Dr. Omawumi Urhobo is the Founder and President of the Morgan Smart Development Foundation. In this exclusive interview with veteran journalist Dennis Otu in Warri, Delta State, she speaks about a wide range of issues, including the day she stormed the American Congress and broke into tears. Curious to know why “this little girl” from Okere Warri wept in America? Read on to discover this and more in this captivating interview.
Happy reading!
May we meet you briefly?
My name is Dr. Omawumi Evelyn Urhobo, Founder and President of the Morgan Smart Development Foundation. I retired from government service after spending 32 years, reaching the rank of Director with the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC), when I retired at 60 in 2012. So, I have been retired for over 12 years now. However, retirement didn’t mean I stopped working, I’m still running my NGO and managing a bank, as well as a hospitality business in Lagos.
What is the latest development in your work now?
My current effort is towards leaving a lasting legacy. I’ve endowed a trust fund in my name: the Omawumi Evelyn Atsiangbe-Urhobo Education Trust Fund. I’m currently in town to award scholarships to the first set of eighteen students from financially challenged homes. On my seventieth birthday, I publicly presented my autobiography, I Spoke at the American Congress: The Little Girl from Okere Warri. I’ve always seen my life as a remarkable journey. I’m not sure how others rank their lives, but when I reflect on my experiences, I feel compelled to document them for posterity, especially to inspire young girls. I want to show them that if you believe in yourself and work hard, anything is possible, you too can lead an extraordinary life.
Tell us about “the little girl from Okere.”
The little girl from Okere, Oki Street. I was the product of a young mother and father, growing up in a communal environment with aunties and uncles around. Everyone cared for you, but no one was particularly focused on you. My father and mother had their differences and eventually separated. My father left for Ibadan, taking my little sister, while my mother went to Lagos with her uncle. I was left behind with my aunt, Nadi, who raised me. So, I was a typical Okere child, growing up in a communal setting with everyone contributing to my upbringing. I walked to school every morning with my cousins. It was a government school that is now known as Nana School, and after school, I’d enter any house where there was food. That’s how we lived in Okere.
Can you tell us about your experience at Hussey College, where you schooled from 1965 to 1971?
I am forever grateful for the privilege of attending that elite school because the truth is, it was an elite school, an expensive one, and it wasn’t meant for an ordinary little girl from a place like Okere. However, my mother, while working in Lagos, was very specific about what she wanted for her child. She had two daughters. When my father left for Ibadan, he passed away in 1971. At that point, she took full responsibility for raising us, but she was particularly determined that I should go to Hussey College. Looking back, I wonder why she insisted on that, especially since she couldn’t really afford it. Everyone else was going to Our Lady’s High School or UCC and other such schools. But no, she was set on Hussey College, where the fees were very high, around 20 to 23 pounds per term. She told my aunt that she would work out the money so that I could sit the entrance exams. Of course, I did. I passed and got admitted. That’s how I ended up at Hussey College.
It was a completely different world, where I found myself mingling with children from affluent families and trying to fit in, observing how people did things and attempting to do the same without being laughed at for being “the bush girl from Okere,” as some might say. In Okere, our culture is quite aggressive, so I have always looked out for myself and for others who were less fortunate. I carried that attitude into school, where I was always fighting for others. If I felt that a student, even a junior, was being treated unfairly, I would stand up for them, and as a result, I was often punished. I spent a lot of time cutting grass as punishment. In fact, I would boldly say, “Bring the portion,” whenever I was punished. That was just how it was.
But then, something miraculous happened. It turned out that I had athletic potential. At one of our early inter-house sports events, I competed against the regular runners in the 100 meters, and I beat them all. That’s when I was “discovered” as a talented runner. Becoming a sports girl for Oshowode House gave me an advantage. I became something of a pampered child by the school authorities. Our Rector, Chief O. N. Rewane, God rest his soul was the principal then, though he was called the Rector. As an athlete, I began receiving many privileges, and the best of them came when I was made a prefect in Form Four. This was a school with Higher School Certificate students, O-Levels, and A-Levels, yet I was chosen as a prefect. And why? They said they wanted to teach me responsibility, to show me that I couldn’t go around like a loose cannon, fighting and behaving irresponsibly with all that Okere energy.
