In Catholic tradition, confessio spontanea means a confession made freely, without being asked. On Thursday, September 11, at the Aba Sports Club, Governor Alex Otti offered exactly that — a startling, unsolicited confession that left many in the audience wondering whether it was guilt, not leadership, speaking.
It was only his second appearance at the Club since taking office. His first is still remembered for arrogance, telling struggling businessmen, many of whom reel under unbearable power costs without government support, that he would appoint “billionaire mayors,” and that anyone who disliked it could “hug a transformer.”
But this time, Otti arrived carrying the weight of scandal: ₦72 billion allegedly spent on phantom schools, ₦36 billion sunk into just 6 kilometers of road now under investigation, and growing whispers of other missing billions. Remember, Otti was at the Sports Club to solicit contributions for the Abia Security Trust Fund. But as he looked into the faces of Aba’s top businessmen, men who know their tax payments are not reflected in the lives of the people, he seemed to sense that no funds would be forthcoming. And so, in a moment of nervous calculation, he veered into an open confession, blurting out before a stunned audience: “I am not a thief.”
Nobody had asked. Nobody had accused him to his face. Yet Otti felt compelled to declare innocence, urging his listeners to “ignore the opposition.” In politics, such a confessio spontanea often speaks louder than silence, it betrays a troubled conscience.
Like a penitent before the altar but without sincerity of heart, Otti sought absolutio (absolution) from an audience that had not even demanded penance. But unlike the sacrament of reconciliation, there was no priest, no act of contrition, and certainly no forgiveness, only puzzled businessmen wondering why their Governor was sounding like a guilty man making excuses.
To reassure his audience, Otti then committed yet another protocol blunder: he prematurely announced a proposed presidential visit to Aba. In Catholic terms, this was no less than peccatum contra prudentiam, a sin against prudence. A serious leader would have been circumspect. Instead, Otti tried to leverage the President’s visit as proof of his reach, hoping Aba traders would see it as a badge of strength rather than a desperate distraction.
But the calculation is transparent. Otti wants the President to witness Aba’s legendary culture of mass hospitality, praying that the sea of cheering crowds will drown out questions about his credibility. Yet, Aba’s solidarity is not exclusive to Otti, it is a tradition extended to all leaders. And no amount of staged adulation can hide financial shadows.
More damning was his silence on the much-trumpeted “Medical City.” Once paraded as a flagship project, it has now conveniently disappeared from his speeches. What became of it? Has it gone the way of the phantom schools and the bloated road contracts? Nde bubuyaya, nde mugu. But the people are no longer deceived.
The traders of Aba, already whispering about missing billions, know better than to part with their hard-earned naira for a so-called security fund. And so, at the Sports Club, Otti took the only route left to him: a confession that nobody demanded, a plea for innocence that nobody believed.
In the Catholic Mass, the priest reminds the faithful: “Confiteor Deo omnipotenti” meaning “I confess to Almighty God.” But Otti’s confession was not to God, nor to the people, but to his own fears. And as Scripture warns: “Veritas liberabit vos”, the truth shall set you free.
For Otti, however, the truth is not liberating, it is closing in.
The people are watching. The people are wiser. And no spontaneous confession will wash away the stain of fraud.
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