Yorùbá Elites and Ethnic Politics in Nigeria

Yorùbá Elites and Ethnic Politics in Nigeria investigates the dynamics and challenges of ethnicity and elite politics in Nigeria, Africa’s largest democracy. Wale Adebanwi demonstrates how the corporate agency of the elite transformed the modern history and politics of one of Africa’s largest ethnic groups, the Yorùbá. The argument is organized around the ideas and cultural representations of Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: , the central signiﬁer of modern Yorùbá culture. Through the narration and analysis of material, non-material and interactional phenomena – such as political party and ethnic group organization, cultural politics, democratic struggle, personal ambitions, group solidarity, death, memory and commemoration – this book examines the foundations of the legitimacy of the Yorùbá political elite. Using historical sociology and ethnographic research, Adebanwi takes readers into the hitherto unexplored under- currents of one of the most powerful and progressive elite groups in Africa, tracing its internal and external struggles for power.

Wale Adebanwi is Associate Professor in the Program in African American and African Studies at the University of California, Davis.

Ọbáfé: mi Awóló: wò: and Corporate Agency

WALE ADEBANWI University of California, Davis 32 Avenue of the Americas, New York, ny 10013–2473, usa

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence.

www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107054226 © Wale Adebanwi 2014 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2014 Printed in the United States of America A catalog record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Adebanwi, Wale, author. Yorùbá elites and ethnic politics in Nigeria : Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: and corporate agency / Wale Adebanwi, University of California, Davis. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-1-107-05422-6 1. Yoruba (African people) – Nigeria – Politics and government. 2. Yoruba (African people) – Political activity – Nigeria. 3. Yoruba (African people) – Ethnic identity. 4. Nigeria – Politics and government – 21st century. 5. Nigeria – Ethnic relations – Political aspects. 6. Awolowo, Obafemi, 1909–1987 – Inﬂuence. I. Title. dt515.45.y67a218 2014 320.9669–dc23 2013044462 isbn 978-1-107-05422-6 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of urls for external or third-party Internet Web sites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Web sites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate. For my wife, Tèmító: pé: , and my daughter, Liberty, who was named as a reminder of what humanizes us all. And in fond memory: of my loving mother, Mary, who departed as I was ﬁnishing the revision of this manuscript; and Sue Benson, whose initial supervision at Cambridge and generosity of spirit I will always treasure.

Contents

List of Illustrations page ix Acknowledgements xi A Note on Orthography xv List of Abbreviations xvii

Introduction The ‘I’ as ‘We’: Corporate Agency in an African Lifeworld 1 part one 1 Elite Agency: The Making of a Modern Progenitor 31 2 The Secular Ancestor: The Political Life of a Dead Leader 71 part two 3 The Politics of Heritage: (Re)Constitution, Conservation and Corporateness in Yorùbá Politics 111 4 The Mantle of Awo: The Politics of Succession 138 5 Reconciliation and Retrenchment 164 6 How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 184 7 Seizing the Heritage: Playing Proper Yorùbá in an Age of Uncertainty 224 Conclusion Corporate Agency and Ethnic Politics 244

Bibliography 259 Index 285

vii

List of Illustrations

maps

I. Map of Yorùbáland in West Africa page xix II. Map of Yorùbáland in Nigeria xx III. Map of Yorùbáland xxi

figures

1 ‘Founding Father’: Awóló: wò: ’s image on Nigeria’s 100-naira note 3 2 Awóló: wò: (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 33 3 The eight original members of the Action Group (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 39 4 Nigeria’s Founding Fathers. Left to right: Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe, Sir Ahmadu Bello and Chief Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: at Whitehall in the 1950s (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 58 5 The leader and his people … Awo arriving at a campaign rally in 1979 (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 69 6 Awo lying-in-state (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 72 7 Awo’s mausoleum (Photo author) 90 8 Awo’s statue (Photo courtesy of Nigerian Tribune Library) 98 9 ‘The Vacuum’: the arcade after the destruction of the Statue (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 100 10 Awo and the UPN Governors in the Second Republic (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 115

ix x List of Illustrations

11 Afé:nifé:re leaders. Left to right: Senator Ayo Fasanmi, the deputy leader of Afé:nifé:re, Chief Abraham Adesanya, the leader of Afé:nifé:re, Chief Ayo Adebanjo, the deputy national chairman of AD, and (standing) Sir Olaniwun Ajayi (Photo courtesy Sir Olaniwun Ajayi) 139 12 AD Governors. Left to right: Lam Adesina, Bisi Akande, Bola Tinubu, Ade Adefarati, Segun Osoba, Niyi Adebayo (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 151 13 The Leader and his Vice: Adesanya (R) and Ige (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 165 14 President Olusegun Obasanjo (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 185 15 Professor Wole Soyinka and Justice Atinuke Ige (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) 212 16 Tinubu and the ACN Governors: Left to right: Kayode Fayemi, Adams Oshiomola, Rauf Aregbesola, Tinubu, Ibikunle Amosun, Abiola Ajimobi and Babatunde Fashola (Photo by Okanlawon Taiwo) 225 17 The new Asiwaju: Governor Bola Tinubu (Photo by Okanlawon Taiwo) 228 18 Former United Nations Secretary-General, Mr Koﬁ Annan, with Awóló: wò: ’s daughter, Dr Tokunbo Awóló: wò: Dosumu, at the Awóló: wò: Centenary Lecture in Lagos in March 2009 (Photo courtesy Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation, Lagos) 245 19 At the 2012 Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Annual Memorial Lecture. Left to right: the Sultan of Sokoto, Alhaji Muhammad Sa’ad Abubakar III, Awo’s daughter, Tokunbo Awóló: wò: Dosumu, the Ooni of Ife, Oba Okunade Sijuade, Olubuse II and the Emir of Kano, Alhaji Ado Bayero (Photo courtesy Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation, Lagos) 254 Acknowledgements

This book took a decade to complete. It is rooted in my doctoral research, which started in 2003 at the Department of Social Anthropology and Trinity Hall, University of Cambridge, UK. Thus, over the years, I have piled up a huge debt of gratitude, which I can never fully repay. My education as a Gates Scholar at Cambridge was an opportunity of a lifetime. I am immensely grateful to the Gates Cambridge Trust and the Overseas Research Students Award Scheme (ORSAC), UK, which jointly paid all the expenses for my graduate work at Cambridge. I thank all the scholars and staff running the Gates Trust, especially the first Provost of the Trust, Gordon Johnson, and the Executive Officer, James Smith. My initial supervisor at Cambridge, Sue Benson, gave me all the support that I needed. Even as she lay dying, she was concerned about my work and she did what she could to ensure that I was left in ‘safe hands’. Unfortunately, Sue lost her own battle in 2005; and so this work is partly a tribute to her. When J. D.Y. Peel, then at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London, took over from Sue, I realized how fortunate I was that she had insisted he should take over her role as my supervisor. Professor Peel’s deep and expansive knowledge of my subject and the intellectual universe within which my research was located were invaluable. He ensured that I pursued my subject further, even after I left Cambridge, so I could turn the dissertation into a book. I am immeasurably grateful to him. For the funds for my initial fieldwork in Nigeria between 2005 and 2007, I am grateful to the Gates Trust, Cambridge African Studies Centre, the Department of Social Anthropology and Trinity Hall, Cambridge. In late 2006, I was a visiting Fellow at the African Studies Centre, Leiden,

xi xii Acknowledgements the Netherlands, where I wrote the first draft of Chapter 2. I thank the ASC, Leiden, and the senior researchers and staff, especially Stephen Ellis and Mirjam de Bruijn. I thank the faculty in the Department of Social Anthropology, Cambridge, particularly the now-retired Marilyn Strathern and Stephen Hugh-Jones. I also thank Harri Englund, Andie Guy, Sabina Bryant, Su Ford, Miranda Stock and Paul Sumption. Trinity Hall’s former Graduate Tutor, Professor James Montgomery, and his secretary, Julie Powley, were especially helpful at Trinity Hall. My colleagues and friends at Cambridge, James Doubleday, Rositza Alexandrova, Ian Marru, Annabel Pinker and Alex, can count on my gratitude. Many others helped in different, but crucial, ways over the years. I can only mention a few, in the hope that the others will forgive me for not mentioning them directly. I thank Muyiwa Adekeye – who at one point took up the task of ensuring that I didn’t give up as I shuttled between Cambridge, Lagos and Ibadan over five years – Charles Ukeje, Laolu and Olawunmi Akande, egbon Rotimi Akande, Segun Olatunji, Adeolu Akande, Chiedu Ezeanah, Bode Opeseitan, Sina Babasola, Festus Adedayo, Bimbo Agboluaje, Wale Ismail, Adegboyega Somide, Ruth Watson, Temitope Lakisokun, Olu Daramola, Molara Wood, Lanre Issa-Onilu and Edward Dickson. Uncle Tunde Fagbenle, Senator Babafemi Ojudu, Bayo Onanuga, the managing director of TheNEWS magazine and Kunle Ajibade, TheNEWS’ executive editor – who was ‘jailed for life’ but has lived in freedom to laugh at his tormentors – were all supportive at different points. Ebenezer Obadare should be happy that the thrills of a life of the mind could not be annulled by those who tried to rob us of our dreams. We share the Beckettian imperative: ‘Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better’! My especial gratitude to the great poet and Awo’s former private secretary, Odia Ofeimun, who, because he knew ‘the truth of the matter’, not only ‘bellowed for us to out-climb fear to laughter’, but also taught my generation about ‘Oyin’, who ‘breathes a quiet ardour/against a calculus of nerves’. Many senior colleagues around the world have helped in numerous ways over the years, including Professors Adigun Agbaje, Olatunji Dare, Moradewun Adejunmobi, Iris Marion Young (late), Jane Comaroff, Jacob Olupona, Niyi Osundare, Jane Guyer, Karen Barber, Toyin Falola, Adeleke Adeeko, Adekunle Amuwo and Rotimi Suberu. Professors Adebanji Akintoye, Olatunji Dare, Olufemi Vaughan and Olufemi Taiwo, and also Kunle Ajibade and Muyiwa Adekeye read some chapters of the manuscript and gave constructive feedback. They are, however, not responsible for any of the errors in this book, although they have Acknowledgements xiii contributed to its strengths. I also thank General Alani Akinrinade (now retired), Francis Ojo and his wife, Olakunle Abimbola, and my brothers, Dele Momodu and Dele Alake. My gratitude goes to all the members of the elite that I studied over a period of ten years. Many of them gave of their time and energy in helping me navigate the tortuous, if not treacherous, labyrinth of elite politics during my fieldwork in Nigeria, while providing important documents. Some of them taught me vital lessons, even before I formally started my research on the Awóló: wò: movement. I especially remember those who are gone, but remain in important ways: Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: (whom I never met), and his close associates, Chiefs Adekunle Ajasin, Alfred Rewane, Abraham Adesanya, Ajibola Ige, Venerable Emmanuel Alayande, and Alhajis Lateef Jakande and Ganiyu Dawodu. I am grateful to the members of the Awóló: wò: family, especially, Mama H.I.D. Awóló: wò: , and the head of the Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: Foundation, Ambassador Tokunbo Awóló: wò: Dosumu for their support. I am indebted to the old and young leaders of the Afenifere, including those who have since left the group. Sir Olaniwun Ajayi was especially kind to me. Every time I arrived at their Isara home, he and his wife, Lady Adun, who unfortunately died in December 2007, were more than welcoming. Chief Ayo Adebanjo was equally generous with his time in letting me into the inner workings of the group. I also thank Chief Reuben Fasoranti, Chief Olu Falae, Senator Ayo Fasanmi, Chief Mojisoluwa Akinfenwa, Senator Femi Okurounmu, Ayo Opadokun, Professor Bolaji Akinyemi, the Honourable Wale Oshun, the Reverend Tunji Adebiyi, Dare Babanrinsa, Jimi Agbaje, Dayo Adeyeye, Ayo Afolabi, Kunle Famoriyo, Tunde Odanye, Ademola Oyinlola, Niyi Afuye, Gbenga Kaka, Bayo Ademodi, Jumoke Ajasin-Anifowose, Tokunbo Ajasin, Yinka Odumakin, and the secretary of defunct Alajobi, Akinyemi Onigbinde. Ajasin, Odumakin and Onigbinde were critical to my understanding of some of hazy areas of the group’s dynamics. I am grateful to the leaders of the Yorùbá Council of Elders whom I interacted with, especially Dr. Kunle Olajide. I also thank those who facilitated things in different ways, including Oba Dokun Abolarin, the Orangun of Oke-Ila, Uncle Wale Adeeyo, and members of the Afenifere Renewal Group. I am also grateful to Bishop Emmanuel Gbonigi, Bishop Ayo Ladigbolu, Uncle Yemi Farounbi, (the late) Uncle Peter Ajayi and Chief Ebenezer Babatope. The Afenifere and Alliance for Democracy governors were especially kind to me during fieldwork. I am grateful to all of them, including Senator Bola Tinubu, Chief Bisi Akande, Chief Segun Osoba, (the late) Alhaji Lam xiv Acknowledgements

Adesina, (the late) Chief Ade Adefarati and Otunba Niyi Adebayo. I thank the current governors of the south-western states, especially Governors Rauf Aregbesola of Osun and Kayode J. Fayemi of Ekiti, who have both been especially considerate. A version of Chapter 1 was published under the title ‘The Cultural Agency of Elites: Awóló: wò: and the Remaking of the Yorùbá’, in the Journal of Historical Sociology, 2/2 (2009), 207–33. Also, a version of Chapter 2 was published under the title ‘The Cult of Awo: The Political Life of a Dead Leader’,intheJournal of Modern African Studies, 46/3 (2008), 335–60. I thank Blackwell Publishing Oxford, UK, and Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK, respectively, for permission to republish the two articles. At Cambridge University Press, I worked with three sets of editors over a period of almost two years: William Hammell, and his assistant, Sarika Narula; Scott V. Parris and his assistant, Kristin Purdy; and Eric Crahan. I thank all of them. I also acknowledge the anonymous readers of the manuscript for very helpful criticisms and suggestions. I am indebted to librarians and archivists at the following libraries and archives: Cambridge University library; Trinity Hall library; Haddon library, Cambridge; ASC library, Cambridge; Peter J. Shields library, UC-Davis; Nigerian Tribune library, Ibadan; TheNEWS library, Lagos; defunct Daily Times library, Lagos; ASC library, Leiden; and National Archives, Ibadan. I am grateful to my parents-in-law, Chief and Mrs Adefarati. My sisters, Adedoyin, Oyefunke and Jumoke, and their husbands and children also deserve my gratitude. I cannot but remember my sister, Aderonke, who departed when I was too weak to delay her departure. I know that my dad, the Reverend Paul O. Adebanwi, would have had matchless joy in holding a copy of this book. Yet, as they say in my culture, ‘if the dead could look back’ I know he would do so with pride. ... Yio ti dun to lati de’be! My mum held on for so long to see this book published. But she, too, eventually departed before it was published. Sun re o, Ajoo! My children, Liberty Temilade and Demilade Jayden, did their part to delay the revision of the manuscript by constantly reminding me that there was more to life than publishing a book! My wife, Temitope, has shown me not only the metaphoric, but also the literal, meaning of ‘better half’. Temitope, the poet is talking about you when he sings that ‘the egg of your eyes [incubates] in the tabernacle of my heart’! A Note on Orthography

Yorùbá is a tonal language. Therefore, diacritics (tone marks and subdots) are important for understanding the language. However, in this work, I use tone marks and subdots for only four key words – Afé:nifé:re, Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: , Odùduwà and Yorùbá – except where they are quoted from other sources.

List of Abbreviations

AC Action Congress ACN Action Congress of Nigeria AD Alliance for Democracy AG Action Group ALGON Association of Local Governments of Nigeria AMORC Ancient and Mystical Order Rosæ Crucis ANPP All Nigeria People’s Party APP All People’s Party ARG Afé:nifé:re Renewal Group AWOFEB Awóló: wò: Free Education Beneﬁciaries CMS Church Missionary Society CPC Congress for Progressive Change CWC Central Working Committee DAWN Development Agenda for Western Nigeria DPA Democratic People’s Alliance EFCC Economic and Financial Crimes Commission HG Heritage Group IITA International Institute of Tropical Agriculture IMF International Monetary Fund INEC Independent National Electoral Commission ING Interim National Government IPP Ibadan People’s Party MI Moremi Initiative NADECO National Democratic Coalition NCC National Convention Committee

xvii xviii List of Abbreviations

NCNC National Congress of Nigerian Citizens (formerly National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons) NCNC Ndigbo Council for National Coordination NCP National Conscience Party NEC National Electoral Commission NNDP Nigerian National Democratic Party NPC Northern People’s Congress NPN National Party of Nigeria NPP Nigerian People’s Party NRC National Republican Convention NSO Nigerian Security Organization NSU Native Settlers Union NYM Nigerian Youth Movement OAIGPP Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Institute of Government and Public Policy OLM Oodua Liberation Movement OPC Oodua People’s Congress OPF Okun People’s Front ORA Oodua Redemption Alliance OYM Oodua Youth Movement PCF People’s Consultative Forum PDM People’s Democratic Movement PDP People’s Democratic Party PFN People’s Front of Nigeria PSP People’s Solidarity Party ROF Reformed Ogboni Fraternity SAN Senior Advocate of Nigeria SAP Structural Adjustment Programme SDP Social Democratic Party UPGA United Progressive Grand Alliance UPN Unity Party of Nigeria YCE Yorùbá Council of Elders YUF Yorùbá Unity Forum i. Map of Yorùbáland in West Africa ii. Map of Yorùbáland in Nigeria iii. Map of Yorùbáland

introduction

The ‘I’ as ‘We’: Corporate Agency in an African Lifeworld

Seasons come, seasons go But you remain the constant stanza In the national song Niyi Osundare, ‘For Obafemi Awolowo (Ten Mays Later)’ On 30 August 2012, leaders from all six Yorùbá states in south-western Nigeria and of Yorùbá communities in the Kogi and Kwara states in the Middle Belt region of the country met in Ibadan, the modern political capital of the Yorùbá nation. Under the leadership of Lieutenant General Alani Akinrinade (rtd), the Yorùbá leaders met to discuss the general state of affairs in ‘the so-called Nigerian federation’, as they described it. The meeting was held against the backdrop of yet another climate of apprehension about the possible disintegration of Nigeria. At its end, the leaders issued a communiqué that articulated their standpoint on the national crisis. First, they noted that ‘Nigeria is, once again, at a critical crossroad[s]’, adding that, after more than ﬁfty years of independence and a few years before the centenary of the amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates by the British to form colonial Nigeria, ‘deep structural issues and Nationality Questions, such as Federalism, Fair and Equitable Revenue Allocation, Security, Free and Fair Elections, State Police and inter-relationship amongst the different nationalities remain unresolved’ (Punch 2 September 2012). They added that the need for a national dialogue (otherwise called a sovereign national conference) to ‘resolve the issues have never been more pressing’ because the ‘general state of the

1 2 Introduction

Nigerian federation is disturbingly unhealthy’. Also, the Yorùbá leaders observed that ‘the failure of the Nigerian Federation to meet the challenge of building a modern multi-ethnic democratic state can be traced to several factors that include: absence of a negotiated constitution by citizens, existence of a constitution that erodes the pre-military federal character of the Nigerian State, political and bureaucratic corruption that seems to arise from a sense of alienation from the state on the part of those expected to provide a sense of belonging and direction for the citizenry, and the menace of religious and cultural intolerance’ (ibid.). While stating that the phenomenon of Boko Haram, the north-based terrorist group which had declared its mission to Islamize Nigeria, is ‘a sign of religious and cultural intolerance that is capable of destroying the unity of the country’, the leaders added that ‘the best way to sustain unity in a culturally-diverse polity and society is to organize politics and [the] economy of such [a] country on the basis of a federal system of governance’. They concluded that ‘Nigeria’s cultural diversity is too pronounced for the political elite to pretend that a unitary constitution can be substituted for a federal constitution that is generally designed to respond to diversity and optimize the beneﬁts of diversity for peace and development’ (ibid.). The Yorùbá leaders were asking for Nigeria to move forward by going back to its federalist foundation. Since this foundation was originally locally articulated and promoted as the best form of political architecture for Nigeria by the late leader of the Yorùbá – and the most articulate among Nigerian nationalists on federalism – Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: , the Yorùbá leaders were also asking Nigeria to return to Awóló: wò: ’s ideas on the political organization of Nigeria. The leader of the failed secessionist Republic of Biafra, Chief Chukwuemeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu, had described Awóló: wò: as ‘the best president Nigeria never had’ (Daily Times, 11 May, 1987: 1), and ‘a leader of the modern cast’ who ‘left Nigeria [with] standards which are indelible, standards beside which future aspirations to public leadership can be eternally measured’ (Ojukwu 1989, 152). In a repeatedly quoted statement in his book, Path to Nigerian Freedom (1947), Awóló: wò: , whose image appears above on Nigeria’s currency, stated categorically that, ‘Nigeria is not a nation. It is a mere geographical expression’, adding that ‘There are no “Nigerians” in the same sense as there are “English”, “Welsh”,or“French”. The word “Nigerian” is merely a distinctive appellation to distinguish those who live within the boundaries of Nigeria from those who do not’ (Awóló: wò: 1947, 47–8). Introduction 3

figure 1. ‘Founding Father’: Awóló: wò: ’s image on Nigeria’s 100-naira note

After reviewing the differences among the many ethnic nations and groups in Nigeria, he concluded that ‘The important point to note is that a federal Constitution is the only thing suitable for Nigeria’ (ibid., 52). The ultimate benefit of this, stated Awóló: wò: , was that ‘each group [within Nigeria would] make more rapid progress than at present; and as a result the pace of the country as a whole would be considerably quickened towards federal unity’ (ibid., 55). Since his book was published in 1947, Awóló: wò: has been represented as the ur-federalist in Nigeria’s history. However, the politics of ‘separate progress towards federal unity’, which he canvassed, drew and continues to draw the resentment of his political adversaries and the elite of other ethnic nationalities in Nigeria. Yet virtually every Nigerian, whether only in word or in deed, has, over the years, become a federalist. However, as demonstrated again in the communiqué cited earlier, the Yorùbá elite continue to be the loudest in the agitation for ‘true’ federalism in a postcolonial polity which has expressed ‘long-standing tensions between [its] ethnic mosaic and its political centralization’ (Welch 1995, 635). Awóló: wò: ’s name, political philosophy, political legacy, his acts of omission and commission are invoked at every point in the crisis of the Nigerian union. In his speech at the 2012 Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: Annual Memorial Lecture organized by the Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: Foundation, northern radical politician and former governor of Kaduna State, Alhaji Balarabe Musa, described Awóló: wò: as a legend ‘whose principles can be a guiding light to 4 Introduction present day leaders’. He added that Awóló: wò: ‘was the most qualitatively outstanding and memorable legend of Nigerian politics and governance since the 1940s. He was the one whose role in politics and governance could still be a reliable guide for any first time President of Nigeria even though Nigeria lost the opportunity of having Awóló: wò: as its national president’ (Kumolu 2012, 1). At the 30 August meeting, the conferees were reminded by the convener, Akinrinade, that the venue, the Oyo State House of Assembly building, was the same place in which the Western Region House of Assembly had been held when Awóló: wò: was the premier of the region in the late 1950s. This was the place, stated Akinrinade, where Awóló: wò: secured the approval ‘for his legendary policies that stood him out as a great leader of his time’ (Nation, 2 September 2012). They were therefore meeting at the same venue, twenty-seven years after Awóló: wò: ’s death, to express the Yorùbá’s wish to pursue ‘self-determination’ through ‘true’ federalism, which, they hoped, would lead to the reconstitution of excellent regional governance, such as was earlier produced under Awóló: wò: ’s leadership. Years after Awóló: wò: ’s death, and more than half a century after he left office as the premier of Western Region of Nigeria, the Yorùbá elite continues to regard him as the very symbol of their ethnic nationalism and a shining example of the benefits of self-governance, not only in Nigeria but in all of Africa.

elites and ethnic nationalism

Ethnic nationalism has played a profound and lasting role in modern history and it will continue to shape the 21st century (Muller 2008, 19–20). In spite of the largely negative view in which most authors writing on modern ethnicity or ethnic nationalism in Africa cast the phenomenon,1 some have correctly identiﬁed the diversity of identities, such as ethnic identity, to be an asset in the reconstitution of the civic order (Tan, 2006). ‘There are good reasons’, states the famous historian, Eric Hobsbawm (1992, 5), ‘why ethnicity ...should be politicized in modern multi-ethnic societies’. This is because, among other things, as Dickson Eyo (1999) argues, ethnic identity can serve as a potential counter-hegemonic force to

1 In terms of its ‘manipulation’ by the elite (see Nkwi 2006; Kagwanja 2009), its harmful effect on economic growth (see, for instance, Easterly and Ross Levine 1997), its direct ‘ethnographically proven’ correlation with conflict (Eller 1999), etc. Introduction 5 the centralizing and domineering forces of the nation-state – as well as of hegemonic ethnic groups. Anthony D. Smith (1991, 21) has famously described the characteristics of ethnic groups as including ‘a collective proper name, a myth of common ancestry, shared historical memories, one or more differentiating elements of common culture, an association with a specific “homeland”, and a sense of solidarity for significant sectors of the population’. Even though Smith does not consider any one of the characteristics of an ethnic group as the most essential, he argues that common culture is often ‘embodied in myths, memories, symbols and values’. Although he overlooks language among the characteristics, others, such as Adrian Hastings, have argued that ‘an 2 ethnicity is of its nature a single language community’. The literature on ethnicity and ethnic groups as a negative phenomenon and/or ‘false consciousness’ in Africa is, in large part, based on the fact that ethnic groups are inventions or constructions. But, as Africa’s leading political economist, the late Claude Ake (1993, 1), argues, this does not eliminate the fact that ‘they are also decidedly real, even in the sense that states are said to be’. Ethnic groups, Ake pursues, are no less real despite all the reasons adduced for their ‘unreality’ by scholars, because ‘they are actual people who are united in consciousness of their common ethnic identity however spurious or misguided that consciousness may be’. Thus, ‘ethnicity is not a fossilized determination but a living presence produced and driven by material and historical forces’ (ibid.). Even though Ake posits that what needs to be explained is ‘political ethnicity, that is the politicization and transformation of ethnic exclusivity into major political cleavages’ (ibid., 2) and not ‘(h)ow ethnicity comes to be in the first place’, I will argue that the specific forms of evolution of ethnic consciousness in particular contexts constitute a critical background for understanding its politicization or transformation into political ethnicity. This book illustrates, following Ake, that ethnicity is not inherently a problem in Africa, despite the ubiquitous ethnic conflicts that result from ‘ethnic misrepresentations of survival strategies, in emancipatory projects and strategies of power’. What often happens in both lay and academic literature, and in practice, is that ‘abuse of ethnicity’ is confused with ‘its inherent abusiveness’ (ibid., 13). However, we cannot understand the evolution of ethnic consciousness, its politicization and its inherent abusiveness – the latter two are part of the ‘ideology of inter-elite

2 Smith (1986, 27) opposes this position. 6 Introduction competition’ (Osaghae 1991) – without understanding the role of the elite in the processes. Indeed, as many ethnic groups and nations forced into the (post)colonial states in Africa continue, in different forms, to struggle for self- determination, autonomy and democratic rights, including justice and equity, the elites of each of the groups are centrally implicated in the determination of the tone and tenor and the direction of these struggles. These elites play critical roles in the ways in which the visions of a glorious past are constructed and deployed (Vail 1991, x), as well as the manner in which these visions are reconciled with contemporary (modern) challenges faced by the ethnic group and the collective dreams of an even more glorious future within Africa’s multi-ethnic states. Therefore, this book illustrates why elite theory is central to ‘the historical processes involved in the creation of specific examples of ethnic ideology’ (Vail 1991, xi). Nigeria is a very important example of the dilemmas faced by multi- ethnic postcolonial states in Africa. More than half a century after political independence, as the country ‘celebrates’ a century of its history as a single territory – which started with the amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates by the British in 1914 – Nigeria’s future remain uncertain. As the most populous country in Africa and one of the most heterogeneous, Nigeria has faced extraordinary problems of national integration in the light of its modern history, as Nigerians continue to search for a more effective, efficient and viable form of national association. The country has experienced a civil war lasting thirty months (1967–79), during which a section of the country, the Eastern Region, under the name Biafra Republic, attempted to break away from the rest. Despite the failure of this attempt at secession, Nigeria has never been at ease. The country’s three major ethnic groups and hundreds of other minority groups continue to struggle for national accommodation, with some occasionally expressing their readiness to exit the federal union. This book is about the cultural and political role of the elite in the making and remaking of one of the largest ethnic nationalities in Africa and in Nigeria – the Yorùbá. It is also about the importance, both symbolic and real, of a dead political leader, the Yorùbá and Nigerian nationalist Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: , known popularly as Awo. Concretely, it focuses on the struggles within an elite political group known as Afé: nifé: re (i.e., ‘Lovers of what is good’)todefine, appropriate and promote Awo’s heritage within Yorùbáland and, against that backdrop, to promote Awo’s ideal and ideas as the best organizing ethos for the whole of Nigeria. As a study of the political tradition which stems from, and also Introduction 7 looks back to, one of the key historic figures in shaping modern Nigeria, the book contributes to the debates around the question ‘whither Nigeria?’ Nigeria’s size, diversity, economic weight, role as the dominant regional power of West Africa and the fact that she straddles the Christian/Muslim fault-line across the continent would mean that Nigeria’s predicament and the struggles within and among its elite groups have Africa-wide significance. Using ethnographic research and historical sociology, I narrate how a dominant agent (Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: ) in this process of the (re)making of the Yorùbá in modern Nigeria, built a cult of power around himself, one which has survived his demise. Members of this cult of power, called Afé:nifé:re, claim to have facilitated and to still facilitate the dominant agent’s historic mission. Against this backdrop, the narratives in this book are configured centrally around two intimately interwoven themes: one, the past and continuing (posthumous) agency of this dominant, and, subsequently, corporate, agent, Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: – the modern embodiment of the Yorùbá progenitor; and, two, the structural processes and properties by which the members of the Afé:nifé:re interact and struggle for power in their continued personal and collective representation of the ‘modern progenitor’ and his vision of the Yorùbá nation in relation to the Nigerian state. Through the narration and analysis of material, non-material and interactional phenomena, such as political party and ethnic group organization, cultural politics, democratization struggle, personal ambitions, group solidarity and discord, collective ventures, symbolic performances, memory and commemoration, here, simultaneously, I separate and con- flate structure, agency and culture. This is done within the context of the substantive (that is, practical) rationality of this dominant elite group which (re)composes the Yorùbá lifeworld. This book, therefore, considers the subjects not only in the Husserlian sense of a lifeworld based on a ‘coherent universe of existing [subjects]’, including ‘we, each “I-the-man” and all of us together’ (Husserl 1938 [1970], 108), but also in the sense of one ‘I-the-man’ as a representation of ‘we’, the collective. Consequently, participation and contestations in this lifeworld, which, as Jürgen Habermas emphasizes, involves a group’s unquestioned and shared frame, are based on sharing in a commonsensical understanding or, more precisely, assumptions, of ‘who we are’, what we value and what we believe (cf. Frank n.d.). This lifeworld in totality, ‘formed from more or less diffuse, always unproblematic, background convictions .... [that] serves as a source of situation definitions that are presupposed by 8 Introduction participants as unproblematic’ (Habermas 1984, 70; see also Habermas, 1987, 113–97), represents the horizon within which ambitious individuals and groups ‘seek to realize their projected ends’ (Baxter 1987, 46).

anthropology and the study of elites

Men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by themselves, but under circumstances directly encountered, given, and transmitted from the past Karl Marx, Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte Prior to the transformation of the ancien régime in Europe in the 18th century, ‘élite’ was a term that was interpreted in a theological sense to mean the ‘elect’, that is, God’s ‘chosen’ or simply ‘those most preferred and eminent persons’ (Williams 1976, 112–13; Bottomore 1966, 7). After this period, the term was used more to point generally to social distinction by rank and became synonymous with ‘best’, ‘quality’ and ‘choice’. The decline and disappearance of feudal distinctions in the 19th century witnessed the emergence of new ways of appointing leaders. Consequently, new ideas of the term ‘elite’ were raised, even though these were still not altogether unrelated to class and power (Shore 2002, 10). The use of the word became widely diffused in early 20th-century Britain and America through the sociological theories of elites, particularly by Gaetano Mosca (1939) – the originator of the concept of ‘ruling class’–and Vilfredo Pareto (1935). Despite the shifts in the social meanings and uses of the word ‘elite’ through the last few centuries, the concept has not lost its connotations of exclusivity and superiority. Marxian perspectives, derived from the classic formulation of Marx, in contrast to elite theorists such as Mosca and Pareto, and even Max Weber (1968), help to illuminate our understanding of the social process from the perspective of elite theory. In contrast to Hegel, Marx conceived of society as one in which the motive force emanating from the economic sphere generates contradictions that lead to class polarization (David 2004, 280). In The German Ideology (1932, 64 ), Marx describes the ruling class that is produced from such polarization as ‘the ruling material force of society’, ‘the class which has the means of production at its disposal’, the class that controls the state which, in fact, enables it to rule, and the class that determines the ruling ideas of the time. According to Marx, these are nothing ‘more than the ideal expression of the dominant material relationships grasped as ideas’ (Keller 1991, 49). In his materialist conception of Introduction 9 history, Marx concluded that the antagonism between classes will lead to a revolution which will produce a classless society. Pareto and Mosca are vehemently anti-Marxist. Both conclude from their review of history that political elites are an inevitable social phenomenon, thus dismissing a classless society as the inevitable end result of the progress of history. For Mosca (1896), the superior power of the organized minority over the unorganized majority is key to understanding the differences between the elite and non-elite. For Pareto, elite rule is not only universal, it is an ‘unalterable fact of social life’ (David 2004, 280). Neither ‘the humanitarian who swoons over a passage of Rousseau’, ‘the socialist who swears by the words of Marx and Engels’ nor the ‘devout democrat who bows reverent head and submits to the judgment and will to the oracles of suffrage, universal or limited, or what is worse, to the pro- nouncements of parliaments and legislatures’ hold any appeal for Pareto. He concludes that ‘it is always an oligarchy that governs, finding ways to give to the “will of the people”, the expressions which the few desire’ (Pareto 1963, 585). Mosca and Pareto ‘were fundamentally concerned with the reasons for minority rule’, assuming that the existing elite is composed of the ‘best’ people – best strictly in terms of the values of the society at a given time (Keller 1991, 11–13). Against the backdrop of the ‘classical’ conceptions of the place of the elite in history and society, the first question that arises is: What constitutes an ‘elite’, or who are the elite? There have been as many definitions in the literature (Dahl 1958; Lasswell 1961; Mills 1965) as there have been different labels put on the empirical reality of the existence of elites, that is, those who wield power and control resources: ‘ruling class’, ‘political class’, ‘power elite’, ‘ruling elite’, ‘governing class’, ‘governing elite’, ‘leadership group’, ‘ruling cabal’, ‘oligarchy’. William Quandt (1970) argued four decades ago that the ‘quagmire of elite studies’ resulted from the use of empirically imprecise variables (Zuckerman 1977, 330). A basic element of any attempt to answer this question is the fact that those so described are at the topmost level of any society, whether in the social, political or economic arenas. However, while most scholars are concerned with describing elites in general, some have concentrated their energies on describing political elites in particular. This is based on the assumption – largely true – that the political elite are usually at the apex of the elite spectrum. In this context, John Higley and Michael Burton (2001, 8)define political elites as ‘persons who are able, by virtue of their authoritative positions in powerful organizations and movements of whatever kind, to affect national political outcomes regularly and substantially’. However, this definition, perhaps 10 Introduction because, one, it concentrates on the ‘political’, and, two, it was constructed out of liberal democratic theory (see Higley and Burton 2006), ignores the fact that the definition of elite status is so context bound and spatially specific that the ability to ‘affect political outcomes regularly and substantially’ need not be ‘national’ to make powerful persons qualify to be described as elites. For example, there are local elites whose powers are limited to their specific spatial locations. Therefore, emphasizing ‘the social’, rather than the ‘national political’, might be a far more useful way to capture the elite. As a working definition therefore, the elite can be described as ‘those who occupy the most influential positions or roles in the important spheres of social life’ (Shore 2002, 4). In this book, I adopt Shore’s elaboration of this definition:

They are typically incumbents: the leaders, rulers, and decision makers in any sector of society, or custodians of the machinery of policy making. [They] are thus ‘makers and shakers’: groups whose ‘cultural capital’ positions them above their fellow citizens and whose decisions crucially shape what happens in the wider society. Equally important, they are the groups that dominate what [Norbert Elias] ... called the ‘means of orientation’: people whose ideas and interests are hegemonic. (Ibid.; emphasis added) Shore flags up the fact that both agency/actorhood and structure/organization are involved in the definition of ‘elite’. Whether formally or informally, networking is also a basic factor in relation to the status and acts that confirm eliteness. In recognition of this, Abner Cohen adds that, ‘To promote their interests, [the elite] seek to cooperate and coordinate their actions by means of a corporate organization’ (Cohen 1981, xvi; emphasis added). ‘Agency’, ‘exclusivity’ or ‘exclusiveness’, ‘power’, ‘influence’, ‘dominance’ are some of the qualities that this category suggests. Thus, Marcus (1983, 10) suggests that elites ‘represent a way of conceiving power in society and attributing responsibility to persons [agents] rather than to impersonal processes [institutions, rules and resources]’. Even though the study of the elite in the disciplines of sociology, history and political science is old and rich (Parsons 1951), anthropological focus on the elite has been the exception rather than the rule (Shore 2002, 10; cf. Marcus 1979, 135–6). However, within the last three decades, works by Abner Cohen (1981) and George E. Marcus (1983), followed by those of João de Pina-Cabral and Antónia Pedrosa de Lima (2000), Chris Shore and Stephen Nugent (2002), and Richard Werbner (2004) have provided important theoretical and ethnographic insights into why it is important Introduction 11 for anthropologists to explore the politics of the elite per se (Shore 2002, 10). I follow these scholars in providing an ethnographic account of a particular elite group in Africa which includes the historical evolution of the group as well as its contemporary expressions of ethno-corporate interests and future goals. There are two significant analytical bases to the argument developed in this book which lead to the elaboration of the concept and practices of corporate agency. The first is ‘elite’ and the other is ‘agency’–both of which generate what I describe as the ‘corporate agency’ of the elite.

elite

Africans’ encounter with European modernity led to the transformation of existing leadership groups in African societies as well as the emergence of new groups. Even though there was a general pattern in many of the colonial states in Africa, there were also interesting differences and specif- icities in the transformation and/or evolution of existing and new leadership groups. What is important, therefore, for ethnographers in this context, is to tease out the specific dynamics of such evolution and/or transformation from the colonial to the postcolonial era. In the Yorùbá case there is an interplay between two distinct, but over- lapping, concepts of the ‘elite’: the first is the sociological concept (pronounced ‘ay-leet’), which I examined above, while the second is the social (Nigerian-Yorùbá) usage of the term (pronounced ‘ee-light’). The latter usage draws on the sociological concept, on an attempt to translate a parallel Yorùbá word, Borokini (influential persons) – into English, and on the Yorùbá concept of olaju (‘en-light-enment’, ‘progress’, ‘development’, ‘modernity’ or ‘enlightened person’, ‘modern person’) (see Peel 1978) – which, among other factors, produces ilosiwaju ati idagbasoke (progress and development). There is an accent on light in the pronuncia- tion or what can be described as the initial vernacularization of the word 3 elite (‘ee-light’). This emphasis is not unrelated to the understanding that the modern or enlightened person is one that appropriates or brings light.4 Based on the Yorùbá encounter with, and embrace of, Christian enlightenment and European modernity from the 19th to the 20th century, the

3 I thank J.D.Y. Peel for pointing this out. This was based on his ethnographic experience among the Yorùbá. 4 Interestingly enough, the motto of the Awo-led Unity Party of Nigeria, UPN, in the Second Republic, was ‘Light over Nigeria’. 12 Introduction key figures of the Awóló: wò: -led group have constituted an elite in all senses. They aspire to be self-described leaders of the Yorùbá (as well as Nigerian) masses and the torch-bearers of the values of olaju, thus con- necting enlightenment (based on Western education) with emergent local notions and practices of progress, development, modernity and so on. There is, however, a paradox in the Yorùbá social concept and practices of elite within the tradition elaborated by Awóló: wò: . The social basis of this ‘elitism’ and its legitimacy is built on, or connected with, populist, egalitarian and welfarist programmes, which are geared towards generalizing elitism, or at least equipping the masses with the tools of becoming elite themselves. The most demonstrable of such projects is the free and compulsory primary education scheme which was the flagship policy of the Awóló: wò: -led Action Group in the 1950s in the Western Region of Nigeria, and has been repeated since then by every political party claiming Awóló: wò: ’s heritage in the Yorùbá states. There are two implications of this for the sociological concept of the elite and the trajectory of the theory and practice of elites in the Yorùbá context. First, while the non-Marxist Euro-American sociological concept of the elite, from Mosca and Pareto through Wright Mills (1956) to Robert Putnam (1976, 1977) and Tom Bottomore (1993), have emphasized the distinction of the elite from the non-elite – that is, the masses – the Yorùbá concept of the elite in the Awóló: wò: tradition emphasizes the elective affinity of the elite and the masses, and their common destiny.5 Such affinity of interests and homogeneity of collective social aspirations between the elite and the masses which is canvassed by the elite in this context was (or is expected to be) demonstrated every time the members of this elite are in power. Second, even at the best of times in the trajectory of class analysis in Africa, the theory and practice of the elite never went into disrepute in practical Yorùbá politics because the Marxian analysis of the relationship between power and inequality within the state did not hold much appeal for the masses of Yorùbáland.6 Even though Awóló: wò: ’s ideological orientation in the 1950s up to the early 1960s was socialist, he was never Marxian in his attitude to the state. Indeed, for Awóló: wò: and his group, the concept and practice of ‘elite’ was neither antagonistic to the state and its role in society, nor in opposition to democratic pluralism – as

5 Goethe – in his third novel translated to English with this title in 1809 – used this term as a metaphor for ‘marriage’. Max Weber later picked up this concept to formulate a substantial part of what became Weberian sociology. 6 Most Western liberal and radical scholars are united in their belief that, as Shamus Rahman Khan (2012, 362) puts is, ‘elites are the engines of inequality’. Introduction 13 most liberal elite theorists assume. Fundamentally, the Awóló: wò: -led elite approach power as an instrument to reduce, if not end, inequality, rather than as an instrument used by the elite to maintain inequality (cf. Khan 2012, 362). This is why the motto of the Action Group was ‘Freedom for all, life more abundant’. Therefore, the Yorùbá understanding of ‘elite’ combines the sociological approach, which emphasizes the fact that they are the ‘elect’–based on their possession of intellectual capacity (Pareto), skills, organization, moral and material superiority (Mosca) and so on – with the expectation that the elite must always put these capacities to use for the collective good (olaju) in a way that conceptually and practically encourages, and provides the tools (such as education, health services etc.) for many other people to become members of the elite. Thus, while ‘elitism’ has acquired negative connotations in the West (for a review of relevant perspectives, see Khan 2012) and other parts of the world, there is a demonstrable and unending need to link the elite strongly with the masses as a legitimating process in the Yorùbá project of modernity. The reality of elite–mass relationship in Yorùbá politics can therefore be contrasted and compared with the fluctuations in elite-class analysis in social thought in Africa. When elite theory was first applied to Africa in the 1950s and 1960s (Tardits 1958; Smythe and Smythe 1960; Porter 1963; Kuper 1965; Levine 1965; Lloyd 1966a), it coincided with the era of nationalist mobilization for political independence. This was also the era in which Awóló: wò: emerged as a political figure in Yorùbáland and Nigeria. However, as most African countries encountered economic, social and political challenges that led to the collapse of democratic governments and the end of illusions about political independence, elite theory was superseded in scholarly research by class analysis, which became very fashionable (see, for example, Markovits 1977; Mazrui 1978; Sklar 1963, 1978; Anyag’ Nyang’o 1983; Cohen 1972; Kasfir 1983, 1984; Shivji 1976; Fatton 1988). This was particularly so in the decades of the 1970s and 1980s. However, before and even during these decades, some scholars argued that class theory was inappropriate for the analysis of the social and political dynamics on the continent (Lloyd 1966a, 1966b; Tuden and Plotnikov 1970; Goody 1971). Since the 1990s, elite theory has experienced a ‘second coming’ (for examples, see Lentz 1994; Eyoh 1998; Nyamnjoh and Rowlands 1998; Werbner 2004; Francis 2011) against the backdrop of Abner Cohen’s (1981) work, which ‘convincingly rehabilitates the concept of elites’ (Lentz 1994, 151). In his study of Creole civil servants and freemasonry, 14 Introduction

Cohen focuses on the ‘cultural politics’ which maintained the Creole elite as an exclusive corporate group that pursued particularistic interests but sought ‘legitimacy for its high status by assuming universalistic functions’ (Cohen 1981, xii). Cohen explicates how the forms and processes of the mystification of a power cult are not just ‘expressive’ but are essentially instrumental, in that they validate the status of the elite in the eyes of the public and convince the former that they are naturally qualified for their position (ibid., 4). Rather than focus on the postcolonial elite ‘mainly in terms of criteria shared by individuals’–such as income, academic qualifications, friendship, marriage relations, that is, what can be called elite prosopography – Cohen argues strongly that research on African elite should focus on ‘patterns of interaction, cooperation and coordination of corporate activities through communal relationships’ (Cohen 1981, 232; Lentz 1994, 151). Consequently, his work is devoid of any reference to individual or family biographies, personal identities or similar, which constituted the key ingredient of earlier studies of what Cohen calls the ‘dramaturgy of power’. However, overlooking such personal narratives would seem to limit the richness of the analysis of any particular elite formation in the African postcolony. Such accounts, contrary to what Cohen implies, and as I show in this book, are neither unrelated to the question of the ‘patterns of interaction, cooperation and coordination of corporate activities’ nor divorced from the important question of power. Moreover, in Cohen’s treatment of Creole elites in Sierra Leone, he lays all emphasis on how the elite underscored its difference from the non-elite (through, say, the use of English culture/language) and none on the links between the elite and non-elite. But elites are not just divided from the masses: they are regarded by the masses as ‘natural’ leaders, by their superior endowment and shared values. In the Yorùbá case – as I argue and illustrate in this book – the elite leadership of the masses is based on affirming and demonstrating affinity with the masses and constantly arguing for and pursuing how the masses can be provided with the opportunity to become ee-light. In what he calls ‘a public anthropology’ of the ‘exemplary’ postcolonial Kalanga elite in Botswana, Richard Werbner (2004) explicates a version of elite leadership that is different from that popularized by Bayart (1993) and Bayart, Ellis and Hibou (1999) – through the metaphor of the ‘politics of the belly’ and the practices of the ‘criminalization’ of the state. In his study, Werbner (2004, 3) ‘discloses postcolonial wisdom and practice that have largely been ignored in Africanist accounts of the contributions elites make to state and nation building, especially the contributions by Introduction 15 minorities’. While he calls for ‘intimate understanding’ of the elites as subjects of enquiry, Werbner insists that ‘intimate understanding’ can be achieved even while the anthropologist remains ‘engaged in critique’ of the elite. The ‘second coming’ of elite theory coincides with the return of democratic politics in much of Africa. It is interesting that, despite the continuous practical role of the ‘ee-light’ in Yorùbá politics since the early decades of colonial rule (and, in a renewed way, since the last decade of colonialism in Nigeria) as a critical perspective in understanding African politics, the two waves of elite theory also correspond to the two significant phases of Awoist politics in Yorùbáland and Nigeria. The first was during the period of the emergence and eventual victory and crisis of the Egbe Omo Odùduwà and Action Group, respectively, in western Nigeria (1950sto 1960s), and the contemporary revival of both under new names, that is, the Afé:nifé:re–AD/AC/ACN/DPA from the 1990s. These groups and parties all invoke Awóló: wò: as their legitimating exemplar. In this book, I examine both the contemporary struggles among this elite and the historical backdrop of the current dynamics. Here, I attempt to combine my intimate understanding and commitment to the elite I studied with critique. In contrast to Abner Cohen, and more consistently than Richard Werbner, my study of the elite lays emphasis on its agency through history; that is, on how the members of the elite are engaged in making themselves through their leadership role in (re)making the Yorùbá. Therefore, this is a study on how the members of a self-ascribed ethnic elite create themselves through political action and their leadership role; and, through such means, also (re)make the Yorùbá.

