When the explosion ripped through Bodija on January 16, 2024, it left behind more than collapsed buildings and broken roads. It left families in shock. People searching for loved ones.
A neighbourhood trying to understand how normal life could disappear in seconds. In those moments, politics meant nothing. What mattered was help, speed, and reassurance that government would not disappear when things became hard.
That is why the conversation that has followed, months later, feels so disturbing and unsettling.
What should have been a carefully constructed discussion about recovery and effective management of funds has slowly turned into a battle of narratives.
At the centre of it is the now familiar claim about a ₦30 billion federal intervention fund and the allegation that the Oyo State Government, under Governor Seyi Makinde, abandoned victims while sitting on money meant for their relief.
It is a powerful story because it sounds simple. It is also incomplete however, because it is entirely a one sided narrative being pushed for whatever reasons.
After the explosion, reports available in the public media space indicates that the Oyo State Government formally sought federal support.
The scale of damage was enormous, and the cost of rebuilding ran far beyond what the state could carry alone. The Federal Government approved ₦50 billion for reconstruction support below the sum of ₦100 billion sought for.
Only ₦30 billion of that amount was released, and it was clearly designated for rebuilding infrastructure in Old Bodija and surrounding areas, not for instant cash payouts.
But people were already in hospital. Homes were already gone. And waiting was not an option.
Victims were treated at government expense. Families who could not return home were housed in different hotels for weeks and, in some cases, months. Feeding, medical care, and basic needs were covered quietly, without much noise.
These were not abstract policies. They were decisions taken under pressure, with real costs attached.
As the emergency phase eased, the longer work began. Unsafe buildings had to be assessed and pulled down. Roads and drainage needed redesign and reconstruction.
The environment itself had to be stabilised. By official records, the state has already spent over ₦20 billion on reconstruction and infrastructure, and more than ₦4 billion directly on supporting victims.
This spending came from the state’s own resources, not from the federal intervention fund that dominates public debate today.
The ₦30 billion released by the Federal Government remains intact in a dedicated account. The state has explained this repeatedly.
The balance of the approved ₦50 billion has not been released, and embarking on a large scale reconstruction project with partial funding carries real risks. That caution has been recast by critics as indifference.
To understand why this argument has gained so much traction, one has to look beyond Bodija and into Oyo State’s political memory.
Since 1999, there has been a familiar pattern. Governors are embraced at the start, questioned midway, and often discarded at the end.
Alhaji Lam Adesina, Adebayo Alao-Akala, and Abiola Ajimobi all left office under heavy criticism, only for public opinion to soften later. Their legacies were debated more kindly after the moment had passed.
The one exception is Senator Rashidi Adewolu Ladoja, now the Olubadan of Ibadanland. His story was shaped by extraordinary circumstances.
The illegal impeachment he endured between 2003 and 2007, his reinstatement, and the political losses that followed created a sense of collective guilt and sympathy that altered how history judged him.
This history matters because it reveals something deeper than party politics. It shows a tendency to forget context, effort, and complexity once power begins to shift.
The irony is that the same critics who accuse Governor Makinde of failure despite his sectoral achievements that earned him several nicknames such as “Gods sent man, Mr talk and do, and ‘alaanu mekunu” among others have often compared Ibadan to Lagos.
They point to Lagos’ consistency and long term planning as a model yet forget the pattern of political consistency that was put into such achievements by both the people and government.
What Oyo people rarely acknowledge is that Lagos achieved that stability by allowing successive governments to build on one another’s work based on the medium and long term development plan, not by tearing each other down midstream or towards the next electoral cycle.
In Oyo State, progress is often asked to compete with older forces. Religion, regional suspicion, and the politics of immediate reward or what is now infamous as ‘stomach infrastructure’ still shape public discourse.
Even as Oyo State gains recognition as one of the faster growing economies in Nigeria and sub Saharan Africa, the conversation is gradually sliding back into division and distrust.
Against this backdrop, the Bodija narrative has become a convenient tool.
Governor Makinde’s response to the explosion was not distant or theoretical.
It was personal, administrative, and ongoing. Yet the focus has shifted from what has been done to what can be politically extracted from grief.
This is not an argument against scrutiny, far from it. Government must be questioned. Public funds must be tracked. But scrutiny loses its value or it’s moral standing when it abandons fairness.
This is so particularly when reconstruction funds are deliberately misrepresented by political actors and their apologists. When patience is framed as wickedness. When tragedy becomes a stage for political performance.
The people of Bodija deserve better. They deserve rebuilding that is careful and lasting not an instant cashout for individuals that leaves the affected environment in ruins. They deserve honesty from their leaders and restraint from their critics.
And they also deserve a political culture that remembers not just the anger of the moment, but the full story.
It is very important to note that other states, according to public record in the federal government’s approval, also got different amounts with some even far above the approval Oyo state received, yet the criticism Makinde has received appears to be targeted at downplaying the achievements recorded so far.
Leadership, especially in moments of crisis, is rarely loud. It is often slow, costly, and imperfect. The real test is not whether mistakes were avoided entirely, but whether responsibility was taken and sustained.
Regardless of the direction of the narratives or arguments, Bodija is still healing. How the state chooses to talk about that healing may determine whether old wounds close, or whether new ones are quietly created ahead of another electoral cycle.
Henry Odeh writes from Ibadan.