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The Museum of West African Art saga 10 Dec 2025

Back in 2021, a work trip took some of my colleagues and me to Benin City, the city I grew up in. The first Saturday of that trip remains a poignant symbol of a promise unfulfilled. I had promised them a glimpse into the soul of our history at the Benin City National Museum on Ring Road. What we found were locked gates and a silent compound. A nearby vendor, with the weary air of someone recounting a familiar tragedy, told us the staff had not been paid for months; the museum was abandoned. 

Hoping to salvage the day, we walked to the famed Igun Street, the ancient home of the bronze casters. Yet, even this UNESCO site felt underwhelming: a handful of artisans working in near-deserted workshops, their ancient craft seemingly fading into obscurity. It was a stark, personal illustration of how the economic potential of Benin's illustrious history was being left to wither.

This context makes the recent decision by Edo State Governor, Monday Okpebholo, to revoke the Certificate of Occupancy (C-of-O) for the Museum of West African Art (MOWAA) site, the former Central Hospital, so profoundly disheartening. While celebrated by some as a political victory, this act is, in truth, a staggering act of self-sabotage. It is the culmination of a deeply entrenched high-handedness that plagues Nigeria’s political and traditional institutions, a power struggle where the ultimate casualty is the future prosperity of the people. This was not merely a dispute over a plot of land; it was a battle that dismantled Nigeria’s most credible opportunity to leverage the global cultural treasure of the Benin Bronzes into a sustainable, non-oil economic engine. The chosen location for MOWAA was a masterstroke of economic geography, designed to weave cultural heritage directly into the living economy of Benin City. Its loss represents a multi-billion-naira prospect squandered and irreversible damage to Nigeria’s international credibility.

The true genius of the MOWAA vision lay not just in housing returned artefacts, but in its powerful synergy with Igun Street. The immense value of the Bronzes extends far beyond their glass cases; they were meant to be the epicentre of a new creative and tourist economy. Igun Street, the very birthplace of these masterpieces, where the guild continues its centuries-old lost-wax craft, sits just a short walk from the disputed site. This proximity was the key to unlocking a powerful economic dynamic. 

Imagine a cultural pilgrim, having been moved by the ancient masterpieces in MOWAA, strolling from the museum to witness the craft alive, to feel the heat of the forges, and to purchase contemporary bronzes directly from the artisans. This was the blueprint for a self-sustaining creative economy. MOWAA would act as the international magnet, channelling a continuous flow of high-value visitors whose spending on crafts, tour guides, taxis, hotels, and restaurants would create a knock-on effect of wealth and opportunity for the entire city. It was a perfect plan to turn heritage into immediate, tangible growth. That this nexus has been so carelessly abandoned is an act of profound economic irresponsibility.

The conflict that led to this failure was ignited by the decisions of the former administration of Governor Godwin Obaseki. Its most destructive act was the demolition of the Benin Central Hospital. This was not just an error in prioritisation; it was a violation of public trust, sacrificing immediate welfare for a long-term project and instantly poisoning the political well. It made the museum project politically toxic, gifting any future opponent a legitimate pretext for its reversal on the grounds of public interest. Moreover, it signalled a cavalier disregard for public assets, demonstrating a policy volatility that is the very antithesis of sound economic planning. 

The second strategic blunder was the attempt to sideline the Oba of Benin by establishing the MOWAA Trust as an independent entity. However well-intentioned the desire for international governance standards may have been, it failed to grasp the immutable reality of Benin’s cultural landscape: the Oba is the undisputed custodian of the Bronzes. This institutional arrogance transformed a unified national effort into a zero-sum political battle over ownership, guaranteeing instability and severely eroding the trust of foreign governments and philanthropists who had invested millions in the project.

In response, the Benin Royal Palace, while rightly asserting its cultural sovereignty, escalated the conflict in a manner that was profoundly detrimental to the very future it sought to secure. The most damaging manifestation of this was the mobilisation of thugs to disrupt the MOWAA preview exhibition. This calculated introduction of chaos forced foreign dignitaries, including key European ambassadors, to flee under security escort. 

The economic fallout from this single event was catastrophic. It beamed a message worldwide that Edo State is politically unstable and unsafe for high-profile international engagement, destroying years of diplomatic goodwill at a stroke. By making the MOWAA project untenable, this action single-handedly severed the vital symbiotic link with Igun Street. The tourists who would have generated crucial knock-on revenue for the local casters will now never come. 

Most tragically, the public instability provided a perfect excuse for foreign museums to stall further repatriations, arguing that Nigeria lacks the necessary framework to preserve its own heritage. In its high-handed assertion of power, the Palace ultimately undermined the economic future of the craftsmen it historically protects and robbed the country of both its heritage and future earnings.

The final, fatal blow was delivered by the incumbent governor, Monday Okpebholo, whose revocation of the C-of-O was a politically shrewd but economically catastrophic act of vengeance. The symbolism of restoring the land for public health may play well politically, but the underlying action sends a devastating signal to the global investment community. 

By summarily revoking a C-of-O, the most critical legal assurance of land tenure, to overturn a predecessor's project, Okpebholo has declared that the government of Edo State cannot guarantee property rights across political transitions. This is the death knell for investor confidence. Foreign Direct Investment is predicated on the sanctity of contracts and legal guarantees. When these are treated as temporary political instruments, long-term capital investment becomes an illogical risk. The state is now condemned to a spiral of policy incoherence, spending vast sums to remodel a purpose-built museum into a hospital, a financially wasteful endeavour that leaves the people with neither a world-class museum nor a prompt, functional hospital, but rather a protracted, taxpayer-funded construction site.

The entire MOWAA saga is a devastating case study in how Nigeria’s addiction to absolute power and ego systematically destroys its greatest potential. Each party – the former governor, the revered monarchy, and the incumbent – acted with a high-handedness that viewed priceless cultural assets as instruments for personal or institutional dominance rather than a shared national resource. The true victims are the Nigerian people, who have been denied the jobs, the revenue, and the immense pride that the Bronzes were poised to deliver.

This failure was brought into a sharp, painful focus for me in 2023, when one of my colleagues who travelled with me to Benin, found ourselves in London. We visited the British Museum and stood before their collection of Benin Bronzes. There they were, our history, displayed under perfect lighting, in climate-controlled cases, surrounded by throngs of international admirers. 

The silence of Ring Road and the dusty neglect of Igun Street felt a world away. In that moment, we shared the same, grim realisation: these artworks, plundered in a violent past, are now, sadly, probably more valued, more secure, and more widely celebrated thousands of miles from home than they are in the land that created them. It is the ultimate indictment of our self-inflicted cultural and economic wound.

Cheta Nwanze is Lead Partner at SBM Intelligence.