By Bishop C. Johnson,
In 2007, a leader emerged—not just with a political mandate, but with a profound vision to transform Imo State. That leader was Dr. Ikedi Ohakim, a man who understood that true governance is not about theatrics or empty slogans, but about structure, sustainability, and the silent building of institutions that serve the people long after the cameras are turned off. With clarity and courage, he began to lay the foundation for a new Imo—a state defined not by noise, but by results.
One of his earliest and most visionary moves was the establishment of the Imo Road Maintenance Agency (IROMA)—a revolutionary initiative that empowered all 27 local government areas with trucks, bulldozers, graders, and other road maintenance equipment. No part of the state was left behind. For the first time in our history, road repairs were decentralized and localized. And to ensure sustainability, he didn’t stop at procurement. He trained workers on how to operate and maintain the equipment, creating jobs, building capacity, and transferring skills.
At the same time, 10,000 young graduates—sons and daughters of Imo—were absorbed into the state’s workforce through a merit-based employment scheme. It was bold. It was visionary. It injected new life into the public sector, fostered dignity among our youth, and ensured that the future of Imo was being built by its most educated minds.
The Clean and Green Initiative, launched by then Senate President David Mark, addressed the environmental rot that had consumed the state. It was not just about beautification. It was a full-scale urban environmental policy, combining regrassing, waste-to-wealth programs, urban beautification, public education, and environmental re-orientation. In less than two years, Imo went from one of the dirtiest states to being crowned the cleanest and most beautiful state in Nigeria—for three consecutive years. This recognition came not just from national bodies, but also from reputable international observers.
In response to rising crime and insecurity, in 2009 he launched Operation Festival, a coordinated security strategy designed to tackle kidnapping, armed robbery, and terrorism through proactive intelligence, community policing, and rapid response. The streets became safer, businesses flourished, and Imo became a haven of peace in a time of national insecurity.
And then came the Imo Municipal Transport System (IMTS)—a model of public mass transit never before seen in Africa. It was launched to bring order to the chaotic okada system, provide affordable transportation, reduce accidents, and restore order to the roads. It was not just about buses; it was about visionary urban planning. At launch, it was hailed as a transportation revolution.
It was a structured vision to transform Imo. A plan. A program. A mission grounded in governance philosophy and long-term impact.
But in 2011, that vision was cut short—not because of incompetence, not because of failure—but because of a conspiracy.
A well-orchestrated campaign of falsehood was launched—sadly, not from opposition politicians alone, but from the very pulpits where truth should reign. The infamous propaganda of an “assault on a Roman Catholic priest” was weaponized by those who should have known better. It was later debunked, retracted, and apologies rendered. But the damage had been done.
Into that vacuum came deceit, wrapped in populist slogans and messianic performance. The so-called Rescue Mission, led by Rochas Okorocha and enabled by the political leadership of Owerri Zone, came not with a blueprint—but with a wrecking ball.
Institutions were crippled. And some were completely scrapped.
IROMA—once the pride of rural and urban communities—was abandoned. The heavy-duty road equipment purchased with public funds was left to rot, vandalized, and in some cases, sold off as scrap. No training. No maintenance. No continuity. A fully functional agency was turned into a ghost of its former self.
The massive Imo Rural Water Scheme, which had procured modern drilling equipment for boreholes and rural water access, was also abandoned. Instead of building on the foundation laid, the administration that followed opted to destroy for political gain.
The 10,000 graduate workers were unjustly sacked. A generation of Imo youths who had just begun to dream were pushed back into the pit of hopelessness. It was a betrayal—not just of policies, but of people.
And then came the cultural and economic assault—the destruction of the Ekeukwu Owerri Market, a historic center of commerce and tradition. Traders were displaced without compensation, without proper relocation. Thousands of livelihoods were lost. The heart of Owerri was ripped out. What followed was chaos. Displacement. Hunger. Bitterness.
The Rescue Mission quickly revealed itself to be a Destruction Mission.
The roads were abandoned. Schools deteriorated.
Institutions crumbled and collapsed. And those who trusted the promise of a better tomorrow found themselves trapped in a nightmare.
A state once set on a journey to structured development was derailed by propaganda, vendetta, and recklessness.
But history, as they say, never forgets.
And the people of Imo are beginning to remember. They remember the truth—not the headlines. Not the rumors. The results. The policies. The vision.
But the story of Imo is not over.
Today, we have another chance.
The question is, will we learn from our past mistake?
Yes, Governor Hope Uzodimma has taken commendable steps to rebuild what was lost. His road infrastructure work, institutional reforms, and digital investments have moved Imo again in the direction of governance. But as his tenure gradually winds down, we must ask: what next?
Do we gamble again?
Do we hand over the future to another showman with no plan?
Or do we return to the man who started the journey, whose blueprint remains valid, whose vision remains relevant, and whose return is not ambition, but assignment?
Imo does not need a new actor. Imo needs a steady hand. A man with scars, with wisdom, with institutional memory. A man who understands that development must be built on structure, not showmanship. A man who can consolidate on Governor Uzodimma’s achievements, correct the errors of the past, and complete the unfinished vision of transformation.
That man is Dr. Ikedi Ohakim.
His return is not a political project. It is a moral obligation.
A second chance—for Imo State.
A second chance for history.
Imo, the choice is before us.
The road not taken lies open once more.
Will we walk it?
Bishop C. Johnson,
A political and social commentator, and a concerned Imo citizen
