Edo State, a land rich in history, culture, and natural heritage. Its traditions stretch back centuries, anchored by the ancient Benin Kingdom and the enduring authority of the Oba of Benin. Yet beneath this deep cultural fabric lies a corrosive force, two parallel institutions whose unchecked powers have, in recent decades, eroded governance, fueled violence, and turned land, the most sacred communal resource, into a commodity for exploitation. These institutions are the Community Development Associations (CDAs) and the Okaigheles.

Once conceived as vehicles for unity and grassroots development, they have morphed into mechanisms of coercion and profiteering. Left largely unchecked, they have carved out their own spheres of authority, often overshadowing or outright replacing the state's official machinery.

The Rise and Fall of the CDAs.
CDAs were, in their earliest form, a noble idea. In villages and urban neighborhoods where government presence was light or nonexistent, communities organized themselves to address pressing needs, such as building roads, digging wells, installing water pumps, and organizing local sanitation. At their best, they were collective problem-solvers—neighbors pooling resources for the common good. For a time, the model worked. Rural Edo flourished with this form of grassroots self-help. The associations gave residents a sense of agency, a framework to address urgent needs without waiting for bureaucratic intervention.

But as the 2000s unfolded, Edo South entered a period of rapid urbanization. Land values soared, especially on the outskirts of Benin City. The calculus shifted. Land became not just a resource for farming or settlement, but a ticket to wealth and political influence. CDA chairmen, once community servants, saw an opening. They controlled the very resource now in highest demand, and many seized it.

By the early 2010s, allegations of land grabbing, multiple sales of the same plot, extortion, and violent intimidation were commonplace. Far from fostering development, CDAs had become the gatekeepers of illicit land markets. The communal ideal was weaponized for personal enrichment.

Obaseki’s War on Land Predators.
When Godwin Obaseki assumed the governorship in 2016, he walked into a hornet’s nest of land disputes, violent evictions, and simmering community unrest. Much of it could be traced back to CDA activities.

In 2017, he struck back. The Edo State government passed the Prohibition of Community Development Associations and Other Related Matters Law, effectively outlawing CDAs and their notorious land sales. The law was uncompromising; CDA officials were barred from interfering in land allocation, construction permits, or community security. Violations were met with arrest and prosecution.

The move drew swift and furious opposition. CDA leaders, many of them wealthy from years of unregulated land dealings, framed the law as an attack on grassroots governance. Court cases were filed, and political lobbying intensified. In some communities, resistance turned violent, and in some cases, blood was spilled over contested land.

Yet Obaseki found an unlikely and powerful ally: the Palace of the Oba of Benin.

The Palace Steps In.
The Oba of Benin, as the spiritual and cultural head of the Benin Kingdom, wields moral authority that no elected official can match. The palace had long decried the activities of CDAs, seeing them as usurpers of traditional authority and disruptors of community harmony. When the palace publicly backed Obaseki’s reforms, the fight against CDAs took on the weight of cultural restoration. Palace pronouncements reframed the issue, not as a political crackdown, but as the cleansing of a cultural wound. The public mood began to shift. The campaign became as much about moral justice as it was about legal enforcement.

A New Land Order - On Paper
The disbandment of CDAs created a vacuum in land administration, which the Obaseki government sought to fill with the Edo Geographic Information Service (EdoGIS). The agency centralized land allocation and digitized records, reducing the risk of multiple sales and fraudulent claims. For the first time in years, land ownership could be verified with a few clicks. The system worked on paper. Illegal sales plummeted in areas where enforcement was consistent. But in parts of the state where government oversight remained thin, the old actors simply evolved.

The Okaighele Resurgence.
Into the vacuum stepped another traditional role: the Okaighele. Historically, the Okaighele is the head of a community’s youth group - a guardian of tradition, enforcer of elders’ decisions, and custodian of communal resources. They clear roads and markets, protect farms, and ensure community rules are respected. Deeply woven into Edo’s socio-political fabric, they enjoy a unique relationship with the palace and command loyalty from the young men of their wards.

