By ODIMEGWU ONWUMERE

When I opened the link of the Leadership Newspaper online this morning, my heart skipped a beat. The headline was stark, terrifying, and painfully specific: "Ex–Rivers Rep Member Escapes Death as SUV Bursts Into Flames in Port Harcourt."

For a moment, the words blurred. In the chaotic stream of bad news that often floods our timelines—stories of politics, economy, and distant tragedies—it is easy to become desensitized. We often scroll past accidents and disasters with a detached sigh, viewing them as statistics rather than human experiences. But today, the scroll stopped. The breath caught in my throat. This was not a statistic. This was not just a "former lawmaker." This was Ogbonna Nwuke.

To the world, he is the articulate politician who represented the Etche/Omuma Federal Constituency from 2011 to 2015. He is a public figure, a voice in the media, and a stakeholder in the Rivers State project. But to me, and to many others who have had the privilege of crossing his path, he is simply a good man. He is a man who, at a point in my life, extended a hand of kindness that I have never forgotten.

The report detailed a harrowing scene along the Eastern By-pass in Port Harcourt. Anyone who knows that stretch of road knows it is a busy, often chaotic artery of the city. He was driving, heading toward Trans Amadi—perhaps for a meeting, perhaps to see a friend, perhaps just going about the mundane business of living—when his Sport Utility Vehicle (SUV) suddenly turned into an inferno.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the terror of that moment. The smell of burning rubber, the sudden heat, the panic of realization that the machine built to protect you has suddenly become a trap. Fire is a merciless element. It does not respect status; it does not care about your past achievements or your future plans. In seconds, it consumes. The fact that he was able to exit that vehicle, to step away from the flames before they claimed him, is nothing short of a miracle.

"I thank God for the gift of life. I survived," he told the press in a telephone conversation.

Those words are simple, but they carry the weight of a mountain. I survived.

I am writing this today not just to report the news, but to let the world know why this survival matters so deeply. We live in a time where gratitude is often saved for funerals. We wait until a man is gone to write eulogies about his kindness, his impact, and his character. I refuse to do that today. I want to celebrate Ogbonna Nwuke while he can still read these words.

I want the world to note that this man was good to me. In a landscape often defined by transactional relationships, where people only help those who can help them back, Nwuke stood out as different. He possesses a generosity of spirit that is rare. Incidents do happen; cars malfunction, mechanical faults occur, and tragedy lurks around the blind spots of our daily commutes. But when such an incident threatens a man of peace and benevolence, the shock is visceral.

I am deeply, profoundly touched by his ordeal. The thought of what could have happened sends a cold shiver down my spine. We could be reading a very different story today. We could be reading about a loss that would have left a hole in the hearts of his family and friends. Instead, we are reading a testimony.

His daughter, (Ebony), captured the essence of this moment perfectly. In her reaction on Facebook, she didn’t mourn the loss of an expensive SUV. She didn’t lament the trauma of the event. She went straight to the heart of the matter. She expressed gratitude to "God" for her father’s survival, describing it as a "divine act of mercy."

She wrote: "While material possessions could be replaced, human life remains priceless... what could have ended in mourning was turned into joy for the family."

She is right. A car, no matter how luxurious, is just metal, rubber, and glass. It is an assembly of parts that can be bought, insured, and replaced. If it burns, it is a financial inconvenience. But a father? A mentor? A friend? That is irreplaceable. There is no showroom in the world where you can walk in and purchase the wisdom, the laughter, and the presence of Ogbonna Nwuke.

As I reflect on this, I am reminded of the fragility of our existence. We wake up, we dress, we step into our cars, and we assume we will arrive at our destinations. We take the "gift of life" for granted until a moment comes—like a fire on the Eastern By-pass—that reminds us that every breath is a privilege, not a right.

I am happy—overwhelmingly happy—that he left that car unhurt. It is a testament to grace, yes, but perhaps also a sign that his work here is not yet done.

Nwuke’s goodness to me was not a grand, public gesture. It wasn't a political appointment or a massive contract. It was in the quiet moments of access and understanding. It was in treating me with dignity. It is easy for men who have walked the halls of the House of Representatives to look down on others, to become consumed by their own importance. But Nwuke carried his status lightly. He understood that at the end of the day, we are all just human beings trying to navigate a difficult world.

To see such a man face death and walk away is a sobering experience. It makes me want to reach out to everyone I value and tell them I appreciate them. It makes me want to scream at the world that we need to be kinder, more careful, and more grateful.

The fire that consumed his vehicle near Hypercity took a material asset, but it failed to touch the man. It failed to extinguish the light of a father, a husband, and a leader.

I think about the panic that must have surged through his family when the phone rang. I think about the relief that must have washed over them when they heard his voice, shaken perhaps, but alive. I share in that relief. To the people of Etche and Omuma, to his colleagues in the media and politics, and to his family, I say: rejoice. We have been spared a tragedy.

This incident serves as a wake-up call for all of us. It reminds us to check on our loved ones. It reminds us that safety is of the Lord. It reminds us that no matter how secure we feel in our modern machines, we are always at the mercy of circumstances beyond our control.

But mostly, it serves as an opportunity for me to say publicly: Thank you, Sir. Thank you for surviving. Thank you for the kindness you showed me in the past. Thank you for remaining a figure of grace.

The loss of the SUV is painful, no doubt. In this economy, losing a vehicle is a significant blow. But as I look at the charred remains of cars in my imagination, and then look at the vibrant life of Ogbonna Nwuke, the car becomes insignificant. It is dust.

We celebrate the living. We celebrate the second chance. We celebrate the fact that the narrative today is not an obituary, but a testimony of deliverance.