Sometime in the year 2000, as a state correspondent in Edo, I was handling a story for my newspaper that took me into the interiors of Edo South Senatorial District. I had to visit Ido, Igobazuwa in Ovia South West Local Government after visiting Okada and Usen and other communities in the Northern part of Ovia River. At Ido, I took a detour to Gbelebu Village, to pay a brief visit to Pa Aaron Ponuwei Ebelo, father of my colleague and friend, Goodluck Ilajufi Ebelo.
It was a smooth journey that never gave me the inking I was visiting a village. From the Gbelebu village back to Benin City, the trip took just over an hour. There was a tarred road, which I was told had been in place since the days of the defunct Western Region.
Twenty-three years later, when I had to make another trip to that village early in December 2023, for the funeral rites of Pa Ebelo, who in his lifetime had been installed the Okito of Gbaraun Kingdom, a title that classified him a High Chief across the Ijaw nation, the story has changed. The journey from Benin City to Gbelebu village took three hours and more. But the spatial location of Gbelebu in the atmosphere never moved an inch. What made the difference was also not the state of the road but the decision of the big corporation operating in the area, Okomu Oil Palm Company PLC to block the people’s access to the public road.
The tarred road that leads to Gbelebu, Okomu, and environs passes through the plantations of Okomu Oil Palm Company PLC. Now the corporation has slammed a perpetual injunction on the people, barring them from making use of that access road. We were told that Okomu Oil simply imposed the injunction to stop thieves from stealing its palm fruits. It also took practical steps to enforce its injunction by digging trenches across the road to sternly drive the message home.
By digging trenches on the public road, the management of Okomu Oil is not only seeking to punish the guilty, they are visiting sins on the innocent as well. And by so doing, the people of Gbelebu and other villages are condemned to make do with the abandoned earth road which was probably last used during the Second World War.
Whenever big corporations get located within a community, the people usually receive their officials with open arms. The chiefs and the commoners do everything to create easy access to their community and facilitate their version of ease of doing business.
Such enthusiasm is not and should not be misplaced. Good jobs mean a good life for many in the community. Notwithstanding the pomp and ceremony that heralds the entry of a corporation; the love story with the hosts never really lasts. The host communities soon begin to bleed from the excesses of the big corporation and gradually, anger and agony replace the smiles, dance, and ceremony that ushered in the corporation.
Stories with the above coloration litter the surface of Nigeria’s Niger Delta where crude oil flows in millions of barrels daily. Big corporations can manipulate the leaders against the led, they assume awesome powers that can be difficult to challenge, even legally. In some instances, they assume the power of life and death over their hosts. They exploit the weaknesses in our systems, Labour laws, and governance process to wreak havoc on the citizens. They make lives miserable, turning their sweet into sour grapes.
While I served as state correspondent of The Punch in Edo, one environmental group alerted me to an oil spill around the Ethiope River on the Edo/Delta State border. I called a colleague from Vanguard, Austin Ogwuda, who hails from Delta State and we headed for the location. After interviewing the locals, men and women, whose fishing nets had been destroyed by the massive oil spill that left dead fishes floating in their thousands on the surface of the water, we made to see the chief of the village, at least for some authoritative corroboration of the stories we had gathered.
On hearing of the presence of the journalists, the chief simply took his car key and made to drive off. Our sharp eyes caught him as he made to escape through the other door. We rushed to greet but he was not enthusiastic about a response. He had a shining key holder that bore the insignia of the multinational oil company that operates in the area. The man only referred us to the Flow Station. Some three-hour drive inside the forest. After flatly declining comment he drove off in his Benz 200 car.
Sadly, the sweet story of oil find in a community or the location of a big corporation soon turns the other phase in a short distance. It is the same for the Gbelebu Community in Ovia South West Local Government of Edo State, where Okomu Oil Palm Company PLC has been drilling palm oil and produce since 1976.
Though Okomu Oil prides itself as a champion in “responsible tropical agriculture” which through its activities, implements “key initiatives that ensure long-term economic performance, social welfare, health, security, and natural resource management, resulting in a positive impact on all,” its activities in and around the Ovia South West Local government especially with the effects on Okomu, Gbelebu and environs cannot be said to depict such projections.
If thieves are stealing produce from the Okomu Oil plantation, which is just like the occupational hazard such a big firm should expect, it is incumbent on the management to devise tight security means to burst the thieving gang. The company should not seek to flex its muscles by punishing the innocents.
It is equally sad that the powers that be in Edo have yet to make any positive impact on Okomu Oil. The people deserve action from Governor Godwin Obaseki, the Rep member representing the area, the Senator representing Edo South, and even the local government Chairman of Ovia South West local government. If these officials continue to keep mute, there is only one verdict-they are playing the ostrich. And ostrich dance in this case is a naked dance in the marketplace.
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