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OPINION: Crowns Of Crime And Shame

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By Suyi Ayodele

When a man says, ‘Here is where my friend was disgraced yesterday,’ our elders ask us to remind him that the disgrace has become a communal one. No sensible man derives joy from the shameful conduct of his kinsman. Does that philosophy still hold water in Yorubaland today?

A big Yoruba king was jailed in the faraway United States of America last week. He was arraigned, tried and found guilty of blood profiteering. The Apetu of Ipetumodu, Osun State, Oba Joseph Oloyede, was sentenced to four-and-a-half-year imprisonment by Justice Christopher Boyko of the North District of Ohio, US, for stealing COVID-19 relief funds running into millions of dollars.

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Oba Oloyede was portrayed as a blood-sucking demon who took delight in the blood of the victims of the pandemic, COVID-19. He stole $4.2 million meant for the relief programme for the victims. In addition to the jail term, the monarch will also refund the sum of $4,408,543.38 to the US Government.

He will add his home on Foote Road, Medina, Ohio, to the restitution. Oba Oloyede’s bank account with a balance of $96,006.89 will be taken over by the government. The troubled monarch is not entitled to a Cent of the money in the account. The court said the money therein was the proceeds of fraud! That is not the end of his troubles.

When eventually released, the jailed Ipetumodu monarch will be on the watch-list for three good years. The devil helps him if he misbehaves during his suspended release. He goes back to jail, summarily!

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The saddest aspect of the tragedy is that while the trial lasted, Oba Oloyede did not put up any defence, no alibi. He admitted committing the crime. When the charges were read to him, Oba Oloyede simply pleaded guilty to the crimes he committed between April 2020 and February 2022. Kabiyesi was arrested on May 4, 2024, when he travelled to the US. He was sentenced on August 26, 2025!

This is a sad development for the entire Yoruba Race. It is a sad development that we would not want to tell our children. But not the Yoruba of our time. If we were to be the true products of the Omoluabi ethos handed over to us by our forebears, Yorubaland would have been in mourning over the Apetumodu shameful outing in the US. But what do we have now?

Instead of showing remorse, the elders and elites of the land are busy exchanging words over inanities. Hot exchanges are being traded over unimportant matters. Words that, like the proverbial egg which breaks when thrown on the floor, have been uttered. When the storm calms, the scars will be visible for us to see. Outsiders alike will also see the relics of this current useless war over a non-issue. We left leprosy to treat ringworms!

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We are in ruins in this land. The entire Yoruba race is dancing naked in the market square. Those who have no ancestry have come to the open to deride a race that is acknowledged worldwide as the most civilised and most cosmopolitan. The entire Kaaro Oojire is in shambles, dressed in garments of shame because our monarchs are behaving badly!

I sighed in sadness after reading the Apetumodu’s ordeals, I tried to reflect on how Yorubaland arrived at this turning point. Whom did we offend? Has what happened to the children of Oduduwa had anything to do with the curse placed on the race by Alaafin Aole Arogangan? Why are most Yoruba thrones occupied by the dregs of humanity nowadays? Why do we have charlatans and other undesirable elements occupying Yoruba palaces? At the point of my confusion, history beckoned. Yoruba thrones and nitwits, history says, predates this era. How?

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Years ago, when the ant could carry the tortoise on its head, a rich man died. Though the man had two sons, he bequeathed his estate to the extended family members. He left nothing for his sons! Nobody knew why he did that. But the two boys were not stupid. They knew where their father kept his most valuable possession, a giant box of precious stones. The boys, at the cover of the night, stole the box. When the time came for the family to share the rich man’s estate, the box was discovered missing.

From time to time, the boys were selling the gold and other precious stones in the box. They had a mutual understanding until one day, the older boy got greedy. He wondered why his younger one would share the proceeds of their heist with him equally. He decided to have the entire stuff to himself. The older brother stole the remaining items and told his younger one that they had been robbed of them.

Stealing the king’s flute is not the problem; where to blow it is the issue. The younger brother, suspecting that his older brother was up to something, decided to keep him under close monitoring. With no moment of respite, the older brother used the only available opportunity he had to be alone and carried the box to the palace for their king to keep for him.

