovo, a 96-year-old custodian of the community. Imagine a man of that age, who should be spending his days in peace, forced to lead a protest because his people were being displaced. In his gentle but pained voice, he described the actions of SARO Farms as “crude and barbaric”—not words he would use lightly.

He lamented that the company ignored the governor’s instruction to leave part of the land for the community. And he reminded the state, in a way that only someone with nearly a century of lived experience can that food scarcity is real, and that denying people farmland is condemning them to hardship.
What happened in Ologbo-Nugu is not just a community’s struggle—it is a stark reminder of what happens when development is done without humanity, without consultation, and without respect for the people whose lives are directly affected.

It is also part of why many Edo people remain skeptical when they hear politicians speak about “investor protection.” True development does not come at the cost of dispossessing ordinary people. True investment uplifts—it does not erase communities.

Ologbo-Nugu’s cry for help still echoes today, and until their grievances are addressed, it will remain a symbol of what went wrong under a government that often chose investors over the very people it was elected to serve.

Obaseki’s long-standing habit of personalising governance and portraying dissenting voices as enemies has never served the state well. Edo people do not desire leadership driven by threats, bitterness, and self-righteousness. They expect responsibility, transparency, engagement, and respect for lawful processes—values that were too often sidelined during his eight years in power.

Throughout his tenure, Obaseki routinely blamed others—political godfathers, party members, traditional rulers, labour unions, civil society, and virtually anyone who dared to question his opaque land deals or his confrontational style of administration. His latest attempt to accuse Ize-Iyamu and Idahosa of wrongdoing is simply an extension of this defensive posture. Communities in Orhionmwon, Ovia, and other affected areas have, for years, expressed dissatisfaction with land allocations issued without adequate consultation or compensation.

These legitimate grievances cannot be swept aside by pointing fingers at political opponents.
The allegations against Ize-Iyamu and Idahosa remain without evidence. Both men have consistently championed transparency, accountability, and genuine community involvement in land administration—principles that stand in stark contrast to the secrecy that characterised many of Obaseki’s investment agreements. If the former governor has credible proof that they engaged in land grabbing or investor harassment, he should present it publicly. Otherwise, his claims amount to nothing more than an attempt to shield his past decisions from the scrutiny they deserve.

Even more revealing is Obaseki’s suggestion that these political actors were “bitter because they couldn’t get access” to him during his tenure. This remark confirms what many Edo people suspected: that governance under Obaseki had become centralised, closed-off, and dependent on personal relationships rather than institutional processes. Public office is not a private estate, and no elected official is entitled to gatekeep the functions of the state.

If investors have genuine concerns, they should direct them through proper administrative channels, not hide behind the name of a former governor to generate unnecessary tension or manipulate public perception.

Obaseki’s threat that Governor Monday Okpebholo “will regret” ongoing inquiries into land matters is equally alarming. Edo people voted overwhelmingly for transparency, reform, and a full review of previous land allocations. No amount of political posturing, intimidation, or emotional blackmail will halt the push for clarity and accountability. The new administration is duty-bound to investigate all contentious land deals and ensure that community rights are upheld.

The truth is simple: investment thrives when communities are respected, agreements are clear, and government decisions are transparent. The real enemy of investor confidence is secrecy, not oversight. It is opaque decision-making—not due process—that discourages credible investors and fuels resentment among host communities.
Obaseki’s attempt to cast himself as the protector of investors does not align with the lived reality of the communities most affected by his policies. Edo State has now entered a new era—one committed to fairness, openness, community engagement, and shared prosperity.

In the end, Obaseki’s latest outburst deserves just one response: dismissal. Edo people have moved on, and no attempt to rewrite history or shift blame will change the record of his administration or obstruct the work of the current government.

Augustine Osayande, PhD contributed this piece from Abuja via austinelande@yahoo.com

Obaseki’s Claims on Orhionmwon Land Grabbing are Misleading and Self-Serving