Twenty-one years ago on this day, Chief Ajibola Ige was murdered in his bedroom while serving as Attorney-General and Minister of Justice of the Federal Republic of Nigeria. His murderers are still at large, while some folks are busy dancing on his grave. It will take a hell of an effort to come to terms with this unpleasant surprise. A broken human nature!

On 10th January 2002, Lagos State Government organized a Commendation Service for Chief Ige, to which I was graciously invited to represent Egbe Omo Yoruba North America. Today, I share my remarks on that day with readers, some of whom weren’t born at the time of Chief Ige’s death, or were too young to know much about him. Compared with our predicament 21 years later, it is a nightmarish experience to read again my remarks with its bold predictions. But here it is:   

“Dear Uncle Bola: It is too much for those of us that your life of dreams, vision and ideals has impacted so positively to accept the fact that you are no more. No, for us, you are, and will continue to be. Your ideals cannot and will not be allowed to die unrealized. Your vision will not dim, as it will guide us toward the complete realization of your dreams in our lifetime. You will continue to be in our midst, you will therefore be addressed in the present. For the future that you struggled so selflessly to bring into being is currently pregnant in the present.

‘Your death, we hasten to predict, is the midwife that is destined to deliver that future. Then your martyrdom will have attained its utmost splendor and you will not have died in vain.  It is in the light of this prospect that I have chosen to address you in the present because I am convinced that those who killed your bodily frame have not succeeded in getting rid of your spirit, which I am now invoking to rise up and energize those of us in whom you invested so much of your time, ideas, intellect, hope and dreams. You were defiant even unto death. That is the legacy that we must cherish.

“But Uncle Bola, please remember now, oku olomo ki i sun o. You are the Baba Ewe of Yorubaland, the Asiwaju of the Progressives, the icon of political intellectualism, the skilled master of oratory, the super model of political stewardship in the noblest tradition. No, you cannot afford to sleep. For you have to help us expose treachery in the garb of political leadership; you have to help us advance the discourse of democratic norms; a discourse that eschews violence and thuggery, a discourse that exudes courage in the face of tyranny and oppression. Yes, you have to help the generation that you so much loved and trusted to break the barriers of self-despise, self-loathing and self-distrust, which have been placed on its path. For this generation must now rise to fulfill your dreams and realize your ideals.

“We remember your suffering in the cells of the prisons at Kirikiri, Ikoyi, Zaria, Agodi, and Makurdi. You faced all these humiliations and brutalization with uncommon courage. The forces that unleashed terror on you in those days did not like your courage, which humbled them. It is clear to me that the Abacha terror apparatus that survived his shameful demise has been able to infiltrate the camp of the progressives. There are wolves in the clothing of sheep. We need your newly acquired celestial power to expose them and annihilate them.

“We urge you to recall your speech to us in Washington, DC and your June 12 Lecture in Atlanta. Your dream is our dream. You dreamed of a Federal Republic of Nigeria that “can still be the first Black super power in the world and a beacon of democracy and rule of law to the remaining fifty one countries in Africa.” You challenged us to use our intellectual resources to find the means of internationalizing Yoruba language, food and attire. These remain our dreams as well.

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 “You challenged us to avoid all the dangers that one of your favorite statesmen, Robert F. Kennedy, vigorously warned against-the danger of futility-the belief (that) there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world’s ills-against misery and ignorance, injustice and violence. Kennedy also warned against the danger of timidity. As he eloquently puts it: For every ten men who are willing to face the guns of an enemy there is only one willing to brave the disapproval of his fellow, the wrath of his society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality for those who seek to change a world which yields most painfully to change.” (Ige, Golden Quotes 2000:155).

“Your bitterest enemy must concede that your moral courage never failed you. This is your challenge to us and we promise to meet it with a resolve that will make you proud even in your grave.

“When you wrote “Murder Most Foul” on the occasion of the sadistic assassination of Alhaja Kudirat Abiola, the Moremi of our time, in 1996, you observed with an anguish that reveals itself even in black and white that “Alhaja Kudirat Abiola’s murder has shown how far down Nigeria has sunk in barbarity, barbarousness, insensitivity, cowardliness and anarchy”. You were right. But none of us could have ever imagined that it could happen in a civilian dispensation, which you courageously helped to usher in; talk less of it happening to you-not a government opponent, not a small fry, but the Chief Law Officer of the State. This is why the barbarousness of this cowardly act is incomparable to any.

