By Prof. Charles E. Orbih
My cousin-brother Ferdy called me that morning, September 1. “Calling me Charles was a giveaway. He would normally say, ‘My brother, aboyor.’ Then he said, ‘Our brother left us last night.’”
All I could say was, “Impossible. Impossible. Oh my God. Oh my God. Impossible.”
I still struggle to believe it. Dan, the boy I grew up with in the same house in Jattu, is gone. The man I hugged in December 2025, the brother I talked to about our community and what we could do for it, is no longer here to call.
Many people knew Chief Dan as a political leader and strategist, a man whose voice carried weight. I knew him before all that. To me, he was first the boy who shared part of my childhood.
Even now, through the sadness, I smile when I remember how loudly he would cry if he could not have the last piece of meat in the bowl. Dan made sure you knew what he wanted. We certainly heard him! Looking back, I’m not surprised he grew into a man who spoke up for people who struggled to be heard.
We went our separate ways in our early teenage years. I went to Government College Ughelli, and he went to Our Lady of Fatima, Auchi. Life took us to different parts of the country. But we had grown up together, and that was always there between us, however long we spent apart.
We reconnected by phone in the mid-2000s. We talked about our families, Nigeria, politics, and, often, Ogbona. We had our own opinions, and we did not have to agree on everything. He was my brother before any political discussion, and he remained my brother after it.
Dan was, and still is, our blood and our brother. Our brotherhood had no political philosophy.
Chief Dan Osi Orbih
In December 2025, during my visit to Nigeria, we finally met in person after many years of living in different parts of the world. We greeted each other with a big, brotherly hug. There was so much to catch up on, and we talked about everything.
We spent time discussing Ogbona: UBTH Ogbona, the primary health centre, and how we might grow the STEM Club at Ogbona Secondary School through a partnership with Ogbona Technical College, which he had established. We talked about the care our people needed and the opportunities we wanted our young people to have.
I was glad we could have that conversation. His establishment of the technical college gave us something to build on. We could explore ways for students to develop their interests in science and technology while learning practical skills close to home.
When it was time to leave, we hugged again. I didn’t know it would be our last embrace. Now I keep returning to it, grateful for the time we had together and wishing we had been given more.
Before he left, Dan reached into his pocket, brought out some money, and handed it to my host. I did not know how much he had given her until I called with the news of his death.
“That man who gave you some money while I was visiting has passed on,” I told her.
She screamed in disbelief. She remembered his kindness immediately and told me how much he had given her. “Oh no, I am so sorry for your loss,” she said.
That small moment has stayed with me. She met him during my visit, yet she remembered his kindness.
On the night of tributes, I heard others speak of your generosity, Dan. I listened to their stories and watched the videos of food being distributed to our people during the Christmas season. Again and again, people remembered how you had helped them.
Students had their school fees paid, families received help when they needed it, and young people were given a chance to learn a trade or develop a skill. These are the things people carry long after the speeches end. They remember who came to their aid.
Ogbona has lost a prominent son, but we have also lost a man who cared about what was happening at home and used what he had to help. I will remember that alongside the public life so many knew you for.
To Dan’s wife, Mrs. Florence Orbih; his daughters, Winifred Anwosiobor Orbih and Dr. Mildred Omonemi Orbih; my cousin-brothers and sisters; and the entire Orbih Dynasty, I offer my deepest sympathy and prayers. We share this loss, though each of us feels his absence in our own way. No tribute can fill the place of a husband, a father, or a brother. May God give us strength and comfort in the days ahead.
I hope we will keep talking about the things Dan and I discussed that December. We still have work to do for Ogbona in health care, education, and helping our young people find their way. I also hope we will hold on to one another as a family. We will not always agree, but we must not let our differences cost us our love for one another.
Dan, I remember you as that boy in Jattu. I remember our phone calls, our conversations, and the warmth of seeing you again after so many years. Most of all, I remember those two hugs: one when we met and one when we parted.
I never thought I would be writing this farewell so soon.
May Almighty God receive you in mercy and grant you eternal rest. May He comfort your wife, your children, our family, and all who mourn you. May the work you began continue to serve the people of Ogbona.
Impossible to replace you. Impossible to forget you.
Rest in peace, Chief Dan Osi Orbih, my brother.
I will remember you with affection, gratitude, and that big, brotherly hug.
