In light of current socio-political developments in Nigeria, it is no longer easy to identify and separate thieves; pen-robbers and legislooters from the real social engineers—that we call politicians. Let us spend a few minutes to remember the sacrifices of those who have now been reappraised as true heroes of their times.
I was doing some work when I came across a tribute to Awólọ́wọ̀, Ọkọ Dideolu, Idowu Ọlọ́bẹ̀ ló lọkọ (the sole maker of the meal that the husband consumes), òsèlú, BàbáÌkẹ́nnẹ́! I began to appreciate that there was a time when we had a Nigeria that functioned; a Nigeria where we had men and women who had honour, a political class of people that thought more about others’ well-being than their own gains. I was happy I knew these few ones. And that I lived during the periods some of them lived.
Let us remember a leader of the people; Chief Obafemi Oyeniyi Awólọ́wọ̀, a politician of virtue, a great man of the people, a faithful believer, and one who, in policy formulations, always looked for the greater good for the greater numbers and saw development as it would affect future generations, “generations born and yet unborn,” as we used to say in those days whenever we spoke of impact of policies and of whom our plans were targeted. The impact of their policy implementations in those days are still visible today and generations who had access to free education and medical care are still alive to give testimonies of how their transformed lives have continued to transformed the lives of others. Testifiers like former governor Ọlagunsoye Oyinlọla, the son of a village palmwine tapper, himself destined and ambitious to become the next chief of palmwine tappers in their village—(his only ambition in life), but he got access to the party’s free education policy for children of farmers and went on to become, former army general, governor of a state and presently an ambassador of peace and culture. Born 3 February 1951, Oyinlọla was elected governor of Osun State, Nigeria in May 2003, and was reelected in 2007. He is ever grateful to that generous free education facility and had spoken publicly and very highly in the praise of the policies of the then Action Group and Unity Party of Nigeria which Awólọ́wọ̀ led.
Put plainly and simply, what the progressive policies did in those days was, first, to buy cocoa from desperate farmers at the prevailing rate and sell it when the rates were much higher. To give the poor farmers a dividend of democracy, they made a law mandating Universal Primary Education (UPE). The plan was to educate the children of farmers and other artisans and bring about broad change. UPE meant more school buildings were needed, and teachers had to be recruited. That meant most school leavers had prompt multiple job offers, including school teaching positions, and for the boys, jobs as bricklayers, carpenters, and so on, were available in the new liberalized economic plans. A broadened liberal economy required mobility; Chief Odutola was given a licence to import car accessories, particularly tires, with offers for limited capital flights by investing in the local economy. Tires needed to be made locally. Rubber plantations to feed the industries meant more jobs were created, bank loans, insurance business, and so on and so forth began to boom. The labor force was already available, and UPE had trained most job seekers as an outcome of the planned economy. That was a win-win for everyone because the employed workers in the liberalized and industrial economy of Southwest Nigeria had to pay government levies and taxes, and the political party in power got reelected. It all started with the proceeds from cocoa and UPE. Every other development plan followed from there.
Those early leaders prepared a system when they would no longer be around to lead again. Awólọ́wọ̀, who contested for the presidency of Nigeria, was reputed to have had his first eleven team list of ministers ready to implement the democratic socialist policy right from day one after being named the president. He was reputed to be fair, balanced, and tolerant. He must have had the gift of tolerance to accommodate youthful exuberances of folks like Anthony Enahoro, Ebenezer Babatope, Bola Ige, and so on, who were fiercely forward-looking youths. These people were a rare breed in the generations and era where they existed. It is not so common to come across such good dwellers as the Yorùbá folk beliefs describe people like Awólọ́wọ̀ as òrìṣà (ẹni oríṣà). As we have seen through practical demonstrations, generations are privileged to have them; people do not just aspire to be great; greatness is entrusted in them by the Òrìṣà òkè and àwọn òkú ọ̀run. Awólọ́wọ̀ attracted massive cult followership that praised him till this day as a good man. He was a leader who led people that led people who led others. He trusted them—his lieutenants—and it was either theirs was an era when we had great number of politicians who had honor, who would not lie, or these ones hardly conceived the idea to betray their leader as he was a leader in the true form of it, or he was so generous that he didn’t allow any notion of betrayals to distract him from forging ahead with little noticeable cracks amongst the progressives. Perhaps leadership and cult followership were possible because folks were transparent, they had ideas, and there was no sense of entitlement (emilokan) but dedication to duty, to honor, and to service.