“It is also an irony of fate that a few days before your forced transition, you had read what amounted to your own tribute in your tribute to Pa Solanke Onasanya. For everything that you said of the old warrior apply most roundly to you. For yours “has been an exemplary commitment to public service, one that has sustained the zeal of a younger generation by being exceedingly constant, always daring and outspoken, without being obtrusive.” And as you said of Pa Onasanya, “if our society is lucky always to have the gift of such a man as you, our future as a people would always be full of hope and the assurance that our collective dreams will never fail (Tempo, Jan 3 2001).

“And now as we bid you a good night, we are also fully conscious of your expectations of us and of the message you wish to send to all your elders who now have the misfortune of seeing you go before them; your colleagues, who must now continue the struggle without your intellectual guidance, and your aburo’s and omo’s, in whom you have always placed your hope for a brighter future.

“Your loud and clear message is that we all must seize this moment and resolve to avenge your death-not with weapons of destruction, but with the armor of love and a stronger weapon of unity and progress. You are urging us passionately to be courageous in doing the right thing for our nation and our country. You are challenging us to close ranks in Yorubaland so that your martyrdom for the cause of Yoruba unity may yield positive results for our people and for our country. You are insisting that we must not leave here today without each of us renewing our commitment to unity and progress for the sake of our people. And if we do so, the hosts of heaven, which you have now joined, will strengthen us.”

The above commitments were made on behalf of many of us. How have we fared? Is Uncle Bola pleased as he looks down on us? I don’t know about how you feel. But for me, it’s a shame where we find ourselves as a people.

As I pause this page for a while, Merry Christmas to all.

That Apero is fixated on security is an understatement. A committee of Egbe Omo Yoruba North America, Apero bounced into national consciousness when it sponsored a series of virtual summits that lasted nine weeks from June to August this year. There wasn’t one of those weekly summits where the threat and reality of insecurity did not come up for thorough thrashing. Even concerned participants once expressed displeasure when they wrongly perceived that security was not a priority of the organizers.

The concern of participants at Apero summits and the obsession of Apero leadership with the state of security in our land should not come as a surprise. It shows, first, that Apero and its virtual summits participants didn’t drop from the sky. They are living beings with lived experiences not dissimilar to their kith and kin across the land.  Second, it is also a reflection of the importance that they attach to the security of lives and property, including, but not limited to their own.

Yet, it is not unimportant to note that there used to be a time when we all took security for granted. Surely, there have always been petty thieves, even violent criminals. But compared with the state of insecurity that we all experience now, it does not stretch the truth to observe that the 1960s to early 1980s were close to paradise on earth.

Those were times when we slept in open space in warm weather with apartment doors left wide open. We traveled in the night without confronting checkpoints or fearing for kidnappers or bandits. Even during the civil war, soldiers gladly escorted businessmen with large amounts of funds to their destination, without demanding for a share. Are we now a different species? Has our DNA somehow changed since those days? I think not. But there is no denying the fact that times have changed for worse in many respects, not least of which are the political and economic dimensions of life for many.

In the 60s and even 70s, the nation took care of the wellbeing of citizens. Political leaders of that era governed with conscience. Even military leaders from Gowon to Obasanjo, aside from their assault on the federal system of government which they inherited, made great progress on social programs including education and health, as well as security. To be sure, we hardly gave them credit then. But looking back and witnessing the horror that pretends to be governance these days, we should probably ask for forgiveness.

As some of our heroes past rest their souls in the bosom of their Lord, we must continually remind ourselves of their selfless contributions to national advancement. What was their secret weapon against insecurity forty to sixty years ago?

In the 1960s, we had a federal constitution which granted each region its security apparatus, including regional police, akodas, and forest guards, among others. Barring political thuggery that reared its ugly head during elections, there was little to no security problem.

But it wasn’t only security agents that ensured security. There was also a robust social program that included free primary education, technical and trade schools in addition to tertiary education. A developmental agenda that fostered economic growth ensured gainful youth employment which protected them from being hijacked by the devil. Primary health care was also taken seriously and people had the peace of mind needed for the pursuit of their private business.

In the 1970s despite unitarism, the first military dictators also focused on education, economic development, civil service reforms, and social welfare. So, there was a continuity of a liberal agenda from the first republic. Obviously, in a climate of useful employment, youths cannot be recruited into cults, gangs, banditry, or terrorism.

From the mid-1980s till now, however, new breed politicians came under the tutelage of carefree military generals with corrupt minds. The idea quickly and effectively gained traction that money can buy anything, including people’s conscience, and you can get away with political crimes of neglect, if you play the game well. All that matters is the self, its preservation and promotion. Whereas in the 60s, 70s, and early 80s, success in politics was not determined by wealth accumulation but by the effectiveness of policy in promoting development and welfare, since the mid-80s, politics has been turned upside down into the means to riches and wealth. This turn of events has two consequences both of which are inimical to progress and security.

