IKA UNDER SIEGE: HOW CARTELS, AND UNIONS SQUEEZE THE PEOPLE DRY

  By Mr. Governor Okojere

In this corner of the globe, where the Ika nation holds its ground, the sun still rises like a monarch stepping out of his palace - unhurried, golden, and absolute. The birds still sing with the same defiant joy into the morning air - unbroken by doubt. The rain still falls on the red earth, washing the scars of yesterday clean. But beneath this unbroken rhythm of nature, that pretends nothing is wrong, a storm is gathering. This storm carries no clouds, no thunder, no wind sent from the sky. It is a storm we forged ourselves - and now it lives with us. No drums announce it. Yet its weight is already bending the backs of our people.

 Our society, once known as a place of collaborative peace and open trade has become an area where the hand that should lift it, now holds it down. 

Our markets no longer run on a regular supply and demand basis. They now run based on systematic and self-serving rotation and regulation. 

  In the meat and fish sections, the sellers in some markets now operate a fixed daily rotation, much like a WAEC timetable that assigns specific days to specific subjects - each day reserved for one group, one product, one price. Monday is Okafor's day. Tuesday belongs to Mama Udoka. Wednesday is Emeke's. If you walk in on Thursday looking for fresh cow meat to buy, you will be told, "You no come on time, na only two cows dem allow us butcher today." And the consumers? They stand helpless like a bird caught in a net with no opening - forced to patronize the trader whose turn it is to sell at whatever price. When only one pot is on the fire, everyone must eat the same soup - whether it is salty or sour.

The same malady has spread to the artisans. Carpenters, bricklayers, barbers, mechanics, and other professionals have formed unions that fix prices, set outrageous “entrance fees" and punish anyone who dares to undercut them. They have turned the workshop into a classified shrine where only the initiates can enter. A young man who is a pharmaceutical sales trainee in Benin cannot set up a store in Ika land, unless he "settles” the union first. A seed that cannot germinate in its own soil will decay in the ground.

 If the market is bad, the land business is worse. Land vendors in our society play a two-faced role. When buying from the proprietor, they come like a trader inspecting rotten produce - scornful and devaluing, until the crop is worth almost nothing. Yet the moment a developer seeks their assistance, the same piece of land transforms overnight into gold with a price tag often double what was originally paid to the owner. And they call it, “market value.” 

 The most troubling are the self-declared owners of land communal groups made up of some youths and middle-aged men who seem to have woken up one morning, saw the earth, and declared, “This land na we own, na only we get am.” Their confidence is wild, as if they were unpaid labourers on the Creator’s earth-building project and now think they’re owed a share of the land.  

 This racketeering echoes a sentiment long expressed by late musical maestro, Sunny Okosun, who in one of his evocative lyrics, captured a haunting declaration which runs thus: "I want to know, I want to know; I want to know who owns the land... My father's land … I want to know who owns the land..."

 Who owns the land? This is a question that lingers like smoke from a solitary fire - persistent, troubling, and demanding an answer. It is frustrating to observe that even though, the "Public and Private Properties Protection Bill" - which outlaws all forms of illegal land levies, “deve,” and forceful entry into development sites - was signed into law by the Delta State Government in 2018, the fraud persists.

 The law was a move that should have been like a strong fence shutting out interlopers from the compound. The intention was good and clear: to protect investors, safeguard citizens, and restore order to a land market that had become a wild forest where every man cuts his own path.

 Alas, on the ground, the law is little more than shelf decor or a scarecrow in a farm where the birds have learned it is a mere statue. The illegality did not die. It grew teeth. It has gathered muscles. It multiplied like weeds after the first rain, and the perpetrators now operate with even greater audacity and ferocity.

Picture yourself in the shoes of a developer who has sold his ancestral land, borrowed against his name, and promised his family a home by December. You arrive at your building site to find your mixers silent, your labourers sitting idle with their hands folded, and a group of self-appointed “community representatives” blocking the gate. They do not come seeking contracts, they bring threats. “Settle us,” they scream. "Settle" or watch your materials disappear, your workers sent packing, your project halted - not by rain, not by inflation, but by your fellow kinsmen who claim ownership of the soil by virtue of shouting loudest. No settlement, no work. No mercy.

