Opinion
Alaafin: I’ve prepared my burial
How was I to know that that meeting I had with the Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, on March 2, 2022, was the last between a father and his son? In the last couple of hours of hearing of his passing, I have scrutinized, without success, memories of anything unusual in the sky on that day that probably spoke of the looming calamity that would befall the Oyo palace. The sky was the usual grey, without a foreboding countenance; the palace courtiers were the usual ensemble, spraying entrants with deodorant courtesies. The palace bard perhaps gave inkling of the queer day. His effusion of praise songs for me on this day was unusual: “Adedayo, mo wole, awo Alowolodu…” he chanted his welcome endlessly in a poetic cadence that is the stuff of Yoruba palaces. Aside this, there were no tell-tale signs for me to ferret any inkling that this was the last time I would be seeing Oba Adeyemi alive, in a palace I had visited for over two decades.
The Alaafin sat in his regal best on this day. A highly sartorially conscious monarch, each time you saw the Alaafin, he mirrored class and the panache of culture in his dressing. He was dressed in a blue Ankara, done in agbada, with an abetiaja cap to match and a slip-on pair of shoes as a fitting accoutrement. With me was ace broadcaster, Yemi Sonde, ex-Broadcasting Corporation of Oyo State (BCOS) broadcaster, Bunmi Labiyi and another female guest. We had gone to invite the foremost monarch to the official commissioning of Sonde’s new radio station in Ibadan, Oyo State. As usual, as the glass door was pulled aside for us to enter Kabiyesi’s inner sacristy, the men went on all fours and the female, on their knees. As it’s the tradition in the palace, we had peeled our feet of our shoes at the main entrance.
From the blues, Kabiyesi veered into the conversation of death. His grouse was with the recently promulgated Ogun State Traditional Rulers (Installation and Burial Rites) Act which had by then just scaled second reading in the State House of Assembly. In the Act, which claimed to be bothered about the need for respect for human dignity and promotion of modernity in the installation and burial of traditional rulers, lawmakers proposed a legal framework that was to curb idolatry practices in installation, as well as burial of traditional rulers. The purport of the Act was to guide jealously the religious beliefs of a deceased monarch in Ogun State, by according them burial rites contiguous with their belief and religion.
In Yorubaland, though an issue that was a taboo scarcely discussed, it is a notorious fact that upon the demise of a deceased Oba, traditional worshippers hijack Obas’ corpses from their families, superintending solely on the burial rites which included gouging out their hearts, which were preserved to be fed to their successor.
Oba Adeyemi told me he had conveyed his disagreement to the law to his colleague Oba, the Awujale of Ijebu land, Oba Sikiru Adetona, the monarch he had tremendous reverence for. The law didn’t make any sense, he said.
“Why would a state government be bothered about the burial rites of a king?” he asked, incredulous. “When the man dies, he doesn’t know what is done after his departure. He is gone; whether they remove his body parts or not. In my own case, I have picked the place where I will be buried in the palace. At my age, I am already at the departure lounge. The plane is on the ground and I am just waiting for the boarding pass. The Oyomesi know what to do with my corpse and they will do it.”
Alaafin was however not happy with how the corpse of the immediate past Olubadan of Ibadan was on display on social media and commended the example of the Soun of Ogbomoso’s burial which was made a strictly palace affair. I don’t know how Baba would feel yesterday seeing his priced remains floating on social media in the hands of clerics.
Alaafin was a federalist to the core. He canvassed Nigeria’s practice of federalism till his last day on earth. He was also one of those who believed that the 1914 Lugardian amalgamation was a disaster to the wellbeing of Nigeria. His forebear, Oba Ladigbolu 1, he said, told the colonialists to their face that, by soldering unlike people together to form a single whole, what Britain was doing was analogous to fostering the lion, impala and other preys together in a common zoo. Which is a reflection of the Yoruba people’s travails in the Nigerian pseudo federalism.