agency

Sherry B. Ortner has argued that we ‘could look at the unfolding social and cultural theory over the whole twentieth century and beyond as a struggle over the role of the social being – the person, subject, actor, or agent – in society and history’ (2006, 107). The immediate background to this, as Ortner states, is the emergent theoretical debates and reflections in the second half of the 20th century over the significance of the subject as it is manifested in the philosophical response to Durkheimian theories of social ‘constraint’ and Marxian theories of social ‘determinism’, which were both challenged by Sartrean intervention – which emphasized the primacy of human ‘freedom’ of action (ibid., 108). Contemporary social and cultural theory must be viewed against the backdrop of the debates provoked by 16 Introduction these theoretical standpoints. How can this illuminate our understanding of the interface of structure and agency? Against the backdrop of the classic formulations of ‘structuralists’ (Marx and Durkheim), the reformulation of the Durkheimian and Marxian approaches in the modern orthodoxy of Gidden’s theory of structuration, the critique of this by Margaret Archer (duality–dualism debate), and contemporary anthropological and sociological critiques (Ortner, Sewell, Greenhouse, Emirbayer and Mische etc.) of the earlier perspectives, there is a prevailing consensus in the contemporary literature about the need to place the emphasis on agency even while examining how structures enable or constrain agency. Before the last five decades, the orthodox consensus had subsumed the subject under the object, while structure trumped agency, thus turning actors into either ‘cultural dopes’ (as with Parsons) or ‘structural dopes’ (as with Althusser). The prevailing approach, which recognizes the fundamental ‘active, reflexive character of human conduct’ (Giddens 1984, xvi), and has ‘brought back the acting subject to social theory’ (Ortner 2006, 110), serves as background to the culturally and historically specific analysis of agency and structure in the Yorùbá case. As Margaret Archer puts it, the basic issue in modern social theory has come to be regarded as the ‘problem of structure and agency’ (Archer 1988, ix; cf. Fuchs 2001, 24), even though the relationship between the two remains unresolved. Ortner also concludes that ‘agency is an indispensable theoretical category’ (Ortner 2001, 77). Before her, Dawe declared: ‘Here, then, is the problematic around which the entire history of sociological analysis could be written: the problematic of human agency’ (Dawe 1978, 379). Though Dawe and Ortner do not mention structure, it is implied. In fact, Abrams (1982, xiii) avers that agency is often used to include a concern for structure (Ritzer 1996, 526) and vice versa. The interpretive tradition that has re-emerged from the discipline of anthropology can be said to have revitalized the study of social change, particularly in plural contexts where cultures ‘intersect’ (Greenhouse 1996, 4). The theoretical focus on agency in anthropology – and history (for instance, see Keane 1997) – and the ethnographic inquiries that have resulted from this, key into the basic issues in modern social theory. In this context, anthropological accounts have emphasized the vantage position that people – as subjects of the anthropologist’s enquiry – occupy in terms of how they understand their own world. Consequently, it is the local people’s understanding of agency and their contests over it which (should) Introduction 17 shape the ethnographic frame (Greenhouse 1996, 5), given that cultural constructions determine and define agency and are (re)constructed and defined by agency in turn. However, because of the centrality of the problem of structure and agency in contemporary social theory and social analysis, many theorists within the Euro-American tradition have theor- ized this twin concept either singly or jointly.7 Despite the great deal of weight that Giddens’ influential theory of structuration places on actors as knowledgeable agents, Sewell (1992, 8) argues that Giddens develops no vocabulary for specifying the content of what people know, which is readily available in cultural anthropology. This is because ‘what people know’ is generally regarded as ‘culture’,and anthropologists have engaged with this more than other disciplinary experts. Here, I follow Margaret S. Archer’s(1988, 1995, 2000, 2003) criticism of Giddens’ duality thesis. She argues that structure (and culture) and agency, no matter how intimately intertwined, are analytically distinct (Archer 1988, xiv; Ritzer 1996, 534). Even though they can be conflated in social instances and are mutually interdependent, she disagrees strongly that they presuppose one another, as Giddens argues, or that one can be assumed to overdetermine the other. Archer’s position, to use Rubinstein’s (2001, 13) phrase, is this: ‘interpenetration without conflation’. Archer argues further that, given that structure and agency constitute ‘distinct strata of reality’ and are ‘bearers of different properties and powers’, we need to examine the interplay between them over time. In this book, I explain how culture, context, belief system, political structure, existing patterns of inter-ethnic relations and so on constitute the background that enables or constrains elite actors and their actions within the Yorùbá lifeworld and the larger Nigerian context. The critical theoretical issues raised here include the specification of: (i) how structural and cultural powers impinge upon agents, and, (ii) how agents use their own personal powers to act one way and not the other in particular contexts (Archer 2003, 1–3). Constraint (including ‘sanctions’

7 These include Giddens (1979, 1984) – structuration theory; Archer (1982 and, later, 1988, 1995 2000, 2003) – culture and agency, morphogenetic approach, the problem of agency, and structure, agency and internal conversation; Bourdieu (1977, 1984) – habitus and field; Habermas (1984, 1987) – lifeworld and system; Burns (1986); Burns and Flam (1986); Dietz and Burns (1992) – social rule-system theory; Lukes (1977 [2005]) – power and structure; Abrams (1982) – historical structuring; Touraine (1977) – self-production of society; Crozier and Friedberg (1980) – game-theory approach; Sztompka (1991) – theory of social becoming (see, Ritzer 1996, 527); and Glegg (1989) –‘frameworks of power; and Emirbayer and Mische (1998) –‘what is agency?’; Sherry B. Ortner (2006), ‘practice theory’, etc. 18 Introduction and ‘restrictions’)orenablement (including ‘approval’ and ‘encourage- ment’) are the two possibilities that result from the first (cf. Sewell 1992, 27). However, these two possibilities can also be regarded as conditioned by the presence of an actor who contemplates or is capable of contemplat- ing a particular course of action (Archer 2003, 4). As will become evident in the following chapters, for Awóló: wò: , Yorùbá history, culture and social practices constituted both constraints as well as enablement. He subsequently used the cultural legitimacy and political power that he acquired to mobilize and/or reconstruct existing sanctions and restrictions of the history, culture and social practices. Also, he used his agency to open up and construct new practices of social and political approval and encourage- ment for emergent institutions and social practices, some of which were conflated with ‘modernity’. Therefore, as a leader, he was responsible simultaneously for continuity as well as for change in culture, social practices and politics. In the explication of how structure relates to agency in the Yorùbá lifeworld, I examine how Awóló: wò: (and later Afé:nifé:re politicians) are seen initially as products of ‘structure’ (including ‘culture’, history, context, colonial experience etc.), but subsequently as people who became, in a fundamental sense, ‘agents’, acting on the past and existing realities in remaking (wo)men and their society. While the ‘material ends of politics’ for the Yorùbá agents are so contemporary, at the same time – as J.D.Y. Peel demonstrates in the case of the Ijeshas – they are constantly engaged in the process of showing continuity with the past (Peel 1983, 16). Here I adopt Mustafa Emirbayer and Ann Mische’sdefinition of agency, which takes on board many of the concepts and practices of agency:

[Agency is] temporally embedded process of social engagement, informed by the past (in its habitual aspects), but also oriented toward the future (as a capacity to imagine alternative possibilities) and towards the present (as a capacity to con- textualize past habits and future projects within the contingencies of the moment). (Emirbayer and Mische 1998, 963)

Also, using the perspectives of the American anthropologist, Ortner (2001) – in her important critique of the Comaroffs’ magnum opus, Of Revelation and Revolution (volumes 1 and 2)(1991 and 1997) – I elaborate an approach to agency that brings out two further modalities: (i) it is always intentional, in that it is an attempt to realize purposes and desires; and, as a corollary of this, (ii) it often involves the exercise of power, thus constituting an attempt not only to shape the behaviour of other people, but also to transform society as a whole. I illustrate how the precepts and Introduction 19 practices of Yorùbá cultural and political organization initially determined the existing forms of agency, and how the power and practices of agents affect and change, in important respects, the precepts and practices of existing cultural and structural bases of Yorùbáness in late 20th- and early 21st-century Nigeria.

corporate agency of an elite

How do particular elite groups maintain their position of domination? How do they organize against competing groups of elites? What are the means and methods of elite cultural reproduction? How are persons endowed with, or how do persons endow themselves with, the critical forms of agency that make, and keep, them (as) members of the elite? How can members of an elite aggregate their different agencies into a collective agency? And, how is collective agency represented as corporate agency? While agency is a common human attribute, given the communal nature of African political societies and the fact that elites are seen as particularly ‘agentive’,8 I suggest that contemporary political–cultural agency is largely social and collective – what Archer calls ‘corporate agency’. This is so because, one, the mobilizations and remobilizations of resources through political–cultural agency are ‘always acts of communication with others and against others, to form collective projects, to persuade, [and] to coerce’; and, two, individual agency depends on the position of the individual in collective organizations, thus making the exercise of individual agency collective in both its sources and its mode of exercise (Sewell 1992, 21; cf. Archer 2000, 11). Yet, I show in this book that a particular individual agency may be so profoundly critical that it not only (re-) inaugurates the collective project, it also becomes a metonymy for collective agency. In other words, the exercise of personal agency over a longue durée can be appropriated by, and become symbolic of, collective agency. However, ‘corporate’ agency and ‘collective’ agency are not necessarily equivalent terms.9 A corporate group, even though composed of individuals, has a deﬁnite bounded character that makes it act like a super- individual. This is what is called a corporation in law. In anthropology, the classic ‘corporate group’ is the unilineal descent group, which often

8 I thank J.D.Y. Peel for pointing out this out strongly. 9 Again, I thank J.D.Y. Peel for pointing this out and insisting on a nuanced splitting and reconciliation of both forms of agency. 20 Introduction speaks with one voice on behalf of the group. In traditional Yorùbá polity, there are some groups which can also be described as corporate groups. One such is the iwarefa mefa, the six collegial chiefs, who are expected to represent their opinion in the affairs of the ilu (town, or polity) as a single voice. They represent a corporate group, par excellence. However, a collectivity, in comparison with a corporate group, is not as precise or bounded, and is not a jural domain based on rights and obligations. A collectivity is also more fluid. Therefore, a collectivity does not attain the status of a super-individual. The Awóló: wò: group is corporate in the sense that it struggles to have a bounded character and perpetually attempts to act like a super-individual. Anthropological studies of the elites of identity groups – such as Cohen’s study of the Creole elite of Sierra Leone and Werbner’s study of the Kalanga elite of Botswana – often approach such elite more as a collective than as corporate groups. Even though Cohen attempts to treat the Creole elite as a corporate group by emphasizing the rituals through which they try to ‘corporatize’ themselves, thus not sufficiently individu- alizing them, I show in this book that it is possible to individualize the elite and yet examine their elaborate attempts at corporatizing themselves. Following Margaret Archer (2000, 260), I show how society impinges upon the individual, which leads to the development of primary agency, and how primary agents develop corporate agency by collectively transforming themselves through seeking to transform society. The group that I examine in this book is certainly a collectivity. However, one of the most salient aspirations of the group since its founding is to convert its collective agency to corporate agency on behalf of (and by transforming) the Yorùbá; to turn a historically flexible identity into a more rigid and more fixed identity. There are three ways in which this fundamental push towards corporate agency manifests itself: (i) the appeal of secrecy and secret societies, such as the Reformed Ogboni Fraternity (ROF),10 the Ancient and Mystical Order Rosæ Crucis (AMORC), also called the Rosicrucian Order,11 and

10 ROF, a ‘modern’, Christianized version of the traditional Yorùbá ogboni cult, was founded in 1918 in Lagos by a Yorùbá Christian, Venerable Rev. T.A.J. Ogunbiyi. Its original name was Egbe Ogboni Onigbagbo (Ogboni Fraternity of the Christians). It later admitted non-Christians who embraced ‘a non-idolatrous belief in God’. 11 Awóló: wò: and other key members of his group were/are members of the Rosicrucian Order. Introduction 21

others,12 for Yorùbá politicians. Even though this is based on the tradition in the Yorùbá past in which every person who holds an important position in the ilu must belong to one or more secret cult(s), not all Awóló: wò: associates are members of secret societies, thus limiting the appeal of secrecy/secret societies as a basis for grounding the corporate agency; (ii) the conceptualization of the Yorùbá as Omo Odùduwà (Odùduwà’s children – and, by that fact, Awóló: wò: ’s children too), thus producing a ﬁctive corporate group, to which every Yorùbá belongs by means of descent from a common ancestor; and (iii) the use of a larger-than-life individual, Awóló: wò: , who is constructed as the ur-Yorùbá, which thus gives a super-individual character to the collective aspiration of the elite on behalf of the Yorùbá masses. Corporate agency is therefore an unending aspiration that is perpetually approached as if it were real in the here and now. This book explores such politics of corporate agency and the challenges and crisis that this form of agency invokes. Ultimately, the analysis of the ethnographic materials shows that while the assumptions of corporate agency are quite strong among the elite, the solidary unity that they project often breaks down. The examples of iconic politics surrounding Awóló: wò: , which are produced from this form of corporate agency, are not only about how a dead leader has been apotheosized by a political elite – with the support of the mass of the people – but also about the actual consequences of the struggle for power that are (de)constructed, provoked, contested or leveraged by such politics among the elite. In this historical and ethnographic account, I narrate the ways in which Awóló: wò: is constructed as the ur-Yorùbá as well as the Yorùbá ur-elite, through examining the processes by which the mystique of eliteness is cultivated over time, and how such a mystique can survive the referent. Furthermore, I seek to examine how a singular life ‘can be mapped onto a collective political life, the life of a nation or of a people whose oneness is meant to be unquestionable’ (Murray 2006, 192) – despite the fact such ‘oneness’ has been questioned both during the lifetime of the man himself and continues to be so after his death.

12 As I point out in the following chapters, leaders of the group are known to be members of many secret cults. 22 Introduction

As an exemplar and referent, one used and misused for the symbolic and material struggle for power in Yorùbáland in particular, and Nigeria in general, Awóló: wò: is differently deployed as a ‘corporation’, contra-Maine (1931) – that is, a classical anthropological conception – and more in the slightly altered Parsonian-Weberian sense. Awóló: wò: is also used and, sometimes, misused, as a referent for the Yorùbá, the dominant Yorùbá political elite, or the progressive political movement in Yorùbáland and Nigeria. In this context, Awóló: wò: is not merely an individual, but a symbol of corporate agency in the sense of Weber’s concept of verband – ‘corporate group’ (Weber 1947, 145). Etymologically, verband,in German, means a ‘bandage’, ‘link’ or ‘relation’. Against this backdrop, I argue that Awóló: wò: is used by members of the Yorùbá political elite as the bandage, the link that relates the past, present and future of the real and imagined Yorùbá nation – and, by extension, a ‘more perfect’ Nigeria. As a representation or the condensed version of the corporate group, in the Parsonian-Weberian sense, the cult of Awóló: wò: also practically represents a closed group – governed by a ‘chief’ and some elect who serve as the ‘administrators’–admission into which is conditioned by set rules. This fits the Parsonian-Weberian conception of ‘ corporation’ as ‘one specific kind of corporate group’ (Parsons, in Weber 1947, 145) displaying the following characteristics: ‘closedness, an internal set of institutionalized norms, and a norm-enforcing sub-group of leaders headed by a single individual’ (Dow 1973, 905) – which Abner Cohen (1981) emphasizes as ‘particularism’. However, because of the ‘egalitarian ethos’ on which this corporate group was founded and on which the group continues to legitimize itself and Awóló: wò: , the ‘closedness’, in terms of organization for power, paradoxically transforms into openness in terms of the promises of ‘freedom for all, and life more abundant’–as the motto of Awóló: wò: ’s first political party described the group’s raison d’être. This, I argue, fits the sense in which Cohen uses the term ‘universalism’. As Cohen (1981, xiii) argues, ‘To carry out its universalistic functions, i.e., its services to the public, an elite is forced to organize itself particularistically, to keep itself in existence, and enhance its image. Conversely, an initially particularistic elite is forced to seek legitimacy for its high status by assuming universalistic functions.’ With Awóló: wò: ’s death in 1987, the daily and unending struggle to claim, and/or succeed to, his legacy, creed, position, authority, aura or eliteness, has been central to understanding the politics of Yorùbáland. The struggle is not just internal to the individuals and group(s) that lay claim to the consolidation and expansion of Awo’s creed and the politics of Introduction 23 succession, it is also external to such group(s), in terms of their relationship with those regarded as anti-Awo (that is, conservative) politicians and other ethno-national or political groups, in competition with the Yorùbá in general, or in competition with the Yorùbá progressive political elite in particular. No doubt, tension sits at the heart of a corporation or corporate agency. Cultural and political forms of corporate agency are particularly tension soaked. Attempts to impose a singularity or one-dimensional meaning on corporate agency are perpetually contested and they often betray paradoxes and contradictions, in representation or symbolism and doctrine, as well as in actual practice – both internally and externally. This work examines the dynamics of this tension within the Yorùbá context, reveal- ing how Yorùbáness was made, unmade and remade within the historical trajectory of elite politics. In this, I seek to reflect the various ways in which the elite, and the structures they construct, attempt to maintain – and respond to the challenges of – stability, coherence and continuity, while daily and constantly experiencing ‘shifting loyalties, shifting alliances, and above all shifting categories [in the struggle] for power, resources and legitimacy’ (Ortner 2006, 53). What can an anthropological account of the Yorùbá power elite contribute to our understanding of elites and political culture? As part of the attempts to correct the dearth of anthropological study of national elites in Africa, and the attempts to reverse the historical suspicion of elites, particularly in the literature on Africa, this book investigates the politico-cultural foundations of the legitimacy of Afé:nifé:re, the dominant group of the Yorùbá political elite, which is organized around the ideas and cultural representations of a recent ancestor and central signifier of Yorùbáness in the 20th century and beyond. Based on an ethnographically rich study spanning about six years, and focusing on the internal politics of a dominant group – including the ‘dramas’ which betray their ‘intentions, desires, fears, projects’ (Ortner 2006, 62) – this book explores the construction, reconstruction and deconstruction of Yorùbáness in contemporary Nigeria. The rivalries and competition among the different ethnic groups within postcolonial states in Africa have produced interesting forms of struggles for power within and outside the elite groups that claim to represent the groups. The political elite of these ethnic groups use different kinds of cultural rules and resources in organizing for power. The structure and agency of the organized elite groups and their individual leaders are central to understanding contemporary political formations in the African 24 Introduction postcolony. My research shows that the mystique of eliteness is cultivated or constructed over time and is based on specific cultural ideals which are generally accepted as fundamental. I therefore explore the practices and conditions through which members of the group struggle for, get or lose cultural legitimacy and power. The study also challenges the tendency in the anthropological literature to define ‘social structure’ and ‘culture’ in contrasting terms to ‘agency’, through an emphasis on the dynamic interactions between culture, structure and agency. Based on a conception of agency as a cultural concept in specific historical terms and within specific social structures, this study elaborates what an anthropological account of the Yorùbá elite can contribute to an understanding of Yorùbá politics and culture in particular, and the power elite in Africa in general.

methodological question

This is a study of the Yorùbá power elite, the members of which number a few hundreds. This would be too large a group, ordinarily, to be studied ‘holistically’ within the methodological tradition of social anthropology (see Cohen 1981, xix). But my focus on the ‘core’ of the elite and on specific patterns of action and symbolization make this study practicable. The relation of such a sectional group to the wider social system into which it is incorporated will be the focus of the study, rather than the whole group itself. Therefore, the methodological problems which might arise from studying such a large group is transcended by isolating, defining and analysing the culture and politics of a small elite within a large ethnic group in an even larger country. Thus, I am able to provide a holistic analysis of a complex society by focusing on processes within quite a small group of elite politicians. In doing this, I follow the methodological path that Abner Cohen (1981) took in his study of the Creole elite of Sierra Leone. This involves a combination of two lines of enquiry. The first involves the observation of visible patterns of symbolic formation and action. This is based on the assumption that the significance, currency and power of symbols depend on their adoption by a group of people for whom they constitute ‘collective representations’. I proceed by identifying such a group and unravelling the interests that group members share (Cohen 1981, 18). The second approach is to start from the other end: by identifying the group. The assumption that underlies this is that if the interests of the group are significant, then it will have some basic organizational mechanism to Introduction 25 coordinate and enhance group members’ activities and actions, in order to promote these interests. This way, the group will be defined in terms of the two dimensions of culture and power. A lot of illumination is thrown on these methodological issues through the study of the elite group ‘devel- opmentally’, that is, through prolonged contact, with attention paid as much to continuities as to discontinuities. I observed and interacted closely with the members of the elite so as to provide an overall perspective on their lives. Where my study is very different from Cohen’s is that there is hardly any history in his, except a little by way of background. He gives an ethnography of Creole social life; I take such for granted. I write as an insider, and give cultural reflections in the context of a narrative organization in a strongly historical way. I give lots of names; Cohen gives hardly any. His account is pretty static and generalized, while mine is dynamic and particularized. Part of the reason for this is that, as Laura Nader (1972) long proposed to anthropologists, while focusing on the ‘examination of the systems and relations of power that are not always visible to the naked eye’ (Shore 2002, 18), I did not over-privilege participant observation. Even though anthropology was built on ‘classic, exotic, other-cultural experience’ (Messerschmidt 1981, 3), Harry F. Wolcott (1981, 265) has argued that ‘ethnographic research carried out in one’s own society may be the sine qua non for anthropology itself’. However, as a member of the culture on which this work is based, I was aware of the opportunities as well as the challenges of conducting a research on my people – a subject on which many anthropologists have commented (see, for instance, Messerschmidt 1981; Wallcott 1981; Chaudhry 1997; Bourgois 2008). I was able to gain access to information and interpretations as an ‘insider’ which might not be available to an ‘outsider’. The strength of this is that I am able to understand some of the complexities which might not be accessible to an ‘outsider’; thus, I present a less ‘exotic’ view of this culture. As Ndalwel Nziem (1986) argues, an ‘insider ’ has a double role as ‘observer and actor’ (see also Merton 1972). But I am, to some extent, also an ‘outsider’ by the very fact of being a scholar and researcher. Against this backdrop, in writing this book, I pay great attention to the challenges of interpretation and mediation (Korieh 2010, 21–2; Nnaemeka 1998, 2). The methods of gathering data include participant and non-participant observation, ethnographic interviews and archival/library–historical research. These methods are enhanced by my own political reflexivity, which ethnographers of elite politics have come to emphasize (Shore 2002; cf. Ortner 2006, 82). Sherry B. Ortner describes such political 26 Introduction reflexivity as ‘critical interpretive frames’, that is, ‘models, metaphors, arguments, and accounts that attempt to stand outside “data”’ (ibid., 105). Prior to the formal study of the elite, I spent at least fifteen years interacting with members of the group, formally and informally, through my work as a political journalist. This afforded me critical insights into the ways and manner in which the group and its members operate. I also gained closeness to, and the confidence of, many of the members of this group. Studies of elites are often impaired by the fact that their inner core can be inaccessible. This was not a problem in this case. Initially, I spent no less than fourteen months continuously in the field in the Yorùbá area of Nigeria, which comprises six states, between June 2005 and September 2006. Apart from this, I returned regularly to the field between 2006 and 2012. I attended meetings of the Afé:nifé:re and participated in its other activities and festivities. I was allowed to attend some of the caucus meetings of the group, which is its highest decision-making organ. Apart from this, I became close to the leading members of the group and regularly interacted with them in their homes and in public places. By 2008, I had become sufficiently close to members that I was appointed for a brief period (between August and November 2008) as the interim executive director of the Yorùbá Academy and later, in 2009, as a member of the governing board of the Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: Institute of Government and Public Policy (OAIGPP). In the course of the research for this book, I conducted several in-depth oral interviews with members of the group and others who have deep knowledge of Yorùbá culture and politics. Also, I secured access to rare materials from the personal libraries of several key members of the group. This was supplemented with archival materials in libraries and archives in Nigeria. These materials included group documents and members’ personal papers – such as constitutions, position papers, minutes of meetings,personalletters,personaldiaries, newspapers, journals and so on – and books written on the group and by group members. I also examined biographies and autobiographies, which contain a mine of informationonhowactorsplacethemselvesinrelationtoothersand the group, and their roles in (re-)constituting the group’ssignificant and prestige in relation to the ideas of personhood in the context of Yorùbá society. Much of the data, understandably, came from newspapers and news magazines, because members of the group not only own some of these, and have regular columns in the press, but are also constantly interviewed and written about in the press. Some of them are editors of some news organs. Introduction 27

Indeed, the press in Nigeria, variously called the ‘Ngbati press’,13 or ‘Lagos-Ibadan media axis’, is assumed to pander to the political interests of the progressive (Awóló: wò: ) faction of the Yorùbá power elite. As Sherry B. Ortner (2006, 81) reminds us, ‘Ethnographers’“data” are part of the journalists stories; [and] journalists’ reporting is part of the public culture and thus part of the ethnographic data.’ Within the Marxian paradigm of the ruling ideas being the ideas of the ruling class, elite theorists have also alerted us to the ways in which the elite ‘consciously construct and prop- agate its ideological defense’ through the communications media. Thus, ‘(t) hrough these media the elite ... spread the values and principles which implicitly legitimize [their] position’ (Parry 1959, 57). Given the importance of the ‘discursive frameworks’ (Shore 2002, 3) in the legitimation of this elite, intensive analysis of the published texts also provides valuable perspectives on elite mentality (Marcus 1983, 32). And, as Michael Herzﬁeld (1992, 132) writes, newspapers represent ‘the national level of discourse most clearly analogous with the play of gossip and reputation in the local community’. Unlike in the usual turf of ethnographers, studying the elite could mean that the ‘anthropologist’s traditional role is ... reversed from one of domination to one of a relation of dependency and supplication’ (Konrad 2002, 240). Therefore, for the most part, I could not look down on my subjects – most of whom stand above me in many ways – to analyse and theorize them, as ethnographers are often accused of doing. But because I am a product of the same culture as my subjects – what Jonathan Spencer (1990 , 288, 290) may be taken to have described as an anthropologist who is ‘arguing within the same world’ as his subjects – I suspect that this account has the associated strengths and weaknesses of such an enquiry. While I have mentioned some of the strengths, the major weakness, I suspect, would be that I could have taken some things for granted. However, since I was conscious of this, I tried as much as I could to pay enough attention so that I would not miss important issues.

organization of the book

This book is organized into two time periods. In Part One, including Chapters 1 and 2, the remembered and imagined time include a brief

13 Ngbati is a slightly derogatory metaphor for the Yorùbá, used principally by the Igbo. It is based on the view that the Yorùbá, in explaining things, often preface this with ‘ngbati ...’ (‘when’ or ‘after’). 28 Introduction history of the Yorùbá, the emergence of Awo as a political leader in the 1940s, his time in political office as the leader of government business, premier of Western Region and leader of opposition (1951–60), his fall from power and imprisonment (1962–6), his return to influence during military rule and popular recognition as the leader of the Yorùbá (1966 to 1970s), his achievement of electoral supremacy in Yorùbáland in the Second Republic and his final eclipse (1978–87). Part Two, which includes Chapters 3–7, contains the real time of the analysis, which runs from the immediate post-Awo period to the present day. However, throughout both Parts One and Two, the agents’ actions, based on their perception and articulation of the distant and recent past of the Yorùbá, are connected. Therefore, there are some overlaps in some sections as the agents move forward by looking back. Indeed, the relationship between these two parts is what this book is about, because ‘time period 2’ is enclosed within ‘time period 1’; the latter is the background to the former, while the former involves the elaborate attempts to use the latter to transform not only Yorùbáland but also Nigeria. ‘Time period 2’ begins after Awo’s death and in an era in which his memory was partially eclipsed, as the Yorùbá and Nigeria faced uncertain times, while his political heirs in the Afé:nifé:re struggled over the true custodian(s) and interpreter(s) of his heritage. The abortive attempts to return to full democratic politics between 1989 and 1998, and the eventual return to democratic politics in 1999, particularly the latter, intensified the relevance of Awo’s memory. This was challenged by the coming to power of an anti- Awoist party, the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) at the federal level since 1999 in the Yorùbá states between 2003 and 2011.By2010, with the new wave of national crises, which led to renewed calls for the convocation of a sovereign national conference to reassess the basis of national unity in Nigeria, the evident weaknesses of the ruling PDP and the ‘recapture’ of most Yorùbá states by the Awoist Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN), Awo’s heritage became even more central than ever before. His ideas about how to politically (re)organize Nigeria, first elaborated in his book, Path to Nigerian Freedom (1947), has re-energized those claiming his heritage, as Nigeria moves towards the centenary of the British amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates to make one Nigerian state. PART ONE

Elite Agency: The Making of a Modern Progenitor

The active man of politics is a creator, an innovator. But he neither creates from nothing nor does he move in the turbid void of his own particular desires and dreams. He bases himself on the effective reality, but what is this effective reality? Is it something static and immobile, or is it not rather a relation of forces in continuous movement and change of equilibrium? To apply one’s will to the creation of a new equilibrium among the forces that really exist and are operative ... one moves within the terrain of effective reality ...in order to dominate and transcend it

Gramsci, Quaderni del carcer: Critical edition of the Gramsci Institute, ed. Valentino Gerratana (Turin: Einaudi, 1975), vol. 3: 1577–1578

[Human beings] are a ‘becoming’, ineradicably rooted in the historical process. Indeed, human beings are history, both as actors who through their practical activities make history, and as thinkers who contemplate themselves in history Benedetto Fontana, On the Relationship between Gramsci and Machiavelli: Hegemony and Power (Minneapolis: University of Minnestoa Press, 1993), 1

introduction

The mystique of eliteness is a quality that is cultivated or constructed over time. In this chapter, I trace the historical and cultural contexts in which the man, Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: – around whom this ‘cult of power’, Afé: nifé: re, coheres, and in whom the very mystique of this elite ultimately inheres – rose to politico-cultural prominence and power. This is a historical chapter that attempts to set the context in which the current struggle

31 32 Part One for cultural and political power among the members of the elite can be understood. The central questions here are: how did Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: become the ‘Modern Odùduwà’, the ur-Yorùbá, and the central signiﬁer of Yorùbáness in the 20th century and beyond? What were the structural conditions that might have facilitated or otherwise impeded the meteoric rise of his particular agency? Given the struggle for the ‘Mantle of Awo’ that is chronicled in Chapter 2–7, it is important to set a background for how that mantle was (and is, continuously) (re)constituted and how it achieved its political and cultural primacy among the Yorùbá. This is done against the backdrop of the continuing debates in the literature on the interactions of structure, culture and agency.

the yoru` ba´ case study

In this chapter, I examine the process by which Awo’s life and actions were generalized – to use Marshall Sahlins’ words in Island of History (1985, 11) – as ‘the form and destiny’ of the Yorùbá nation, based on a form of cultural politics that ‘produces great men, even geniuses, by transforming the intelligent acts of individuals into fateful outcomes for the society’ (Sahlins 1985, 41), even beyond the lifetime of such a great man. The common Yorùbá identity, which Awo and his group re-created and which members of his group still struggle to maintain and sustain, raises interesting theoretical and empirical questions for the researcher. The era of the struggle for independence in Africa also witnessed a signiﬁcant struggle to take over power on the basis of ethnic identity. These struggles were organized not only against colonial rule, but also against other competing ethnic identities. The latter was folded into the ﬁrst and overriding struggle – against colonial rule – given the fact that none of the competing ethnic nationalities and groups was aiming at a postcolonial situation in which ‘external colonialism’ would be replaced with ‘internal colonialism’. The dominant Yorùbá power elite in contemporary Nigeria is a good example of such ethnic nationalities struggling against what they consider as an attempt at ‘internal colonialism’ by rival ethnic groups. This is to be expected, given the fact that the present-day Yorùbá area is so large and diverse – about 40 million people spread over more than 50, 000 square miles.1 The Yorùbá constitute one of the largest ethnic groups in Africa. They are also to be found in Republic of Benin, Togo and Sierra Leone in West Africa and many of their descendants are

1 Even the population, it must be said, is controversial. Elite Agency 33

figure 2. Awóló: wò: (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) widespread in the Atlantic diaspora, in the diaspora in the Americas, particularly Brazil and Cuba.2 In 1945, a group of Yorùbá intellectuals and professionals – who later became politicians – organized around Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: and founded in London the ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà (Society for the Descendants of Odùduwà). Odùduwà is widely regarded as the progenitor of the Yorùbá. The group was later assumed to have metamorphosed into the political party Action Group (AG) (see Figure 2). When the military took over power in 1966 both groups were banned. In the military transition politics of the late 21st century, the Ẹgbẹ re-emerged, this time as Ẹgbẹ Afé:nifé:re, claiming to be a ‘born again’ ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà. Ẹgbẹ Afé:nifé:re also metamorphosed into a political party, the Alliance for Democracy (AD), even though it also continues to exist as the self-ascribed

2 Works that discuss the Yorùbá history, traditions, cultures include those by Ajisafẹ (1924); ˙ Bascom (1969); Fadipe (1970); Ajayi and Smith (1971); Akintoye (1971); Ajayi (1974); Eades (1980); Awe (1967); Biobaku (1973); Akinjọgbin (2002). 34 Part One cultural high command of the Yorùbá, of which the AD – and later the Democratic People’s Alliance (DPA) – was only a political instrument. I examine how the recruitment of members of this elite from one culture group with a ready-made symbolic system (Cohen 1981, xvii) has helped in adapting the culture to the emergent interests of the elite group in a way that gave rise to dialectical relations between power and culture. The ways in which the Yorùbá inscribed themselves and their worldview in the colonial, and later postcolonial, asymmetry of power in Nigeria, is set here within the context of Awóló: wò: ’s – and his political and cultural associates’–attempt to culturally homogenize the Yorùbá. The category of Yorùbá that emerged from this attempt is the object of my enquiry. This account aims to contribute to the understanding of African elites by exploring how the elites operate in terms of ‘the inner worlds of meaning and practice that define and sustain [their] elite [identity], the cultural mechanisms used to maintain their status, and the way the elites relate to, and are embedded within, wider socio-economic and political processes’ (Shore 2002, 14). The literature on the Yorùbá is robust and rich. One of the interesting things about the Yorùbá is that a major chunk of this literature is also written by the Yorùbá themselves, so much so that Andrew Apter (1992, 3) states that ‘for many decades it has not been possible or conscionable for non-Yorùbá scholars to write “about” or “for” the Yorùbá, but rather with the Yorùbá, within a complex discursive field’. The Yorùbá have been established by Western scholars, since A.B. Ellis (1894) and Leo Frobenius (1913 [1968]), as a locus classicus of African ‘civilization’ and philosophical achievement (Apter 1992, 2). In this, they drew parallels with ancient Greece and Rome and traced dubious origins from ancient Egypt. Yorùbá proto-nationalists appropriated this discourse in establishing a noble ethnic pedigree in colonial and postcolonial Nigeria with the genealogy persisting among the Yorùbá elite to date (Apter 1992, 2–3). Contemporary examples of this can be found in a book by Sir Ọlanihun Ajayi, one of the key Awóló: wò: associates and one of the leaders of Afé:nifé:re, entitled This House of Odùduwà Must Not Fall (2005), where it is affirmed that ‘(the Yorùbá) are a special race called upon by the creator and their progenitor to set an example for humanity and to lead the world’ (Ajayi 2005, 1). The anthropological literature on the Yorùbá is particularly relevant for my task here. Although some of the works do not necessarily focus on or make explicit use of concepts such as ‘elite’ or ‘agency’ and ‘structure’, the ethnographies and analyses illuminate our understanding of these concepts Elite Agency 35 in regard to contemporary Yorùbáland. While claiming not to belittle contributions of major theorists in an attempt at ‘de-essentializing what should remain heuristic concepts of social structure and towards re- theorizing the significance of agency’, Apter attempts to avoid ‘the dialectical tautologies which plague such mediating concepts as Pierre Bourdieu’s “habitus” or Anthony Giddens’s “structuration”’, concepts which, he argues, ‘by presupposing the objective structures which agents actively reproduce, forsake any explanatory power’ (Apter 1992, 6). Apter adopts a hermeneutical focus that addresses this by examining how indigenous forms of knowledge and power constitute the critical conditions of social reproduction and change (Apter 1992, 7).3 On his part, J.D.Y. Peel (2000) argues convincingly in Religious Encounter and the Making of the Yorùbá that critical to the making of Yorùbá identity in the 20th century has been the reconfiguration of Yorùbáness around Christianity, and the associated discourses of enlightenment, development and civilization (olaju), conditioned by the intrusion of Christianity into Yorùbáland in the context of 19th-century disruption and violence (Adebanwi 2005). For Peel, the adoption of Christianity remains the key factor in ‘transformingYorùbá identity in a single seamless process’, so much so that the ‘notion of a shared Yorùbá identity’ is a ‘direct corollary of the project of Christian evangelism’–of the ‘invention’ or ‘imagining’ of a unified Yorùbá people through the imaginative projects of early Christian Yorùbá themselves (Peel 2000, 8, 26). Reflecting on the movement of ‘cultural nationalism’ in Yorùbáland between the 1880sand First World War, when – in response to new levels of racial discrimination, social exclusion and the disparagement of indigenous culture in the colonial project – educated or ‘bourgeois’ Africans reasserted their dignity as a race/nation by returning to their ‘roots’. Peel, following Ayandele (1966), notes that a paradox was inherent in this (Adebanwi 2005, 341). The emergent cultural nationalism involved ‘contradictory impulses’ given that it validated African tradition and yet promoted the assimilation of European modernity (Peel 2000, 280; cf. Peel 1978). The contradictory impulses that Peel noted resulted from the totality of the attempts at what Sherry B. Ortner (2001, 76) describes as ‘cultural reworking of missionary ideas and projects’. In her review of the Comaroffs’ landmark ‘rapprochement between anthropology and history’ (Merry 2003, 460), Of Revelation and Revolution, volume 2 (1997), a book that engages with Christianity, colonialism, forms of consciousness

3 For a critique of Apter’s work, see Peel (1994). 36 Part One and the contemporary consequences of this in a South Africa frontier, Ortner (2001, 78) points out that within the ‘complex dialogics of the colonial encounter’ between the Tswana and the European missionaries, the former were able to ‘rework’‘western cultural forms even as they seemed to yield to them’. Even though the ‘agency’ involved on both sides – between the Tswana and the European Methodist missionaries or, say, between the Yorùbá and the European Church Missionary Society (CMS) – was asymmetrical, specific kinds of agencies existed even on the side of the dominated, which (re)appropriated the effects of the encounter on the local culture. While he does not deny the role of Christianity in constituting Yorùbá identity, David Laitin, in his 1986 work on Yorùbá political action, is concerned with how cultural identities become markers for collective political action and the ‘non-politicization of religious differentiation’ (Laitin 1986, 97). He argues that, in the context of Nigerian politics, Muslim and Christian Yorùbá see themselves culturally and essentially as Yorùbá rather than as Muslims or Christians. Laitin’s work does not capture recent transformations (beyond the 1990s). In the post-1990s Yorùbá lifeworld, Jacob Olupona, a leading scholar on Yorùbá religion, argues that Laitin’s conclusion ‘can no longer be supported’ (Olupona 2011, 287). Interestingly enough, Olupona’s 2011 work, like Laitin’s, is based on research conducted in Ile-Ife. But unlike Laitin, who focuses exclusively on Christianity and Islam in Ile-Ife, Olupona considers both religions alongside Yorùbá religions (orisa worship). However, Laitin’s work points to an important perspective in which ‘tradition’ or ‘culture’ is less a constraint on action than a resource for political engineering in Yorùbá politics. Thus, Laitin emphasizes the political instrumentalization of Yorùbá ‘culture’ (Adebanwi 2005). In this book, I push this further by examining the interactions of structure, culture and agency in the construction of public and private relationships within the Yorùbá political elite and the forms of Yorùbáness, a ‘modern’, yet ‘traditional’ identity, and the practices that manifest from these relationships. However, unlike the Comarrofs’ focus (in Of Revelation and Revolution) on the history of culture, I am concerned with how to understand the social and political history of persons and events against the background of the uses and misuses of the history and politics of culture. In this book, I combine a synchronic examination of the structure and agency of the Yorùbá power cult with the analysis of the historical processes that (re)produce the cult. This approach is embedded within the framework of practice theories which are concerned with ‘the mediation Elite Agency 37 between conscious intention and embodies habituses, between conscious motives and unexpected outcomes, between historically marked individuals and events on the one hand, and the cumulative reproductions and transformations that are the results of everyday practices on the other’ (Ortner 2001, 77). Despite almost five decades that separated the formation of the Ẹgbẹ Ọmọ Odùduwà and Ẹgbẹ Afé:nifé:re (1945/48–1992/98. See Chapters 1 and 3 for further details) and the many fundamental changes that have occurred in the social, economic and political spheres of the Nigerian state, the basic structure and the logic of agency of the dominant Yorùbá power elite appear not have changed significantly, even though the overriding motif of this cult of power is the transformation of the position and power of the Yorùbá within or beyond the Nigerian state. As Clifford Geertz (1993 [1973], 341) has noted, anthropology is ideally placed to determine the ‘precise ideological contribution of politics past to politics present’–in this case, among the Yorùbá. The anthropological literature on the Yorùbá is yet to sufficiently focus on Awóló: wò: as the Yorùbá ur-elite, the Yorùbá ‘exemplar’ or avatar of Odùduwà. The man has been described by the literary scholar and essayist Adebayọ Williams as ‘a constellation of emeriti’ (Williams 2004, 3,and someone whose natural endowments are assumed to be as great as to constitute a ‘genetic scandal’ (ibid.). This oversight in the literature was in spite of the fact that Awo’s life, death, and continued political life after death, have been generalized, by most Yorùbá and in the lay literature (e.g. Jakande, 1966; Ajayi, 2005; Oshun, 2005; Ogunsawo, 2009; Olutoye, 2010), as an embodiment of the form and destiny of the Yorùbá nation. A major exception to this oversight in the academic literature is Insa Nolte’s Obafemi Awolowo and the Making of Remo: The Local Politics of a Nigerian Nationalist (2009). Nolte examines the interplay of ‘the historical process by which a particular and distinctive region of Yorùbáland – Remo – has been continuously formed and re-formed as a political community’ (Nolte 2009, 1)and‘the crucial role played in Remo politics [by] its most notable citizen’, Awóló: wò: ,as‘a product and producer of Remo politics’. However, while it situates Awóló: wò: in larger Yorùbá and nationalist politics, Obafemi Awolowo and the Making of Remo is primarily about the local politics of a regionalist and nationalist politician. My book focuses rather on the ethno-nationalist politics of Awóló: wò: as he is represented by the members of the political elite, his political associates and those who claim to be his heirs. I emphasize Awóló: wò: ’s centrality in contemporary Yorùbá culture and politics, while also focusing on the 38 Part One

‘spirit idioms’ (Ellis and ter Haar 2004, 48) in which his political life was (and is still) often expressed. This is done within a conceptualization of power that grounds it in the ‘other aspects of the encompassing cosmological system’ (Arens and Karp 1989, xv). Apart from focusing on ‘the schematics of elite organization and its place in the larger system frameworks’ (Marcus 1983a, 10), which is commonly addressed in the study of elites, I also focus on the internal culture and practices of the group (Afé:nifé:re) that has taken on, in organizational terms, the heritage of Awóló: wò: . An elaborate scholarly macro study of this cult of power, the Awóló: wò: political movement (Arifalo 2001), focuses only on the initial movement, ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà, and not on the contemporary movement, Ẹgbẹ Afé:nifé:re, its various mutations and its key members. However, micro studies of elites in Yorùbáland provide only ‘fragmentary accounts of the culture of power elite and the crucial role that culture plays in linking the different elites into a power group’ (Cohen 1981, 14). I have decided on a macro study, rather than the prevalent micro studies, because, ﬁrst, I subscribe to Cohen’s(1981, xvi) view that ‘the contradiction at the heart of group organization is clearly evident at the higher levels of social hierarchy – notably among elite groups’, and, secondly, because I hope to provide a more general account of how cultural practices are used in the service of power and politics among the Yorùbá in the context of Nigeria. My account emphasizes the fact that it is not what culture is that matters ultimately; it is what agents do with culture that counts – given that culture is largely indeterminate and therefore open to ‘opportunistic reading’, formulation and reformulation by practical actors (Rubinstein 2001, 12). As Shore (2002, 9) has argued, and as I illustrate in this book, ‘The study of elites provides a useful focus for addressing a range of core anthropological an sociological concerns including language and power; leadership and authority; status and hierarchy; ideology and consciousness; social identities and boundary-maintenance; power relations, social structure and social change.’

themakingofthe‘modernodu` duwa` ’

The University of Ife, Ile-Ife – renamed, after Awo’s death, the Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: University – unveiled in 1986 a wooden statue of Odùduwà, who is generally accepted as the progenitor of the Yorùbá. Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: (see Figure 3, where he is shown in his last decade on earth) was present on the occasion. An Ifet intellectual reportedly told Awóló: wò: that Elite Agency 39

figure 3. The eight original members of the Action Group (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) the statue looked exactly like him and that, ‘in trying to represent the image of Odùduwà, the carver, the highly distinguished Chief Lamidi Fakeye, had simply used Awóló: wò: as a model’ (Falola 1997, 157). Falola reports, and argues, further that:

Chief Awolowo was very happy with this comparison, and gladly afﬁrmed it. The story spread like wildﬁre. As the statue came to be interpreted, Awolowo and Odùduwà had the same physical build, elegance, and cap which they wore in the same style! Here indeed was the modern Odùduwà. To those in search of heroes, the Yorùbá now had two ‘national’ ones – Odùduwà, the progenitor and 40 Part One

Awolowo, the modernizer .... If Odùduwà founded the nation, Awolowo would unite it, after a period of internal division. (Falola 1997, 157) This story illustrates Awóló: wò: ’s most crucial cultural project: the personification of the progenitor, with all the associated cultural, and ultimately, political, benefits of such personification. However, the process of arriving at the general acknowledgement of this among the Yorùbá and non- Yorùbá alike was as tortuous for Awóló: wò: in particular as it was for the Yorùbá in general. It was a process in which the agent attempted to appropriate history and culture in his political career. With his success, he was invested with the history and culture that he originally sought to appropriate and rewrite. For a man who started out not being regarded as a ‘Yorùbá proper’, because he was not of Oyo-Yorùbá stock (he was Ijebu- Yorùbá), it is interesting how, by the time of his death, he had come to personify how to be a proper Yorùbá. There have been earlier attempts to chronicle the process by which Awóló: wò: came to have such a powerful hold on the political imagination of the Yorùbá (Arifalo 2001; Babarinsa 2003; Babatọpẹ 1989; Coleman 1958; Gbadegesin 2009; Falotla 1997; Ogunsanwo 2009; Oke 2009; Oyelaran et al. 1988; Otetgbetyet 1991; Sklar 1963, 1966). However, none of these accounts presents a complete scholarly account from the beginning to the end of Awóló: wò: ’s public career. Awóló: wò: was not pushed into his central role by some natural order of things in Yorùbáland or Nigeria. It was a combination of the reality of the moment in time, his own sense of mission and destiny and the ‘conspiracy’, first of the members of the elite, and then of the generality of Yorùbá, who came to acknowledge and accept his representation or/and embodiment of the cultural whole. He worked hard to earn his primacy among his people. When he started out, he identified the problem historically and then politically, located it first among his Yorùbá constituents and then attempted to enlarge it in the Nigerian national space. Thus, Awóló: wò: ’s political trajectory provides a helpful template to examine the ‘hardy perennial’ of structure and agency (Healy 1998, 509), that is, the relative interplay and interconnections of culture, structure and agency (pace Archer 1988, 1995, 1996) as they have come to be conflated (pace Giddens 1979, 1984) in the ideological struggles of his followers. Awóló: wò: was born in Ikenne, a small town in the Ijebu-Remo area of the present Ogun State, in the west of Nigeria, on 6 March 1909. Significantly, the story of the marriage of his parents was connected with the advent and growth of Christianity in Yorùbáland (Awóló: wò: 1960, Elite Agency 41

1–6). His father was one of the first to become Christian in the town in 1896. In a challenge between the ‘pagans’ and the new Christians, involving Chief Adelana – who later became Awóló: wò: ’s father-in-law – the colonial authorities in Lagos had to send a punitive expedition to stop the terrorization of Christians in Ikenne by the pagans who had forced the exit of Awóló: wò: ’s father, among many others. As Peel has noted, the conquest of Ijebuland and Governor Carter’s tour of Yorùbáland in the 1890s, ‘transformed the conditions of evangelism by enabling the mission to expand virtually anywhere it wanted, subject to the availability of personnel and resources’ (2000, 149). For Yorùbáland, this was the beginning of the challenges and opportunities of the colonial order, an epoch which the Yorùbá described as Aiye Oyinbo (‘the Age of the White Man’). The society in which he was born was, according to Awóló: wò: , an agrarian and peaceful one (Awóló: wò: 1960, 6). Under the colonial order, over- symbolized by Christian ethic and order, the young Awóló: wò: ‘was made to realise quite early in life that Christianity, was, of a surety, superior in many respects to paganism’ (Awóló: wò: 1960, 11). He was educated in mission schools and later read law in England. It is possible to map in four stages the process by which Awóló: wò: captured the Yorùbá imagination. The first stage is from his entry into politics around the early 1940s, to the end of his term as Premier of the Western Region in 1959. The second stage is from the time he became the leader of federal opposition in 1959 to the point of his restriction and eventual imprisonment between 1962d an 1966. The third stage is from the point of his release in 1966 to his death in 1987. The last stage is since his death in 1987. The latter relates to the posthumous cultural politics conducted in his name by his associates and even non-associates. Prior to the 20th century, the whole of Yorùbáland was not a single socio-political unit (Falola 2005, 151), despite contacts and mutual rivalries between the subgroups that identified themselves as having descended from Odùduwà. However, Adebanji Akintoye, a respected professor of history, who was also one of Awóló: wò: ’s disciples, insists in his magnum opus, A History of the Yorùbá People (2010), that, according to archaeo- logical evidence, ‘the Yorùbá as a group’ had an ‘initial emergence’ thousands of years prior to the modern era, that is, before the subgroups spread and settled into what is now the Yorùbá country.4 However, no pan- Yorùbá authority, as Toyin Falola (2005, 151) emphasizes, ever emerged

4 Akintoye dismisses the story made popular by the most prominent Yorùbá lay historian, Samuel Johnson, in his work The History of the Yorùbás (1921), that Odùduwà, regarded 42 Part One to control all the land. It was only from the 19th century that the name ‘Yorùbá’ was used to refer to all Yorùbá subgroups. Before then, names such as Aku, Nagum, Anago, Olukumi and Yorùbá were used by their neighbours and Europeans to describe the various subgroups (Falola 2005, 156). At the start of his political career, Awóló: wò: had assessed the impact of the destructive war in the ‘Age of Confusion’ in Yorùbáland in the 19th century after the collapse of the Oyo Empire, which the British intervened to stop. This assessment constituted the backdrop to his cultural and political project:

