In the quiet hills of Umunya, Anambra State, a noble dream once took root. It was the dream of a man of the cloth, an academic, and a visionary: Very Rev. Msgr. Prof. John Bosco Akam. He envisioned a university that would blend faith, discipline, and excellence—a Catholic university built on integrity, service, and knowledge. That dream became Tansian University.

But nearly two decades after its founding, the dream has soured. Today, the university is engulfed in a multi-layered crisis—of leadership, legitimacy, legality, and morality. The story of Tansian University has morphed into a cautionary tale about how silent, unknown actors can infiltrate, hijack, and corrupt even the holiest of missions.

Tansian University was incorporated with hope and spiritual clarity. Msgr. Akam assembled a team of religious, academic, and financial partners to launch the institution with sincerity and structure. As a priest and educator, he understood the necessity of governance, stewardship, and a succession plan that would preserve the institution’s Catholic identity even beyond his lifetime.

But as Msgr. Akam’s health declined, a quiet and insidious shift began within the institution he built. Into the vacuum stepped a group of individuals with no ties to the founding vision—men who would, within a few years, effectively steal ownership of the university from the hands of the founder, the financiers, and the missionary order he had entrusted it to.

At the heart of this takeover was Rev. Fr. Barr. Edwin Obiorah, a priest and lawyer who would, over time, consolidate sweeping control of the university’s assets, operations, and identity. Working closely with an associate, Mr. Innocent Ukeh, the pair orchestrated what several former insiders describe as a corporate hijack.

The plan was calculated: forge key documents, rewrite organizational structures, and push out all those with legitimate claims. In the end, Msgr. Akam’s final wishes would be ignored. The founders would be shut out. The family would be silenced. And the university would fall into the hands of those who had no hand in building it.

Before his death in 2021, Msgr. Akam drafted a comprehensive financial and administrative WILL to guide the future of Tansian University. In it, he directed that 70 percent of the university’s profits be handed to the Missionary Sons of Tansi (MSC)—a Catholic order he founded and trusted with his legacy. The remaining 30 percent was to go back into running and improving the institution.

The WILL also named specific persons and groups, including family members as trustees of the university. He intended for Tansian to remain under collective stewardship, grounded in its Catholic identity and missionary values.

But that will was never honored.

Upon Msgr. Akam’s death, Rev. Fr. Obiorah moved quickly. He declared himself the university’s sole legal authority. He suspended all scheduled meetings of the Board of Trustees and appointed himself as both Chancellor and Secretary. The missionaries were excluded. The family members named in the WILL were never consulted. The 70 percent share owed to the MSC was never paid.

Instead of implementing the founder’s vision, the new power brokers rewrote the rules to suit their interests. What had been a university of the Church was now being run like a private business, owned and operated by a small, shadowy group.

One of the most disturbing aspects of the Tansian saga is the use of forged documents to secure control and deflect legal challenges.

According to credible internal accounts, Mr. Innocent Ukeh forged several foundational documents of the university, including land titles, board resolutions, and even bank account mandates. These forgeries were then used to convince regulatory agencies, financial institutions, and law enforcement officials that the new regime was legitimate.

A particularly brazen forgery involved the Certificate of Occupancy for a key campus property. The original certificate, owned by a private financier who had donated land for the university’s take-off campus, was allegedly replaced with a forged version bearing Tansian University’s name. This fake document was then submitted to courts and state authorities in attempts to seize full control of the land.

By the time the forgery was uncovered, the damage had been done. The true owners were locked in legal battles. The university had already changed its legal status—re-registered as Tansian University Limited, a private company now bearing no religious, missionary, or academic oversight.

What followed was a complete disintegration of academic and administrative governance.

The Board of Trustees, the highest legal body of the university, was rendered inactive. Governing Council meetings were suspended indefinitely. Budgets were approved by a single man. University revenues were reportedly channeled into an accounts controlled privately by Rev. Fr. Obiorah, without oversight or consent.

Academic decisions were made without consulting the Senate. Unaccredited programs were launched. Staff were hired and fired arbitrarily. National Universities Commission (NUC), unable to get answers, issued warnings that the university was at risk of losing its license.