Veteran journalist and ex-Tribune’s Political Editor, Baba Agboola Sanni, took me to the Alaafin in 1998 or thereabout and since then, our relationship was akin to father and son’s. To example the level of the relationship, in 2020, Oba Adeyemi had invited late rights activist, Yinka Odumakin and me to his palace. It was when we got to the palace that we realized that we had been individually invited for the meeting. It was a Sunday. Hyper-passionate about the fate and lot of the Yoruba people, Alaafin called us to discuss nagging Yoruba national issues, chief of which was the invasion of Fulani herders of the Southwest and the kidnapping and killings that had become commonplace. After the meeting, in his usual sotto voce, Alaafin faced Odumakin and said, “In this palace, Festus and I have fought several battles. We never lost one.” Odumakin looked at me. I looked away. He apparently could not match what he just heard with the person sitting beside him. When ace Tribune columnist, Dr. Lasisi Olagunju, eventually met him in the palace, pointing at me, he repeated the same line.
In the passing of the Alaafin, I wish the Yoruba knew the calamity that had just befallen them. Yoruba are naked, more than ever before, to their bare skins, in the hands of forest demons and reptiles who bay for blood. I have had opportunities of meeting monarchs in my few years on earth and interrogating their commitments and dedication to the land, but none – apologies to no one – answered to the tripartite calling of kingship – armour-bearer of their people, cultural icon and language encyclopedia – that Alaafin personified. Majority of them are scammers in search of green grass to pillage and who are bereft of the avant-garde role the ancestors have in store for them. Alaafin loved Yoruba to the level of incurable obsession and lamented the regression of the people’s fate in the hands of Nigeria and her slavish rulers. Unbeknown to many, Alaafin, to my knowledge, invested millions of his personal funds in fighting the enemies of Yorubaland, at the risk of his person and office. He made files of these interventions, copies of which he handed over to me, apparently mindful of a today.
For reason(s) that I still find difficult to decode, which perhaps I will have insight into at a later tete-a-tete with him in the hereafter, Alaafin confided topnotch secrets in me and believed in the ability of a resolution to any difficult impasse once he and I gave it a mental interrogation. He would call me early in the morning to ask for my convenience and would set out from the ancient town of Oyo and drive to Ibadan. His Idi-Ishin, Jericho Quarters apartment offered a convenient ground for granular chewing of challenges that he might need resolution to. Once we were done, he would head back to his palace, telling me that it was the only reason why he had come.
Alaafin got attracted to cerebral people like bees do hives. He worshipped Professor Wole Soyinka like a god and venerated Prof Adebayo Williams. Along the line, Kabiyesi got inebriated with the intellectual depth of Dr. Olagunju too and asked that he be brought to the palace. Since then, Alaafin never hid his fascination with Olagunju’s weekly mental contributions. “Whenever I go to functions, I would deploy a medley of Olagunju, Adebayo Williams and Adedayo’s works and pontificate with them in the public,” he said in a rare humility from a foremost monarch with a first class brain. He also said that now that he had the Eripa-born media intellectual, Olagunju, his artillery had increased. When Olagunju and I went to the palace to invite him to the launch of his book, Cowries of Blood and he knelt to hand Alaafin a letter of invitation, the monarch prayed so intently for him that you would think it was a father’s last minute prayers for his son.
Alaafin was in the know of every of Sunday Igboho’s movements and war against haters of the Yoruba people and provided pieces of advice to him on how to fight his traducers. He called him many times in my presence. He never hid his resolve to protect Yoruba people and cleanse their forests of invaders, particularly Oke-Ogun and Ibarapa land of Oyo State.
Alaafin had challenges with Governors Lam Adesina, Rasidi Ladoja and Adebayo Alao-Akala. He gave me the most granular information of the roles he performed in the tiffs with these governors. By 2015, especially the moment leading to the general elections, Alaafin and Governor Abiola Ajimobi’s relationship had gone sour. Goodluck Jonathan had begun to make overtures to traditional rulers. Ajimobi had gone to the UK when Alaafin called me, demanding that we had a mutual resolve on where he was heading politically. I called Governor Ajimobi to intimate him of Alaafin’s quest, careful to beat the possibility of tale-bearers parroting my “clandestine” visit to the palace to him. Ajimobi gave me the go-ahead to meet the monarch.