I remember Mrs Ewerokoma, Chief Begho’s younger sister, who was in charge of the girls, saying to me, “Urhobo, you’ll be the first prefect to be punished because prefects are supposed to have decorum.” So, suddenly, I found myself trying to behave properly, and I believe that’s where my leadership qualities began to develop. They saw something in me that I didn’t even know I had. Once, we had a triangular sports meet between Hussey College, Government College Ughelli, and Federal Government College Warri. Afterward, there was a dinner for the participants, and out of nowhere, the Rector called my name: “Urhobo, stand up and give a speech or a vote of thanks.” I wanted the ground to swallow me up! For heaven’s sake, how could my Rector expect me, a Form Four student and just a Sports Prefect, to make a speech in front of such a crowd? To this day, I don’t remember what I said, but I gave the speech. That was the kind of nurturing I received at Hussey College.
So, those were the experiences I had at Hussey College that helped build me up. And of course, I wasn’t slacking on the academic side either. Despite all the sports events, including attending the Commonwealth Games in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1970, I still managed to do well in my studies. My school certificate results were excellent. In fact, all my results were always very good. By the time I was in Upper Sixth in 1971, they made me the Head Girl of the school. Hussey College built me in every way, giving me the platform that has shaped the life I have led to this day.
Moving from Warri, you went to Lagos and attended
the University of Lagos from 1972 to 1975. What was that experience like?
Like many at the time, I wanted to attend the University of Lagos (UNILAG). It was the university to be at, everyone wanted to go there. It was the place to be, the “Eko for show.” Honestly, it never crossed my mind to attend any other university. Looking back, the University of Ibadan was considered a citadel of learning, where everyone aspired to go. But I never wanted to go to UI; I wanted to go to UNILAG because that’s where it all happened. And, again, I was lucky.
I initially wanted to study Political Science, but one of the requirements was Mathematics, which I didn’t have. So, my mother took me to a professor for counselling, and they suggested I could study Sociology. I asked, “What is Sociology?” because, honestly, I didn’t know what it was all about. I only knew about Politics, as I studied Government at A-levels. So, I ended up studying Sociology, and interestingly, that’s what brought out the humanity in me. I took Social Welfare as part of my Sociology course, and that exposed me to visiting Approved Schools, Remand Homes, and such places during our studies. From what I saw, I developed a strong empathy towards wanting to care for these children who, through no fault of their own, were crammed into these crowded institutions in Lagos State.
While I was at UNILAG, I participated in the Nigerian University Games (NUGA) in Nsukka, and I also attended the West Africa University Games in Kumasi, Ghana. But, the truth is, I didn’t want to continue with sports. I felt I had had enough; it was too stressful. I had a natural ability to run, but I never really made any effort, it came naturally. I hated the gruelling training sessions; they made me so miserable. So, when I finished with sports at UNILAG, I never looked back at those days.
I had plenty of opportunities. I could have gone to the US, like nearly every one I did sports with. They all moved to the US to continue their sporting careers and studies. But I wasn’t interested. I wanted my own life, and I believe God was always guiding me in the path I was meant to take. So, I never had any interest in going to America to further my studies. Our coach, Debia, was recruiting everyone, but I told him I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want to go to America; I wanted to stay here because I believed God had a purpose for me in my country.
Your work with the International University Exchange Fund (IUEF) and your involvement in the South African liberation struggle, can you tell us about that?
As I mentioned earlier, my training in social welfare, which came through studying Sociology, has built a lot of empathy in me. In fact, it didn’t start then it began back in township school. I was always fighting with people because, whenever I saw someone oppressing a smaller child, I would step in.
When I started work at the Federal Ministry of Social Development, Youth and Sports, a colleague informed me about a job opening. The federal government was bringing some South African students to Nigeria to study, and they were looking for a student counsellor. My colleague, Banke, told me that her brother had mentioned the job to her, but she wasn’t interested, and she thought I would be. She told me about the opening, and, of course, I jumped at the opportunity. I had to go to the Cabinet Office, which was what the Presidency used to be called.
I met Thabo Mbeki, the ANC Chief Representative in Nigeria in 1977 and later became the President of South Africa. His wife, Zanele Mbeki, who eventually became the First Lady, was the IUEF representative. They were bringing the students to Nigeria and providing the funds, but they needed school placements and someone to take care of the students. And there I was, a very young Evelyn Urhobo, just one year out of National Youth Service, at only 23 years old. They were looking for someone to take care of 250 South African militant students who had just fought against the South African system in the 1976 Soweto uprising. Due to the brutality of the revolt, many of the students fled into exile in Botswana, and South Africa was threatening to bomb Botswana if they didn’t remove the students. They needed a new place for the students, and, with the help of Nigeria’s ambassador to Botswana, Hajia Muhammad, and President Obasanjo, who was then the military president, it was approved for the students to come to Nigeria in 1977.