The Yorùbá were a highly progressive but badly disunited group. They paid lip- service to a spiritual union and affinity in a common ancestor – Odùduwà. But in all their long history they had waged war against one another. When the Portuguese and the British had visited their coasts in the course of their slave trade, the Yorùbás had shown no qualm of conscience in conducting violent and merciless slave raids on one another. These intertribal wars and slave raids had come to an end under the so-called Pax Britannica. But the mutual hatreds and acerbity which were attendant on them lingered. Furthermore, the propaganda of Dr. Azikiwe was already having a deleterious effect on a once dynamic group. The Yorùbá now indulged in mutual recrimination and condemnation. The younger elements thought the Yorùbá were inferior to the go-ahead Ibo people, and that whatever might be their past glories they had become effete and decadent. To cap it all, it was freely bandied about that the Yorùbá were no longer capable of leadership in any sphere of life. (Awóló: wò: 1960, 166) Awóló: wò: ’s narrative of Yorùbá past, present and future by the close of the first half of the 20th century is very reflective of Alfred Schütz’s theory of what constitutes lifeworld. Schütz (1973, 3) argues that the ‘everyday lifeworld’‘is the province of reality in which man continuously participates in ways which are at once inevitable and patterned’. In this province or region of reality, ‘man can engage himself and ... [man] can change while he operates in it’ (ibid.). As demonstrated by Awóló: wò: ’s take on the sociological history of his people and his analysis of what needed to be done about the distant and recent past, the present and the future, what is critical, Schütz suggests, is recognition of the fact that ‘the objectivities and events which are already found in this realm (including the acts and the results of actions of other men)’ all ‘limit ...free possibilities of action’ for the acting agent. However, in this Schützian lifeworld, which constituted as much by ‘culture’ as by everyday politics, the objectivities and events

as the Yorùbá progenitor, migrated from the Middle East to present-day Yorùbáland. See Akintoye (2010, 53). Elite Agency 43 place the acting agent up against ‘obstacles that can be surmounted, as well as barriers that are insurmountable’ (ibid.). Only within (Awóló: wò: ’s reading of) the lifeworld into which he was born and which he hoped to reshape, to use Schütz’s words, ‘can [he] be understood’, and only in it could ‘he [have] work[ed] together with [his fellow-men]’ (ibid.). However, Schütz does not assume that the inherited structures of such a lifeworld are independent of human action – even though his theory places the lifeworld (structures) ‘above all the province of practice, or action’ (ibid., 18). This is why, in fleshing out his theory of the lifeworld which emphasizes ‘structures’, Schütz regularly points to consequent human action – and, to a much lesser extent, prior human action – as well as the possibility of change (or what he calls ‘interpretation’) in the (re)constitution of the lifeworld. Thus, he insists that ‘The problem of action and choice must, therefore, have a central place in the analysis of the life-world’ (ibid.). There are many versions of the creation story and the origin of the Yorùbá (see, Akintoye 2010, 43–70; cf. Johnson 1921, 1–14). Even the popular Odùduwà legend has various versions, with some depicting him as a female deity. Against the backdrop of this ‘speculative historical jumble’ (Peel 2002, 295–8), Awóló: wò: helped to consolidate and consecrate what became a popular genealogy and foundational narrative with Odùduwà at its apex. It is interesting to note how Awo ignored and transcended the various versions of the history and myths in affirming Odùduwà as the common paternal progenitor. He chose a particular ‘memory’ of the past that helped in the creation of ‘a basis for Yorùbá regional unity in modern Nigeria’ and ‘strong foundation for articulating a Yoorùbá identity’ (Falola 2005, 151). Awo picked up a narrative circulating before the 20th century and cast his lot in with the emerging consensus. The emerging consensus on the myth of Odùduwà as the common progenitor was taken up and given resonance by the creation and naming of ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà – rather than ẸgbẹỌmọ Yorùbá – since everyone could agree on being the descendant of Odùduwà, even though some were not yet eager to be described by the generic name, Yorùbá. Awo reworked the mythological discourse in such a way that one – Awo himself, eventually – could aspire to succeed to that seat of the great progenitor, that is, by becoming the ‘reincarnation’ of Odùduwà. What Akintoye (2010, 62) describes as the historical task of Odùduwà at the founding of his dynasty in the 10th century, would be what Awóló: wò: needed to reproduce ten centuries later. According to Akintoye, there was a great factional turmoil in Ile-Ife, the founding city 44 Part One of the Yorùbá, in the 9th century, which culminated in everything lying in ruins, while ‘all parties [were] exhausted’. ‘Very clearly, a new order was needed’, writes Akintoye, ‘but such a concept was far too strange and too high for most to grasp. Fortunately, in the midst of all the rubble, there was one man who understood the great need of the moment and, by understanding the need, came to an understanding too of the concept .... His name was Oduduwa ...[H]e was freed to see the realities and the need of the moment clearly’ (ibid.). Akintoye concluded that, ‘So monumental was the role of this man [Odùduwà ] that ...[his] successors deified him, and subsequent generations transposed him all the way back to the very beginning of creation ...[as] the progenitor of the Yorùbá race’ (ibid., 55). In his time, Awóló: wò: contributed to a process in which Odùduwà was de-apotheosized, so much so that Odùduwà became the particular ancestor of the Yorùbá by the mid-20th century. Odùduwà needed to be set up, not just as a rallying point and a central signifier of Yorùbáness, around which authentic Yorùbáness could be acquired and performed, but also as a cultural seat that Awóló: wò: could succeed to. One had to be omo Odùduwà (lit. Odùduwà’s ‘offspring’ or ‘descendant’) if one were a true Yorùbá. Thus, a discursive template was already prepared such that, with Awóló: wò: ’s full ascension to the cultural status of the modern progenitor, one has to be ọmọ Awóló: wò: (lit. Awóló: wò: ’s ‘offspring’ or ‘descendant’)if one were ‘true’ ọmọ Odùduwà – and thus true Yorùbá. Awo had hoped to translate cultural unity into political unity, given the fact that in the 1950s and 1960s the Yorùbá were assumed to be more disunited than the Igbo and Hausa, the other major ethnic groups in Nigeria. This disunity was a cultural as well as a political problem for Awo. Also, in his narrative of the Yorùbá situation in the 19th and early 20th centuries, Awóló: wò: assumed here the role of an opitan (storyteller or lay historian), whose task in traditional Yorùbá society is to ‘“manage” an unruly present by means of a precedent from the past’. But first, as Peel (1984, 118) argues, an opitan ‘has to justify the relevance of the past to the present, even to an audience which is disposed to believe that there are such precedents. He is thus a mediator between what he believes of the past and what his audience knows of the present’. Against this background, Awóló: wò: ’s declared resolve in the early 1940s was to save the Yorùbá from ‘the state of impotence, into which they were fast degenerating’.He further resolved ‘to infuse solidarity into the disjointed tribes that constitute the Yorùbá ethnic group, to raise their morale, to rehabilitate their self-respect, and to imbue them with the confidence that they are an important factor in the forging of the federal unity of Nigeria’ (Awóló: wò: Elite Agency 45

1960, 166). Thus, Awóló: wò: constructed his own subjectivity as ‘an arch linking past and future’ (Peel 2000, 24). Awóló: wò: ’s project of ‘unity and progress’ for the Yorùbá was, however, long delayed by the personal, business and political misfortunes and setbacks that he encountered early in his career. He identified a great politico-cultural challenge, which was the ‘lip-service’ that the Yorùbá paid to a ‘spiritual union and affinity’. As a young activist, part- professional, part-business man in Ibadan in the early 1940s, Awóló: wò: faced this challenge. The complicated dialectical opposition of the self- definition of Yorùbáness that was established in the early decades of the 20th century around the ‘New Oyo’ (Ibadan), as it related to the dominant strand of Yorùbáness that was to be associated with Awo, presented interesting challenges to the construction of a pan-Yorùbá identity from the mid-20th century on.5 The spatial turf on which this initially played out was Ibadan.

ibadan and the remaking of the yoru` ba´

Milson (1891), a European traveller in the 1880s, described Ibadan as the ‘London of Negroland’. The city’s famous son, Adegoke Adelabu described it as the ‘Yorùbá Sparta’ (Post and Jenkins 1973, 1). Founded in 1829, this ‘sprawling, kingless, heterogeneous town that would become the metropolis of the “neo” Yorùbá’ (Peel 2000, 307), emerged in the 19th century as the new power after the collapse of the Oyo Empire. Ibadan attempted to arrest the disintegration of the empire by checkmating the Fulani jihadist (from the north of present-day Nigeria) who were defeated and repelled at the battle of Osogbo. A city which had lived by ‘plunder and rapine ...violence, oppression, robbery [and] man-stealing’ (Johnson 1921, 245), and which had survived on a political philosophy of ‘onika- luku lo nse ijoba ara re’ (‘everybody constituted a law unto himself’) (Falola, 2012, 3), was to become the centre of Yorùbá history from the 1830s to the time of the British Protectorate and beyond, as it ‘continued to attract to itself ardent spirits from every tribe and family all over the

5 Although the 20th-century Christian/Muslim divide among the Yorùbá has been characterized as ‘co-fraternal’ rather than conﬂictual (Gbadamosi 1978, 146–7), and marked by ‘non-politicisation of religious differences’ (Laitin, 1986) contemporary evidence points to certain changes, as in voting patterns (Peel 1989, 212; Farias 1990, 111) and even in the selection of candidates (ﬁeldwork notes, 2005–6) in such states as Lagos, Osun and Oyo. However, this nascent politicization of religious differences is not yet strong enough to imply a major transformation (see Agbaje, Okunola and Adebanwi 2003). 46 Part One country, so that while the rest of the country was quiet, Ibadan was making history’ (Johnson 1921, 293). As Johnson argues:

[Ibadan was] destined by God to play a most important part in the history of the Yorùbás, to break the Fulani yoke and to save the rest of the country from foreign domination; in short to be a protector as well as a scourge in the land ...(Johnson 1921, 246) But this ‘protector’, Ibadan, challenged the established Yorùbá system of government, which was based on hereditary monarchy. Ibadan evolved a republican system of government on two chieﬂy lines based on promotion. Any person, no matter his ancestry, could be appointed a junior chief and then rise up the ladder in his line. ‘The qualiﬁcation was merit – a combination of good character and contribution to the progress of the city’ (Akintoye 2010, 298). Thus, a new type of family and lineage group developed in Ibadan, with each group coalescing ‘around a prominent person’ (ibid. 298; cf. Awe 1964a). ‘The binding force in this new type of agbo ile [lineage group] or compound’, Akintoye argues, ‘was not belief in a common ancestry, but attachment to one leader ... [Thus] over time, Ibadan became a very attractive place to ambitious people from all over Yorùbáland ...(T)he ambitious young person who wanted to succeed in commerce, in some trade, or politically, could not resists the lure of this wonderful city where one could become a big person regardless of one’s lowly parentage or one’s place of origin’ (Akintoye 2010, 298).6 Ibadan was the place for anyone who had the potential and the strength not to be subject to the arbitrary authority of tradition. For a long time in Ibadan history, as Toyin Falola also shows in his magisterial Ibadan: Foundation, Growth and Change, 1830–1960 (2012, 3), ‘there was no loyalty to a single leader and none of its warriors has a general mandate to rule’. This was the city which was to attract the young Awóló: wò: in the early 20th century. J.D.Y. Peel has noted Johnson’s wish (in his History of the Yorùbá) for Ibadan to become a crucible of Yorùbá Christian enlightenment and civilization, through a ‘strategy [of] reconciling Ibadan and Christianity’ (Peel 2000, 307). Yet, despite the emergent key Christian elite in Ibadan, it was a city that was becoming, in that era – and beyond – mainly Muslim. This was clearly evident by the third and fourth decades of the 20th

6 However, Toyin Falola (1985, 53) has drawn attention to the misleading assertion of an uncomplicated Ibadan’s ‘open door’ policy by Bolanle Awe and Adebanji Akintoye, given the ‘restrictions and discriminations against strangers before the 1890s’ in Ibadan. Elite Agency 47 century.7 Therefore, even though Johnson’s hope for Ibadan’s emergence as a crucible of Yorùbá enlightenment and civilization was beginning to be realized, that realization was not as purely Christian as Johnson would have wished. Ibadan, as the ‘New Oyo’, therefore presented a challenge on how to put the Yorùbá (‘proper’) Muslim part into the cultural whole that contained a heavily Christianized legacy from the early colonial era (cf. Farias 1990, 111). Johnson’s meta-narrative of Yorùbá sameness or homogeneity was in contradistinction to this Muslim identity, based on his classification of Muslims as ‘strangers/invaders’ (Clarke 2004, 181). In this context, the concept of Yorùbá Muslim was a contradiction in terms (Farias 1990, 111). The relationship between the Ibadan state and the Ijebu country, into which Awóló: wò: was born, was largely uneasy in the 19th century, even in the best of times when economic relations were maintained. The Ijebu – alongside the Egba – were traditional enemies of Ibadan, whose growing power they feared (Awe 1973, 76). Despite this, however, some northern (Ijebu-)Remo towns established close relations with Ibadan and increasingly challenged the leadership of the eastern Remo town of Ọfin (Nolte 2009, 77–81). Yet, for many years in the 19th century, the Ibadan were forced to accept terms that were inimical to their trading interests by the Ijebu, who, because of their proximity to Lagos, controlled the shortest road for the flow of ammunition to the military-state of Ibadan (Awe 1973, 74). The Ibadan–Ijebu rivalry was, however, only one of such rivalries among the various sub-ethnic groups harbouring their ‘nineteenth century histories of diplomatic, military and economic conflicts’ (Post and Jenkins 1973, 4). This was not only the city which attracted the young Awóló: wò: ,as earlier stated: it was also the city in which he started his political journey. For a very proud people, such as the Ibadan, the non-Oyo Yorùbá, such as the Ijebu, were seen as ‘second rate’. Incidentally, the Ijebu who were so classified didn’t include those who had migrated to, and settled in, Ibadan by the second half of the 19th century. Those earlier Ijebu settlers, who lived in Isale-Ijebu, as Toyin Falola (1989) emphasizes, had been integrated into Ibadan by the earliest years of colonialism. It was the second wave (20th-century Ijebu) migrants who settled around the Oke-Bola (like Awóló: wò: ), Ake-Ado, Amunigun, Agbeni and Agbokojo areas of Ibadan

7 While Islam came to Ibadan in the 1830s, Christianity arrived through the Church Missionary Society (CMS) in 1851. The ﬁrst found an audience among the local chiefs and the general population, while the latter was more effective among the slaves and members of the less important families. Post and Jenkins (1973, 10). 48 Part One and retained strong ties to their hometowns in Ijebuland, who were treated as adversaries by the Ibadan (Vaughan 2003, 298). In fact, in 1948, Awóló: wò: complained to the Ibadan city authorities and in the New Times about the obscene songs that were directed at the Ijebu and Remo migrants in Ibadan. Awóló: wò: ’s emergence in Ibadan, therefore, was remarkable because it happened in the context of the rivalries between the two contiguous groups. Non-Ibadan Yorùbá were described by the British administrators as ‘native strangers’, a term which was derived from the attitude of the people of Ibadan to other non-Ibadan Yorùbá. Awóló: wò: , who became one of the founders of the Native Settlers Union (NSU), was initially despised by leading local politicians in Ibadan, who were organized around a major local party, Mabolaje Grand Alliance. In accordance with the colonial designation of ‘native’ and ‘native stranger’, the Ijebu were not allowed to vote during the ‘indirect rule’ period, even though they paid taxes. This was a matter which this ‘large and progressive section’, led by Awóló: wò: , considered ‘contrary to modern democratic practice’ (Post and Jenkins 1973, 79). Under the leadership of the colourful Ibadan grassroots politician of the 1950s, Adegoke Adelabu, Mabolaje encouraged ‘town-based communal consciousness ...against a broad based Yorùbá political party’, the Action Group (Vaughan 1994, 424), and against the native strangers, including the Igbo and others, who initially rallied round the NSU. As Olufemi Vaughan points out, ‘Powerbrokers at the local level, whether Mabolaje politicians or chiefs, imaginatively portrayed the reform policies of the Yorùbá political class [represented by Awóló: wò: ] as a deliberate attempt to advance the interest of non-Ibadan Yorùbás in local politics and commerce’ (ibid.). Adelabu saw himself as a ‘Man of Destiny’, while describing Awóló: wò: , in the early years of the latter’s political career, as the ‘Apostle of Disunity’, ‘The Upstart’, ‘The Ascetic’, ‘The Robot’, ‘The Confusionist’, ‘The Capitalist’ and ‘The Villager’ (Post and Jenkins 1973, 114), all of which implied Ibadan’s ‘cultural superiority’ over the Ijebu. Adelabu was steeped in the rhetoric of Ibadan valour, primacy and the superiority of the Oyo-Yorùbá – a people he wanted to organize in the 1950s into a distinct Yorùbá Central State (Post and Jenkins 1973, 3) – over other Yorùbá sub- ethnic groups. Adelabu saw everything in terms of his position in Ibadan, stating that:

The irreconcilable antipathy of the trueborn Ibadans to the Action Group is not based on sentiments or personal animosity. It has its roots deep in factual reasons of historic ethos and psychological congeniality. It is a fundamental antithesis Elite Agency 49 between two philosophies, two ideals, two ways of life. (quoted in Post and Jenkins 1973, 114; italics added) Adelabu realized that the changing power relations, as Nigeria moved towards independence, meant that ‘access to state power [was] key to reorder his [personal] life and [the life] of his own city’, Ibadan (Falola, 2012, 834). While other groups could easily unite their people behind them, Adelabu recognized the challenge he faced in a heterogeneous city. He therefore sought to ‘generate both consensus and coercion at the same time’ (ibid., 836) in a way that was antagonistic of any unification project across sub-ethnic lines in Yorùbáland. Awóló: wò: ’s Action Group was thus seen as an ‘Ijebu party’ identified with its leading Ijebu members,8 and not its non- Ijebu,9 in fact, Oyo, leaders. As Richard Joseph (1987, 110) has argued, this rivalry, as an example of many such sub-ethnic rivalries in Yorùbáland, cannot be understood, ‘without becoming increasingly conscious of the working out of the dynamics set in motion by the collapse of the Oyo Empire in approximately 1830’. ‘Sequels’ of these 19th-century Yorùbá civil wars, argues Joseph, can be seen in modern Yorùbá political relations. This is evident in the Ibadan–Ijebu antipathy, which started after an initial collaboration in the post-Owu War era (against the new Egba settlement of Abeokuta). This attitude to the Ijebu was largely due to their ‘disruption’ of Ibadan’s access to the Remo roads. Adelabu’s attitude to the AG and to Awóló: wò: was an example of this lingering attitude. Therefore, rather than join the AG, Adelabu had to look to another party; consequently, he turned to the Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe-led National Council of Nigeria and the Cameroons (after 1962, National Council of Nigerian Citizens) (NCNC). The politics of Ibadan in the 1930s and 1940s can be seen as constituting a good representation of the sundering of the commonality that had already been consecrated by the missionaries and (relatively) widely acknowledged by the emerging, largely Christian, elite by the late 19th century. Ibadan’s own communal solidarity or local patriotism was so strong in this era that,10 given the importance of the town, it can be argued that this solidarity and local patriotism would most probably have led to further ossification and strengthening of the other sub-ethnic identities in Yorùbáland – given ‘the dominance of the grassroots structures of hometown ideologies as the means to mobilize political

8 Including Awóló: wò: , S.R. Ọredein, A.A. Akinsanya and S.O. Sonibare. 9 Like Bode Thomas (Oyo), S.L. Akintola (Ogbomoso), Adisa Akinloye (Ibadan), Emmanuel Alayande (Ibadan). 10 As it was in the late 19th century, as described by Falola (1985). 50 Part One action’ (Vaughan 2003, 302) in this era. Given the popularity of the rival Igbo-led NCNC as a vehicle of other local patriotisms in Yorùbá towns and areas such as Ibadan, Ilesa, Akure, and some towns in the Ekiti area, I suggest that if Awóló: wò: ’s Action Group – which became the political vehicle of the Yorùbá cultural project – had not succeeded, Awóló: wò: was unlikely to have gained his centrality, and therefore the strong consciousness of a common (political) future for the Yorùbá may not have emerged in the mid-20th century, at least not at the point it did and not as strongly as it did. It might have had to wait many more years, perhaps forever. With his experience of bitter rivalries among the Yorùbá subgroups, particularly in Ibadan, Awóló: wò: resolved, when he left Nigeria in 1944 for studies in the United Kingdom, that before he re-entered politics, ‘I would see to it that the Yorùbás evolved an ethnic solidarity among themselves’ (Awóló: wò: 1960: 168). He thus assumed the responsibility of a speciﬁc form of cultural agency. This mantle, which was originally self-invested, produced interesting encounters.

structure, agency and culture: the mantle of odu` duwa`

While studying for a law degree in the United Kingdom, Awo began to translate his resolve into reality by founding, in 1945, a Yorùbá organization in London called ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà (Society for the Descendants of Odùduwà). Awóló: wò: thus began his project of reinventing a common Yorùbá identity by creating a pan-Yorùbá association, which was the ﬁrst concretely organized body that grounded common membership of the ethnic–nationality group, which the Egbe embodied. Why was the group called ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà and not ẸgbẹỌmọ Yorùbá? I suggest that the choice of a name for the group was sensitive to the salient, though then muted, historical association of the name Yorùbá with the people of Oyo stock, who still saw themselves as the ‘Yorùbá proper’. And, given Awóló: wò: ’s experience of the dynamics of this dichotomy in Ibadan, it is understandable that he sought to transcend it. However, contrary to the historic divisiveness of the Yorùbá category, most of the subgroups, by the early 20th century, claimed descent from Odùduwà. Awóló: wò: was therefore reconsecrating the myth of common descent, through which the common identity of Yorùbá would then become invio- late and uncontested. By essentializing the myth of common progenitor, Elite Agency 51

Awóló: wò: could be said to have helped in constructing a national genealogy of the Yorùbá that would eventually lead from Odùduwà to himself ‘within a lineage of honoured forebears’ (Verdery 1999, 41). Through the ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà, Yorùbáland became a form of kinship writ-large, with the name of the group ﬂagging this ﬁctive kinship. The Ẹgbẹ, as some scholars have pointed out, was therefore the ‘end-point’ of a long process of Yorùbá remaking, which started in the twilight years of the 19th century (see Akintoye 2010, 402–3, 445–51), and was fully consolidated in the 20th century. Awo’s agency was therefore very effective because he was able to anchor it on a deeply embedded historical process in pre-colonial, colonial and, later, postcolonial Yorùbáland and Nigeria. It can be argued that Awóló: wò: entered another critical stage in his public career when he left for England to study law. The distance helped him to think about, and articulate, the problem of the Yorùbá in the general context of Nigeria, and of the Nigerian colonial state itself. His two major political achievements while in England were, one, forming the Ẹgbẹ and, two, writing Path to Nigerian Freedom (1947). In Path to Nigerian Freedom, he set out his ideas on how independent Nigeria should be organized politically, arguing strongly for federalism within which the Yorùbá were expected to be self-governing. The ideas set out by Awóló: wò: in this book, and his other books,11 argues Olufemi Taiwo (2010, 6), a professor of African philosophy, constitute part of Awóló: wò: ’s ‘philosophical anthropology’, because they express his concern with ‘human nature and ...the perennial questions that the idea raises: Who are we? Why are we here? What is the best life for us?’ For Akin Makinde, also a professor of philosophy and author of Awo as a Philosopher (2002, 54), ‘As Awo sees it, man [sic] has been the central subject of intellectual discussion throughout history.’12

11 Including The Strategy and Tactics of a People’s Republic (London: Macmillan, 1970); The People’s Republic (Ibadan: Oxford University Press, 1969); Thoughts on Nigeria’s Constitution (Ibadan: Oxford University Press, 1966); and Path to Nigeria’s Greatness (Enugu: Fourth Dimension Publishers, 1981). 12 For other works on Awolowo’s social and political philosophy, see Omoroge Nwanwene, ‘Awolowo’s Political Philosophy’, Quarterly Journal of Administration, vol. 4, October 1969–July 1970, 127–53; Omoroge Nwanwene, ‘Awolowo’s Strategy and Tactics of the People’s Republic of Nigeria – A Review Article’, Quarterly Journal of Administration, vol. 20, October 1970–July 1971, 229–41; Segun Gbadegesin, ‘Awolowo and the Politics of Democratic Socialism’, in Olasope O. Oyelaran, ed. Obafemi Awolowo: The End of an Era? (Ile-Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press, 1988), 166–77; Olufemi Taiwo, ‘Awolowo’s Socialism: A Politico-Conceptual Assessment’, in Olasope O. Oyelaran, ed. Obafemi Awolowo: The End of an Era? (Ile-Ife: Obafemi Awolowo University Press, 52 Part One

However, since Path to Nigerian Freedom was published, Awo’s ideas and politics concerning the organization of the (African) modern state, particularly Nigeria, and the relationship of the multiple ethnicities within, and with, the state, opened the man to different and sometimes seemingly contradictory uses as a symbol. He became both a symbol of the Yorùbá nation and its ethnic (inclusive or exclusive) nationalism, as well as a symbol of the struggle towards a ‘more perfect’ Nigerian nation; a concept that included the federalist ethos, good governance, egalitarian rule, enlightenment, modernity, bureaucratic rationality, welfarism. Some of Awo’s most ardent followers embrace the ﬁrst and not the other. Others among his followers are able to see no contradiction in the embrace of their Yorùbá identity as well as the acceptance of a Nigerian identity that is based on democratic citizenship. Most of Awo’s adversaries pay attention to the ﬁrst dimension, and, on the basis of this, dismiss the other dimension. Awóló: wò: himself paid attention during his lifetime to this paradox, embracing both dimensions of his politics and symbolism: on the one hand, Yorùbá nationalism and, on the other, nationalist (federalist)/progressive (egalitarian)/democratic politics. Of the latter, he had commented that ‘I alone, of all contemporary Nigerian political leaders, have consistently, implacably, and ideologically opposed the ethnic and baneful hegemony which has dominated and menaced the affairs of our dear fatherland’ (Awóló: wò: 1985, viii). Olufemi Taiwo (2010) agrees with Awóló: wò: , arguing that it was precisely his commitment to egalitarian democratic politics that formed the basis of the mutual hostility between him and the conservative northern power elite. On this basis, Taiwo (ibid.) argues that Awóló: wò: ’s ‘philosophy of human nature’, ‘theory of human nature’, and so on should attract greater attention than the limitations of his cultural politics. However, Awo’s second dimension, the humanist/ nationalist side which proclaims that the human being ‘is the alpha and omega, the only dynamic means and the sole end, of all earthly ...activities’ (Awóló: wò: 1970, 82) was made evident, primarily by his demonstrable commitment to his own people.

1988), 207–37; M. Akin Makinde, ‘Awo’s Place in Philosophy’, The Guardian, 1 June 1987a, 13 and 17; M. Akin Makinde, ‘Mental Magnitude Awolowo’s Search for Ultimate Reality, Meaning and the Supreme Value of Human Existence’, Ultimate Reality and Meaning: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Philosophy of Understanding, vol. 10, No.1, March, 1987b, 3–13; M. Akin Makinde, ‘Social and Political Philosophy of Obafemi Awolowo’,inAfrican Philosophy, Culture and Traditional Medicine (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1988); Francis Ishola Ogunmodede, Chief Obafemi Awolowo: Socio- Political Philosophy (Ibadan: Intec Publishers, 1986). Elite Agency 53

In answering the critical questions that foregrounded Awo’s philosophical anthropology within the context of Nigeria, and the project of reuniting and remaking the Yorùbá ethnic–national category, the aims of ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà provide interesting pointers. The aims can be divided into four: (a) the ethno-national, (b) the economic, (c) the social and (d) the political. The ﬁrst is the ethno-nation: (i) to study fully its political problems, combat the disintegrating forces of tribalism, stamp out discrimination within the group and against minorities,13 and generally infuse the idea of a single nationality throughout the region. The next is the economic: (ii) to study its economic resources, ascertain its potentialities, and advise as to the wisest utilization of its wealth, as to ensure abundance and prosperity for its people. The next two are social: (iii) to plan for the improvement of educa- tional facilities both in content and extent, to explore the means of introducing mass education promptly and efﬁciently and to foster the study of Yorùbá language, culture and history; (iv) to promote the social welfare of Yorùbáland, combat the cankerworm of superstition and ignorance, spread the knowledge of medical relief and stimulate the provision of hospitals, maternity homes and suchlike amenities. As regards Nigeria, that is, the political, the Ẹgbẹ aimed: (v) to co-operate in the fullest measure with other regions to see that the aims set out in (i) above are applied to the whole country; and (vi) to aid and encourage similar groups in the other regions in every way possible to achieve their ideals (Awóló: wò: 1960, 168–9). All these were later to form the bases of the agenda of the political party, the Action Group, which Awo and his associates formed, thus illustrating the process by which a project largely conceived by an individual was transformed into a more or less coherent ethno-national project. However, in 1948, independent of Awóló: wò: ’s efforts after he had returned to Nigeria, some remarkable Yorùbá leaders, including Sir AdeyS˙ mo Alakija, Dr Akinọla Maja, Sir Kofo Abayomi, Chief Bode Thomas, Chief H.O. Davies, Dr Akanni Doherty and others, also formed ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà in Lagos, with roughly the same aims as the one formed earlier in London by Awóló: wò: . When Awóló: wò: , who had returned to Ibadan, read the news of the formation of the Ẹgbẹ in Lagos, he was jubilant. He consequently set up a local branch in Ibadan. The new ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà was formally inaugurated in Ile-Ife, the ancestral city of the Yorùbá, with the delegates visiting the shrine of Odùduwà led by the Ooni (king) of Ife (Arifalo 2001, 104), in a very

13 This is understandable given the discrimination that Awóló: wò: experienced in Ibadan before he left for the United Kingdom. 54 Part One elaborate three-day event, 4–6 June 1948, that again conﬁrmed the Yorùbá, like the Creole of Sierra Leone (many of whom were of Yorùbá descent), as ‘a heavily ceremonialized people’ (Cohen 1981, 29). The decision to inaugurate the Ẹgbẹ in Ife was to further validate the city’s ancestral status, and appropriate its foundational myth and cultural power in order to consolidate the Ẹgbẹ’s legitimacy. Also, the inauguration at Ifè was, in part, a response to the criticism of the Ẹgbẹ from the hinterland: that it was formed by ‘Lagos–Yorùbá’ people who were of doubtful origin (Arifalo 2001, 102). However, the Ẹgbẹ’s headquarters/secretariat, with Awóló: wò: as the general secretary, was situated in Oke-Ado, Ibadan, showing that the leadership of the Ẹgbẹ regarded Ibadan as the obvious future capital of a modern Yorùbá state.

the ‘new’ yoru` ba´ and the challenges of democracy in a multi-ethnic state

Awóló: wò: writes in his autobiography about the hostility of Easterners (mostly the Igbo) in London to his Ẹgbẹ, despite the fact that the Ibo State Union (also called the Ibo Federal Union) had been formed two years earlier, in 1943. The attempt to arrange a meeting between the members of the Ibo State Union and the new Ẹgbé:, for ‘a full explanation of what the Ẹgbẹ stood for’, according to Awóló: wò: , was aborted. Also, when the Ẹgbẹ was formed in Nigeria in 1948, Awóló: wò: notes in his autobiography what he describes as the ‘insensate hostility’ of the leading Igbo politician of the day, Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe, to the formation of the Ẹgbẹ. Azikiwe was then emerging as one of the key leaders of the nationalist movement in Nigeria, and was the president of the Ibo State Union in Nigeria. Awóló: wò: cites the editorial in Azikiwe’s West African Pilot of 8 September 1948,asan example of this ‘insensate hostility’. The Pilot commented thus:

But now that the Egbe has made it clear that its battle is not really against Dr. Azikiwe personally and even against Ibos as a group, but against the aspirations of the 27 million Nigerians backing up the NCNC, the time has come for real action ... Henceforth the cry must be one of battle against the ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà, its leaders, at home and abroad, uphill, and down dale, in the streets of Nigeria and in the residence of its advocates. The Egbe Omo Oduduwa is the enemy of Nigeria; it must be crushed to the earth ...There is no going back, until the Fascist organisation of Sir Adeyemo Alakija has been dismembered. (quoted in Awóló: wò: 1960, 71) Despite the fact that the Ẹgbẹ was formed after the Ibo State Union and Ibibio State Union, many still accuse Awóló: wò: of introducing ‘tribalism’ Elite Agency 55 to Nigerian politics through the formation of the Ẹgbẹ. While such accusations are often a reﬂection of the ethnic politics of the accusers, I will like to suggest that the Ẹgbẹ attracted such a critical gaze because it had a superior organization, a factor that has been identiﬁed as key to elite formation. The superior organizational ability of Awóló: wò: , which was later more clearly demonstrated when he was head of government, leveraged the Ẹgbẹ and gave it a visibility and importance that surpassed the preceding ethnic associations and thus made Awóló: wò: partly susceptible to this accusation of introducing ‘tribalism’ to Nigerian politics. As Odia Ofeimun, his former private secretary, argues, ‘Although there were other ethnic groups in the country that were already unionized, Awóló: wò: brought a creative edge to the organization of his ethnic group which soon became the model’ (Ofeimun 2000, 120). After spreading the gospel of Yorùbá solidarity and unity through the Ẹgbẹ, Awóló: wò: then moved on to form a political party of his own. The Action Group was announced on 21 March 1951. Awóló: wò: argues that, given the hostility to the Ẹgbẹ, the AG was formed secretly a year before it was announced to the public. From this period on, Awóló: wò: displayed a remarkable tendency towards secrecy in political party organization, often preferring a cult of close associates, the ‘party caucus’, to take the most important decisions before they were presented to the party. Awóló: wò: defended this position thus:

I stressed that any new party under which I would be prepared to work and serve must place a premium on action rather than words. Furthermore, only people whom we could absolutely trust should be invited to the membership of the new party at the early stages. I thought three things were indispensable to the success of the new venture. The first was what I have just mentioned – action ...The second prerequisite was that there should be discipline, and consensus of minds on fundamental principles among those who were to constitute the foundation of the new organization ...The third was secrecy. (Awóló: wò: 1960, 218; italics added) The third condition, secrecy, would seem an odd prerequisite for a democratic political party which must appeal to the public. Two explanations can be offered: the first was offered by Awóló: wò: himself and the other was deduced from my informants and from observing the group in its present form. Awóló: wò: argued that if Azikiwe got wind of the plans to form a rival political party, particularly in the west of Nigeria – where he (Azikiwe) already held sway – he could use his powerful newspaper chain, particularly the West African Pilot, to discredit the party, even before it was established. Indeed, Azikiwe, his Igbo constituents and the West African Pilot did virulently attack the Action Group when it became public, 56 Part One describing it as an ‘ethnic shrine’ (Awóló: wò: , 1960, 46). Also, Awóló: wò: , after the Nigerian Youth Movement (NYM) crisis,14 seemed to have developed a persecution complex, not only at the personal level, but also at the group (ethnic) level. It would become a hallmark of the parties led by Awóló: wò: – the AG, and later the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN) – that they saw their mission as constantly imperilled by a coalition of ‘dark’ forces of ‘Yorùbá-haters’, that is, ọta (enemies), spread all over Nigeria. Consequently, there was a constant, accompanying suspicion that local (Yorùbá) ‘agents’ of these ọta (enemies) were present, from which the tactics and strategies of the party must be shielded. Therefore, there is a tendency to create a core in any group or party formed by Awóló: wò: and/or his associates; this core tenaciously protects the secrets of the group and takes crucial decisions, whether on behalf of the group or the party. It can then be argued that, in addition to the consciousness of their ‘historic mission’ and the cohesion which is a prerequisite to achieving the mission, there is a conspiratorial imperative to group organization in the Yorùbá political and cultural context. As Nigeria moved towards independence, and political parties became essential in the transfer of power to Nigerians, Awóló: wò: lobbied other reluctant leaders of the Ẹgbẹ persistently, because he believed that, ‘If the new party was to have any appreciable showing at all during the regional elections it must make use of the organization and branches of the ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà throughout the Western Region’ (Awóló: wò: 1960) Also, the leaders of the Ẹgbẹ were the people that Awo looked to for financial support for the new party. Many eventually supported him in his effort to create a political party in, and for, the Yorùbá West: the Action Group (AG). The Action Group won the Western Region elections in 1951 by having a controversial majority of parliamentarians in the Westminster model of limited self-government that was instituted by the British.15 In this, Awóló: wò: was pitted against Azikiwe and his party, the NCNC, which claimed to have been short-changed by the AG, which thus prevented

14 In February 1941,DrK.A.Abayomi,thepresidentoftheNYMresignedandthisledtoa struggle for succession. The crisis pitched Awóló: wò: (who supported Ernest Ikoli, an Ijaw from Eastern Nigeria) against Azikiwe (who supported Akinsanya, an Ijebu-Yorùbá). It also led to a press war between the Daily Service edited by Ikoli and West African Pilot owned by Azikiwe. Both Ikoli and Akinsanya were founding members of the NYM. Interestingly enough, the crisis was regarded – and generally recorded in Nigeria’shistory– as an example of Awóló: wò: ’s ‘tribal politics’. For further details see Coleman (1971, 224–8). 15 For a discussion of the controversy and the position of the Awo group, see Dawodu (1998). Elite Agency 57

Azikiwe from becoming Premier of the Western Region.16 The major controversy surrounded what the NCNC members described as ‘carpet- crossing’ by its ‘members/allies’ in the township parties to the side of the AG. But AG members dismissed this as untrue, arguing correctly that the members of these township parties, such as the Ibadan People’s Party (IPP), who formed an alliance with the AG to win the majority in the regional parliament, were neither members of the NCNC nor were their parties allied with the NCNC. Indeed, the NCNC, until May 1951, was organiza- tionally weak, because it was made up of affiliated organizations rather than individual members (Post and Jenkins 1973, 91–2). However, this incident and the falsehood which has been peddled about it continue to shape Yorùbá–Igbo relations. For instance, Chinua Achebe, an Igbo and author of Africa’s most famous novel, Things Fall Apart, states that ‘I was an eye-witness to that momentous occasion when Chief Obafemi Awolowo “stole” the leadership of Western Nigeria from Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe in broad daylight’ (Achebe 1983, 5). This untruth has been repeated by Achebe’s biographer, Ezenwa-Ohaeto (1997, 47). As Odia Ofeimun (1998, 8) has noted, Ezenwa-Ohaeto ‘glossed over the fact that Azikiwe [subsequently] ousted the premier of Eastern Region [Ita Eyo] who happened to come from a minority ethnic group in order to become premier’. However, beyond the fact that Awóló: wò: , even posthumously, is always conveniently accused of being the first to initiate ethnic politics at every point in Nigeria’s history (as already pointed out earlier, with the creation of Ẹgbẹ in relation to the Ibo State Union), the fact is that even Azikiwe’s West African Pilot, in its report of the election which Achebe describes incorrectly, showed that Azikiwe did not win. Ofeimun’s explication of what happened begs a long quotation. The NCNC lost, in the cannibalisation of the seats won by independent candidates who had 33%of the seats. This was the position before the inaugural meeting of the Western House of Assembly where the carpet-crossing was supposed to have taken place. Incidentally, the Hansard shows that only three people crossed carpet on the floor of the Western House of Assembly in January 1952. None of them was Yorùbá. The Yorùbá and Otu-Edo candidates who voted against Azikiwe (see Figure 4, where they appear with the other two leaders of Nigeria, Awóló: wò: and Ahmadu Bello) belonged indeed to ethnic and tribal organizations but they certainly did not have to cross any carpet from Azikiwe’s party to vote against Azikiwe. The truly fictional account of that event which was sold by supposedly

16 Azikiwe eventually ‘was forced back’ to the East, his home, where he became premier. See Dawodu (1998) for the account of the event by the Awóló: wò: camp. 58 Part One

figure 4. Nigeria’s Founding Fathers. Left to right: Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe, Sir Ahmadu Bello and Chief Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: at Whitehall in the 1950s (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library)

‘enlightened Nigerians’ has helped ever since to dredge ethnic prejudice and hard- ened the animosity between those who have peddled the fiction and those whom the fiction wronged. (ibid., 9) As Uchenna Nwankwo, the chairman of the Ndigbo Council for National Coordination (NCNC) – which shares the same acronym with Azikiwe’s defunct party – recently stated: the ‘famous carpet-crossing saga’ is usually somewhat over-stretched and has been used to foist inter-ethnic misunderstanding between the Igbo and the Yorùbá. It is not true that Yorùbá NCNC parliamentarians abandoned Zik [Azikiwe] on the floor of the Western House of Assembly and crossed over to Awolowo’s side as often painted. The truth is that five members of the six elected parliamentarians from the Ibadan Peoples Party, IPP, led by Adisa Akinloye (and some other fringe groups) tilted the balance in Awolowo’s favor by teaming up with the Action Group, AG; the sixth member, Adegoke Adelabu, joined forces with the NCNC to form the NCNC-Mobalaje Grand Alliance. (Nwankwo 2012) After the election, Awóló: wò: formally took charge in the Western Region on 6 February 1952, noting that, ‘If the goose [of the people of the Region] Elite Agency 59 was scientifically tended ...it would lay the golden eggs’ (Awóló: wò: 1960, 260). With his ‘unexcelled’ team, which was ‘well-knit, highly disciplined and fanatically loyal’ (Awóló: wò: 1960, 260; italics added), Awóló: wò: set at his task and achieved impressive results in public administration. Noting that ‘the people of Western Region are enlightened and prosperous relative to those of the other Regions’, Awóló: wò: consolidated and transformed the already well-established ideas of ilọsiwaju (‘progress’), idagbasoke (‘development’) and, above all, ọlaju (‘civilization’ or ‘enlightenment’) which the Yorùbá had acquired since the Christian (colonial) encounter (Awóló: wò: 1960, 260; Peel 1984, 124). Peel (1978, 156) argues correctly that Action Group’s ‘major act of social policy was a grand enactment of olaju’. The achievements of Awóló: wò: and his cabinet were such that, against this backdrop, they helped in consolidating the identity of the Yorùbá in mid- 20th-century Nigeria as an ‘inherently modern’ and ‘progressive’ identity. Odia Ofeimun (2000, 119)argues,‘Specific to Awolowo, the force and clarity of his ideas and the administrative proficiency with which he pursued them whenever he had an opportunity to exercise governmental power, made him shine above his colleagues. Awolowo covered all the critical questions of the 20th Century in an outstanding manner.’ Although the parliamentary system had ensured that the AG formed the party in the region, the latter was far from achieving overwhelming popularity in the region in general, and in Yorùbáland in particular. There were many areas in which the NCNC had a much stronger hold. However, following the performance of the party in power, the sensibilities of the subgroups began, though reluctantly at first, to gain some measure of consensus around the association of ‘Awóló: wò: ’s party’ with olaju. The party instituted a free and compulsory education programme, through which a common Yorùbá dialect was legitimized and popularized across Yorùbáland, where tens of dialects – some of which were mutually unin- telligible – were spoken. The Ọyọ(-Yorùbá) dialect, which had become the standard through the agency of the Christian missionaries in the 19th 17 century, was thus further popularized and legitimized among the Yorùbá through mass literacy. Given this, Yorùbá writers, such as

17 Signﬁcantly, Alhaji Arisekola Alao, the Aare Musulumi of Yorùbáland, an Ibadan, insisted in my several interviews with him that the standard dialect of the Yorùbá is actually the ‘Ibadan dialect’ and not ‘Oyo dialect’. An authority on Yorùbá history, Professor Banji Akintoye, conﬁrmed Arisekola Alao’s position. ‘Arisekola is right. What developed as “standard” Yorùbá in the hands of literate Yorùbá in the late 19th century borrowed mostly from the dialects of Ibadan, Abeokuta and Lagos. It was upon this composite base that the orthography for the Yorùbá language was formulated. [The three cities were 60 Part One

D.O. Fagunwa and J.F. Odunjo, Awóló: wò: ’s minister of lands, committed orality to text by producing novels and plays in Yorùbá within which common mythology, folklores, proverbs and songs were popularized and generalized.18 This worked in line with claims about the immemorial unity of the Yorùbá and their common future, propagated, among others, by the newspaper press backing Awóló: wò: ’s political career, such as the Daily Service and his own Nigerian Tribune. Awóló: wò: ’s government also instituted, in 1956, the Yorùbá Historical Research Scheme, with Professor Saburi Biobaku as its director, ‘to produce an authentic history of the Yorùbá, covering all sections of the people from the earliest times’. Thus, Awóló: wò: sought to consolidate the grasp of his faction of the power elite during the present and future ‘by monumen- talizing the past’ (Herzfeld 2000, 234), and relating that past to the present in a way that justiﬁed his position and politics. Biobaku assembled scholars from various disciplines for the task, including historians, archaeologists and anthropologists, both Nigerian and expatriate, and local cultural experts (such as Chief J.A. Ayorinde and I.O. Delano). However, only the ﬁrst of the three planned volumes, entitled Sources of Yorùbá History, was eventually published, in 1973, after a long delay (Aderibigbe 1983, 10). Also, this volume – perhaps for political reasons, in an era when the Yorùbá power elite was engaged in battles with the largely Islamic northern power elite – left out important sources of history in Arabic (ibid.). The historical scheme was later described as an attempt by Awóló: wò: to ‘lift the [Yorùbá] above and beyond myths and fairy tales’ (Ofeimun 2000, 121), towards providing them with a ‘history’. Awóló: wò: was to become a victim of his own success and his sense of mission. How he proceeded from this point forms the second stage, in my reading of the Awóló: wò: trajectory. Having captured the Western Region, Awóló: wò: felt that the next stage of the battle – national leadership – needed to be embarked upon. In 1959,he handed over his position as the premier of the Western Region to his deputy, Chief Samuel Ladoke Akintola, and was elected into the federal parliament. Here, he hoped to form an alliance that would make him prime minister of Nigeria. However, a crisis of leadership in the party erupted, pitting him

important] because these were the main centres of Western education for decades. Ibadan dialect is not the same as Oyo dialect; its early base in the early 1830s was Oyo dialect, but within a few decades it developed its own distinct character’ (private correspondence, 14 December 2012). 18 Odunjo had stated that the Yorùbá man is essentially a poet and that theYorùbá language is particularly musical. Daily Times, 2 May 1955, 2. Elite Agency 61 against Akintola, who was accused of several ‘political sins’, chief of which was fraternizing with the sworn adversary of the AG and its leader, that is, the Hausa-Fulani-dominated Northern People’s Congress (NPC) and Sir Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto, respectively. Akintola and his supporters split from the AG to form another party, the Nigerian National Democratic Party (NNDP), which aligned itself with the NPC. In 1962, Awóló: wò: was accused of planning to overthrow the federal government by force of arms. He was ﬁrst put under house arrest and was later arraigned in the Lagos High Court. On 11 September 1963,hewasconvictedoncharges of treasonable felony and conspiracy to overthrow the federal government of Nigeria and therefore sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment. Awóló: wò: ’s arrest, prosecution and imprisonment (1962–6)moreorless ‘sanctiﬁed’ him among the Yorùbá, who came to see his travails as the height of injustice perpetrated against one of their leaders by the Hausa-Fulani power-holders and their local collaborators. Yakubu Adbulazeez has noted ‘the Yorùbá cultural trait of sympathy for the persecuted and their abhor- rence of treachery’ (Hotline 15 July 1987, 16). This ‘cultural trait’ helped to elevate Awóló: wò: to living martyrdom (Babarinsa, 2003, 39). Thus, imprisonment greatly enhanced him in the imagination of his supporters. A whole cultural repertoire was provoked in Yorùbáland by Awo’s travails. To draw on one instance, Hubert Ogunde, perhaps the most accomplished playwright and dramatist writing and acting in Yorùbá, emphasized the theme of martyrdom in his famous play, ‘Yorùbá Ro’nu!’ (Yorùbá, ponder!), which premiered in 1964. It was banned after a few performances by the regional government under Akintola. Ogunde sings in the play:

‘Mo b’oju w’aye o, aiye samalamala, mo b’oju w’ọrun o, okunkun sụ bolẹ o; mo ni hee re o! Ki ni de si Yorùbá o, ọmọ alade? Kini de si Yorùbá o, ọmọ Oodua? Yoo yo ’ ẹ yo, Yorùbá yoyoyo b ina al ; Yorùbá rururu bi omi okun; Yorùbá baba ni baba˙ se. Yooo ooo, Yorùbá r’onu ooo.’ The chorus answers in part: ‘...Yorùbá sọ ra wọndi bọọlu f’araye gba. Bi wọn ba gba wọns’oke, won a tun gba wọn si salẹ.Awọn to tin ’ọ ’ọ ọ ẹ ’ẹ ’ọ ọ ẹ ’ ...’ ˙s ga l j to ti p , tun pada wa d ni a nf w ti s yin. Yoo o oo, Yorùbá r onu o (‘I survey the world, it is devoid of lustre; I gaze at the heavens, darkness covers the firmament; I exclaim in surprise. What is the matter with the Yorùbá, scions of kings? What has happened to the Yorùbá, Odùduwà’s progeny? Yorùbá, dazzling like light in the night; Yorùbá, seething like the oceans; Yorùbá, the father is head. Yorùbá ponder!’ The chorus: ‘...Yorùbá have turned themselves into a ball to be kicked by the world. They are kicked up and down. Those who have been leaders for ages, have turned to people who are shoved to the back. Yorùbá, ponder!’). (Ọlarinmoye 2006) Yorùbá Ro’nu was a very powerful narrative, the story of the nation’s rise and decline, of lost glory and the need to reclaim the lost glory – similar to 62 Part One the ‘Romance’ structure of Johnson’s History of the Yorùbá: rise, decline and revival. The Yorùbá felt humiliated that their leader, the most prominent Yorùbá of his day, whether they agreed with him or not, was shamed and jailed. In this context, Awóló: wò: ’s suffering and sacrifice were attributes which a candidate for leadership is expected to exhibit in the Yorùbá cultural imagination – as he himself attests (Awóló: wò: 1985, 315). His physical absence from the political scene produced dramatic gains for the man, and suffused him with spiritual dimensions. Despite being in the ‘darkness’ of a prison room, Ogunde sang that Awo was ‘in the light/ the light of God/the lamp of the Lord’. Many Yorùbá swore that Awo had so much spiritual power that he often disappeared from prison and appeared in his home to meet with his wife, children and associates. On the one hand, this story, I like to suggest, appropriates the Christian resurrection narrative, particularly when it is considered in the context of the Christ-like image in which Awo ‘suffered for his people’ (‘crucifixion’). On the other hand, it is also a reflection of the Yorùbá cosmological view of a good baba (father), whether living or dead (ancestor), who never leaves his family and kin, and thus always finds a way of staying in touch with them – even if at the spirit level. The ultimate ‘resurrection’ and ‘ascension’ of Awo, however, took place when he was released from jail by the General Yakubu Gowon regime after the July 1966 counter-coup. He was then made the federal finance minister and deputy chairman of the Federal Executive Council by Gowon, who would later describe Awo as one who ‘had true presidential qualities’, and whose services to Nigeria ‘were second to none’ (Ogunsanwo 2009, viii). Here begins the third stage in the Awo trajectory. The reactions to his release and the events that followed again constituted aformof‘sacrificial lamb’ and ‘resurrection’ narrative. Ogunde described Awo’s imprisonment, in a song, as ‘ajourney’, the return from which brought ‘wealth, employment, peace, happiness and light’ to the Yorùbá. The post-jail Awo was a transformed hero. For the thousands who cheered the news of his release, danced through the streets, jumping up and giving the ‘Awo’ victory sign (Daily Sketch, 3 August 1966) and those who gave him a ‘tumultuous hero’swelcome’ when he appeared in Ibadan a few days later for a thanksgiving service at the Methodist Church, Agbeni, Ibadan (Daily Sketch, 8 August 1966, 4; Nigerian Tribune, 4 August 1966, 1; 5 August 1966, 4), the controversial politician who went to jail returned a hero of the people. The leader himself validated the public reaction to his release from jail in his speech to thousands of people who flocked to St Saviour’s Anglican Church, Ikenne, to welcome him from Calabar Prison. Elite Agency 63

The new status of Awo was confirmed even by the clergy, some of whom had been involved in the attempts to resolve the crisis that had led to Awo’s imprisonment and the collapse of the First Republic. For instance, Bishop S.I. Kale, the Bishop of Lagos, who personally met Awo and Akintola during the crisis in the early 1960s, declared in his sermon to welcome Awo: ‘It was in your absence that we all realized your worth, because you as our leader so much detest violence and in your absence we were all wrapped in violence and it is now left to you to use your influence to cause violence to make a retreat’ (Tribune, 4 August 1966, 1). The bishop added that the popularity of Chief Awóló: wò: had been made possible because he feared God and drew nearer Him every day by reading the Bible, and ‘because he dedicated his life as a Christian to and in the service of God and because of his being truthful in all his dealings’. He went on to stress that for some years the people had been seriously looking for a leader, adding, ‘we now find a hope on Chief Awóló: wò: ’s arrival and we now need to pray that God may use him as the force for rebuilding our great nation’ (Tribune, 15 August 1966, 1). Thus, after Awo’s return, narratives of ethno-national renewal and reuniting began anew. The new military governor of the Western Group of Provinces, Lt. Col. Adeyinka Adebayo, who took over in August 1966, announced that he was embarking on ‘Operation Unity’. This was against the backdrop of the widespread rioting, arson and killings in the west of the country, which had led to the collapse of the First Republic in January 1966. Adebayo conducted a three-day Unity Conference in Ibadan with different strata of the society between 9 and 11 August 1966. At the end of the meetings, Awóló: wò: was unanimously elected as the ‘Leader (Asiwaju) of the Yorùbá’ on 12 August 1966. The narrative of the need for unity and ethnic solidarity, against the disunity and violence of the past, was taken up by the media. Sketch,a newspaper which, until recently, had been controlled by the Akintola-led regional government and was used to attack Awóló: wò: , editorialized in celebration of an ‘eminent Omo Odua [son of Odùduwà], Chief Obafemi Awolowo’ (Sketch, 30 August 1966, 1). The Tribune added that:

If the Yorùbás had been at daggers drawn in the past, if they have been torn asunder by internal strife, it is because of the failure to recognize the fact that the leadership of a people, indeed of a nation, cannot be forced on them ...Chief Awolowo ...is only being asked to weld together a people once wrecked by feud, and to put into service his personal qualities of courage and decisiveness. (Tribune, 16 August 1966, 1) Another commentator, an Awo disciple, noted that by his suffering in the service of the people Awo had shown ‘that no mortal who has not suffered 64 Part One in the cause of truth has a legitimate claim to martyrdom’ (Tribune, 20 August 1966, 5–6); thus, again pointing to one of the key factors that many Yorùbá see as an attribute of leadership: suffering on behalf of the people. In the post-jail phase of his public career, Awóló: wò: became a largely uncontested figure of Yorùbá unity. It can therefore be argued that events conspired to match Awóló: wò: with a Christ-like archetype, so much so that, by 1979, when he ran for the presidency, the Yorùbá largely talked about him with bated breath. Awóló: wò: himself was fond of referring to the life of Christ in his metaphors and examples, even though he often added the caveat that he didn’t see himself as Christ. For instance, when asked by a notable journalist why he provoked ‘extremes of emotion’, Awo replied, ‘I think all – well I do not rank myself with great leaders, but those I am trying to emulate – Churchill, Nehru, Jesus Christ, Mohammed, Gandhi, provoke extremity of hatred and affection’ (Guardian, 12 May 1987, 11). There was collusion between the leader and his followers in projecting Odùduwà onto Awóló: wò: and vice versa, with Awóló: wò: acting in ways to confirm the identification. But this was possible only after Awóló: wò: had exhibited his ‘worthiness to lead’, as he puts it, in Yorùbá terms. The primary and fundamental step of acceptance of the leader by the people is important in the Yorùbá lifeworld, given their common saying that, ‘Aki i fi ara ẹni j’oye’ (‘one does not install oneself as a chief or ruler over a community/group of people’). The assumption that the community decides who is invested with authority and power necessitates the usual question, ‘Tani o fun o ni ase?’19 (‘who gave you the authority?’) (Abiọdun 1994, 311). Awóló: wò: thus affirmed his possession of the aste to be a leader through his sacrifices and legacy of service. In all these, it is important to emphasize that Awóló: wò: believed in and articulated the critical role of the ‘elect’–alongside the elected. Even though, as Femi Taiwo (2010, 9) stated, Awóló: wò: ’s ‘most significant commitment’ was to ‘liberal representative democracy based on the party system and universal adult suffrage, in which free citizens freely choose their representatives in electoral contests marked by clear articulation of ideas and policies’, yet Awo emphasized the recognition ‘that the healthy growth of a democratic way of life requires the existence of an enlightened

19 The concept of ase in Yorùbá is generally translated as and understood to mean ‘power’, ‘authority’, ‘command’, ‘spectre’, ‘vital force’‘in all living and non-living things and as “a coming-to-pass of an utterance” in the Yorùbá cosmos’. See Abiodun (1994). And, for a critique of the analyses of the concept in scholarly literature, see Roland Hallgren (1995). Elite Agency 65 community led by a group of people imbued with the all-consuming urge to defend, uphold and protect the human dignity and the legal equality of their fellow-men’ (Awóló: wò: 1960, 255). Such leaders might also be formally elected, but they would fundamentally have elected themselves through their ‘consuming urge’ and the practical application of their talents to the defined social goals. This is where the sociological meaning of elite and the Yorùbá understanding of the concept (pronounced ee-light) and practices of elite converge. Such ee-light or the ‘elect’, by their commitment, vision and sacrifices, uphold, in Awo’s understanding, egalitarianism and make democracy sustainable. For instance, his party, the UPN, described egalitarianism as its ‘national watchword’. The return of civilian rule in the Second Republic (1979–83) provided the opportunity to test Awóló: wò: ’s political supremacy in Yorùbáland as the elect. His party, the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN), swept the polls in all four states of Yorùbáland – and in Bendel State, which had also been part of the old Western Region. Part of the reason for the victory of Awo’s UPN, was that, as Richard Joseph (1987, 117) describes it in his famous study of Nigeria’s Second Republic, the party ‘represented one of the most concerted attempts to combine leadership, organizational cohesion, research and planning, and a progressive ideological commitment in post-colonial Africa’. However, even in this period, there were serious challenges to Awóló: wò: ’s political supremacy in Yorùbáland, as some rich and powerful Yorùbá politicians in the National Party of Nigeria (NPN) – including Chief Adisa Akinloye (Ibadan), Chief Richard Akinjide (Ibadan) and Chief Moshood Abiola (Egba) – contested, without much success, Awo’s and UPN’s popularity in Yorùbáland. In the 1983 general elections, these politicians ‘hijacked’ some of the Yorùbá states – Oyo and Ondo, the latter was later reversed by a court – from the UPN, which led to widespread violence. Andrew Apter aptly illustrates this through the local politics of a town, Aiyede, where people were ‘rioting for Awolowo’, even though it was Chief Adekule Ajasin, UPN’s gubernatorial candidate, who was ‘robbed’ by the opposing NPN (Apter 1992, 188–9). One of the primary methods that Awóló: wò: employed in his project of the reunification of the Yorùbá subgroups, as already noted, was to exploit the common agreement on the spiritual primacy of Ife. In this context, he also helped to further popularize the idea of Ile-Ife as the cradle of the Yorùbá by giving the king of Ife, the Ooni, a primacy which a few other Yorùbá obas, particularly the Alaafin – whom the British had made superior to most Yorùbá kings before the 1930s – were to dismiss as 66 Part One ahistorical. The Ooni, Oba Adesoji Aderemi, was made the ceremonial Governor of the Western Region. Awóló: wò: also took a chieftaincy title in Ife (Odole of Ile-Ife), but, instructively, never took any from Oyo. Awóló: wò: maintained this closeness with Adesoji’s successor, Ooni Okunade Sijuade, Olubuse II. Ooni Sijuade remains the closest monarch to Awo’s family to date. The creation of the Yorùbá Historical Research Scheme, referred to earlier, could, I suggest, have been intended to act as a corrective to the influential Oyo-centric account of Yorùbá history written by Samuel Johnson – an account which avoids the creation myth, with Ile-Ife as the sacred locus of Odùduwà’s original descent (Apter, 1992, 207). This ‘brilliant strategy’, as Falọla (1999, 14) describes Awóló: wò: ’s general and specific efforts,20 saw ‘the transformation of Awóló: wò: himself into the “modern Odùduwà”–the inheritor of ancient traditions and the most outstanding hero of the twentieth century’. Awóloẉ́o,̣́ as an active agent therefore, also became a carrier of historical forces (cf. Law 1994, 53). Until his death, Awóloẉ́ọ́was so passionate about the need for another version (rewriting) of Yorùbá history that he was planning to write a history which he, instructively, gave the same title as Johnson’s, without the ‘s’ with which Johnson pluralized the people: ‘The History of the Yorùbá’ (African Concord, 26 May 1987, 22; Ogunsanwo 2009, x; Makinde 2002, 1). One of his lieutenants, Professor Akintoye (2010), later published the ‘desired’ book, which ‘corrects’ the ‘errors’ in Johnson’s ‘Oyo-centric’ history. Akintoye stated categorically, ‘Consequent upon these efforts, we now stand able to lay aside, with respect, the Johnsonian hypothesis about the origins of Odùduwà and of the Yorùbá’ (Akintoye 2010,57). It is understandable, therefore, that forty-one years after he formed the Ẹgbẹ – that is, in 1986 – Awóloẉ́ọ́was thoroughly delighted by the expressed belief that the statue of Odùduwà looked exactly like him. Marshall Sahlins sees in such a conjuncture as this a ‘mythopraxis’, whereby a cosmological scheme meets the pragmatics at a critical historical conjuncture (Ohnuki-Tierney 1990, 9). In appropriating the Odùduwà legend, Awo boasted that his election as the ‘Leader of the Yorùbá’ identified ‘a reality which I personify’ because, ‘For the first time since Odùduwà, the Yorùbá have one leader!’ (Guardian, 12 May 1987, 1).

20 The speciﬁc effort included the foregrounding of Ile-Ife, rather than Oyo, in Yorùbá history and culture. Elite Agency 67

Interestingly enough, what had been wished for Yorùbáland in the future by Johnson in his Oyo-centric itan (history) – a return to ‘universal peace with prosperity and advancement’ and the welding into one of ‘the disjointed units under one head’, ‘as in the happy days of [Alaafin] ABIỌDUN’21 (Johnson 1921, 642) – would seem to have been achieved with Awóloẉ́ọ́’s leadership of the Yorùbá. The idea of Awóloẉ́ọ́as Odùduwà was a powerful metaphor of unity of all the hitherto warring subgroups that made up the Yorùbá nation. This ‘fact’ then connected the man (Awóloẉ́o)̣́ with ‘a particular cultural schema’ which assumed intense meaningfulness in his political struggles. This raises the question of the relationship between the actor and his (or her) cultural repertoire. Two processes could be discerned in Awóloẉ́ọ́’s eventual acceptance as the personification of Odùduwà and the leader of the Yorùbá. As Sherry B. Ortner (1990, 92) argues, such a schema is taken up by the actor and also takes over the actor in a way that acquires potential structuring force: ‘The actor will actually use it to order his or her interpretations and actions.’ Yet, there is no ‘tyranny of culture’ here – with its attendant loss of agency, choice and intentionality. Therefore, on the other hand, the actor also makes the culture an instrument of the self’s agency. A popular Yorùbá writer who emerged in the era of mass education in Yorùbáland, D.O. Fagunwa, exemplified Awóloẉ́ọ́’s emergent primacy in contemporary Yorùbá history, and the growing acceptance and appropriation of that primacy by many Yorùbá, in the foreword to his 1961 novel, Adiitu Olodumare (‘God’s Surprise Package’), which was dedicated to Awóloẉ́o.̣́ Fagunwa, in the foreword entitled ‘Awo’s lesson for all’, states that:

Obafemi Awolowo[‘s] life could serve as a model for people of all races and nations. Were it possible for the dead in the heavens above to observe the activities of those of us living on earth, Odùduwà, in particular, would be pleased and happy at what Awo has done not only for his [Odùduwà’s] descendants but also for all Nigerians .... Where others take fright and ﬂight when faced with difﬁculties, crises and tribulations, Awo confronts such situations with fortitude, bravery, and a few individuals are comparable with this honourable man. (Fagunwa, 1961, trans. in Guardian, 6 June 1987, 13)

21 Johnson’s bias towards an Oyo-centric view of Yorùbá history is clearly evident here for, during the reign of Alaaﬁn Abiodun, the subgroups were not generally described as ‘Yorùbá’ and some of them were not directly under the suzerainty of the Alaaﬁn. See Peel (2000). 68 Part One

By the time of his death, many had come to acknowledge Awóloẉ́ọ́’s efforts in remaking the Yorùbá and, because of this, he had started, even before he died – just as Akintoye (2010, 71) states about Odùduwà – to enjoy the status of an orisa. This is unusual in Yorùbá religious practice where, even though, as Karin Barber puts it, ‘man makes god’, a man only becomes a god after his death. But Awóloẉ́o,̣́ like Odùduwà, was an exception to this rule, which was why the Ooni of Ifet could ‘threaten’, while Awo was still alive, to declare him as the 202nd Yorùbá god (Ofeimun 1995, 14), in a city (Ile-Ife) famous for its 201 gods (Olupona 2011). It can be argued that even before his death, in the Yorùbá popular imagination, Awólọ́wọ́was already considered as ‘repeating in the present the timeless lives of ancestors or forebears’ (Marcus 2000, 16). Lateef Jakande, one of Awólọ́wọ́’s lieutenants and former Governor of Lagos State, said, ‘Chief Awolowo has welded the Yorùbás together already. Oduduwa is our progenitor and Awolowo welded the race he created. It is the nature of the Yorùbá culture to deify their leaders ...’ (Guardian,13 May 1987, 1). Also, when Awo was honoured by one of the local branches of ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà in October 1954, the branch leader stated that ‘within the short period of seven years, Chief Awolowo has completely metamorphosed Yorùbá race from scattered unit into an integral state in which each exist for all and all for it ...’ (Daily Service, 23 October 1954, 1). Thus, present experiences associated with Awóloẉ́ọ́(see Figure 5, where he is surrounded by his supporters), were assumed to reproduce past experiences of the person of Odùduwà ‘not just coincidentally or mysteriously, but in an embodied, willed, and cosmologically rationalized way’ (Marcus 2000, 17). Alex Fom, the general secretary of the defunct Nigerian People’s Party (NPP), who was from the Middle Belt region of Nigeria, noted that ‘Awolowo single-handedly brought the Yorùbás together into a formidable unit’ (Guardian, 12 May 1987, 3). Lamidi Adedibu, one of the enforcers of the Action Group, who later left the Awóloẉ́ọ́fold in the Second Republic to join the NPN, in league with key Ibadan politicians, afﬁrmed that Awóloẉ́ọ́rewrote Yorùbá history. Adedibu added, with some exaggeration, that, ‘Without Awolowo, there wouldn’t have been Yorùbá history’ (Tribune, 10 January 2005, 1). Hubert Ogunde, the pioneering Yorùbá playwright, monumentalized Awóloẉ́ọ́as the ur-Yorùbá in many songs. In one of the songs in the early 1960s, he sang that, ‘A god like you, Awóloẉ́o/Doeṣ́ not exist in Yorùbáland.’ Elite Agency 69

figure 5. The leader and his people ...Awo arriving at a campaign rally in 1979 (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library)

conclusion

There is a tendency in the anthropological literature to define ‘social structure’ as a sharp antithesis to agency. The interactions or intercon- nectedness of structure and agency are lost in such accounts (Hays 1994, 57). In line with these contrasting accounts, other dichotomies emerge in social theorizing, including the assumption that structure is systematic and patterned, while agency is contingent and random; structure is taken as a constraint, while agency is freedom; structure remains static, while agency is perpetually active; and structure is always collective, while agency is permanently individual (Hays 1994, 57). In this chapter, I have used the central agency of Awóloẉ́o,̣́ his followers and the groups he formed and led, as correctives to these binaries and assumptions, in ways that emphasize dynamic interactions between culture, structure and agency. This chapter suggests that structure is more than a pattern of material, objective, external constraints that limits or hinders human action, while agency is not merely actions that are unstructured, individual, subjective, random and connoting absolute freedom (Hays 1994, 58). Agency can and does transform structure and culture, because, as Benedotto Fontana (1993, 1) 70 Part One argues, even though ‘ineradicably rooted in the historical process’, human beings ‘are history, both as actors who through their practical activities make history, and as thinkers who contemplate themselves in history’. I suggest that, from the mid-20th century on, even if the Yorùbá could have sustained the nominal ethnic consciousness that had been raised and consolidated by the missionaries in the 19th century, Awóloẉ́o’̣́s actions and activities and the associated discourses and practices of Yorùbáness that he provoked, more than any other factor, consolidated the idea of oneness among the various Yorùbá subgroups. Doubtless, these discourses and practices were taken up and generalized by Awóloẉ́o’̣́s followers and eventually appropriated by most of the Yorùbá, in ways that would suggest a cultural ‘collusion’ between the leader, his immediate followers and the population at large. Yet, as someone who knew what he wanted and could articulate it to himself and to others and organize in order to obtain it, Awóló: wò: was able to ‘engage in concerted action to reshape or retain the structural and/or cultural features’ (Archer 2000, 265)ofthatdefined modern Yorùbá history. Awo applied his will in the Gramscian sense, ‘to the creation of a new equilibrium among the forces that really exist[ed] and [were] operative’ (Gramsci 1975, 1577) in Yorùbáland, in order to ‘dominate and transcend’ them. Given the centrality of cultural heroes and key figures in the construction of ethnic and national solidarity in Africa, the myth of a primal cultural figure (Odùduwà) was in desperate need for a revalidation in 20th-century Yorùbáland. This was even more so giving the intertribal wars fought in the 19th century and the hardening of sub-ethnic identities in the second quarter of the 20th century. Awóloẉ́ọ́ therefore fulfilled this need for a cultural hero, as the ‘neo-Odùduwà’. Even though de Moraes Farias fails to note Awóloẉ́o’̣́s centrality in the process, he acknowledges that, despite the earlier ossification of sub-ethnic identities among the Yorùbá, in the course of the 20th century the overall identity had prevailed (Farias 1990, 110). However, an important point should be made here – in anticipation of the following narratives on the contemporary attempts to consolidate and expand this legacy. As Pina-Cabral succinctly puts it, ‘This ethnic project, however much it is shared, is never univocal or fully consensual. It depends on dynamic correlation of forces among the members of the group ...This ethnic project gets constructed, altered and refurbished according to the complex evolution of this process’ (Pina-Cabral 2000, 223). Thus, even the (re)making of the Yorùbá remains an ‘unfinished project’ (Peel 2000, 310) which takes on new dynamics in the post-Awo era, even as the era is constantly re-evoked among the elite in the master-narrative of Yorùbá’s golden era. I hope to illustrate this in the following chapters of this book. 2

The Secular Ancestor: The Political Life of a Dead Leader

When a particular deceased is ...reinstated as an ancestor, it is...because he has living descendants of the right category. His reinstatement in this status establishes his continued relevance for his society, not as a ghost, but as a regulative focus for the social relations and activities that persist as the deposit, so to speak, of his life and career Meyer Fortes (1965, 72)

introduction

Death informs political life today (Murray 2006, 191) more than ever before, because death is ‘asigniﬁer of wider political, economic, cultural, ideological and theological endeavours’ (Posel and Gupta 2009, 299). Against this backdrop, this chapter focuses on the process by which Awo’s life and actions were generalized as the form and destiny of the Yorùbá nation – to use Marshall Sahlins’ (1985, 11) words. It takes up Awo’s centrality in Yorùbá politics beyond his death. Using the anthropological literature on ancestors, the chapter examines how the life and death of an individual is interpreted, and used to articulate a collective political vision. The death and burial of Awo (see Figure 6), and the construction and destruction of his statue are used as entry points to Yorùbá cultural politics in the post-Awo era. In this chapter, memory is given a paper trail through newspapers and news magazines, given that they (news media) also constitute a form of representation of elite life and politics. I approach all these within the context of the social and political relationships which

71 72 Part One

figure 6. Awo lying-in-state: Awo’s body in a glass casket at a ceremony in Ibadan. His famous cap is on top of the casket (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library)

I have observed among the Yorùbá power elite generally for about two decades, and, specifically, for about eight years while conducting research for this book. The chapter also concentrates on the dynamics of Awo’sdeathand burial and the controversy over the statue and its interpretations because of what they suggest for our understanding of Yorùbá politics, in particular, and elite politics, in general. I also attempt to show how the meaning of such social acts as death and burial and the erection and destruction of a statue, can illuminate our understanding of the political, and the sociology and cosmology of elite power in contemporary Africa. What makes Awo’s death, burial, statue, his physical absence and symbolic presence so unusually effective in the politics of Yorùbáland and Nigeria? I suggest, following Katherine Verdery (1999, 52), that a general reason can be found in the fact that death, burial and statue are ‘resources for creating meaning and legitimacy in moments of contention’ all over the world. But in the specific case of Awo, the Yorùbá and Nigeria, the local dynamics that (pre)determine and condition the continued political life of a late hero can be explicated by examining the form and meaning of the Awo aura, Awo’s place in Yorùbá – and, by extension, Nigeria’s – history and politics, and the ways in which these reflect forms of ancestor worship in Africa. The Secular Ancestor 73

(dis)honouring the dead: mapping politics and culture through icons

Events in general, and particular kinds of events, contain the potentials of producing, reproducing, confirming, contesting or transforming power relations in society, directly or indirectly. Whether such events are concrete or symbolic – or both – their capacity to reproduce or rupture existing forms of power relations are often embedded in the political, cultural or economic flows that precede and succeed the events. Where such events are imbricated with elite politics, their potentials for affecting hitherto existing relations of power and authority, (re)producing or instrumentalizing history, and (re)determining, challenging or affirming structural hegemony or agential domination and resistance, present interesting materials for students of society. In the course of my fieldwork in south-western Nigeria, I found myself in the middle of one such event – a form of collective representation – one which signalled the contours of the ongoing struggle for power among the members of the dominant (progressive) Yorùbá political elite and the members of the hitherto marginal (conservative) Yorùbá power elite. One afternoon in January 2008, I arrived in the offices of the Nigerian Tribune, in Ibadan, and overheard reporters discussing the major political issue of the day in the country. It was one of the reasons why I had come to see the editor of the paper, Edward Dickson, an old colleague. I was interested in the coverage by the newspaper, among others, of the controversy surrounding the unveiling, by the state governor the previous week, of the statue of the ‘Unknown Soldier’. The statue of the ‘Unknown Soldier’ was erected to replace the statue of late Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: , which had been destroyed by ‘unknown persons’ five years earlier. Awóló: wò: ’s statue had been raised by the former governor of Oyo State, Lam Adesina, in 2003, replacing the original statue of the Unknown Soldier, which had been erected by one of the past military governors of the state in the gardens in front of Government House, Ibadan. Adesina’s action was not only a symbolic celebration of the highly revered late leader of the Yorùbá and the triumph of (progressive) democratic rule in Yorùbáland, but also a symbolic affirmation of the defeat of military dictatorship by pro-democratic forces and the crusaders for justice, liberty and equity in Nigeria. Perhaps as an unwitting indication of the challenge which the Unknown Soldier’s statue constituted to the governor and the political class to which he belonged, the statue was facing the Government 74 Part One

House, rather than ‘guarding’ it – that is, having its back to the building. The old Unknown Soldier was a metaphoric reminder of the threat and menace that the military had constituted to the Yorùbá power elite in particular, and to democracy and national stability in Nigeria in general. The military seized power in Nigeria on 31 December 1983, thus, ending the Second Republic (1979–1983). Under the four brutal and corrupt military regimes that ruled Nigeria between December 1983 and May 1999, the Yorùbá elite believed that they and their region were the most adversely affected by military rule. Shortly after the military intervention led by army officers from the north, some members of the Yorùbá elite started advocating for a confederal political system in which power would devolve more to the constituent units of the Nigerian federation. The soldiers eventually retreated to the barracks in May 1999, signalling the birth of the Fourth Republic. Governor Lam Adesina of the Alliance for Democracy (AD), a party which claimed the political heritage of Awóló: wò: , had erected the statue of Awo only a few days before he left office. Shortly before then, Governor Adesina had been controversially defeated in the massively rigged April 2003 gubernatorial election by the candidate of the rival (conservative) People’s Democratic Party (PDP), Rasheed Ladoja. On the night of Ladoja’s ascent to power, the statue of the known leader, which replaced that of the Unknown Soldier, was destroyed by ‘unknown persons’. The remains of the Awo statue were left unattended to for the next five years, as politicians who were opposed to the Awóló: wò: movement, both at the federal and state levels, dominated the politics of the Oyo and surrounding states between 2003 and 2011. Therefore, when Ladoja’s successor, Governor Christopher Alao-Akala, also of the PDP, decided to erect another statue on the same spot, I became interested in who was behind the veil. When I first noticed, during my fieldwork in late December 2007, that a new statue had been erected, but not yet revealed, I suspected that this was going to be a subject of controversy. The new statue was wrapped with plastic. Since I had been around for a few months and drove by the Government House almost daily yet never saw workmen at the site, I concluded that the statue must have been erected during the night. If this was true, I assumed that even the governor realized that it had potential for trouble and did not want this to begin before the statue was even put up. I also knew it could not be Awo’s statue because it was obvious that a hand was not raised, with two fingers parted in a victory sign – as is usual with Awo’s public statues – and because Alao-Akala was not a fan of Awóló: wò: . However, I knew that even in the most unlikely event that Alao-Akala had The Secular Ancestor 75 re-erected Awo’s statue he was still going to suffer serious attacks from his constituents and other anti-Awo, conservative politicians around the country. But if this was not Awo’s statue, whose statue was it? I asked my old colleague in journalism who was then Governor Alao- Akala’s special assistant. He was sure to know what was behind the veil. But Akala’s aide claimed ignorance on whose image it was. That made it more interesting, because I didn’t believe him. At any rate, if he did not know, then the secrecy in which the statue was shrouded made it more interesting to me as an ethnographer of the politics of memory. I went to the editor of the city’s most famous paper and the oldest surviving privately owned newspaper in Nigeria, the Nigerian Tribune, which, incidentally, was founded by Awo and owned by his family. The editor, Dickson, had access to the governor, so I thought I might get a clue from him. I was also surprised that his newspaper had not published any speculation on the statue yet to be unveiled. When I first asked him, Dickson said he had asked a reporter to investigate the matter, but the reporter drew a blank everywhere he went. The editor added that since the statue was set to be unveiled in a few days, he had decided to wait. The statue was eventually unveiled on 15 January 2007, to commem- orate that year’s Armed Forces Remembrance Day. It was the statue of a new Unknown Soldier, returned to its old place. For the next few weeks, Governor Alao-Akala suffered vicious attacks in newspapers over his decision to replace Awo’s statue with the statue of the Unknown Soldier. It became the major news issue for media commentaries for a few weeks as politicians, members of the political elite, journalists and public commentators struggled to make the most critical statement on the practical and symbolic implications of the replacement of the Yorùbá hero – Awóló: wò: . ‘How could anyone be so bold to tamper with indicators of history at a time when we yearn for true leadership provided by the likes of the late Obafemi Awolowo?’ asked Abass-Olisa Adedayo of the Faculty of Law, Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: University, Ile-Ife, in a letter published in the Nation newspaper (Adedayo, 23 January 2008). Under attack and under pressure over the removal of the statue of the late leader, described by a newspaper columnist as the ‘undisputed “living” hero’, and one ‘whose remarkable sagacity and exploits have been so well documented’ (Akinlotan, 13 January 2008), Governor Alao-Akala promised that he would erect another statue for Awo, adding that the replacement of the destroyed Awo’s statue with that of the Unknown Soldier was not intended to disrespect or humiliate ‘the legend who was 76 Part One an acclaimed leader of the Yorùbá race’ (Aborisade and Oyedele, 16 January 2008). Alao-Akala added, in a statement, ‘I cherish and admire Chief Awolowo’s sterling qualities as a great leader, first class administra- tor and brilliant politician’ (ibid.). Why does the representation of Awo still evoke such strong passions, defining the contours of politics, particularly in the Yorùbá West of Nigeria more than twenty-five years after his death? What does Awóló: wò: represent which attracts such deep passions with strong consequences for politics and governance in Yorùbáland and Nigeria? And, how can students of society in general, and students of cultural politics in particular, make sense of the politics of representation and symbolic appropriation in the African context? Governor Adebayo Alao-Akala of Oyo State was obviously ‘looking for trouble’, pro-Awo politicians told me. But the governor did not realize that he would get plenty of it – until it was too late. Five years earlier, Awóló: wò: ’s statue was destroyed in an act that was a marker of the change in regime and the triumph of conservative political ideology in Oyo State in particular, and Yorùbáland in general. As I was told by a few people close to the governor, there were probably three reasons that informed his decision to, as a respondent described it, ‘fish for trouble in the ocean of Yorùbá cultural and political sensibilities’. One, he wanted to please the anti-Awo political elite in the capital city of Ibadan, Oyo State, and the rest of Nigeria – as well former President Olusegun Obasanjo. The latter had ensured, against the constitutional process, the ascension of Deputy Governor Alao-Akala as governor, after his boss, Governor Ladoja, had been illegally impeached on 12 January 2006. Two, as a ‘conservative’ politician or one lacking any serious political ideology Alao-Akala felt that he could further demonstrate, symbolically, what he assumed to be the end of Awo’s patrimony in Yorùbáland by re-erecting the statue of the Unknown Soldier to replace Awo’s statue. The governor must have been emboldened by the fact that, despite the political crisis caused by the destruction of the statue by those assumed to be his party’s constituents five years earlier, everyone had since ‘forgotten’ about the Awo statue. This, he reckoned, was a further demonstration that the Awoists had lost much of their legitimacy and popularity in Yorùbá politics – having being unable to resist their displacement from power in all but one (Lagos) of the six Yorùbá states in the 2003 and 2007 gubernatorial elections. The third reason was a speculation by one of my respondents. It could be that Alao- Akala’s largely unpopular administration was also interested in yet another means of handing out an inflated contract to one of its cronies, The Secular Ancestor 77 this time to make some money by constructing a new statue. The cost of the new statue was put at N17.5 million. As soon as the statue was unveiled, however, the governor must have recognized his error. For many people, by re-erecting the statue of the Unknown Soldier in place of Awo’s, Alao-Akala had dishonoured the ‘archetype’, that is, Awo, a legend who ‘does not deserve this humiliation!’ (Adedayo, 23 January 2008). In mid-January 2008, about a week after the unveiling of the statue, I went back to the editor of the Tribune, Edward Dickson, to discover what Alao-Akala’s reaction had been to the attacks on him in many newspapers. Dickson told me that the governor had called him late at night to express his ‘total disgust’ with the ‘scurrilous attacks’ on his person and against his government in the newspapers, particularly in an otherwise ‘friendly’ newspaper such as Tribune. Governor Alao-Akala, disclosed the editor, did not make any specific threats against the paper, but implied, in his angry monologue, that he might withdraw his ‘support’ (meaning advertorials, and perhaps other forms of ‘support’)fromthepaper.‘Before I could reply him and defend our newspapers’, Dickson told me, ‘the governor ended the call. He would not listen to whatever I had to say. He was too angry.’ Akhil Gupta has alerted anthropologists of public culture to the ‘powerful cultural practices’ by which institutions and structures are symbolically represented or re-presented to the public. He argues that, in the case of the state, its representations ‘are constituted, contested, and transformed in public culture’ (Gupta 2006, 221). Thus, as a zone of cultural debate, public culture is conducted through the mass media and ‘the visible practices of institutions such as the state’ (ibid.). For this reason, Gupta invites ethnographers to pay attention to the reports in local and national newspapers because they tell ‘us a great deal about the manner in which “the state” comes to be imagined’ (ibid.). Prior to Gupta’s call, Abner Cohen (1981), in his celebrated work on a ‘state elite’ (the Creoles) in Sierra Leone, also conducted extensive analysis of local newspapers to compliment his participant and non-participant observation. In this chapter, I follow Cohen and Gupta’s useful lead in examining newspaper reports of the debates over the statue of Awo, given that, one, ‘newspapers are perhaps the most important mechanisms in public culture for the circulation of discourses’ (Gupta 2006, 222) about political legitimacy and symbolic politics; two, ‘newspapers contribute to the raw material necessary for “thick” description’;three, ‘conceptualized as cultural texts and sociohistorical documents’,newspapers, when compared to oral interviews – a favourite method of anthropologists in the gathering of data – also ‘constitute ...a certain form of situated 78 Part One knowledge’ (ibid.). While Gupta warns ethnographers not to treat newspapers as ‘having a privileged relation to the truth of social life’, he reminds us that newspapers have much to offer, ‘when seen as a major discursive form through which daily life is narrativized and collectivities imagined’ (ibid.). In what follows I use newspaper reports and commentaries along with other published documents, oral interviews, participant and non- participant observation, and oral performances in understanding how the dead elite (in this case, Awóló: wò: ) are remembered and honoured, and how the processes of their burial, memorial and commemoration, that is, the totality of the symbolic relations between the dead and the living which invests the dead with a form of agency, are useful in the understanding of elite politics in Africa. In its reaction to the ‘substitution’ of Awo’s statue for that of the Unknown Soldier, Afé:nifé:re described Alao-Akala’sactionas‘sacrilegious’, while insisting that the action had a ‘spiritual connotation’. ‘As for Alao-Akala’,states the group, ‘we can only say that as he has chosen to replace Awo statue, so shall he, in no long time, be replaced democratically with a more worthy person as governor of Oyo State’ (Ogunmade and Sanni 2008, 1). Afé:nifé:re re-presented Awo to Alao-Akala, and his allies in the PDP, as not only an idea, but also an ideal and a corporate agent. The group stated, ‘In case these historical throw-ups have forgotten, Awo is the most revered leader by the Yorùbá people after Odùduwà, our progenitor. It was he who banished ignorance from Yorùbá land through free education, pioneered industrial revolution by building industrial complexes, which the PDP governors are selling off today’ (ibid.). Governor Lam Adesina, who erected Awo’sstatue five years earlier, directed his attack at former President Obasanjo, a retired general: ‘What attraction does the “known soldier” in Ota [Obasanjo’s residence] hold for the Yorùbá people after eight disastrous years in Aso Rock [Presidential Villa]; not to talk of the “unknown soldier”? Obasanjo’s eight-year Presidency only witnessed the decimation of the Yorùbá people, the despoliation of our values and the degradation of our politics’ (ibid.). At the time Alao-Akala replaced Awo’s statue, his victory at the polls in the 2007 gubernatorial election was still being contested in the courts by the candidate of the All Nigerian People’s Party (ANPP), Senator Abiola Isiaka Ajimobi, formerly of the Action Congress (AC), and of the Afé:nifé:re/Alliance for Democracy (AD). For Ajimobi, the action of Alao- Akala was an opportunity to remind Oyo State people and Nigerians in general that Alao-Akala’s was an ‘illegitimate’ administration, both legally and also politically and culturally. The unpopular action of this The Secular Ancestor 79

‘illegitimate’ governor, Ajimobi promised, would be reversed once he was able to ‘re-claim’ his ‘mandate’ as the duly elected governor of the state in the disputed 2007 election (Nation, 21 January 2008, 1). The Oodua People’s Congress (OPC), which had been involved in violent clashes with the police and other members of other ethnic groups in urban areas in Yorùbáland (Adebanwi 2004;Akinyele,2003), expressed ‘disap- pointment’ over the action of the governor. In a statement signed by its leader, Gani Adams, the OPC stated that ‘Chief Awolowo still remains the best political idol to come out of the Yorùbá race’ (Nigerian Tribune, 12 January 2008). Ropo Sekoni (2008), a retired Lincoln University professor, who dismisses Governor Alao-Akala as one who ‘shows the conviction of an ignoramus’,identified Obasanjo and Adedibu as sharing the responsibility for the emergence this ‘ignoramus’ (Alao-Akala) and the loss of values in Oyo State. Sekoni was echoing his fellow Nation columnist, Idowu Akinlotan (2008, 56), who had remarked earlier that the governor’saction ‘is indeed a sorry reflection of the decline in Nigerian politics, and of the perversions introduced into the body politic by men like [Lamidi] Adedibu and [President] Obasanjo’. Akinlotan asked, ‘how could someone [such as Governor Akala] surrounded on all sides by the legacies of Awo be so blissfully unaffected by their vigour, translucence and majesty?’ (ibid). Under attack from all sides, Governor Alao-Akala promised to re-erect the statue of Awóló: wò: in front of the Parliament Building at the Government Secretariat before the end of 2008. Everyone knew he would not keep the promise. Alao-Akala left offi1ce in 201 without keeping his promise. The controversy provoked by the replacement of Awóló: wò: ’s destroyed statue with that of the Unknown Soldier in 2008 was a significant, but slightly less intense, replay of the original controversy sparked by the destruction of the Awo statue in 2003. Later in this chapter, I examine this and then link it to the cultural and political processes through which Awo’s life and death are magnified and weaved into the fate and destiny of the Yorùbá. In doing this, I hope to further illuminate our understanding of the political uses of the dead and (recent) ancestors in contemporary African politics.

the end of an era?

I owe a longer allegiance to the dead than to the living: in that world I shall abide for ever Antigone (Antigone, Sophocles) In April 2003,a‘political earthquake’ was witnessed in the south-west of Nigeria. The political party and the socio-cultural and political group, 80 Part One

Alliance for Democracy/Afé:nifé:re, associated with the late leader of the Yorùbá and nationalist politician, Chief Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: , was routed in the general elections. Five of the AD incumbent governors were defeated in the massively rigged elections by the People’s Democratic Party (PDP). The PDP, despite the fact its presidential candidate, Olusegun Obasanjo, was a Yorùbá, was associated more with the conservative (Hausa-Fulani) power elite of the north of Nigeria – the rivals of the mainstream Yorùbá power elite. A newspaper columnist averred that the victory of the PDP represented the dethron- ing of the ‘unquestioned kings of Yorùbá politics, inheritors of the Awóló: wò: mantle, the oracles [to which] every wise politician in the South west had to make regular sacriﬁces’ (Nwabuikwu, 16 April 2003, 6). The columnist stated further: AD has been decimated in the Yorùbá (states) and Afé:nifé:re, the conclave of elders that exercises more control over its affairs than its elected executives, has suddenly lost the initiative in south-west politics. On 27 May 2003, two days before the swearing-in of the new PDP governor in the Yorùbá state of Oyo, the outgoing AD–Afé:nifé:re gover- nor, Lam Adesina, unveiled the statue of Awóló: wò: , which was erected in the gardens outside the Government House in Ibadan, the political capital of the Yorùbá nation. However, during the night of the swearing-in of the new PDP governor, Rashidi Ladoja, on 29 May 2003, the 12-foot statue, weighing 13,000 kilograms (13 tons), and estimated to cost £150,000 (Faleti, 2 July 2003, 12), was destroyed. An interesting political controversy was raised in the aftermath of this attempt to dramatize the end of the hegemony of Awoism in Yorùbá politics. The destruction of the statue of the man who died sixteen years earlier, was described as ‘heinous’ and ‘a sacrilege’. However, it can be argued that between those who erected the statue and those who destroyed it there was no disagreement about the importance of the man and the power of the representation (statue) that was being raised and destroyed. As Robin Jeffrey (1980, 484) suggests, social scientists can wring a good deal of signiﬁcance from political statues and the circumstances in which they are raised and destroyed. At the lying-in-state of Awo’s body, the then military governor of Oyo State, Col. Adetunji Olurin, in his funeral oration, said: ‘Here lies the legendary Awo, here lies a great compatriot, here lies the prophetic Jeremiah of Africa, here lies the end of an era’ (Olurin 1987, 2).1 Did

1 Kenya’s leading newspaper, the Kenyan Times, also described Awo’s death as ‘the end of an era’ (African Concord 26 May 1987, 22). The Secular Ancestor 81

Awo’s death mark the end of an era and the beginning of a new one in Yorùbá and national politics? Awóló: wò: was strongly reviled by many and passionately loved, revered, and even apotheosized, by yet many more, in life as well as in death; ‘for there is no political ﬁgure so mysterious, so prone to controversies, around whom strings of rumours have gathered more in Nigerian politics than [Awo]’ (THISWEEK, 23 March 1987, 18). More than two decades after his death, Awo has not stopped being the main issue in Nigerian politics, as the controversies over his death, burial, statue and continued political life indicate. The man ‘who had a telepathic understanding of the historical forces at play and an elective afﬁnity with their great unstable dynamics’ (Williams 2004, 5,) and ‘something of the Old Testament prophet about [him]’ (Dare 1987, 9), who was met everywhere he went – even his dead body – with thunderous roars of ‘Awoooooo’,and whose natural gifts were so immense as to have constituted a ‘genetic scandal’ (ibid.), has survived himself. Politics in Yorùbáland, and, by extension, Nigeria, remain bound to the real and symbolic divide between those members of the elite who were with and/or are for Awo, and those who stood and/or are standing against Awo. Awo, as Edwin Arlington Robinson says in his poem, seems to have more to say after his death!

the cult of awo: the secular ancestor

The dead are everywhere around us, continue to be concerned with the lives of the living, and demand to be kept informed about events involving them. They also want to be consulted about every major step taken by their surviving relatives. They can help .... But they can also act vindictively, inflicting harm on those who do not respect them Abner Cohen (1981, 71) The cult of the dead in Africa is one of the key traditional institutions in society. In Yorùbáland, great personages are believed to pass into the ethereal realm as gods, therefore becoming orisa (god, oracle or deity). Indeed, virtually every Yorùbá god, from Sango, the god of thunder, through Ogun, the god of iron and war, to Osun, the water goddess, was once a great man or woman whose life was exemplary. In Yorùbá traditional religion, the way of life is determined by a ‘covenant-relationship’,as Idowu (1969, 244) describes it, with the divinities first, and then, ultimately, with the Supreme Deity (God). However, in Yorùbá traditional thought and religious practices, the orisa is kept in existence by the attention of humans (Barber 1981, 724; see also, Olupona 2011, 262). As Karin Barber correctly argues, ‘Without the collaboration of the devotees, the 82 Part One orisa will be betrayed, exposed and reduced to nothing’ (Barber 1981, 724). This is so because the Yorùbá live in a society in which human individual power is conditional on collective acknowledgment and appreciation by fellow human beings. The Yorùbá god is therefore in far greater need of regular devotees than other gods, and it faces a greater need for constant proof of its benevolence. This fact, in the god-man or god-devotee relationship at the cosmological and spiritual levels, is replicated in the political attitude of the Yorùbá.2 Yorùbá attitude to the orisa can be related to their worship of ancestors. Generally, ancestor worship is predicated on the belief that the dead can influence, and be influenced by, the living (Wadley 1999, 595). One major way through which the living follow or practise ‘tradition’, is by worshipping (or literally ‘demonstrating the worth of’) ancestors: communicating to one another, through this, the importance of ancestors, and, function- ally, the value of the ‘traditions’ and social (kin) relationships created by the ancestors. Sawyer (1970) argues that in many of the religions in West Africa God is the Great Ancestor (Goody 1974, 449). Indeed, anthropology has long had much to say about ancestors (e.g., Gluckman 1937; Fortes 1961; Fortes 1965; Kopytoff 1971, 1981; Calhoun 1980; Glazier 1984). Leading scholars in the discipline of anthropology, including Spencer, Tylor and Frazer all concluded that ‘primitive religion’ is marked by ‘ancestor worship’ (Fortes 1965, 122; McCall 1995, 256; Cole and Middleton 2001). The evolutionary thesis of these ancestors later gave way to functionalist models, with ancestors retaining a centrality in the total organization of ‘primitive societies’.3 The structural–functional theory of ancestors reached what some would see as a cul-de-sac in Igor Kopytoff’s 1971 article, ‘Ancestors as Elders in Africa’. Kopytoff had argued controversially that, in Africa, there is no significant distinction between ancestors and living elders, thus emphasizing continuity and similarity. He insisted that ‘living elders’ and ‘dead ancestors’ are often ‘cognates’ and ‘belong to the same semantic field’ (Kopytoff 1981, 136), in ways that are different from Western conception of separation between the living and the dead. Some scholars, including Brain (1973) and Mendonsa (1976), challenged Kopytoff’s thesis by rejecting the linguistic criteria on

2 ‘ ﬁ ’ ẹ ’ ’ ‘ The popular Yorùbá aphorism is, oris˙a, ti o ba le gbemi, mi s il b oos˙ebami (lit. Oracle (god), if you cannot assist/support me, let us maintain the status quo’). 3 For a review of what ancestor worship represents for different authors in the discipline, see Sheils (1975). The Secular Ancestor 83 which his conclusions were based and the validity of his interpretation (McCall 1995, 256). Consequently, for some time, there was a very interesting debate in anthropological literature on who are the ancestors in African religious practices. After this, there was a long spell of stagna- tion in scholarly interest in ancestors,4 so much so that Keesing (1983, 185) argued that ancestors, particularly Tale ancestors, were best left to rest (or exercise their authority) in peace. In his attempt to recover anthropological interest in ancestors, through a ‘practice-based’ approach, rather than a focus on cosmological concern, McCall attempts to ‘demonstrate the extent to which ancestor-related practices are techniques for experientially engaging with the socially constituted past, thus providing cultural mechanisms with which people can make and remake their social world’ (McCall 1995, 258, emphasis added). The Ohaﬁa ancestors studied by McCall, like most of the ancestors studied by anthropologists, lived in pre-colonial times. I suggest that, in the attempt to recover interest in ancestor worship in Africa, the literature should also focus on what I like to describe as contemporary modes of ancestor worship in which ‘modern’ and ‘traditional’ discourses and institutions mesh in the construction of ethno-national heroes. In this context, I argue that the ‘cosmology concern’ rejected by McCall is relevant; however, its relevance is not in contradiction to practices, as assumed by McCall in his attempt to dichotomize cosmologies and practices. Practices can, and do, feed off cosmological beliefs and concerns and vice versa. In my conception, an ancestor is not merely a superior elder, as argued by Kopytoff, but something qualitatively different. Even though there is continuity and similarity between the (living) elder and the (dead) ancestor in the Yorùbá case (for instance, Awóló: wò: is assumed to be ‘ruling Yorùbáland from the grave’), the fact that the dead (ancestor) no longer exists materially gives him (rarely her) properties qualitatively different from that which living elders are assumed to possess. Thus, the superior elder, when transformed to a dead ancestor, is endowed with spiritual properties which he did not possess before his death. John D.Y. Peel has argued that, in the Yorùbá case, ‘Ancestors start out as something quite different from orisa, as known individuals with whom the worshipper has had a personal relationship, perhaps an intimate and affectionate one’ (Peel 2000, 94). Before their death, such elders were already credited with power beyond the norm; therefore, the crediting of superhuman power to ancestors can be taken as only a simple extension of