At the meeting in the palace, Alaafin articulated his coterie of grouses against Ajimobi to me. He told me that, in company with his late friend, Azeez Arisekola-Alao, he launched one of the most penetrating artilleries against Alao-Akala, even selling his house in the UK in the process. Ajimobi, he alleged, took all these for granted and never reciprocated the gesture.
When it was time to address him, I prostrated. I told him that my loyalty was to him, as it was to Ajimobi, but I owed him the need to tell the absolute truth. I told Alaafin that Ajimobi had the greatest regard for him. I proceeded further to tell the king that the governor, at many fora, told me that, but for Alaafin, he wouldn’t probably have emerged governor in 2011. Alaafin went beyond the ken of his traditional role in his support for Ajimobi in 2011, so much that if Alao-Akala had won that election, he would have deposed him, so said Ajimobi to me which he expressed as, “Alaafin taa tan ni!” I reminded Alaafin that I was privy to conversations between the king and his aides – Late Prince Fehintola and Hon Kamil – during the 2011 elections when, at the thick of the announcement of the gubernatorial results and he wasn’t sure where the pendulum was swinging, he asked his aides to tell him the truth, giving them indications that he could commit suicide if Alao-Akala won.
“Kabiyesi, you are the king of the Yoruba people, you cannot work against your people, both at the state and national level” I concluded. That settled the matter between Alaafin and Ajimobi. From that moment on, they became the best of friends.
Alaafin, despite his average schooling, was a profound intellectual. He could flawlessly recite by rote speeches read by foremost politicians of the First Republic, especially S. L. Akintola’s. During our last meeting in the palace where he articulated some legal permutations, I reminded him of how I always called him the SAN that we never had. Perhaps due to the several litigations he was involved in and his quest to apprise himself with details of judicial decisions, Alaafin gobbled up knowledge of law that was non-pareil. He was a restless fighter who sought for war in a time of peace. Once, Professor Wale Adebanwi had taken University of Cambridge’s Africanist scholar, Prof D. Y. Peel, to the palace. At discussion, Alaafin arrested Peel with his flawless rendition of British history, so much that Peel shouted, “Kabiyesi, you are telling me my history!”
In 2019 again, it was time to pitch his tent with a gubernatorial candidate in Oyo State. Alaafin invited me from Lagos where I was a student of the Nigerian Law School. He then took me to a section of the palace that I had never been to before. Donning his pyjamas that morning, he confided in me that he had made his personal investigations and concluded that Seyi Makinde would win the election and he was ready to support him. I was shocked to learn thereafter that some persons persuaded him otherwise. It affected his relationship with the governor, which he lamented, till his death.
In my over two decades of relationship with the Alaafin, the testimonial that I always wear on my lapel was given me by his first son, Aremo, about five years ago. It was a Sunday as well. Alaafin had asked me to meet him in the palace. On getting there, I called him on phone that I was waiting in the waiting hall. A few minutes after, palace courtiers asked me to advance to Kabiyesi’s sitting room. There, I met the Alaafin, his first son called Aremo in Yorubaland and the Aremo’s wife, then a Magistrate in an Oyo court, sitting in wait. As I sat, the Aremo pointed at me and said:
“Whatever you do for my father that earns you the kind of respect and midas touch you have on him, please keep it up. I lived here in the palace as a young boy and I understand the tone and tenor of every of Kabiyesi’s answers to his being told of the presence of his guests. ‘Aa ri, mo nbo, o da’ were suggestive of several of his dispositions and palace courtiers understood what each of them meant. This evening, immediately he learnt of your presence, he said, ‘let us leave immediately; I cannot keep Festus waiting!’ That, to me, means a lot,” the Aremo told me. From where I sat, I looked into Kabiyesi’s face. What I beheld, for the very first time, was a coy-looking Kabiyesi, a childlike smile glued to his face, looking at his tangled fingers. His son had apparently shot at his Achilles heels.