First, when wealth accumulation is the purpose of politics, corruption by way of embezzlement and siphoning of funds meant for developmental programs is inevitable. Therefore, when this is the norm, our current experience, from local to state and federal governments, is unavoidable. While it is unfair to generalize, it is also true that the few who are committed to selfless politics and are making the best of efforts to get things done are almost always going to be unpopular with the people who have misleadingly been led to believe that you must get rich in politics.

Meanwhile, with dwindling national resources, what has to suffer cutback, in the mind of the selfish breed of politicians, are the programs that benefit the people, and not the perks that accrue to the politicians. So education, health, and social welfare become policy luxuries that public expenditure cannot accommodate while the private sector is encouraged to take over with limited, if any oversight.

Secondly, with visible wealth accumulation by politicians and public servants who used to be role models for the youth, it is not unreasonable to expect that young ones will take after their “leaders” who set the pace for the “norm”. When, for obvious reasons, they find it challenging to get into the political arena, they turn to other tested sources of wealth, not excluding crime.

Now, if we appropriate the wisdom of our elders, our current experience shouldn’t be a surprise. The children you don’t train will auction out the mansion you build in lieu of their training. (Omo ti a ko ko ni yoo gbe ile ti a ko ta). It is logical. They have to survive. But there’s another zinger in the wisdom of the elders. They counsel that if you would rather have your dinner without paying any attention to the hungry around you, then you must learn to lock your door tight. We have failed to take the moral of these sayings into cognizance in our approach to security.

The country has neglected the youth across the land. They feel the heat of poverty and hunger. They are easy recruits for bandits and terrorists. What the selfish diner must do, namely lock his door tight, to avoid a violent invasion of his home by hungry folks, the nation has failed to do. Hence the spate of violence and insecurity in the land.

The federal government, which has assumed monopoly over the security architecture of the country, hasn’t been up to the task of securing citizens against bandits, terrorists, and kidnappers. And, in an inexplicable way, it has also denied state governments the capacity to intervene effectively on behalf of their residents. It is bizarre!

What’s to be done? As in every aspect of life in this obodo of ours since the 1990s, citizens have had to fend for themselves. Whereas in the beginning, government took responsibility for the security of citizens, that era was long gone. Security, which is the foremost function of government, the rationale for governments, has become the task of citizens themselves.

This is why Apero has been focused on security in Yorubaland. The meeting held on Saturday, December 10 was a continuation of the initiative. It was an open forum which did not frown at the presence of non-Yoruba folks, some of whom participated without hiding their identity. It is just to demonstrate that Apero is not a secret cult. Among others, the summit reviewed recent developments along Lagos-Ibadan expressway and the drone sighting of terrorists in the forests around Ogere. The meeting called on Southwest Governors and traditional rulers to rise to the occasion and secure our people. Egbe Omo Yoruba and Apero will also play their part.

The scourge of poverty is ferocious and on the rise. By the last count, it has afflicted at least 133 million Nigerians from the desert to the ocean. That is two-thirds or 66% of the population. And it is not done yet. It just keeps running. Why would it be done running when no one is stopping it! The principle of inertia is at work here. But who, if any, is responsible for stopping it? That question just got embarrassingly contested last week in a manner that reminds us of the tale of the bee, the wasp, and the farmer.

Prepared for a full day of work, the farmer was excited about the prospect of completing the first weeding of his cassava farm before the start of rain. But he hardly settled in when he had a stinging sensation on his eyelid. His hoe fell off his hands as he wreathed in biting pain. As he howled and screeched, his wife and children hurried to his aid. As they made effort to help him, they heard the buzzing and purring of a bee and a wasp. “I didn’t do it”, the wasp announced. “Me neither”, the bee chimed in. And the farmer’s eye was the size of a baseball. So, who did it?

The population of the dirt poor is growing in leaps and bounds. If you are not one of them, you cannot possibly understand what the big deal is. What does it mean to wake up in the morning with nothing in your pocket to buy akamu for your child? The closest experience was that of the biblical widow who went to the bush to collect woods to cook her last meal so she and her son can eat and wait for their death. Her story ended well because she encountered Prophet Elijah. But not all such stories, especially in our clime, end well. But who cares?

The question “who cares?” has been recently answered in the back and forth between the federal government and state governors. With neither the federal executive nor the state executives taking responsibility for the state of poverty and its effect on a whopping 133 million of citizens under their watch, what they appear to tell us is that no one cares. Like the wasp and the bee, the federal and state executives just denied doing it. If they didn’t do it, can they be called upon to fix it?

