By Suyi Ayodele
When a man says, ‘Here is where my friend was disgraced yesterday,’ our elders ask us to remind him that the disgrace has become a communal one. No sensible man derives joy from the shameful conduct of his kinsman. Does that philosophy still hold water in Yorubaland today?
A big Yoruba king was jailed in the faraway United States of America last week. He was arraigned, tried and found guilty of blood profiteering. The Apetu of Ipetumodu, Osun State, Oba Joseph Oloyede, was sentenced to four-and-a-half-year imprisonment by Justice Christopher Boyko of the North District of Ohio, US, for stealing COVID-19 relief funds running into millions of dollars.
Oba Oloyede was portrayed as a blood-sucking demon who took delight in the blood of the victims of the pandemic, COVID-19. He stole $4.2 million meant for the relief programme for the victims. In addition to the jail term, the monarch will also refund the sum of $4,408,543.38 to the US Government.
He will add his home on Foote Road, Medina, Ohio, to the restitution. Oba Oloyede’s bank account with a balance of $96,006.89 will be taken over by the government. The troubled monarch is not entitled to a Cent of the money in the account. The court said the money therein was the proceeds of fraud! That is not the end of his troubles.
When eventually released, the jailed Ipetumodu monarch will be on the watch-list for three good years. The devil helps him if he misbehaves during his suspended release. He goes back to jail, summarily!
The saddest aspect of the tragedy is that while the trial lasted, Oba Oloyede did not put up any defence, no alibi. He admitted committing the crime. When the charges were read to him, Oba Oloyede simply pleaded guilty to the crimes he committed between April 2020 and February 2022. Kabiyesi was arrested on May 4, 2024, when he travelled to the US. He was sentenced on August 26, 2025!
This is a sad development for the entire Yoruba Race. It is a sad development that we would not want to tell our children. But not the Yoruba of our time. If we were to be the true products of the Omoluabi ethos handed over to us by our forebears, Yorubaland would have been in mourning over the Apetumodu shameful outing in the US. But what do we have now?
Instead of showing remorse, the elders and elites of the land are busy exchanging words over inanities. Hot exchanges are being traded over unimportant matters. Words that, like the proverbial egg which breaks when thrown on the floor, have been uttered. When the storm calms, the scars will be visible for us to see. Outsiders alike will also see the relics of this current useless war over a non-issue. We left leprosy to treat ringworms!
We are in ruins in this land. The entire Yoruba race is dancing naked in the market square. Those who have no ancestry have come to the open to deride a race that is acknowledged worldwide as the most civilised and most cosmopolitan. The entire Kaaro Oojire is in shambles, dressed in garments of shame because our monarchs are behaving badly!
I sighed in sadness after reading the Apetumodu’s ordeals, I tried to reflect on how Yorubaland arrived at this turning point. Whom did we offend? Has what happened to the children of Oduduwa had anything to do with the curse placed on the race by Alaafin Aole Arogangan? Why are most Yoruba thrones occupied by the dregs of humanity nowadays? Why do we have charlatans and other undesirable elements occupying Yoruba palaces? At the point of my confusion, history beckoned. Yoruba thrones and nitwits, history says, predates this era. How?
Years ago, when the ant could carry the tortoise on its head, a rich man died. Though the man had two sons, he bequeathed his estate to the extended family members. He left nothing for his sons! Nobody knew why he did that. But the two boys were not stupid. They knew where their father kept his most valuable possession, a giant box of precious stones. The boys, at the cover of the night, stole the box. When the time came for the family to share the rich man’s estate, the box was discovered missing.
From time to time, the boys were selling the gold and other precious stones in the box. They had a mutual understanding until one day, the older boy got greedy. He wondered why his younger one would share the proceeds of their heist with him equally. He decided to have the entire stuff to himself. The older brother stole the remaining items and told his younger one that they had been robbed of them.
Stealing the king’s flute is not the problem; where to blow it is the issue. The younger brother, suspecting that his older brother was up to something, decided to keep him under close monitoring. With no moment of respite, the older brother used the only available opportunity he had to be alone and carried the box to the palace for their king to keep for him.
Our elders say the third generation of greed will be a burglar (ipele keta okanjuwa, ile lo unko). The king saw the gold and decided to keep it to himself. He called his sorcerer and got the deadliest poison from him. He planned to kill the one who asked him to keep the precious stones. While at it, an incident occurred that required the attention of the king’s diviner.
The diviner, Àsèsèdà Ifá (The one who is new at divination), cast his Opele. But rather than address the issue that brought him to the palace, he told the king that he (the king) was about to do something that would bring eternal shame to him and the throne. He asked the king not to mix gold with poison because the hereafter would spell doom for the king’s lineage. The Oracle, Àsèsèdà Ifá said, directed that the king should return what was kept in his custody to the owner.