One by one, respected stakeholders began to withdraw.

Senator Victor Umeh, appointed Chancellor in 2024, resigned less than a year later in protest. In his resignation letter, he cited total disregard for process, governance, and truth. He warned that the university was on a path of moral and academic collapse.

Not long after, the Catholic Diocese of Ekwulobia also severed ties. Its leader, Cardinal Peter Okpalaeke, withdrew diocesan support after discovering the extent of financial mismanagement and institutional hijack.

Equally disturbing was the exclusion of Msgr. Akam’s family members and early financiers from the university’s leadership.

Despite having donated land, funds, and legal support, none of the founder’s relatives were involved in decision-making. In fact, many were reportedly banned from university premises altogether. One family member said they were treated like strangers in their own brother’s property.

Founders and benefactors—men and women who gave generously in the early days—were pushed out too. Several attempted to file lawsuits to reclaim their rights but were met with threats, delays, and doctored documents. Others simply gave up, disillusioned.

What had started as a partnership project backed by faith and finance was now a fortress controlled by a few.

While the leadership battles raged on, the university itself suffered.

Hostels fell into disrepair. Classrooms lacked desks and electricity. Sanitation facilities were nearly non-functional. Faculty salaries were delayed or unpaid. Many lecturers left. Students complained of being taught outdated materials, denied access to transcripts, and threatened when they raised concerns.

Accreditation of several programs became uncertain. At one point, some students feared that their degrees might not be recognized by employers or the government.

The founding dream of academic excellence had become a logistical nightmare.

Numerous students, staff, and former board members have reported a culture of fear that pervades the university today.

Whistleblowers were dismissed or harassed. Some claim they were followed by unknown men. Others received threatening messages warning them to stay silent. Journalists who attempted to investigate were blocked from entering the campus.

Rev. Fr. Obiorah, who rarely grants interviews, reportedly told staff during a closed-door meeting that he who owns the land owns the institution. It was a chilling signal: this was no longer a Catholic university. It was his.

The story of Tansian University is not just a story of legal battles and forged documents. It is a story of a stolen legacy.

Msgr. Akam dedicated his life to building an institution that would outlive him. He laid down clear principles, appointed trusted stewards, and hoped that his mission would continue through the Church, his family, and the next generation.

But his dream was hijacked. His WILL was disobeyed. His name is now used to sell an institution whose current form he would never have recognized, let alone approved of.

The damage done extends beyond contracts and property. It is spiritual. It is generational. And unless redressed, it may be irreversible.

Is redemption still possible for Tansian University?

The answer lies in justice and restoration.

• Those responsible for forging documents, defrauding stakeholders, and suppressing the founder’s WILL must be prosecuted under Nigerian law.
• Rev. Fr. Barr. Edwin Obiorah and Mr Innocent Uke must be prosecuted and brought to book for all the atrocities they have committed.
• The university must return to its original structure—governed by a board of trustees that includes family, clergy, financiers, and academic professionals.
• Chief Rommy Ezeonwuka must be paid his accumulated rents and the University vacates the premises of Ranent Industries Company Ltd. 
• Consent Judgment between Very Rev. Msgr. Prof. John Bosco Akam/Tansian University and Chief Rommy Ezeonwuka/Ranent Industries Company Ltd MUST be respected.
• Early partners of the University, Dr. Eloka Menakaya, Sam Obaji, Chief Rommy Ezeonwuka, Vincent Oforlobe, Dr. Andy Uba, Chief Nze Ralph Obiora must be invited for a roundtable discussion and final settlement. 
• The Missionary Sons of Tansi must be reinstated and repaid what was owed to them under Msgr. Akam’s final WILL.
• NUC oversight must become standard operating procedures.

Above all, the university must rebuild trust—with students, parents, staff, and the wider Catholic community. That trust will not come easily. It will require more than press releases and court judgments. It will require transparency, humility, and a return to the values on which the institution was founded.

Tansian University can still become what Msgr. Akam envisioned: a place of light, faith, and learning. But first, it must reckon with its past, confront the truth, and let justice take its course.