Who Exactly Is Mr Igere Otortor Nikolo (Godfrey Abur)? The Untold Story Behind the Man with Two Names

Every Nigerian name carries a story — a history of family, faith, or personal transformation.

But few names tell a more layered tale than Mr. Igere Otortor Nikolo, the man many also know as Godfrey Abur.

His story isn’t just about identity. It’s about time, place, and the survival instinct of a man whose names traveled through different eras of Nigerian life.

The Early Years — A Boy Named Igere

Born in the heart of Benue State, in what was once a quiet village surrounded by yam farms and red soil paths, the boy called Igere Otortor Nikolo came into a family rooted in old tradition.

“Igere” was not a random name — in his native tongue, it symbolized strength through endurance. “Otortor,” meanwhile, loosely translates to the one who stands tall, while “Nikolo” traces its roots to a sub-clan lineage.

His parents, traditionalists with deep ancestral pride, gave him this name to remind him that survival and dignity are inseparable virtues.

Education and the Crossroads of Identity

When he began school in the late 1970s, the world around him was shifting. Christian missionaries had long taken root in the region, and English names were now seen as “modern” or “educated.”

It was in that transition that Igere Otortor Nikolo first became Godfrey Abur.

Teachers often found “Igere” difficult to pronounce; “Otortor” even more so. “Godfrey,” borrowed from a saint’s name in an old Catholic book, became the practical alternative. “Abur,” a shortened family surname variant, slipped in naturally — a bridge between his ancestral roots and the colonial naming order of the time.

To him, at first, it wasn’t a big deal.

To his parents, it was survival in a country where your name could decide whether you were taken seriously or not.

The Two Names — One Man, Two Worlds

From then on, life ran in two lanes.

At home and among elders, he remained Igere — the boy whose name carried the thunder of the ancestors.

In offices, churches, and schools, he was Mr. Godfrey Abur, the polite civil servant, the educated man who could write reports in perfect English.

This dual identity wasn’t deception. It was adaptation.

And in that sense, it mirrored the story of postcolonial Nigeria itself — a constant negotiation between tradition and modernity, between names given by birth and names chosen by circumstance.

Career, Family, and Community Life

By the 1990s, “Mr. Godfrey Abur” had become a respected figure in local administration. He worked in state government service, known for his firm but fair manner.

Colleagues often knew he had another name but didn’t understand its weight. It wasn’t until much later — when he began mentoring younger workers — that he started reclaiming his indigenous identity openly.

He told them:

“Don’t bury your real name. It carries your story, even when the world wants to shorten it.”

He was, by all accounts, a man who balanced discipline with empathy. His leadership style reflected both the cultural wisdom of “Igere Otortor” and the formal polish of “Mr. Godfrey.”

Why He Still Uses Both Names

Even today, both names remain active — sometimes appearing separately in community events, religious gatherings, or official records.

The reason isn’t confusion. It’s intentional.

He once explained that each name has a place where it breathes best.

“Igere” belongs to his people, his ancestors, his personal reflections.

“Godfrey Abur” belongs to the modern Nigeria he helped build — the Nigeria of paperwork, systems, and progress.

In that sense, he is not two men, but one whole man navigating two worlds.

Cultural Reflection — The Power of Two Names

Across Nigeria, especially in states like Benue, Taraba, and Plateau, thousands share similar dualities. The Christian name represents faith and education; the traditional name carries family and heritage.

To some, it’s confusing. To others, it’s liberation — proof that you can wear both your past and your present proudly.

Mr. Igere’s story reminds us that names are not just labels. They are maps of survival — each syllable a marker of history, migration, and choice.

Legacy and Present Life

Now in his later years, Mr. Igere (or Mr. Abur, depending on who you ask) is regarded as a quiet elder, a keeper of stories. He has mentored many youths in his community, teaching them the value of cultural intelligence — knowing where you come from, even while learning to thrive anywhere.

When asked once whether he regretted living under two names, he smiled and said:

“A name is a coat. I’ve just worn two of them in one lifetime.”

Final Thoughts

Whether you call him Igere Otortor Nikolo or Godfrey Abur, you’re speaking to one truth — a man who learned early that identity in Nigeria is fluid, not fixed.

His two names aren’t contradictions. They’re harmonies from different times, playing in one life.

And in that, he becomes not just a person of interest — but a symbol of how we all, in some way, live between worlds.

Written by Simon Taki Zaku for IbiFoundry LTD

https://www.ibifoundry.com.ng/blog