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Our elders say the third generation of greed will be a burglar (ipele keta okanjuwa, ile lo unko). The king saw the gold and decided to keep it to himself. He called his sorcerer and got the deadliest poison from him. He planned to kill the one who asked him to keep the precious stones. While at it, an incident occurred that required the attention of the king’s diviner.

The diviner, Àsèsèdà Ifá (The one who is new at divination), cast his Opele. But rather than address the issue that brought him to the palace, he told the king that he (the king) was about to do something that would bring eternal shame to him and the throne. He asked the king not to mix gold with poison because the hereafter would spell doom for the king’s lineage. The Oracle, Àsèsèdà Ifá said, directed that the king should return what was kept in his custody to the owner.

Àsèsèdà Ifá was still on the divination mat when a commotion was heard within the palace precincts. Who had the audacity to fight before Kabiyesi? The parties were brought before the king, and lo, they were the two brothers. The younger one, who suspected that the older brother wanted to cheat him, resorted to violence. When the combatants became inseparable, their family members dragged them before the king.

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The king asked what the matter was. The two brothers reported how they stole the box containing their father’s precious stones and how they sold some of the items, and the remaining items went missing. Everyone present was shocked that the boys could steal what their father gave to the entire extended family. But the king had a better understanding of what happened.

The king sent for the box he kept in his room. When brought, he removed the poison on top and emptied the contents on the floor. There were the missing pieces of gold. The king went ahead to share the items between the two brothers and ordered that all the other property the family had taken over be returned to the boys.

Diviners of old who narrated this story said it is from Ifa Corpus (Odu Ifa) known as Ogunda Ofun, named after the king (Ogunda), who wanted to appropriate what Ofun (name of the older brother) kept in his care. To date, in Yorubaland, one of the divinations done for a would-be oba is Ogunda Ofun with the admonition that he, the would-be oba, must never covet that which belongs to another man- Ogunda Ofun, ogbe mohun folohun (Ogunda Ofun, let the king return that which belongs to another to the owner). Did the Ipetumodu people take Oba Oloyede through this Ifa divination?

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Yet another story to buttress that Yoruba thrones have been under siege for a long time.

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A group of alájàpá (itinerant traders) market women set out early in the morning. The destination was Ibadan, Gbagi Market to be precise. They were cramped at the back of the Bedford vehicle, sitting on the wooden benches that were rammed to the floor, and holding on to the wooden body of the vehicle for stability.

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Their monies were tied around their waists inside their yèrì and òpóò (long cloth purses). Those purses would not be untied until they got to Gbagi Market, where they would buy the wares they traded in.

The Bedford vehicle, on top speed, suddenly ran into a pothole. The passengers were thrown at one another, knocking heads. The vehicle came to a sudden halt. The driver cursed! He was familiar with the road. It had no pothole on that spot. He could swear to that; the driver knew where the potholes were. And those were not as deep as the one that halted the vehicle.

His instincts instantly came alive. Danger! This must be the handiwork of some adigunjalè (armed robbers), he muttered to himself. But nobody emerged from the bush to attack them. Shocked! What could have happened then? He asked no one in particular.

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A woman asked what happened. The driver remained silent. He manoeuvred the vehicle out of the pothole. He dared not check if he had lost a tyre. Experience taught him never to do that on that spot. Yes, he must move a distance before he can check the state of the vehicle. Then he remembered. The pothole could have been dug to slow the vehicle down. “Òràn dé” (danger looms), he whispered loudly. The tension in the vehicle became intense.

He steadied the vehicle back on the road. Moved a distance, engaged the gear for acceleration. His headlamp picked up the objects ahead. Logs of wood, they were. Someone had barricaded the road. Nobody needed anyone to say who did that. Armed robbers were at work!

The driver applied the brake and jumped off before the vehicle came to a complete halt. His motor boy did the same. The duo dashed into the bush. Only the women were trapped. It was a case of olórí d’orí è mú (everyone for himself).

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Running was useless for the women. Before the first of them could jump out of the vehicle, the armed robbers were already on them. They were ordered out of the vehicle. One after the other, their attackers dispossessed them of their money. Then the unthinkable happened.

One of the women recognised a figure among the armed robbers. She could not be mistaken. It was a figure she would identify among a million men! Sure of her vision, the woman saluted: “Alayé (owner of the world), Kábíyèsí (he who no one can question) Àdìmúlà” (the one you hold to survive).

