By Festus Adedayo

Two great musicians of the Yoruba extraction, Yusuff Olatunji and Ayinla Omowura — lords of Sákárà and Àpàlà, two generes of Yoruba traditional music — sang of the boundless power of money in resolving life’s knots. In B’ólówó bá té, one of Olatunji’s finest, he extolled wealth’s ability to penetrate every crevice of human existence. His message was clear: only the miser is disgraced by wealth; the generous wield its full force. Olatunji spoke to the illimitable power of money. In B’ólówó bá té, believed to be his ne plus ultra hits, he serenaded the power of wealth and its ability to percolate the nooks and crannies of human life. The summary of Olatunji’s, B’ólówó bá té is that, the rich, wealthy and powerful, can only be put to shame if they are miserly and do not know the illimitable power of what they have in their hands.

Wednesday and Thursday of last week were remarkable moments for Nigeria. Thirty seven years after any Nigerian ruler was hosted at Windsor Castle — the palace of one of the world’s most powerful monarchies — Bola Tinubu, a man so badly shellacked by the opposition as undeserving of honour, was honoured. Is it sparse honour at home and surplusage of honour abroad? For a country typecast as the global capital of poverty and a poster boy for dysfunction, Nigeria’s outing at Windsor Castle signified, however briefly, that the “bad boy” had made good.

As His Majesty King Charles hosted the Nigerian president, his wife, and their entourage, showering them with effusive eulogies, a quiet tear of pride may have escaped the eyes of patriots. His speech, and the parade of horse-driven carriages—complete with Wagonettes, replicas of Victorian-era coaches once used by colonial masters—transported Nigerians back in time. Charles crowned it all with Yoruba greetings: e káàbò, sé dáadáa ni in Tinubu’s native language?

The bones of our forebears must have stirred. Was this not the same Britain whose monarchy and imperial machinery enslaved, exploited, and plundered through the Royal Niger Company and Lord Lugard?

Ancient Iragbiji’s warrior, Sunkúngbadé (Obebe), must have stirred too—this time in joy. Oral tradition says that as a child, he cried incessantly until a miniature crown was placed on his head. His name—“he who cried for a crown”—was born of that insistence. Founder of Iragbiji under the Irá tree, he remains the totem of his people. I return to his mystique shortly.

King Charles, however, ended his speech with what many read as dramatic irony: “Naija no dey carry last!” he said, smiling. But the phrase is uneasy. It speaks to a restless national psyche — our impatient race for quick fixes. “Naija no dey carry last!” is a metaphor for an average Nigerian’s inordinate quest, his race against time and impatient resolve for immediate gains. In dramatic irony, the speaker misses the deeper implication of his words while the audience does not. One wonders: was the monarch unaware? Or, was he, in the midst of the effluxion of panegyrics, trying to rub in the ignoble acts of Tinubu’s constituents whose notoriety all over the world is household knowledge?

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The Yusuff Olatunji and Omowuras era produced others who mythologized money. James Hadley Chase, the “thriller maestro,” built entire worlds where money dictated morality. Chase’s characters define money as everything in life.

Omowura offered similar cosmology of wealth. In a posthumous track, he used birds as metaphors, singing about cosmic-ordained order of wealth, and the colours of birds’ plumage as symbols. This bohemian Àpàlà singer then landed in a narrative of the connect between grace and wealth. The Agbe (Blue Turaco bird) must seek indigo; the Àlùkò its yellow; the Lekeleke bird, its whiteness. Each pursues what it is destined to embody. He sang that, it is an impossibility for the day to rise and the Agbe bird would not go in pursuit of the indigo dye (aró) which is the colour of its feathers.

From there, he moved to the Gbajúmò—the celebrated one—whose status commands rescue even in ruin. Omowura then provided a nexus between the Gbajúmò and the power at his behest, his ability to order things in their favour. Through the frog and the toad, he illustrated how power summons salvation, even at the brink of humiliation.

Omowura then used the symbolism of two amphibians, the toad and frog, to explain an ultimate bail-out of a stranded Gbajúmò from his existential travails. Rather than the Gbajúmò suffering the social backlash humiliation, typified by being forced to eat the dry, warty-skinned, short-legged toad (òpòló), he sang, the one who would bail him out by killing the edible, smooth, moist-skinned, long-legged frog (kònkò) and turning it into a satisfying cuisine, would spring up from nowhere. Like Yusuff Olatunji and Hadley Chase did, this is a reification of wealth and the power at the behest of the famous.

If Sunkúngbadé cried six centuries ago for a crown, his descendant in the Villa today sustains his crown with money. Olatunji’s thesis returns: wealth is instrument and insurance. Those who know today’s Nigerian foremost leading political figure attest to his prodigious spending. He solves problems by incinerating money; he does not “see tribal marks” on it. I once wrote of a governorship aspirant, overwhelmed by such largesse, confessing he could never match today’s Villa man’s spending in a lifetime. Sunkúngbadé spends like an elédà — a wealthy but reckless spender — to remain enthroned.

Months ago, I warned that Nigeria had assembled a uniquely cold, crafty, and relentless ruling class. Borrowing from King Sunny Ade, Juju great of all time, I cautioned Nigerians with one of his 1970s line: “Wé mo eni o kò, Paddy…” — you apparently do not know who you are up against. We do not. Perhaps we do now. The political actors in the Villa today are deadly, brutal and crafty. They are brilliant at assembling and dissembling, serpentine in method, unblinking in execution. They are daring, will kill their father and rope their mother for the murder without batting an eyelid. Blood does not flow in their veins. They understand the craft of vices.

