It was Thursday, the 11th of December, 2025.
Bayelsa was already humming with the early music of Christmas—lights blooming on street corners, decorations appearing on fences and shopfronts, and the familiar anticipation of a season of joy.
Yet, beneath the calm, no one foresaw the shadow preparing to fall over the state. Only two weeks earlier, I had spoken with the Deputy Governor of Bayelsa State. Twice we exchanged pleasantries—twice I heard again that rare combination of humour, wisdom, and verbal mastery that made Senator Lawrence Oborawharievwo Ewhrudjakpo one of the most unforgettable political figures of the Ijaw nation.
His mouth—yes, his “titanic mouth”—was a legend long before his office. His words were crafted with the patience and sharpness only Achebe himself could have approved of. He could turn an ordinary conversation into a theatre of proverbs, stories, philosophy and humour. He could say, “If the rat is too fat to be disciplined, the children roast it during the moonlight season,” or launch into an anecdote so rich that you would forget the time. Senator Ewhrudjakpo was a man whose wisdom carried the smell of home—village sense, riverbank knowledge, the kind of intelligence that comes not from books alone, but from a profound understanding of people, community, and duty.
An Indefatigable Deputy, A Governor’s True Ally
For Governor Douye Diri, there was always a predictable rhythm in public events:
“Let me acknowledge my indefatigable, supportive, and workaholic Deputy Governor…”
It was not a political courtesy. It was truth. It was gratitude. It was respect earned by sweat, commitment, and loyalty. Senator Ewhrudjakpo worked almost twenty-four hours a day—not as a metaphor but as a lifestyle. He worked in his office, in his car, in the plane, in transit, and sometimes literally on the streets. The man carried his files like a soldier carries his weapon—always armed, always ready.
I remember when I urgently needed a condolence letter after the passing of our Ebeni-Ibe, King G.G. Igodo. I phoned him. He was travelling. He was exhausted. Yet I pursued him to Abuja, and there—despite the pressure of engagements—he found the time, the focus, and the heart to write the letter. That was Lawrence: dependable, accessible, deeply responsible, and ever willing to serve.
A Man of Courage, Conviction, and Unyielding Principle
His death is not just another political loss—it is a tragedy of generations. It is the silencing of a voice that taught, challenged, provoked, and inspired. Distinguished Senator Ewhrudjakpo harmed Bayelsa only in one way: by leaving too soon.
He was a man who lived by conviction—unyielding, courageous, firm. In an era where politicians danced to the tune of convenience, he carried the bravery of Mohammed Ali—the bravery to stand by one’s principles even when the ground shakes. Ali once said, “I will not serve in Vietnam.” Lawrence, in that same spirit, would declare, without blinking, “I will not change my political party.”
His values were not seasonal. They were not transactional. They were not negotiable. He believed a man should die standing on ideals larger than himself.
And that is exactly how he lived.
A Servant Leader Whose Death Shakes Bayelsa to Its Core
We mourn not simply because a leader has fallen, but because a pillar has collapsed, a goalkeeper of a collective dream is gone. If Senator Henry Seriake Dickson were asked this moment to speak of him, he would say:
“Lawrence encapsulated my whole idea of an Izon man—sincere, truthful, service-oriented, patriotic. He was hungry for work. He was in a hurry to move Bayelsa to the Promised Land.”
Yes. His death bust the heart of many. It has dissolved an entire vision for those who worked closely with him. It has left a vacuum too deep for quick healing, too wide for easy replacement.
Loved by the Governor, Loved by His People
His relationship with Governor Diri was a model of political brotherhood—a partnership built on mutual respect, loyalty, and shared purpose. He was not a deputy waiting for instructions; he was a co-labourer, a stabiliser, a strategist, a confidant, a friend. Bayelsa saw in them a unity that strengthened governance and reassured the people.
Beyond government houses and state functions, Senator Ewhrudjakpo’s relationship with the people was even more remarkable. He was the type of leader whose phone never truly went off, whose doors were never fully closed, whose heart was always open. He had the gift of touching individuals as if they were the only ones in the world at that moment.
Bayelsa Weeps… and Rightly So
This is a painful death. A death that forces strong men to swallow tears and women to hold their chests in disbelief. The tragedy does not lie only in his passing, but in the unfinished work he carried, the unspoken words, the dreams he nurtured for Bayelsa and the Ijaw nation.
We have lost a teacher.
A philosopher.
A dependable ally.
A workhorse.
A man who mixed humour with wisdom, intellect with humility, and power with service.
Senator Lawrence Ewhrudjakpo was not just a Deputy Governor.
He was not just a Senator.
He was a rare breed of leader—one whose absence is felt immediately, painfully, and overwhelmingly.
Farewell, O Great Son of Ijaw Nation
Bayelsa mourns.
The governor mourns.
The Ijaw nation mourns.
Nigeria mourns.
But we also give thanks—for a life lived with purpose, with integrity, with courage, and with unwavering love for his people.
May the rivers rise gently to receive him.
May the ancestors of Ijaw welcome this noble son.
And may Bayelsa never forget the titan who gave everything, and asked for very little.
Rest in power, Senator Lawrence Ewhrudjakpo.
Your service lives on.
Your words remain.
Your legacy endures.