Two other women turned to look at the man. They recognised him to be the Kábíyèsí (king) of one of the biggest towns in that axis. Ah! What was Orí Adé (the head that wears the crown) doing among armed robbers? They wondered as they made to pay obeisance as tradition demands. What they got shocked them.

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Kábíyèsí raised his cutlass and dealt the first matchet blow on the head of the first woman who identified him. A chilling cry, and she went down. Alayé moved to hit the next woman. She ducked, but not before she got a bow to her arm. The other women took to flight. The party scattered. Àdìmúlà and his gang also took off. They did not forget their loot, anyway!

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The next vehicle carrying another set of traders came to the scene. The driver and the passengers began a rescue operation. The first woman was stone dead. They simply packed her corpse by the roadside; attention focused on the wounded but living. Those who ran away were attracted by the accompanying wailing and came out of hiding.

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The day broke with the news of the armed robbery incident. The two women who identified kábíyèsí could only tell their husbands. They were sternly cautioned not to tell any other person. Their husbands then volunteered the information to the elders of the town, who, in turn, also maintained the oath of secrecy.

Later in the day, Kábíyèsí summoned a meeting of his chiefs. He called neighbouring kings too. A company of the esoteric was dispatched to the robbery incident to go and do what tradition stipulates. Curses were laid, and the gods of the land were asked to avenge the sacrilege instantly. Then everyone went home. Did the curses work?

Yes, they did. Days later, it was discovered that all the trees around the spot withered; they all shed their leaves in the rainy season! What happened? It was gathered that after the esoteric team had performed their rites and left, Kábíyèsí led another team of traditional experts to the spot. Being the king, nobody could question him for the second traditional journey. He was not just Kábíyèsí for fun.

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According to the story, on the second trip, kábíyèsí asked that a pig (elédè) be sacrificed. He alone did the ìwúre (royal pronouncement) on that occasion. He simply told the party that he wanted to commune with his ancestors in silence. They responded: Kábíyèsí! Nobody heard what he said. They only noticed that his lips moved. The pig was slaughtered, its blood sprinkled on both sides of the road, and the party headed home. End of ritual! The result was the withering of the trees.

Any adult from Ayebode Ekiti up to the then Arigidi Ekiti (now Ayedogbon Ekiti) in the mid-70s would remember this ugly incident. The Ekiti-ethno-music icon, the late Elemure Ogunyemi, later in one of his albums, alluded to the incident when he sang: Ha ti m’òrí elédè rúbo (we have sacrificed the head of a pig)/ùgbàyí á dèrò kooko (this season will be peaceful).

But that incident did not go without repercussions for the erring Kábíyèsí. Conscious of the shame that an open reprimand would bring to the town, the elders came together and confronted their king. Of course, when in ìgbàlè (traditional coven) with the elders, Àdìmúlà owned up to the crime.

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The elders did what they needed to do and sealed it with a traditional pronouncement. No blood descendant of the kábíyèsí would ever ascend the throne again! They sealed that with Olugbohun. Whoever attempted it would pay with his entire sires. Kábíyèsí was asked to pass the message to his children for onward transmission to the generations to come. He also paid a heavy fine couched as etutu (appeasement items).

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Àdìmúlà thereafter lived and died at an old age. His remaining days on the throne witnessed a lot of crises, though. Other members of his gang died miserable deaths. Another kábíyèsí is on the throne in that town. The people await whether that secret seal will be broken! This story was told in hushed tones, as I tell you today!

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Before the above ugly incident, another Yoruba king was once executed for murder. The king was hanged in 1949. He was said to have used a 15-month-old baby girl, Adediwura, for rituals.

The trial of the oba was a huge sensation. The advocacy in the court was the best anyone could imagine. But that could not save him and his accomplices. The trio were executed by hanging. What did the people, his subjects, do to the family of the executed king? Would they ever allow any of his offspring to ascend the throne of the rocky town? But more importantly, what was the Ifa prediction before the oba was enthroned?

This is where we are missing it in Yorubaland. A lot of misfits are today wearing crowns in the land because they were chosen by other external forces apart from Ifa. The modern-day civilisation has robbed us of our heritage. No would-be oba who spent an average of three weeks in Ipebi (seclusion) would misbehave on the throne.