Yet both of these institutions-federal and state executives- are creations of the constitution which in the wisdom of its drafters, provides for the wellbeing of citizens as a major responsibility of government. Chapter II of the 1999 Constitution is titled Fundamental Objectives and Directive Principles of State Policy. Note that an objective is an achievable goal. A goal is an outcome that is desired while an objective is a measurable action that can be achieved in short time in pursuit of the goal. An objective is a specific individualized action or step taken towards the achievement of a goal.

From the foregoing, the fundamental objectives identified in the constitution should be understood as measurable actions towards the goal of democratic enhancement and good governance. This is why the chapter opens with “fundamental obligations of the Government: “It shall be the duty and responsibility of all organs of government, and of all authorities and persons, exercising legislative, executive or judicial powers, to conform to, observe, and apply the provisions of this Chapter of this Constitution”.

Among the provisions highlighted in the Chapter are the following: 14(b) “the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government”; 16(1) (b) “control (of) the national economy in such manner as to secure the maximum welfare, freedom and happiness of every citizen on the basis of social justice and equality of status and opportunity”; 16 (2) (c) ” the economy is not operated in such a manner as to permit the concentration of wealth or the means of production and exchange in the hands of few individuals or of a group”.

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Furthermore, Section (16 (2) (d) provides that “suitable and adequate shelter, suitable and adequate food, reasonable national minimum living wage, old age care and pensions, and unemployment, sick benefits and welfare of the disabled are provided for all citizens”; and 17 (3) provides that “The State shall direct its policy towards ensuring that (a) all citizens, without discrimination on any group whatsoever, have the opportunity for securing adequate means of livelihood as well as adequate opportunity to secure suitable employment.”

In view of the above, we should ask: “how have various administrations and levels of government fared since 1999? Can any be exonerated? How is it that in 23 three years of democratic rule, the country has only moved from bad to worse in its poverty profile. In 2018, Nigeria got the unflattering label of the poverty capital of the world when it had about 87 million citizens living in extreme poverty. Now, a short four years later, that number is 133 million. And we are engrossed in blame game and passing the buck. Or how do we understand the present controversy between federal and state executives on the state of rural poverty?

The Minister of State for Finance, Budget and Planning, Clement Agba, fired the first salvo: “The governors are basically functioning in their state capitals. And democracy that we preach about is delivering the greatest goods to the greatest number of people. And from our demography, it shows that the greatest number of our people live in rural areas, but the governors are not working in the rural areas… Right now 70 per cent of our people live in rural areas. They produce 90 per cent of what we eat. And unfortunately 60 per cent of what they produce is lost due to post harvest loss and it does not get to the market.” In other words, governors are to blame.

As if to pile on, within 24 hours of Agba’s bombshell, the Minister of Finance, Budget and Planning, Mrs. Zainab Ahmed, released details of Federal allocation to states, apparently to underscore and validate the position of her Minister of State. According to her, “With respect to sub-national governments, the FMFBNP (Federal Ministry of Finance, Budget and National Planning) goes over and above its statutory role to provide financial support for states. A total of N5.03 trillion plus an additional US$3.4 billion has been released to the states by the Federal Government over the life of this administration.” The combined effect of these is to put the governors in bad light, even if it wasn’t the intention.

State executives were also ready for the fight. Agba and Ahmed had hardly ended their press briefings when the governors fired back. Blaming the state of rural poverty on the federal government which they insisted is the driver of economic policy, the governors identify insecurity of life and property as the fundamental factor in rising poverty: “Today, rural areas are insecure, markets are unsafe, travel surety is improbable and life for the common people generally is harsh and brutish” and they wonder why Minister Agba “whose government has been unable to ensure security, law and order have the temerity to blame governors.” Ouch!

Admittedly, there are kernels of truth on both sides. With insecurity, rural farmers are at the mercy of bandits, terrorists, and kidnappers. This alone is responsible for food inflation, a significant cause of poverty and hunger. The federal government, with its monopoly of security infrastructure, must accept responsibility.

On their part, states cannot deny receiving their share of revenue, including security votes, from the federal government. And per the constitution, Governors are the Chief Security Officers of their states. While many have set up security agencies to complement the federal forces, they can do more by equipping them with adequate gadgets.

Finally, corruption is the elephant in the room of extreme poverty and, here, both federal and state governments share responsibility. Eliminate corruption, which has been the bane of every poverty alleviation efforts, and there may be light at the end of the poverty tunnel.

 

 

 

It is that time of the year when, by convention, we express our gratitude for things great and small, for the grace to be alive and kicking, for mercies as numerous as sand, for the blessings of untarnished names, for families and friends, and for the love of God that envelopes us. It is Thanksgiving time.

