On a humid morning in May 2007, Ikedi Ohakim stood before the people of Imo State, his hand raised in solemn oath as he became their governor. Born in the quiet town of Okohia in Isiala Mbano fifty years earlier, Ohakim had journeyed from business administration classrooms at the University of Lagos to the highest office at the Douglas House Owerri. With his tailored suits and entrepreneurial mindset, he cut the figure of a corporate executive rather than a traditional politician—and that was precisely his appeal.
“I bring not just political promises, but a businessman’s blueprint,” he declared in his inaugural address, setting the tone for what would become a whirlwind four-year journey that still divides opinion in Imo nearly two decades later.
Stepping into power under the little-known Progressive Peoples Alliance (PPA) before making a calculated return to the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) in 2009, Ohakim’s political path was as unconventional as his governance style. Armed with his master’s degree in management and years of private sector experience, he approached Imo’s challenges with boardroom boldness, envisioning transformations that would echo long after his tenure ended in 2011.
To understand Ohakim’s legacy is to understand the audacity of his dreams. Poring over maps late into the night in Government House, he sketched his masterpiece: the 150-kilometre Imo Free Way. This wasn’t just another infrastructure project—it was his vision to transform Imo into what he called a “one-city state,” where distance would no longer dictate opportunity.
“Imagine driving from Oguta to Okpala in under an hour,” he explained to skeptical commissioners, tracing his finger across 15 local government areas on the map. “The farmer in the morning can be the businessman by afternoon.”
The Free Way project embodied Ohakim’s governance philosophy—ambitious, forward-thinking, and unapologetically modern. In Owerri, the state capital, his Inner Ring Road plan featured five futuristic flyovers that would redefine urban movement. By the time he left office, two had broken ground, concrete foundations of dreams that would never fully materialise.
Years later, taxi drivers still point to these unfinished structures as they navigate Owerri’s congested streets. “That was going to be Ohakim’s flyover,” they say, a wistful tone creeping into their voices. “Things would be different now if he had finished.”
If the Free Way was Ohakim’s practical vision, the Oguta Wonder Lake project was his moonshot—a breathtaking tourism and conference center designed to rival destinations across West Africa. The architectural renderings were spectacular: luxury accommodations nestled against the natural beauty of Oguta Lake, conference facilities buzzing with international delegates, and over 2,000 locals employed in various capacities.
“Why should Nigerians travel abroad for world-class leisure when we can build it right here?” Ohakim challenged his cabinet. The project secured substantial funding through his pioneering N18.5 billion bond issue—the first of its kind by a Nigerian state government.
Visiting the site today reveals only weathered signboards and overgrown foundations. The Wonder Lake remains just that—a wonder of what might have been. When Governor Hope Uzodimma announced the Urashi River Dredging and Free Trade Zone in 2023, Ohakim couldn’t help but note the parallels to his abandoned vision. “We were simply ahead of our time,” he remarked during a rare interview. “The blueprint was there all along.”
While infrastructure dominated headlines, it was Ohakim’s employment initiatives that won the hearts of ordinary Imolites. The Imo Road Maintenance Agency (IROMA) wasn’t just about fixing potholes—it provided livelihoods for 30,000 families. His graduate employment scheme brought hope to 10,000 young graduates in a state struggling with youth unemployment.
Maria Onyeka, now a school principal in Owerri, still credits Ohakim for her start. “I was among the 10,000 graduates he employed in 2008,” she recalls. “That opportunity changed my life when I had lost hope after three years without work.”
When his successor dismantled these programs, Ohakim didn’t frame it as a political attack. “It wasn’t me they hurt,” he said during a community forum in 2012. “It was the 40,000 Imo families who suddenly found themselves without income.”
Security challenges tested Ohakim’s resolve, particularly a kidnapping wave that threatened the state’s peace. His approach revealed both his pragmatism and his occasional reluctance to embrace harsh measures. When the state legislature passed a law making kidnapping punishable by death, Ohakim initially hesitated to sign it.