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But that is no more. A would-be oba was once asked to go into seclusion for seven days. He got to the door of Ipebi and put one of his legs inside seven times. He told the people that each step into the Ipebi represented a day. Guess what? He was still crowned king. It happened because the influential members of the community were behind him; he was their candidate! With good money and connections in high places, anyone can become an oba today. Ifa, Yoruba religion, has been shifted and shoved to the background.

Today’s Yoruba foremost kings are at loggerheads. Others are queuing behind them, forming camps. While the fire rages, the farmlands their ancestors left for them are in ruins. The subjects Edumare put under their care are daily killed, kidnapped, maimed and rendered homeless! Obas are going to jail, some fight in public, and many are facing trial for rape and other misdemeanours.

The Daily Mail of UK on May 19, 2024, ran a story about another king who was “twice deported from America with a lengthy criminal record and a distinct murky past. The paper described the oba as “a conman”, stating that he tried to “cash stolen £247k cheque.” Interestingly, the king has not contested the report as he pontificates on virtually every issue of Yoruba ancestry! The circle of shame has gone round!

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Ascending the thrones of Oduduwa is no child’s play. It comes with responsibilities; it comes with self-worth and dignity. If we cannot question these kings’ misbehaving because they are kábíyèsí, they should know that Alálé (progenitors) will ask them; Èsìdá (owners of the land) will judge them on our behalf. Enough should be enough. Our Yoruba obas should allow us to walk the streets with our heads raised. Ìtìjú yi ti ún pò jù (This shame is becoming too much)!

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I’ll Support Trump To Fight Terrorism In Nigeria If… – Wike

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The Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Nyesom Wike, has said that he would support US President Donald Trump if he provides technology to combat terrorism in Nigeria.

Wike stated this on Monday while responding to questions in an interview on Politics Today, a programme on Channels Television monitored by DAILY POST.

His comment comes in the wake of the Christian genocide allegation in Nigeria made by Trump.

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It will be recalled that Trump recently designated Nigeria as a “Country of Particular Concern” over the same allegation.

READ ALSO:Trump To Receive Full Menu Of Options To Stop Nigeria Genocide – US Rep, Moore

The US President also said that he had asked the Defence Department to prepare for possible military action in Nigeria if the Nigerian government “continues to allow the killing of Christians”.

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Responding, Wike said, “It is not enough for me to capitalise that people are dying in Plateau, Benue and other places.

I have said that I will support Trump in providing and supporting Nigeria with technology in the fight against terrorism. I will also support any country that wants to proffer solutions in tackling terrorism in Nigeria.”

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OPINION: Trump’s Wrath Of Oedipus

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By Lasisi Olagunju

Mr Donald Trump and his Generals are buckling their armour to wipe out terrorists who kill Christians in Nigeria. “I am hereby instructing our Department of War to prepare for possible action. If we attack, it will be fast, vicious, and sweet…” the American president tweeted yesterday. Nigerians who heard Trump probably wondered where he is going to start from. People abducting people, people killing people are everywhere in Nigeria: North-East, North-West, North-Central, the South – everywhere. The forests are deeply infested; the cities have them thick behind seedy walls. How do you kill terrorists in a terror territory without killing everyone?

I risk this question: Who is the real killer here?

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What is killing Nigerian Christians, indeed, what is killing Nigerians of all faiths, is not just religion or religionists. The true assassin is the Nigerian structure; an abnormality sculpted with the cold chisel of Mr. Trump’s America and its complicit allies. As Tacitus once wrote of Rome, “They make a desert and call it peace.” Nigeria is a malformed republic calcified by those who pretend to defend it. The Nigerian structure empowers extremism and fetters the law. It enjoys the backing of the West.

Now, Trump says he is coming. Some saviours come to compound calamities. In Ola Rotimi’s ‘The Gods Are Not to Blame’, the Nigerian adaptation of Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, Odewale is the celebrated liberator who becomes king. There is Baba Fakunle, the old, blind diviner of Kutuje. When the king, Odewale (the Oedipus figure), summons the seer to help identify the cause of the kingdom’s troubles, Baba Fakunle immediately sees the king himself as the source of the curse afflicting the land: “You are the murderer you seek”, the blind tells the king. He proceeds to even call him “bed sharer.” But the hot-tempered king thinks the prophet subversive, a coupist.