All of the above are great reasons for being thankful as readers of this page may know. Over the past ten plus years, no Thanksgiving has passed without our marking it with gratitude. As the Holy Scriptures remind us, in all things, we must be thankful because it is the will of God for us. Our traditional worldview also notes, succinctly, that to be thoughtful is to be thankful.

Today, in addition to my usual subjects of gratitude–health, family, friends, fellow believers, activists for better society, Okeho, my beloved hometown, is on my mind. Not for mere sentimental reasons, but reflectively, for giving me something that I have cherished over a lifetime. Not material riches, for sure. But something more tangible, something more lasting, and, indeed, more glorious.

Whenever Okeho comes to my mind, which is every minute of my waking life, I remember my favorite political philosopher, Jean Jacques Rousseau and his reminiscences about his beloved Geneva. Proud of his heritage and its history and political status as an independent republic, Rousseau dedicated his second treatise, Discourse on the Origin of Inequality to “The Republic of Geneva” as he proudly identified himself on the author page as a “Citizen of Geneva’.

What was it about Geneva that Rousseau, who had left his city at age 16, was so enamored with? He paid tribute to the “constitution of good government” and the people’s wisdom in reconciling the natural equality of citizens with the inequality that society has inevitably instituted. He acknowledged the size of the city republic, “where, with all the private individuals being known to one another, neither the obscure maneuvers of vice nor the modesty of virtue could be hidden from the notice and the judgment of the public; and where that pleasant habit of seeing and knowing one another turned love of homeland into love of the citizens rather than into love of the land.”

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Far from his homeland, Rousseau affectionately recalled his growing up and the beauty of his native land, its laws, norms and mores “and the bonds of blood as well as the laws that unite” him and his people. He remembered his dad and the moral lessons about patriotism that he taught him: “I never call to mind without the sweetest emotion the memory of the virtuous citizen to whom I owe my being, and who often spoke to me in my childhood of the respect that was owed to you.” And he insisted that even if the aberration of youth distracted one from such lessons, “it is difficult for an education in which the heart is involved to remain forever lost.”

I am thankful to Okeho for that education in which my heart was involved even at a tender age, and which has been pivotal in my development. Rousseau’s philosophy is also pretty much decisive in this. In his “Considerations on the Government of Poland and on its Proposed Reformation”, he advised the Poles on the importance of education at an early age in the formation of patriots:

“It is education that must give souls a national formation, and direct their opinions and tastes in such a way that they will be patriotic by inclination, by passion, by necessity. When first he opens his eyes, an infant ought to see the fatherland, and up to the day of his death he ought never to see anything else.”

Growing up, elders, without the benefit of western education, knew what they wanted in their offspring. With education by example, they inculcated in us the values of community service, self-discipline, and self-sacrifice. They made us see our fatherland and commit to its wellbeing. In the intervening years, these values became well-ingrained. In all my professional and social life, they continue to motivate me and shape my attitude. This is how the love of fatherland transforms us to do whatever we can for its development.

I am thankful that, in Okeho, there has been an inter-generational buy-in into the philosophy of community and communal service. Previous generations, mine, and those after, have been diligent in passing these values to their offspring and there is now a robust appreciation of what it means to put community ahead of self. “I am because we are” is a worldview that grounds the true meaning of existence. And in the last several years, especially since the centenary celebrations, Okeho indigenes have demonstrated the virtue of selfless community engagement with single-mindedness.

Shortly after the centenary, the idea of an Okeho Study Campus for National Open University (NOUN) was initiated by the umbrella organization Egbe Omo Ibile Okeho under the chairmanship of Alhaji Azeez Salami Lakanla. The idea, supported by HRM Kabiyesi Onjo of Okeho, Oba Rafiu Osuolale Mustapha, Adeitan II, was instantly electrifying, receiving the support of groups and individuals at home and in the diaspora.

Knowing the plight of the town as a rural enclave with limited if any political leverage, it was clear that we had to do the heavy lifting ourselves. That “can do” spirit was summoned. A NOUN Project Committee, chaired by Dr. Kasali Salawu, went to work. And within a year, a building was completed with all required facilities, equipped to the satisfaction of NOUN Administration and the NUC. Fully commissioned with its first matriculated students in session, Okeho’s self-determined efforts have paid off.

Now, it’s Okeho Day 2022 and the community is agog again with celebration. This is a celebration with a mission: to further the development of the town. Buoyed by the voluntary involvement of the population of the youth and young at heart who have organized themselves as Apero Omo Okeho, the community has embarked upon a new project, code-named Operation Light Up Okeho, to have 747 units of solar- powered street light across the land. Going by the NOUN project experience, I remain confident that this is a done deal, thanks to the indefatigable communal spirit that has been a mobilizing force for the people. Already, many individuals and groups at home and abroad have made sizable voluntary contributions to the project.

