A Posthumous Birthday Tribute to a Friend, Brother and Leader

By Chris Osa Nehikhare | Publisher, From My Window

October 27, 2026, was supposed to be a day of celebration. Chief Daniel Osi Orbih would have turned 65. I had imagined the gathering, the laughter, the music, the familiar faces, the endless banter and, of course, Dan himself, holding court as only he knew how.

Sadly, death had other plans.

When I wrote my first tribute following his passing on September 1, I spoke of the pain of losing not just a political leader but a friend, a brother and someone whose life had become intertwined with mine and my family’s. I had hoped that October would provide another opportunity to celebrate him in person. Instead, we must celebrate his memory.

But knowing Dan, I suspect he would have wanted us to celebrate rather than mourn. He would have wanted the music playing, the food flowing, old friends exchanging stories and somebody somewhere arguing politics. And, inevitably, he would have wanted to have the last word!

That was Dan. Larger than life, unapologetically himself and utterly unforgettable.

My relationship with Dan went far beyond politics.

I had the privilege of serving as Publicity Secretary of the Peoples Democratic Party in Edo State under his leadership. Those years were defining for me, both politically and personally.

Dan gave me something that every young political associate hopes to receive from a leader but does not always get: trust.

He gave me room to operate, encouraged me to think independently, defended me when necessary and allowed me to find my own voice. He did not merely give me a platform; he gave me the wings to fly.

For that, I will remain eternally grateful.

We had our disagreements, certainly. Dan was not a man who avoided confrontation, and neither did he expect everyone around him to surrender their opinions. But beneath the arguments was a relationship built on mutual respect, affection and loyalty.

Our families became intertwined. His family became mine, and mine became his. That is not a relationship that ends with death.

In one of the tributes written after his passing, I remembered Dan as The Entertainer.

Anyone who knew him would understand why.

Dan loved life, and he lived it enthusiastically.

His MCK Cottage was more than a residence. At different times, it served as an unofficial PDP secretariat, a political meeting place, a social club and, for many, a refuge.

There was always somebody visiting. There was always food. There was usually music. And there was almost always laughter.

Party faithful came from across Edo State, sometimes seeking political direction, sometimes financial assistance and sometimes simply the reassurance that their leader had not forgotten them.

Few left without being entertained. Many left with something in their pockets.

Dan understood a fundamental truth about politics that many politicians never quite grasp: people must feel that they belong.

He made people feel welcome, important and connected.

He loved his music. He loved dancing. He loved teasing his friends. His legendary banter could reduce the most serious political gathering to helpless laughter.

He played hard. But he worked even harder.

And who could forget Kulukulu 1?

It was more than a nickname. It became part of the personality, the folklore and the political theatre that surrounded Dan Osi Orbih.

Dan was a formidable political organiser and an even more formidable opposition leader.

As Chairman of the Edo State PDP and later National Vice Chairman, South-South, he demonstrated remarkable courage, resilience and commitment to party politics.

He understood that opposition was not simply about disagreeing with government. It was about holding power accountable, defending the vulnerable and ensuring that those entrusted with public office never forgot the people.

One episode remains particularly instructive.

When a widow became the subject of the infamous “Go and Die” controversy in Edo State, Dan saw beyond the political spectacle. He recognised a woman whose dignity and livelihood deserved protection.

He took steps to locate her and offered to compensate her for the goods she had lost. His intervention helped draw attention to her circumstances and the wider treatment of vulnerable traders.

For Dan, the episode was not merely an opportunity to score political points. It reflected something deeper: an instinct to stand with ordinary people when they felt powerless.

His subsequent support for widows demonstrated that his concern extended beyond the headlines.

That was another side of Dan that was sometimes overshadowed by his political combativeness.

Behind the fiery speeches, the sharp criticism and the formidable political persona was a man capable of extraordinary compassion.

Dan believed in the PDP.

He gave the party his energy, resources, time and considerable political talent. He helped build structures, nurtured relationships, encouraged younger politicians and stood firm through some of the most difficult periods in the party’s history.

He was not without controversy. Indeed, controversy seemed occasionally to enjoy his company!

But even those who disagreed with him could scarcely deny his political influence, his organisational abilities or his capacity to inspire loyalty.

For many party members across Edo State, Dan was more than a chairman. He was a rallying point, a benefactor, a mentor and a friend.

His departure has left a vacuum that cannot simply be filled by appointing someone else to an office.

Political titles can be reassigned. Relationships, trust and personal influence must be earned.

Dan spent a lifetime earning his.

The Birthday We Should Have Celebrated

Sixty-five is a significant milestone.

I can almost picture what Dan’s celebration would have looked like.

The political associates arriving from Abuja, Port Harcourt, Benin and beyond. Old friends exchanging exaggerated stories of political battles fought and won. The music moving from vintage classics to contemporary favourites. Dan laughing loudly, teasing somebody about an old disagreement and making sure everyone was properly entertained.

There would have been speeches, certainly. But I suspect Dan would have been more interested in the people than the protocol.

He was at his happiest when surrounded by friends.

Today, the chair he would have occupied is empty. The voice that would have dominated the conversation is silent. The laughter that so often announced his presence has become a cherished memory.

Yet, somehow, Dan remains present.

He lives in the friendships he cultivated, the people he assisted, the political careers he encouraged, the families he touched and the countless stories that will be told about him for years to come.

Happy 65th Birthday, My Brother
Dan, I had hoped to celebrate this birthday with you.

I had hoped we would share another laugh, revisit old political battles, disagree over something inconsequential and then laugh about it as we had done so many times before.

I had hoped there would be more time.

But life has reminded us, rather painfully, that tomorrow is never guaranteed.

On this day, I choose not to dwell only on the sadness of your absence. I choose to remember the privilege of knowing you.

I remember the friendship. The generosity. The confidence you placed in me. The opportunities you created. The laughter. The arguments. The music. The political battles. And above all, the humanity behind the larger-than-life personality.

You were many things to many people.

To Edo PDP, you were a leader and a political institution.

To countless ordinary people, you were a benefactor.

To your associates, you were a fighter and an organiser.

To your friends, you were the life of the gathering.

To me, you were my brother, my friend and a man who gave me the wings to fly.

Happy 65th birthday, Chief Daniel Osi Orbih.

The music may have stopped, but its echoes remain.

The entertainer may have left the stage, but the stories will never end.

Kulukulu 1, you came, you lived, you fought, you laughed, you loved and you left your mark.

And what a mark it was!

Rest well, my brother.

You remain unforgettable.