By: Jamiu Suleiman Sakele
In true Machiavellian fashion, Governor Abdulrahman AbdulRazaq made a late-night visit to Idigba on Friday, July 18, 2025, followed by a morning appearance at the Fidau prayer for his late appointee, Alhaji Isiaka Olohundare. May Allah forgive his shortcomings and grant him Jannah. Amin.
This is no surprise. “AA,” as he’s fondly called, has a predictable pattern: his ancestral home of Idigba only sees him when death calls. Homecomings or developmental dialogues? Absent. Funerals? Expected. What an illustrious son!
But what do these visits bring to Idigba’s growth? Nothing more than a fleeting gesture, as worthless as discarded tissue. Where are the projects, the plans, the progress? In the governor’s absence, Idigba languishes, left to mourn both its dead and its dreams.
There is something seriously heartbreaking about watching your own son rise to greatness while you remain in the shadows of his ascension. For six years and some months now, the people of Idigba, by extension Adewole Ward, have lived with this peculiar pain—the pain of proximity without participation, of kinship without kindness, of being so close to power yet so far from its benefits.
Malam Abdulrahman Abdulrazaq, our son, our brother, our father, emerged from Yerimisa Compound in Idigba Area like a phoenix from our collective aspirations. We celebrated his victory in 2019 not just as a political triumph, but as our own redemption from the suffocating grip of political dynasties that had held Kwara State hostage for too long. We believed, with the fervour of pilgrims heading to Mecca—that his ascension would translate into our own elevation.
Yet here we sit, six years later, like guests at a feast who can smell the aroma but cannot taste the food. The irony is not lost on us that while our son occupies the highest office in the state, our young graduates roam the streets of Ilorin like lost souls, holding certificates that have become mere decorative papers. We cannot—and this is the most painful admission—boast of even one individual who has been meaningfully placed in the corridors of government to lift the vulnerable among us.
Cruel! He has appointed some of our brothers to head government establishments, but what magic have these appointments performed in our community? What transformation have they brought to the compounds where children still go to bed hungry and young men idle away their prime years? Sometimes, one wonders if it would have been better not to receive these hollow appointments at all, for they have become sources of false hope rather than genuine change.
We had dreams. We believed our Governor understands our struggles: the unemployment that gnaws at our young people, the entrepreneurs who need just a gentle push to soar, the aged men and women whose small businesses could flourish with minimal support. But reality has a way of slapping dreams back into consciousness, and the reality we face today is as cold as harmattan wind.
Before any paid praise-singer rushes to defend the indefensible, let me ask you this simple question: walk through your family compound, count the graduates you know, and tell me honestly how many have found meaningful employment during Abdulrahman’s tenure. The number will embarrass you, won’t it? And those few who have been employed or appointed—can they boldly assist a neighbor with N50,000 when emergency strikes? We all know the answer, yet we choose to defend what cannot be defended.
The tragedy of our situation is that we have allowed ourselves to be pacified by crumbs. Because some of our brothers receive N1,000 to N5,000 from government allies, because they get invited to political gatherings or assemblies where they fight like roosters for their master’s attention, we have forgotten what we should rightfully demand from a government led by our own blood. If you think that seasonal N5,000 handout you receive for playing praise singer is sufficient, ask yourself: how much did your education cost? When will you start taking responsibility for your family? How do you intend to grow beyond this pittance?
The bitter truth that we must swallow is this: Abdulrahman has failed us. And I shudder to think where our graduates will turn when his tenure ends and the temporary political appointments evaporate.
You may point to the hospitals he has built, the schools he has renovated, the interlocked roads that now grace some parts of our community. But have you visited our hospital lately? How many qualified medical personnel work there? What is the quality of the equipment? A beautiful building without adequate staffing and equipment is like a car without an engine—impressive to look at but useless in function. It is not about erecting structures; it is about delivering quality services that touch lives and write destinies for better.
This is not a declaration of war; it is a son’s sincere plea to his father. Less than two years still remain—enough time to perform developmental miracles if the will exists. Two years to bring opportunities closer to our youth, our women, our widows, and our vulnerable. Two years to ensure that human capital development in Adewole moves from its current state of zero to something we can be proud of.
I have sampled opinions across our community, and the anger is palpable, the complaints bitter and justified. What is the essence of having a fruit tree in your compound if you cannot taste its fruit? The few who have benefited from Semovita gestures, stipends, and motorcycle schemes are mostly APC loyalists. But a Governor should be father to all, not just to those who sing his praises.
I read recently about our brother who secured Fire Service employment—a story that traveled far enough to reach international attention. While we celebrate such individual successes, they remain drops in an ocean of unmet needs and unfulfilled promises.
Now, this is my simple, going forward: let our Governor look inward and identify capable hands who understand the pulse of our youth, who can mobilize the energy and potential that lies dormant in Adewole. Give such persons platforms to create opportunities for our people, not those whose only qualification is their ability to throw punches at political ward meetings in the name of showing loyalty.
Adewole shall continue to progress, but progress should not be a prayer alone—it should be a deliberate action backed by sincere commitment to the welfare of those who call this place home.
The pen may be mightier than the sword, but hunger is mightier than both. Only the wise would understand this. Read it again and think about it. Salam Alaikum!
Jamiu Suleiman Sakele is a concerned citizen of Adewole ward, writes on behalf of the reasonable citizens of Adewole ward.
July 20th 2025