The tragedy of Alaafin’s passing for the Yoruba is immense. Of all their Obas, none had Kabiyesi’s stubbornness, mental alacrity, patriotism, panache and native intelligence to fight the battle of the people’s appropriate positioning in the national scheme of things. He often joked of how Kabiyesi Olubuse, the late Ooni of Ife, would tell people that he could not withstand Alaafin’s stubbornness. While others go cap in hand to pick crumbs from Yoruba enemies, Alaafin was too proud of the numero uno Yoruba stool he sat on to subject it to the whims of Yoruba suppressors. No Yoruba Oba living possessed Alaafin’s brilliance, commitment and love for the Yoruba people; perhaps next to him is the Orangun of Oke-Ila’s, Oba Dokun Abolarin.
Alaafin never suffered fools gladly and would stand by his Yoruba people, no matter the persuasions to do otherwise. In our last meeting at the Jericho Quarters, we both agreed that he should embark on a diplomatic shuttle among his colleague Obas on who the Yoruba should support for the 2023 presidential election. He was to embark on this shuttle, first to the palace of the Awujale, and then to others’. I told the Alaafin who I felt Yoruba should not support, neglecting to suggest who the Yoruba should queue behind. He seemed to agree with me. Though he never told me in unmistakable language, I could hazard a guess the Yoruba man he would have supported.
Alaafin was one of the most brilliant men I knew. Imbued with native intelligence and articulation that was borne of his inebriation of self in reading and gathering of knowledge, while men slept, Alaafin was in his library. He was a step ahead of his traducers mentally, steeping himself in intellectual exercises at every opportunity. One day, at about 8am on a Sunday, I told some friends that Alaafin must have read the day’s dailies but they disputed my claim. When I called him and put the phone on speaker, he analyzed what I wrote in the day’s newspaper and all the issues on display in the public sphere. Alaafin was also very principled and followed all the laid-down ancient precepts of the traditional Yoruba monarchy. He would never eat in public and abhorred alcohol. His meal was amala, eko and other foods he inherited from his forebears. He frowned at the emerging crop of Obas who were bereft of the mental and physical insignia of a king and who got themselves polluted with modern fripperies.
As I write this, I confess that the full implication of Alaafin’s death hasn’t dawned on me. I am yet to internalize the eternal truth that I will never see my father, the Alaafin of Oyo, again. An apt analogy that can explain Oba Adeyemi’s passing is a huge library burnt down. Another is a fitting analogy that Ayinla Omowura gave in description of the sudden passing of his brother, composer and friend, Akanni Fatai, also known as Bolodeoku, which he labeled, agboju’gbanu. Alaafin’s passing is an agboju’gbanu, a jolting news heard that provokes the sudden fall of the calabash held in one’s hand.
Dr. Festus Adedayo, a Journalist, lawyer and columnist writes from Ibadan, Oyo State, Southwest Nigeria
On Monday and Tuesday last week, workers and political operatives within the precincts of the new Senate building in the National Assembly complex, Abuja, were treated to a replica of the Theatre of the Absurd. This type of drama originated in Europe and later spread to America in the 1950s. It was influenced by existential philosophy and Albert Camus’s essay The Myth of Sisyphus.
In that work, Camus captured the fundamental human needs and compared the absurdity of man’s life with the situation a figure of Greek mythology, Sisyphus found himself, where he was condemned to repeat forever the task of pushing a boulder up a mountain, and repeatedly sees the same roll down the hill as he approaches the top.
He, thereafter, juxtaposed life’s absurdities with what he called the “unreasonable silence” of the universe to human needs and concluded that rather than adopt suicide, in frustration, “revolt” was required.
82-year-old Dr. Muhammed Adamu Fika, former Clerk to the National Assembly and former Chairman, of the National Assembly Service Commission (NASC), who calls himself the “smaller Adamu Fika,” must have come across the Camus essay in deciding to lead an emergency meeting of the Council of Retired Clerks and Secretaries of the National Assembly on November 18. The emergency meeting, which was jointly held with members of the Association of Retired Staff of the National Assembly was meant to salvage the pathetic plights of the National Assembly retirees.