4 For why this was so, see McCall (1995) and Cole and Middleton (2001). 84 Part One the powers they possessed as living elders (Peel 2000, 94–5). Yet this ‘extension’ is critical and indicates a transformation in the capacity of the now-dead elder, which is why the transition to ancestorhood for great men in Yorùbáland is always grand and phased.5 In relating the orisa with ancestors, Peel argues that:

The way in which orisa and ancestors were both complementary and convergent takes us to the heart of the pressures that shaped Yorùbá practice. Generated by the quest for empowerment as guided by two distinct intuitions – of the enchantedness of nature, and the charisma of elders – the primary forms of their relations and human beings were sharply contrasted. The orisa had as their ﬁrst function to represent the alien and obdurate forces of nature, power that were ‘out there’ but prone to intrude with devastating effect on human life. Ancestors, by contrast, were continuous and consubstantial with their descendants, which guaranteed their human approachability. The one stood for realism about the conditions in which life had to be lived, the other represented hope that something could be done about its problems. (Peel 2000, 96–7) While Peel’s point is valid, it overemphasizes the distinction between orisa and ancestors, given that, one, in some cases, particular ancestors are also in the Yorùbá pantheon of orisas – such as Sango, Oya, Obatala, Ogun and so on – and, two, in some accounts, the ur-ancestor, Odùduwà, is also regarded as the paramount orisa, creator of the world (Apter 1992, 154; see also Akintoye 2010, 71–2)or‘God-king’ (Olupona 2011, 224–48). However, while all ancestors are not orisas, all particular orisas are ancestors: the ‘ancestralness’ of orisas is qualitatively different from that of particular genealogical forefathers. In this context, orisas do not necessarily belong to a lineage (Idile), but often cut across kin groups. Therefore, ancestors who are not regarded as orisas are often not worshipped as elaborately as the latter. Also, while orisas are worshipped more purpo- sively – to request their benevolence or prevent their anger – ancestor worship is predicated more speciﬁcally on demonstrating their worth and their continuous veneration by their progeny or successors. In the political context, Awo can therefore be seen as both an oris˙a and a (recent) ancestor. I suggest that, given its ties to religion (Sheils 1975), studies of ancestor worship in Africa overlook contemporary contexts in which ‘modern’ or recent ancestors are worshipped in terms of their continued veneration and

5 Peel gives the example of ‘the death and burial of King Akintoye of Lagos who died in 1853. Three days after his burial, Akintoye was counted as an ancestor, and Dosumu (his son and successor) prayed to him. Over the next few weeks he was often to be found making offerings to his deceased father.’ Peel (2000, 95). The Secular Ancestor 85 the constant demonstration of their worth in the present social process – as exhibited in African forms of nationalism.6 This recognition and veneration of a recent ancestor who is also regarded as orisa, however, draw on ‘ ’ ‘ ’ the traditional practice in which oris˙a is a cluster concept , part ancestor, part Big Man (cultural hero) and part nature spirit (Apter 1992, 152–4).7 The recent ancestor is a collective hero whose recognition and worship constitute an exercise in national self-identification and validation; the hero is made to personify the nation (cf. Mazrui 1963, 24). In the context of this, Ali Mazrui, based on the case of Jomo Kenyatta among the Kikuyu of Kenya, argues that contemporary ancestor worship is ‘only a special form of the wider phenomenon of hero-worship’ among ‘tribes’ and nations 8 (Mazrui 1963, 21,). Meyer Fortes long argued correctly that the national significance of ancestors ‘derives from the political rank of the worshipped ancestors [and] not from their ancestral status’ (Fortes 1965, 123). Since the 1950s in Africa, semi-occult and outright occult forms of the monumentalization of leaders have keyed into or fed off the ‘traditional’ need and passion for gods and great personages in society, although in ways that give them a new (‘modern’) lease of life in tune with contemporary political interests (see Geschiere 1997, for some examples from Cameroon; and Ellis and ter Haar 2004, 91; Kirk-Greene 1991, 177–81, for examples from Ghana). Such need and passion are central to the construction of politics and the ways and manners in which these leaders are encountered while alive and in history. In this chapter, I relate the way in which the death, burial and memory of a recent ancestor, who is also regarded as possessing the qualities of an oris˙a, are used to emphasize or contest his overrepresentation of the Yorùbá ethnic nationality. In Africa generally, and specifically in the Yorùbá case, the endowment of people with supernatural qualities usually happens only after death – when they become ancestors. They may be exceptionally powerful before they die, as chiefs, superior elders and such like. However, such power is often due to the juju (fetish power) they have got or the help they have been able to enlist (e.g., through sacrifices) from orisa (or their own ancestors);

6 C.J. Calhoun points out that in Tale social thought the ancestor is a father at least two generations removed. Calhoun (1980, 304). 7 For interesting perspectives on this see Bascom (1944, 1969); Horton (1983); Barber (1981). 8 Katherine Verdery (1999, 41) has argued that this practice can be found around the world. National ideologies, she reminds us, are saturated with kinship metaphors. Many national ideologies present nations as large, mostly patrilineal kinship (descent) groups. 86 Part One but not because of their own intrinsic powers. In this sense, Awóló: wò: is remarkable as an exception to this rule – like Odùduwà before him more than ten centuries earlier – in that he was invested with some of the properties of an ancestor or/and orisa while he was still a superior elder. He started being credited with more-than-mortal powers while he was in prison, between 1962–6. It can be said that while he ‘died’ politically, that is, by being jailed by his opponents, he was ‘compensated’ with mystical powers – which, to some extent, stayed with him afterwards, even in his years of political setbacks. Olufemi Ogunsanwo, one of his admirers, states that Awo ‘acted ...the role of a saint ...throughout his illustrious political career’ (2009, xii). Awo himself fuelled the speculations about his occult powers, albeit vicariously, through encounters such as when he reportedly turned down a request to join a secret cult by stating that his own personal cult was stronger. I suggest then that, given his preoccupation with spiritual matters as a member of the Rosicrucian Order, Awo also sought assiduously to sacralize himself. He ate only one full meal a day, in the evening, he was an ascetic who absented himself from even conjugal sex from the age of fifty (up to the point of his death at seventy-eight, in 1987) and meditated regularly. His famed ‘supernatural’ powers even verged on what, within the dichotomized understanding of rational–irrational nexus, was regarded as ridiculous. Obviously writing within this dichotomy, Odia Ofeimun describes the stories of the ‘supernatural accomplishments’ of Awo as ‘myth and mysticism [that could] drown the secular import of his life’ (Ofeimun 1987b,B4). During Awo’s presidential campaign in 1979, many cities, towns and villages in the Yorùbá West were gripped variously with panic or delight as thousands reportedly ‘saw’ Awo in the moon in the dead of night with his famous victory sign. As a child, I too was woken up by my parents and siblings to ‘see Papa [Awo]’ in the moon; I must confess that I did see him, because there was no way I couldn ’t have! I risked being pronounced an ‘infant’ or being confirmed blind. ‘Appearing’ in the moon was, for admirers, the proof of Awo’s omni- competence, potency and cosmic influence.9 For his opponents, it was proof of his evil genius and perfidy. One of the latter, obviously taking Awo as a ‘Big Man’ who was also an ‘absolute transgressor’ (Copet- Rougier in Geschiere 1997, 132), took a half-page advert in a northern newspaper to castigate Awo for desecrating the moon (Dare 1987, 9; Ofeimun 1987b,B4). Another example was the accusation by some

9 For an interpretation of popular narratives about Nigerian leaders, see Ropo Sekoni (1997). The Secular Ancestor 87 stalwarts of the ruling party, the National Party of Nigeria (NPN), in the Second Republic, that Awóló: wò: was spiritually responsible for the drought in the northern parts of the country, because he hated the Hausa and the Fulani (Dare 1987, 9). Thus, while Awo’s admirers affirm his ‘holy’ powers, which were expected to manifest in political fortunes for him and his people, his adversaries deconstruct this by inventing, not examples and manifestations of his ‘holy spirit’, but those of his ‘evil spirit’. Both interpretations manifest a combination of fascination and distrust (Geschiere 1997, 131); either way, Awo is constructed as a powerful political leader with an ‘arsenal of occult tools’ (ibid., 9), and one who could use these tools in the service of his politics. Achille Mbembe has already called for an elaboration of ‘other languages of power’ related to African realities (Geschiere 1997, 7)that take into account the notions of occult, given that, ‘in Africa, discourses on power continue to be marked by these notions’ (Geschiere 1997, 7). As Ellis and ter Haar (2004, 91–2) surmise from similar accounts in Ghana, the popular belief in Awóló: wò: ’s spiritual efficacy suggests that Nigerians ‘readily assume that their politicians are in communication with the spirit world, and that the connection may be sinister. Political power, like spiritual power, is regarded as ambivalent since it can be used to do good or to inflict harm. Hence, successful politicians are both admired and feared.’ Awo was so ‘spiritually efficacious’, his lieutenants would argue, that he even ‘predicted’ his own death. In Warri, a few weeks after his seventy- eighth birthday, at the coronation of the new Olu of Warri, Awo told his associates that he would embark on a long journey, adding that ‘None of you will go with me, and I will not speak to reporters at the departure hall.’ Ogunsanwo (2009, 231) notes that ‘It was reminiscent of Jesus speaking to his disciples at the Last Supper.’ Nine days later, Awo died. While it was still unknown to anyone that he was dead in his room, his steward later told reporters that a white dove was flying round the living room – even though all windows and doors were shut. It was only when the door to his bedroom was forced open that they found that Awo was dead, he added. A metaphysician, Dr G. Oyewole, was to interpret the ‘mission of the white dove’ as that of a messenger ‘sent to lead [Awo’s] soul to a higher and holy place’ (ibid., 232). To add to Awo’s assumed cosmic power even in death, when his remains, which had earlier been embalmed, were interred in 1996, nine years after his death, in a small ceremony involving only family members and close associates, one of his associates told my informant that the 88 Part One ground of the whole house was shaking ‘like in the beginning of an earth tremor’. This associate found it also significant that Awo’s former political rival and Nigeria’s first president, Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe (Zik), ‘refused to die’ until the day Awo’s body was interred10 – confirming, for him, the long-held suspicion that ‘the reason why Zik stayed so long in politics was to make sure Awo did not emerge as president’ (Babarinsa 2003, 179–80). Geschiere has noted that, ‘recent democratization process (in Africa) is accompanied by a blossoming of rumours on the role of the occult’ (1997, 6), while Ellis and ter Haar (2004, 85) posit that, ‘Stories like these indicate the astonishing power, often of a mystical or superhuman nature, that people frequently ascribe to their political leaders.’ From such perspectives as those expressed by Awo’s admirers, ‘a wide range of seemingly dispa- rate, even macabre events coalesce and make sense’ (Kearl and Rinaldi 1983, 703). While life in Africa is generally mired in the supernatural, the lives of specific political leaders are suffused in spirit idioms, because, in part, as they are politically strong they are also assumed to be spiritually potent. Awóló: wò: wondered, towards the close of his life, why he attracted such great following and love among his people despite the fact that he last headed a government in 1959 (THISWEEK, 23 March 1987, 17). Such was his hold on the real and symbolic politics of Yorùbáland and Nigeria that, when he died, politics, power and the accompanying dynamics of culture, cultural authority and leadership, were again up for grabs, as evident in the (elite) politics of his burial and the erection and destruction of his statue. Long after his death, Awo, who believed fervently in reincarnation, still exercises authority over Yorùbá politics, as his name, precepts and statements are invoked by politicians, even for contrasting claims and purposes. In a sense, Awo also becomes an ancestor because, in Yorùbá belief, ‘he died a good death’, after possessing all the valued qualities in the community, including good character (iwa rere), good destiny (ori rere), and possessing (temporal) power and (occult) authority (agbara ati ase) (Dixon 1991, 67–8; cf. Harris 2006, 57– 60). In another sense, Awo’s ancestorhood/orisa status is predicated on his refounding or remaking of the Yorùbá.

10 My informant said Chief Bola Ige told him this story. Indeed, Azikiwe died in the morning, while Awo’s body was interred in the evening, of 11 May 1996. Two people who were also present at the occasion, Sir Olaniwun Ajayi and Wale Oshun, denied that any ‘tremor’ happened during the internment. The Secular Ancestor 89

Awo’s immortality and status as avatar consequently provided great opportunities for people seeking power, and, more generally, for the political elite involved in a ﬁerce competition for power. ‘Immortality’, Frank Rooney says, ‘is to keep others moving when you have stopped moving’ (African Concord, 26 May 1987, 22).

transition of a leader and transition politics

Everybody’s Awo Oju ogun l’aye eee, igbeyin l’oju, K’ori jẹ k’igbeyin mi dun, Ki’ndabi Awóló: wò: [The world is a theatre of war, it is the end that matters, May destiny (the creator) let my end be noble, That I should be like Awóló: wò: ] Hubert Ogunde (song)

Ah! The elephant has fallen A gigantic emptiness has gripped The kernel of our striving forests ... You are the light which undresses the shade The answer which came before the question Niyi Osundare, ‘Chief Obafemi Awolowo’ (poem) (1987, 15) Awóló: wò: does not only live in the memory of his followers and admirers, there are also events that seek to regularly demonstrate his place in history and how he is regarded by his associates and followers. On Friday 25th November 2005, the small town of Ikeennee, Awo’s home, was in a festive mood, with sirens of the ofﬁcial motorcade of state governors and other eminent Nigerians blaring on the streets as they made their way to the Anglican church and the home of the Awóló: wò: s. Awóló: wò: ’s widow, Mrs H.I.D. Awóló: wò: , was celebrating her ninetieth birthday (see Figure 7). I was in Ikenne to witness the event. Early in the morning, I was in the home of the Awóló: wò: s as they prepared for the event. My friends and old colleagues in the Tribune were in Awo’s home, making arrangements for the hosting of their own guests and some of the guests of Awo’s widow, who is the Chairman of the African Newspapers PLC, publishers of the Tribune newspapers. Many residents of Ikenne were also milling around the home as a few of Awo’s closest political associates walked into the main house to greet the old woman before she left for the church service. 90 Part One

figure 7. Awo’s mausoleum at his estate in Ikenne (Picture by author)

More than eighteen years after the death of her husband, Mrs Awóló: wò: found that the political elites across Nigeria were well represented at Awo’s home and church. Except for the AD governor of Lagos State (a member of the Awoists’ party), all the governors of the Yorùbá states present were The Secular Ancestor 91 elected on the platform of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), a rival party to that of the Awo faithful. The host governor, the governor of Awóló: wò: ’s home state, Gbenga Daniel, who claimed to be an Awoist, had so ingratiated himself with the matriarch and associated himself with Awo’s name and ideals that he had become Mrs Awóló: wò: ’s ‘political son’. In his goodwill message to Mrs Awóló: wò: on her birthday, the state governor confirmed the ‘special fondness for Mama’ of his administration, which ‘has been reciprocated’ in many ways including, most importantly, her reference to Daniel’s administration as ‘a reincarnation of the golden era of her illustrious spouse’.11 Added Daniel, ‘As even sceptics have now come to accept, our initiatives bear the imprints of authentic Awoism.’ Concluded Daniel, ‘I daresay that what we are now doing ...will gladden the heart of the Great Awo ...’ (Independent, 11 November 2005, 12). While members of the Afé:nifé:re/AD, Awo’s political family, were unhappy with the ways in which Awo’s name and ideals had been appropriated by those who were not in their fold, it appeared that Awo’s biological family was pleased with those outside the fold who, as stated earlier, after boasting that they had ‘deposed Awo’s party and disciples’, turned round to claim his patrimony. Writes the matriarch of the family: ‘The almost total neglect of the Awóló: wò: dynasty by Afé:nifé:re provided the opportunity for the Yorùbá in other political parties to fill the vacuum left by them’ (Awóló: wò: 2003, 42). When I met her in January 2007 in Ikẹnnẹ, Mrs Awóló: wò: reiterated her displeasure with the ways in which her husband’s associates had ‘taken the family for granted’ (fieldwork notes, January 2007). A couple of months before her ninetieth birthday, Mrs Awóló: wò: ,ina speech read on her behalf by her first daughter, Mrs. Tola Oyediran, had described some members of Awo’s political family as ‘fake Awoists’, while lauding another PDP governor (of Osun State), Prince Olagunsoye Oyinlola, as a ‘true Awoist’ ((Tribune, 29 September, 2005, 35). This was at the launching of the distribution of free textbooks to pupils in the state. A PDP faithful described the occasion, in an advertorial with the photograph of Awo and Oyinlola, thus: ‘Today, Awo Resurrects in Osun (State)’, thereby claiming that Awo’s egalitarian ethos were being pursued by the governor.12 Mrs Awóló: wò: said at the occasion that, ‘There cannot

11 ‘Governor’s Goodwill Message’, 90: An Endless Aleluia. Indeed, one of Daniel’s countless billboards all over Ogun State announces that ‘Bábá kú, babá kù’ (lit. ‘Father is dead; father is alive’). 12 A similar advertorial was published in regard of other things by the other PDP governors in Yorùbáland. Another example is Ondo State, which also published an advertorial on the 92 Part One be a better way to demonstrate loyalty to the cause of Awoism than what [Governor] Oyinlola is doing ...’ (Tribune, 29 September 2005, 35). Interestingly enough, Chief Bisi Akande, the Alliance for Democracy predecessor of Oyinlola, whom Mrs Awóló: wò: indirectly derided in her speech, had earlier been described by his supporters as Awo’s ‘incarnation’ in that he was a ‘self-effacing but authentic disciple’ who was offering the people of Osun State ‘a similitude of Awóló: wò: ’s qualitative leadership’ (TELL, 3 February 2003, 11). Thus, the struggle to protect Awo’s name and heritage seemed to have split the family apart from the closest associates of the late leader. While Awo’s family members, particularly his wife, Hannah, and children, regard themselves as the legitimate primary heirs to the heritage, key members of the Awóló: wò: movement regard the family members as only biological, and not political, let alone ideological, fellow travellers of their late leader. As Awo’s political opponents use his name to win legitimacy, his followers in Afé:nifé:re refuse to relinquish Awo’s patrimony and allow others to partake of it. More than two decades after Awo’s exit, his name, ideas and ideals are still being used, even by those who were/are not members of the political associations and parties he formed or which were formed in his name after his death. If the current battle to sustain, maintain or appropriate Awo’s patrimony by the governors in Yorùbáland is an indication of the fact that the patriarch of Yorùbá politics is still alive politically, the politics of his death and burial showed, in sharper ways, his centrality in Yorùbá and Nigerian politics.

‘Here Lies the Jeremiah of Africa’ Death can constitute an opportunity for those who are alive. It can be used as an afﬁrmation of particular kinds of life for those who are left behind. In this sense, the celebration (or otherwise) of the life of the dead can be used by the living as an opportunity to unite the concrete or immanent purposes of their lives with those of the signiﬁcant dead. Awóló: wò: ’s death provided such an opportunity as much for the members of the Yorùbá (and larger Nigerian political) elite as for the masses of his admirers.

golden jubilee of free education in western Nigeria, with the photograph of Awo and the state governor, Dr Olusẹgun Agagu. The advertorial states that ‘much of the credit for the ˙ success story of a modern Yorùbá man in Nigeria goes to Chief Obafemi Awolowo ...’‘A Reﬂection on Education in Ondo State’ (advertorial), Tribune, 27 September 2005, 11. The Secular Ancestor 93

Although Awo’s death was announced on the night of 9 May 1987, most people heard about it the next morning. The newspapers reported that the death was so ‘shocking and sad’ (Guardian, 10 May 1987, 1) for many people that even church services were disrupted as the ‘heat wave’ of his death spread (Guardian, 12 May 1987). Awo’s death and the subsequent burial were converted to political and cultural resources, generating actions that were disposed towards the gaining, affirmation or confirmation of power and prominence by Awo’s followers, his political adversaries and the military government – in ways that would make Bourdieu (1987) describe them all as ‘strategic improvisers responding dispositionally to the opportunities and constraints offered’ (Swartz 1997, 100) by the death. Once Awo’s death was announced, his country home in Ikẹnnẹ became a political Mecca, as not only the mass of his admirers and followers trooped there to sign the condolence registers, but virtually every important member of the political, social and economic elite in Nigeria pro- claimed their membership of the upper echelon of the Nigerian society by visiting Ikẹnnẹ or speaking of Awo’s transition. A newspaper commentator described them as a ‘motley crowd of people engaged in a break-neck scramble for a piece of Awo’ (Guardian 6 June 1987, 9). Awo’s death, like that of Ataturk in Turkey, was seen as the moment when the Yorùbá were orphaned as a nation (cf. Navaro-Yashin 2002, 191). However, in the scramble for a piece of Awo, politicians deployed what Kirk-Greene (1991, 178) would describe as their ‘verbal technology apparatus’. Also, because Awo died at a point when the ban placed by the military on party politics was still in force – even though the military had announced a return to democratic rule by 1990 – it was an opportunity for politicians to associate and organize under the guise of planning a ‘befitting burial’ for a ‘Big Man’–a man for whom even the military president had a special affection.13 Indeed, a commentator stated that Awo’s death ‘lifted the ban on politics’ (Guardian, 5 June 1987), as the burial plans became ‘the subject of tension-laden manoeuvres’ (THISWEEK, 1 June 1987, 16). Whatever the motivations for the national excitement that Awo’s death and burial provoked, it was further confirmation that the man was so remarkable he could still excite even in death. Another commentator stated that ‘in death, the man [Awo] has gained more followers than he ever had in his life time, considering the outpour of sympathy and encomiums

13 Awóló: wò: reciprocated Babangida’s ‘affection’. Ige stated that the leader had enjoined his lieutenants ‘that whatever Babangida did, we should be gentle with him’ (TEMPO, 16 February 1995, 4). 94 Part One showered on the man from all parts of the country ...’ (Guardian, 6 June 1987, 9). While the nation was generally believed to have been gripped with grief, the political elite were gripped by the passion to gain maximally from the death and burial of Awo. Chief Emeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu, an Igbo and the leader of the secessionist Biafra Republic, who had opposed Awo in the Second Republic, was to make, perhaps, the most widely cited statement on the man after his death. Ojukwu said that Awo was ‘The best president Nigeria never had’, adding that, with his death, ‘Nigeria will never be [the] same again’ (Daily Times, 11 May 1987, 1). The federal military government, in its reaction to Awo’s passing, described him as ‘one of the greatest Nigerians who in his lifetime made enormous contributions to the development of our nation’, and changed the name of the University of Ife, one of Nigeria’s best universities, to Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: University (New Nigerian, 11 May 1987, 1; New Nigerian, 13 May 1987, 1). The New Nigerian, a newspaper, which, though owned by the federal government, was the voice of the (Hausa-Fulani) ruling elite – regarded by many Yorùbá as the most powerful ‘stumbling block’ to Awo’s ambition – in an editorial that was essentially an eulogy (African Guardian, 21 May 1987, 15), said Awo’s accomplishments ‘dwarf the accomplishments of virtually all his peers’. The paper added that, despite his sterling qualities, Awo was denied the presidency which ‘would have been his for the asking owing to his perhaps erroneous perception as a tribalist’ (New Nigerian, 11 May 1987, 1). The eulogies were not without references to Awo’s ‘cosmic elevation’ and assumed spiritual powers. Awo, who, for forty years, had been a member of AMORC (Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis) and rose to the zenith of ‘Hierarchy Status’, was described by Godspower Oyewole, a ‘metaphysician’,asa‘high-level philosopher and “metaphysician” who stood on the 15th mental plane – which is the highest anyone can attain’ (African Guardian, 11 June 1987, 13). Oyewole added a metaphysical prediction that on the day of Awo’s burial, ‘the heavens themselves will weep all day long’!(African Guardian, 18 June 1987, 20).

what manner of burial?

Apart from the reactions to his death, the plans for, and planning of, Awo’s burial presented another opportunity for the elite, particularly Awo’s associates, in their struggles for saliency, visibility, credibility, popularity and succession. Within a few days of his death, plans for his burial ‘became The Secular Ancestor 95 the subject of tension-laden manoeuvres between Lagos and Ikeennee, with Abeokuta, seat of the Ogun State government, trapped in-between’ (THISWEEK, 1 June 1987, 16). The manner of Awo’s burial also provoked some controversies. While his family and associates insisted that, as a former deputy chairman of the Federal Executive Council and federal finance minister, he should get a full state burial befitting a national leader, others insisted that since he was never head of government at the federal level, and was, at best, a regional or ‘tribal’ leader, he only deserved a regional burial or ‘state burial’ by the concerned five states – into which the Western Region had been split. Those who wanted a state burial – described by some of them as a ‘federal state burial’–insisted that it ought to include ‘gun salutes, carriages, flags at half-mast, and even special holidays’, rather than one planned by the governments of the five states of the defunct Western Region. Others took the middle course by calling for the full involvement of the federal government in the funeral process without it being dubbed a ‘state burial’. In the context of all of these, a few people accused politicians and the government of politicizing Awo’s burial, while a military governor reminded politicians that those exploiting the situation by making ‘thinly veiled political statements’ are in ‘breach of the continued ban on partisan politics’ (New Nigerian, 19 May 1987, 1). A few argued that if the federal government took over Awo’s burial plans, it would deny those who would want to profit politically from it from doing so. This view was reflected by Odia Ofeimun, Awo’s former private secretary, who, being an insider, was obviously averse to the internal struggle for succession within the Awo movement (Ofeimun, 1987a, 9). In the end, the federal military government, led by the politically astute General Ibrahim Babangida, attempted to satisfy all sides by mandating the government of the states making up the old Western Region to give a ‘national-state burial’ to Awo on behalf of the federal government. Meanwhile, Babangida had secretly ensured that the Awo family would be happy with his decision not to give a full ‘Federal state burial’ to their late father by secretly giving them a cheque of £120,000 for their needs.14 Perhaps unaware of this, the chair of the burial planning committee, Bisi Onabanjọ, told the press that, ‘(e)ven Chief Awóló: wò: would rise against

14 A top-placed media chief who wishes to remain anonymous showed me a photocopy of two bank drafts – to be cashed in a London bank. A draft had been issued earlier in the name of Awo’s son, Wole, but the family got back to President Babangida to issue another one in the name of the widow, Mrs Awóló: wò: , and cancel the one issued in the name of the son. The reasons for this are beyond the purview of this book. 96 Part One such an idea [of financial assistance from the federal Ggovernment] from his grave because while alive, he had always frowned at spending of public funds for such an event’ (New Nigerian, 16 May 1987, 3). While so many were eager to profit politically, socially and symbolically from the death and burial arrangements of Awo, a few made so bold as to contest Awo’s place and centrality in Nigeria as was being advertised by admirers. These few issued a rebuttal against all the accolades showered on the late leader and the ‘national-state burial’ accorded him. In contrast to the idolization of Awo, mostly by the Yorùbá, politicians, government function- aries and others, key non-Yorùbá commentators often took a more jaun- diced view. For instance, Chinua Achebe, the famous author and an Igbo, published a most scathing attack on Awo for his role in the history of Nigeria, thus attempting to de-canonize the hero. While conceding that the man was ‘a remarkable and highly controversial figure’,Achebeinsistedthat Awo was not ‘a great national leader’, describing the ‘decision of the Federal Government to accord the status of a head of state to him in death’ as ‘no less than a national swindle’ (New Nigerian, 3 June 1987, 4). He further described the effusive praises showered on Awo and the visit to Ikenne by virtually every important member of the Nigerian elite, as a ‘clowning circus and expensive hocus-pocus’ of which ‘serious-minded Nigerians are highly critical or even contemptuous’ (New Nigerian, 3 June 1987, 4). ‘Maigani’, writing in the ‘northern’ New Nigerian, was yet another example. The columnist ridiculed the struggle for Awo’s successor as a struggle for ‘a loser’sshoes’. Wrote Maigani: ‘Much as it may sound cruel and unpopular ...it looks really as if logic would dictate that shrewd politicians with eyes to 1990 [when the ban on partisan politics would be lifted] should avoid Awo’s shoes like the plague.’ Others, writing in Hotline, the unapologetically pro-Hausa-Fulani periodical, rubbished, one by one, all the achievements of Awo – whom they accused of ‘tragic tenacity’–upon which the adulations were based (Hotline, 15 July 1987, 16–17, 19–21). Taking a cue from ‘Achebe’s eloquent rendition’, writers for the periodical sought to ‘explode’ the myth of Awo’s ‘administrative genius’. Even the trivial was important for Adamu Adamu who rubbished the popular ‘myth’ that Awo was an ascetic and mystic. Wrote Adamu: ‘The fact that visitors to him [Awo] speak with nostalgia about his dinner and its being a ritual will seem to disqualify him from any claims to being a master mystic. The true mystic never attach [sic] that type of importance to food’ (Hotline, 15 July 1987, 20). As the most consequential and most visible among the critics, there was a barrage of condemnations and criticisms of Achebe’s position. Adebayo The Secular Ancestor 97

Williams, a writer and University of Ife lecturer, in reaction to this and also to Achebe’s similarly caustic remark on the Nobel Prize won by a Yorùbá, Wole Soyinka, accused Achebe of ‘vitriolic mischief’, asking, ‘Has the wise and sober Obierika [a character in Achebe’s Things Fall Apart] been suddenly transformed in old age to a snarling Okonkwo [an impetuous character in the same novel]?’ (Newswatch, 20 March 1989, 38). Alhaji Lateef Jakande, former governor of Lagos State and Awo’s disciple, who replied to Achebe immediately, said, ‘I am sure Achebe knows that one does not have to be head of government to qualify for national leadership. Mahatma Gandhi ...never held any public ofﬁce ...yet he was the greatest national hero India ever has’ (Adebanwi 2005, 350). Some accused Achebe of bigotry or ‘deep-seated animosity against anything connected to the Yorùbá’, pointing to the fact that when Soyinka, ‘the genius of a Yorùbá man’ Adebanwi 2005, 350), won the Nobel Prize in literature, Achebe, more or less sulked by stating that ‘a European prize does not make anyone the Asiwaju [Yorùbá word for leader] of Nigerian literature’ ( Udenwa 1988, 7). Soyinka, as if in poetic response to Achebe, in his poem for Awo whose ‘giant pace/Dwarfed, alas, the path [he] trod’, writes: ‘Their sandy voices scattered twigs and nests/But could not budge this ﬁrm-earthed trunk/Could not sway its being, could not dent/The buttress lunging skyward from one deep/Implanted root. It reached far down to core’ (Soyinka, 1987). Even Hotline, which, upon Awo’s death and burial, published a cover story more or less to rubbish the celebration of a man the magazine described as ‘neither a Satan nor a Saint’, conceded that ‘[n]ever had the death of a Nigerian leader evoked such an elaborate funeral’, adding that ‘[p]erhaps in this our generation, Nigeria will never [again] witness such a spectacle of a funeral ceremony – the passion, the grief, the pomp and the pageantry’ (Hotline, 15 July 1987, 16). The man could not have hoped for a better acknowledgement of his importance – particularly from his adversaries.

the statue of the avatar: the yoru` ba´ antigone

Long after his death, Awo’s associates and admirers continue to celebrate his memory through concrete and symbolic actions. One such was the erection, in 2003, of his statue in the gardens of the Government House in Agodi, Ibadan. This was where he once reigned as premier of the Western Region. Awo’s statue, like statues in general, can be encountered as material memory, given that memory is concretized in such representations. As 98 Part One

figure 8. Awo’s statue in gardens in front of the Government House, Ibadan, in May 2003 (Photo courtesy of Nigerian Tribune Library)

Yeal Navaro-Yashin (2002, 198) shows in the case of Ataturk in Turkey, the statue of such a leader can be ‘paramount as a marker’ of statehood – or nationhood. A version of history is memorialized in statues. Conversely, a statue is also about what is forgotten. A people therefore remember, as well as forget, through every representation – such as a statue. The Secular Ancestor 99

The statue of the Unknown Soldier that was originally replaced with Awo’s statue had been attacked by protesters in 1993 during the civil uprising in western Nigeria over the annulment of the 12 June 1993 presidential election, won by a Yorùbá politician and businessman, Chief Moshood Abiola. However, the damaged statue was re-erected by another military governor, Col. Ahmed Usman, who dedicated the cenotaph to Ibrahim Abacha, the late son of the brutal dictator and Babangida’s successor, General Sani Abacha – after the young man died in a plane crash in January 1996. Giving the repression particularly targeted at the opposition in Yorùbáland by General Abacha, the statue was described by the new civilian governor Adesina as a ‘symbol of oppression’ (TheNEWS, 13 December 1999, 3). But a debate ensued regarding whose statue should replace that of the Unknown Soldier. Some suggested that of Awo’s principal rival and successor in ofﬁce, Chief Samuel L. Akintola, who is regarded by Awoists as the archetypal ‘traitor’. Akintola, who fell out with Awo after he succeeded the latter as premier of the Western Region, was assassinated by soldiers in the ﬁrst military coup in Nigeria’s history on 15 January, 1966. A few others suggested that of Awo’s local (Ibadan) political adversary, the late Adegoke Adelabu, popularly called by the locals Penkelemesi, whose tragic death on 20 March 1958 at the age of fouty-two and at a highpoint in his political career sparked riots against pro-Awo elements in Ibadan. However, though an Ibadan, the governor favoured the statue of Awóló: wò: (see Figure 8). The original statue of the Unknown Soldier was then removed and dumped at the gate of the army barracks at Ido-Gate, where it was initially erected before the former military governor moved it to the frontage Government House. It was wrapped in polythene bag to ‘hide the bruises it [had] sustained’ (TheNEWS, 13 December 1999, 3)in the process of its removal. It was as if the civilians were violating the statue symbolically, in response to the serial violations, both symbolic and physical, suffered at the hands of the soldiers who handed over power a few months earlier. The majority leader of the State House of Assembly, Honorable Taofeek Adeleke, told newsmen: ‘Of what use is a soldier’s statue among civilians in the city? We have removed it and put it where it belongs. If they [Nigerian Army] like, let them go and carry it [from] where we dumped it’ (TheNEWS, 13 December 1999, 3). The government directed the State’s Arts Council to construct the statue of Awo in 2001. As explained by the Chairman of the Arts Council, Adebayo Faleti, a poet and retired broadcaster, the three-stage tortuous process of producing the bronze statue itself involved its own share of 100 Part One

figure 9. ‘The Vacuum’: the arcade after the destruction of the statue (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) controversies and strange happenings, indicating that the attempt to symbolically afﬁrm Awo’s leadership of the Yorùbá was being contested even in the material processes that would produce such symbolic afﬁrmation (Tribune, 1 July 2003, 12). The job was eventually completed in March The Secular Ancestor 101

2003 and unveiled on 27 May 2003. But, two days later, the statue was pulled down by persons believed to be members of the incoming People’s Democratic Party. A monument and a memorial which were meant to signify the political unification of the Yorùbá under the leadership of Awo and ‘cloak the legacy of dissension’ (Zolberg 1998, 569) had, inadver- tently, ‘invoked the unappeased spirit of the past, who refuse(d) to rest until their claims have been recognized’ (Saler 1998, 591). The destruction of the statue, therefore, also signified the changing political cleavages in Yorùbáland. The dead can be harmed (Levenbook 1984, 1985; Pitcher 1984; Callahan 1987).15 But the harm is done more to the prevailing interests of the living, since they are, strategically or tactically, invested in the dead who is then appropriated by the living. ‘(D)esecrating a statue’, as Verdery (1999, 5) observes, ‘partakes of the larger history of iconoclasm’ (see Figure 9). The reactions to the demolition were strong and bitter. National vice- president of the PDP, Olabode George, said, given that, ‘Whatever we are today, Awolowo was the foundation ... for any Yorùbá man to have pulled down his statue is not only an abomination, but a crime Odùduwà will look into’ (Tribune, 2 July 2003, 1). Even President Obasanjo was reported to have ‘expressed anger and bitterness about the incident’ (Tribune, 8 June 2003, 1). But some of my informants in Ibadan who were close to Adedibu said ‘the strong man of Ibadan politics’,ashe was called, ordered the destruction and that he had the clandestine support of President Obasanjo, who called Adedibu later ‘to congratulate him for a job well done’ (fieldwork notes, October 2005). Adedibu himself publicly denied involvement, but further confirmed the suspicion of some when he added that, ‘the timing of the statue’s erection was wrong, as it was done in bad faith by the [outgoing] administration’ (Tribune, 7 June 2003, 7). Whether it was true or not that Obasanjo congratulated Adedibu, it fed into the long-held suspicion of Awo admirers that the president would support anyone who ‘harmed’ Awo, Awo’s name or anything related to the man. In a press statement, the new governor, Ladoja, declared war on the destroyers of the statue, adding that, ‘he himself is a product of Chief Awóló: wò: and would never encourage any action whatsoever towards destroying history’ (Tribune, 1 July 2003, 5).

15 For a critique of both authors, and an interesting debate on the theory of harm to the dead, see, for instance, Callahan (who insists that ‘harming the dead’ constitutes ‘taking ﬁgu- rative talk inexcusably literally’ (Callahan 1987, 342)). 102 Part One

The dead can also (cause) harm. For instance, R.E. Bradbury (1965), in analysing mortuary rites among the Edo of Nigeria, had pointed to the punitive and disciplinary character commonly attributed to ancestors (Fortes 1965, 17; cf. Kiernan 1982). After reporting that the alleged leader of the demolition team was down with a ‘terminal mysterious illness’, that is, shortly after the destruction of the statue, Tribune later reported that the man, 61-year-old Lai Ajakaye, the publicity director of the PDP in Oyo State, died as a result of the ‘heinous act’ (Tribune 25 August 2003, 6). But the secretary of the PDP in Oyo State, Eniọla Babarinde, said, at a meeting of party leaders in Abuja, that ‘Governor Ladọja submitted in his report that it was Alhaji Adedibu that masterminded the destruction of Awóló: wò: statue and [Adedibu] did not deny the accusation’ (Tribune 27 July 2004, 4). One year after the destruction of the statue – after Ladooja had broken up with his political godfather, Adedibu – one of Adedibu’s thugs who had ‘decamped’ to Ladọja’s faction, revealed to the Tribune that he was a major actor in the demolition, which was allegedly ordered by Adedibu (Tribune, 27 July 2004, 1). Another, the ‘real ring leader’ of the demolition team, Alhaji Abass Oloko, alleged that Adedibu asked them to destroy the statue because Awóló: wò: was not from Ibadan and Ibadan had its own great sons. Adedibu reportedly added, rather disingenuously, that the ‘Ibadan people and Awolowo are never friends’ (Tribune, 30 July 2004). However, beyond individual harm, some even argued that the destruction of the statue had placed the entire state under a ‘spell’.Nolessapersonthana former governor of the state, Dr Omololu Olunloyo, a mathematician, who was not one of the followers of Awo, articulated this position: ‘Yes! There are all sorts of curses attached. It may be easier to kill a living Awolowo than to go and demolish his statue. That is what I think the state is being punished for now. This may not be a straight-forward or rational explanation, but it is a spiritual and psychic one ...’ (Tribune, 25 June 2006). Governor Ladọja later promised that the government would erect a new statue for Awo, but would also ‘honour other heroes’ such as Ladoke Akintola and Adegoke Adelabu, two late political adversaries of Awo. Adedibu’s alleged order, beyond the immediate reasons, plugs into the long-drawn-out antagonism and rivalry between two Yorùbá sub-ethnic groups, the Ibadan and the Ijebu. Therefore, in a way, the destruction can be linked to the return of the submerged intra-ethnic rivalries that plagued the Yorùbá nation in the 19th and early 20th centuries, which Awo sought, with much success, to transcend in his political career, as he welded the Yorùbá into ‘a nation’. The statue and its destruction re-enacted this battle. Adedibu, even though a former Awo disciple, was, in a way, buying into The Secular Ancestor 103 the long-drawn-out struggle to counteract Ijebu ‘hegemony’ and ascendancy over the Ibadan in modern times. Here, therefore, sub-ethnic pride (of the Ibadan) collided with pan-ethnic symbolism (which Awo represented). Adedibu, on behalf of the Ibadan, was visiting on Awo’s statue, which was taken to represent Ijebu ‘supremacy’ in contemporary Yorùbá politics, the Ibadan’s displeasure with such supremacy, given that the Ibadan had been the military champions in Yorùbáland after the collapse of the Oyo Empire in the 19th century. However, not many Ibadan shared Adedibu’s position, which was regarded as self-serving. Because the statue was a symbolic and spatial confirmation of the primacy of Awo and Awoism in Yorùbáland, the destruction was also an attempt to affirm that such primacy had ended, with the defeat of ‘Awo’s party’, Alliance for Democracy, in the 2003 elections in five of the six Yorùbá states. Ostensibly, on both sides, there was sufficient belief in what Ricoeur calls ‘the quasi presence of the represented things’ (Valdes 1991, 118) or what Bourdieu would call ‘illusio’–that is, ‘a belief or acceptance of the worth of the game of a field’ (Swaltz 1997, 125). But, as the controversy over the re-erection of the Unknown Soldier by Governor Alao-Akala in early 2008 shows, while the birthdays of comparable figures in Nigeria’s history, such as Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe – the most celebrated figure in the struggle against colonialism and Nigeria’s first president, who died in 1996 – are hardly ever commemorated (Vanguard 2 November 1999, 8), Awo’s birthday and death are remembered every year with great ceremony, which even living persons do not attract. And while the destruction of Awo ’s statue sparked a crisis, the beheading of Zik’s statue in front of his house in Onitsha, in south-eastern Nigeria, hardly attracted any media attention (Thisday, 21 May 2006, 21). Governor Bola Tinubu told journalists in April 2003 that ‘[t]he spirit of Awo is still there; the spirit of Awo is not defeated. The spirit of Awo lives and his ideas live on. That is why the PDP candidates’ campaign on free education andfreehealthistunedtothesamerhythmwiththeAD...We will continue to promote those ideals. Nobody can wipe [them] out’ (Guardian, 27 April 2003,A3 and A5). A leading columnist, Reuben Abati, agreed with Tinubu, adding that even though Awo died in 1987, ‘He has been ruling Yorùbáland since then from his grave’ (Guardian, 25 March 2005).

conclusion: the dead and elite politics

In the middle of 2006, I was sitting beside the governor of Ogun State, Ọtunba Gbenga Daniel, in his official SUV, with sirens blaring, as we 104 Part One travelled through the streets of Lagos in the early hours of the morning. He was coming from an official engagement and he had asked that I ride with him so I could continue my interview with him. Daniel had done everything imaginable since he got to power – including befriending the Awóló: wò: biological family and some of the key older members of the Awóló: wò: movement – in his attempt to be regarded as the ‘new Awo’. Governor Daniel answered so many questions on our way to the event with ease and confidence. But I decided to ask what I considered to be an uncomfortable question as we returned. The question was uncomfortable because I had it on good authority from some of my informants that President Olusegun Obasanjo was displeased with Daniel. Daniel’s ‘sins’, as I was told by some of his close associates, was his unrelenting praise of Awóló: wò: and his closeness to Awo’s biological family. I was told that Obasanjo had forced Daniel to remove the billboard with Awóló: wò: ’s image on it from the entrance of the Government House in Abeokuta, while also complaining about the massive photographs of Awóló: wò: in Daniel’s home in Sagamu. Against this backdrop, Daniel was doing everything to please Obasanjo because of his ambition to seek re-election the following year, even though he continued to court Awóló: wò: ’s widow, H.I.D. Awóló: wò: . ‘Why is it that someone like you who praises Obasanjo to high heavens always say you want to be like Awóló: wò: and not like Obasanjo?’ I asked Daniel. ‘Awolowo is dead; Obasanjo is alive’, I added. Daniel tried to hide his discomfort with the question; but he did not answer it. He only went on to praise Obasanjo’s ‘amazing commitment’ and ‘hard work’. Yet he didn’t say he wanted to be seen as ‘another Obasanjo’, as he had repeatedly stated in the case of Awo.16 Thus Awóló: wò: , a dead leader who failed repeatedly to be the president of Nigeria, continues to command more respect and admiration for his place in history among the Yorùbá than Obasanjo, who had been head of state twice.17 My aim in this chapter is to show not so much ‘how an idea survives a man’ (Erikson 1975, 166), but how man survives as an idea/spirit – thus

16 A whole edition of the Ogun State government-owned newspaper, Weekly Gateway Mirror, was published during Daniel’s re-electioneering campaign to ‘establish’ him as the ‘new Awo’–as ‘Ikẹnnẹ [goes] agog for Awo’s reincarnate’. Daniel himself was quoted in that edition as stating that ‘I’ll forever remain an Awoist’. Weekly Gateway Mirror, 12 September 2006, 17. 17 Chapter 6 deals with how the members of the elite encountered the challenge of Obasanjo’s presidency (1999–2007). Obasanjo had been a military head of state (1976–9) before he returned as civilian president between 1999 and 2007. The Secular Ancestor 105 making it possible for the leader to survive through his community’sabsorp- tion of him as an idea. In this context, ‘the sense of wider identity created by his presence survives the limitations of his person and of the historical moment’ (Erikson 1975, 166). The chapter also examines ‘[t]he inner worlds of meanings and practice that define elite identities, the cultural mechanisms used to maintain their status, and the ways elites relate to, and are embedded within, wider socio-economic and political process’ (Shore 2002, 14). All these, I argue, are revealed in very interesting ways in the dynamics of death, burial, and the raising and destruction of Awo’s statue. Awo’sstatueandhis continued political life serve as reminders of the accomplishments of a putative ancestor, Awo, as well as of the collective achievements with which the Yorùbá are encouraged to identify (cf. Zolberg 1998, 573). The abstract ideas of Yorùbáness and Yorùbá unity, progress and collective imaginations of a greater future are symbolized by Awo’s statue and the rituals of his veneration. Yet the statue, as well as the continued veneration of the man, also serve as a site and issue of dissension and ‘unresolved disunities’ (Zolberg 1998, 573, following Schwartz and Wagner-Pacifini). What I have attempted to do in this chapter, as Brecht would put it, is to throw the burial and statue into crisis by showing their involvement in major power struggles in society (Cohen 1981, 16). It is often assumed that what Awóló: wò: was when he was alive is sufficient to explain the power of the idea/spirit of him after his death. However, I suggest that this is not the case. Indeed, whatever power the idea or spirit of Awo currently has is what is accorded him by his surviving ‘children’ (i.e., living Yorùbá, particularly the elite). It is they who have chosen to regard him as the ‘modern Odùduwà’. Put another way, what Awo is today – when he is no longer a living agent – is the product of a complex negotiation between his past achievements, as they have shaped the present, and the interests and outlooks of various contemporary agents who wish to invoke his name. In the literature on ancestors, it is suggested that as time recedes after death ancestors lose much of the specificity that they had in life, and their idealization thus becomes independent of their lifetime careers (Fortes 1965, 134), even if only in principle (Calhoun 1980, 311). This is evident in the formal Yorùbá cults of ancestors – Egungun and Oro – in which ancestors are de-individualized or merged into the collectivity whose values they represent. This is partly so because their personal qualities, as remembered by those who knew them, gradually and inevitably fade over time. This is also because, as the interest of their descendants diverge, they have to become ‘all things to all men’. Yet there may well be a period when 106 Part One there is tension or strain between the generalized conception of an ancestor, whom everyone wants to invoke for legitimacy, and specific conceptions remembered from what the ancestor actually stood for in his life. This is so for what I regard as a recent ancestor. Echoes of this can be seen in the way Awo came to be a general symbol of Yorùbáness, raised above sectional intra-Yorùbá differences, and the one whom everybody wants to invoke. Despite this, what Awo specifically stood for (as related in Chapter 1) both in particular and general contexts, could not be entirely forgotten. In the context of this, the destruction of the statue was a protest against Awo’s establishment as a pan-Yorùbá ancestor; it also points to the still unresolved character of Yorùbá collective identity. Therefore, Awo’s remains and statue constitute a meta-narrative; a meta-narrative of the Yorùbá nation, and, within that, of the concrete historical processes that led to his emergence as the Asiwaju of the Yorùbá and the most controversial politician in Nigeria’s political history, even in death. As meta-narrative, relevant actions and counter-actions emphasize Awo’s refounding and reuniting of the Yorùbá nation and the struggles against his version of Yorùbáness, in ways that confirm that Awo’s life history is ‘inextricably interwoven with history’ (Erikson 1975, 19) – even though the man is ‘history himself’ (Tribune, 2 June 1987, 4). While the politics of Awo’s death and burial point to the intricate ways in which the elite enact and negotiate their interests and pursue power – even with such ‘materials’ and symbols as a dead body – the construction and tearing down of his statue are ways of, respectively, affirming a glorious past or taking revenge on that past (Cohen 1989, 494). Despite some contestations, Awóló: wò: remains the central signifier of modern Yorùbá identity, and the paramount marker of that ‘imagined community’. Fetishizing his statue and remains, therefore, are also expressions of loyalty to the project of the Yorùbá nation (cf. Navaro-Yashin 2002, 198), in ways that provide opportunities, particularly for the political elite, to ‘use’ Awo differently to further their current and future ambitions. This is why, for example, even though Governor Daniel claims to be following in the footsteps of Awo, his opponents state that his claim ‘to Awo’s image is a fraud’ (Independent, 4 November 2005,B3). As Taylor has argued, ‘true human agency is inconceivable outside of the continuing conversation of a community, from where the background distinctions and evaluations necessary for making choices of actions spring’ (Taylor 1985, in Hastrup 1995, 84). In Chapters 3–7, I demonstrate further this ‘continuing conversation’ and the kinds of agencies that emerge from the conversation. The Secular Ancestor 107

As in the Turkish case regarding Mustafa Kemal Atatürk examined by Yael Navaro-Yashin, when political leaders or heads of government are deemed incompetent or lacking in vision and subsequently criticized in public discourse, a reified Awo appears and reappears as the exemplar against which these incompetents are evaluated (cf. Navaro-Yashin 2002, 199). Awo’s thoughts and postulates are reinvented in the service of contemporary problems and challenges. In the context of the crises in late 20th-century and early 21st-century Nigeria, the ‘living thoughts’ of this ‘unrepeatable man’ are regularly summoned to consider how to ‘save the ship of state’, in a task, to take one example, dedicated ‘to the possible salvation of Nigeria’ (Otegbeye 1991; Quadiri 2002). All the problems that Nigeria has faced and is facing are, for Awo’s followers, attributable to the ‘tragic separation of Awolowo’s destiny on earth and Nigeria’s [destiny]’ (Ige in Quadiri 2002, xviii). All these, as Adebayo Williams captured it in his public lecture to mark Awo’s ninety-fifth (posthumous) birthday in 2004, represent the ‘longest goodbye’ to a leader, because ‘at every tragic turn, at every miscue, be it at the level of structural deformities of this unfortunate nation, its suffocating and stifling unitarism ...we are confronted by the figure of the man with the horn-rimmed glasses [Awo]’ (Williams 2004, 18). The name and image of, and actions and reactions to, Awo are expressed in the language and materiality of ‘excess’. Whether in terms of his rumoured appearance in the moon, his capacity to cause drought in the homestead of his political adversaries, the capacity of his ghost to kill the destroyers of his statue, the ‘genetic scandal’ that his gifts represented vis-à-vis other Nigerians, the capacity of his spirit to guide his people and country, the monumentality of his portraiture, the exceptional process of his burial and the attempt at everlasting embalmment, and the impossibility of reproducing a leader of his stature, Awo is the vintage excess that is represented in extreme emotions. On the one hand, his life and death continue to constitute ‘pre-eminent site[s] for the identification of symbolic boundaries between [the Yorùbá] nation and its other’ (Posel and Gupta 2009, 301), because, to paraphrase Meyer Fortes (1965, 72), Awo remains the regulative focus for political relations and activities in Yorùbáland. On the other, his life and death also represent ‘the redemption of glory and purpose’ of the nationalist progressive and welfarist politics in a multi- ethnic Nigeria, a form of politics which Awóló: wò: continues to define and represent, both theoretically and practically.

