Benue: Now, Entering With Permission Slip, Please! 

         BY AMARIKE  AKPOKE

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Welcome, dear Nigerians, to the newest invention in our grand democratic experiment, Permit-Based Compassion™, where helping the helpless now requires a clearance form, and the governor of a state must first be consulted before empathy is exercised.

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Governor Hyacinth Alia of Benue, has issued what may well be the first public do-not-visit-me-without-my-permission proclamation in Nigerian political history. In effect, he said: “If you’re not on my guest list, you’re not getting past the gate. Not even if you’re bringing hope, humanitarian aid, or hugs.” That’s right. The new gospel in Benue is: Thou shalt not enter without the governor’s knowledge, lest thy safety be unguaranteed. Translation? If you haven’t kissed the ring, you might just kiss the dust.

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Now, to be clear, it wasn’t an armed battalion or a herd of rampaging bandits he was warding off. No. It was Peter Obi, the feminine-voiced, IDP-visiting, education-supporting ex-governor and 2023 presidential contender, whose most lethal weapon is a calculator and a conscience. His sin? Attempting to visit schools of nursing and internally displaced persons with goodwill, not grenades.

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But Governor Alia had more important things to do, like attending high-profile meetings with key actors. Yes, it is the type of meetings that produce official statements written in bureaucratese, but rarely peace or pothole repairs. Let’s pause here. The IDPs, those men, women, and children who have lost everything to conflict, now have a new gatekeeper: Benue State Emergency Management Agency (BSEMA). You must seek permission, possibly in triplicate, before speaking to them. Because nothing says “we care about the displaced” quite like blocking access to those who come bearing dignity and diapers.

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Ironically, this same government, seemingly unable to guarantee security for people already living in the state, now claims it can’t guarantee safety for visitors unless they RSVP. The logic is chillingly circular: “We’re not safe enough for you to visit… unless we allow you to.” It is like telling someone, “Our house is on fire, but don’t bring water unless you first inform the landlord.”

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To add ironic salt to the wound, Obi’s travel details, shared in good faith with the governor’s ADC, magically made their way into a public security warning, as though he were a threat, not a philanthropist. That’s the level we’ve reached: compassion now comes under surveillance.

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Then enters the executive courtier cast in the mould of Solomon Semaka, who introduces an interesting twist to the unfolding theatre of the absurd, where feeding the hungry constitutes a ‘political trespass’! “Anambra never chop belle full, go feed them first!” Yes, you heard right. According to Solomon Semaka, the Principal Special Assistant to Benue’s governor (on National Programmes, Civil Society, Voter Education) and perhaps, Strategic Interventions and Verbal Gymnastics, Peter Obi’s attempt to visit Internally Displaced Persons in Benue was not just charity; it was a political ambush.

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Apparently, Obi’s kind-hearted trip, featuring nursing schools, food donations, and quiet compassion, was actually a military-grade PR campaign designed to overthrow the fragile political equilibrium of Benue State. The horror! The audacity! How dare a man attempt to visit Nigerians without first genuflecting before the Gatekeeper of Makurdi?

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Semaka declared Obi’s outreach to the poor as “bad charity etiquette.” One must wonder, what, then, is good charity etiquette? Should Obi have first submitted his itinerary in triplicate, attended a security clearance retreat, and offered a goat at the altar of the governor’s ego before entering the IDP camps? And then comes the most delicious line of all: “Anambra never chop belle full, go feed them.” Ah, yes. The age-old “charity begins at home” excuse, now turned into a full-on federal border policy. Perhaps, Peter Obi should have known better. Who knew that Nigerian compassion now came with state boundaries and biometric clearance?

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By this logic, perhaps we should instruct Red Cross to only serve Swiss nationals. Maybe, Doctors Without Borders should rebrand as Doctors With Conditions. And Obi? He should perhaps carry a new slogan: “Caution: Kindness May Be Politically Misunderstood.” But let’s be honest. This isn’t about Obi. It’s about insecurity, not of the security kind, but of the political inferiority complex kind. Governor Alia’s camp seems less worried about safety and more afraid of being outshone by an ex-governor with a backpack and a conscience. While Alia holds “high-profile meetings,” Obi holds handshakes with the forgotten, and that contrast must sting.

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Now, Semaka says Governor Alia won’t “succumb to cheap political antics.” Noble. Except… the real antics seem to be coming from those issuing public statements with the energy of a jealous ex watching their rival bring flowers to the neighborhood. And the cherry on top? Semaka assured the world that Benue is safe in the hands of a “bold, courageous, and fearless leader.” So bold, in fact, that he had to barricade his state from a man bringing aid to displaced children. So fearless, he couldn’t face a courtesy call from a fellow Nigerian without first unleashing a press release.

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Dear Mr. Semaka and His Reverend Excellency: this is not a Game of Thrones. This is a country bleeding at the edges, where hunger has no tribe, and compassion shouldn’t need clearance. If Obi’s visit was a political stunt, it was the kind that brought rice, medicine, and dignity; not one that demanded applause, just permission to care. So next time someone knocks on Benue’s door with food for the poor, maybe, just maybe, answer with gratitude, not gatekeeping.

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Governor Alia, a man of the cloth, must know the parable of the Good Samaritan. But under his policy, even the Samaritan would have needed clearance from the Judean Emergency Management Agency before binding up the wounds of the robbed man on the road to Jericho. But maybe this isn’t about security at all. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the old disease, egoitis gubernatorialis, a swelling of pride often afflicting first-time governors with direct access to sirens and sycophants.

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The symptoms? Paranoia, fear of being upstaged, and allergic reactions to political opponents doing good. Let’s call this what it is: a bureaucratic blockade against compassion; a supposedly man of faith weaponizing protocol against empathy. Perhaps, most importantly, it is a reminder that in Alia’s Benue today, good intentions are not enough; you need a governor’s mood, a signed letter, and perhaps even a blood oath.

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But to Mr. Obi and others like him, keep going. Keep building schools. Keep visiting IDPs. Keep showing that love for the people doesn’t need permission from power. Because at the end of the day, what matters is not necessarily who grants access to suffering, but who dares to enter, regardless. For Peter Obi, let this be your armour: ambushed by compassion, but surviving on the diet of humanity; permission denied but conscience cleared. QED!

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AKPOKE, a public affairs analyst writes from Enugu