Looking back, Zanele later told me that when she first saw me, she felt uneasy. She had been looking for a coordinator and student counsellor for 250 militant students who had just taken on the apartheid regime, and she thought, “If this girl knew what she was getting herself into!” These students were militants and were also around my age. When they told me about the job, I expressed my interest and asked them to give me a chance. They agreed to try me out for a year and recruited me. When I returned to the office and told my boss, the Director in charge of Women, and my colleagues that I was resigning from my government job to take a one-year contract with the International University Exchange Fund (IUEF), they couldn’t believe it. Banke, who had told me about the job, couldn’t believe that I would leave a secure government job with a pension to take a one-year contract. But I told them, “I know what I’m doing. If you don’t take risks, you never make progress.”
To start with, they offered me a salary that was double what I was earning in the government. My government salary was N3,400 per annum, and IUEF offered me N7,600. Why wouldn’t I move? I told them I would impress them so much that they wouldn’t have any choice but to renew my contract at the end of the year. I knew the students would be around for four or five years to complete their studies, so all I had to do was work hard and prove myself. And that’s exactly what happened. After one year, the IUEF headquarters in Switzerland was so pleased with my performance that they increased my salary to N14,000, which was paid in dollars. When I went back to my friends, I said to them, “Now, look at you! You’re still earning N3,400, while I have the privilege of earning in dollars.” I told them, “That’s why you have to dream, aspire, and be forward-looking. You have to take chances and seize opportunities.” I went the extra mile, and that set the foundation for where I am today.
Later, when the IUEF was infiltrated by the South African government, the Scandinavian countries funding the programme withdrew their support, and IUEF was disbanded after five years in Nigeria. I had to move on. Although IUEF left, many South African students remained in Nigeria. By that time, the Federal Government had set up the Southern African Relief Fund (SARF) to take care of the students still in the country. I transitioned from IUEF to SARF as the Executive Secretary, where I worked and even brought more students from South Africa, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Namibia. I was later moved to the National Committee Against Apartheid (NACAP) until South Africa gained its independence in 1985, after which I re-joined the Federal Public Service.
The story of your life would be incomplete without telling us about your 30 years in public service.
Yes. It amazes me, because not long ago, I was interviewed, and I mentioned that when I joined public service, I never intended to stay longer than necessary, as I didn’t think my future was in public service. Many people join public service for job security and retirement benefits. But how can you start a job and immediately think about retirement? You should go there to actualise yourself. I wasn’t interested in whatever retirement benefits they would pay me because I could secure my retirement. However, God had other plans. When I first started working with the South African Relief Fund, it was directly under the Presidency, making it a government parastatal. So, when South Africa gained independence in 1985, they deployed all of us who had been working with the Fund back into the service. That was how I found myself back in the service I had initially left, and I ended up spending the next 32 years there, retiring in 2012 when I turned 60.
The truth is, throughout all that time, every day I was planning to leave. I always believed my future wasn’t in government service. Even while in the service, I set up the Morgan Smart Development Foundation. Alongside some friends, I helped establish the Okere Community Bank, which later became Coastline MFB. I was involved in many other ventures that made up for my civil service career. I often told myself that if anyone ever questioned my involvement in these other activities, I would simply resign and leave. I refused to be intimidated because none of these ventures affected my government work. In 32 years, no one ever queried me. I worked during the day, and at night I focused on my foundation and other endeavours. It was during one of these efforts with my NGO that I was invited to attend the Global Women in Management (GWIM) workshop in Washington, DC. I took a month’s leave from my government job to attend the workshop. While there, I had the honour of speaking at the American Congress Briefing on the Role of Women in Strengthening the Global Economy.
The truth is, if I had been solely focused on my government job and not engaged in these other things, I wouldn’t have achieved what I did. To be successful, you must be able to multitask. I was a multitasker if ever there was one.
When your peers were travelling to the US to study, you refused to go. Yet, one day, you found yourself in America, standing before a crowd, addressing the world at the US Congress. Can you share that experience?
I cried. You know, the entire process was so official. We were in Washington for a month-long women’s leadership training programme sponsored by the ExxonMobil Foundation. During the training, they discovered that I wasn’t just a government worker; I was also running a bank and an NGO that worked with women in the Niger Delta. My level of exposure stood out. When three women legislators sponsored a briefing on the role of women in strengthening the global economy, they needed women from our leadership programme to speak, and I was one of the two nominated. The whole experience was amazing, the level of preparation and attention to detail in preparing us for what we were going to speak about was something else. I had to talk about the fact that real development must start from the grassroots. That’s where development happens, with women in the informal sector driving it. They are the engine room.
