On November 9th, what was supposed to be a quiet, dignified gathering of global stakeholders in art and culture at the Museum of West African Art (MOWAA) in Benin City became a moment of national embarrassment. A small preview event meant to showcase the progress of the museum’s work — attended by diplomats, art curators, donors, and representatives from major global institutions — was violently interrupted when thugs stormed the premises. Among those intimidated were foreign ambassadors and representatives from major museums and governments worldwide. What was planned to be a celebration of Nigerian art and heritage turned, within minutes, into a scene of disarray that projected exactly the kind of image the country has spent years trying to shed.
The preview event at MOWAA was not an opening, as some reports suggested, but a private showcase for partners and donors. Two hours into the program — as invited guests settled in for a talk — chaos erupted. A mob, apparently mobilized under the banner of political grievance, stormed the venue. What followed was confusion, fear, and humiliation. International guests who had come to support Nigeria’s cultural rebirth were suddenly being told to leave by angry locals. Diplomats and museum officials were ushered to safety by staff and security. For a project that had taken years to build credibility, the optics were catastrophic.
Former Edo commissioner Ogbeide Ifaluyi-Isibor decried the “uncivilized” act, and his words capture the general sentiment. Many saw the attack as not just a local disturbance but a national disgrace — proof that the same habits that hold us back politically have begun to infect our cultural spaces too and that Nigeria’s problem has never been a lack of talent or vision, but the presence of leaders who are, to put it plainly, backwards, selfish, greedy and unable to see beyond their own ambition.
To understand how we got here, one must look beyond the immediate chaos of November 9th and trace the web of political tension, traditional authority, and bureaucratic rivalry that has slowly tightened around MOWAA’s neck. The museum, located at 1 Benin-Sapele Road, Oka, in Benin City, was conceived as a beacon for heritage preservation and creative innovation — a space to tell West Africa’s story from our perspective. Since its inception, it has been touted as the centerpiece of a new creative economy in Edo State, a world-class cultural campus capable of documenting African culture while also attracting global attention, research funding, and tourism to Benin. But in a country where every institution is a proxy for power, even something as innocuous as art preservation can become a battlefield.
At the center of the storm sits a question that has shadowed Nigeria’s cultural discourse for decades: Who owns our heritage? The state, the traditional custodians, or the people? In Benin, that question carries deep historical resonance. His Royal Majesty, Omo N’Oba N’Edo, Uku Akpolokpolo, Ewuare II, the Oba of Benin, has long been regarded as the spiritual and cultural guardian of the kingdom’s treasures. To many in Benin City, the kingdom’s artefacts — especially the famed Benin Bronzes looted during the 1897 British invasion — belong under the watchful care of the palace, not any government agency or private trust. The Oba’s recent public statement reaffirmed that conviction. He declared that the museum being developed in Benin City should rightfully be recognized as the Benin Royal Museum, not MOWAA, and reminded the public that the project was originally conceived under his authority to house the returned artefacts. To the Oba, the name of the museum and its framing as an independent institution represents a sidelining of the kingdom’s legacy and his rightful place as the custodian of Benin’s story.
Governor Monday Okpebholo, who succeeded Godwin Obaseki, appears to share that sentiment. During a recent visit to the palace, he aligned himself firmly with the royal stance, pledging that his administration would revert the project to the Oba’s preferred name — the Benin Royal Museum — and reestablish the palace’s oversight of the project. He framed it as an act of restoration, a course correction to honor the Oba and his ancestors.
But behind this symbolism lies a more complex and more political reality. The conflict over MOWAA is not merely about royal protocol; it is also about control. MOWAA was founded in 2020 as a non-profit trust, not a state-owned entity. Its structure was intentionally designed to be independent of government influence, governed by a board of trustees and guided by partnerships with major international institutions including the British Museum, the French government, the German government, and the Mellon Foundation. For such prestigious organizations to invest in a Nigerian project of this magnitude, there had to be trust: trust in its transparency, professionalism, and insulation from political interference.
