Emergency rule fallout: Rivers crowd waits, governor missing in action
By: Abudu Olalekan
Thursday dawn felt like carnival. Brass bands, red-clad women, ex-council bosses in over-ironed agbadas. Everyone pointed toward one gate – Government House, Port Harcourt. Six months of emergency rule had finally lapsed at midnight, President Tinubu said so himself. So, Siminalayi Fubara, the reinstated governor, ought to stride back in at sunrise, right?
Wrong. By 2 p.m. the brass was rusty. Supporters drifted off, faces long, banners wilting under the delta humidity. Fubara never showed. No wave from a balcony, no siren-blaring convoy. Just silence. That silence now feeds a new question in Rivers politics: what next?
Back-story, rapid-fire. December last year Fubara and his once-mentor, now-rival, Nyesom Wike, went from handshake to head-lock. Assembly split. Impeachment drums rolled. Pipelines exploded. Abuja stepped in. Emergency rule, one ex-naval chief, Vice-Admiral Ibok-Ete Ibas, installed as sole administrator. Six tense months later, Tinubu lifts the rule and tells all actors – governor, deputy, 27 divided lawmakers – “resume work 18 September 2025.” Easy to say. Harder on ground.
Crowds came prepared. Three separate high-life bands set up along Azikiwe Road. Traffic police shut the UTC Junction, forced commuters to hoof it. Security men sweat under helmets, trying to read the mood. Former commissioners – Evans Bipi, Solomon Eke, Chisom Gbala – paced, punching phone screens, whispering, “Have you seen him?” Former council chairmen, recently sacked by the Supreme Court, lingered too; last week they had no offices, now maybe they do again, maybe not. Such is Rivers.
At noon a rumor sprinted through the crowd: “Sim’s flight delayed!” An hour later it morphed: “He’s in Abuja, finalising appointments.” By mid-afternoon people stopped guessing; they simply left. One elderly woman folded her Fubara portrait like laundry, muttered, “Tomorrow, then,” and boarded a keke.
An aide – anonymity please, voice low – told Reportersroom, “Governor meets with Villa people tonight. He returns Friday. Just logistics.” Sounds simple. Yet insiders say bargaining over plum seats is anything but. Wike’s camp allegedly wants the Secretary to the State Government, the Chief of Staff and a chunk of commissioner slots. Fubara loyalists roll eyes. Negotiations drag. No white smoke yet.
On Channels TV’s Politics Today, Wike played innocence. “I’m not his protocol. I impose nothing,” he said, shrugging off talk that he still pulls levers. Maybe. Maybe not. Rivers watchers recall similar shrug before last year’s meltdown. Memory lingers.
Inside the freshly re-opened House of Assembly, Speaker Martin Amaewhule wasted zero seconds. First plenary after the emergency and he fired off demands: “Governor, send commissioner list. Also your 2025 budget revision. We’ll review every naira spent under Ibas.” Formal tone, sharp edges. The chamber, still patched from last year’s fire, hummed its approval.
Ibas himself bowed out Wednesday night, radio broadcast, nautical calm. “Mandate accomplished,” he said – order restored, elections held, boards reconstituted. Then, in a midnight flourish, he swore in Dr. Iringe Brown as substantive Head of Service. Critics call it a booby trap. Rights activist Charles Jaja fumes, “Favoritism at 12 a.m.? Governor must reverse.” Another file for Fubara’s in-tray.
While elites haggle, elders plead. Rufus Ada-George, Gabriel Toby and other grey beards issued a statement: forgive, unite, move on. Beautiful words. But Port Harcourt streets trust deeds, not sermons.
Friday now carries the weight of Thursday’s flop. Will the governor’s plane touch down? Will rival banners clash at the gate? Will a new cabinet list finally break the ice between Sim and his once-godfather? No script. Only suspense.
In a quiet kiosk opposite Government House, a pepper-soup seller sums it up, stirring broth. “We danced, we tired, yet we go still wait. Na our state.” She smiles, but the eyes stay wary. Rivers has seen parties flip to protests overnight. The delta forgives slowly.
For now, the stage lights remain on, the main actor offstage. But politics, like the river, never stands still. One sudden appearance, one dusty executive order, and the tide could turn again – either toward healing or another swirl of drama. Everyone keeps phones charged.