Àsèsèdà Ifá was still on the divination mat when a commotion was heard within the palace precincts. Who had the audacity to fight before Kabiyesi? The parties were brought before the king, and lo, they were the two brothers. The younger one, who suspected that the older brother wanted to cheat him, resorted to violence. When the combatants became inseparable, their family members dragged them before the king.
The king asked what the matter was. The two brothers reported how they stole the box containing their father’s precious stones and how they sold some of the items, and the remaining items went missing. Everyone present was shocked that the boys could steal what their father gave to the entire extended family. But the king had a better understanding of what happened.
The king sent for the box he kept in his room. When brought, he removed the poison on top and emptied the contents on the floor. There were the missing pieces of gold. The king went ahead to share the items between the two brothers and ordered that all the other property the family had taken over be returned to the boys.
Diviners of old who narrated this story said it is from Ifa Corpus (Odu Ifa) known as Ogunda Ofun, named after the king (Ogunda), who wanted to appropriate what Ofun (name of the older brother) kept in his care. To date, in Yorubaland, one of the divinations done for a would-be oba is Ogunda Ofun with the admonition that he, the would-be oba, must never covet that which belongs to another man- Ogunda Ofun, ogbe mohun folohun (Ogunda Ofun, let the king return that which belongs to another to the owner). Did the Ipetumodu people take Oba Oloyede through this Ifa divination?
Yet another story to buttress that Yoruba thrones have been under siege for a long time.
A group of alájàpá (itinerant traders) market women set out early in the morning. The destination was Ibadan, Gbagi Market to be precise. They were cramped at the back of the Bedford vehicle, sitting on the wooden benches that were rammed to the floor, and holding on to the wooden body of the vehicle for stability.
Their monies were tied around their waists inside their yèrì and òpóò (long cloth purses). Those purses would not be untied until they got to Gbagi Market, where they would buy the wares they traded in.
The Bedford vehicle, on top speed, suddenly ran into a pothole. The passengers were thrown at one another, knocking heads. The vehicle came to a sudden halt. The driver cursed! He was familiar with the road. It had no pothole on that spot. He could swear to that; the driver knew where the potholes were. And those were not as deep as the one that halted the vehicle.
His instincts instantly came alive. Danger! This must be the handiwork of some adigunjalè (armed robbers), he muttered to himself. But nobody emerged from the bush to attack them. Shocked! What could have happened then? He asked no one in particular.
A woman asked what happened. The driver remained silent. He manoeuvred the vehicle out of the pothole. He dared not check if he had lost a tyre. Experience taught him never to do that on that spot. Yes, he must move a distance before he can check the state of the vehicle. Then he remembered. The pothole could have been dug to slow the vehicle down. “Òràn dé” (danger looms), he whispered loudly. The tension in the vehicle became intense.
He steadied the vehicle back on the road. Moved a distance, engaged the gear for acceleration. His headlamp picked up the objects ahead. Logs of wood, they were. Someone had barricaded the road. Nobody needed anyone to say who did that. Armed robbers were at work!
The driver applied the brake and jumped off before the vehicle came to a complete halt. His motor boy did the same. The duo dashed into the bush. Only the women were trapped. It was a case of olórí d’orí è mú (everyone for himself).
Running was useless for the women. Before the first of them could jump out of the vehicle, the armed robbers were already on them. They were ordered out of the vehicle. One after the other, their attackers dispossessed them of their money. Then the unthinkable happened.
One of the women recognised a figure among the armed robbers. She could not be mistaken. It was a figure she would identify among a million men! Sure of her vision, the woman saluted: “Alayé (owner of the world), Kábíyèsí (he who no one can question) Àdìmúlà” (the one you hold to survive).
Two other women turned to look at the man. They recognised him to be the Kábíyèsí (king) of one of the biggest towns in that axis. Ah! What was Orí Adé (the head that wears the crown) doing among armed robbers? They wondered as they made to pay obeisance as tradition demands. What they got shocked them.
Kábíyèsí raised his cutlass and dealt the first matchet blow on the head of the first woman who identified him. A chilling cry, and she went down. Alayé moved to hit the next woman. She ducked, but not before she got a bow to her arm. The other women took to flight. The party scattered. Àdìmúlà and his gang also took off. They did not forget their loot, anyway!
The next vehicle carrying another set of traders came to the scene. The driver and the passengers began a rescue operation. The first woman was stone dead. They simply packed her corpse by the roadside; attention focused on the wounded but living. Those who ran away were attracted by the accompanying wailing and came out of hiding.
The day broke with the news of the armed robbery incident. The two women who identified kábíyèsí could only tell their husbands. They were sternly cautioned not to tell any other person. Their husbands then volunteered the information to the elders of the town, who, in turn, also maintained the oath of secrecy.