As I observed a few weeks ago in “Welcoming Apero Omo Okeho”, rural communities outside of state capitals and big cities, with no political leverage, must lift their communities up by their proverbial boot straps. It is a fact that states prudently focus their developmental attention on the capital cities where residents enjoy facilities in education, health, and so on, without having to make individual contributions. This is not the fortune of rural communities. We may judge it unfair, but it is the reality of our governance systems. And instead of moaning over their plight or fighting a battle that they cannot win, it behooves such communities to strengthen their resolve to shame reality and mobilize themselves for the future that they desire. That is the path which Okeho has resolved to pursue.

Still, we must be thankful for the mercies that come our way once a while. Okeho-Iseyin road is in the final phase of completion, thanks to the sense of fairness  and equity of the Buhari Administration ably represented by the Honorable Minister of Works and Housing, H.E. Babatunde Fashola. That kind gesture is not taken for granted, and it is greatly appreciated by the entire indigenes of Okeho.

I am thankful to the creator of the earth and all that is in it for where he chose for me as home, for the loin and the womb that facilitated by being, for the community of selfless men and women that socialized me and my peers into communal life, and inculcated in us enduring virtues of selfless service to uphold and foster the values of community. Okeho will always be on my mind.

Happy Thanksgiving! Happy Okeho Day 2022! Up, up, we will continue to ascend.

My Bola Ige 2007 Birthday Lecture, sponsored by Bola Ige Movement, and delivered at Premier Hotel, Ibadan, included a section on Omoluabi and Agbasanko. Over the years, I have had more reflections on these concepts, especially as our enormous challenges cross my mind.

We place a high premium on Omoluabi and we see whoever displays its quality as the epitome of decency and integrity, a paragon of excellence in character. But how do we understand Omoluabi? What is its genesis? Breaking the concept down by its components, we are taught that it means Omo ti Olu iwa bi-a baby begotten by the Chief of iwa. And we conclude that since iwa is character, the baby begotten by the chief of character must be a model of character, an exemplar of iwa. This raises the question: who is Olu iwa? In common parlance, Iwa is the daughter of Suuru (Suuru baba Iwa), and Suuru is the son of Olodumare. Therefore, Olodumare is Olu Iwa, the ultimate source and Chief of character.

From the foregoing, then, if Omoluabi is one begotten by Olu Iwa, that is, Olodumare, it follows that everyone is Omoluabi.  But this is not true! Not every creator of Olodumare turns out to be Omoluabi. Just as we acknowledge Omoluabi, we also know of omokomo (a worthless child). At best, then, what we can say is that every child begotten by Olu Iwa is Omoluabi in name, with the potential to be Omoluabi in action. The actualization of that potential is dependent on effective cultural education. If this is missing, omokomo is the end result.

Omokomo is an abiiko (born but not educated) or akoigba (one who refused to be educated). Therefore, if the birth of Omoluabi is not followed with adequate cultural education, it is a short step to becoming omokomo. Obviously, then, the transition from omokomo to adulthood cannot be good unless there is intervention. It is better to get rid of the tender shoots of iroko tree before they are too big to handle. It is so with omokomo.

There is, however, another scenario. Here, Omoluabi is culturally educated at the appropriate time and he/she becomes a model of character as a young adult. We refer to him as omogidi, a genuine child. An omogidi is responsible as a youth, knows his place in society, defers to the elders, participates actively in communal duties, and is the idol of his/her group.

Yet, it is not uncommon that the next stage of omogidi’s life may see him/her transform into an irresponsible adult, also due to the absence of appropriate continuing cultural education. Sure, omogidi is no longer a kid. But education is not limited to kids. I want to argue that as we have the concept of Omoluabi, that is, a child begotten by Olu iwa, so we need the concept of agbaluako, that is agba ti Olu iwa ko (the adult who is trained by Olu iwa).

A child born by Olu iwa must become an adult that is trained by Olu iwa. Without this, there is no escape from his becoming an irresponsible adult. It is this adult cultural education by Olu iwa that turns an Omoluabi into Agbasanko. Born as Omoluabi, our model receives vital cultural education and training, which makes him omogidi; and through further cultural education, as agbaluako, he/she becomes Agbasanko, an elder with integrity.

What kind of training does an agbaluako go through? It is cultural training at the feet of agbasanko. You do not become an agbasanko by mere aping. Anyone who is not prepared to be a seasoned elder through appropriate cultural education can only ape and deceive. Olu iwa teaches us that one does not become an elder without the requisite courage and fortitude.

