Olotu Ekundayo
On the morning of 18 November 2025, Oba Ovonramwen Square in Benin City woke up to something louder than the usual market banter. It was the sound of women—hundreds of them—singing, chanting, and marching with a kind of fire that only fear and frustration can ignite. They weren’t selling goods that day. They were selling their pain.
The women of Oba Market, one of the heartbeat markets of Edo State, had taken their grievance to the streets, protesting an eviction notice tied to the state government’s plan to renovate the section of the market that had long been scarred by fire damage. Their march caused a major traffic standstill, forcing motorists to a halt as the crowd moved from Ring Road toward the Edo State House of Assembly.
For many of these traders, the market is not just a workspace—it is the anchor of their identity. Some have sold goods there for generations; others inherited stalls from mothers and aunties who traded before them. So, when the notice came telling them to vacate by January to allow reconstruction, fear rippled quickly through the stalls.
“There is no relocation plan. How do we pack our lives overnight?” asked Mrs. Florence Eweka, her voice thin but defiant. She wasn’t alone in her worry. Another trader, Mrs. Mary Okosun, who runs multiple shops in the market, held up her hands in resignation. “If we move, where do we go? What happens to all my goods?” Their testimonies echoed through the streets, each one a reminder that behind every small stall is a family depending on it.
At the House of Assembly, the women met Speaker Blessing Agbebaku, who attempted to calm the crowd. He assured them their concerns would be taken to Governor Monday Okpebholo, promising that the government intended to rebuild the burnt section first and then allow traders to return before continuing with the larger renovation. It was a reassurance, but not a solution—not yet.
To understand the depth of the tension, one must look back. Oba Market did not become vulnerable overnight. The market has endured fire disasters, with the most notable occurring after the 2020 governorship election. Many traders who lost their shops back then are still struggling to find stability. Renovation is long overdue; the physical scars of the fire still stretch across the market. But for the traders, urgency does not erase uncertainty.
The state government, earlier in the year, approved a plan to rebuild the burnt section and begin a full renovation of the entire market structure. Roads leading to the governor’s village were also included in the approvals. On paper, it may read like progress. On the ground, however, it feels to many like displacement dressed in development’s clothes.
This protest is more than a pushback against eviction. It is a story of fear versus hope, of the tension between economic survival and urban renewal. Markets are social ecosystems—living, breathing communities. When a renovation plan enters such a delicate space without clarity, it shakes the entire organism.
If the government handles this well—communicating openly, providing temporary relocation, and prioritizing the livelihoods of traders—it could set a new model for market redevelopment in Edo State. But if the voices of the traders are brushed aside, the cracks left behind may run deeper than any fire-damaged wall.
For now, the women of Oba Market continue to wait. Their chants have quieted, but their question remains: Where do we go while the market rebuilds?
And until that question is answered with action—not just promises—the streets of Benin may yet hear their voices again.