I speak with a heart that trembles between sorrow and fire,
for my eyes have seen the shameless dance of selfish men,
men whose greed swallows their reason like a hungry python.
They clap their hands in the street, they stamp their feet in dust,
calling for the fall of Dr. Dennis Otuaro,
the faithful gardener of the Presidential Amnesty Programme.
These ones are like the jealous hunters in an old African tale,
men who saw another’s traps filled with good meat,
but instead of learning his skill,
they set his traps ablaze in the forest.
They cared not for the hunger of the village,
only for the empty pride of saying, "we brought him down".
But in the smoke of their mischief, the bush went silent,
and the village starved for seasons.
Since the day Dr. Otuaro took the garden tools of leadership,
the weeds of corruption have been uprooted like wild thorns in spring.
The paths once blocked are open,
doors once locked are swinging wide,
seeds of fairness have been thrown with generous hands,
and scholarships now rain down on the deserving ,
not only the chosen few whose names were whispered in secrecy.
He has planted maize for all tribes,
built fences where thieves once entered at night,
and watered the dry wells of vocational training.
But where were these loud voices,
when the streams of the PAP were poisoned by theft?
Where were they, when greedy chiefs hid the fishing nets
and gave fish only to their own cousins?
They were silent in those dark evenings,
chewing from the pot of decay,
their mouths greasy with the oil of corruption.
Now, because Otuaro will not bend to their crooked spears,
they scream like children whose stolen mango has been taken away.
Dr. Otuaro is like Olu, the wise fisherman of legend,
who stood at the edge of the great river,
casting nets for the whole village,
teaching even the poorest how to mend their fishing lines.
He knew the river’s song,
he understood its moods,
and when storms came, his canoe did not break.
The people ate well under his care.
But some, jealous of his skill,
poured sand into his canoe, hoping he would sink.
Instead, his strong arms rowed harder,
his eyes stayed on the horizon,
and the fish kept coming in silver waves.
Payments now fall on time like ripe fruit from tall trees,
hope blooms in our fields again,
trust grows in the PAP like yam vines climbing a strong stake.
The hand of Dr. Otuaro is steady,
his heart is calm,
his mind sharp like the cutlass of a careful farmer.
He listens before he swings his blade,
he studies before he plants his seeds,
and the harvest comes for everyone.
Let the selfish men drop their bowls of envy.
Let them wash their hands in the stream of unity.
Tribalism is an old rope that pulls us backwards,
greed is the rat that eats the granary from inside,
and backward thinking is the stone tied to our ankles
as we try to swim to the shores of progress.
If they truly love the Niger Delta,
they will guard our farmer instead of chasing him away.
I lift my voice in prayer for Dr. Otuaro,
that his canoe stays strong against the waves of distraction,
his eyes bright like morning over the water,
his courage firm like iroko in the wind.
May those who try to sink him
find their own nets torn by their mischief.
And may the Federal Government stand with him
as he rows us toward the island of fairness and peace.
For to push him away is to break the hoe
that turns the soil for the whole village.
It is to chase away the flock that gives us eggs.
And anyone who wounds him now
will be remembered only as the hunter
who burned the forest and left the people in hunger.
Let us stand together for truth and progress,
for a good leader is like a strong tree that gives shade to all.
Dr. Dennis Otuaro has planted seeds of hope in our land,
and already the fruits are showing on every branch.
We must protect him from the hands of envy and greed,
because if we cut down the tree, we lose the shade and the fruit.
The Niger Delta needs unity, not noise;
it needs builders, not destroyers.
And with Otuaro at the helm,
our harvest will be plenty, and our future will be bright.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO -- writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