Tiresias in Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, like Ola Rotimi’s Baba, is the blind who perceives what the sighted king cannot see. The blind reveals that the sickness of the city flows from King Oedipus himself. He is the murderer. Oedipus, who vows to cleanse Thebes, is the source of the plague and “pollution” of Thebes. Today’s world has Oedipuses; it has no Tiresias. The truth bearer exists neither in America and its allies nor in their viceroys, defenders of peace who switch off rights in search of freedom.

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Donald Trump described Nigeria as “a disgraced country.” It is surprising that Nigeria has had no word to reply to that insult. His threats are directed at the bad children in the forests of the north. There is not a whimper from the ACF and the Northern Elders Forum. Where is their usual courage? Where is the Federal Government? If I would be cynical, I wouid ask: Why not invoke our efficient Cybercrime Act to deal with this? In case the government missed the assault, it is there in Trump’s tweet on Truth Social:

“If the Nigerian Government continues to allow the killing of Christians, the U.S.A. will immediately stop all aid and assistance to Nigeria, and may very well go into that now disgraced country, ‘guns-a-blazing,’ to completely wipe out the Islamic Terrorists who are committing these horrible atrocities. I am hereby instructing our Department of War to prepare for possible action. If we attack, it will be fast, vicious, and sweet, just like the terrorist thugs attack our CHERISHED Christians! WARNING: THE NIGERIAN GOVERNMENT BETTER MOVE FAST!”

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America’s Secretary of War, Pete Hegseth, with a “Yes sir” replied Trump with ‘automatic alacrity’. He said his boots were “preparing for action” on the soil of Nigeria. He posted on X:

“Yes sir. The killing of innocent Christians in Nigeria — and anywhere — must end immediately. The Department of War is preparing for action. Either the Nigerian Government protects Christians, or we will kill the Islamic Terrorists who are committing these horrible atrocities.”

Greek historian and Athenian General, Thucydides, underlined the causes of war: power, fear, and ambition. He warned that “the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.” Secretary Pete Hegseth’s words are a salute, and a promise of death wrapped in benevolence. He and his boss spoke as relievers of the besieged of Nigeria. We thank them for their interest. But where are they going to start from?

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“They can start from anywhere,” a voice replied me.

“Where is anywhere?”

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It is cool to read Trump’s promise of reprieve; we’ve seen too much not to embrace any messiah who comes around. Too many have died with their blood calling for vengeance. But this Trump rain, if it ever falls, won’t fall on one roof. Oedipus comes into Thebes, kills their terror and for that is made king. Years later, the saviour’s coming becomes bad, mass death.

I read online many who are happy that Bola Tinubu’s government is facing fire from America. Some of these are even from the Muslim North. Ancient Romans would see this and intone: “Amicus meus, inimicus inimici mei” (my friend, the enemy of my enemy). Mathematical sociologists would dust up Frank Harary’s formalisation of the Balance Theory; they would trace their signed graphs, and point to Fritz Heider’s insight that a pair of friends with a common enemy forms a balanced triangle: A friend of my friend is my friend (+ × + × + = +). A friend of my enemy is my enemy (+ × – × – = +). An enemy of my enemy is my friend (– × – × + = +). Politics!

It is strange that a government that has conquered everyone is now being conquered from a strange angle. “History shows that there are no invincible armies and never have been” (Josef Stalin).

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I would have joined in the celebrations to welcome Trump but for the fact that history shows me the strong disguising ambition with the language of virtue; I hear the powerful invoking justice and faith while pursuing dominance. If I asked the Greek to use human history and experience to analyse Mr. Trump’s threat of a war to end all terrorist wars in Nigeria, Thucydides would likely have viewed Trump’s threat with cold, unsentimental realism. To him, the tough-talk would not be an act of moral outrage but a performance of power. He would see in Trump’s posture not compassion for the Nigerian victim of terror; the historian would see the timeless logic of empire: using other people’s tragedy to affirm strength and moral superiority.

As Thucydides might have put it, “War is not so much a matter of right as of necessity.” From history to literature, we find that those who claim to fight for justice are often merely fighting for influence. In the eyes of experience, America’s preparation “for action” would be less about saving faith, limbs and lives; it will be more about staging yet another play in the endless drama of power.