Later in the day, Kábíyèsí summoned a meeting of his chiefs. He called neighbouring kings too. A company of the esoteric was dispatched to the robbery incident to go and do what tradition stipulates. Curses were laid, and the gods of the land were asked to avenge the sacrilege instantly. Then everyone went home. Did the curses work?
Yes, they did. Days later, it was discovered that all the trees around the spot withered; they all shed their leaves in the rainy season! What happened? It was gathered that after the esoteric team had performed their rites and left, Kábíyèsí led another team of traditional experts to the spot. Being the king, nobody could question him for the second traditional journey. He was not just Kábíyèsí for fun.
According to the story, on the second trip, kábíyèsí asked that a pig (elédè) be sacrificed. He alone did the ìwúre (royal pronouncement) on that occasion. He simply told the party that he wanted to commune with his ancestors in silence. They responded: Kábíyèsí! Nobody heard what he said. They only noticed that his lips moved. The pig was slaughtered, its blood sprinkled on both sides of the road, and the party headed home. End of ritual! The result was the withering of the trees.
Any adult from Ayebode Ekiti up to the then Arigidi Ekiti (now Ayedogbon Ekiti) in the mid-70s would remember this ugly incident. The Ekiti-ethno-music icon, the late Elemure Ogunyemi, later in one of his albums, alluded to the incident when he sang: Ha ti m’òrí elédè rúbo (we have sacrificed the head of a pig)/ùgbàyí á dèrò kooko (this season will be peaceful).
But that incident did not go without repercussions for the erring Kábíyèsí. Conscious of the shame that an open reprimand would bring to the town, the elders came together and confronted their king. Of course, when in ìgbàlè (traditional coven) with the elders, Àdìmúlà owned up to the crime.
The elders did what they needed to do and sealed it with a traditional pronouncement. No blood descendant of the kábíyèsí would ever ascend the throne again! They sealed that with Olugbohun. Whoever attempted it would pay with his entire sires. Kábíyèsí was asked to pass the message to his children for onward transmission to the generations to come. He also paid a heavy fine couched as etutu (appeasement items).
Àdìmúlà thereafter lived and died at an old age. His remaining days on the throne witnessed a lot of crises, though. Other members of his gang died miserable deaths. Another kábíyèsí is on the throne in that town. The people await whether that secret seal will be broken! This story was told in hushed tones, as I tell you today!
Before the above ugly incident, another Yoruba king was once executed for murder. The king was hanged in 1949. He was said to have used a 15-month-old baby girl, Adediwura, for rituals.
The trial of the oba was a huge sensation. The advocacy in the court was the best anyone could imagine. But that could not save him and his accomplices. The trio were executed by hanging. What did the people, his subjects, do to the family of the executed king? Would they ever allow any of his offspring to ascend the throne of the rocky town? But more importantly, what was the Ifa prediction before the oba was enthroned?
This is where we are missing it in Yorubaland. A lot of misfits are today wearing crowns in the land because they were chosen by other external forces apart from Ifa. The modern-day civilisation has robbed us of our heritage. No would-be oba who spent an average of three weeks in Ipebi (seclusion) would misbehave on the throne.
But that is no more. A would-be oba was once asked to go into seclusion for seven days. He got to the door of Ipebi and put one of his legs inside seven times. He told the people that each step into the Ipebi represented a day. Guess what? He was still crowned king. It happened because the influential members of the community were behind him; he was their candidate! With good money and connections in high places, anyone can become an oba today. Ifa, Yoruba religion, has been shifted and shoved to the background.
Today’s Yoruba foremost kings are at loggerheads. Others are queuing behind them, forming camps. While the fire rages, the farmlands their ancestors left for them are in ruins. The subjects Edumare put under their care are daily killed, kidnapped, maimed and rendered homeless! Obas are going to jail, some fight in public, and many are facing trial for rape and other misdemeanours.
The Daily Mail of UK on May 19, 2024, ran a story about another king who was “twice deported from America with a lengthy criminal record and a distinct murky past. The paper described the oba as “a conman”, stating that he tried to “cash stolen £247k cheque.” Interestingly, the king has not contested the report as he pontificates on virtually every issue of Yoruba ancestry! The circle of shame has gone round!
Ascending the thrones of Oduduwa is no child’s play. It comes with responsibilities; it comes with self-worth and dignity. If we cannot question these kings’ misbehaving because they are kábíyèsí, they should know that Alálé (progenitors) will ask them; Èsìdá (owners of the land) will judge them on our behalf. Enough should be enough. Our Yoruba obas should allow us to walk the streets with our heads raised. Ìtìjú yi ti ún pò jù (This shame is becoming too much)!
The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.
