- By Kunle Somorin
In the solemn stillness that precedes daybreak, there is a pregnant hush—a tension between darkness retreating and light preparing to ascend. This is where the Yewa-Awori people now stand: at history’s cusp, on the edge of long-withheld reckoning. For nearly five decades, Ogun State’s western senatorial district has watched the wheel of governance turn without once pausing at its gates. Yet, as the old order shows signs of fatigue and voices of equity grow louder across Egba, Ijebu, and Remo lands, a glimmer now cuts through the fog What was once dismissed as improbable is crystallizing into possibility. And what has eluded them for a generation may at last be within reach—if only the dawn is not missed through hesitation.
True, in the quiet heart of Ogun State, between the winding hills of Ilaro and the bustling corridors of Ota lies a yearning that has simmered for nearly five decades. It is not a yearning born of vanity or entitled grievance, but one etched in the collective spirit of a people whose dreams have been deferred again and again. The Yewa-Awori and Egun sub-ethnic nationalities of Ogun West stand at the threshold of political justice. And as history once more unfurls its scroll, the call is not just for a leader, but for a reckoning with time.
Ogun State, created in 1976, has known the rhythms of Egba confidence and Ijebu finesse in the seat of power at Oke Mosan. Yet, since its inception, never once has that coveted gubernatorial perch been occupied by a son—or daughter—of Ogun West. An entire senatorial district, rich in culture and commerce, in intellect and industry, remains politically orphaned. And like a royal child locked out of the palace gate, Yewa-Awori peers through time, asking not for favour, but for fair hearing.
This is no mere grievance list. This is a dance with destiny.
It is not that Ogun West has lacked brave champions. Indeed, Gboyega Nasir Isiaka (GNI) has weathered three, if not four, bruising gubernatorial campaigns, carrying the torch with grace and grit. General Adetunji Olurin—distinguished in uniform and civil governance—once stirred hopes with his bearing. Senator Akin Odunsi, with a cerebral grasp of policy; Biyi Otegbeye, spirited and unrelenting; Adekunle Akinlade, tenacious if politically restless; the late Tunji Otegbeye, Ayinde Ibikunle, and other gladiators whose footprints mark every inch of the district’s political landscape. These names summon not pity but pride. For each held the mirror to Ogun West’s aspirations, refusing to let the region vanish into political obscurity.
Yet, the truth persists: valiant effort without unity breeds repeat tragedy.
Volume, we have seen. It is now time for value. In the convergence of current sentiments, political machinery, and regional appeal, one name begins to lift above the din—Senator Solomon Olamilekan Adeola, known to the people as Yayi
Yayi’s emergence is not happenstance. It is the outcome of deft recalibration. For long dismissed as a Lagos political export, he returned with more than ambition. He brought projects—roads that were no longer metaphors, empowerment programs that touched real lives, bridges both literal and symbolic. He brought structure, discipline, and perhaps, most importantly, a refined understanding of power’s quiet arithmetic.
His investiture as the Aremo of Yewaland was not just a chieftaincy ceremony—it was a rite of reabsorption. The earth whispered his name as kinsman, not outsider. And when the drums of political preparation began to beat, it was his rhythm that the people began to recognize.
Still, Yayi is not the story alone. The real characters in this unfolding tale are the kings—the regal custodians whose voices hold the weight of generations.
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From the venerable Oba Kehinde Gbadewole Olugbenle, the Olu of Ilaro and Paramount Ruler of Yewaland, to the eloquent and astute Oba Abdulkabir Obalanlege, the Olota of Ota—whose communication intellect and cultural reach stretch beyond borders; from the Awujale of Ijebuland, Oba Sikiru Adetona, a statesman-monarch sympathetic to the justice of balance; to the Alake of Egbaland, Oba Adedotun Gbadebo, revered and respected across political divides—these are the elders at the gates of power. Their thrones are not mere ornaments; they are the axis of cultural legitimacy and political endorsement.
Let it be known that a whisper from the palace can still echo louder than a scream from the podium.
If Ogun West is to move from perennial runner-up to rightful occupant, these royal fathers must summon more than blessings—they must midwife consensus. The Olota, especially, stands at a strategic confluence. As a monarch over the Awori heartland, his role is both cultural and catalytic. He must unite the discrete tendencies—those loyal to past aspirants, those sceptical of Yayi’s journey, those fearful of another disappointment. He must convene a conclave not to stifle ambition, but to align it—to remind all actors that in unity lies leverage.
Let us tell an old parable, one whispered by elders beneath mango trees:
A group of villagers, each holding a single torch, wandered the forest searching for a path out of danger. But their lights flickered weakly in the dense mist. Then, the eldest among them suggested they bind their torches together. What was once a scattering of dim flames became a single powerful blaze. They found the path. The wolves, seeing the brightness, retreated. The people reached home. The moral? Light dispersed is light devoured; light united is salvation.
Ogun West has held many torches. It is time to bind them.
One must not dismiss the mystery of power. It moves not always by logic but often through momentum. Today, the tide favours Yewa-Awori. The political centre tilts slightly westward. Egba leaders have begun to murmur their support. Ijebu elites—long seen as dominant players—acknowledge the justice of Ogun West’s claim. Even among younger voters in Remo and Ijebu North, a yearning for equity is breaking the old walls of zoning orthodoxy.
Yet, as surely as the path opens, obstacles will rise. Political tricksters—those who profit from Ogun West’s disunity—will bait egos, sponsor dissent, and distort history. They will say Yayi is too new. They will question his loyalties, even ancestry. They will whisper division in ancestral dialects. But the people must remember: this is how they lost before.
This time must be different.
This time, there must be clarity: the goal is not merely to run but to win. The goal is not to glorify a person but to fulfil a destiny. The goal is not to soothe old wounds with fresh rhetoric but to walk boldly into the chambers of power with one voice, one candidate, and one dream.
If the kings align, the people will follow. If the elders agree, the youths will defend the verdict. And if Yayi is indeed that candidate—as emerging indices suggest—then every son and daughter of Yewa-Awori, from Ipokia to Imeko, from Ado-Odo to Ilaro, must become both campaigner and sentinel.
Let the campaign not be of insults but of vision. Let it not be driven by entitlement but by excellence. Let us tell Ogun State not only that Yewa-Awori deserves a turn but that it is ready—ready with competence, compassion, and commitment.
In the end, this is not just about a governor. It is about a generation reclaiming its seat at the table of power. It is about correcting a historical oversight with democratic elegance. It is about proving that dignity, when paired with strategy, can triumph over decades of delay.
So, let the trumpet of destiny sound. Let the kabiyesi convene. Let the aspirants reason. Let the people rally. And let Ogun West, for once, not dream from afar—but dance at the centre.
For those who understand the language of legacy, a word is enough.
•Somorin writes from Crescent University, Abeokuta
