WE MET THIS BURDEN. BUT WE WILL NOT PASS IT ALONG. GOV MONDAY OKPEBHOLO.

 *“A Contract Is a Contract”* 

Some months ago, during a quiet evening visit to my hometown, I encountered an elderly man outside a small provision shop in Irrua. He wore a well-worn agbada, its seams struggling to hold together the dignity of a man who once walked the halls of public service.

He recognized me immediately, smiled faintly, and said, _“Your Excellency, I used to teach Government at the old Igueben Secondary School... maybe before you were even in politics. I retired in 2013.”_ 

He didn’t ask for anything. He only said, _“I still hope I will be paid before I leave this world.”_ 

That moment pierced me deeply.

This is what it means to be owed gratuity.

Our parents, our uncles and aunts, our brothers and sisters—those who have served this state in one capacity or the other—did so with commitment. They woke up early, worked late, and sacrificed for the system. And they did so trusting that at the end of the road, their labour would not be in vain. That their service would be recognized and rewarded.

But for too long, many of them were let down

Too many of our fathers and mothers—men and women who gave the most productive years of their lives to this state—have spent the last decade waiting. Waiting not for handouts. Not for favours. But for what is rightfully theirs.

Imagine giving thirty-five years of your life to a system, only to spend your twilight years begging, borrowing, and sometimes dying in despair because the gratuity you were promised never came. Imagine watching your spouse fall sick and not being able to afford treatment. Imagine seeing your children drop out of school because what was due to you was denied

Let me be clear: employment is a contract. A binding agreement between the one who works and the one who benefits from that work. And in any sane, just society, both parties are expected to keep their end of that agreement.

Paying salaries or post-service benefits is not a gift. It’s not an act of generosity. It is an obligation—pure and simple.

Just as the teacher showed up every morning to teach, just as the nurse cared for the sick, the cleaner swept our schools, the driver moved files and children and hope around this state—they kept their end. It is now our turn to keep ours.

As a businessman, I ran companies for years before stepping into the space of public service. And in all those years, one thing remained constant: my word was my bond. I paid salaries. I paid benefits. Not because I was rich, but because I was responsible. I understood that my staff had families. They had needs. They made plans based on the belief that their work would be rewarded. And I made sure they were not disappointed.

That is the philosophy I have brought with me into governance.

And that is why I approved the release of ₦1 billion—the first phase of what will be a continuous effort—to begin settling the gratuity backlog owed since 2012. This is not politics. This is humanity.

I have read files of pensioners who passed away still hoping. Wives left behind without support. Children dropping out of school because the pension never came. These are not just statistics—they are broken lives. And we cannot claim to be a government of the people if we ignore the pain of those who built this state.

Yes, we met this burden. But we will not pass it along. Not on my watch.

This is about justice. About restoring the dignity of labour. About building a new Edo where no civil servant ever wonders if their years of service will end in regret.

To every Edo son and daughter—home and abroad—let this serve as a message:

This government will keep its promises. We will respect every contract.

Because in my world, a contract is a contract.

 _SMO's Diary' is a behind-the-scenes account of the daily engagements, thoughts, and leadership moments of the Edo State Governor, Senator Monday Okpebholo (SMO), as shared through the lens of the Special Adviser on Media and Publicity._