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So, I ask: Is the noise from the US truly targetted at the Nigerian Wall of Jericho? We wait to see.

We are a complicated country with complex problems. If Trump kills all today’s terrorists tomorrow, how about the next generation of killers that will come out the day after? The hatchery is not tired of making them.

So, where is the way? Donald Trump’s message of war? It cannot be the way. One thing is certain, this crisis and the response to it echo a tragic pattern: leaders are chasing false targets; messiahs will end up as wrathful Oedipuses whose presence will poison the land. These healers, they will spread plague.

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OPINION: Saluting Our Permanent Patriarchs

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By Lasisi Olagunju

Respect old age. A “strictly by invitation” conclave of Yoruba cardinals sat for two days last week, not in the traditional capital, Ibadan, but in aged Akure, Ondo State. They took the masquerade to the eastern ancestral grove and had it costumed there. If your masquerade was not there, it is because your buttocks were deemed too small for the gilded stools there. And by not being there, you just missed balls of àkàrà made specially in frying pans of honey. The cardinals sat and chose for the whole race and decreed that “we must speak with one voice.” Their Holinesses danced to African pop singer, Angélique Kidjo’s ‘Agolo’ in their own sacred way and ordered that the waist-beads of their Olajumoke must remain where it is. Who are we to say the mouth of the elder stinks? That is the judgment of age, the decree from the ancestors’ gavel. Coourt!

It is an African thing. Of what use is age if you can’t use it to dominate the youth? Àgbà kò níí tán l’órí ilè is a daily prayer in Yoruba land. It simply means “may elders not be extinct in our land.” What the Akure papacy wants is already being done in other parts of Africa. The results have been phenomenal. I am moving from Cameroon to Côte d’Ivoire, then Tanzania, and, then other places where age is prized far higher than rubies.

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They say wisdom comes with age. If that is true, no matter how “disgraced” Donald Trump says we are, East and West, Nigeria has pearls of ancestral wisdom. To our immediate East, we have Paul Biya of Cameroon; a little far west, there is Alassane Ouattara of Côte d’Ivoire. They are the current champions. Our immediate western neighbour, Benin Republic, has just banned the main opposition candidate and his party from the next presidential poll. These and many more enjoy the nod of the lords who created these countries.

I have ‘data’ people, young persons around me. They flirt into my fort and speak grammar and literature. First, they talk “gerontocracy”; then I hear “heart-cutting paradox” of Africa being the world’s youngest continent by median age, “yet it is being governed by some of the oldest leaders on earth.” Talk is cheap. What do they know? What an elder sees while seated, a child in space can’t see.

Indeed, Africa, this moment, has the wisest gathering of aged priests of power ever assembled.

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In the North, there sits Abdelmadjid Tebboune of Algeria (80), Abdel Fattah el-Sisi of Egypt (71), and Kais Saied of Tunisia (67 — just under seventy, but invested with self-made powers broad enough to last him till eternity).

In West Africa, the procession of patriarchs includes Bola Ahmed Tinubu of Nigeria (73), Joseph Boakai of Liberia (80), and Alassane Ouattara of Côte d’Ivoire (83). Nana Addo Dankwa Akufo-Addo of Ghana, now 81, bowed out, leaving the stage in January 2025 for his old rival, John Dramani Mahama, 66, to steer the ship once again.

In Central Africa, Mother Africa is still blessed with the grandest of elders: Paul Biya of Cameroon (92), Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo of Equatorial Guinea (83), and Denis Sassou-Nguesso of the Republic of the Congo (81).

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In Eastern and Southern Africa, the grey reign continues: Yoweri Museveni of Uganda (81), Isaias Afwerki of Eritrea (79), Emmerson Mnangagwa of Zimbabwe (83), and Cyril Ramaphosa of South Africa (73). Hage Geingob of Namibia passed away on 4 February 2024 at the age of 82. He was succeeded by 84-year-old Nangolo Mbumba, who served until the March 2025 election that brought Netumbo Nandi-Ndaitwah, 73, to power — the country’s first female president.

Farther east, Djibouti’s parliament has just erased the age barrier that once capped presidential ambition, clearing the path for 77-year-old Ismaïl Omar Guelleh to seek a sixth term in 2026. And on the Ethiopian plateau, President Taye Atske Selassie will turn 70 next year.

