I recall a 1985 encounter in my hometown. A ravenous hyena invaded the town, killing goats and sheep. The local goat farmers lost a lot. When it started the venture, the hyena used to operate at the dead of the night.
Gradually, it started coming out in the moonlight. Of course, the people were terrified. The belief was that a human being was the one, using àlùpàyídà, the Yoruba metaphysics that allows the charmer to turn to anything, to change into the hyena. Whatever game it hunted, it was believed, he would resurrect and then sell.
The then Onísè of Odò Oro Ekiti, Oba Ojo Àmúpìtàn Oluyeye Òjoyèbugiòtèwó Amélilájetùotùo, rose to the occasion. Town criers were sent out to warn the people to stay indoors one particular night. Everyone complied. At night, Kàbìyèsí did what his forbears used to do.
We woke up the following morning to behold the carcass of the ravenous hyena. The town instantly became a Mecca of sort that day. There was no town in the entire Egbéoba that people did not come to see the dead hyena. That is what Obas do in Yorubaland. We cannot discount the roles of the various Babalawos in the town during that period; they assisted Oba Oluyeye in bringing an end to the menace!
Human societies have always been organised around hierarchy. As Jean Sheldon observes in her 2014 Images of Power and a Kingdom of Priests the ancient world knew little outside the structure of authority.
Kings ruled, priests interpreted the will of the gods, warriors defended the realm, and every man knew where he stood in relation to power. The king occupied the summit of the political order; the priest occupied the summit of the spiritual order. Neither confused his duties with those of the other.
Yorubaland was no exception.
Our forebears built a civilisation in which the throne, the oracle and the sword worked in concert without becoming one another. The Oba was the political head of the community, the symbol of its unity and continuity.
The Babalawo was the custodian of sacred knowledge, the interpreter of Ifá and adviser on matters requiring spiritual insight. Then there was the Olókòjú, the warrior whose duty was to confront danger, defend territory and lead men into battle when war came.
The distinction was clear. The Babalawo did not command armies. The Olókòjú did not cast divination chains. The Oba did not mistake himself for either. Every institution had its sphere; every office had its limits.
In times of war, kings consulted diviners before campaigns. Through Ifá, they sought knowledge, guidance and warnings about the path ahead. But once the drums of war sounded, it was not the Babalawo who marched at the head of the army. That duty belonged to the warriors. In my hometown, we often sing: Olókòjú li logigun ogun, hi ya ho ogigun, ogigun ogigun ogun, hi ya ho ogigun (The chief warrior owns the charm of war, come and see the charm of war).
The priest provided counsel; the warrior provided courage. One illuminated the road; the other travelled it. That arrangement survived because it was rooted in wisdom. Our ancestors understood that confusion of roles breeds confusion of outcomes. A kingdom where priests are expected to fight wars and warriors are expected to divine destinies is a kingdom on the road to ruin.
It is therefore surprising that in our own day, some occupants of ancient thrones appear unable to distinguish between these traditional responsibilities. Faced with the scourge of banditry and kidnapping, they ask why Babalawos do not storm forests and rescue captives. Such questions betray a misunderstanding not only of Yoruba spirituality but also of Yoruba statecraft.
The Babalawo was never the traditional equivalent of a commando soldier. The Ifá priest was not trained to pursue kidnappers through forests any more than a judge is expected to lead troops into battle. To demand that he do so is to misunderstand the very civilisation whose symbols one claims to represent.
This is why the institution of Ìpèbí existed. Before a man wore the crown, he was expected to learn the history, customs and philosophy of the people over whom he would rule. He was taught not merely how to reign but what the limits of his authority were. Above all, he was taught that wisdom, not noise, is the first ornament of a king.
The tragedy of many modern thrones is not the absence of crowns. It is the absence of instruction. And when ignorance ascends the throne, it is not only the king who is diminished; the institution itself suffers.
In some very extreme cases, Yoruba obas play some roles to show that they own the town. When such a matter arises, they don’t just sit on their thrones and watch their communities waste away while they ridicule tradition and custom of the people. They do something about the matter troubling their domains.
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Here is another instance. Magun (thunderbolt), the Yoruba response to adultery, became commonplace in the town. While the community approves an adulterous wife being laced with the substance to serve as deterrent, placing Magun on a spinster was an abomination. But some parents went overboard. Many ladies in the town became carriers of Magun. The town lost quite a few young men to the metaphysics. A few others were saved just in the nick of time before they answered their makers. Our family pharmacy became a beehive of activities as victims of Magun were brought to take a dose of the antidote.
Again, Oba Oluyeye Amélilájetùotùo rose to the occasion. He assembled all the wise men of the land. They were led by their Alamoeku. Babalawos from the sixteen units that make up the town were called upon to perform Iwure (traditional cautionary invocation) on whoever would lace a spinster with Magun again. Done, the king blessed the prayers and sealed it with Egba orun (divine benediction). That incident happened around 1982. To date, no spinster has been recorded to have been Magun carrier in the town.
There are traditional powers where they are. I say this without any prejudice to my Christian Faith! My countryside upbringing teaches me that ohun ti Owá ni ti Owá; ohun ti Òòrè ni ti Òòrè (What belongs to Owa –king of Ilesha- is his; what belongs to Oore – king of Otun Ekiti- is his also). We must recognise that and do as our Lord Jesus Christ commanded in Mark 12:17: thus: “Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give to God what belongs to God.”
The first set of evangelists we encountered in our cradle corroborated the fact that power exists as of old if only we all can act as of old, in their evergreen refrain of: Olúwa ńbe bíi t›àti’jó; àwa laà sin Baba bíi t›àti’jó (the Lord remains as of old; we are the ones who don’t worship the Lord as of old). How right they were!
