By Zuokumor Taremi
emomotimi7@gmail.com
For decades, the Ijaw people of Delta State have watched as their lands and creeks yield the oil wealth that sustains Nigeria, yet they remain abandoned by the very governments that should protect and uplift them. From Ojobo in Burutu to Ogulagha, Gbaramatu, Oporoza, and beyond, the story is the same: no roads, no schools, no hospitals, no electricity. And so, we ask, with all the weight of history on our backs: what did the Ijaw do wrong to Delta State governments, past and present?
Did we err by being born in the creeks, far from the tarred highways of Asaba and Warri? Is our “sin” that our land is difficult to reach, though oil companies manage to build billion-dollar flow stations in the very same mangroves? Did we do wrong by giving our votes faithfully during every election, only to be met with silence once the ballot boxes are gone?
Since the discovery of crude oil in Ijaw territory, the people have been reduced to spectators of their own wealth. Our creeks are poisoned with oil spills, our air is filled with gas flares, and our farmlands are unproductive. In recent years, however, the emergence of Tantita Security Services Nigeria Limited has helped to drastically reduce oil spills, bringing visible improvements to the creeks. Aquatic life is returning, with dolphins, whales, and other marine species once again sighted in our waters, clear signs that nature responds when communities are protected. Yet we remain in darkness, never once connected to the national grid since Nigeria’s independence. Our children paddle for hours to reach collapsing schools, many dropping out because education is treated as a luxury, not a right. Mothers give birth in candle-lit rooms, often without trained health workers, while the state pours billions into urban centers.
The Niger Delta Development Commission and DESOPADEC were created as lifelines for oil-bearing communities, but they have become symbols of corruption and failure. Trillions of naira have passed through their coffers, yet in Ojobo, in Gbaramatu, in Ogulagha, there is no proof of meaningful transformation. What we see instead are abandoned projects, skeletal concrete in the mangroves, and monuments to broken promises.
The Ijaw have given their loyalty. They have voted, marched, and negotiated. When they protested neglect, they were branded militants and met with soldiers, gunboats, and bombs. Even the Amnesty Programme, born from the blood of our restless youths, has not brought real development. It has failed to yield the desired results and has fallen short of its promises. More must be done to truly rehabilitate, empower, and transform the lives of our people, beyond token stipends that vanish while the creeks remain the same.
So, we return to the question: what did the Ijaw do wrong to Delta State governments? Did we offend by producing oil, the lifeblood of Nigeria’s economy? Did we offend by being too patient, too loyal, too hopeful that one day our turn would come? Or is our only mistake that we are Ijaw, a people in the creeks, far from the corridors of power?
If our only value to the State is the oil beneath our soil and our votes during elections, then history will not forgive those who have treated us as expendable. We demand answers, not pity. We demand justice, not charity. Development is not a favor; it is a right.
If history has taught us anything, it is that governments far removed from the realities of a people will continue to neglect them. That is why the Ijaw need a state of their own, where governance is brought closer to the creeks, where resources are used for the benefit of the people who produce them. The creation of Toru-Ebe State is not just a dream; it is a necessity. It will unite the Ijaw scattered across Delta, Edo, and Ondo, giving them a political voice, a seat at the table, and the ability to chart their own destiny.
Until Delta State and the Federal Government recognize that the Ijaw deserve the same roads, schools, hospitals, and electricity enjoyed in Asaba, Ughelli, and other cities, the Niger Delta will remain a paradox: rich in resources, poor in reality. And Ojobo Creek, like so many forgotten waterways, will remain a haunting reminder of how governments can exploit a people’s wealth while abandoning their humanity.
So once again we ask: what did the Ijaw do wrong? The answer is nothing. The wrong has always been on the side of those in power, governments that have chosen profit and politics over justice and people. The path forward lies in justice, equity, immediate corrective action, and the long-overdue creation of Toru-Ebe State