PART TWO

The Politics of Heritage: (Re)Constitution, Conservation and Corporateness in Yorùbá Politics

The world of successors is fundamentally ‘open’ and indeterminate ...I can only assume that as long as there is a posterity my successors will unite a subjective meaning to their lived experiences, that they will live in a world. But in which? Surely there are differences in historical life-worlds: this future-directed question is unanswerable by us today ... Alfred Schutz (1973, 92)

introduction

This chapter deals with the formation of Afé:nifé:re in the post-Awo era and the elaboration of the ‘Heritage of Awo’ inthelatemilitaryandpost- military democratic era. Here, the politics of succession, in personal and corporate terms as it manifested in the post-Awo era, and the attempts to consolidate the group’s hold on the politics of Yorùbáland, are examined. Meyer Fortes (1970) has argued that succession is a property of corporateness in any organized group. ‘Succession’, states Fortes, ‘is the instrument for ensuring corporate continuity, given the principle of the corporate identity of organized pluralities, not the formulation of this principle’ (ibid., 305). Even though some have pointed to the limitation of the Fortesian formulation and notion of corporateness for an ethnographic study of elites (see, for instance, Pina-Cabral 2000, 1), I like to argue that, while the reality often challenges the self-presentation of corporate groups, Forte’s insistence that such groups represent ‘the per- petuation of an aggregate by exclusive recruitment to restricted

111 112 Part Two membership that carries actual or potential equality of status and neutrality of interests and obligations in its internal affairs’ (Fortes 1970, 306) fits the self-presentation of Afé:nifé:re. However, this self- presentation, in terms of ‘traditional’ forms of social reproduction, is constantly challenged by ‘the [actual] process by which personal and supra-personal entities formed and reformed each other through an interplay of power relations’ (Pina-Cabral 2000, 2). The ‘permanent flux’ that arises from the paradoxical interplay of group self-presentation and actual personal and supra-personal struggle for, and exercise of, power is captured in this and subsequent chapters. What I attempt to do in this and following chapters is to explore ethnographically the practices and conditions through which members of the Yorùbá power elite struggle for, get, exercise or lose power, influence and prominence through the affirmation or otherwise of their Awoness – which is regarded as a synonym for Yorùbáness.

the politics of heritage

Performing Yorùbáness The expansive country home of Senator Abraham Adesanya, the leader of Afé:nifé:re, in Ijebu-Igbo, Ogun State, was the venue of the general meetings of Afé:nifé:re since he took over from Chief Adekunle Ajasin, who died in 1996, until Adesanya’s last couple of years on earth. The members of the Afé:nifé:re caucus and their following from the six Yorùbá states of Ekiti, Lagos, Ogun, Ondo, Osun and Oyo, and the Kwara and Kogi states – the latter two being part of the Northern Region where there is a significant Yorùbá population – usually gathered every month under the tree in the manner of a town-hall meeting. While the caucus of the group met in the group’s Jibowu office, in Lagos, the Ijebu-Igbo meetings were symbolically an expression of the populist stance of the group and its devotion to continued representation of the Yorùbá ‘traditional’ ideal of town-hall democracy. Even when Adesanya became too sick to preside over group meetings, since he was still alive, he remained the leader. Chief Reuben Fasọranti was selected as acting leader, in the same manner in which ˙ Adesanya himself was selected to act when Ajasin was incapacitated by infirmity. ‘ : : ’– ọ Afénifére! the acting leader, Rueben Fas˙ ranti, raises his voice to call the meeting to order on a certain afternoon late in 2005. The Politics of Heritage 113

‘Ire Owo!’ (The blessing of riches), chorus the members. ‘Afé:nifé:re!’ the acting leader repeats. ‘Ire ọmọ!’ (The blessing of children), the members shout. ‘Afé:nifé:re!’ Fassoranti says for the third time. ‘Ire alaafia!’ (The blessing of peace/good health) the members say enthusiastically. The meeting had started formally, as the repeating of the slogans of the group was followed by silence. The acting leader, Fasoranti, then asked for opening prayers so that the deliberations could start. As the prayers were said, I replayed Hubert Ogunde’s song on Awóló: wò: in my mind. The three key blessings that formed part of Afé:nifé:re’s mantra are also the three key blessings of olaju (civilization/modernity) which Ogunde attributes to Awóló: wò: , as a collective representation awa or wa (we/our), in one of his praise songs for the leader. Inflecting Awo’s name, Ogunde sings that ‘awo owo, awo ọmọ, l’Awo awa/Awo alaafia, l’Awo awa ooo/Ajagunmale l’Awóló: wò: ’ (‘the cult/bearer of riches, cult/bearer of children, is our cult/ Awo; The cult/Awo of peace/good health is our cult/Awo; Awóló: wò: is our High Priest’). I was attending my first general meeting of the group, as part of my fieldwork, on 22 September 2005. Anyone who was unfamiliar with this group would have mistaken the leaders for town heads or local leaders. They were all turned out in traditional Yorùbá attire with matching caps, while some of them wore the famous ‘Awo cap’.1 And they spoke only in Yorùbá as Adesanya insisted. But these were highly accomplished men and women who had been educated in some of the best universities in Europe and America, and had held important positions in Nigeria’s national life. They were and are also some of the most influential Nigerians of their generation. To draw upon two examples, Chief Olu Falae, who was educated at Yale University where he led his Master’s class, was a very powerful secretary to the government of the federation and later finance minister, under the Babangida regime (1985–93). He was also the presidential candidate of the All People’s Party/Alliance for Democracy (APP/ AD) in 1999. Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, who was educated at the London School of Economics, owns a thriving law firm in Lagos headed by his son, Koyinsola, a senior advocate of Nigeria (SAN) – equivalent of the English Bar’s Queen’s Counsel, QC. However, beyond such qualifications and positions, present and past, the greatest badge of honour – as they

1 It is a small cap in different colours with a tassel. 114 Part Two constantly told me during my ﬁeldwork and showed in their public, political and even private, lives – was that they were Awóló: wò: ’s followers or, in their favoured Yorùbá, ‘Omo Awólọwo’ (Awóló: wò: ’s political children). ‘Following Awo’, therefore, can be seen as the cultural prism for understanding the practices of power and dignity within contemporary Yorùbá worldview. Fasoranti repeatedly prayed during the general meetings in Ijebu-Igbo that, ‘Ẹgbẹ babaa wa Awóló: wò: ko ni baje o’ (‘The party/ group of our father – leader – Awóló: wò: , will not denegerate’), to which the members chorused ‘Amin’ (Amen). Even though Awóló: wò: is regarded as ‘Baba wa’ (‘Our father’), which also means ‘Oloriiwa’ (‘Our leader’), he is popularly called ‘Papa Awo’,perhaps to distinguish him, as the primus Yorùbá baba,fromotherbabas.Peelhas noted how, in the 19th century – the ‘age of warlords’–emergent functions were rendered through an extension of existing terminology of male domination as represented in the concept of baba, ‘father’.Hearguesthat,

Baba carried connotations of priority, dominance, leadership, or superior efﬁcacy in any sphere, human or otherwise ...A standard way in which proverbs state that one thing is superior to or the source of another is by using the term baba. Powerful deities were ‘fathers’, such as ...the dreaded smallpox god, Sonpona, (Babaluaye, ‘Father, lord of the world’) – and in no euphemistic sense either, for fatherhood meant the capacity to punish as much as to protect. (Peel 2000, 72–3) This cultural understanding of father, I argue, is appropriated and further extended by the Awoists and condensed in Awo, such that the followers used to sing:

Awa re, ọmọ Awóló: wò: de/ 2x Ogongo baba ẹyẹ; kiniun baba ẹranko. Aju wọnlọ tẹlẹ tẹlẹ, oju ni wọn nya/2x Ọmọ Awóló: wò: da? Awa re o/2x [We are here, Awóló: wò: ’s children are here. Ostrich, father of birds; lion, father of animals. We are superior to them already, they are only being impolite. Where are Awóló: wò: ’s children? Here we are] Awóló: wò: is therefore celebrated as the ultimate father whose superiority has become part of the heritage of his political children. ‘Our joy’, Chief Ayo Adebanjo told me several times during ﬁeldwork, ‘is to be called omo Awóló: wò: (Awóló: wò: ’s children).’ Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, on his part, also told me a few times, how, during Awóló: wò: ’s lifetime, when he was asked to come forward with ‘his family’ for thanksgiving in his church in Ikenne, The Politics of Heritage 115

figure 10. Awo and the UPN Governors in the Second Republic. Left to right: Ambrose Alli (Bendel), Adekunle Ajasin (Ondo), Awo, Bisi Onabanjo (Ogun), Lateef Jakande (Lagos) and Bola Ige (Oyo). (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) he always asked Adebanjo and Ajayi to come along, saying, ‘Eyin de ti d’ebi ke’ (‘You have become family members’). It is also in this context that Alhaji Lateef Jakande, the former gover- nor of Lagos State (see Figure 10) was called by his admirers, ‘Baba Kekere’ (‘Little or junior father’), while the late former governor of Oyo State and Jakande’s rival for the stool of Awo, Chief Bola Ige, answered to ‘Arole Awóló: wò:’ (lit., ‘the pillar of Awo’sLineage’,meaningAwo’s successor or heir apparent). Also, in the context of the highly personal- ized discursive idioms of the group, the two leaders who succeeded to Awo’s stool as the cultural leader of the group are called baba.Chief Michael Adekunle Ajasin, who immediately succeeded Awo as the leader of the group, was (and still is) called Baba Ajasin; and Chief Abraham Adesanya, who took over from Ajasin, is called Baba Adesanya.Both Ajasin and Adesanya became succeeding representatives of or actors for the ‘Most Superior Father’,Awóló: wò: – who himself was a reincarnation of the founding father or the progenitor, Odùduwà. Thus, in the group, ‘cultural honours go ﬁrst and foremost to the ancestors or founders’ and after this to those assumed to be the ancestor’s ‘contemporary “representatives” who, having undergone the longest or most arduous process of reproduction, now constitute the line of ... succession’ (Archer 1988, 213). 116 Part Two

This status of baba also implied some form of spiritual efficacy such that even Ajasin, who was generally regarded as a simple, austere Christian, devoid of occult powers, nonetheless had invested in him, by virtue of his age and status, some inherent spiritual powers. When an Igbo naval officer who was the governor of Ondo State under General Sani Abacha (1993–8), Navy Captain Anthony Onyearegbulem, ‘invaded’ Ajasin’s home in Owo to order him to stop hosting pro-democracy activists in 1994, many Yorùbá expressed the belief that the soldier had ‘invoked a curse on his own head by harassing such a leader in Yorùbáland’. When the naval officer suddenly died about five years later without prior sickness, some pointed out to me that the curse he incurred from harassing Ajasin had come to pass. In assuming the heritage of Awo, the leader is therefore also assumed, in popular imagination, to inherit Awo’s spiritual efficacy.

leadership and conservation

At the point when I re-entered the field as an ethnographer in 2005, Chief Abraham Adesanya had become terminally sick. He was eighty-three, and no longer able to discharge the functions of his office. Just before his health deteriorated, he had appointed Fasoranti, the Akure-born school proprietor and commissioner in the cabinet of late Chief Adekunle Ajasin in Ondo State (1979–83), who was then seventy-nine, to act in his place. Fasoranti’s selection, over and above those who were closer to Adesanya, Chief Ayo Adebanjo and Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, was part of the attempt to respond to some of the strains and tensions that were already manifesting in the group. However, we will return to this later in this book. Fasoranti presided over general meetings of the group in Adesanya’s country home in Ijebu-Igbo and the caucus meetings at the group’s national headquarters in Jibowu, Yaba, Lagos. The home of the leader holds at important place in the organization of the group’s activities and in the symbolic representation of the authority and prestige of the leader so, given that Adesanya remained the nominal leader, the group’s meeting were still held at his house. Beyond this, given the tendency of the group towards secrecy, the home of the leader is considered a private space where the group is shielded from exposure of its secrets. In his bid to protect his plans to form a political party from being killed at infancy by the ‘propaganda of Azikiwe’, Awóló: wò: had held the first meeting of the proposed Action Group in his private residence in Ibadan on 26 March 1950. Consequently, Awóló: wò: ’s homes in Ikenne, in Oke Bola, Ibadan, and The Politics of Heritage 117

Apapa, Lagos (the then capital of Nigeria), were shrines of sorts where caucus meetings were held and where the leader was more or less worshipped. In the First Republic (1959–66), even after Awóló: wò: went to Lagos as leader of opposition, and Chief Samuel Ladoke Akintola took over as the premier of the Western Region, party caucus meetings were still held in Awóló: wò: ’s residence in Oke Bola, Ibadan, and not at the Premier’s Lodge. This was resisted at a point by Akintola’s wife, Faderẹra, whose successful resistance formed part of the crises that ruined the relationship between her husband and his predecessor, Awo, and eventually divided the Action Group. In the Second Republic (1979–83), given that Awóló: wò: spent considerable time in his home in Park Lane, Apapa, Lagos, those who were very close to him in the party but held no public office – particularly Adebanjo and Ajayi – were derided by the office holders, including the UPN governors, as the ‘Park Lane Constituency’. When Awóló: wò: died, there were attempts by some younger members of the group, who were opposed to the leadership of the older members, to ensure that the group continued to meet in Ikẹnnẹ. Organized under the rubric of the ‘Awoists’, the younger elements, including Chief Ebenezer Babatope, the director of organization of the defunct UPN, Gbolabo Ogunsanwo, former editor of the Sunday Times, John Omo-Ikhiroda, Wale Ọshun, later a member of the Federal House of Representatives, Wole Awóló: wò: , Awo’s only surviving son, Tayo Soyode, Awo’s son-in- law, Dayo Abatan and others, wanted to make Awóló: wò: ’s widow the successor to her husband’s ‘special throne’. What influenced the position of the members of this group could be discerned from what some informants told me. Awóló: wò: ’s son, Wole, for instance, was fiercely ambitious to become a political leader after his father’s death, despite the fact that he was not respected by most followers of his father. Some informants told me that his father even opposed his selection as the UPN candidate for the Lagos State House of Assembly in the Second Republic.2 Awo’s only surviving son had stated after Awo’s death that, ‘The king is dead, and the king lives on’ (African Guardian 28 May 1987), thereby indicating his interest in leadership. For the young Awoists, the leadership of ‘Mama’ (as Mrs Awóló: wò: is called) would ensure that they did not have to struggle under the orbit of the older members of the group, some of whom they had offended or

2 In his biography, An Unbreakable Heritage: The Story of ‘Wole Awolowo (2002), Wole Awolowo claims that he ‘out-grew’ his youthful exuberance long before his father died and thus reclaimed his father’s love and respect. 118 Part Two vehemently disagreed with, one way or the other, while under Awo’s protection.3 They argued that, given that Mama had been selected as the leader of the women’s wing of the United Progressive Grand Alliance (UPGA) – an alliance of Awo’s AG and the Azikiwe-led NCNC, formed while Awo was in jail – and later as the leader of the Alliance, she was more than qualiﬁed for leadership after her husband’s death. Succession to leadership is, in part, a matter of demonstrating effortless entitlement to it. Paradoxically, this apparent ease must be sustained by hard work, including political struggle to defend and sustain a position of privilege (Lave 2000, 170). The tension involved in resolving this ‘effortless ease’ with ‘persistent labour’, both in the past and present, are evident in the ways in which the associates of Awo resolved the contests and struggles for leadership after the exit of their leader. This is interesting given the fact that succession constitutes one of the most important instruments of ensuring corporate continuity (Fortes 1969, 305). Mama’s leadership was resisted by the older Awoists, including the former governors of Lagos (Alhaji Lateef Kayode Jakande), Ogun (Chief Bisi Onabanjo), Ondo (Chief Adekunle Ajasin) and Oyo (Chief Bola Ige) and other older leaders of the group, some of whom were eager to become the new rallying point for the Yorùbá. Jakande and Ige, whom many believed had always nurtured presidential ambitions, even while Awo was pursuing the same, were obviously prepared to begin to organize their personal, political future after the death of the leader. Some of Awo’s associates even had secret or subdued problems with Awóló: wò: ’s widow. Some members told me that Jakande, for one, had clashed with their late leader and his wife over, ﬁrstly, his alleged attempt to take over Awo’s newspaper, Tribune, in which Jakande owned some shares and where he was once managing director and editor-in-chief; and, second, Jakande’s ‘rude’ letter to Awóló: wò: , while the former was in jail after the collapse of the Second Republic, demanding that his entitlements in the African Newspapers of Nigeria Limited (publishers of the Tribune) be paid to his family, rather than the ‘stipend’ which Awo was giving to his wife monthly to assist her.4 One other major factor that was likely to have caused a deep rift between Jakande and Awóló: wò: , and which is often not mentioned by

3 For the position of one of members of the group, see Wale Oshun (2005, 57–9). 4 Awo was said to have been greatly troubled by this letter. Some of the Awo associates, the ‘Park Lane Constituency’ and, most probably, members of Awo’s family, never forgave Jakande for this. The Politics of Heritage 119 group members, was Jakande’s refusal, as governor of Lagos State, to grant a certificate of occupancy to Awóló: wò: for his controversial land in Maroko, Lagos. Jakande complied strictly with the Land Use Act Section 34(5), which forbids a governor from issuing certificates for land in a residential area, owned by one person, that is more than half a hectare.5 Therefore, someone like Jakande would be less inclined to continue to meet with others in Ikenne. Organized under the leadership of Chief Adekunle Ajasin, who was Awo’s contemporary, the older Awoists, called the ‘Owo Group’, later met with the younger Awoists in Awo’s home in July 1988 to resolve the battle for leadership. There, it was resolved that all would work together under the leadership of Ajasin. Since Ajasin lived in Owo, Ondo State, the group moved its meetings there. Ajasin’s qualities for the leadership of the group were many. But some were particularly critical in a culture where there is great emphasis on leadership as a position earned. Despite being a few months older than Awo (he was born on 28 November 1908), Ajasin accepted Awo’s leadership and remained loyal to Awo throughout the latter’s lifetime. Ajasin was not only one of the leaders of the Action Group from its beginnings (though not one of the eight original founders), but, more importantly, he saved the proposed party from dying before it was fully formed. At the sixth meeting of the planners of the party Awóló: wò: ‘felt so despondent’ about the poor attendance that he proposed that they should discontinue the meetings and disband,6 because the Yorùbá ‘had shown that they were not politically conscious enough to appreciate the need for the party’ (Ajasin 2003, 93). It was Ajasin who saved the group from disbanding by urging that the planning should continue because ‘anything that was destined to succeed always had a difficult beginning’ (Ajasin 2003, 93). He was proved right. The next meeting of the group, held on 12 November 1950, recorded such a high turnout that the venue of the meeting had to be shifted from Awóló: wò: ’s sitting room in Oke-Ado, Ibadan, to the secretariat of Ẹgbẹ Ọmọ Odùduwà. Ajasin recalls that, owing to this, Awóló: wò: not only remarked that ‘I must have possessed some aura that attracted people or a psychic power that influenced the minds of people’ (ibid.), but vacated his

5 Lai Olurode, university professor and Jakande’s biographer, argues that ‘Awo’s love of material things is not in question ... It was possible Awo did not like the way Jakande handled the Marọko land.’ Olurode’s book, The Life and Times of LKJ (2005) was quoted in ‘Lateef Jakande: Awo played a fast one on me’, Independent, 7 July 2007,D1. 6 Ajasin joined the third meeting in Awo’s house in Ibadan on 4 June 1950. See Ajasin (2003). 120 Part Two seat for Ajasin to chair the meeting – the first and the only time Awo did so in his lifetime for any member of his group. Beyond this, Ajasin, who attended the first Western-style university in West Africa, the Fourah Bay College, wrote the policy paper on education that formed the bedrock of the AG’s much celebrated education policy in the Western Region, and which became the strongest pillar on which Awo’s reputation rests. Also, Ajasin stayed with Awo in the turbulent years in the early to mid-sixties, when the party split and the leader was jailed. When the president of the ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà, Dr Akinola Maja, defected to the side of Awo’s rival, Akintola, and resigned his position, Awo mandated Ajasin from detention to accept the position in 1963 (ibid., 133). In the context of what had come to be promoted as essential ‘Yorùbá cultural traits’–loyalty to a cause and its leadership, perseverance, courage, honour and so on – particularly by the Awo group, Ajasin was therefore more than qualified for the leadership of the group after Awo’s demise. But there were a few who belonged to neither of the two camps (old Awoists and young Awoists). This group could be called the ‘Expanded Park Lane Constituency’. Apart from Adesanya, who had been a senator in the Second Republic, they included those who had never contested for public office, and whose politics were Awóló: wò: simpliciter. While they sided with the Ajasin group, they were not too eager to move to Owo, either. They were led by the group’s main financial pillar, Chief Alfred Rewane, the Itshekiri millionaire businessman, who was regarded as next to Awo in the group’s hierarchy. Even though Rewane was very close to both Awo and his family, he was never interested in any political position, but was only devoted to funding any cause to which Awo and the ‘Awo ideal’ were connected.7 Others in this group included Chief Solanke Onasanya, Chief Ayo Adebanjo and Sir Olaniwun Ajayi. They were as dissatisfied with some of the older members of the Awo group, particularly Jakande and Ige, as they were displeased with the younger Awoists. However, apart from Rewane, who held out in Lagos, the others later joined the Owo group. The first meeting of Awo associates after the death of the leader was held on the evening of Awo’s burial, on 6 June 1987. At the meeting, it was

7 Rewane so heavily funded the democratic struggle against late military rule, particularly the coalition of pro-democracy groups, the National Democratic Coalition (NADECO), that the military regime of General Sani Abacha decided to assassinate him – as revealed by those implicated in the murder. He was assassinated in October 1996. The Politics of Heritage 121 decided that a larger meeting be held in Adebanjo’s house in Lagos. My informants disclosed that they chose Adebanjo’s house because of the raging controversy and suspicion in the group about succession, and given that, as Ajasin puts it, Adebanjo was ‘Chief Awolowo’s confidant and right hand man since the early days of the Action Group in the 1950s’ (Ajasin 2003, 444). Adebanjo, together with Ajayi, both lawyers, held a special place in Awo’s heart. Adebanjo, now eighty-six, who may be described, in football parlance, as the group’s ‘central defender’, is one of the most frontal and irrepressible defenders of the group’s position. He does not shy away from battles over Awóló: wò: ’s ideals and ideas. Olaniwun Ajayi, now eighty- nine, on his part, is patrician, reticent and deliberate. He may be described as the group’s ‘defensive mid-fielder’. While both men were derided by office holders, particularly the Second Republic governors, for their closeness to Awo and for allegedly ‘constantly misinforming the Leader’, I will suggest that they performed a critical role for Awo. First, given their lack of political ambition, Awo totally relied on them for ‘unbiased’ advice and information. As a result of this, Awóló: wò: ’s personal, political victory was what mattered most to the two. If they were to hold any substantive public office when Awo was alive, it would have been if Awo became president.8 They therefore had what could be described as a near-unalloyed devotion to Awo – which the man obviously recognized and valued. Furthermore, being both Ijebu – and, in Ajayi’s case, like Awo, even (Ijebu-)Remo9 – they could converse with the leader in their dialect when they met. Also, given the loneliness of the leader, it was both men, among a few others, who were often around and spent considerable time with Awo to discuss both political and personal matters.10 As regards this, my informants disclosed that the UPN governors always stated that they had better things to do with their time than ‘sit and gossip’ with the leader. My analysis of how Awo regarded Adebanjo and Ajayi is strengthened by, and anchored on, my observation of the arrangement of photographs of his associates by Awo in Ikenne and interpretation of the significance of this. In Efunyela Hall, Awo’s expansive home in Ikenne, it is only Adebanjo and Ajayi, of their contemporaries, whose individual portraits are on display, among the several photographs mounted on the wall on Awo’s

8 Although, Ajayi, on Awo’s nomination, was a commissioner in the cabinet of Military Governor Oluwole Rotimi, in the Western Region, in the early 1970s. 9 Ajayi is from Isara, one of the key (Ijebu-)Remo towns. 10 Both men were often involved in the domestic issues and crisis in Awo’s home. 122 Part Two instructions.11 All the UPN governors, including Ajasin, Alli, Ige, Jakande and Onabanjo, appear only in group photographs. When I asked both men why this was so, they were surprised that I took note of this. Ajayi told me that Awo personally requested the photographs of he and his friend, Adebanjo, and also gave both of them a big photograph of himself with his wife and requested them to mount it in their homes. Ajayi added that he went to a professional photographer in London to take the photograph that he gave to Awo. This was an indication of the importance he attached to his leader’s request. Despite the existence of factions and deep personal rivalries, members of the group recognized the importance of organization in the post-Awo era. Yet it was this recognition that gave rise to the attempts to organize in different, sometimes contradictory, ways. As classical elite theorists have long argued, the key to elite control lies in the capacity ‘to weld itself into a cohesive force presenting a common front to the other forces in society’ (Parry 1969, 37). At the second meeting of Awo’s associates on 4 July 1987 in Adebanjo’s house – about two months after the leader’s death – Ajasin was elected as the new leader of the group. When Ajasin died in 1996, Adesanya was elected by consensus in Owo as the leader of the group, with Chief Bola Ige as the deputy leader. By this time, Ige’s rival, Jakande, had ‘disinherited’ himself by joining General Abacha’s regime as a federal minister. A few of Ige’s admirers wanted Ige to take over the mantle of leadership at the ﬁrst post-Ajasin meeting in Owo. However, they were checkmated by anti-Ige forces, given that Ajasin already mandated Adesanya to act for him when he became too sick to lead the group. Some of Ige’s associates still refer to this ‘error’ by Ige, in accepting Adesanya’s leadership as the beginning of his (Ige’s) failure to clinch the presidential ticket of the group later, in 1999. Consequent upon Ajasin’sdeathin1996, the group’s meeting place moved to Ijebu-Igbo, Adesanya’s home. Adesanya was a different kind of Awoist. More than any other of the key leaders, he was earthy and overtly culturally conscious. Mr Supo Sonibare, one of the younger generation of leaders in Afé:nifé:re, whose late father was one of the eight original founders of the AG, said that Adesanya had earned his leadership. ‘His doggedness was outstanding’, Sonibare told me during

11 Sir Ajayi’s photograph was removed a few years ago. The reason for this remains unclear. He was not ready to volunteer a reason. I also couldn’t get anyone in the Awo household to explain why it was removed. The Politics of Heritage 123

fieldwork (Fieldwork notes 10 October, 2005). ‘He was the one who raised the consciousness of the Yorùbá in support of Afé:nifé:re and AD. Before Adesanya took over, the cohesion in the group was weakening. [General Shehu Musa] Yar’Adua came to Yorùbáland and decimated the place with his financial resources during the [General Ibrahim] Babangida transition program. It was Adesanya who led the effort to resensitize his people’ (ibid). Another member of the group who served as Adesanya’s personal assistant, Rev. Tunji Adebiyi, said Adesanya was a most sacrificing leader. ‘During Abiola’s [SDP] primary election in Jos in 1993, Papa Adesanya slept outside in the cold because he could not get accommodation in any hotel’, disclosed Adebiyi. Among the Yorùbá, such a sacrifice by a leader in his early seventies was a demonstration of leadership Even in a group for which the discourses of power continue to be marked by notions of the occult, Adesanya was in a class of his own. My informants disclosed that out of the more than twenty children of his late father, Adesanya was the only one initiated by his father into his awo (secret cult; secret knowledge). No one could volunteer to me the actual nature of this secret cult. Indeed, when General Abacha’s assassins shot at Adesanya several times in his car in the streets of Lagos in 1996, many believed that his occult powers – described as ‘traditional bullet-proof’– saved him. When the police chief saw Adesanya’s car, which was riddled with bullets, he was said to have concluded that Adesanya could not have been in the car and survived. Also, Adesanya, my informants said, was amused when his driver, who also survived, eventually ran away after the incident. Adesanya, my informants claimed, stated that, ‘Omode lo’nsee. O ye ko mon wipe bi agbe oo ba fo, omi inu e ko le danu’ (lit. ‘He is being childish. Otherwise, he would have realised that if the gourd does not break, the water inside it cannot be spilled’). He was thus implying that since nothing untoward could happen to him (‘the gourd’) his driver (‘the water’) could not have been killed. Adesanya had been with Awóló: wò: since the 1950s and was by his side throughout the tribulations of the early 1960s. He was one of the lawyers who appeared for Awóló: wò: in the treasonable felony trial in 1962. He was the first to visit Awóló: wò: in prison on the morning of 10 July 1963, when Awo’s first son died. The following day, he was the first to bring messages of condolence to the leader in jail (Awolowo 1985, 247, 249). Adesanya was also a UPN senator in the Second Republic and remained loyal and close to Awo until the latter’s death. He was the leader of National Democratic Coalition (NADECO) in Nigeria, which fought against 124 Part Two

General Abacha’s tyranny (he took over from Enahoro when he fled into exile. Enahoro had taken over from Ajasin). Fasoranti, who took over from Adesanya as leader of Afé:nifé:re in 2004, is an accomplished school principal and proprietor. This is an important background in a group in which education is of paramount importance. He also came to office with impressive credentials. He was tipped by Ajasin to be his running mate in the 1979 gubernatorial race, but was dropped due to Awóló: wò: ’s request that Akin Omoboriowo, who was close to Awo and was an Ekiti, be picked to ‘balance’ the ticket in Ondo State along sub- ethnic lines. Fasoranti, who Ajasin describes as ‘solid in capability, integrity, dependability, reliability, efficiency, effectiveness and loyalty’ (Ajasin 2003, 179), was subsequently made the commissioner for finance. He was also detained alongside Ajasin and others when the military took over power in December 1983 and was released in 1985. He therefore also possessed the important attribute of ‘having suffered in the service of the group’. However, those credentials were not enough to make Fasoranti super- sede Adebanjo and Ajayi in Afé:nifé:re’s ‘internal hierarchies of prestige’ (Pina-Cabral 2000, 213). However, he had to be picked by Adesanya as the latter’s successor because, by the time Adesanya took ill, powerful grumblings were already being heard in the group against the ‘hegemony’ of the ‘Ijebu Four’–that is, Adesanya, Adebanjo, Ajayi and Solanke Onasanya (who were reduced to ‘Ijebu Three’ by the death of Onasanya, aged eighty-one, in 2001). It was, therefore, tactically wise that a non-Ijebu acting leader was allowed to emerge. However, true to the tradition in Yorùbáland where, if a reigning king is not dead, no matter how incapable he is of performing his duties, a new king cannot be installed, Adesanya’s home in Ijebu-Igbo remained the political headquarters of the Afé:nifé:re until his death. Despite the struggle to invest the leadership in one person who has shown absolute loyalty to Awóló: wò: and the ideal and ideas that Awo represented and continues to personify, and who also possesses other qualities of leadership such as consistency, perseverance and commitment to the collective (Yorùbá) good, the group, implicitly, still recognizes Awóló: wò: as ‘the Leader’. In that sense, every leader is acting for or representing Awóló: wò: . Awóló: wò: continues to be recognized symbolically as ‘olori i wa’ (‘our leader’) and ‘baba a wa’ (‘our father’). Showing Yorùbáness in this context implies displaying the high values of ‘culture’ in politics, including ‘steadfastness’, ‘non-changeability’, strength and courage in the face of adversity, ‘suffering for the collective’, progressive The Politics of Heritage 125 politics and opposition to the north/Hausa-Fulani/conservative/military rule. How to continue to display Yorùbáness in the post-Awo era, consequently, involved showing the qualities or properties that Awo possessed or is assumed to have possessed, and that he passed on to the collective whole. The performance of such qualities constitutes a crucial way through which the group organizes itself.

succession, consolidation and the remaking of af: nif: re Contemporary anthropological gaze has focused on how, in specific historical circumstances and within existing power relations, certain people claim that they are the most powerful leaders in a group and are most qualified to promote the group’s continuity (de Lima 2000, 31). It is therefore important to explore how such people – who are invested with authority over the management of collective resources – are chosen. The struggle for succession to the stool of Awo reflects the meshing of social reproduction and the interplay of power relations. However, one of the major challenges that were produced with Awo’s absence was the difficulty, if not impossibility, of merging in one person the political cultural leadership of the Yorùbá and plausible candidacy for the presidency of Nigeria. While the tension to achieve this was fully evident in Chief Bola Ige’s politics, and in his relationship with the other group leaders (see Chapters 4 and 5), the group more or less reconciled itself, implicitly, with the need to split cultural and political leadership in the post-Awo era. Given that the socio-cultural and political production of the Yorùbá identity from the mid-20th century on, and of Awóló: wò: himself as a cultural and political leader, were equally and powerfully matched, entwined and simultaneously reinforcing (cf. Marcus 2000, in Pina- Cabral and de Lima 2000, 20), it was difficult, if not impossible, for any of Awo’s successors to combine his unique position as cultural leader of the Yorùbá and political leader of a national, pan-Nigerian (progressive) party. However, the attempt to split the two sides in the struggle for succession was, in reality, untidy. First, as evident from my interviews and interactions with the group leaders, apart from the qualities that the successors to the two roles were expected to possess, complex interactions among the group members, involving personal rivalries, predisposed the leaders of the group towards particular actions and inactions with regard to the politics of succession. In this context, what the leaders remember as individuals and how they 126 Part Two remember the group’s past, play key roles in the ways in which they construct and perpetuate themselves and their roles within the group. Through particular memories, as well as through present actions, the competing leaders transform themselves, or are transformed into, the ‘most appropriate’ heirs of Awo. Given Awo’s unique combination of two roles, his successors are transformed into various roles, most of which had earlier been held together by a single man. Consequently, even some who are (were) heirs to the same or similar roles, attempt(ed) to create distinctions between themselves in order to become the more likely candidates to publicly inherit the mantle of Awo (cf. de Lima 2000, 32). Despite these struggles for succession, most of the key leaders of the group told me that Awo constantly reminded them that the Yorùbá abhor anyone pronouncing himself a leader over them. In the Yorùbá lifeworld, you have to show your leadership qualities, rather than announce your leadership, they repeatedly stated. Therefore, within the group, a contradictory culture is promoted and sustained. While, as a political association of men and women with an ambition to dominate society, it is expected that people would come forward to announce their interest in particular offices – as Awo himself did – yet it is expected that such interests are not taken as irrevocable, except in Awo’s case.12 It is the people through the party caucus who are expected to determine who is fit to be put up for particular positions. Several examples are cited of some of the leaders who have been faithful to this position and are therefore valued as loyal members of the group; that is, those who put the collective will over and above personal ambition. When Afé:nifé:re started meeting in Owo after Awo’s death, there was an unannounced cleavage between those who, on the one hand, saw themselves as exclusively Awo’s faithful, devoid of ambition and devoted only to the collective cause, and those who, on the other, were seen as ambitious Awo’s faithful, that is, those who were as devoted to their personal, political ambitions as they were to the collective cause. Ajasin, the new leader, was above this division because, at eighty, he could no longer have any political ambition. He was, therefore, a good rallying point for the two factions. In the context of the programme for transition to civilian rule that the General Ibrahim Babangida regime announced in 1989, there were two

12 But, even in Awo’s case, Olaniwun Ajayi says, after Nigeria’s independence in 1960, Awo never insisted on being the premier (of the Western Region). Rẹmọ Today, February– March 2006, 10. The Politics of Heritage 127 people in the group who were interested in the presidency of Nigeria: Bola Ige and Lateef Jakande. Both tried to use Awo’s death and burial to further their ambitions. This rivalry became somewhat muted when the group started meeting, even though both leaders were still carrying on with surreptitious plans to outdo the other. At this point, the group had named itself the People’s Consultative Forum (PCF). As it turned out, the military regime, in announcing the transition programme on 3 May 1989, banned those it described as ‘old- breed’ politicians from participating in the transition programme. This included those who had held offices as chief executives in the states. Thus, Ige and Jakande were initially formally denied the opportunity to run for office. Even though this did not dissuade either man from struggling to build his camp (politicians being incurable optimists) the group had to decide on who would be its torch-bearer in the emerging presidential race. This was important because there was a growing understanding among the political elite in three of the zones in the country – the south-east, the Middle Belt and the south-west – that a Yorùbá man would be preferred as the next civilian president of Nigeria. In the light of this, Ajasin was elected as the convener and chairman of the progressives in Nigeria at a secret meeting on the first anniversary of Awo’s death on 9 May 1988. The progressives later announced a party named People’s Solidarity Party (PSP), but without any of the banned politicians associating with it in public. When the party, which adopted the victory sign for which Awo was famous at rallies, was launched on 11 May 1989, its supporters in Lagos shouted the UPN slogan: ‘Up Awo, Up Nigeria’. The PSP, along with several other parties, later applied for registration with the National Electoral Commission (NEC), which recommended to the military regime that thirteen parties be registered. The PSP was ranked first in terms of party membership, party offices around the country and other factors. However, the Babangida regime decided not to register any of the parties and, subsequently, took the unprecedented decision to create, through a decree, two political parties, one conservative, the National Republican Convention (NRC), the other progressive, Social Democratic Party (SDP). All interested persons were asked to join either of the parties. The PSP and the People’s Front of Nigeria (PFN) – led by General Shehu Musa Yar’Adua (rtd), former number two man in the regime of General Olusegun Obasanjo (1976–9) – subsequently became the dominant factions in the SDP. At this point, on the suggestion of General Babangida, through the Ooni of Ife, Oba Okunade Sijuade, the secretary to the government of 128 Part Two the federation (SGF), Chief Olu Falae, a Yorùbá, became the secret candidate of the Awóló: wò: movement for the presidency (Ajasin 2003, 470–2). Falae was initially reluctant, but later accepted the challenge. Ajasin had contacted the leaders in the group in 1987, including Ige, Jakande and Onabanjo, from whom he received ‘positive’ and ‘enthusiastic’ responses about Falae (ibid., 472). Between 1987 and 1989, while Falae remained in office, the Awo clan continued to network within and outside Yorùbáland so as to ensure that their choice, Falae, became the presidential flag-bearer of the SDP. Just as Falae, who was dropped from the federal cabinet in August 1990, emerged as the consensus candidate of the progressives across the country, Babangida decided to lift the ban on the ‘old-breed’ politicians in December 1991. This action eventually came to be understood as part of an ingenious plan by Babangida to discredit the political class and hang on to power. At this point, Jakande decided to enter the presidential race. Ige, on his part, advertised his decision, in pidgin English, to ‘siddon look’ (‘sit and watch’). He was obviously more aware of the duplicity of General Babangida. Jakande’s decision to go against the position of the group to support Falae meant that he stopped attending the meetings in Owo. When Babangida decided to cancel the party primaries in December 1992 and to reinstate a ban on those who had participated in the process, alongside the earlier banned and later unbanned ‘old-breed’ politicians, the followers of Awo regrouped in Owo. At this point, apart from the Owo meetings, Ige had started to organize his followers in the old Oyo State where he had been governor, which had been split into two states, Oyo and Osun. This subgroup started meeting in November 1992. The members of this group whom I spoke with, including Chief Bisi Akande, later the governor of Osun State (1999–2003), and Mr Yemi Farounbi, Ige’s confidant, claimed that this group of Oyo–Osun states followers and associates of Ige named themselves ‘Afé:nifé:re’. They were meeting in Ige’s Ibadan home. With the new challenges presented by the transition process, the meetings in Ige’s house took a different turn and included others outside Oyo–Osun states. It is still being contested among the members of the group whether Ajasin mandated those meetings in Ige’s house at this point or if he was informed about them after the meetings had started. Whatever happened, Ajasin gave his nod to the meetings at Ige’s. These contestations can be understood in the context of the emergent rivalries between the leaders of the group, given that those who came to be described as the ‘Ijebu Four’–Adebanjo, Adesanya, Ajayi and Onasanya – did not attend any of the meetings in Ige’s house. The Politics of Heritage 129

On 18 January 1993, under what Yemi Farounbi describes as ‘the banner of Awo Political Estate’,13 fresh meetings began in Ige’s house in Ibadan. These latest meetings included members of the group, who were not strictly Ige’s associates, from Osun and Oyo states. Based on a copy of the letter of invitation that one of my informants provided,14 forty people were invited to the ﬁrst meeting, which was simply tagged ‘Special Meeting’. The letter, signed by Ayo Opadokun (who was later elected as the secretary general of Afé:nifé:re), Dayo Abatan and Kayode Akinsanya, ‘for and on behalf of our Elders’, stated that, ‘the meeting is being convened to afford us the opportunity to deliberate on current, crucial matters that are of relevance to us as a people’. Those invited included Adesanya, but he did not attend. Also signiﬁcant is the fact that the three other members of the ‘Ijebu Four’–Adebanjo, Ajayi and Onasanya – were not invited at all. It was this meeting that Chief Bisi Akande claimed formed the beginning of Afé: nifé: re: a claim which is bitterly disputed by others, including Chief Adebanjo, who insists that the name was the popular Yorùbá name for the Action Group in the 1950s. Ige claimed that the popular Yorùbá name for the AG was Afeniferere, and not Afé:nifé:re; therefore insisting that the Afé:nifé:re of the 1990s formed in his house was not a continuation of the old name of the political group.15 However, Adebanjo produced a photograph taken in the late 1950s in which he wore a dress with the imprint of Afé:nifé:re and the AG logo. The 18 January meeting was scheduled to be followed by a larger meeting of the Awóló: wò: political family on 22 January. On 11 February 1993, the new group met again in Jakande’s house in Lagos under the name of Central Working Committee (CWC), membership of which had been composed at the earlier meeting. At this meeting, the ‘Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Creed’, a body of ideas and ideals championed by the group since the 1950s, which some members had previously been mandated to draw up, was revised and amended. The creed, which elaborates the conceptual and practical standpoints of the group, represents an

13 Farounbi, ‘Celebration of Afenifere’s 50th Anniversary of Fraud’, press release, n.d. 14 The letter of invitation was dated 11 January 1993 and signed by the trio of Opadokun, Abatan and Akinsanya. 15 Indeed, as Chief Meredith Adisa Akinloye, confirmed, he was the one who coined the name ‘Afé: nifé: re’ in the 1950s as the slogan and name of the party for the largely illiterate population of the Western Region. It is roughly translated as ‘one who loves progress/ goodness for others’. It was a succinct slogan for a party built around welfarism or egalitarianism. 130 Part Two ideological document (cf. Geertz 1993 [1973], 340). The Awóló: wò: Creed includes the following: (i) The operation of true and genuine federalism is imperative as a basis for the continuing existence of the corporate entity known as Nigeria. (ii) The practice of democracy expressed through the ballot box and based on clean, free and fair elections. (iii) The well-being of the people is the sole purpose and raison d’être of government and the glory of any government is the well-being of the people. (iv) Supremacy of the rule of law. (v) A party manifesto is and should be an inviolable covenant between the party and the people. (vi) Whether in the immediate or the ultimate, power belongs to the people. (vii) Man [sic] is the unit, the prime mover and the sole purpose of development. (viii) The universality of man [sic], whether black, brown, yellow or white. (ix) Self-discipline, self-denial and loyalty to common causes. (x) Every man [sic] is a natural shareholder, by birth, of his group and nation and therefore is entitled to certain inalienable rights which will make it possible for him [sic] to have a sound mind in a sound body –‘Mens sana in corpore sano’. These inalienable rights include: a. right to free education, b. right to free health care, c. right to good food and good housing, d. right to full and gainful employment, e. right to all the things that are required to facilitate an all- round development of his mind, soul and body, and f. the full endorsement of the fundamental human rights in chapter 4 of the 1979 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria. By this point, Chief Moshood Kasimawo Olawale Abiola, a Muslim Yorùbá billionaire businessman and newspaper publisher, had emerged as a front-runner in the new presidential race in the SDP. This was after yet another ban of leading politicians, including Falae, by the duplicitous Babangida regime. Abiola had strongly opposed Awo as a member of the The Politics of Heritage 131 ruling National Party of Nigeria in the Second Republic (1979–83), but later resigned from the party when he was denied the chairmanship, and was said to have reconciled with Awo. He had made contact with the leadership of Awo’s political associates in hopes of being adopted as their candidate for the presidential race, since all those interested in the presidency had been banned from participating in politics by the military regime. However, the leading members of the group were very uncomfortable with Abiola’s role in the unfortunate history of Nigeria, particularly given memories of his role in ‘stopping Awo’, and in the attempt at the ‘Islamization’ of Nigeria. Abiola, despite his famed philanthropy, was seen by members as one of the biggest ‘lackeys’ of not only the Islamic- Hausa-Fulani oligarchy, but also of ‘their military wing’. He was a close friend of Generals Babangida and Abacha, as he was of many other military chiefs. Yet the group had little or no choice in supporting Abiola, as there was no other strong or credible Yorùbá candidate in the fray. General Babangida had banned virtually every potential candidate. The alternative to Abiola would be the (northern) candidate of the rival NRC, Bashir Tofa. The group was therefore confronted with a situation that challenged its earlier attitude and predispositions to Abiola. The Lagos meeting in February 1993 decided that the candidate, who was still being coded in the group’s documents as ‘AOKM’ (Abiola’s reversed initials), be presented with the group’s package of specific programmes and the Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Creed, constituting the ‘Memorandum of Understanding’ between the group and the candidate. Abiola was expected to adopt this creed before securing the group’s endorsement. At this Lagos meeting, it was also decided that a Congress of Leaders be constituted from the ranks of identified Awoists, who would then meet with Abiola at Ajasin’s residence in Owo, on 8 March 1993. This was scheduled for seven days after the next meeting of the Central Working Committee. Abiola had met some of the older Awoists earlier in Owo, where his ‘performance and response to questions raised were considered very satisfactory’ and where he spoke ‘on some programmes that he had for the nation, most of which were Awoist in orientation’.16

16 Minutes of the CWC Meeting held 1 March 1993 at the house of Chief Bola Ige, Bodija, Ibadan. 132 Part Two

Interestingly enough, the group also paid attention to spiritual matters, as recorded in the minutes. Coded as ‘the Elements’, the group asked Chief Lambo, a Muslim; Justice Adewale Thompson, a retired High Court judge, Ige’s former attorney-general and an Anglican, but also a noted Rosicrucian and mystic; and Senator (Prof.) Wande Abimbola, former Ife University vice-chancellor and Ifa priest, ‘to take charge’ of spiritual matters.17 This shows that the Awo faithful believed that ‘the Elements’ played an important role in the political and social life of the group and society in general. Despite the fact that every single member of the inner caucus of the group was either a Christian or a Muslim, they were all prepared for spiritual mediation from both religions, as well as the traditional religions. The next meeting of the CWC was held on 1 March 1993. It was followed by another on 15 March. The latter was held after the March meeting with Abiola in Owo. Apart from the ‘two leaders’ (Ige and Jakande) and the three men in charge of the CWC Secretariat (Opadokun, Abatan and Akinsanya), two representatives from each state were selected to join Ajasin in Owo for the meeting with Abiọla.18 Apart from Adesanya, who had earlier been selected by the CWC to be the deputy leader of the Congress of Leaders, Adebanjo’s selection to represent Ogun State in the Congress of Leaders’ meeting with Abiọla, was the first time any of the other members of the ‘Ijebu Four’ would be asked to be involved in the activities of this specific group. Also, it was at the 15 March meeting that the CWC agreed to enlarge the Committee, by accepting Chief Olu Falae as a member, and bringing in female representatives from all the Yorùbá states. It is significant that Falae, who had earlier been adopted as the presidential candidate of the group, was not invited into the caucus of the group until its fifth meeting. The view of some of the core members of the group was that Falae was a ‘latter-day’ member, who ‘vicariously’ joined the group, and therefore was undeserving of ‘primary’ consideration in group matters, offices and positions. This view was to have significant implications later (see Chapter 4).