We respect and value age; that is why Africa remains forever at the top. We are the continent where wisdom and endurance sit enthroned in power.

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President Alassane Ouattara of Côte d’Ivoire is 83. He has just clinched a fourth term with the ease of a man ordering breakfast. Cast your gaze eastward to Cameroon, 92-year-old Paul Biya is there. BBC last week described him as “the leader who never loses.” He has kindly agreed to remain in office after only 43 years of national service – or should I simply call his reign ‘uninterrupted power supply’? Forty-three years in some democracies would be called eternity; here in Africa, from the Mediterranean to the Cape of Good Hope, it is continuity.

Nigeria has so much to learn especially from Cameroon where grey hair rules completely and totally. Cameroon has a council of elders whose word is law. I searched the World Wide Web, asking the oracle for the secret of that country’s success. It is the bent gait of the leaders and the age of their ideas. It is difficult to believe, but it is true, the elders list is real: To President Biya’s right is the President of the Constitutional Council, Clément Atangana; he is 84 years old. Atangana it was who oversaw the recent election and announced the results that are being celebrated with stones and bullets in the streets of the country. There is also René Claude Meka, the 86-year-old Chief of Defence Staff. He guards the guards in the name of democracy. The president of the senate is Marcel Niat Njifenji, 91 years old. With Cavayé Yéguié Djibril, the 85-year-old Speaker of the National Assembly, Njifenji sees that laws are made for the good governance of the republic. They make laws, and when they finish minting the laws, they pass them to 83-year-old Laurent Esso, the indefatigable Minister of Justice. He executes the law and its convicts. The job of this council of elders is to keep the grandfather in power and tell the young to wait for their time.

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We have done well with democracy in Africa. It is no longer about freedom and welfare, and good living and life more abundant. It is about endurance – like dull, painful sex.

Latecomer Nigeria does not (yet) have its own official elders council as Cameroon. It should quietly be taking notes; that is what the wise do. We should envy Cameroon; Cameroon deserves our envy.

In Bénin, the constitutional court on 27 October, 2025, ruled to exclude the principal opposition party, Les Démocrates, from participating in the upcoming 2026 presidential election. The coast is clear for democracy in that country and for the incumbent. In East Africa, Tanzania’s presidential election was held on Wednesday last week. But the gods of polls had cracked the palm kernel of victory for the incumbent before the election day. President Samia Suluhu Hassan stood (and stands) on terra firma. She won before winning. Her opponents, candidates of the two primary opposition parties, were removed from the ballot by the gods of democracy. Their supporters are outside, burning tyres and getting buried.

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Nigeria will do better than Benin and Tanzania. If those ones had appreciated better intelligence, they would not run into the quicksand of protests harrying their hills. Instead of shutting the gate against opponents and running against themselves, how about those opposition candidates simply defecting into the ruling party? If you check the physics of politics, you will understand why politicians are ferromagnetic beings; they respond to the magnet of money and power. In Nigeria, nobody will be disqualified in the next elections. The magnet in the ruling party sucks them into the vortex of power, and that ends it. Never mind what an Abuja court said on defection last Friday. The defected should forfeit their seats. Who does that? The higher courts will correct the abnormal orders.

Yoruba ancestors are great scientists. There is this Yoruba spell that pulls whoever it wants into its bossom:

Gerere,

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Àwọ̀n maa wo won bo,

Gerere…

(Swiftly/ Net, drag them here/ Swiftly).

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People of depth who massed in Akure last week know how this magnetic net is woven. It works in Yoruba’s Lagos – it is working in Nigeria. The Tanzanian lady should have come to learn here.

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I read online about children of protest dreaming of Tanzania in Nigeria. No. It won’t happen. Where is the main opposition party, the PDP? By the time we reach 2027, no opposition contraption will be well enough to stagger out of the ICU. After that feat, we will move to the next. What is next? Third term?

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‘Third term’ is scandalous; we don’t want that chain for the neck of our Olajumoke. The respectable career goal is to be so good as to be begged to become king.

Let the children of anger keep punching their tired tabs and overused phones. Someone told me that when they finally look up from those chinko phones and ask, “Who’s that old man on the ballot again?” the answer will definitely be: “The same man you voted for when you were in primary school.”

