‘After the sudden and shocking unbearable death of the beloved First Lady in September 2024, the family was plunged into a dark, disorienting fog of grief. Edidiong, like many, sought answers. And as often happens in our part of the world, those seeking solace fell into the hands of “pastorpreneurs”; those merchants of half-truths and superstition, who thrive in harvesting from the emotional ruins of the bereaved’
GRIEF, GUILT, AND GOVERNANCE: MUCH ADO ABOUT A VIDEO (Part II)
By: Celestine Mel
The moment Part I of this series hit the internet, my phone lit up like a Christmas tree. Readers wanted to know what happened in Calabar, what transpired at the funeral. I promise, we will get there. That story is a cinematic tragedy all on its own. But today, I must set that aside for something more urgent, more raw. I cannot afford to play Nero while Rome burns.
It began on May 8, 2025. A relative forwarded an old video clip to me. In it, Jane Edidiong Ufot, the second daughter of His Excellency, Pastor Umo Eno, spoke in a tone that dripped with desperation. Her words suggested a fracture in the family, a plea for attention, a cry in the wilderness. The father she was calling out to, wasn’t just a dad; he was, and still is, the Executive Governor of my state.
I was worried. Deeply. I watched the clip over and over, combing through every word, every tremble in her voice. I had to know the truth. I reached out to members of the Umo Eno family. Each denied any ongoing rift. They told me what really happened as follows:
After the sudden and shocking unbearable death of the beloved First Lady in September 2024, the family was plunged into a dark, disorienting fog of grief. Edidiong, like many, sought answers. And as often happens in our part of the world, those seeking solace fell into the hands of “pastorpreneurs”; those merchants of half-truths and superstition, who thrive in harvesting from the emotional ruins of the bereaved.
But the Governor, a grieving husband himself, heard the daughter’s cry and all the lies. He quickly took charge and steadied the ship. He led them all, children, siblings, relatives, the State, through the storm. The daughter apologized and all went smoothly. They wept together, mourned together, and began, slowly, to heal.
The video, I was told, was a relic from the darkest hour of that journey; a distant tale. Whoever resurected and leaked it in 2025, did so with one intent: to weaponize grief and bring back sad memories.
Just three days after I got the video, on May 11, I saw a different video. This time, it was the Governor and Edidiong standing side-by-side in church at The Apostolic Church, Maboju Assembly, Lagos. They worshipped, shared a laugh, a song and a testimony. Edidiong even took the Bible reading. The sight was a balm. The storm had passed. Or so I thought.
Then, on May 30, my phone rang again. This time, it was a friend from the Southwest, someone with close ties to the corridors of Aso Rock. “_Celestine,_” he yelled. _“Your governor is trending. And not in a good way.”_ He forwarded a video. I opened it. My heart froze. It was the same video. That raw, grief-stricken clip of Edidiong. Only this time, it had been torn from its context, edited for maximum damage, and hurled into the viral maw of social media. A calculated hit job.
In a country like ours, where science and superstition jostle for supremacy, and where religion is both sanctuary and snare, any narrative, no matter how far-fetched, can catch fire. Especially when it’s wrapped in the cloth of family, power, and death. Suddenly, everyone became a pundit. YouTube channels erupted. Blogs ran wild. Even so-called reputable newspapers. Radio and TV Stations joined the pile-on. Day after day, the Governor is being dragged through the mud. It is a grotesque theater of grief; hysteria without facts, outrage without substance. But here’s what the public forgets.
Pastor Umo Eno lost his wife of 38 years. Her name was Oluwakemi, a name he gave her, meaning “God has prepared me.” She was his partner, his compass, his quiet strength. Together, they built a life from the most humble of beginnings. From police barracks in Lagos, to building a hotel empire in Eket, to founding a church. They raised six children and several grandchildren. Their love story was no fairy tale, it was forged in struggle, sacrifice, and faith.
In the chaos that followed her death, Edidiong, a daughter devastated by the loss of her mother, made a panicked phone call, pleading for her father to come home. She feared the worst, as rumors and half-truths swirled. It was grief, not accusation. Pain, not blame. And when the fog lifted, she apologized. The family regrouped. The healing resumed. Until someone found the clip. Tried to blackmail the family. Failed. And then released it to the world, unleashing a storm they knew would sell.
What followed is a cautionary tale of just how cruel we’ve become. Of how society turns tragedy into spectacle, and suffering into clickbait. One pastor in a church’s WhatsApp group in Abuja, used the clip to declare the Governor a ritualist to his congregants today. The Governor of a state! Accused, tried, and condemned, without trial. By a Pastor?
I’ve read headlines that screamed: “Governor accused of killing his wife.” But Edidiong never said that. What she said was: “Daddy, let us talk. Do you want them to kill us?” How does that translate to an accusation of murder?
Tell me: why would a man who has never stopped telling the story of how his wife saved him, stayed with him, shaped him, suddenly wake up and kill her? For what? For power? For wealth? What wealth is greater than 38 years of devotion, companionship, and shared dreams? This isn’t just a smear on one man. It’s an indictment of us all. And I know this story too well.
My father died suddenly on New Year’s Eve, 1985, after a lethal injection by a quack doctor. Within hours, my mother, his grieving widow, was accused of murder. They said she wanted to inherit his goats, yams, and Suzuki 125 motorcycle. The same woman went on to raise eight children, train us all through university. She was left to bury her dear husband alone. The natives even asked her to drink the bathwater from her husband’s corpse to prove her innocence. She refused. And carried that stigma for years. When she died in 2010 of heart failure, they paradoxically accused another of my uncles of killing her. Superstition strikes again. And lives on.
Just last month, I buried a cousin who refused medical help because he believed his illness, which I suspect was triggered by kidney failure, was “spiritual.” He died. Needless death, born from fear, stoked by ignorance, watered by senseless superstition and sustained by stupidity. And now, back to Pastor Umo Eno.
I called him yesterday. He was calm. Painfully calm. I could see through the purity of his soul and innocence of his heart. He was hesitant to join issues with the mob until I pressed further. Hear him:
_“Nobody would force me to put out my wife’s medical records. I cannot dishonour her to please the world. She had long-term medical issues that aggravated slowly over a period. I am still in sorrow that I lost her at a time when I needed her the most. Each time I look besides me, I see that huge vacuum that no one else can fill. For 40 years, we forged this life, together. We courted for two years and were married for 38. Through thick and thin, she was there for me. She was my rock, my all. Kemi inspired me to keep going and never to lose focus. She was my stabilizer. She coordinated the family while I faced the tumbles of life. I will continue to honour her by serving Akwa Ibom people to the best of my ability; the way she would have loved us to serve: with grace, empathy, compassion, kindness, and love. This is my way of honouring her. I am also doing my best to keep the family together. I will continue to do so. Probably, this is one of the things I guess, comes from politics. If people feel they can use my personal challenges against me, I don’t know how they feel good doing that. I guess that is the only window they can find. I have forgiven them all through Christ our Lord…”_
What kind of society have we become; where a man must defend himself for loving and losing his wife?
The story isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
TO BE CONTINUED…
++++++*Celestine Mel* is a chartered banker and Project Lead. He writes from the FCT, Abuja.