Eighty-two-year-old Fika can hardly gather the pace to navigate round the corners of the National Assembly, but he insisted on making the trip to enable him to preside over the meeting as the Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Council of Retired Clerks and Secretaries. As his retiree colleagues, many of whom are far younger, saw him struggling to walk the required distance from the Bola Ahmed Tinubu Library, originally fixed as venue to the new Senate building, they had to provide some shoulders to lean on. At one stage, an office chair was converted to a wheelchair to ensure the elderly Fika got to certain locations. It was a sad tale, especially if you look at the essence of Fika’s trip to the National Assembly. He was there to preside over a meeting to press home the need for the payment of the entitlements of National Assembly retirees. An alarm had earlier been sounded on the different Whatsapp platforms of the retired workers of the National Assembly to the effect their members were dying in numbers. It was revealed that no fewer than 20 retired workers had died awaiting the payment of their entitlements in the recent past. Another set of retirees numbering 12 were said to have been bedridden in different hospitals across the land. That alarm was more than enough to prompt Fika and his retiree colleagues to an emergency meeting. But the sight of an elderly man, fighting a just cause on an improvised wheelchair was more than absurd.
Payment of the entitlements got stalled after former President Muhammadu Buhari assented to the National Assembly Service Pensions Board Act, 2023, which mandated the National Pensions Commission (PENCOM) to hand over assets of the staff of the National Assembly in its custody after the passage of the National Assembly pension law.
In the beginning, there were no signs that things would go south on the implementation of the Act. Three months after the National Assembly Service Pensions Board Act came into effect, PENCOM had written the management to convey its decision to hand off the pension assets of the staff of the National Assembly, while requesting the National Assembly management to provide it with account details to remit the accrued funds. The 10th Senate and the House of Representatives also provided hope for the retirees by providing a take-off grant to the tune of N2.5 billion in the 2024 budget. However, the NASS management could not comply with the request from PENCOM because the Pensions Board had not been inaugurated. Months after months, the retirees waited. Those who were already enjoying their benefits when PENCOM was administering had the payments terminated, while the waiting game ensued.
In trying to fast-track the implementation of the Act, Fika, as the Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Council of Retired Clerks and Secretaries had forwarded a letter to the President of the Senate, Godswill Akpabio, and the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Tajudeen Abbas, intimating them of the council’s recommendations for positions in the National Assembly Service Pensions Board.
Fika said in the letter, dated February 27, 2024, that “Considering the pathetic health conditions of our retired colleagues, Your Excellency will agree with me that the establishment of the National Assembly Pensions Board is overdue five (5) months after Mr. President’s assent.” He said that his letter was premised on the provisions of Sections 2 and 17(3) of the National Assembly Service Pensions Board Act, 2023, which indicate that the presiding officers of the National Assembly shall make the appointments subject to recommendations of the Council of Clerks and Secretaries. But some persons are insinuating that the undue delay might have been instigated by two strange bedfellows-politics and money. Where the two are involved, simply things hardly follow a straight course. However, nothing justifies the nearly 20-month delay in inaugurating the Pensions Board.
At the end of the emergency meeting on Monday, further meetings were said to have been scheduled at the instance of the Senate President, Akpabio, his deputy, Jibril Barau and others but there were no conclusive steps, yet.
A communique released after the meeting indicated that the retirees observed that the National Assembly Service Pensions Board Act, 2023 went through full legislative process in the 9th National Assembly and was assented to by President Muhammad Buhari. It further noted that the delay in implementing the Act has caused undue and untold hardship to the retirees who are unable to access their retirement benefits, adding that while a number of the retired Staff have died, many others are bedridden due to sufferings occasioned by the non-payment of their entitlements.
According to the communique, the meeting decried the pains the retired staff have been subjected to and recalled that appropriate recommendations as per the composition of the Pensions Board have been made to the Presiding Officers of the National Assembly, in line with the enabling Act.