“I worry about the sanctity of life,” he confided to his attorney general. But facing mounting pressure, he eventually yielded to the legislature’s two-thirds majority. His alternative strategy proved more effective—empowering traditional rulers and vigilance groups with resources and authority. At a memorable Christmas party in 2009, he surprised the state’s monarchs with a 13% salary increase, cementing their loyalty in the fight against crime.
Perhaps Ohakim’s most under-appreciated achievement was his financial ingenuity. When federal allocations proved insufficient for his ambitious plans, he turned to capital markets instead of scaling back his vision.
The N18.5 billion seven-year fixed-rate bond he secured in June 2009 demonstrated sophisticated financial thinking rare in Nigerian state governance at the time. The meticulous allocation—7% for water supply rehabilitation, 20% for road repairs and construction, and 68% for the Wonder Lake project—reflected careful prioritisation rather than haphazard spending.
“We cannot build a 21st-century state with 20th-century financing,” Ohakim explained during the bond signing ceremony. The move raised eyebrows among conservative political operators but earned admiration from financial analysts who recognised its innovation.
One April morning in 2009, while many Nigerian governors were occupied with local politics, Ohakim and a select delegation boarded a flight to Taiwan. The purpose wasn’t ceremonial—it was educational. Taiwan’s remarkable transformation from resource-poor island to economic powerhouse fascinated him.
“If they could achieve so much with so little, imagine what we can do with our abundant resources,” he told his commissioners upon return. The trip exemplified Ohakim’s global outlook, as did his trilogy of books published during his tenure: Pushing the Limits, The Courage to Challenge, and Challenging New Frontiers.
Unlike typical political memoirs, these works articulated a coherent development philosophy that transcended party lines. “These aren’t just books—they’re blueprints,” noted a political science professor at Imo State University. “Few Nigerian politicians have documented their vision so thoroughly.”
Ohakim’s ambitious journey hit turbulence well before its conclusion. His political party-switching, from PDP to PPA and back to PDP, raised questions about his consistency. The 2011 election, which saw him lose to Rochas Okorocha despite his claims of victory, left deep wounds that never fully healed.
Controversy followed him beyond office. In 2015, EFCC officials arrived at his residence, leading to allegations of financial impropriety that, though never resulting in conviction, cast shadows over his legacy. A 2020 dispute with businesswoman Chinyere Amuchienwa over luxury items became tabloid fodder, further complicating his public image.
Yet perhaps the most dramatic chapter came in January 2023, when gunmen attacked his convoy, killing four policemen. Ohakim and his children narrowly escaped, a grim reminder of the security challenges still plaguing the state he once governed.
Despite these setbacks, Ohakim enjoys a curious afterlife in Imo politics. Social media posts often romanticise his tenure as a golden age cut short. “The only former governor who can walk Owerri’s streets and get applause,” noted a 2023 article assessing his enduring popularity.
His recent public appearances, including community tours and speeches advocating governance continuity, have fuelled speculation about a potential 2027 comeback. Supporters speak of a “political remontada”—the Spanish football term for an improbable comeback—while critics question whether his time has passed.
What explains this enduring appeal? Perhaps it’s the power of unfinished business. Ohakim’s greatest projects remain frozen in potential rather than tarnished by completion. The Wonder Lake never had the chance to disappoint tourists; the Free Way never had the opportunity to exceed its budget. In their incompletion, they remain perfect in possibility.
In a thoughtful address at the Church of Nigeria synod in 2024, Ohakim offered what might be the most insightful analysis of his own legacy: “Development without continuity is like building on sand,” he told the gathered clergy and dignitaries. “Each administration must see itself as a chapter in a book, not the entire story.”
Ohakim’s governorship indeed reads like an intriguing chapter abruptly cut short—full of bold ideas, financial creativity, and genuine concern for employment and security, yet ultimately incomplete. His infrastructure dreams remain phantom landmarks on Imo’s landscape. His employment programs exist only in the memories of those they once supported.
As the political winds shift once again in Imo State, Ohakim’s legacy stands as both inspiration and cautionary tale—a reminder that in governance, vision must be matched with sustainability, and dreams require not just conception but completion. Whether he will get a second chance to finish what he started remains one of the most intriguing questions in Imo’s political future.
