Whenever I travelled from Lagos to my village in Ebonyi State, I never drove straight home.
Instead, I would stop halfway at a Catholic parish known as Iboko Parish, the headquarters of Izzi Local Government Area. I parked my car there, boarded an okada into my village, greeted my people briefly, returned on the same bike to where my car was parked, and drove back to the city.
Sometimes, even during Christmas, I didn’t spend up to five hours at home.
Many people assumed I was avoiding something.
Village people?
Insecurity?
Bad boys?
No.
The reason was simple—and painful.
My village has no road.
The first day I ever attempted to drive directly into the village, I regretted it deeply. The vehicle was a Toyota Land Cruiser SUV from my car rental company—strong suspension, solid tyres, built for tough terrain. Yet, after that single trip, I spent a huge amount of money fixing it.
Not because the car was bad.
But because the road was worse than bad.
I was born on September 6, 1996—the same year Ebonyi State was created. From that year till today, people in my community still do not know what good roads look like. They do not know what steady electricity feels like. They do not know what a functional hospital or standard school looks like. Clean running water remains a luxury.
Let me be clear: Izzi Local Government Area is one of the largest in Ebonyi State. Yet, it is arguably the poorest and most underdeveloped.
I have travelled across Ebonyi State, and while no place is perfect, if you want a real-life case study of underdevelopment in Nigeria, use my community.
That reality is why, whenever I plan to build or fund a business, I trace its origin back home.
Last year, I travelled again from Lagos to Ebonyi. That same day, I walked into an eatery—no names mentioned—and what I saw was painful: unemployment everywhere. Young people sitting idle. Graduates roaming without direction. Wasted energy and lost hope.
That day, I made a decision: I would not leave without creating at least one opportunity.
Within that same week, I moved one of my businesses from Lagos to Ebonyi State. We hired over 15 staff.
It was not easy.
Because the work is largely technology-based, we had to train, retrain, and train again. Some trainings took three months. Some took six. I relocated fully from Lagos for months just to make it work. I even flew in a colleague from Lagos to assist.
It was not cheap.
But development never is.
However, what pained me even more was what I experienced during the seven months I spent in the state.
You could hardly enter a market, restaurant or public place without hearing political chants:
“4+4 is 8.”
“Number one governor.”
“Your Excellency, we love you.”
Let me be clear: praising a governor is not a crime. But when praise becomes noise, it hides reality.
Another troubling sign was everywhere you looked—giant billboards across major roads and markets, not advertising businesses or promoting local entrepreneurs, but displaying congratulatory messages to the governor: birthday wishes, praises, titles.
Billboard spaces that should generate internally generated revenue (IGR) were used for ego-massaging messages—messages that could have stayed on WhatsApp.
Those spaces could support businesses, generate revenue, fund roads, hospitals and schools. Instead, they feed applause.
Before anyone misunderstands me, this is not an attack on government. I love Ebonyi State. I love my people. That is why I speak.
Six months ago, I built a bill payment platform, Otapay.ng, and dedicated 15 percent of its net profit to supporting underdeveloped communities like mine. The name “Otapay” came from Otam Nwogba, my community.
Two months ago, I launched a Zero-to-Billion Naira business challenge. Within one week, ₦7.7 million was raised. The company is called Fokona—a name drawn from Four Corner Market in Mkpuma Ekwaoku Ndiezechi, Izzi LGA, where my entrepreneurial journey began.
Everything I build traces back home.
Yet, in that same community today, trailers carry away zinc and lead daily. Mineral resources leave the land constantly, while the people are left with no roads, no hospital, no electricity and widespread youth unemployment.
This has been happening long before I was born.
So the question is simple: how do you expect young people to remain calm when wealth leaves their land and nothing returns?
Your Excellency, Rt. Hon. Francis Ogbonna Nwifuru, please do not see this as an attack. See it as a reminder. You are from this same local government. History will ask questions.
A governor should not sit comfortably while his own backyard remains forgotten.
Development is not noise.
It is roads, water, hospitals, power and jobs.
My people do not need posters.
They need presence.
They need impact.
I will continue to speak—not because I hate government, but because I love my home. And silence has never built any community.
If you read this to the end, thank you. This is not politics. This is truth—from the road I couldn’t drive on.
Iking Ferry is the Founder of Pulseford Business School and a financial literacy advocate on a mission to build one million financially free Nigerians through the right knowledge.
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