Anioma Dream And The Igbanke Question: A Struggle For Identity, Unity, And Belonging

Isaac Asabor

In the crevices of Nigeria's evolving democratic framework lies a quietly intensifying movement, one rooted not in power struggles or partisan politics but in the simple yearning for identity, belonging, and justice. The push for the creation of Anioma State from the present Delta State has become a clarion call for the Ika-speaking Anioma people of Delta North Senatorial District. But more significantly, it has reawakened a deeply emotional and cultural agitation among the Igbanke people, a distinct Ika-speaking community located in Edo State, whose ancestral and linguistic ties with the Anioma people continue to shape their sociopolitical aspirations.

At the heart of the Igbanke agitation is a passionate plea for reintegration, not secession. The people of Igbanke, made up of six communities, Omolua, Idumuodin, Ake, Oligie, Igbontor, and Ottah, have long lamented their geo-political orphanhood, being culturally Anioma, but politically Edo. Their identity crisis is not academic or symbolic; it has real-life consequences in marginalization, neglect, and administrative alienation.

The demand for the creation of Anioma State is not a new struggle. From the days of Nigeria’s early post-independence era, Anioma leaders have consistently clamored for a state that reflects their identity and gives their people a fair share of development and representation. Currently folded into the larger and resource-controlling Delta State, the Anioma people have long argued that their aspirations are subsumed by the more politically dominant Urhobo, Itsekiri, and Ijaw-speaking groups.

According to Chief Dr. Benjamin Elue, former Deputy Governor of Delta State and prominent Anioma elder statesman, “Anioma has all it takes to be a state given its population, resources, and cultural cohesion. What we lack is federal will.” His statement reflects the prevailing sentiment among the elite and grassroots of Delta North, who see the creation of Anioma State not just as a reward for long-standing loyalty to the federation, but as a rectification of historical oversight.

In 2014, during the National Conference, Anioma State was one of the proposed new states recommended by delegates. Yet, as with many well-intentioned national recommendations, it remained ink on paper.

But the conversation has returned, and louder this time as Igbanke people who are no doubt caught in the wrong map now have the opportunity of having a sense of belonging and identity.

While Anioma’s demand for statehood is loud, the Igbanke call for reunification with their Anioma kinsmen is desperate. Language, culture, and history tie them to Ika-speaking communities in Delta North more than their current Edo State configuration. In fact, many of their names, proverbs, and cultural expressions mirror those of Agbor, Umunede, and Owa.

At this juncture, it is not out of place to opine that their agitation is rooted in three major grievances that cut across administrative marginalization, cultural isolation and political identity crisis.

Explanatorily put, despite their strategic population and location, Igbanke remains largely underdeveloped. They are hardly represented in Edo State politics or developmental plans.

In fact, during festivals, traditional ceremonies, and inter-community engagements, the Igbanke people find more affinity with their Anioma brothers than with their Benin or Esan neighbors.

Therefore, as political tides in Edo State shift toward Benin or Esan dominance, Igbanke finds itself repeatedly without adequate political representation.

In the words of Hon. Sebastian Okoh, a cultural advocate and a politician in Ika North Constituency of Delta State, “Igbanke’s case is like a man whose umbilical cord was buried in Agbor but finds himself adopted in Auchi. They are Anioma by language, worldview, and history. Their agitation should be taken seriously.”

One may wonder, is this agitation confined to political elites and cultural chiefs? The answer is a resounding no.

It can be recalled in this context that not a few Igbanke people, including women, youth groups, and elders, are pouring out their frustrations, and lamenting over the amorphousness of their identity as a community. One of the women once told this writer, “Our children grow up not knowing who they truly are. When we go to Agbor, we feel at home. Here, we are just existing. Not living.”

In fact, young people in Igbanke are also taking the conversation to social media, creating advocacy handles, historical archives, and organizing sensitization campaigns. Hashtags like #IgbankeIsAnioma, #ReuniteIgbanke, and #AniomaNow are gaining traction among diaspora youth, some of whom have begun petitioning the National Assembly.

Of course, the creation of a new state or boundary adjustment is not a walk in the park. Nigeria’s Constitution demands a tedious process: approval by two-thirds of National Assembly members, two-thirds of State Houses of Assembly, and a referendum in the affected areas. This complexity has discouraged many genuine efforts in the past.

However, in an era where restructuring and regionalism are gaining ground as panaceas for Nigeria’s overcentralized governance, the Anioma and Igbanke agitation could ride the tide of national reform.

According to Prof. Sylvester Odion-Akhaine, a constitutional scholar, “If properly articulated, this is a legitimate agitation. But it must be grassroots-driven, legally tidy, and politically strategic. Emotional argument alone won’t cut it.”

Some have raised concerns that such boundary agitations might deepen Nigeria’s ethnic tensions. But in this case, the Igbanke push is integrationist, not separatist. Their aim is not to leave Nigeria, but to find justice within it, to be placed where they naturally and historically belong.

Even more, the proposed Anioma State, with Igbanke as part of it, can serve as a model of unity in diversity, bringing together culturally linked communities across today’s arbitrary state boundaries.

A statement by Ohaneze Ndi Anioma, a cultural group within the wider Ohaneze Ndigbo, underscores this sentiment: “The Igbanke question is not about politics but about restoring lost identity. They are our brothers, and their return will make Anioma State stronger.”

Without a doubt, the agitation for Anioma State and the reintegration of Igbanke into its fold is not just a political demand, it is a human cry. A cry for belonging, for identity, and for fairness.

If Nigeria is serious about healing wounds, deepening federalism, and giving every people a sense of belonging, it must start listening to these grassroots calls. It must stop drawing maps that divide brothers and start drawing policies that unite them. For the Igbanke people, this is not about opportunism or politics; it is about homecoming.

And in the grand narrative of Nigeria’s federation, their story might just be the beginning of a much-needed redefinition of what it means to belong.

Isaac Asabor is an indigene of Omolua-Igbanke, and is a Journalist and Public Policy Analyst.