Former Governor Godwin Obaseki recognized MOWAA’s potential early on. His administration contributed roughly ₦3.8 billion to the project — not as a state investment seeking ownership, but as a show of cultural support. He recognised that a world-class museum in Benin would elevate the city, attract tourism, and serve as a source of pride for Edo people. In this framing, MOWAA was not “Obaseki’s project”, it was Edo’s opportunity. Yet when the political tides shifted, that nuance was lost. Obaseki was a member of the PDP. His successor, Okpebholo, is of the APC. In a familiar Nigerian pattern, the new administration began to dismantle or discredit the legacy of the previous one, and MOWAA, despite its non-political mandate, was caught in the crossfire.
Evidently, MOWAA has long been a target of misplaced suspicion. For months, there have been quiet attempts by the current Edo state governor’s administration to conflate it with the former governor’s administration, to paint it as a symbol of elitist detachment or foreign infiltration. In truth, the museum’s independent, board of trustees run model is not only common in global arts infrastructure, it is what makes projects like this sustainable. Independence protects institutions from the volatility of election cycles. It reassures international partners that their contributions are not at the mercy of political whims. To frame that independence as exclusion, as the new administration has, is to misunderstand how cultural institutions thrive.
Still, perception has power, and in Benin, this unfavourable perception of MOWAA is tied to misplaced pride. The Oba’s stance resonates deeply with many locals. To them, this is not simply a question of governance but of identity.
MOWAA quickly issued a statement clarifying that the protest was not directly against the museum itself but part of “disputes between the previous and current state administrations.” The statement emphasized that MOWAA is an “independent, non-profit institution” and that former Governor Obaseki “has no interest, financial or otherwise” in its operations. Phillip Ihenacho, MOWAA’s director, expressed sorrow over the events, saying, “We were saddened by the events of yesterday, but we hope this moment can lead to renewed dialogue, engagement, and understanding, so that together we can realize the full potential of what MOWAA can represent for Nigeria and Africa at large.”
The problem is that the damage had already been done. In an era where perception shapes investment, a single viral video of diplomats being chased from a museum courtyard can undo years of strategic PR and fundraising. For the international art community, it raises questions about Nigeria’s perpetual insecurity crises and whether the country is ready to manage the responsibility that comes with cultural restitution and heritage investment. For ordinary Nigerians, it reinforces the perception that our political leaders are more interested in scoring points than in building legacies.
The tragedy is that MOWAA was never meant to be a site of division. Its mission was to complement, not compete with, existing institutions like the National Commission for Museums and Monuments. The museum’s trustees have repeatedly stated that MOWAA holds no Benin Bronzes, nor has it ever claimed ownership of them. Its focus, they insist, is broader: to create a platform for West African art, research, and conservation that includes, but is not limited to, Benin heritage. In a country whose national museums have fallen into disrepair, MOWAA represents the rare possibility of showing that Nigerians can build, manage, and sustain something that meets world standards.
To destroy that over ego or partisanship is to reveal our collective smallness. It is to prove, again, that we are a nation allergic to progress, where even culture, our most powerful form of diplomacy, cannot escape the grasp of political vanity.
The creative industries — film, music, art, fashion — are now among the few sectors projecting a positive image of the country abroad. Institutions like MOWAA could anchor that image, turning creativity into sustainable cultural capital. Instead, they are being undermined by the same old politics: power for power’s sake.
If Nigeria truly wants to rebrand itself; to court investors, attract tourists, and reclaim its place in the world, it must start by protecting the institutions that foster national pride. MOWAA is supposed to be one of those institutions. Its creation symbolizes what collaboration between tradition, government, and global expertise could look like.
For now, the museum’s staff and trustees are trying to repair both physical and reputational damage. But as they do, the rest of us must reckon with what this episode reveals about our national psyche: a fear of progress disguised as cultural pride, and a refusal to look beyond politics.
0 Comments
Add your own hot takes