Like every lover of Yoruba traditional music, language and culture, I have of recent been inundated with requests to lend a voice to the newest raging fire in the Fuji music genre. Since the passage of Alhaji Sikiru Ayinde Balogun, popularly known as Ayinde Barrister or Agbajelola Barusati, there have been longstanding tiffs on whom of the trio of Ayinde Omogbolahan Anifowose, KWAM 1; self-named King Saheed Osupa (K.S.O.) and Wasiu Alabi Pasuma, was the “King.”
These musicians’ recent quest for supremacy is not new. From time immemorial, supremacy battles have been part and parcel of Yoruba music. Apparently now tempered by modernity, in the olden days, the battles were fought with traditional spells, incantations and talisman aimed at deconstructing and liquidating their rivals. Mostly fought on genre basis, I submit that pre and post-independence entertainment scene would have been livelier, far more robust than it was but for the acrimonious liquidating fights of those eras.
In the Sakara music, Abibu Oluwa, a revered early precursor of this Yoruba musical genre, who reigned in the late 1920s and 1930s, had Salami Alabi Balogun, popularly known as Lefty Salami, Baba Mukaila and Yusuff Olatunji as members of his band. Oluwa praise-sang many Lagos elites of his time, especially Herbert Macaulay to whom he sang his praise in the famous track named “Macaulay Macaulay.” In it, he sang the foremost Nigerian nationalist’s alias of Ejonigboro – Snake on the Street and prayed that he would not come to shame.
Sakara also produced the likes of S. Aka Baba Wahidi, Kelani Yesufu (alias Kelly). It was sung with traditional Yoruba instruments like the solemn-sounding goje violin whose history is traced to the north, and the roundish Sakara drum, beaten with stick and whose appearance is like that of a tambourine. Sakara music is often called the Yoruba variant of western blues music because of its brooding rhythm though laced with a high dosage of philosophy.
When Oluwa died in 1964, he literally handed over to Lefty who, born on October 1913, died December 29, 1981. Lefty, a talking drummer under Oluwa, churned out over 35 records before his demise, one of which was a tribute to Lagos monarch, Oba Adele (Adele l’awa nfe – Oba Adele is the king we want) and another to the Elegushi family. I dwelt considerably on Sakara because it is believed to have had considerable influence on other genres of traditional African Yoruba music, especially Apala and Fuji, with the former sometimes indistinguishable from Sakara.
Apala music, whose exponent is said to be Haruna Ishola, originated in the late 1930s Nigeria. Delivered with musical instruments like a rattle (Sekere) thumb piano, (agidigbo) drums called Iya Ilu and Omele, a bell (agogo) and two or three talking drums, Apala and Sakara are the most complex of these genres of traditional Yoruba music, due to their infusion of philosophy, incantations and dense Yoruba language into their mix. Distinct, older and more difficult in mastery than Fuji music which is considered to be comparatively easy to sing, Ayinla Omowura, Ligali Mukaiba, Kasumu Adio, and many others were Apala leading lights of the time. The three genres have very dense Islamic background.
The latest entrant of all the three genres is Fuji. Pioneered by Ayinde Barrister no doubt, for an Apala musician biographer like me, I am confused that Omowura, as far back as early 1970s, asked listeners in need of good Fuji music to come learn from him – “Fuji t’o dara, e wa ko l’owo egbe wa…” Sorry, I digressed.
While KWAM 1 emerged with his Talazo music from the ashes of his being a music instrument arranger for Barrister’s musical organization in the early 1980s, the feud in the house after Barrister’s death erupted when narratives allegedly oozed unto the musical scene that KWAM 1 referred to himself as the creator of Fuji music. He however promptly denied the claim. For decades, Osupa and Pasuma were locked in horns over supremacy of the Fuji music genre. In August 2023, the two however seemed to have decided to thaw their feud as they shared stage with Wasiu Ayinde, at Ahmad Alawiye Folawiyo, an Islamic singer’s 50th birthday celebration in Lagos. KWAM 1 glibly acted as their senior colleague at the event.
