Oh my Benue…
How far are we willing to go in letting politics divide us?
How deep must the wounds be before we finally say, “Enough”?
The earth in Yelewata is still warm from the fires. The stench of roasted human flesh still hangs heavy over farmlands once lush with maize. Over 200 lives wiped out in one night mothers, infants, fathers, sleeping families mutilated, charred, forgotten. A massacre so horrific, even the rains could not wash away the horror. Yet, here we are again, not in mourning, but in motion. Politicians have moved on. The state has moved on. And the dead? They remain where we always leave them unmourned, disrespected.
We move on too quickly these days. Grief has become a footnote. One moment, a town is wiped out, the next, there’s a press conference, and the wheels of government spin on untouched by the blood still drying on the soil.
It’s as if our empathy has expired. As if mourning has a shelf life. We no longer pause to feel, to honor, or even to ask what must be done next. In Benue, the dead are not just buried they are buried in silence.
What happened in Yelewata is not just another tragedy. It is a stain on the conscience of this country. A reminder that even in death, some lives are treated as less valuable.
No coordinated state burial. No national day of mourning. No flags flown at half-mast. Even the visit from the President skipped the crime scene. He met with leaders in Makurdi not with the families sitting among the ashes of their homes.
And in the face of such horror, what did our state government do?
They decorated. They mobilised. They celebrated.
The government house was dressed like a wedding venue, complete with flowers and finery, to receive a President while the bodies of its own citizens were still warm beneath the soil.
To add insult to injury, schoolchildren were made to stand in the rain for hours to welcome the President’s convoy thin uniforms soaked, little feet planted in puddles. Some shivering, others dazed. This is not protocol. This is cruelty. Children are not props. They are not stage decorations for failed optics. How can we force the youngest among us to smile for cameras when they should be learning, when they should be safe?
And even if the governor acted in error, where were the voices of reason in his corner? Where were the aides with empathy? The advisers with conscience?
The truth is, Governor Alia is surrounded by people who are not just underqualified they are damaging his legacy daily.
One aide was recently arrested by the EFCC for alleged sexual exploitation. Another sacked his Aide simply for protesting a man punished for grieving.And in a surreal twist, An aide had aides of his own. In a state that can’t even secure its own villages, we have aides sacking aides while widows bury their children with their bare hands.
The question is does an advisor to the governor need another advisor?You need someone to advise you to advise the Governor?
It doesn’t stop there.
Just yesterday, a young man was stopped from cooking for displaced persons in a camp. Not because of any hygiene concern. Not because the food was inedible. But because he was said to belong to the “wrong” political camp.
In Benue, even charity is now partisan.
A hungry IDP must now pass a loyalty test before tasting rice. A pot of soup must pass through political filters. Kindness is now something to be screened by party gatekeepers.
Food has joined the ballot box.
As if soup knows party colours.
As if rice can vote.
As if hunger itself doesn’t scream the same in every empty stomach.
Instead of standing together, we argue over who should help, who mustn’t help, who belongs, and who doesn’t. We politicize pain. We debate kindness.
Do the herdsmen ask what party you belong to before they strike?
Do they check your voter’s card before setting fire to your home?
Do the graves read APC or PDP?
In the last two weeks, Benue appointees have dominated social media for all the wrong reasons.
From careless utterances to outright misconduct, they have dragged the dignity of public service through the mud. The truth is, the Governor cannot claim ignorance of the way his aides are behaving. These are not isolated missteps, they are becoming a pattern. And patterns reflect leadership, or the lack of it.
Some of these your people need to go. They are spoiling your name and discrediting your government. Unless, of course, they are a true reflection of your administration.
Because the people are watching. And every insult, every public blunder, every abuse of power by those who speak in your name speaks volumes about what you tolerate.
Leadership isn’t just about action it’s also about accountability. If the wrong people continue to speak for you, eventually, they will speak as you.
I cry not just for what we have suffered, but for what we have become. We have let politics blind our compassion, mute our conscience, and sever the cords of our shared humanity.
The aides surrounding Governor Alia are not just a communication problem they are a leadership crisis. Many lack the training or moral grounding for the roles they occupy. They don’t understand the codes of conduct, the burden of public office, or even the dignity required when tragedy strikes.
They insult critics online, embarrass the state and handle crises with the sensitivity of a sledgehammer.
In the middle of a genocide, you do not organise pageantry. You do not print invitation letters. You do not hang “Thank You” billboards after a condolence visit. You bury the dead. You walk with the grieving. You stay quiet enough to hear the pain in people’s silences.
We owe Yelewata more than words. That community deserves a memorial, a school, a hospital something that says, “We remember you.” We owe them a requiem, a moment of reflection, a collective mourning that calls us to our higher selves.
Governor Alia still has a chance to change course. But it starts by removing the praise-singers who are dimming his light and dragging his name. He must bring in thinkers, patriots, and strategists people who know when to be visible, and when to be silent. People who understand that leadership is not about optics. It’s about substance.
Benue is bleeding.
And what we need now are not dancers, but defenders.
Not choreography, but courage.
Not media spin, but moral clarity.
Because if we continue like this, history will not forgive us.
And the ghosts of Yelewata will not sleep.
Stephanie Shaakaa
08034861434