 They lay claim to the land even when a valid purchase receipt is presented to them. It is like a man insisting he owns the river simply because he drank from it yesterday. 

 A house that has no owner soon becomes a playground for strangers. And our land has become that house - a free-for-all where the strongest, not the lawful, takes the lead. 

 These interlopers were not chosen by the people. They were not anointed by the gods of the soil. The law grants them no mandate, no title, no authority. Yet for no legitimate reason, they demand payment not for building, but for obstructing. Not for service, but for a law that seems to have lost its teeth.

 This brigandage frightens away the very investors who could employ hundreds of our young men and women. And when the site is abandoned and the jobs disappear, these same people will turn around and join the chorus to yell: “Nigeria Jaga jaga.” 

When a law is passed but not enforced, it seems like a drum that makes noise but summons no dancer. Those running afoul of the law would think they are above the law - walking in the streets with their chests puffed out like a billy goat that raided the yam barn and found the guards sleeping.  

This silence has not only emboldened the violators but has also ripped open the pockets of developers in our land. When illegal “settlements” are forced down the developer’s throat, and he bakes them into every block, beam, and bolt, by the time the building is completed, the cost has trickled down like water to the lowest ground. The widow hiring a stall, the young couple renting a room, and the artisan opening a workshop - all bleed from the same cut.

 Our ancestors warned: “When the shepherd sleeps, the wolves host a party.” A law without enforcement is like a river without banks - it engulfs everything, including the innocent.

 Our brother, Senator Dr. Ifeanyi Okowa's administration laid the foundation with that law - a good one, though. But a foundation without a building is just a drainage in the ground. It is time to build on it with action, with charges, with justice - because when the people’s pockets are empty, the government’s reputation is empty too. 

The Local Government chairmen cannot continue to watch from the verandah while the house burns. A farmer who sees a thief in his backyard and says, “It is not my yams that he is carrying” will one day have no yams left in his barn. You have the power to enforce bylaws against illegal levies, price fixing, and market monopolies. Use it for the good of the people!

 The political leaders at the state and federal levels must stop pretending that all hardship is from President Bola Tinubu's "subsidy is gone" policy. The wound you inflict on yourself cannot be blamed on your neighbour who is on a journey to a neighbouring town. Call these people to order. Break the rotation system. Open the market to all who meet lawful standards. Let developers build with peace.

 Traditional rulers, including the Chiefs and "Diokpas," who serve as custodians of our culture should bear in mind that our custom has never endorsed the principle of “One man eats while others watch.” Summon the unions and community leaders. Remind them of what the law says. Let people know that nobody is above the law, and that the land belongs to all - the drum that beats only for one dancer will one day fall silent.  

 Besides, if indeed, the state government is opposed to these extortionary practices, decisive action is needed where the problem is most acute. Law enforcement agents should be deployed to sites where developers face unlawful demands. Making distress call phone numbers publicly accessible would give affected parties a direct channel for assistance. Consistent prosecution of those who violate the law is also essential to serve as a deterrent.

 Without these steps, the “zero tolerance” policy on illegal settlements risks being perceived as a dummy.

Finally, let all hands be on deck to make our society a place where the law stands tall like the iroko tree - unshaken by the wind of impunity. If we do not check this menace now, we will turn our society into a place where no one feels safe to invest, to build, to trade, or to live. A child you fail to caution today, will sooner grow into an elder that can not be corrected.  

Let the unions protect their members, not strangle consumers. Let the youths defend the land, not terrorize the people in it. Let the traders trade fairly, not feast on the pockets of their customers with deceit and greed. A tree that gives shade to all will never lack birds.

The time to act is now because a fire that starts in the kitchen - if not stopped - will spread to the whole house.