By Isaac Asabor
In the world of journalism, particularly in the sensitive but potent realm of opinion journalism, there exist certain “no-go areas” shaped not by censorship or legal constraint but by the cultural compass of decency. Among such areas are topics that border on witchcraft, sex, and deeply personal family issues. These matters, deeply entrenched in the fabric of African sensibilities, are often treated with reverent silence and avoided in mainstream public discourse.
Yet, once in a while, reality tears down the walls of privacy, pushing these very issues into the public square, not by the prying hands of journalists but by the very people who should know better. When that happens, the journalist is not just allowed but often duty-bound to step in, not to sensationalize, but to contextualize, educate, and most importantly, to caution.
However, the unfolding conflict between Akwa Ibom State Governor, Pastor Umo Eno, and his daughter, Jane Edidiong Ufot, who serves as the Senior Special Assistant on Health, Safety, and Environment, has taken a troubling turn. Ms. Ufot has made serious allegations, claiming threats to both her life and that of her daughter. She further alleged that the governor intends to “sacrifice” her, just as he allegedly “sacrificed” her mother, vowing that she would not suffer the same fate. While the exact meaning of her use of the word “sacrifice” remains unclear, it has widely been interpreted as an insinuation that the governor may have had a hand in his wife’s death.
Analyzed from the perspectives of family, culture, and public responsibility, it suffices to opine that in Africa, the family is not merely a nuclear institution; it is sacred. The idea of hierarchy, respect for elders, and the sanctity of the family’s internal affairs are guiding principles instilled from childhood. Regardless of how modernized we become, African families still largely uphold the ideal that grievances, no matter how deep, are settled within the family, away from the gazes of the public and the judgments of strangers.
So, when a daughter, no matter how aggrieved, takes to social media to call out her father, who happens to be the number one citizen of the state, eyebrows are raised. Not simply because it is scandalous, but because it contradicts deeply held societal values. And more so, when that daughter is not a private citizen but a government appointee herself, the implications become even more far-reaching.
Without a doubt, it is a crisis of generational sensibilities. This is as the Umo Eno family issue is not just about a daughter and her father; it is symptomatic of a deeper crisis, the widening chasm between generations. Today’s young adults, especially those raised in the era of Instagram and TikTok, have grown up being told that “owning your truth” and “living out loud” are virtues. Social media has been weaponized into a megaphone for grievances, even when those grievances should have been sorted quietly at the dinner table.
This is not to say that younger generations do not have legitimate concerns. They often do. But there is a fine line between expressing one’s pain and humiliating one’s family. In African culture, that line is not just moral; it is sacred.
The current clash between Governor Umo Eno and his daughter is, therefore, more than a family dispute. It is a collision between traditional values and the radical openness of the digital age. In this case, the daughter is not just fighting a personal battle, she is inadvertently challenging an entire cultural order.
Critics may argue: “He’s a public official; why should his family life be off-limits?” That is a valid question. However, in African societies, even public officials are first seen through the lens of the family structure they come from. A leader is respected not just for policies or political prowess but also for being a good father, a faithful husband, a community elder, someone who upholds family honor. When that honor is questioned by someone within the family, it does not just hurt the man; it stains the cultural expectations tied to his office.
There is also the danger of political exploitation. Once personal grievances enter the public space, especially involving a serving governor, political vultures circle with malicious intent. They twist narratives, stoke sentiments, and weaponize emotions for political gain. The daughter may have thought she was venting, but in a politically sensitive terrain like Nigeria, she has handed ammunition to her father’s enemies.
This is not a call to silence abuse or suppress genuine grievances. Far from it. But young people must be taught, and often reminded, that not every hurt demands a public audience. Social media may validate their pain for a few hours, maybe even days, but the long-term consequences of public familial confrontations often outweigh whatever temporary relief they might feel.
Children of public figures, especially those who themselves occupy public offices, must remember they carry not just their family names but also the collective expectations of a people. Personal maturity, discretion, and decorum are not optional virtues; they are expected standards.
Pastor Umo Eno, a man of God and now a man of the people, carries a dual burden. Not only must he govern wisely, but he must also lead his family with the same wisdom he extends to state affairs. The expectations are high, and while no man is perfect, the reality is that the higher one climbs in leadership, the greater the scrutiny.
This public fall-out should be a wake-up call. For the Governor, it is a time to mend fences and perhaps revisit the boundaries between public duty and private relationships. For his daughter, it is an opportunity for reflection, a time to weigh the cost of emotional outbursts in the court of public opinion.
At the heart of this article is not judgment, but a plea. A plea for discretion. A plea for empathy. A plea for cultural sensitivity. Families will fight. Even the most spiritual of homes are not immune to conflict. But the resolution must honor both truth and tradition.
To the youths watching this saga unfold, let it be a cautionary tale. Just because you can share does not mean you should. Healing is more lasting when it happens in private than when it is pursued through hashtags and viral posts.
Let this not be a moment for gloating or gossip, but for national reflection, on how to preserve the dignity of family in a world that constantly tries to tear it apart for clicks and clout.