But modern pressures have distorted the role. As urban expansion devours farmland and developers push into once-remote villages, Okaigheles have found themselves at the center of multimillion-naira land deals. Some have remained faithful stewards. Others have followed the path of the worst CDA chairmen, using their authority to broker land sales, evict residents, or muscle out competitors. Political actors, real estate speculators, and even cult groups have learned to co-opt them, either with cash incentives or threats.

In this new order, the Okaighele is often both the negotiator and the enforcer, deciding who gets land and ensuring that those decisions are “respected” through force if necessary.

Why Regulation Has Failed.
Some argue for reform: stricter codes of conduct, training programs, and registration systems. But Edo has tried variations of these before, with limited success. The problem is structural. CDA chairmen and Okaigheles do not derive their authority from transparent elections or codified law. Their power is a blend of tradition, charisma, and control over resources. This makes them resistant to oversight and difficult to discipline. Any “reform” leaves the underlying incentive - private profit from public resources untouched.

Enforcement is patchy. Arrests are sporadic, often followed by releases without trial. Political interference is common. And where the state is absent, community members continue to turn to these figures for decisions on disputes, security, and resource allocation, functions that, in any rule-of-law system, belong to elected councils, the police, and the courts.

The Case for a Ban
The Community Development Associations (CDAs) and the Okaighele roles should be banned and stripped of their executive and policing powers altogether. If Edo State is serious about breaking the cycle, it must go further than Obaseki’s 2017 reforms. It must strip CDA chairmen and Okaigheles of all executive, policing, and quasi-judicial powers. This does not mean erasing culture. It means separating culture from coercion. Under a responsible ban, these figures would remain as ceremonial custodians—presiding over festivals, representing their communities in cultural matters, maintaining their link to the palace, but without the ability to control land allocation, levy fines, operate security patrols, or adjudicate disputes.

The Ministry of Culture, working with traditional councils, could maintain a registry of recognized ceremonial office holders, preserving the heritage while protecting communities from exploitation. Land administration, dispute resolution, and local security should be returned to accountable institutions: the state government, the police, and the courts.

The Alternative: Privatized Law.
Without decisive action, Edo risks sliding deeper into a form of privatized law, where authority flows not from the constitution but from whoever controls the land and commands the strongest loyalty and cult groups. In such a system, disputes are settled in back rooms or on the streets, not in court. Development is driven not by public planning but by the private deals of those who hold the title of chairman or Okaighele.

In this environment, ordinary citizens are trapped. To build a house, start a business, or even farm a plot, they must negotiate with power brokers whose authority is opaque and whose motives are often self-serving. The state becomes a bystander to its own governance.

A Chance for the Current Administration.
Governor Monday Okpebholo, who took office in 2024, has inherited this problem. His administration has already shown a willingness to address organized cults by passing an anti-cultism law in January 2025. But tackling cult groups without addressing the power structures that sometimes overlap with them is like mopping the floor while the tap is still running. A targeted ban on the executive powers of CDA chairmen and Okaigheles, combined with investment in government capacity, digitized land systems, and proper policing and court systems, would send a clear message: public authority belongs to the public.

Restoring Trust.
Edo’s fight against the predatory evolution of its community leaders is not just about land. It is about restoring the principle that authority is accountable to law, not to lineage or muscle. It is about ensuring that tradition enriches civic life rather than replacing it.

The Oba’s palace remains a crucial ally. By framing this as a cultural restoration rather than an attack on tradition, the government can rally broad public support. Civil society, too, has a role: educating citizens on their rights, monitoring enforcement, and holding both the state and cultural actors to account.
Edo’s choice is stark. It can continue to live with a divided authority, where the constitution is one source of law and the local power broker is another. Or it can bring all authority, traditional, cultural, and political, under a single framework of accountability.

To do the latter will require courage. But the reward is immense: a state where culture thrives without corruption, where land serves the community rather than the powerful, and where citizens know exactly where to go for justice, and can expect to receive it.

The ban on CDA chairmen and Okaigheles - if properly implemented - can transform the economic landscape of Edo South. By securing land rights, reducing corruption in land administration, and reinforcing the rule of law, Edo South becomes a more attractive theater for investment, development, and entrepreneurship. The region’s urban centers would likely see accelerated growth, rising property development, and diversified economic activity, provided the state government fills the temporary governance void effectively.