There are powers in Yorubaland. I meant powers with efficacy as accurate as an algebraic expression. The ignorance of those who are expected to be the custodians of such powers would not vitiate their efficacies. The greatest threat to those powers of old is the coming of dolts and traditional misfits to the various thrones of Oduduwa in the name of oba.
When a man who is supposed to be a eunuch is the one wearing the crown, the town cannot but have a dearth of heirs to the throne! This is what would-be kings are taught in the Ìpèbí (seclusion) before their coronation. There is no Yoruba Oba who spent quality time at the Ìpèbí who would not know the difference between the duties and responsibilities of our traditional warriors (Olókòjús) and those of Babalawos (diviners).
Every rational being is peeved by the way bandits, kidnappers and terrorists make a meal of the citizenry daily. The malady knows no tribe, it respects no creed. It has become clearer by the day that the government alone cannot solve the riddle. It is even more appropriate to say that the government is confused and totally incapacitated by the unbridled pursuit of personal ambitions at the detriment of the security of lives and property in the land.
So, any solution, no matter how bizarre, becomes acceptable. But in proffering a solution, one must not be ridiculous. Such must not be done at the level of the theatre of the absurd, as the Oluwo of Iwo, Oba Abdulrasheed Adewale Akanbi, put it last week.
In his characteristic way of moving from the grandiose to the buffoonery, the Oluwo challenged Yoruba Babalawos, pastors, imams and anyone who claims to possess esoteric power to move into the forests and rescue our children and other victims held in captivity by kidnappers. His delivery of the all-important message was ridiculous as it was unbecoming of a traditional ruler who occupies the throne of ancient Iwo.
Every town in Yorubaland is important. But there are towns regarded as Ìlú Ìwásè (cradle towns). Any town that is mentioned in Odù Ifá (Ifa Corpus) belongs to that category. Iwo is one, and a very important one for that matter. Its creation was by the instruments of the seventh Odu Ifa, known as Òbàrà Òtúá, the most principal Ese Ifá (Ifa Verse) from Odú Òbàrà Méjì.
This is why anything that emanates from the palace of the Oluwo of Iwo is of importance to the entire Yorubaland. How the present occupant of such an important throne does not know, or cannot differentiate between the powers of Babalawos and those of Olókòjús (warriors), calls to question the process that led to his enthronement.
What did the Ilaris (palace functionaries) do when the Oluwo was in seclusion (Ipebi)? Who took him through the rudiments of obaship? Who tutored him on the dos and don’ts of Atimojò, the ancient deity; the very foundation of Ìwó Olódò Obà?
I asked the above questions because it is unfathomable that an oba of Oluwo’s stature would say: “Anyone who claims there is anything like ‘our forefathers’ power’ or a Babalawo who has mysterious power should come forward and help us address and eliminate the issue of banditry, not just in Yorubaland but in Nigeria, if it is not all a lie”, all in a bid to ridicule the culture and tradition he is expected to protect and preserve.
Oba Akanbi’s attack on Yoruba culture did not start today. Rather, his strange attitude to the very essence of the culture of his people, the custom of Yoruba race in general, and the acceptable decorum for obaship in any civilised society, is becoming increasingly embarrassing!
A million thanks therefore to the Àràbà of Osogbo, Baba Ifayemi Elebuibon, who took Oba Akanbi on a cultural voyage over the functions of Babalawo and our traditional warriors. My little knowledge of Yoruba culture tells me that every town and village in the land has its own Alamoeku (chief diviner), and its own Olókòjú (Chief warrior).
Men and women of good conscience in Yorubaland should be alarmed at the attitude of Oluwo. His public outings are no longer the problem of Iwoland but the entire race. If a first-class traditional ruler like the Oluwo lacks, or deliberately pretends not to have the simplest knowledge about the culture of which he is a chief custodian, something fundamental is wrong.
Oluwo cannot afford to continuously attack the essence of Yoruba race. If he is tired of the throne, he has so many options. Abdication is one; following the footsteps of his forebears is another. He cannot be the Ayi Kwei Armah’s chichidodo bird, the Ghanaian metaphor for hypocrisy, by holding tightly to the ancient throne of Oluwo while he detests every culture, custom, tradition and norm that holds the throne sacrosanct!
Oba Akanbi’s attitudes are lessons for other towns in Yorubaland that ignorance must never be enthroned; the imprudent must never be crowned again. When we make mistakes, the community pays for it. The ignorant defecates in the groove; the unwise cleans his anus with the water meant for the gods. Such sacrileges are not without consequences. This is why the throne of Oduduwa faces the challenges of 21st-century modernity. The only solution is recourse to our past. We must do it the way our forebears used to do it for it to be the way it used to be in the days of yore.
Oluwo is not alone in this voyage of ignorance; he is just the loudest purveyor of how not to be a Yoruba Oba. All over the land, we have many obas, who use the sacred water of the deity to wash their anus (àwon tó ńfi omi inú akòko san ìdí). This lot burn strange incense in the groove, and the gods have become silent, refusing to attend to our petitions.
May the Alálès rise and take their crowns from misfits; the very dregs of humanity wearing our jìgbìnì jigbini àte ìlèkè se isé erú (the one who wears ancient beaded crowns to work as slaves). More importantly, may Atimojò, the deity of Iwo; look down upon the Oluwo throne and save it from total eclipse in the hands of the one who does not know the value of gold! Àse wàá ni ti ìrèké!
The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.