17 In the subsequent minutes of the CWC, it was noted that ‘the Elements’ be expanded to include, ‘Prayers for all religions’. Minutes of the CWC Meeting held on 1 March 1993 at Chief Bola Ige’s house, Bodija, Ibadan. 18 Chief Josiah Olawoyin and Senator Cornelius Adebayo (Kwara), Chief Bisi Akande and Engineer Sola Akinwunmi (Osun), Chief Ade Adefarati and Chief S.K. Babalola (Ondo), Chief Mike Koleoso and Senator Lere Adesina (Oyo), Chief Z.O. Mowaiye (Kogi), Chief Ayo Adebanjo and Professor Afolabi Olabintan (Ogun). The Politics of Heritage 133

Abiola consequently adopted the creed, and the group then endorsed him as the presidential candidate of the SDP. He eventually won the party primaries and went on to win the presidential election held on 12 June 1993. However, the election was annulled by the Babangida regime (for the politics of the annulment, see Omoruyi 1999). The struggle to validate the election found key members of the group in the forefront of the battle against continued military rule. By this time, the group had come to be known to the public as Afé:nifé:re; it was one of the major groups that formed the National Democratic Coalition (NADECO), the umbrella organization that championed the struggle for a return to democratic rule. The building of the pro-democracy coalition and the battle for the validation of Abiola’s mandate, which was eventually championed mainly by the Yorùbá, changed the tone and tenor of group organization, producing and re-producing old and new leaders and old and new villains in Yorùbá cultural politics. Specifically, the struggle threw up new challenges in terms of group organization and cohesiveness. In the initial period of the resistance to the annulment of the election, Jakande had become Abiola’sright-handman in Lagos, while Ige stayed in the background with the other members of the Awoist movement, given their prior and subsisting unease with Abiọla’s past role in Nigerian politics. General Sani Abacha seized power on 17 November 1993, from the lame-duck interim national government (ING) that Babangida put in place as he fled from power on 26 August 1993.Abacha’s ascension was reported to be based on the understanding, with Abiola, that he would hand over power to Abiola in a few months. Subsequently, Abiola was believed to have nominated Jakande to join the federal military government as a minister. Abiola denied this, even though it was evident that he did go along with this, under pressure from his ambitious supporters, including his running mate, Alhaji Baba Gana Kingibe, who wanted to join the new military regime. Three other Awoists, Dr Olu Onagoruwa (a constitutional lawyer and cousin of the number two man in the new military government, that is, General Oladipo Diya), Chief Ebenezer Babatope (former director of organization of Awo’s UPN) and Mrs Mobolaji Osomo, from Ondo State, became federal ministers. Jakande held the Works portfolio, Onagoruwa became attorney-general and minister of justice, Babatope headed the Transport Ministry, while Osomo was in charge of the Federal Ministry of Housing. The acceptance of the positions by these four, even though they took advantage of the initial agreement between Abiọla and Abacha – 134 Part Two which was later denied by both parties when Abacha refused to leave power – further polarized the Awoist movement in particular, and the pro-democracy movement in general. When, eventually, Yorùbá leaders met in Ibadan in August 1994 and called on the Yorùbá in government and those in Abacha’s Constitutional Confab to return home, the four ministers ignored the call. They were subsequently treated as pariahs by the Awoist movement, and by the Yorùbá. At that point, based on Ajasin’s directive, group meetings were held in Chief Alfred Rewane’s house in Ikeja, Lagos. These meetings became the nucleus of the National Democratic Coalition (NADECO). Rewane’s house was critical for meetings, because, firstly, even though much of the Yorùbá West was hostile to Abacha, Lagos was the real theatre of the resistance to Abacha; and, second, because the billionaire businessman and politician (Rewane) was the biggest financier of the group and the one who bankrolled much of the resistance from that region of Nigeria. Owing to Abacha’s vicious repression, many of the foot soldiers of the group had to go underground, while some abandoned the group. Urged on by NADECO, Abiola eventually insisted on the validation of the annulled election by declaring himself president on 11 June 1994, one year after he won the presidential election. He was later arrested, detained and put on trial by the military regime. During the initial period of the meetings of the Yorùbá inner caucus of NADECO, which were held in the Lagos home of Solanke Onasanya and involved key leaders like Adesanya, Adebanjo and Ajayi, Ige refused to attend, claiming that as a lawyer he could not travel to Lagos on Mondays for political meetings. Incidentally, a few of the leaders were also lawyers, including Adesanya, Adebanjo and Ajayi. Therefore, they saw Ige’s explanation as an excuse not to meet with them. For them, it was Ige’s clever way of avoiding putting himself in the direct line of fire of the repressive regime in power. Ige’s admirers dismissed this allegation, because, as they claimed correctly, Ige was already attacking the military regime in his widely popular column in the Sunday Tribune, and therefore could not be afraid of offending the regime further. While Rewane and Onasanya were said to have expressed the view that they were not surprised at Ige’s decision not to join them in Lagos, Adesanya, Adebanjo and Ajayi decided to speak with Ige to urge him not to abandon the inner caucus of the Awo movement. A meeting was eventually held in Ibadan at retired Justice Adewale Thompson’s house between the three and Ige, with Thompson as the arbiter. Ajayi and Adebanjo told me that Ige broke down in tears after they chronicled Ige’s The Politics of Heritage 135

‘transgressions’, because he ‘knew that it [the chiding] came from those who cared about him’. Ige subsequently promised to live up to expectation. One informant, who claimed to have heard the details of the meeting from Justice Thompson, confirmed this to me. Meanwhile, given Rewane’s financing of the pro-democracy movement, Abacha’s agents assassinated him in his home in November 1995. This marked the first in the spate of assassinations of, or assassination attempts on, leading pro-democracy activists by the Abacha regime. In June 1996, Abiọla’s vocal most senior wife, Kudirat Abiọla, was also assassinated on the streets of Lagos. As stated earlier, an attempt to assassinate Adesanya himself failed. Rewane’s killing especially was a devastating blow, specif- 19 ically to the Awoist movement. With the detained Abiọla becoming the clear symbol of the democratic movement in Nigeria, particularly in the west of Nigeria, the Awoists became the strongest supporters of his struggle to reclaim his mandate. This was critical for the Awoists, because it became a viable and credible means of fighting their traditional enemies, the ‘Hausa-Fulani oligarchy’, which was accused of aborting the ‘power shift’ from the north to the south of Nigeria, and thus disallowing a Yorùbá man from leading Nigeria – a struggle which the group had led since the 1950s. Owing to this, Abiola had to be invested with the mantle of Awo. With his detention and trial, images of Awo in the ‘Black Maria’, the infamous prison van, in the early 1960s were re-evoked, with the leaders pointing to the ‘consistent persecution’ of Yorùbá leaders by the Hausa-Fulani ‘oligarchy’. Thus, Abiola was linked with Awóló: wò: in a way which gave his struggle cultural resonance in Yorùbáland. Popular local (ewi) poets released records in which Abiọla’s travails were appropriated as part of the ‘historic struggle’ led by Awóló: wò: against ‘domination’, ‘hegemony’, ‘fascism’ and ‘bad governance’ (see Olukotun 2002). Yorùbá eventual separation from Nigeria in an independent ‘Republic of Oodua’ (Odùduwà) was also promoted by the poets. In this, the poets were echoing popular sentiments championed by the key leaders of the Awoist movement. In this period, the Oodua People’s Congress (OPC) was formed by a Yorùbá medical doctor and activist, Dr Frederick Fasehun, in 1994,to

19 Several of my informants confirmed this, and even added that Rewane, a multi-millionaire businessman, gave financial support not only to the group and its political activities, but also material assistance to the rank and file of the group. He also financially supported some pro-democracy and activist newspapers. 136 Part Two defend the Yorùbá and their interests. Even though the annulment of the election constituted the immediate backdrop to the formation of the group, a particular understanding of the ‘long-drawn persecution’ of the Yorùbá formed the general basis of the formation of the OPC, which later became militant (Adebanwi, 2004). As Fastehun argued:

The Yorùbá have merited leadership in this country since 1960, but they have since been consistently denied their place in the leadership of this country. Chief Awolowo tried hard but he did not attain it. He had all it took to become leader of this country. They thought he was primordial in his sentiments. MKO Abiọla had all it took to be the president of this country. He was close to them. He spent his money for them. He shared business with them. They ... eventually killed him. (Quoted in Adebanwi 2004, 344–5; emphasis in original) As Abiola became the practical and symbolic leader of the progressive movement, he was transformed, in a sense, into a ‘structural Christian’ in the way he was appropriated by the leading Yorùbá Christian leaders.20 They saw in Abiola a potential reversal of the assumed domination of the country by northern Muslims. This was very interesting given the past role of Abiola and the accusations of complicity in the ‘planned Islamization’ of Nigeria that had been levelled against him by the same leaders. Also, at the symbolic level, the past narrative of Awóló: wò: ’s ‘cruciﬁxion and resurrection’ was re-invoked and re-inscribed in the Abiọla story, given that Awo was also jailed by them in 1963, but triumphed over them by coming out of jail, after they had been killed in a military coup. Memories of Abiọla’s alleged sponsorship of Islamist politics in Nigeria and of him acting as a ‘lackey’ of the ‘oligarchy’ were thus suppressed or forgotten in this context. Indeed, the facts that Abiọla attended a Baptist High School (Abeokuta) and funded some Christian charities, were emphasized again and again. In becoming a (con)temporary Awo, Abiọla’s ordeal helped to reunite the Yorùbá progressive movement. Here, whether the ideas invoked by the leaders and taken up by the people ﬁt empirical reality or not was not important. Within a cultural understanding of history and politics, the leaders were thinking of historical continuities, in which such individuals as Abiọla became bearers of a collective destiny. Abiọla’s refusal to reach a humiliating compromise with the military regime was compared with Awóló: wò: ’s refusal to reach a similar compromise with the (past) Sir Tafawa Balewa government in the First Republic (between 1963–6). The (current) Abacha regime was

20 I thank Professor John D.Y. Peel for pointing this out during a discussion and for supplying the phrase that captures it. The Politics of Heritage 137 regarded as the ‘military wing’ of the oligarchy, while the Balewa government was regarded as its ‘civilian wing’. Thus, Abiọla was made to epito- mize vintage Yorùbáness as the ‘oomo oko’ (true-born) as against ‘awon omo ale’ (the base-born or bastards) – who were associating or compro- mising with the military. He, therefore, radiated the qualities of such true- born, including perseverance, courage, steadfastness and commitment to the rule of law, justice and equity. However, with Abacha’s sudden death in June 1998, and what the Yorùbá believed to be the ‘quiet and sophisticated elimination’ of Abiọla the following month (‘coordinated’, they alleged, ‘by the northern elite and their allies, the British and Americans’) as a way of resolving the political impasse in Nigeria, Yorùbáland opened up to new dynamics. The new military leader, General Abdusalami Abubakar, announced a new transition programme that would terminate in the hand-over of power to civilians on 29 May 1999. The new regime also demonstrated its readiness to court the Yorùbá leaders, while the political elites in the rest of the country also showed their readiness, even eagerness, to ensure that a Yorùbá became the next president of Nigeria. It was a way of assuaging the collective sense of injustice that the Yorùbá felt over Abiọla’s travails and eventual death.

conclusion

The post-Awo era, as this chapter points out, presented different challenges to the members of this political elite group. For the most account, while macro concerns about the Yorùbá and the Nigerian polity were presented to the public by the members of the group, at the micro level, personal considerations, although derived from the play on Yorùbá culture and politics, past and present, were of utmost importance. In some cases, these micro concerns, such as reciprocity, seniority and loyalty worked against the macro ideals and ideas of the group. However, despite strains and a few desertions, given the presence of a common enemy – the northern-dominated military regimes – the group was largely able to remain cohesive. The key leaders were jointly imperilled by the absence of democratic opportunities for self-actualization (socially and politically) and the actualization of collective cultural and political goals of the Yorùbá nation. The story, however, changed when the new military regime of General Abubakar opened up a new political space. Chapter 4 deals with the politics of transition from 1998 to the democratic era, when the group was fractionalized in new ways. 4

The Mantle of Awo: The Politics of Succession

And so when allies turn all lies Their thirty pieces of silver jingling In their bottomless pockets You choose conviction over compromise .... Behold the sun which Dispels the caucus of festering shadows Behold the question which frustrates The conspiracy of a thousand answers, The wind which rattles the roof of thickest jungles Niyi Osundare, ‘For Obafemi Awolowo (Ten Mays Later)’

introduction

This chapter describes the crises that signalled a declining stage in the cohesiveness of the Yorùbá power elite organized around the man who, during his lifetime, ‘choose conviction over compromise’–as the award- winning poet, Niyi Osundare, describes Awo. In the attempt to reorganize Afé:nifé:re after the death of General Sani Abacha in 1998 (see Figure 11), existing cleavages and tensions among members of the group gradually became public. The absence of a common antagonist seemed to have been chieﬂy responsible for the public expression of these cleavages and tensions, some of which had existed for about two decades. Even though Chief Bola Ige, the Arole Awóló: wò: , had become the most visible politician in Yorùbáland in the late military era, he did not possess

138 The Mantle of Awo 139

figure 11. Afé:nifé:re leaders. Left to right: Senator Ayo Fasanmi, the deputy leader of Afé:nifé:re, Chief Abraham Adesanya, the leader of Afé:nifé:re, Chief Ayo Adebanjo, the deputy national chairman of AD, and (standing) Sir Olaniwun Ajayi (Photo courtesy Sir Olaniwun Ajayi) overriding clout in the Afé:nifé:re caucus. Despite the fact that the group’s candidates overwhelmingly won the elections in all the six Yorùbá states in 1999, the crisis over the (s)election of the presidential candidate of the party, AD, in alliance with the All People’s Party (APP), led to the gradual disintegration of Afé:nifé:re as an exclusive organizational expression of Awoist political principles. The divisions, disagreements and polarization led to the creation of splinter groups and rival groups, with the members of these groups providing contrasting accounts of what went wrong. In the light of this, this chapter captures how the group generated and maintained dualism as a core strategy of its own survival, both internally and externally. Yet this strategy also contributed to the loss of the group’s electoral hegemony in Yorùbá politics between 2003 and 2011.

seizing the mantle: the politics of succession

A few weeks after the sudden death of General Sani Abacha, on 8 June 1998, Ige, along with other pro-democracy activists detained by Abacha, was released. A couple of months after his release, Ige summoned select 140 Part Two

Yorùbá newspaper editors to his home in Bodija, Ibadan, for a confidential meeting. The agenda was not disclosed. The invitation came verbally, and with a proviso that the invitee should not disclose the fact of the invitation to any other person. I was then one of four editors of a crusading newspaper- magazine in Ibadan, Omega Weekly. My colleagues and I had just emerged from the underground after being trailed by security agents, who had informally taken over our office in the last six months of Abacha’sreignof terror. We were close to Ige as a team and we had often exchanged intelligence information with him in the late military era. All four editors of Omega Weekly were invited to the meeting, alongside others. Many Yorùbá editors accepted the invitation, given Ige’s position as one of the leading lights of the pro-democracy movement. He was much more than that. A few years before his detention by the Abacha regime, and less than a decade after Awo’s death, Ige had become the most prominent and most respected Yorùbá politician of his day. Jakande, his major rival for the political stool of Awo, had lost his gamble with history by joining the Abacha government, and had thus become a pariah in Yorùbáland. Even though Ige had been made the deputy leader of Afé:nifé:re, it was generally agreed that he was second to none in both regional and national scenes as the leading political voice of the Yorùbá. But this position reflected one of the greatest puzzles of Ige’s politics. This was sharply reflected in the meeting that Ige held with the editors. After requesting secrecy by uttering some invocations in Yorùbá which invoked the wrath of the gods on anyone who betrayed his confidence, Ige told the editors that he had summoned them to reveal his position on the future of the Yorùbá in the context of Nigeria. While he was in detention at Makurdi Prison, he said, a light suddenly appeared in his cell through the small window. He then heard the voice of his late leader, Awóló: wò: . ‘Bola, Bola, Bola’: he recalled Awóló: wò: calling his name thrice. Ige said the experience was akin to being in a trance. His late leader then told him that the task that Odùduwà had for him was to lead the Yorùbá out of Nigeria in the early years of the 21st century and into an independent and sovereign ‘O’odua Republic’. Ige claimed that he immediately took a pen and wrote down all that he was told by Awóló: wò: . After he finished the story, Ige told the Yorùbá editors that the task he was given by the two Yorùbá ancestors, the ancient (Odùduwà) and the recent (Awóló: wò: ), would, exclusively, be the guiding principle of his politics. Interestingly enough, four decades earlier, Awóló: wò: also said he had had a dream that he became prime minister of Nigeria. The members of the group obviously regarded the dreamworld as an important terrain of prior revelation of The Mantle of Awo 141 their practical political fortune. Ige promised to share the notes of the message he received from Awóló: wò: with us. He never did.1 During my fieldwork, I was told by the members of Afé:nifé:re’s inner caucus that Ige repeated the ‘message from Awo’ at the group’s caucus meeting in Ijebu-Igbo. For some of my informants, this was ‘total political indiscretion’. They saw it as the new beginning of Ige’s problem with his contemporaries in the Afé:nifé:re. One of the leaders of the group said, ‘When Ige came to us to say that Awóló: wò: – or was it Odùduwà? – had asked him to lead the Yorùbá to the Promised Land, we were wondering whether he wanted Adesanya to abdicate the leadership of Afé:nifé:re, or if he wanted the man dead.’ It would have been helpful if Ige were around to explain why he decided to tell this story to his colleagues, some of them his rivals or even strong adversaries. For someone whose loyalty to the leader, Adesanya, was being queried, it is difficult to understand why Ige took this step. However, whether what he claimed was true or not was not the issue. For his contemporaries and my other key informants, what was important was that Ige wanted to be recognized within the group, particularly by the members of the caucus, as the one who had been given or invested with, through a dream or trance, the mantle of Awo by the ancestors – that is, by Awóló: wò: himself, on the instruction of the progenitor, Odùduwà. This, for some of the members of the caucus, suggested that Ige was unhappy with the succession of Adesanya to the leadership of the group after Ajasin’s death – or even, in the first place, with Ajasin’s succession after Awo’s death. They regarded Ige’s revelation as ‘heresy’. Asked Adebanjo, in an interview with me, ‘Why does Ige like to claim Awo’s position?’ Adebanjo used the present tense, even though, at this point, Ige had been dead for about four years. It was as if the rivalry between the two men – Adebanjo and Ige – continued even after Ige’s demise. Chief James Ajibola Idowu Ige, former Governor of old Oyo State, politician, lawyer, poet, intellectual, scholar and ‘ phrase maker extraordinary’, was, for many of his admirers, a politician par excellence. He was called the Cicero. Ige, as a journalist described him, was ‘a role model in public speaking. His knack for allusions, his grasp of allegory, capacity for captivating comparison, penetrating imagery and felicity for expression have placed him in the pedestal of a Cicero’ (TELL 26 March 2001, 26). In addition to ‘his charisma, Ige [made] friends and [won] goodwill with a tongue sweetened with poetic elegance and seasoned with evocative

1 Although, two people who were closer to Ige later told me that he showed them the notes. 142 Part Two metaphors’ (ibid.). However, Ige’s greatest gifts – his tongue and his shining brilliance – were also his instruments for making enemies. Adebayo Williams (2002, 8), who was close to Ige, had pointed this out by describing Ige as ‘a famed slayer of fools and political frauds’. Though Ige was ‘arguably the most intellectually gifted and mentally equipped politician of his generation’, Williams noted, he ‘was also one of its most ideologically conﬂicted’ (ibid.). Ige wanted to ‘reorganize’ Afé:nifé:re after the death of Abacha. Many suspected that he wanted to do this so as to ensure that his will and ambition prevailed within the group. The way in which the group was organized at this point was quite amorphous. There was an inner caucus, which consisted of the old Awoists, including the leader, Adesanya, his deputy, Ige, and others such as Adebanjo, Onasanya, Ajayi, Dawodu, Fasoranti, the secretary-general, Mr Ayo Opadokun, and former Governor of Kwara State, Cornelius O. Adebayo. These were the constant members, but, on occasion, some others joined them. But even within this inner caucus, there was yet another inner-inner caucus, including the three Ijebu Awoists, Adesanya, Adebanjo and Ajayi, with a fourth Ijebu, Onasanya, sometimes joining them. This inner-inner caucus was the most powerful within the group. The relationship between the inner- inner caucus and Ige, even at the best of times, was not cordial; this was particularly so between the strident Chief Adebanjo and the reticent Sir Olaniwun, on one side, and Ige, on the other. Adesanya, despite his own problems with Ige, was not regarded by Ige as his ‘sworn enemy’. But Adesanya was regarded, by Ige, his admirers and even some neutral members of the group, as a ‘captive’ of the other Ijebu leaders, particularly Adebanjo and Ajayi. Despite this, because he was the leader Adesanya often exercised caution in his relationship with Ige. Ige admirers even insisted that Adesanya ‘sometimes thwarted the efforts of Adebanjo and Ajayi and other Ige adversaries in the group’ to embarrass Ige. For this, Ige was said to have been generally grateful to Adesanya. And, despite instigating the largely pejorative phrase of ‘Ijebu Four’, Ige often stated that Adesanya was different from his ‘chief adversaries’, Adebanjo and Ajayi.

the birth of alliance for democracy

With Ige’s ‘revelation’ put aside, although not forgotten, the group began to organize towards the new transition process that had been announced by the military regime of Abdusalami Abubakar (June 1998–May 1999). The Mantle of Awo 143

Towards the end of the Abacha regime, a group of politicians across the country, led by former Vice-President Alex Ekwueme, denounced the process of the adoption of General Abacha by all the existing five political parties – which Ige had described, to popular acclaim, as the ‘five fingers of a leprous hand’–and insisted on a genuine transition to democracy. This group, known as G-34, eventually formed the fulcrum of a new party under Abubakar’s transition programme. The Afé:nifé:re was invited to dialogue with this group with a view to forming a national party, later named the People’s Democratic Party (PDP). The narratives by the leading members of the group of what transpired from this point up to the formation of AD are various. It would seem that each of the members narrated the story or interpreted subsequent events in the context of the eventual crisis, the in-fighting in the group and the political (mis)fortune of the Yorùbá. According to Dayo Adeyeye, who was at one point the publicity secretary of Afé:nifé:re, key members of the G-34 in the far north of Nigeria, represented by Alhaji Abubakar Rimi, the former Governor of Kano State, supported Chief Olu Falae to become the presidential candidate of the then emerging party. Adeyeye, formerly Falae’s political aide, added that this made Ige uncomfortable with the G-34, which resulted in Afé:nifé:re’s withdrawal from the group. He added that every time the leaders of the emerging party met in Falae’s house in Lagos, Rimi was fond of hailing Falae as ‘Mr President’. Since Ige and Falae were the representatives of Afé:nifé:re at the negotiations, he added, Ige became very uncomfortable with the idea of the proposed party. On the contrary, Ademola Oyinlola, one of the editors of TELL magazine and one of the younger elements close to Ige, insisted that the key northern members of the G-34 represented by Chief Solomon Lar, the former Governor of Plateau State, supported the idea of Ige emerging as the presidential candidate of the evolving party. Oyinlola added that the core Afé:nifé:re leaders did not like this preference for Ige and that this led to the withdrawal of Afé:nifé:re from what became the PDP. Whoever or whatever was responsible for the withdrawal, it is significant that Afé:nifé:re withdrew from the emerging party at a meeting which Ige chaired – and which was held in the absence of Adesanya and Falae. Both were vacationing in England when the decision was taken, having left for England after arrangements had been concluded with the G-34 to announce a new party, the PDP. At the Afé:nifé:re meeting, Ige announced to members of the group that the ‘authentic leaders’ of the north would soon join the Afé:nifé:re to form a different party. This can be taken as a 144 Part Two confirmation that Ige’s interests could not be served by Afé:nifé:re’s membership of the PDP. If Adeyeye’s account is correct, then it fits the narrative of what followed when Ige chaired the group’s meeting. If Oyinlola’s account is correct, then he will need to explain why Ige was enthusiastic about the withdrawal of Afé:nifé:re from the PDP. His explanation was that Adesanya and others forced Ige to accept the withdrawal. But those who were present at the meeting chaired by Ige said Ige appear excited about another new party, which he told the gathering that the group would create with others from the north. At this point, Ige’s adversaries in the group were said to have played their own card. It was obvious that Ige and some northern politicians outside of the emerging party (PDP), led by Alhaji Umaru Shinkafi, former head of the Nigerian Security Organization (NSO), had reached an agreement that Ige was going to be the presidential candidate of the other planned political alliance, the All People’s Party (APP), with Shinkafi as his running mate. Ige wanted Afé:nifé:re to form the APP with others. As he did with the PDP, Ige wrote the constitution of the APP. When he returned from England, Adesanya, the leader of Afé:nifé:re, was convinced by the anti-Ige elements within Afé:nifé:re to abort the membership of the group in the APP and terminate the group’s discussions with the Shinkafi group. Some of my informants said that the head of the military regime, General Abdulsalami Abubakar, was initially favourably disposed to the possibility of the emergence of Ige as the presidential candidate of the PDP. This was before the politicians in the north, led by Alhaji Atiku Abubakar, and retired military chiefs, led by General Ibrahim Babangida, recruited General Obasanjo into the PDP. It is significant that the recruitment of Obasanjo happened only after the Afé:nifé:re had left the PDP. On the eve of the deadline for the registration of the parties by the military regime through the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), having left the PDP and the APP, Afé:nifé:re decided to form its own party, along with pockets of progressive groups from the east of Nigeria and elsewhere. Thus, the Alliance for Democracy (AD) was born. Among those who favoured joining the PDP and those who favoured the APP, the decision to form the AD was unpopular, but they nevertheless went along with it. Ige wrote the constitution of this new party too. Therefore, he was responsible for writing the constitution of all the three parties registered by the military regime in 1998–9. While it was clear to all that the AD did not meet the criteria for national spread, among others, set by the electoral commission, the party was registered by the military to assuage the Yorùbá, who were still smarting over the annulment of the 1993 elections. The Mantle of Awo 145

the elect(ed) and the d’rovans affair

In early February 1999, I arrived late at a ceremony organized by an association of the beneficiaries of the free education programme instituted by Awóló: wò: as premier of Western Region, called AWOFEB (Awóló: wò: Free Education Beneficiaries) at the Press Centre, Iyanganku Ibadan. I had wanted to see Chief Bola Ige, specifically to sympathize with him over his loss of the presidential primary (s)election of his group/party. As earlier stated, Ige was the icon for many young people in Nigeria and I was not an exception. By the time I arrived, the event had ended, but, fortunately, Ige was still around, holding informal discussions with Mr Babatunde Oduyoye, AD candidate for the then forthcoming elections into the House of Representatives, and Mr Femi Ogbọntiba, an Awoist and former political editor of the Nigerian Tribune. I joined them. When I mentioned the matter of the (s)election which had happened a couple of weeks earlier, Ige, with a wave of the hand, said he had forgotten about what happened and was pressing on in the mission that God had given to him, ‘in the true tradition of my leader (Awóló: wò: )’. I was not the only one to whom Uncle Bọla, as we all called him, said that he had put the matter behind him. But no one believed him. In fact, Ige’s every action, until he was killed about three years later, pointed to the fact that his loss and its implications meant everything to him. It could have been the eclipse of Ige’s brilliant political career. Indeed, the events that followed not only threatened to end his political career, but, in the opinion of many, ended his life. As it has come to be described, the ‘D’Rovans Affair’ was the last major political setback for Ige. With the Afé:nifé:re now having its own political party, AD, the next step was how to (s)elect the candidates of the group (Afé:nifé:re) who would also be the candidates of the party (AD) for the coming elections. The presidential candidate of the AD was also assumed to be the prerogative of Afé:nifé:re, since the rest of the country had, more or less, conceded the presidency to the Yorùbá. This was the task that the group faced between December 1998 and January 1999. The older members of the Afé:nifé:re caucus favoured the group’s ‘traditional’ method, which was election through consensus by elders, rather than direct elections by members of the party. In this ‘traditional’ method, the elect of the party, they argued, was usually the most qualified, in the opinion of the electors, given the pedigree of such a person in the group/party. This system of (s)electing candidates was opposed by many in the rank and file of the Afé:nifé:re, particularly at the state level. By this time, 146 Part Two

Afé:nifé:re had become an expanded group, unlike in the recent past when the fear of suppression, harassment, detention, and even assassination, drove many Yorùbá political activists underground and prevented them from associating with the ‘NADECO leaders’–as the leaders of Afé:nifé:re were then known. The end of Abacha’s repression changed the character of the group slightly. Many who were nominal members of the Awoist movement, and some others who were not ‘practising’ Awoists, all rushed to join Afé:nifé:re. It was clear that with a level playing field, and with the heritage of Awo which the group represented, joining the group was the best, if not the only, way to gain power in the Yorùbá states. Electoral colleges were convened generally in the states, except where the political ‘godfather’ in the states was powerful enough to choose the governor based on consensus and without the electoral college – such as in Oyo State and Osun State, where Ige decided the candidates for the gubernatorial elections. During a meeting of the AD in Kaduna, where Ige hosted the group’s leaders, including Adebanjo, Ajayi, Dawodu and Chief Ayo Fasanmi, in his wife’sofficial quarters, he took the first step, within the inner caucus of the Afé:nifé:re, towards realizing his presidential ambition. His wife, Justice Atinukẹ Ige, was then a judge of the Federal Appeal Court in Kaduna. Fasanmi, who was Ige’s close friend, was obviously expected to support his friend’s ambition. Therefore, despite his presence in the house, Ige did not invite Fasanmi to the meeting, during which he told his other three colleagues that he was interested in the presidency and hoped for their support. Adebanjo said he told Ige that he could not be partisan, since he was the deputy chairman of the AD. Ajayi said he was not convinced about the military regime’s transition programme and would prefer the group not to field a leading member such as Ige. No one remembers quite what Dawodu said. Dawodu told me he could not recall making any firm promise to Ige either. The leaders have different memories of what happened subsequently. Fasanmi is said to have later told the others (including Ige) that, on the way ‘ ẹ ọ ’ ‘ back to Lagos, Adebanjo and Ajayi asked him, ˙se nu a ka B la? ( Will Bọla be governable?’ or ‘Will Bola listen to advice?’) – if he became president. This was regarded as an indication of Adebanjo and Ajayi’s opposition to Ige’s candidacy. While not denying or confirming this when I asked them, Ajayi and Adebanjo asked me if Fasanmi confessed to me that he also told both of them (Adebanjo and Ajayi) that Ige’s wife, Atinuke, told him (Fasanmi) that, ‘enu Bola o ni je k’oleje’ (‘Bola’s mouth –“sharp tongue”–would make impossible for him to get the presidential ticket’). The Mantle of Awo 147

Whatever was said behind Ige’s back, Ige speciﬁcally asked Adesanya if the latter was interested in the presidency. This was a mere decoy, because Ige knew that Adesanya, who was then almost seventy-eight, was not, and could not have been. But Ige did this to establish the fact that, in the group’s hierarchy, he deferred to the leader in the truest traditions of the Afé:nifé:re. Ige expected that once he had done that and the leader had expressed his lack of interest, the presidential ticket would automatically go to him as the deputy leader. This, for Ige, was the tradition in the Action Group (AG) in the late 1950s and early 1960s, which had made Akintola, the then deputy leader of the AG, the next premier once Awóló: wò: decided to leave the region to become the leader of opposition in the federal parliament in Lagos. Ige’s version of history was true, but it was in the service of his ambition. His adversaries were waiting to summon a different historical example to defeat Ige’s argument and puncture his ambition. Chief Olu Falae also expressed his intention to be the group’s and party’s presidential candidate. For Ige, Falae’s ambition ‘a sacrilege’. Falae was dismissed by some of Ige’s supporters as an ‘NCNC-er’, because, as a young man in the University of Ibadan, he had been a member of the Azikiwe-led party, NCNC. That was before he became an admirer of Awóló: wò: . In my interview with him, Falae defended himself as an Awoist. He said, although he had supported the NCNC as a youth, ‘My father was AG from day one.’ He added that when he met Awo in 1979 and they discussed matters, Awo told him ‘great minds think alike’. Indeed, Falae too brought impressive credentials to the race; the only problem was that, for his opponents, these were credentials which were not altogether salient within the group, particularly because he had not been a long-term member of the Awoist movement. Although he had been at the top level in the banking sector for many years, not much was heard of Falae until General Ibrahim Babangida made him the SGF in 1985. When he became the SGF, he was noted as a very brilliant, articulate and experienced defender of the unpopular International Monetary Fund (IMF)-induced Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP). He was called ‘Mr SAP’. As the SGF, Falae was one of the go-betweens for Babangida and Awóló: wò: . Babangida often sent him to Awóló: wò: for advice. In fact, he conﬁrmed to me that the draft of the famous letter which Babangida sent to Awóló: wò: on the latter’s seventy-seventh birthday was written by him. According to Falae, ‘Babangida called me and said that he wanted to write a “love letter” to Awóló: wò: for his birthday and asked me to write it.’ In the letter, Babangida described Awo as ‘the main issue in Nigerian politics’. 148 Part Two

The military president asserted that no one could be indifferent to Awo’s place in Nigerian politics. The contents of this letter pleased Awóló: wò: so much that he asked that it be read publicly during his birthday celebration. Falae told this story to also confirm his qualification for leadership in the group. He was inducted into the Awoist movement under Ajasin’s leadership, as earlier stated. In the struggle to enthrone democracy, Falae was also a front-line member of NADECO. He was detained for several months by the Abacha regime. It was his sacrifices and suffering in this period that strengthened his membership of the Awoist movement. But for some, none of this was enough to rival Ige’s accomplishments, particularly Ige’s place in the circle of Awo’s closest associates. As Professor Itse Sagay, one of Ige’s admirers, argues, ‘Falae was not known to the public until he was made secretary to Babangida’s government in 1985, that is 25 years after Ige had become a household name. Falae achieved limelight by the grace of an appointment by a military dictator’ (Guardian 18 February 1999, 33; emphasis added). However, after rubbishing Falae’s credentials, Sagay states that it was not that Falae was undeserving of the ticket, only that he did not rank above Ige, ‘[i]n seniority, consistency, principles, association with the ‘source’ [meaning, Awo], membership of the preceding organizations [meaning AG and UPN], performance in government, status in AD, sustained opposition to military dictatorship and so on’ (ibid.). Indeed, Falae was never an associate of Awo; he became Awo’s follower only after the man’s death. Nonetheless, the Afé:nifé:re caucus decided that since both men were interested in the race, there should be an electoral college, selected by the group, to decide between the candidates. At this point, Dr Tunji Otẹgbẹyẹ, another high-ranking associate of Awo, and aging socialist, dropped out of the race in protest against the 1 million-naira nomination fee imposed by the group. It is difficult to know why Ige accepted this decision to convene an electoral college, given his position that the presidential ticket ought to be his for the asking. When the matter was to be debated at the caucus meeting, at which Falae was not present, Ige was asked to leave, but refused, insisting that, as deputy leader, he could not be excused; he was backed in this by Adesanya. Ige was, therefore, not only present when members of the electoral college that would determine his fate were selected, he also agreed, in principle, to the electoral college system. Earlier, Ige had opposed the idea of electoral college, describing it as ‘primitive, retrograde, corrupt, and thoroughly undemocratic’ (Tribune, 3 March 1996, 5). For Falae, Ige’s presence at the meeting had given him The Mantle of Awo 149 an unfair advantage, because Ige participated in selecting his own electors or ‘examiners’. Three criteria were used in selecting the twenty-three ‘Wise Men’ (no woman was involved) who were to be members of the electoral college. The first category included the state chairmen of the party (AD) in all eight states, that is, including Kogi and Kwara. These included, Dr F.N. Aina (Ekiti), Chief Bodunde (Kogi), Chief Folu Adewumi (Kwara), Alhaji Ganiyu O. Dawodu (Lagos), Dr Femi Okurounmu (Ogun), Dr Akerele Adu (Ondo), Chief Mojisoluwa Akinfenwa (Osun) and Chief Michael Koleoso (Oyo). These people were supposed to represent the state chapters of the party. The next were the party’s six governors-elect. At that time, the party’s candidates in the six Yorùbá states had won general elections, but were yet to be sworn-in. Since they had won the mandate of the people, it was agreed that they deserved to participate in selecting the party’s representatives at the federal level. They included Otunba Niyi Adebayo (Ekiti), Senator Bola Tinubu (Lagos), Chief Segun Osoba (Ogun), Chief Ade Adefarati (Ondo), Chief Bisi Akande (Osun) and Alhaji Lam Adesina (Oyo). The last category was that of the elders of the group who had shown commitment and conviction over the decades. They also represented the six states of Yorùbáland, but not proportionately. They included Otunba Solanke Onasanya (Ogun); a UPN senator and minority leader in the Second Republic, Chief Jonathan A.O. Odebiyi (Ogun); the septuagenarian and long-standing member of the group, Alhaji H.B. Fashinro (Lagos); Awo’s personal friend, Ige’s former teacher and the ˙ former chaplain of the AG, Archdeacon Emmanuel Alayande (Oyo); Ige’s former attorney-general, Justice Adewale Thompson (Osun); Babangida’s foreign minister, whose father had been an Awo disciple and contemporary of Adesanya, Prof. Bọlaji Akinyẹmi (Osun); Ajasin’s former commissioner, and a long-term Awoist, Chief Wumi Adegbọnmire (Ondo); old Action Grouper and Alayande’s friend and contemporary, Pa Adekeye (Ondo); and Bola Ige’s long-standing friend and old Awoist, Senator Ayo Fasanmi (Ekiti). Professor Akinyemi was not supposed to have been selected because he was a recent member of the group, despite his pedigree. But when Ige objected to the selection of Chief Omole, a fellow Ijesa, Omole was substituted for another Ijesa, Akinyemi. Akinyemi was a NADECO activist who had recently returned from exile. The general secretary of Afé:nifé:re and a lawyer, Ayo Opadokun, was asked to be a non-voting secretary of the electoral college. The members were described by Adesanya at their inauguration, as ‘eminent Yorùbás, most of whom have established 150 Part Two reputation, honour and integrity for [themselves] in this country’.2 The committee met for two days at D’Rovans Hotel, Ibadan, to decide the National Assembly candidates on the first day and the presidential candidate on the second, 27 January 1999. Again, it is not clear why Ige was so confident that he would be chosen by the electors as the candidate of the group/party. Indeed, he was already psychologically preparing for the presidential race against the front-runner in the PDP, his friend and former head of state, General Olusegun ˙ Obasanjo. Given his earlier position that the Ijebu Four did not like him, which was stated more elaborately after the D’Rovans Affair, why did Ige decide to travel out of Nigeria on the eve of the meeting of the electors on Tuesday, 27 January 1999? None of the Ige admirers that I spoke with could offer an explanation. Adesanya was said to have tried to dissuade him from travelling, but Ige remained adamant. What was also puzzling was why Ige did not try to campaign for support among the committee members. There were some who were clearly his men among them, but many such men claimed, in interviews with me, that Ige did not speak to them, even as a matter of courtesy. Was Ige confident that, despite all odds, he would emerge as the candidate? The answer is a definite yes, because he was said to have told close associates that he was sure of getting sixteen out of the twenty-three potential votes. If no one was absolutely sure why Ige decided to leave Nigeria at that point, some deductions could be made, based on what I gathered from informants. Ige was not only aware of his popularity among the Yorùbá, and the respect he had earned among the political elite across Nigeria: he took these for granted. Therefore, it would appear that Ige believed absolutely in his own popularity in Yorùbáland, without paying adequate attention to the dynamics within Afé:nifé:re. Perhaps he also travelled abroad to raise money for his expected presidential campaign from Nigerians in the diaspora, some of whom were quite wealthy. I was able to confirm that he met a billionaire Yorùbá man in London during the journey, before he visited the United States. It could also be argued that Ige had his eyes so much on the occasion of his selection as the party’s candidate, that he overlooked the making of the election itself. He was obviously planning a ‘triumphant entry’, with thousands of supporters

2 Address of Senator Abraham Adesanya, ‘Chairman of Afé:nifé:re and Leader of the Yorùbás’, at the inauguration of the ‘ad hoc committee of Yorùbá Leaders’ to select candidates for the national and presidential elections, 26 January 1999. The Mantle of Awo 151

figure 12. The AD Governors. Left to right: Lam Adesina (Oyo State), Bisi Akande (Osun), Bola Tinubu (Lagos), Ade Adefarati (Ondo), Segun Osoba (Ogun) and Niyi Adebayo (Ekiti) (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library)

welcoming him at the airport upon his return, after he had been declared the presidential candidate of the party. But Ige never had the joy of such a triumphant entry. When he returned the day after the announcement of the group’s candidate, he was a wounded and sad man. He presented himself as someone who had been robbed of his rightful heritage, which was handed over, through a ‘conspiracy’,toa‘less deserving’ person. While addressing the electors on 26 January 1999 at the D’Rovans Hotel, Adesanya recalled the past by stating the need for ‘sacred duty’.In his speech, he said:

[Y]ou will recall the method and practice of our erstwhile leaders, of which some of you are [sic] a part, in choosing candidates without any inveterate bitterness or ill- feeling. Their ingenious approach made the Action Group stand taller than most of its contemporaries. The advent of soldiers into politics and the fall-out from their rule have brought in its wake the practice of choosing candidates through primary elections. This started on a small scale in 1979 and fully blown up [sic]in1983 resulting in bitterness, unnecessary heavy expenses and loss of interest in the affairs of the party by those who lost the primary elections. With the current transition from the military to the civilians, the country arrived at another cross-roads. The advice, warning and entreaties of the elders are to the effect that primary elections should be avoided from Local Government Elections upwards. (Adesanya, 1999) 152 Part Two

He further asked them to ‘shun all sentiments and prejudices and vote with clear conscience’ (see Figure 12). As to the criteria for selecting good candidates, the leader stated that such people must be ‘consistent in politics, honest, credible, articulate, dependable, competent, intelligent and industrious’. As if anticipating the crisis that was to follow the selection of the presidential candidate, Adesanya ‘earnestly appealed’ to them ‘in the interest of all the children of Odu’a [Odùduwà] to carry out this onerous assignment [in a way] that will obviate completely anything and everything that may tear us apart again’ (emphasis added). After Adesanya had ﬁnished his address, he left the gathering and handed over to Archdeacon Alayande, who chaired the meeting. As it will become evident later, some would see the accounts of the history of the group rendered by Adesanya in this address as heavily, though implicitly, and maybe not intentionally, pitched against Ige.

between the elect and the elected: contesting and contrasting accounts

What happened at D’Rovans Hotel? There are different accounts and interpretations from the two sides of the divide: Ige versus the Ijebu Four. But there are other intervening interpretations and accounts. These interpretations and accounts reflect the position of their various authors. But, first, I will attempt a factual account as much as possible, and then analyse the accounts by those involved. On Wednesday, 27 January, the twenty-three electors convened at D’Rovans Hotel, Ring Road, Ibadan, to choose the presidential candidate for the Afé:nifé:re/AD. Justice Adewale Thompson, Ige’s former commissioner for justice, administered the oath of secrecy, which also included the electors’ affirmation of their faithfulness to the dictates of their conscience and the cause of the Yorùbá nation. The members swore either by the Bible or the Qur’an. It was explicitly stated that everyone present was forbidden from discussing the details of the election. A discussion on the two candidates, Ige and Falae, was invited. Some of the electors spoke to praise the qualities of the candidates and took a stand on who, between the two, was better qualified to represent the group. Then the votes were cast through a secret ballot. After the voting, Senator Ayo Fasanmi, acting as the returning officer, addressed the press to announce the results of the election. According to Fasanmi, Ige got nine votes, while Falae got fourteen votes. Consequently, Falae was announced as the candidate of the group/party. Fasanmi added, The Mantle of Awo 153

‘Iamparticularly delighted to inform Nigerians that Chief Olu Falae has emerged as the presidential flag-bearer of the AD for the South West’ (Tribune, 28 January 1999, 2; emphasis added). As Ige’s bosom friend of forty years, Fasanmi’s ‘particular delight’ was, for some, beyond the call of duty. Fasanmi added that the choice of Falae was based on ‘his profile, contributions to democratic struggle and consistency’ (ibid.). Importantly, Fasanmi explained that the choice of Falae was also influenced by the thinking that he would be more acceptable to other parts of Nigeria (meaning the north) because he was ‘less controversial’. He added that it was agreed by the electors that the decision was not only ‘binding’ but ‘there is no question of anyone saying he is not satisfied’. The innuendos seemed to have been aimed at his friend, Ige, and his supporters. In the meantime, AD’s partner in the proposed alliance, the APP, also staged its own primaries to elect Chief Ogbonnaya Onu. Onu later announced that he had stepped down for the AD candidate. Falae, therefore, became the presidential candidate of the APP–AD Alliance, but officially ran on the ticket of the APP, with Alhaji Umaru Shinkafi (who Ige had hoped would run with him) as his running mate. All hell was let loose over the decision of the committee of electors, with ramifications far beyond the group. Ige’s wide network of friends, admirers and even ‘worshippers’, entered the fray from every angle. Indeed, it was evident from media reports and informal discussions with many people that Ige was universally assumed to be the one who should have been (s)elected. All sorts of local, national and international ‘conspiracy theories’ were discussed by Ige’s admirers. Indeed, key conservative elements and members of the PDP were not at all pleased that a highly popular Yorùbá politician, avowed Awoist and polemicist such as Ige would be the rival candidate. Some even said that this ‘conspiracy’ against Ige went beyond the ‘local hegemons’, reaching their international ‘puppet masters’, the British and American intelligence communities, who ‘had an interest in ensuring that a Yorùbá progressive and nationalist politician [Ige] did not emerge as the president of Nigeria, so as not to challenge the “Washington consensus” which they had forced on Nigeria’ (Fieldwork notes, 23 February, 2006). This represents yet another example of the fixation with, and play on, ‘evil forces’ and ‘evil conspiracies’ against the ‘good Yorùbá’ and ‘progressive Yorùbá interests’, and other binaries, a game in which the Yorùbá elite are quite adept. Ige was so certain of being the ‘natural successor’ to Awo’s ‘presidential stool’ that even before the party chose its candidate he was already publicly telling Obasanjo, who was the clear choice of the rival People’s Democratic 154 Part Two

Party (PDP), ‘we will meet at the polls’ (Tribune, 21 January 1999, 1). He also announced how he enjoyed campaigning, just as ‘Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: always enjoyed it – immeasurably’ (Tribune, 10 January 1999, 5). Added Ige, as a way of emphasizing his having stepped into the shoes of Awóló: wò: : ‘I was always amazed at the ease with which Awo took his campaigns, and how he always appeared never to be tired. In the last few weeks, I have had the type of questions I used to put to Awo put to me’ (ibid.). In other words, Ige announced that he was ‘Awo’s replacement’.He also recalled a song that his supporters sang at one of the rallies:

Awóló: wò: ko ku o O lo campaign ni, Obaﬁ Bola sile f’omo ara’ye [Awóló: wò: is not dead, He has just gone campaigning, But he left Bola behind To serve the people of the world]