As an indication that they are no bastards of the teething and recurrent supremacy battles that emblemize traditional Yoruba music, the three Fuji music icons seem to have gone into the trenches again. It first started with Taiye Currency, an Ibadan-based alter-ego of Pasuma picking a fight with the musician who self-styled himself Son of Anobi Muhammed’s Wife. In a viral video, Currency had disclaimed reference to Pasuma as his “father” in the music industry. In another video not long after, KWAM 1, like some kind of father figure, was shown asking Currency to apologize to Pasuma.
A few days ago, a video of Osupa went viral. Therein, he was chastising a particular hypocrite he called “Onirikimo” and “alabosi”, who is “stingy and is ready to shamelessly collect money from those under him.” Osupa also claimed that this “shameless elder” had strung a ring of corn round his waist and should be ready to be made fun of by hens. Watchers of the endless tiffs among these Fuji icons swear that KWAM 1 was the unnamed Fuji musician Osupa was casting aspersion on.
The trio of Sakara, Apala and Fuji music also witnessed such petty squabbles. While many claim that the fights were promotional gambits aimed at having their fans salivate for their hate-laced musical attacks against one another, some others claim that the rivalries were genuine. In the Apala music scene, Haruna Ishola and Kasumu Adio fought each other to the nadir, with Adio, who sang almost in the same voice and cadence as Ishola, suddenly vamoosing from the musical scene. Rumours and speculations had it then that a mysterious goat bit Adio and rendered him useless. While Ayinla Omowura also fought Fatai Olowonyo, Fatai Ayilara, among others in the Apala genre, the duo of Yusuff Olatunji and S. Aka also feuded till their last days. This is not to mention the interminable fight between Kollington Ayinla and Barrister.
If the tiff between the trio of KWAM 1, Osupa and Pasuma is about age and Yoruba traditional respect for elders, KWAM 1 would easily go away with the trophy of the best of the three. However, if philosophical depth, musical elan, research of lyrics and deployment of Yoruba language are at issue, none of the other two musicians can unbuckle Osupa’s sandals. Osupa began his musical career in 1983 as a teenager and has gone through the mills, his late father being a musician, too and Awurebe music lord, Dauda Epo Akara’s musical contemporary.
Unlike their predecessors, the three Fuji musicians are literate and should thus address their musical issues in more mature manner. Osupa even recently bagged a degree from the department of Political Science, University of Ibadan. One thing they should know is that, whether one is supreme to the other or not, their fans will readily queue behind the brand that delights them.
Two incidents happened during the 1994/95 NYSC service year, which I was part of in Birnin-Kebbi, Kebbi State, and they gave me profound culture shocks that I still remember till today. I would equally say that those incidents probably justified the Federal Government’s decision to float the scheme.
We were told that part of the reasons General Yakubu Gowon floated the NYSC was to ensure national integration, cohesion and exposure of young Nigerians to cultures of other parts of the country other than where they were born.
First was the shock of seeing a director that I was attached to in the then Government House, who had just taken a new wife, and sat among drivers, gate men and other junior staff to dine. I saw them seated round a huge iron pot of Koko, a local delicacy, exchanging one big spoon made of calabash, as each took turns to use the spoon to eat the delicacy. It was as if I was witnessing a scene where children of a big family were struggling to catch a portion of food or where people were eating Saara, as they say it in Yorubaland.
As I walked past the noisy crowd, I was transfixed seeing the newly-wedded director among the lot. He saw me standing still, as I couldn’t comprehend what he was doing there, and he got the message. ‘Taiyo, (as he used to call me) you won’t understand,’ he said as he waved to me to keep going. When we later saw, he explained that what he just did was a way of assuring the commoners that ‘we are all one,’ as they felicitated him on the new bride. But I could not fathom how the occupant of a ‘huge office’ as that of a director in a Government House , would sit among “commoners” on a tattered mat to share a single spoon and eat in public.
The other incident was quite pathetic. My friend, Tunde Omobuwa, was posted to a school in Yauri, in the southern part of the state, for his primary assignment. But he found the place boring on weekends. So, he arranged to always be with me on weekends.