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There is also the unfortunate category of agbaaya (a.k.a. agba bee bee), which no one prays to become. Agbaaya is the irresponsible adult, one whose eldership has not been elevated to the head, resting only at the level of the chest. An alternative rendering is agbaiya, an elder who is an object of contempt. Both renderings make sense in reference to an elder who lacks integrity. Agbaaya is the natural trajectory of omokomo.

The transition from omoluabi to agbaaya is due to the absence of cultural education, which turns omoluabi into omokomo. Agbaaya is an elder who behaves like a child; the agba whose presence in the market does not prevent the baby’s head from being awkwardly bent on her mother’s back; the elder that, lacking integrity, performs rituals like a youth. Our ancestors insisted that a seasoned elder does not hold a rat only to see it change to a lizard.

Agbaaya may be redeemable or irredeemable. For the former, circumstances of life may have affected their outlook, and a little push may be what is needed to get them back on track. Their problem is the inability to recognize their own limitations. Opalaba says the young lacks the height; the adult also lacks the slenderness of fingers; therefore, we need the combined wisdom of both for the enduring prosperity of the land of Oodua.

For the irredeemable agbaaya, however, the deficit in cultural education since the beginning of life makes it impossible for them to be anything but what they turn out to be. They cannot be trusted with the leadership of a common patrimony because they have demonstrated time and again that they are not agbaluako. And, as akotileta, shamelessly engaged in the business of selling away the inheritance bequeathed to them, they are certainly far from being reliable. A discerning community will be well advised to keep them where they belong, in the dumpsite of history.

The House of Oodua is blessed with children, youths, and elders. But in any house that is so blessed, there is bound to be a mixture of characters. There are omogidi who dedicate their lives to the cause of Oodua. They want the best for the land and the race. They have no material means at their disposal; but what they have-their lives-they are prepared to give. They just want to be given a chance that others had at comparative age. They have demonstrated enormous courage in the face of a campaign of annihilation against them. That’s all we can ask of an omogidi.

Unfortunately, some adults, following the misconception of tradition, fail to recognize the wisdom of the young ones. However, times do change and there cannot be an eternal parochial way of doing things. If we do not move with the time, doubling down on an analog mode of existence in a digital age, we stand the risk of being left behind. Our culture cannot afford to rot in the face of the developments of the 21st century. Indeed, we have to run while others may choose to walk. Therefore, both youth and adult are indispensable for the solution to the problems that confront us in this century. And it is a sad refection on our culture, if we have to see matters in the mode of a conflict between youths and elders, given the wisdom of the ancestors to which I just referred.

The House of Oodua is in perilous times. There is a mountain of challenges facing us in every direction, from insecurity to the loss of our head-start advantage in education, health, and industrial development. This is certainly not a time to lower our guards. It is time for us to fire on all our cylinders of progress. It is time for the Agbasanko of the land to rise up.

The ancestors tell us that when Ifa divination gets serious, the novice is the first to disappear. At the end of the market day, market elders stick around; the agbasanko are left in place. Agbasanko are the seasoned elders; the ones that everyone defers to; the ones that everyone wants to emulate; the ones that demonstrate dignity and integrity; the ones that command respect. As we pray that agba ko ni tan lori ile, what we seek is the unceasing supply of Agbasanko in the House of Oodua. Amin. Ase.

The world is a market; heaven is home. We learnt this aphorism almost from the cradle. It is embedded in our triple heritage of Christianity, Islam, and Orisa Tradition and it’s expected to guide our lives and direct our conduct. Knowing that our sojourn on mother earth is temporary, akin to a trip to the marketplace, should be a lesson in moderation and a curb on greed and avarice.

The wise and prudent live by the injunction of modesty and moderation; the foolish mock it to their eternal damnation. Unfortunately, however, there are many more of those foolish mockers than the wise, behaving as if death is not a sure thing or that there is no judgement after death. They live as if God is their equal, and in so doing, they put everyone else in pain and suffering. It’s a reason for where we find ourselves as a nation.

Sunday Oyetunji Thomas, popularly known as Mr. White Photos, was one of those wise and prudent earthlings who accepted and lived by the truth of the above maxim throughout his four score years of life. A man of strong faith in the saving grace of the Lord, Tunji lived in total submission to the will of God, in obedience to his injunctions, always keeping in mind the Messianic declaration on the “judgement of the nations”:

“Then the king will say to those on the right hand, “come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me……Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of those who are members of my family, you did it for me.”—Matthew 25: 34-40.

Tunji did it to the least the members of God’s family. He was not wealthy. He was an ordinary common professional himself, making ends meet. But as our elders teach us, Tunji knew that “ko to nkan nii so ni dahun. (I myself have just a little can easily turn one into a miser). So he gave generously even from his moderate resources. From the beginning of his professional career, he welcomed people to his studio which doubled as his home. And he did all cheerfully and without complaining. The Scripture declares that God loves a cheerful giver. No doubt, this applies to Tunji, and God loves him.