Even today, if you go to the creeks, you’ll find women picking periwinkle, selling water, cutting firewood, making charcoal, carrying goods on their heads, and doing whatever it takes to make a living. Often, these women are also the breadwinners in their homes. I argued that any government serious about development must invest in women at the grassroots.
On the day of the briefing, they took us to Capitol Hill in a limousine. We rode the elevator to the floor where the briefing was to take place, and all I could think was, “You mean Hillary Clinton, my idol, has been in this very elevator? Senator Obama, who later became President, has been in here, too. And now here I am, this girl from Okere.” They kept us two ladies in a room adjacent to the briefing room, and when the guests were seated, we were escorted in and introduced to the legislators and dignitaries present. When I was introduced to make my presentation, I stood at the podium with the US insignia and the American flag behind me, delivering my speech. After we returned to the training centre, I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and burst into tears. I couldn’t comprehend it, how could I, from Okere, have stood in the US Congress, addressing important people, with the American flag and insignia behind me? A colleague from Guyana came over and said, “Girl, I know how you feel. You should write a book about this.” That was when the seed of writing a book was planted in my mind, though it took me 14 years to finally do it.
Tell us briefly about the Morgan Smart Development Foundation and the Okere Community Bank.
Well, the idea for the bank came from a professional Itsekiri women’s group in Lagos, which I belonged to.
We were trying to see how we could contribute to the development of our home front.
When the Babangida administration introduced community banking, we saw it as an excellent opportunity. We raised the necessary funds and secured approval to set up Okere Community Bank in 1992/1993. At the time, I was President of the Itsekiri Duchess Society, so it naturally fell to me to ensure the bank became a reality. When I commit to something, I put my heart into it. I saw the potential of the bank and gave it my all to bring it to fruition. Some people accused me of “carrying the bank on my head,” but I told them that if I didn’t, it wouldn’t work. Thirty years later, the bank is still standing and has become Coastline MFB. I didn’t carry the bank on my head for financial gain, but to make credit available to poor women at the grassroots, and we’ve been doing that for over 30 years.
As for the Morgan Smart Development Foundation, which I endowed over 20 years ago in memory of my late father, Kidzo Morgan, I desired to create a platform to help women and youth. The poverty among women was so visible across the Niger Delta, and I had a strong desire to alleviate their suffering. Around the time I was appointed Delta State Coordinator for the NDDC, I launched the foundation. I was supposed to join NDDC as a Deputy Director, but I opted for the role of State Coordinator, even though it was a lower position. I chose this route because I wanted to remain close to my home to take care of my ageing mother and manage my foundation and the bank.
During the day, I did my government work, and at night, I managed my foundation and the bank. This routine has distorted my sleep pattern to this day. I sleep very late and often work into the night, as I find I think best at night. My friends often receive WhatsApp or text messages from me late at night, and they ask, “Don’t you sleep?” But that’s just when my brain functions best. So, that’s how I’ve managed to balance the NGO, the bank, and everything else I’m involved in.
Women in the Niger Delta are facing numerous challenges. Can you tell us about the conspiracy of silence against the women of the Niger Delta?
I call it a Conspiracy of Silence Against the Women of the Niger Delta. It’s a conspiracy because the problem is staring us in the face, but nobody acknowledges it or speaks about it. In most Niger Delta communities, women are the breadwinners. They bear and raise the children, take them to school, and provide for them. Yet, when there’s a government gathering, it’s the men and the youth they listen to. Nobody talks about the women. Even when you look at the broader picture in Nigeria, the best you get is tokenism, there is no concrete legislation protecting women making a living in rural and riverine communities, particularly in the Niger Delta.
It’s a real conspiracy of silence. Even when I’m at meetings and this issue comes up, the men say, “We’ll speak for our wives.” But do they ever stop to ask what the women are going through? Have they taken the time to find out how they feel? They assume they know what women need, which is a big mistake. This is why we continue to face challenges in the Niger Delta. Women are the driving force behind development, especially in the Niger Delta. Yet, they are excluded from the conversation. When there’s a meeting, the women are often told to stand outside by the window and listen in. That’s if they’re even allowed to attend. Sometimes, meetings are deliberately held in shrines where women are prohibited from entering. It’s incredibly frustrating.
However, I successfully advocated for these marginalised women during the National Council on the Niger Delta meeting, held under the Ministry of the Niger Delta. A friend of mine, who worked with the Ministry, said to me, “I’m going to allow you to attend the council meeting to make your case for the Niger Delta women.” And he did, as I was made a member of the National Council of the Niger Delta representing civil society.