One such weekend, we decided to take a stroll round the streets near the Government House. We took off from the place of my primary assignment, the Federal Information Centre; bought corn beside the office, and started ‘blowing’ the ‘mouth organ’ as we strolled. We were too engrossed in our gist and the sweetness of the corn to note that some young boys were trailing us, praying that some leftovers of the corn would drop for them to scavenge. Somehow, the two of us dropped the corn cob almost simultaneously. We were more than taken aback by a commotion that erupted at our back. Four eight or nine year-olds had descended on the supposed leftovers and broken the corn cobs into pieces. I was again transfixed as if one was hit by an electric shock. Remember that feeling when you play with electric fish?
I was moved to tears as I had never ever seen a group of children scavenging on nothing as it were. I beckoned to the kids and offered them N20, which was the highest denomination at the time, and with some smattering Hausa words told them to go buy their own corn from the same place we got ours. As they left, heading to the corn seller, I couldn’t erase that ugly sight from my mind. Was it really possible that some people scavenge on nothing this way? I was later to see incidents of children swarming around restaurants and pouncing on near empty plates.
These incidents told me clearly that the North was a different place and that the life of the boy child is not only risky and endangered but sold to stagnation and deprivation, unless you are one of the lucky few.
Having benefited from the free education policy of the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN) between 1979 and 1983, when the Second Republic was terminated, I knew that there is a lot the government can do in educating the children. In my secondary school days, I was the Library Prefect at one point, and so I saw an excess of books supplied by the government to our school. So, I was an example of the feasibility of free education. It was the same way the Action Group government had handled education in the years preceding Nigeria’s independence and the First Republic.
So why can’t the state governments in the North declare free and compulsory education for the young ones out there? Why should children be made to scavenge on empty corn cobs just to see if they can find pieces of seeds left over?
And why was my director giving drivers and gate men in the Government House false hope that they were all the same, instead of him to challenge them to seek to lift themselves up the social ladder?
I think there was no excuse for the North not to have adopted a free education policy, just as Chief Obafemi Awolowo did in the South-West. And if we say the North needs to look itself in the mirror, you again remember the efforts by President Goodluck Jonathan to educate the multitude of Northern children through the Almajiri Schools. That government built more than 400 of such schools, which were abandoned because it could upset the oligarchy. The oligarchs forgot the truism that the children of the poor they refuse to train today won’t let their children sleep peacefully.
But the governor of Borno State, Prof Babagana Zulum, appears to have got the message. Last week, I was thrilled to see him organise a summit to reform the Almajiri system.
The Almajiri education system is a traditional Islamic method of learning widely obtained across states in northern Nigeria. Through that system, which is tied to Islamic teaching, youths, especially boys are kept out of the formal western education system. I don’t know why the teachings by Islamic scholars cannot go alongside that of Western education as it obtains in Saudi Arabia, Iran, Iraq and other Islamic countries that are doing well economically and in the world of science, technology.
While addressing the summit, Zulum had mentioned the need to address the root causes of insecurity through the provision of education for citizens of Borno, adding that improper teaching of Islamic studies has contributed to the emergence of Boko Haram insurgents in the state.
According to him, to curtail whatever is the adverse effect of Almajiri education; the Borno State Government has established the Arabic and Sangaya Education Board to introduce a unified curriculum for Sangaya and Islamic schools. He said that the reform would include establishing Higher Islamic Colleges to cater for Almajiri children and blending the religious teachings with the secular curricula as well as skills.
He said: “The Sangaya Reform is a great development. It will give Almajiri a better chance in life, particularly the introduction of integrating western education, vocational, numeracy, and literacy skills into the centres, which are also described as Almajiri and Islamic schools.
“Distinguished guests and esteemed educationists, government’s intention was to streamline the informal and formal education systems to quality integrated Sangaya School for admission into colleges and universities.”
One would have thought that governors with radical postures like Nasir el-Rufai and others before him would have proposed this type of reform, but it is better late than never. Zulum should be supported to get something out of this.
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