By Hon. Matthew Ochada (HMO)
We in Kogi, sometimes, can be unserious about serious things and very serious about unserious things. That contradiction sits at the heart of the latest frenzy.
A photograph trends. A Deputy Governor stands on a car footmat. Social media lights up. Outrage. Mockery. You would think a constitutional crisis had just broken out. But no. It is a mere footmat. A simple, improvised object in a church compound. And suddenly, it becomes a metaphor for everything that is supposedly wrong with us.
Pause. Breathe. Think. What exactly is the offence here That a public official stood on a footmat? In a church compound? During what was clearly a ceremonial moment arranged by church Brigade Boys who needed to offer a formal salute? That is the hill we have chosen to die on?
Here is the part we often ignore because outrage is easier than reflection. Nigeria, and indeed Africa, runs on improvisation. It always has. Power supply fails, we find a generator. Roads collapse, we create alternate routes. Protocol falls short, someone thinks on their feet. That is not dysfunction. That is survival intelligence.
Think about it. We have seen governors hold meetings under trees when buildings were not ready. We have seen presidents adjust seating arrangements on the spot during state functions because logistics failed. That is leadership in real environments. Not in curated perfection.
So what happened in Kogi? A practical solution was applied in real time. Church Brigade Boys needed a platform to perform a ceremonial salute for a highly respected figure like the State Deputy Governor. They improvised. The Deputy Governor obliged. End of story. Or at least, that should have been the end.
But no. We turned it into content. And this is where it gets uncomfortable. The real issue is not the footmat. It is us. Our appetite for self ridicule. Our eagerness to project dysfunction even where none exists. Other states have their moments. Plenty of them. But they manage their narratives better. They do not rush to the digital marketplace to auction their dignity at the slightest provocation.
But in Kogi, we do. And we do it with enthusiasm. This raises a deeper question. What do we gain from constantly painting Kogi in bad light? Who benefits when we amplify the trivial and ignore the substantial? Because governance is happening. Policies are being made, yet, a footmat steals the spotlight.
There is also something else in that photograph, something quieter, almost invisible if you are not looking for it: HUMILITY.
His Excellency, Elder Joel Salifu, did not resist the moment. He did not insist on perfection. He did not demand a red carpet where there was none. He stood on what was made available, and allowed the ceremony to proceed. That is not a scandal. That is a disposition.
We must learn to choose our battles. Not every image deserves outrage. Not every moment requires a verdict. Sometimes, a footmat is just a footmat. Or perhaps, more accurately, it should be a mirror. And what it reflects back at us is not the Deputy Governor’s character, but our own instincts as a people.
I’ll end this discourse with an Igala adage that says, “Un’óde, ad’óde nwu d’akwu é.” It speaks to a simple but weighty truth: yours is yours! There’s dignity in owning what is ours without rushing to diminish it before others. Because once we become the loudest critics of our own house, we shouldn’t be surprised when outsiders join the chorus. What exactly do we gain by painting ourselves in bad light first? Nothing of value. Only a weakened sense of identity and a story that slips out of our control. And a people that loses control of its own narrative rarely gets to define how it is remembered.
— Hon. Matthew Ochada writes from Lokoja, Kogi State.