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When Donald Trump began his tirade against Nigeria, breathing hail and brimstone, he may have assumed a monopoly on manipulation. Did we know that Africa does not hold a monopoly on corruption? Trump and his fellow preachers of fire against Nigeria have shown us. They obviously did not grow up in Ibadan, where grit schools cunning, where the underworld teaches that everyone has a price. They soon found out. ‘Everyone has a price tag’ is a major teaching of the underworld. Nigeria’s Villa thawed Trump’s fury with baffling alacrity. More money will do what more money cannot do. Soon, Trump’s ice cube-hard attacks on Nigeria’s alleged hostility to Christians began to thaw like snowflakes in a torrid sun.

In January 2026, the Villa reportedly hired the Washington-based DCI Group for $9 million to reframe Nigeria’s image among U.S. policymakers, particularly on allegations of violence against Christians. The deal—$4.5 million upfront, $750,000 monthly—ran from December 2025 to June 2026, with renewal built in. It was allegedly brokered through the office of the National Security Adviser. Disclosure came via Congressman Chris Smith. But even at that, knowledgeable Nigerians know that what we know about the Villa buying its way through is likely only a fragment of the whole shameless ensemble. That is our president in action. He does not believe that anything, including Trump and his apostles, can stand in the way of humongous money.

Soon, Trump’s icy rhetoric softened. Soon, the First Lady, Remi Tinubu, appeared at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington. Soon, she was singled out for praise by Trump as “a very respected woman.” Fortuity? Or the quiet arithmetic and algorithm of purchase of influence?

In Yoruba cosmology, honour can be purchased. Nigerian scarce dollars as pawn for honour and positive global acclaim finds anchor even in Yoruba cosmology. Fuji music great, Ayinde Barrister, once musicalized this cosmological belief plainly. While dousing a fan in fragrance of panegyrics, he sang: “Ó f’owó ra’yì ló’ó mi, èmi náà n ò ti’jú ta’yì náà fun” — the fellow purchased honour and prestige from him and he was duty bound to sell it to him, even if coyly. Like Barrister, there is today a blind binge of honour purchase which finds parallel in a numismatist struggling to collect currencies of countries.

So, when Britain rolled out the red carpet last week, discerning Nigerians asked: at what cost? Yes, we are aware that it suddenly became a jamboree for governmental wayfarers to gobble free estacodes. But, it went deeper. Colonialism once came masked as civilization. When the colonialists came to Africa over a century ago, they came disguised as civilizers here to rescue us from ourselves, our perceived state of savagery, barbarism, and alleged unrefined behavior. Today, validation returns in subtler form. Today, offspring of those “savages” go to the colonizers for a second colonialism, in exchange for validation.

Keir Stammer, less coy, wasn’t pretentious about this quid pro quo diplomacy with Nigeria. Tinubu’s country will now harbour thousands of offenders and failed asylum seekers. This same deal had been botched earlier with Rwanda when Boris Johnson, Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak proposed it. Nigeria has accepted. Smart English people are not fools. They are like the devil. If it validates your dross by openly spreading the red carpet for you to walk on, it will ask for your soul. I imagine how many barrels of oil were tethered at the British groove in exchange for the red carpet and parade of horse-driven carriages at Windsor.

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The visit to the UK is, undeniably, a diplomatic plus. But again: at what cost? A sober balance suggests Britain gained more. We returned with validation; they with tangible benefits. One wonders what, in barrels and bargains, underwrote the pageantry at Windsor. Those who are scorched point at cost of living in handshake with the firmament. Aso Rock’s voodoo economists and their financial necromancers bandy statistics of national arrival at Eldorado. The Villa must think these foreign-purchased validations are enough blanket to shroud our reality from the world.

Domestically, the field appears to be clearing. The APC edges toward solitary dominance in 2027; PDP, LP, ADC struggle for breath. Campaigns may become unnecessary. Baba doesn’t have to worry about the huge health implications of his campaigning round the 36 states of the federation. Now, we are almost in 1964 Ghana under Kwame Nkrumah and Mali in 1960 where one-party state was national pastime. By the time this cycle ends, Nigeria may be unrecognizable in the hands of Bola Tinubu.

Yet many still cannot see beyond the spectacle and cannot see through the window-dressing. D. O. Fagunwa is author of an allegorical work, a Yoruba-written novel with the title, Ìrìnkèrindò Nínú Igbó Elégbèje (1954) Expedition in the Forest of Thousand Deities. In it, he curated a cast of hunters and mythical beings who inhabit a forest ecosystem that has the supernatural in constant but seamless interaction with the mythical and the mundane. This Fagunwa’s will seem to mirror the equation between Nigerians and their present rulers.

By deploying folktale and idioms, with supernatural elements playing significant role in his portrayals, Fagunwa thematically addresses rulers who rule with cunning, subterfuge and govern without purpose. He also addresses uncritical following, selfish rulers and their coterie of sycophants. These are the followers who lick power spittle at every drop. The author then labeled this set of followers as the Gòngòsú.

But, the seemingly powerless wind can ultimately lift a stone. The child who kills the rat and eats it with relish; kills a bird and devours it, when it kills the mythical evil fish called Arogidigba, will run to his father. This lesson was taught by late Ibadan bard, Alhaji Amuda Agboluaje, contemporary of Tatalo Alamu, both Sekere Dundun groups notorious for lacerating lines of their musical turf wars during the height of Ibadan musical supremacy war. By then, this killer of the evil fish will stew in his own broth. That is the kernel of the warning to our Edidare leaders who feel they have everything wrapped up. Bola Tinubu and his APC are about to kill the Arogidigba. And the elders say whoever does what was never done before would see what had never been seen before.