As he did it for God, Tunji also did a lot for Okeho, his beloved community and origin. This is also in obedience to the directives of God. The scripture enjoins us to pray for the peace of Jerusalem with the assurance that those who love her will prosper. Okeho is his own Jerusalem, and Tunji has been a backbone for everything that is progressive and prosperous in the town for as long as I can remember. A founding member of Okeho Development Association (ODA) in Ibadan, Tunji was instrumental to the fundraising efforts for Okeho Water Dam back in 1982, and his Agbowo Ibadan Studio provided the venue for the fundraising event to which many Okeho indigenes and friends contributed generously.  Sadly, however, the powers that be did not play their role and, till now, that dam, almost completed since the early nineties, has been abandoned.

For Tunji, family was everything. He internalizes the message of 1 Timothy 5: 8: “But if someone doesn’t provide for their own family, and especially for a member of their household, they have denied the faith. They are worse than those who have no faith.” Tunji loved his family. Yetunde (Lady White) was his soulmate; his children Tunde and Ronke, and grandchildren, were his reason of being, and he trained them in the way of the Lord. He cherished the company of his siblings and extended family. Tunji’s mother, who sacrificed everything for his upbringing after the untimely death of his father, was his treasure. He moved Mama to Ibadan in her old age and took great care of her until her passing. In human terms, this is what righteousness entails. His memory is truly a blessing.

In every respect, Tunji was a dependable brother and friend. He was always there to offer advice. He was generous with his time. He had his shoulders ready to be leaned on, never asking for anything in return. We grew up together within a few blocks. I still remember, with nostalgia, the good old days of innocence at First Baptist School, Isia, Okeho. Tunji was a standout, always sharp, always neat, ever jolly. Some of my old schoolmates may recall his leadership of our Empire Day activities as Band Leader, directing our matching band to L. A. School, Olele for inter-school competitions!

Upon his settling in Ibadan after his professional training in the 60s, Tunji’s home/studio at Oke Padre, a short walk from Ogunpa Motor Park, was a welcoming place for many of us. When I returned to Ibadan as a Bank Clerk in 1968, Tunji’s home/studio at Adamasingba was my first port of call. He found an apartment close to his place for me. I leaned on him for orientation and I still have fond memories of our time together. He was handy for my wedding in 1970 and for the birth of our son, Muyiwa. By divine coincidence, our loving kids were born days apart.

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With his cheerful disposition, Tunji was blessed with a rare endowment of making new friends and retaining old ones. It is to his credit that many old school mates remained with him into their late seventies when the cold hands of death began to strike. Chief Gbade Adejumo, Dr. Razak Olopoenia, and Dr. Oyediran Olabisi, and his professional partner, Akin Oniti, were all bosom friends who left him almost in quick succession. God knows best.

Professionally, Tunji was an accomplished photographer. After his professional training with his master, Ariyo Photos, with whom he maintained very cordial relationships for a long time, Tunji established White Photos studio at Oke Padre around 1964. The studio quickly established itself as a center of professionalism with a reputation for high quality photography.  Further training in color photography outside the shores of the country only increased his fame and popularity.

Tunji moved his studio from Oke Padre to Adamasingba, which opened more doors for him. Soon, clients, including professors, lecturers, and students from the University of Ibadan and The Ibadan Polytechnic were attracted to his studio. Student artists and musicians, many now famous celebrities, were regular visitors to White Photos studio. Tunji made friends with the up and coming across Ibadan.

At the same time, another photographer, Akins Photos, had his studio, next door to Tunji. Rather than seeing each other as competitors, these two established a lasting friendship, and later in the late seventies, formed a partnership known as TUNAKIN Photographers with their studio at Agbowo Shopping Complex, Ibadan, later moving to Bodija Estates.

In the late 90s, Tunji relocated to the United States with his family and had the opportunity not only for further training, but to also showcase his professional skills and expertise, which he did to acclaim, working with professional studios such as Arthlyn Photography Company in Illinois, Chicago and Life Touch National School of Photography in Aurora, Chicago.

The passing of Tunji, a fixture of Ibadan social circle for more than sixty years, is a personal loss to many who knew him. Tunji was a beautiful flower in God’s garden, and God has simply picked his beautiful flower for his use. He will surely send comfort to everyone deprived of his sweet aroma.

A o pa wa lara da

A o de wa lade ogo

A o si gbe wa niyawo

Ninu ogo, lodo Baba

We shall be transformed

We shall receive the crown of glory

We will be newly weds

In glory, with the Father

Farewell, Mr. White Photos.