Compare them with what we have today, Emilokan. And then everything is negatively different.
It’s going to be 40 years since we lost this rare gem, the leader of this class of political òrìṣà àkúnlẹ̀bọ, yet today, not on his birthday, the anniversary of his death, nor for any significant landmark reason, we chose to remember him. We must not forget the dedication of our heroes, who made us the centrifugal force of their policies, leadership, and reasons to serve, which made us—the people, rather than them—the justification for their quest for power. What will histories tell of the leadership of today and the harsh socio-economic experiences people are passing through without any semblance of political sensitivity from them regarding the suffering, or demonstrating signs of empathy with optics that portray the political class as, at the least, caring for the people? After buying SUVs, furnishing their houses, and putting all their families and cronies in all available juicy positions, after buying for themselves all the Sallah rams, Christmas turkeys, break of fasting goats and cows, they then say mockingly to us, “Let the poor breathe,” removing themselves from the rest of us and castigating us into the category of what they think of us—the poor— and therefore binding us to the Philistines. Now leadership is for the self, service to the self, and the self as the centripetal force that drives the desperate hunger and thirst for power to the central which is the self.
Awólọ́wọ̀’s death was a shock to all of us because we knew an era had just ended. An era of good governance, an era of spirited leadership, an era of MEN who had honor, men and women of great quality who were prepared for leadership, who were concerned with social engineering, who were mature enough to know that all things must end one day, come to an end, and their existence in the political sphere was of a temporal nature; therefore, they must do those things that would make histories remember that they once lived, politicians who were determined to lift not themselves but others out of the pain of life and misgovernance. But we were consoled by the fact that b’íná bá kú á fíerúbojú; we knew Awólọ́wọ̀ left behind young and old guys who had learned from him to continue to guide us—the people. And as we remember Awólọ́wọ̀ today, we salute his lieutenants too; men and women who endured his leadership style, who projected his maverick and political spirits.
Àgbà ò sí ní’lé, ilé d‘àrú(The elder is away, and things at home becomes chaotic) Baálé ilé kú, ilé d‘ahoro (The lord of a home dies, and the home becomes deserted) Ṣùgbọ́n, Bàbá ku, Bàbá ku (But we know that at the demise of one sage, another one will rise to fill the vacuum.)
Like Awólọ́wọ̀, they too have left us, but we promised that we would not forget them. Let us remember them today and sing the songs of leadership that bound them to this earth and name their names.
Chief James Ajibola Idowu Ige SAN (popularly called Bọ́lá Ìgè) (13 September 1930–23 December 2001), former governor of Oyo State
Lateef Kayode Jakande (July 1929–11 February 2021), former governor of Lagos State
Michael Adekunle Ajasin (28 November 1908–3 October 1997), former governor of Ondo State
Josiah Sunday Olawoyin Ilorin party stalwart (5 February 1925 – 10 October 2000) and Chief C. O. Adebayo, former governor of Kwara State
Chief Victor Olabisi Onabanjo (12 February 1927–14 April 1990), former governor of Ogun State
Ambrose Folorunsho Alli (22 September 1929–22 September 1989), former governor of Bendel State.
And soooooo many other lieutenants so numerous to mention here.
Let us spend a short period remembering these ones who sacrificed their all; family time, highly priced private periods, much-desired moments alone with friends and families, and the luxuries of privacy—for the sake of helping us to build a nation where no man or woman is oppressed, which was a deep sense of social engineering on their part. However, fate had recorded their accounts and contributions, but at least we now know that they made indelible sacrifices for us; they invested in politics without bitterness and developed policies and efforts to move our nation forward. It was our naivete with electoral numbers and providence that took them away from us. At least we publicly acknowledged that Awólọ́wọ̀ was the best president that Nigeria never had (Dan Agbese & Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu (4 November 1933 – 26 November 2011).
The crop of individuals that took up leadership after these one, we have seen them and experienced their qualities; we know who and what they are. And for those reasons, let us spend good time to remember the era when we had men who had honor and not get used to the current political actors and think of them as the ideals. They are not. Good riddance to political játijàti.
As we remember you all, the true progressives, please remember that Òkú Ọlọ́mọ kìí sùn, our ancestors do not sleep, remember us in these perilous times. We continue to wish the dead good ones, happy òkú ọ̀run day.
‘Délé A. Ṣónúbi (inspired by the tribute to Awólọ́wọ̀ performed by Kollington Ayinla)