At the second meeting of the National Council, held in Akure, Ondo State, in 2018, it was quite a struggle to even get scheduled to make my presentation during the technical committee session. There was so much ‘wahala’ just to get them to let me speak. They said, “What do you want to talk about? We know the problems of women.” I told them, “No, you don’t know their problems.” At one point, I stood up and insisted that I must speak. God bless the Director of the Niger Delta Ministry, who chaired that session. He said, “Why don’t we just give her a chance? Even if it’s only two minutes, let her make her presentation.” In the end, they allowed me five minutes to speak.
That was when I was able to address the technical committee of the National Council of the Niger Delta. For context, this Council is meant to comprise all the state governors of the Niger Delta or their representatives, the Petroleum Ministry, the Federal Ministry of Finance, the Federal Ministry of Women Affairs, the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN), and all the oil companies operating in the region. The Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) and civil society representatives are also part of it. By its composition, it is supposed to be a very high-powered body, tasked with overseeing the development of the Niger Delta. However, I won’t dwell on its flaws.
I made my PowerPoint presentation, using graphic photos, for 15 minutes, and the entire room was silent. When I finished, the chairman said to me, “Madam, when you were speaking, I was reminded of my mother, how she worked, and how she died.” Many committee members came to congratulate me afterward, sharing stories about their mothers. My friend, Dr. Mulade, who was representing the youth, he’s with the Maritime University now, came and embraced me, saying, “Thank you. Nobody sees it the way you just explained it.”
I had shown pictures of women in the creeks who wake up at 6 a.m., picking periwinkles and cutting wood to sell, yet no one recognises them or acknowledges their hard work. To the men, this is simply what these women are meant to do. After all their toil, they put food on the table, but at the end of the day, the men don’t know or care where the food comes from. They eat it, and get the women pregnant, but when it comes to discussions about improving women’s lives, nobody speaks for them. It’s a paradox.
Nevertheless, I know that no matter how long it takes, that day will come. The presentation I made at the National Council for the Niger Delta is on record. A decision was taken to set up a special fund to cater to the women in rural and riverine communities. Although it hasn’t been implemented yet, alongside other measures aimed at alleviating their suffering, it will be. That report is there, and for me, I feel I’ve done my part. They may not do anything about it now, but one day, a woman will become the Minister of the Niger Delta, see that approval, and implement it. I look forward to that day.
While we wait for that, what is your final message to women?
They must never give up. I didn’t give up. I was just a little girl from Okere, with everything working against me. But with iron will and determination, I used to tell myself, “I will not end up selling pepper in the market. I will not end up selling pepper in the market.” I knew I had to do something more. I’m surprised you didn’t even ask me about my private life, like, why I didn’t get married. And I used to say that I didn’t need to get married because it would have limited me in my ability to impact society. You know, they say when you walk alone, you work better. I pulled myself out of poverty because I worked hard and empowered my community, and I’m still doing it to this day. If I had a husband, forgive me, I’m speaking to the men now, they would have limited me. They would have held me back or discouraged me. They might have become jealous of how outspoken I am and would likely come up with all sorts of accusations. And I didn’t have the patience for that. I was focused. I knew where I was going because I had to make an impact. By God’s grace, I believe I’ve done well for my people, for my mother, and through the Morgan Smart Development Foundation.
This Saturday, you should come. Out of the 180 students we’ve trained over the last 10 years, we’re awarding Excellence Awards to 10 of them for outstanding performance. Some of these students have graduated with first-class degrees in electrical engineering, microbiology, and agricultural engineering, and others with second-class upper degrees in public administration. These are children from financially challenged homes who have made us so proud. The objective of my Foundation is to bring brilliant children from disadvantaged backgrounds and allow them to excel, and we have the results to show for it. Many of our students are now studying medicine, architecture, pharmacy, agriculture, petroleum engineering, education, and more.
The Morgan Smart Foundation had to suspend further scholarships in 2022 after 10 years due to a lack of funds. However, with the encouragement of a friend, I endowed a Trust Fund in my name during my 70th birthday in 2022: the Omawumi Evelyn Atsiangbe-Urhobo Education Trust Fund. This time, even after I’m gone, the Trust Fund will continue to award scholarships to bright students from disadvantaged homes in perpetuity. My grandson tells me I’ll live to be 100, but it’s all in God’s hands. However, I am definitely leaving part of my estate to sustain the Trust Fund after I’m no longer here. The Omalyne Education Trust will be awarding its first set of scholarships to 18 students from financially challenged homes on Saturday, 5th October 2024. This will be the first of many, continuing indefinitely by the special grace of God. Even after my passing, the funds will still be there, and it will carry on. I believe, at that point, I will have truly fulfilled the purpose for which God created me and put me on this earth. Thank you so much.
