How did Ejiro happen to journalism: A response to “How did Sheriff happen to Delta?”

By FESTUS OKUBOR 

Reading Ejiro Idama’s latest offering in Vanguard was like watching a gifted comedian trying very hard to pass for an auditor. The jokes landed. The arithmetic did not. It reminded me of the old Ika saying: “The man who counts another man’s yams with his eyes often forgets to count the ones in his own barn.”

Ejiro asks, “How did Sheriff happen to Delta?” Permit me to ask a simpler question: How did satire become a substitute for evidence? There is absolutely nothing wrong with political criticism. Democracy breathes through criticism. But criticism should at least nod respectfully in the direction of facts before running off with imagination.

If a doctor ignored a patient’s blood pressure, laboratory results and ECG and instead diagnosed him by the shape of his cap, we would call that malpractice.

Why should journalism be different?

Governor Sheriff Oborevwori did not “happen” to Delta. He was elected by the people in one of the most keenly contested governorship elections in the state’s history. His victory survived intense judicial scrutiny before, during and after the election. The people chose him, not fate. Today, barely three years into office, the evidence of governance is considerably less poetic than Mr. Idama’s metaphors, but infinitely more useful. Roads have been completed and commissioned across the three senatorial districts. Hundreds of contracts covering roads, bridges, schools, hospitals, drainage systems and public infrastructure have been awarded and executed. According to the governor, projects worth over N654.5billion were delivered in 2025 without borrowing, while maintaining fiscal stability and strengthening procurement transparency.

That is an inconvenient statistic for anyone whose preferred construction material is sarcasm. Workers continue to receive salaries. Pension obligations continue to be met more consistently than in many states. Contractors are paid. The state has maintained relative industrial peace. Students continue to receive bursary support. Healthcare and educational infrastructure continue to expand. None of these may produce viral memes, but they produce something more valuable—governance. Ejiro appears disappointed that Sheriff does not govern with theatrical flourish.

Perhaps that is precisely the point. Some leaders hold press conferences to announce that they intend to think about solving problems. Sheriff quietly solves them before some commentators have finished sharpening their adjectives. The governor belongs to an increasingly endangered political species: the worker. He is less interested in trending than in tarring roads. Less fascinated with hashtags than with hospitals. Less obsessed with applause than with asphalt. That may be bad news for columnists searching desperately for drama. The article repeatedly attempts to reduce the MORE Agenda to a slogan.  

Yet every meaningful development agenda begins as words before becoming roads, schools, bridges, hospitals and opportunities. Even Scripture begins with, “In the beginning was the Word.” The important question is whether the Word became flesh. In Delta, it increasingly has. Perhaps the greatest irony in Ejiro’s essay is that while mocking repetition, he himself repeats the oldest mistake in opposition commentary—mistaking visibility for achievement. Government is not measured by the decibel level of speeches. It is measured by whether citizens can drive home during the rainy season. Whether hospitals have equipment. Whether schools receive attention. Whether investors have confidence. Whether salaries arrive. Whether procurement follows due process. Whether development continues despite national economic headwinds. On those questions, Sheriff Oborevwori has increasingly answered with action rather than adjectives. I particularly enjoyed Ejiro’s literary gymnastics. His metaphors are elegant. His humour sparkles. His pen dances. But there is an old proverb: “No matter how beautifully a man describes soup, the hungry still ask where the meat is.” The meat of political commentary is evidence. Not embroidery. Not clever headlines. Not beautifully arranged scepticism.

One suspects that if Governor Oborevwori built a bridge across the River Niger, Ejiro would complain that pedestrians now have fewer opportunities to admire the water.

If salaries were paid thirteen months in a year, he might ask why February was denied equal treatment.

If Delta eliminated potholes completely, he would lament the unemployment this would create among vulcanisers. That is the occupational hazard of professional pessimism. The duty of government is not to satisfy every columnist. Its duty is to improve the lives of citizens. History has a curious habit. It rarely remembers who wrote the wittiest newspaper article. It remembers who built the roads. Who opened the schools. Who expanded the hospitals. Who managed public finances responsibly. Who left citizens better than he met them. Long after today’s newspaper has become tomorrow’s wrapping paper, those achievements will remain standing in concrete, asphalt and steel. Mr. Idama has every right to ask, “How did Sheriff happen to Delta?” Deltans, however, appear increasingly interested in a different question: How much more can Delta happen under Sheriff?

•Dr. Okubor wrote in from Delta State.

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