Africa is proof that democracy is tired of term limits. The British blessed us with permanent secretaries; why not bless ourselves with permanent councils of elders complete with a permanent presidency. Imagine the elegance in that alliteration: “permanent presidency.” Pulsating.

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Even in America where we copied this democracy nonsense, they are already building a throne for their king and sewing very regal royal robes. They have a king.

I read Thomas E. Cronin’s ‘On the Origins and Invention of the Presidency’ and laughed at the folly in the wisdom of the past. Cronin, by “presidency” meant American presidency.” He wrote: “In 1787 fifty-five of America’s best educated and most experienced men assembled in Philadelphia. Their average age was 42, most were lawyers or businessmen. Two-thirds had served in the Congress at one time or another; nearly twenty had served in the Continental army. Seven had been governors in their states. It was a convention of the well-bred, well-fed, well-read and well-wed.” These were the people, the 55 wise men who invented America’s presidential democracy, the one we copied like that poor student who Rank-xeroxed his mate’s exam script, name, matric number, all.

The mandate of the American wise men, according to Cronin, was “to devise an executive office that would also be effective and safe; strong enough to command respect, to help maintain order, to help conduct effective diplomatic affairs, to provide for more efficient administration, yet not so strong as to threaten civil liberties, or in any way aggrandize power contrary to the welfare of the general public.” They did what they had to do and for 229 years, they thought they got it right. They were wrong. Trump, holding Muhammadu Buhari’s toothpick, is at this moment, laughing at their wisdom.

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A permanent presidency – a king – is being considered by those around America’s Trump. Or where were you last week when former White House chief strategist, Stephen Bannon, told The Economist that President Donald Trump would serve a third term? Stephen Bannon described a third term for Trump as essential to the nation’s future, a “vehicle of divine providence”, an “instrument of divine will” and “the will of the American people.” We were very unfair to President Olusegun Obasanjo, a successful third term for him would have been a valuable part of contemporary America’s literature review.

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This is the age of the aged. We should tell William Shakespeare that he lied; that the poet lied in his claim that “All the world’s a stage,

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And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,…”

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Shakespeare says the drama of life always comes to an end for actors and for spectators. It is not so in Africa. Go to Togo, don’t they have Faure Gnassingbé there after Gnassingbé Eyadéma? Gnassingbé served as the president of Togo from 1967 until his death in 2005. Gnassingbé Eyadéma’s son, Faure, filled what would have been a gap immediately and has led Togo since then. What else is the meaning of immortality?

Nigeria can improve on this. One man can be president; his son governor; his brother minister; his grandchildren commissioners.

The president can even combine all those posts and positions if he wants. It will be answered prayers.

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This is a satire, but sometimes words fail the satirist and his satire. Satire itself is a dangerous thing because sometimes it stops being seen for what it is. But on this, I double down and hiss on reason and good judgment. This is the age of wisdom, I cling to the tail of the elephant of the aged, he alone can take us up the mountain before us.

In ‘As You Like It’, Shakespeare’s Jaques delivers the locus classicus on the seven ages of man. Life, Shakespeare’s character says, unfolds in seven acts; he calls them “ages”. First comes the helpless infant, “mewling and puking” and crying in a nurse’s arms; then the reluctant schoolboy, weeping and creeping to class with a shining face. Next, the lover, scribbling and sighing over verses, love poems, to his beloved; followed by the fiery soldier, proud, quick to quarrel, chasing fleeting glory: “A soldier, / Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, / Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, / Seeking the bubble reputation /Even in the cannon’s mouth.” Then appears the wise judge, full of proverbs and dignity, his form rounded by comfort. Then age steals in, turning him into a thin, slippered old man, his once-bold voice now trembling and shrill. At last, the curtain falls on all, a return to infancy, “second childishness” and forgetfulness, bereft of sight, sound, taste, and self:

“Last scene of all,

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That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

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For all enemies of age, I render, in modern English, the last stage in the passage above, Act II, Scene VII:

“The final stage of life

that ends this strange and eventful journey

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is a return to childishness and complete forgetfulness;

without teeth, without eyes, without taste, without anything at all.”

The Shakespearean last stage is the age of nothing and nothingness. That is the age of our leaders. In nothing, nothing is bad. We love our own old age, we want it as long as it is Idi Bebere, the voluptuous, supple waist of Olajumoke.

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