By Jude Eze
“The true test of leadership is not how one acts in moments of comfort and convenience, but how one stands firm in moments of challenge and grief.” — Adapted from Martin Luther King Jr.
It was May 27, 2025 — a date written forever in the civic memory of Udenu Local Government Area of Enugu State. The sun rose with unique light and rare promise. The air was unusually cheerful, humming with the laughter of children and the rhythm of drumbeats rehearsed for the long-awaited Children’s Day Celebration.
For the first time in over fifteen years, the Local Government Secretariat at Obollo Afor was alive again with the innocence of youth. Schools had gathered, teachers beamed, and parents watched with rekindled nostalgia. The last time such a scene had graced Udenu was before insecurity cast its long shadow over the nation, forcing a painful embargo on public gatherings. But peace had returned — all thanks to the security reforms of Governor Peter Ndubuisi Mbah, whose bold investments in law enforcement and technology had restored relative calm across Enugu State.
And so, the Governor had declared that the Children’s Day Parade must return in all 17 Local Government Areas. For Udenu, this was more than an annual ritual; it was a homecoming of hope. The Mayor, Aka Eze Aka, threw his full weight behind it. Logistics were perfected, invitations dispatched, and the Council Pavilion decorated with flags and balloons in the colours of sunrise.
By 8:00 a.m., the Chairman, as punctual as a priest at the altar, was already in his office. Files attended to. Memos signed. His friends and colleagues, Hon. Chika Ugwuoke, Commissioner for Labour, and Hon. Ajogwu, Commissioner for Special Duties, joined him soon after. At exactly 10:00 a.m., they moved to the Pavilion. I was the Master of Ceremony that day. I remember vividly how Aka stood tall, immaculately dressed, his face lit by the sheer joy of watching children once again march proudly on their soil.
The music soared, the trumpets blared, and the little ones sang victory songs that pierced through time, reminding us of our own childhood days at Ikem before Udenu became a Local Government in 1996. The entire Secretariat danced to the rhythm of rebirth.
Then, the unpredictable happened!
While still on the podium, taking the salute from the radiant contingents of schoolchildren, Aka’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Once. Twice. Then thrice. He ignored it. A leader on duty must not be distracted. But fate was ringing from the other end.
Moments later, a text message dropped — the kind that freezes blood. His penultimate elder brother, Mr. Emmanuel Chimaroke Eze, had just been involved in a ghastly motor accident on his way to the event. He had been rushed to the hospital but was pronounced dead on arrival.
Death had knocked, uninvited, on a day meant for joy.
Yet, the man on the podium did not flinch. He saluted the marching pupils with the same smile, his heart quietly collapsing behind his ribs. He stood there, giving the children the celebration they deserved, even as grief knocked loudly within.
It was only after the parade, when he returned to his seat, that he read the full message and confirmed the tragedy. I watched him from a distance — his face calm, his composure unbroken. He whispered nothing. He excused no one. He simply breathed deeply and carried on with the event.
At about 3:00 p.m., there was a brief pause before the final match of the Peter Mbah–Udenu Youth Championship League 2025 — a football tournament he had personally sponsored since March 14. The finals between Obollo Eke Ward and Ezimo Ward were about to begin. Quietly, Aka slipped away. He wept agonizingly, then went swiftly to the hospital. He gave firm, practical instructions that his brother’s body be deposited at the mortuary. He told the family the burial would be the next morning — simple and swift. Then, without a hint of self-indulgence, he returned to the Secretariat before the football tournament’s closing formalities began.
He stayed till the referee’s final whistle blared. The trophy handed. The contingents dismissed. The crowd cheered. No one knew. No one suspected.
That evening, as the golden sun bowed behind the rolling hills of Udenu, Aka finally spoke. His voice was soft but steady. He thanked everyone for their participation. Then, later that night, almost as an afterthought, he tweeted:
“One of the happiest days of my life instantaneously became one of the worst days of my life. While I happily took the salute at the May 27 Children’s Day in the LG headquarters, Obollo Afor, my brother, Emma Chimaroke Tingiliingili, painfully died in a road accident. The same day.”
There was a long, haunting silence in the social corridors. Many read it in disbelief. Tears welled in many eyes.
That was the moment I truly understood what the oath of office meant when it said: “…that I will not allow my personal interest to override the common good of the people.”
The next morning, he buried his brother in Amutenyi, Obollo Eke — quietly, without fanfare. No political crowd. No loud sirens. No ostentation. The man who manages the Local Government treasury refused to exploit it for personal grief. He would not turn sorrow into spectacle. He would not turn duty into indulgence.
In a nation where public officials often abandon their posts over the faintest discomfort; where weddings and funerals of relatives become state carnivals funded by public coffers, here was a leader who understood restraint — a man who understood that the true measure of power is not in spending but in self-control.
“To lead is to bleed,” wrote John Maxwell, “but only those who bleed silently in service of others ever leave a mark that time cannot erase.”
Aka Eze Aka bled silently that day and left an indelible mark on all who witnessed it.
This episode was not merely an act of endurance; it was a lesson in governance ethics. It was a demonstration of how empathy and discipline can coexist in public service. It was proof that integrity is not built in speeches but revealed in the crucible of crisis.
As citizens, we often measure our leaders by the number of roads they build or the markets they renovate. Aka is not found wanting in these areas either. But sometimes, leadership is better measured by moments like this — when a man holds his grief in one hand and his duty in the other and still chooses the latter.
May 27, 2025, was not just Children’s Day in Udenu. It was the day a leader taught Nigeria, without saying a word, that the oath of office is not a ritual of words but a covenant of the soul.
When history records the story of our time, that single act of stoic devotion may yet shine brighter than all the ribbon-cutting ceremonies combined.
“Public office,” said Thomas Jefferson, “is a public trust.” And on that fateful Children’s Day, Aka Eze Aka kept that trust, even when his heart was breaking.
In this generation, where politics has become synonymous with privilege, he reminded us that leadership, at its purest, is sacrifice — that sometimes, to serve the people, you must set aside your own pain.
That day in Udenu, grief met duty, and duty stood taller.
Jude Eze, a public affairs analyst wrote from Enugu.
