In the grand Edo political theatre—where every plot twist is more dramatic than a Nollywood season finale—two men have somehow achieved the impossible: they have resurrected Godwin Obaseki, a man whose political career was lying flatter than PHCN power supply during rainy season. And who are these unlikely miracle workers? None other than Monday Okpebholo, governor, dancer with two left feet, and patron saint of political self-sabotage… supported by his spiritual adviser in chaos, the Oba of Benin.
Let’s start with Monday.
Monday Okpebholo is that guy who enters a room and immediately trips over his own shadow. Politically, he’s like a man sprinting enthusiastically into a wall. Instead of settling into governance—fixing roads, building bridges, pretending to understand budgets—Monday decided his life’s calling was not leadership, but vengeance. His whole administration has turned into a dramatic telenovela titled: “Chasing Obaseki: Season One, Episode Forever.”
And all this effort… to punish a man who was already finished.
Before Monday’s missionary zeal kicked in, Obaseki was as politically broke as someone whose Apple Pay keeps declining. If he had a ten pence, he couldn’t call all his friends—mostly because he had successfully chased all of them away. Obaseki governed like a man allergic to allies. He gutted the House of Assembly until it had fewer members than a WhatsApp group after a scandal. He fought battles nobody asked for, and ignored bridges that were begging to be built. Even his policies—many of which were actually sensible—were packaged in such a way that the electorate saw them as pure irritation.
By the time Asue Ighodalo entered the race, Obaseki’s political capital was so low, even loan apps wouldn’t lend to him.
But Monday Okpebholo—oh Monday—looked at this politically lifeless man and said:
“No. This corpse must rise.”
Like a true political Lazarus Project, Monday’s heavy-handed persecution started generating sympathy faster than a fundraising post with sad violin music. The more Monday shouted, the more the public went: “Wait o… maybe Obaseki wasn’t so bad after all.”
Then entered the Oba of Benin with all the subtlety of a royal bulldozer.
The Oba’s alliance with Monday was the political equivalent of adding petrol to a kitchen fire. His interventions were so glaringly self-serving that even neutral observers reached for popcorn. Suddenly, two men who were trying to bury Obaseki ended up digging him a staircase back into public affection.
This unholy alliance—king and governor united in the noble art of political pettiness—has achieved what Obaseki could never do for himself: a redemption arc!
Imagine that.
A governor with two left feet, and a monarch with two right hands—both clapping loudly in the wrong direction—have rehabilitated the very man they sought to destroy.
And so Edo people now sit back, amused, murmuring to themselves:
“Wow. After all Obaseki’s wahala, is this how he go take get sympathy? God truly works in mysterious political ways.”
Meanwhile, Monday Okpebholo’s advisers are probably hiding under their desks, wondering how their boss managed to pull defeat from the jaws of his own victory with such artistic precision.
Edo politics—always delivering. Always entertaining. Always reminding us that in Nigeria, if you wait long enough, your enemies will eventually fight each other and accidentally rescue you.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 