Ige concluded, on the basis of these ‘exciting’ experiences, that, ‘I am really looking forward to a campaign contest with ...[the PDP candidate]. It will be great fun’ (Tribune, 10 January 1999, 5). Ige gave a lecture at the Island Club, Lagos, consisting of the super elite in Lagos, shortly before he travelled out of Nigeria, in which he mentioned ‘what can truly be described as my first definitive salvo in the campaign for the coming presidential election ... I felt that I was about to make history’ (Tribune 24 January 1999, 5). The choice of Falae by the group, therefore, for Ige, unmade history. Sagay, professor of law and former leader of the University of Ife youth branch of the Action Group, described the selection of Falae as ‘unthinkable [and] incontemplatable [sic]’ and the non-selection of Ige as an ‘apos- tasy’. He predicted that, with the decision, ‘the AD might have dealt itself a spiritual wound from which it may never recover’, thus signifying ‘the beginning of the end of the AD as we know it today’ (Guardian, 18 February 1999, 33). This turned out to be a correct prediction. Falae told me that Ige was ‘worse than sure’ of the ticket. He added that Ige was ‘insufferable’ in his ‘arrogance’ and ‘certainty’ that he was the most qualified candidate. However, Ige’s former attorney-general and close supporter, Justice Thompson, said publicly that ‘Falae’s choice [was a] betrayal of Awo’ and a ‘degradation of the ethos of the Yorùbá race from the Olympian heights of ideological politics’ (Tribune, 4 February 1999, 1). But, despite his feeling of ‘total let-down’ by his colleagues, Ige The Mantle of Awo 155 surprised many when he hit the road in Oyo and Osun states to campaign for the party and its candidates – including the presidential candidate, Falae. He even urged his supporters not to boycott the elections, in spite of the ‘treachery’ and ‘envy’ of his contemporaries in Afé:nifé:re, because, he stated, Awo had taught them never to do so. Ige’s adversaries were, however, totally unwilling to give him credit for leading the party’scampaigninthetwostates.Theyfocusedonhis utterances, published articles and private statements, and actions, which they concluded were not only geared to ‘avenge’ his defeat, but were capable of destroying the group and subverting the heritage of Awo in Yorùbáland. There was no doubt that Ige, despite his best public efforts to the contrary, regarded the D’Rovans Affair as a devastating blow to his political career and, indeed, an attempt to bring it to an end on a disgraceful note. He therefore announced to close friends and other sympathizers that he would not only ‘avenge himself’, he would, in the process, ‘seize back the group and party’ from the Ijebu Four and ‘prop- erly reorganize’ Afé:nifé:re and AD. Dr Dejo Raimi, former secretary to the government of Oyo State, and PDP chieftain, told me that when he and Dr Bode Olajumoke, the retired permanent secretary-turned-millionaire politician, and leader of Imeri Group, met Ige at the airport upon his arrival from the United States after the D’Rovans Affair, Ige vowed that ‘maa fi imun won f’on fère’ (lit. ‘I will blow their noses like a horn’–meaning, he will deal ruthlessly with his political adversaries). ‘Bola [Ige] had the capacity and the stature to pull the group down’, one of the younger members of Afé:nifé:re told me during fieldwork. ‘On reflection, the electors were right. If they had chosen Ige, he would have used that to take over the leadership of Afé:nifé:re. After D’Rovans, he wanted to show his colleagues that he was bigger than them.’ But Ige’s admirers found the claim that he pursued a vendetta, due to his feelings of shame and anger, difficult to accept, because ‘Ige was not known to be a vicious and capricious person, at all’, said one of his supporters. Indeed, he was often accused by close friends of hesitancy in reacting firmly to the manoeuvres of his political adversaries. Soyinka, Ige’s lifelong friend, later described him, in his oration at Ige’s funeral, as an ‘ecumenical spirit’. Asked Soyinka: ‘Why did they kill this man whose battlefield lay solely in the realms of ideas, of debate, in the skills of organization and the ability to lead and inspire men and women?’ Since Ige was not around to respond to these accusations afresh, I have relied not only on what his friends, admirers and supporters said to me, but 156 Part Two also his own strong defence of his position in his column and newspaper interviews before he died. In an interview in TEMPO in January 2000, Ige dismissed claims that he was pursuing a vendetta against those he regarded as responsible for his defeat at the Afé:nifé:re electoral college (s)election meeting. Said Ige, ‘I think the people saying such things have nothing reasonable to say .... I can’t even remember what happened at D’ Rovans Hotel, I can’t remember what happened to me. That is past and gone ...’ (TEMPO, 6 January 2000, 5). But how could such a man as Ige lose to Falae in a gathering of old Awoists? This was the question that everyone was interested in answering. Ige’s supporters among the electors did not wait for others to ask this. Immediately after the (s)election they met to review what had happened. Akande, Adesina and Koleoso were joined by Akande’s deputy governor- elect, Iyiola Omisore, in Ibadan, to identify those who voted for Ige and then try to understand the reasons behind Ige’s defeat. Omisore, although not one of the electors, was then one of the most enthusiastic supporters of Ige. According to Akande, it was easy for them to know those who cast the nine votes for Ige. Everyone who voted for Ige, with the exception of two, stood up to speak in his favour at the pre-voting debate. He named these people to include himself, Adesina, Koleoso, Akinfenwa, Alayande, Thompson and Bodunde. That leaves two more votes. Okurounmu, the Harvard-trained mechanical engineer, who was Falae’s schoolmate at Government College, Ibadan (GCI), told me that, despite his attacks on Ige and despite their differences, he voted for Ige, because he thought he was ‘the better candidate’. Only one more person, therefore, voted for Ige; Ige’s supporters initially narrowed this down to three people: Governor- Elect Osoba, Adebayo or Professor Akinyemi. Akande said Osoba told him that he voted for Ige, but he was convinced to the contrary. Regarding Adebayo, Akande said he and Ige’s other ‘political children’ (‘Omo Bola Ige’), that is, Adesina and Koleoso, initially believed that the ninth vote was Adebayo’s. But when I met Akande again about a year after the initial interview, he said he was convinced that Adebayo too ‘lied’.WhenI interviewed him, Adebayo refused to disclose to me whom he had voted for. But another informant told me that Adebayo confessed to him that he voted for Falae. That leaves Akinyemi. The former foreign affairs minister told a confidant that he voted for Ige, but that Ige believed otherwise and so ‘hounded’ him after D’Rovans. But he refused to disclose to me on record whom he had voted for. When I asked Akande about this later, he said it was not unlikely that Akinyemi’s was the ninth vote. Chief Osoba, who The Mantle of Awo 157 was very close to Ige, refused to disclose whom he voted for in 2006, when I first interviewed him. But six years later, that is, in 2012, when I insisted that only his vote was in doubt, he told me that he voted for Ige, adding that he was sure Okurounmu did not tell me the truth about his own vote. He was convinced that Okurounmu, given his displeasure with Ige, and the fact that he and Falae were both ‘old boys’ of GCI, voted for Falae. In October 2012, I got back to Okurounmu about Osoba’s claim. Okurounmu shot back angrily that Osoba was not telling the truth. ‘Definitely, I voted for Ige’, he said. The former secretary of Afé: nifé: re added that he was virtually the deputy leader of Ige’s semi-secret group named Alpha, and therefore felt that ‘he had a moral obligation to vote for Ige’. However, Ige’s adversaries insisted during my fieldwork that Ige and his friends either attempted to retaliate, or actually retaliated, against those considered to have voted against him. Ige’s associates denied this. The case of Senator Ayo Fasanmi (who was seventy-three at the time of the election) is perhaps illustrative. The Fasanmis and Iges had been friends for more than forty years before the vote. Indeed, Fasanmi confirmed that his wife had no friend as close as Justice (Mrs) Atinuke Ige. However, Ige had earlier ignored Fasanmi’s plea for Ige to make his ward, Niyi Owolade, the Governor or Deputy Governor of Osun State. It is not inconceivable that Fasanmi was paying Ige back in his own coin. Fasanmi refused to speak on the matter when I asked him. But I discovered that Ige’s friends knew that Fasanmi didn’t vote for Ige and were shocked by such a close friend’s actions. I learned from Ige’s close associates that Fasanmi later apologized to Ige for voting against him. What was responsible for the decision of the others to vote against Ige or vote for Falae? These ranged from personal grievances and political calculations to sub-ethnic loyalty. Some were bold enough to have shown before or after the vote where they stood on Ige and why. It can be argued that the people from the old Ondo State (now Ondo and Ekiti States) – apart from Adegbonmire and Adefarati – who had no personal problems with Ige’s role in the Awoist movement, voted strictly for the candidate from their area, that is, Falae. Tinubu, a late entrant into the Awoist movement and later Governor of Lagos State, ostensibly told both sides what they wanted to hear as the reason why he voted for Falae. Akande said Tinubu told him that he was threatened by the ‘old men’, the Ijebu Four, to vote the way he did. On the other hand, during my fieldwork, the old men disclosed that Tinubu told them that he couldn’t have voted for Ige because Ige had supported Funso Williams against him in the party 158 Part Two primaries in Lagos state. Incidentally, Ige supported Williams on the promptings of Ganiyu Dawodu, who was then the leader of the group/ party in Lagos State. But Dawodu too didn’t vote for Ige at D’Rovans. The members of the panel that I spoke with were reluctant, or plainly refused, to speak about how they voted.3 However they voted, Ige’s supporters accused those who voted against Ige of being ‘pawns in the chess board of Ige’s adversaries in the Afé:nifé:re leadership’. Thus, the stage for a crisis that would perhaps end the political life of Afé:nifé:re, as it had been known, was set.

after d’rovans

Shortly after the D’Rovans, a media war began between Ige, his many admirers and the other members of the Afé:nifé:re inner caucus. Falae, despite being the beneﬁciary of the rivalry between Ige and his contemporaries, was not regarded as a primary stakeholder in the subsequent battle. Ige evidently never really considered Falae as his opponent; he saw him more as the mask that the Ijebu Four wore in their battle against him. What followed between Ige and the Ijebu Four was what Frederik Barth (1993, 122) describes as ‘a covert [and even overt] battle of wits, and the ambi- guities of its outcome, unfold[ing] as an opaque tournament of power, faction, manoeuvre, respect, and offence’. Interestingly enough, the Ibadan-based Justice Thompson, who had administered the oath of secrecy, was the ﬁrst to break it after the D’Rovans Affair. He reacted almost on a daily basis to any matter regarding the choice through the Ibadan-based Nigerian Tribune, either as news story, press release or as opinion article in his column, ‘Megaforce’. In a press release, which the Tribune used as lead story on its front page, Thompson stated that:

I have received myriads of telephone calls from all parts of Yorùbáland protesting the nomination of Chief Olu Falae. The person they want is Chief Bọla Ige (SAN). I have told them to regard the matter as closed, not because I do not agree with them, but because of what their protest will create in the Afé:nifé:re, which we have laboured so hard to build. (Tribune, 2 February 1999, 1–3)

3 In all, I interviewed twelve members of the twenty-three-man panel, including Alayande, Dawodu, Okurounmu, Akinfenwa, Adebayo, Osoba, Akande, Adesina, Akinyẹmi, Adegbonmire and Fasanmi. I spoke to Tinubu much later than the others. I also spoke with Opadokun who, though without a vote, was present as the secretary-general of Afé:nifé:re. The Mantle of Awo 159

Justice Thompson followed this with a reaction to a story in a general interest weekly, Fame, and a press release on the D’Rovans Affair on the same day. First, he denied the story published by Fame that Ige lost at D’Rovans because the members ‘discovered’ that he had collected 10 million naira (N10m) from Alhaji Azeez Arisekola Alao, the Ibadan billionaire businessman and Aare Musulumi (Leader of Muslims) of Yorùbáland. Thompson said in the statement that, rather, Ige lost due to ‘a carefully orchestrated mischief and premeditated malice’ (Tribune 4 February 1999, 3). He went on to state that he was not ‘optimistic as to the ability of AD to win the presidential race’ because ‘we did not choose Bọla Ige for the continuation of the struggle [that Awo] left behind to the amazement and discomﬁture of the ordinary man who is in vengeful rage’ (ibid., 4). Thompson pursued the idea that, instead, the Afé:nifé:re hierarchy chose ‘a civil servant hand-picked by Babangida to serve his own purpose’, a ‘young man’ who ought ‘to take his proper place in the queue’ (ibid.). Falae, whom Thompson called a ‘young man’, was sixty at that time. Ige himself described the D’Rovans selection as a ‘contrived event’ (Tribune, 14 February 1999, 5), in which the group selected ‘nobody to contest against [Obasanjo]’ (Tribune, 7 March 1999, 5; emphasis added). Beyond that, Ige stated:

Now, I think I better disclose my reaction to what happened at Ibadan, and why I have not lost one second’s sleep on what my colleagues contrived. I was not surprised because I had half expected it. I am proud to say that I never spoke to any one of those people constituted by Senator Adesanya. I did not insult myself or the members of the panel by lobbying any of them or those who constituted the panel. My attitude was and is: Whatever they do shall ﬁnd me unmoved and unafraid. (Tribune, 7 March 1999, 5; emphasis added)

Ige then compared his travails in the hands of the ‘enemies within’–who ‘are more subtle and yet more deadly’ (Tribune, 31 January 1999, 5) – to the experience of ‘my Leader’, Awo, thereby again re-emphasizing his status as the Arole Awóló: wò: . While he remained ‘gaudily joyful’ as he went round the country on campaign, with the people singing, ‘Ige de o; Ige de o/Arole Awóló: wò: /Igedeo’ (lit. Ige has arrived; Ige has arrived/Awóló: wò: ’sHeir/Ige has arrived), Ige added that it was his colleagues, ‘those who equated their private jealousies with the general good’ (Tribune, 7 March 1999, 5), who would have to explain to the Yorùbá nation and ‘our supporters in the Federal Republic of Nigeria’, what they did to him. Ige concluded with the words: ‘My reaction is simple: In this matter, the will of God for me has been done. And He has not ﬁnished with me yet’ (Tribune, 7 February 1999, 5; emphasis added). 160 Part Two

The 10 million naira allegedly donated to Ige by Arisekola, which Justice Thompson denied, was one of the issues raised in the aftermath of the D’Rovans Affair. Association with Arisekola was obviously raised by Ige’s adversaries as an attempt to tarnish his image. Arisekola Alao was regarded by many members of the group as an ‘enemy’ of the progressive movement, a supporter of northern hegemony and ‘one of the biggest anti- democratic elements’ in Nigeria, given that he was General Abacha’s friend and ‘business partner’.4 This is Arisekola’s public image in much of Yorùbáland. But Arisekola, as a member of the Yorùbá – and national – business elite, is more complicated than that. While it is likely that Arisekola made a promise to Ige to financially support his presidential bid, from what I was able to gather, the N10 million-story is not true. However, the rumour must have resulted from the fact that Arisekola gave Ige the 1 million naira (N1 million) demanded by the Afé:nifé:re as a nomination fee for those interested in the presidency. Arisekola confirmed this to me. But he was unaware that Ige never paid the money to the group. I was the first to mention this to him when I interviewed him for this book in 2006. At any rate, to the multi-billionaire businessman, it didn’t matter that Ige had kept the money. For the nomination fee, as the group demanded, Ige issued a cheque of 1 million naira to Afé:nifé:re in the name of Sir Olaniwun Ajayi a few days before the (s)election. But he stopped the payment of the cheque immediately after the D’Rovans (s) election.5 Ige’s colleagues saw this as ‘duplicity’. Also, while Ige’s critics and adversaries saw his relationship with the likes of Arisekola as contradictory, Soyinka argued, in his funeral oration, that it was part of the strength of Ige’s humanity. Arisekola was not the only issue raised against Ige. Even though Ige recalled the past experiences of Awo as parallels to his own experiences, his adversaries concluded that it was esan (retribution) that was at play in the ‘humiliation’ of Ige by a younger person, Falae. For them, this was particularly interesting because it happened exactly two decades after Ige’s action, as detailed in the

4 Arisekola has repeatedly denied that he had business dealings with Abacha, but most people do not believe him. 5 Adebanjo and Ajayi confirmed this to me. They explained that the group’s money was kept in the personal bank accounts of Adebanjo and Ajayi, because they were afraid that if the military regime went back on its word and therefore banned political groups, including Afé:nifé:re, it was likely to freeze the group’s accounts. Ige was to later say that he thought that keeping the group’s funds in a personal bank account was improper and that this was why he stopped the cheque. But Ige stopped the cheque only after he had lost the (s)election. The Mantle of Awo 161 following paragraph (and elaborated in Chapter 6), which attracted a ‘supernatural reaction’ two decades later. Justice Thompson had described the non-selection of Ige as a departure from ‘the principle laid down by Chief Obafemi Awolowo’, by which Falae ought to have waited to take his turn. Some of my informants countered that it was Ige who first violated that principle when, in 1979, he refused Awo’s plea to let Awo’s friend, Alayande, be the consensus candidate of the UPN for the governorship of Oyo State. Contrary to the group’s practice, my informants stated, Ige insisted on party primaries (then called a ‘shadow election’) through which he defeated Alayande, his former school principal. Ajayi and Adebanjo, among others, argued that it was Ige who ‘brought the inimical practice of primaries to our group’. For them, it was a historical coincidence that Alayande, who was the victim of Ige’s decision in 1979, was on the panel that ‘avenged’ Alayande on Ige – even though Alayande voted for Ige! Ige’s adversaries added that this was the beginning of party primaries in the group, which eventually led to D’Rovans, where Ige, ‘the architect of primaries’, suffered the consequence. However, Alayande, who was at the centre of this debate, confessed to me that he felt in 1979 the same way Ige felt in 1999, which was why he asked Falae ‘to do more to pacify Ige’–just as Ige pacified him two decades earlier. However, the irony that was inherent in the practice of party elders choosing candidates for the party in a democracy was lost on those canvassing for this. It would appear contradictory that the group that was at the forefront of championing (first) social, (later) liberal democracy, was the most averse to electing its candidates through ‘modern’ democratic means. There was no irony for the group members, though. They saw this as marrying the best traditions of African ways of achieving consensus under the guidance and leadership of elders with the best traditions of modern democratic politics. Another major argument of Ige’s opponents within the group had been that if he was chosen as the candidate, Ige would not have been accepted in the north of Nigeria because he was regarded as a ‘Yorùbá irredentist’. This point was particularly irksome for Ige supporters. They regard this as ‘the unkindest cut of all’, since Ige was speaking up for the corporate interest of the Yorùbá. They asked, ‘how could speaking for the Yorùbá become an albatross within the Awo camp?’ The question that no one seemed to have asked is this: if Ige and his supporters assumed, as they did, that Ige ought to have been the natural choice of the group, why did he accept going into a contest – which 162 Part Two implicitly entailed the possibility of defeat? I suggest that the issue of succession to Awo’s position is central to understanding the ‘betrayal’ that Ige felt and the sense of outrage he, his associates and supporters expressed – and that the latter continue to express, even more than a decade after Ige’s death.

conclusion

From the Action Group’s formation in 1950 until Awo’s death, Awo’s leadership of the group was never contested. Even Akintola and the others who disagreed with Awo on the direction of the party never directly contested his leadership. Anyone who joined an Awóló: wò: -led party knew that the leadership of the party and the highest office available was not open; they were already Awo’s preserve. This explained why, among other reasons, some who were interested in the presidency in the Second Republic did not join the UPN. Awo was both a national leader of the progressive movement, which he represented as a candidate, and the leader of the Yorùbá. Therefore, Ige sought, like Awo, not only to condense corporate representations of the Yorùbá into personal glory, but to also use this as a pedestal from which he would claim national leadership. Despite Awóló: wò: ’s failure in the second bid, Ige saw himself, and was seen by many, as the primary, and the most qualified, heir to Awóló: wò: ’s ‘throne’, and, therefore, the new ‘owner’ of the political and cultural resources of it. Given Ige’sassumption of the mantle of Awo, he would also have expected that Awo’sexclusive right – within the group – to candidacy for the highest office in Nigeria would be part of his ‘inheritance’. Although this was not expressed so clearly, it was obvious from my interactions and discussions with Ige before he died, and with his associates after his death, that this was essentially the import of the Arole trope, which Ige and his admirers kept emphasizing. Therefore, just as it was unthinkable for anyone to have contested the presidential candidacy of the party with Awóló: wò: , Ige thought it ought to have been unthinkable for anyone to contest it against him. Yet Ige could not demand of the inner caucus that he be regarded precisely as Awo was regarded or treated precisely like Awo was treated. Making such a request would be close to ‘blasphemy’. Ige could be like Awo or act like Awo but he could not be ‘Awo’s equal’. But even this claim to being like or acting like Awo was sufficiently offensive to some of his adversaries, who accused him of claiming ‘Awo’s glory’ and of trying to ‘replace Awo’. The Mantle of Awo 163

Falae later lost the election to the PDP candidate, a fellow Yorùbá, General Olusegun Obasanjo (rtd), who was regarded as an ‘Awo-hater’. While Falae was still contesting Obasanjo’s victory at the polls in the courts, Ige agreed to serve as the power and mines minister in Obasanjo’s government. This decision was supported by some of Ige’s friends, associates and admirers, but opposed by others. With Ige off to Abuja, but keeping his political eye on his home (regional) turf, a new dynamic in intra-group relations in the Afé:nifé:re was set, under the Obasanjo presidency. The gulf between the leaders continued to widen, so much so that some of the younger of the Awoists and Afé:nifé:re sympathizers decided to intervene. In Chapter 5, I examine the attempts to arrest the drift and settle the conﬂicts between the leaders of Afé:nifé:re. These peace initiatives also constituted performances of Yorùbáness in the light of the emergent challenges to group solidarity. 5

Reconciliation and Retrenchment

Agba ko si, ilu baje; Baale ile ku, ile d’ahoro [Where there are no elders, the town degenerates; when the head of the lineage dies, the compound is deserted] A Yorùbá proverb

introduction

This chapter dwells on the initiatives to re-establish Afé:nifé:re’s cohesion and strengthen the group in the context of the crises that engulfed it in the aftermath of the D’Rovans Affair. In the crises, Archdeacon Emmanuel Alayande and Justice Adewale Thompson were the key antagonists of the other Afé:nifé:re leaders (see Figure 13). Some of these initiatives predated the public manifestation of the rivalries in the group; and, because they were driven by different forms of calculations for legitimacy, visibility or domination within the group (and therefore in Yorùbá politics), they all failed to ensure greater harmony and cohesion. One of these attempts was the Alajobi (meaning consanguinity or common progeny) initiative, which involved the ﬁrst elaborate effort at reconciliation in the group. This was followed by other initiatives by Yorùbá Christian clerics, after this had failed. By the time the second initiative started Ige had, though surreptitiously, engineered the creation of a rival group, the Yorùbá Council of Elders (Ẹgbẹ Igbimọ Agba).

rebuilding kinship

The signiﬁcance of the infusion of young (intellectual) blood into Afé:nifé:re in the post-military era can be examined through two of the key leaders of

164 Reconciliation and Retrenchment 165

figure 13. The Leader and his Vice: Adesanya (R) and Ige (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library)

the groups of young Yorùbá activists who came together under the banner of Alajobi: Akinyemi Onigbinde (a member of Heritage Group) and Dare Babarinsa (a member of Idile). Akinyemi Onigbinde teaches philosophy at Olabisi Bisi Onabanjo University, Ago-Iwoye, Ogun State. He was a Marxist activist while at the University of Ife (later, Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: University). He told me that it was not until he left Ife that he read Awóló: wò: ’s works and started to take the man seriously as a philosopher, leader, politician and statesman. As he became a converted Awoist in his political thinking, it was to Ige that he turned for practical involvement in the elaboration of Awo’s vision of an egalitarian state in Nigeria. Said Onigbinde, during an interview, ‘Ige was the rallying point for all the Yorùbá young intellectuals who came to Afé:nifé:re. He was the one we could relate to and who could relate to us.’ Given the general admiration and respect for Ige, particularly among the younger generation, it was relatively easy for Ige, like Awóló: wò: before him, to perfect a way of recruiting these youngsters to the group over the years. As an intellectual, avid reader and scholarly politician, Ige regularly 166 Part Two invited the younger intellectuals for social visits. They were impressed with Ige’s charm, intellect and political knowledge; and it was through such social visits that they moved from being mere admirers of Ige to becoming his followers. Dr Stanley Macebuh (1983, 2), the former managing director of the Guardian newspaper, was the first to describe Ige as the ‘Cicero at Agodi’ (Oyo State Government House) in a famous article in his newspaper in 1983. Macebuh celebrated Ige for ‘his devotion to [a] life of reason’ (ibid.). This name stuck and, throughout the rest of his life, Ige was called the Cicero. Onigbinde was invited by Ige to join a semi-secret group, called ‘Alpha’, which Ige put together to form the intellectual core for his political (presidential) ambition. None of the members of the group that I spoke with could explain why Ige chose ‘Alpha’ as the name of the group. My suggestion is that it is likely that Ige used the name of the group not only to reflect the primacy of intellectualism in his political career, but also to emphasize self-settled evaluation of himself as the ‘Number One’ among the Awo heirs (Arole). Later, Onigbinde also joined other Ige admirers to form a Yorùbá socio-political group, Heritage Group (HG), which included Tokunbo Ajasin, Lekan Fashesin, Tunde Laniyan, Taiwo Onasile, Kunle Famoriyo, Ayo Afolabi, Femi Yerokun, Ajibola Adegboyega, Dejo Olugbode and Kolawole Ilori. For many years, Dare Babarinsa, journalist, and former executive editor of TELL magazine, operated outside the public glare as one of the political and intellectual props of key Yorùbá leaders. His news magazine, TELL, was one of the leading pro-democracy papers which had fought against Nigerian military rule in the late 1980s and 1990s. Dare, unlike his peers, was not an ordinary guerrilla journalist, he was also a radical activist and Yorùbá nationalist. He, and other like-minded friends, formed a group called Idile Oodua (family or lineage of Odùduwà), shortened to just Idile. Idile was formed to struggle for ‘self-determination’ for the Yorùbá and to contribute its quota in the fight against military fascism – which was regarded as particularly threatening to the interests of the Yorùbá nation.1 Idile, led by Babarinsa, included Ademola Oyinlola, Dokun Abolarin (later, Ọba Obọlarin), Dayo Adeyeye, Bayo Adenekan, Funminiyi Afuye, Rev. Adetunji Adebiyi, Yemi Olukini, Kehinde Akinọla, Olufunmi Dawodu, Rotimi Agunsoye, John Rotimi and P.A. Idowu. The group was largely clandestine in its early years in the late military era. Among other activities, Idile members used to print and dump ‘subversive’ leaflets

1 The Family Handbook, April 1996. Reconciliation and Retrenchment 167 in strategic areas of Lagos under the cover of darkness, during the political crisis in Nigeria between 1993 and 1995. Babarinsa also became close to Ige as a result of his writings in TELL, his access to intelligence information and other clandestine activities. Like Onigbinde, Babarinsa was also invited by Ige to join Alpha. Apart from Onigbinde and Babarinsa, other members of the Alpha group, which met secretly once a month in Ige’s home in Ibadan, were Tokunbo Ajasin, son of the late leader of the Afé:nifé:re, Dr Tunde Fatunde, a university teacher and part-time correspondent of the BBC; Dokun Abolarin, then a lawyer and activist; Ayo Afolabi; and Kunle Famoriyo. The other elders in the Afé:nifé:re were totally unaware of this semi-secret group. At any rate, Ige and the Alpha members, said one of them, were united in their position that Adesanya and the other old men of Afé:nifé:re had no use for tactical and strategic thinking and planning. Other groups of young Yorùbá men and women who were interested in politics in general, and/or Yorùbá self-determination in particular, formed different progressive political associations in the last few years of military rule. Such groups included NG, which, unlike the others, was a group of professionals, many of whom had some financial muscle. Members of the group continue to refuse to state the full meaning of NG. The members of the NG included Gbenga Daniel (who later became the Governor of Ogun State), Jimi Agbaje (who later ran unsuccessfully for the governorship of Lagos State under the Democratic People’s Alliance, DPA), Tola Mobolurin, head of a blue chip company, Kola Awodeyin, a lawyer and senior advocate of Nigeria, and Kole Ade. There were also other groups such as Apapọ Omo Oodua (Odùduwà Descendants United), led by Baba Omojola, which included Oluwole Afere; Oodua Liberation Movement (OLM), led by Taiwo Otitolaye, which included Rotimi Obadofin, Popoola Ajayi and Kayode Ajibola; Oodua Youth Movement (OYM), which included Ayo Agbabiaka, Adebayo Ojo, Sola Olatunde, Femi Obayori, Yinka Famakin and Rasaq Oladosu; Action Group, whose members included Rahman Akanbi Senge, Bayonle Ademodi, Femi Odedeyi, Dr Oyebade Gboyega and Kayode Afolabi; Moremi Initiative (MI), led by Sina Fagbenro; Okun People’s Front (OPF); and The Group, led by Dayo Keshiro and Modupe Adigun. All these groups came together to form Alajobi. Thus, Alajobi was composed of subscriber-groups in Yorùbáland with a pan-Yorùbá cultural sensibility, representing (i) ‘... essentially a vanguard of the interests, hopes and aspirations of the Yorùbá nation and its peoples, irrespective of sex and religion’; and they came together as (ii) ‘a socio-cultural group 168 Part Two seeking the welfare of Yorùbá in a corporate nation-state’.2 The group’s first meeting was held in Osogbo on 27 November 1999, and was hosted by Ayo Afolabi, a member of one of the subscriber-groups, Heritage. Afolabi was then a special adviser on information to Governor Bisi Akande. Alajobi’s public inauguration in Lagos, on 3 August 2000, was chaired by Justice Adewale Thompson. Ige linked the emergence of the group to the ‘golden era’ of Awo. But, in the sense in which Ige used ‘Alajobi’, he was implying the progenitor, Odùduwà. Therefore, it can be argued that Alajobi was seen as a neo-ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà. Argued Ige: ‘One thing I know, the day is almost here in Yorùbland when the Alajobi will be the Garibaldi that will unite Yorùbáland once again, and we will flourish once again like we did under Awo’ (Guardian, 25 December 2001, 7). Incidentally, Ige had announced after his defeat at D’Rovans that the focus of his politics would be the younger people, because ‘They are the true leaders of tomorrow who will not accept the chicanery and private jealousies of those who pretend to chart their future for them. They are our true leaders of today, and they will be our leaders tomorrow. It is on them I hinge keeping our collective hope alive (Ige 1999, 5; emphasis added). The members of Alajobi perhaps took this to heart in their decision to intervene in the crisis plaguing the Afé:nifé:re. Some of the key members of the subscriber-groups making up the Alajobi had, by that time, started attending the meetings of Afé:nifé:re in Ijebu-Igbo, and some had even been co-opted into the caucus meetings. But while Ige regarded – and called – these younger people his ‘friends’ or sometimes ‘younger brothers’ (‘aburos’), his contemporaries in Afé: nifé:re called them ‘awon omode won yi’ (‘these young people’). Furthermore, given the ease with which Ige related to younger people generally, his contemporaries saw the influx of the young men into Afé:nifé:re, with the exception of a few, as the influx of ‘awon omo Bola Ige’ (‘Ige’s boys’). Onigbinde, who was the secretary of Alajobi, told me that when he was first introduced to Adebanjo by Niyi Afuye, a lawyer and member of Alajobi, Adebanjo dismissed him as ‘omo Bola’ (‘Bola Ige’s boy’). Onigbinde later became ‘omo Adesanya’, when he disagreed with Ige over the latter’s role in the Afé:nifé:re. In fact, Adesanya eventually referred to Onigbinde as ‘my loyal deputy’, in a veiled reference to Ige’s ‘disloyalty’. One of the younger generation of Afé:nifé:re leaders in Lagos told me that even though he grew to dislike Ige’s role in the group, he was ‘permanently fascinated’ by the man’s capacity to relate to younger people. ‘Ige was the

2 ‘Memorandum of Understanding’ of Alajobi. Reconciliation and Retrenchment 169 most selfish in the group’, said my informant. ‘But I liked him. He had an amazing capacity to strike a relationship on a one-on-one basis. He was the one who first took me to the Afé:nifé:re caucus meeting.’ Eventually, all the elders in Afé:nifé:re saw the advantage of younger Yorùbá professionals joining the ranks of Afé:nifé:re. It was Alajobi that contacted Archdeacon Emmanuel Alayande, then the oldest surviving member of the Awoist movement, to chair the reconciliation meeting of the warring elders held in the Ijebu-Igbo, home of the leader, Adesanya. The Yorùbá say, agba kii wa loja, k’ori omo tuntun wo (lit. ‘An elder cannot be present in the market place while the head of a new-born baby is distorted’). What predisposed the younger elements to convene a peace meeting among the elders (in a reversal of the Yorùbá tradition in which elders settle disputes among younger people) was the fear that the group was going to lose Ige, the deputy leader of Afé:nifé:re, who was then the minister of justice and attorney-general of the federation. The younger elements saw Ige as the ‘star’ or, in football parlance, the ‘lone striker’ of the group. The likelihood of Ige’s exit from the group due to the almost total breakdown in the relationship between him and Adesanya, and the other members of the Ijebu Four, was the major impetus for the peace meeting. The Alajobi argued that if the leaders and elders, particularly this ‘ruling cabal of five’ (the Ijebu Four and Ige), remain divided, Yorùbáland could suffer another ‘devastation’–as it did in the past, when Awóló: wò: and Akintola disagreed and parted ways in the 1960s. Afé:nifé:re’s past controversies and contests were the stuff of the histories and narratives, but again raised their heads during the first elaborate reconciliation meeting organized by the Alajobi in Ijebu-Igbo on 26 March 2000. This confirms J.S. Eades’ ( 1980, x) observation that ‘yesterday’s history among the Yorùbá has a habit of becoming today’s live political issue’.

how young men became elders

Archdeacon Emmanuel Alayande acted as the convener at the peace meeting. Alayande’s qualification for this unique role has been examined in the preceding chapter. It can be added here that Alayande first met Awo in London in the 1940s, where the latter formed the ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà. Alayande told me that until his death, Awo called him ‘Chaplain’–because he was the Action Group’s chaplain. He added that ‘I doubt if Awo trusted anyone like he trusted me.’ Alayande’s claim can be compared and contrasted with that of his former student, Ige, who also claimed that, ‘At the 170 Part Two risk of being thought of as immodest, there is nobody in Nigeria who is more close to Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: and his ideals than myself. None. Nobody’ (Guardian, 25 December 2001, 6–7). Alayande was also regarded as having displayed ‘gallant sportsman- ship’, not only by conceding victory to Ige in the Second Republic, but also serving under ‘his ex-boy’ as a special adviser on education. In the ensuing battle after D’Rovans, Alayande had also displayed neutrality, despite having voted for Ige.3 Therefore, apart from his age, these qualities were what made Alayande appropriate to convene the reconciliation meeting. I was able to get a copy of the handwritten minutes, which was corrobo- rated by the oral accounts of some of those present. Alayande opened the meeting with introductory remarks in which he apologized for the absence of Justice Adewale Thompson, who could not attend on health grounds. Thompson was, therefore, the only one among the major dramatis persona who did not attend. Other warring Afé:nifé:re leaders were present, including the host, Adesanya, Onasanya, Ige, Adebanjo, Ajayi, Dawodu, Falae and Opadokun. Others present included Chief Cornelius Adebayo, Chief GOK Ajayi (SAN), Akinyemi, Akinrinade, Alhaji Gbenga Kaka, then the Deputy Governor of Ogun State, Chief Duro Aikulola, Hon. Olawale Oshun and many others. Also present were about fifty representatives of the associating groups that made up Alajobi, led by their chairman, Dare Babanrinsa, and secretary, Akinyẹmi Onigbinde. After paying his respects to the elders, Babarinsa took the floor to explain why the meeting was convened. He stated that things were not normal in Yorùbáland. After extolling the sacrifices and commitment of the elders over the decades, he then explained why the Alajobi was qualified to invite the ‘elders of the [Yorùbá] race’ to a meeting. This clarifica- tion was important because, in Yorùbá society, the discourses of agency and actorhood are central. For instance, the Yorùbá are given to asking, ‘Ta’lo fun e l’ase?’ (Who gave you authority?) (Abiọdun 1994, 311), which essentializes the authority (of agency) in relation to the validity of action. The authority of the younger elements in Alajobi, Dare said, was based on the fact that: (i) ‘we were with you [the elders], when the battlefront was hottest [under the military]; (ii) ‘we have been sent to school [by the elders] hence have acquired critical attitude’ which enables ‘us to ask the elders

3 These conclusions were reached based on interviews with members of Alajobi, including Dara Babarinsa, Akinyemi Onigbinde, Tokunbo Ajasin, Ademola Oyinlola and others (held in Lagos and Ibadan, between 2005 and 2006). Reconciliation and Retrenchment 171 questions’.4 Having cleared the crucial matter of authority and legitimacy, Dare then moved on to raise the two questions that led to the meeting: one, ‘why the trouble in Yorùbáland?’ Two, ‘what could be done to stop the feuding in the land?’ Dare pleaded with the elders to be factual when they spoke ‘so that the matter can be finally laid to rest’. He added, however, that there should be no discussion of party (AD) matters; this was ‘strictly’ about the Yorùbá, and, therefore, was an ‘Afé:nifé:re issue’. Alayande then took the floor, as convener. He recalled two previous failed attempts to settle the discord and then called on all the parties to state the truth of their grievances. He stated that the discord within Afé:nifé:re was causing embarrassment to all the leaders. But before he went on, Alayande requested to know from the warring elders if an ‘amicable settlement’ and reconciliation could be achieved. If not, he added, he would ask that the meeting came to an end immediately, so as not to waste anyone’s time. He added that he would also ask for the immediate dissolution of Afé:nifé:re before anyone left that gathering. Since no one spoke to dissuade him, Alayande continued by reminiscing on the formation of ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà and recalling how he met Awóló: wò: in 1944, adding that they remained friends until Awo’s death forty-three years later. He praised the efforts of Awo in ensuring that the Yorùbá became one, despite the many subgroups. He traced the disunity in Yorùbáland from the time of S.L. Akintola, who established ẸgbẹỌmọỌlọfin to rival Ẹgbẹ Ọmọ Odùduwà, using that particular take on history to ‘deplore the disagreement between Adesanya and [his deputy] Ige’. Alayande ended by invoking the spiritual significance of Lent, which was ongoing at that time, in calling for a resolution of the crisis. Ige spoke next, promising to open up as he had never done before. He went back into history, starting from the AG to the UPN (he was not a member of ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà). Ige said he had not been given the respect due him as the deputy leader, even though he might be a little younger than a few of the leaders. He claimed that as the national publicity secretary of the AG in the 1960s, he was senior to virtually everyone else alive in the party’s hierarchy. While claiming to have left the D’Rovans Affair behind him, Ige asked for a restructuring of Afé:nifé:re – ostensibly along the lines that would whittle down the leverage that the Ijebu Four had.

4 Minutes of the reconciliation meeting, Ijebu-Igbo, 26 March 2000. 172 Part Two

Sir Olaniwun spoke next. First, he thanked Alayande for his ‘fatherly role’. He said he was glad that Ige spoke his mind; he, therefore, expressed the hope that the crisis would end that day. Ige, Ajayi charged, was ‘proud and arrogant’ and ‘has no regard for his contemporaries’. For Ajayi, the current discord in the party was clearly a result of D’Rovans. He complained that since D’Rovans, Ige had been calling him (Ajayi) and the other leaders ‘traitors’ in his Sunday Tribune column. Adebanjo then took the floor. He claimed to love Ige, but stated that he detested Ige’s ‘tactics’ and ‘arrogance’. The problems in the group and the talk about restructuring Afé:nifé:re, he also alleged, were as a result of Ige’s defeat at D’Rovans. He added that he found the call for restructuring the group interesting because it was Ige who ‘forced’ the group, during the UPN days, to adopt primaries as the means of selecting candidates. Adebanjo stated that he doubted Ige’s loyalty to the leader, Adesanya, and gave some examples to buttress his point. Onasanya also spoke. He also denounced Ige’s ‘arrogance’ and ‘con- ceit’, pointing to Ige’s claim to seniority in the party as evidence of this. If Ige thought his ‘seniority’ was based on his position in the AG, Onasanya stated, then he (Ige) did not understand the system of hierarchy in the Awoist movement. What position, asked the old man, did the late Alfred Rewane hold in the group and the UPN? Could the fact that he didn’t hold any party office deny Rewane of his place in the hierarchy of the party and group? Onasanya was obviously particularly irked by Ige’s claim to seniority. He asserted that the group’s leaders had only seen Ige as a ‘very energetic and brilliant young man’ in the 1960s and, therefore, decided to give him some tasks to render for the collective good. Onasanya concluded that this fact should not constitute for Ige a claim to seniority over and above those who gave him the task – which ostensibly included himself (Onasanya). After all the leaders had spoken, the meeting observed a break. At this point, many of the members of Alajobi assumed that, with the expressions of their grievances, the elders had resolved their differences. During the break, the members of the Alajobi met and wrote a list of resolutions that would be agreed upon at the end of the reconciliation. When the meeting reconvened, the leader of Alajobi, Babarinsa, read the resolutions to the whole house. Adesanya then requested that even though the resolutions would not be made public, a small statement should be issued to the press to announce to the world that Afé:nifé:re had finally resolved its crisis. Alayande then closed the reconciliation meeting by announcing that the ‘resolution of the crisis’ was the best thing to have happened to him, adding Reconciliation and Retrenchment 173 that he could now die in peace, ‘bearing a good message to Awóló: wò: ’.He specifically asked Ige to thank the Alajobi and go round to thank the other leaders (Ijebu Four), Adesanya, Adebanjo, Ajayi and Onasanya.5 The resolutions, described as ‘the Ijebu-Igbo Declaration’, included an affirmation of Adesanya’s leadership of Afé:nifé:re and Ige’s status as deputy leader and advice to all the leaders of the Yorùbá nation to concentrate on the affairs concerning the Yorùbá nation and Afé:nifé:re. The declaration also articulated the position of the Yorùbá nation; the evolution of a system of crisis resolution that would ensure that ‘outsiders’ and non-Yorùbá were not involved in Yorùbá (national) matters; and the recognition by all the leaders that ‘there is only one Yorùbá nation, it has a 6 common interest and one inescapable destiny’. The Declaration further noted that Senator Adesanya had been mandated to take steps to bring a new constitution and structure for Afé:nifé:re into effect ‘within the shortest possible time’. The struggle to ‘restructure’ Afé:nifé:re was not a straightforward move, however. It was designed by some, including Ige, to limit or end the power and influence of the ‘cult within the cult’: the Ijebu Four. As far as the Ijebu Four were concerned, particularly Adebanjo and Ajayi, the idea of restructuring was both Ige’s idea of limiting their power and influence within the group and a ploy by the younger elements in Alajobi to gain power. They argued that there was nothing wrong with the structure, or lack thereof, in the Afé:nifé:re. One of the old men asked of the younger elements: ‘what do they know about Afé:nifé:re?’ A younger member of the group who was close to the older men, Supo Sonibare, agreed with the old men. He told me that ‘Afé:nifé:re didn’t need a constitution or a rigid structure. We might have needed more representation in the caucus, yes, but, because of its nature, there was no need for a constitution or rigid structures’ (interview, Lagos, 10 October 2005).

peace in pieces: the creation of the yoru` ba´ council of elders (yce)

Venerable Alayande, who had stated that the reconciliation meeting was the best thing to have happened to him, and who added that he could die in peace bearing a good message to Awóló: wò: , would not have had a good message to give their departed leader when he eventually died in late 2006.

5 Minutes of the reconciliation meeting. 6 ‘The Ijebu-Igbo Declaration’, 26 March 2000. 174 Part Two

He was the one who headed the next initiative, which further polarized the Awo followers and deepened the crisis in Yorùbáland. Such was the depth of the animosities driving the conflicts that a younger associate of the old warring men, Hon. Wale Oshun, stated that ‘there is absolutely no guarantee that these old men will not continue the squabbles on the other ... side of the divide!’ (Oshun 2005, 76). Justice Adewale Thompson, who had sent his apologies through Alayande to the reconciliation meeting at Ijebu-Igbo about six months earlier, was perhaps not persuaded by the terms of the resolution. Thompson, who, like Ige, was Ijesa, became the arrowhead of the formation of a rival group called the Yorùbá Council of Elders (Igbimo Egbe Agba). Although the Council’s real intentions were masked by its description as ‘a non-partisan, pan-Yorùbá group’–to which even the Afé:nifé:re leaders could belong – it was clear to all that YCE was formed as a result of Ige’s defeat at D’Rovans and as a means of contesting the legitimacy of the Afé:nifé:re leaders and doing battle with them. Those who attended the first meeting of the Council included Archdeacon Alayande, Justice Thompson, Awo’s widow, Mrs H.I.D. Awóló: wò: , her son, Chief Wole Awóló: wò: , former chief of general staff, General Ọladipọ Diya, and former attorney-general, Chief Richard Akinjide. Two AD governors loyal to Ige, the governors of Osun and Oyo states, Chief Bisi Akande and Alhaji Lam Adesina, also attended the meeting, alongside Ige’s (ministerial) special assistant, Dr Olu Agunloye (TEMPO, 2 November 2000, 4–6). According to the conveners of the YCE, the Council, which was open to all Yorùbá above the age of sixty, would be ‘the supreme authority of the Yorùbá nation in all matters of public interest which have degenerated into disputes or communal strife or political controversy’. Such disputes, strife or controversy, stated the new body, ‘should be brought before it [YCE] for settlement according to Yorùbá customs’ (TEMPO, 2 November 2000, 4–6). Thus, the Council made clear its wish to be a far superior group to the Afé:nifé:re, which had come to be regarded as the high command of Yorùbá politics and culture. If he was not Ige’s representative, Agunloye’s presence was obviously at the instance of Ige. He was not sixty yet and therefore was unqualified to join the YCE. A spokesperson for Afé:nifé:re described the formation of the YCE as an attempt to sow seeds of discord in the ranks of Yorùbá leaders. The spokesperson said further that, ‘It is not an attempt to bring us together. We suspect very strongly that they are being influenced by external forces to bring disunity and problem to Yorùbáland’ (TEMPO, 2 November 2000, 4–6). Reconciliation and Retrenchment 175

Alayande was elected as the president of the YCE at the inaugural meeting in Ibadan on 21 October 2000. However, some of my respondents insisted that Alayande was a reluctant leader. Dr Dejo Raimi, one of the leaders of the YCE, who claimed that he, Thompson, Ige and one other person, whom he refused to name,7 formed the YCE, said that Alayande was so scared that the Afé:nifé:re leaders would attack him physically that they had to provide security for him at the initial secret meetings of the group in Ibadan.8 Indeed, initially, Alayande publicly disassociated himself from the group, even though he conﬁrmed that he had been contacted by them. Bishop Emmanuel Gbonigi stated that when he and others wanted to create a non-partisan Yorùbá umbrella group, Egbe Apapo Omo Yorùbá, Alayande ‘emphatically told us he was angry with us ... He said, “Why do you have to start another Yorùbá cultural organisation?” And that, we should all join Afé:nifé:re’ (TEMPO, 2 November 2000, 4–6). When Adesanya called to ask Alayande about his involvement in the YCE initiative, the latter disclaimed the group. Adesanya then told the press that ‘Alayande would never associate with such an association ...He is one of the few surviving founders of Afé:nifé:re and I know he cannot be involved in a project to pull down the house he helped to build’ (Oshun 2005, 77). When it became clear that Alayande would join the new group, Adesanya stated publicly that the YCE would ‘hit the rocks’ on its launching day (Tribune 21 September 2001, 28). At the inauguration of the group, Alayande directed proceedings and was formally elected president. Some believed that Alayande must have caved in due to pressure from Ige and Thompson. Bishop Gbonigi told me that Thompson later confessed to him that they formed the YCE as result of the ‘cheating’ of his ‘Ijesa brother’ (Ige) by ‘those Ijebu people’. The YCE eventually included some other disgruntled members of the Awo clan like Dr Tunji Otegbeye, Mr Mike Omoleye, Dr Kunle Olajide and ‘anti-Awo’ elements such as Raimi himself, Chief Richard Akinjide and former military governor of the old Western Region, General Adeyinka Adebayo. Ige denied involvement in the creation of YCE till he died, but not many believed him. Sina Babasola, then a reporter with Vanguard newspaper in Ibadan, told me that Ige once showed up at a

7 I got to know from other sources that that person was the late Alhaji Kọla Balogun, a former national secretary of the Azikiwe-led NCNC and Awóló: wò: ’s sworn political adversary. 8 Security was provided by a Yorùbá youth group, Oodua Redemption Alliance, ORA, led by one Victor Taiwo. Raimi claimed that the group also had to guard Alayande’s house for a while (interview, Ibadan, 25 December 2005). 176 Part Two

YCE meeting, unaware that reporters were waiting outside. Once Ige had alighted from his car and sighted the reporters, Babasola stated that he rushed back into his car and drove away. TELL magazine described Ige as ‘AD in body, YCE in spirit’ (TELL, 26 March 2001, 26). One of the leading members of the YCE, an anti-Awo politician, told me that when Ige hosted the members of the Council after they had visited President Obasanjo in Abuja in 2001, and he was asked to speak, ‘I began by telling him that he, Bọla Ige, wanted to use the YCE to destabilize Afé:nifé:re as a revenge for denying him the AD Presidential ticket, but I repeated to Bola Ige point blank that we may end up using him instead .... By now, only God knows who succeeded in using who.’9 Long before things deteriorated, members of the Yorùbá Parapo, led by Bishop Gbonigi, had decided to intervene to prevent the fractionalization of Afé:nifé:re. According to Gbonigi, ‘We went to Papa Alayande and we said, “Papa, we beg you in the name of God, don’tsplit.”’ Alayande assured Gbonigi that he would deliver his message to the team planning the new group. But Gbonigi later learnt that the real brain behind the formation of the group was Justice Adewale Thompson, who was acting on behalf of Ige. When I interviewed him in his Akure home, Gbonigi (interview, Akure, 16 December 2005)said,‘So, we went to him [Thompson]. And we said, Papa, we are hearing that you are the brain behind the whole thing. What is causing it? Why can’t you settle this palaver? He told us his own story’ (ibid.). Thompson’s story was about the D’Rovans Affair. Bishop Gbonigi then went back to Archdeacon Alayande to relate the Thompson story, which the latter conﬁrmed. Alayande told Gbonigi that he had earlier asked Thompson and others to bury the hatchet, unsuccessfully. Based again on new assurances from Alayande, who promised that he would ensure that Thompson and others didn’t go ahead with the YCE, Gbonigi was convinced that the new group would fold up before it went public. Unknown to the bishop, other factors were already helping to speed up the creation of the group that would ﬁght Afé:nifé:re for cultural and political legitimacy in Yorùbáland. Some anti-Awo elements in Yorùbáland, encouraged by President Obasanjo, had decided to help in exacerbating the crisis as a way of breaking the supremacy of the Awo associates in Yorùbá politics and society.10 After the YCE was formally

9 Conﬁdential discussions with an Ibadan-based politician, December 2005. 10 Raimi and Balogun were never Awoists. In fact, Raimi tells close friends that his father was allegedly unjustly jailed twice by the AG government in the late 1950s. He was, therefore, said to be seeking ‘revenge’ on Afé:nifé:re by joining the YCE initiative, so as to break Reconciliation and Retrenchment 177 unveiled on Saturday, 21 October 2000, in Ibadan, the Afé:nifé:re and YCE leaders began vicious attacks against each other on the pages of newspapers. In fact, Adesanya and Thompson, two ‘mystics’,11 were exchang- ing curses on the pages of newspapers. Afé:nifé:re leaders were accused of calling Alayande ‘agba iya’ (‘useless old man’) for consenting to be the leader of YCE. At a point, the discord even degenerated into threats of violence, sorcery, occult attacks and accusations of assassination attempts. The YCE accused the Afé:nifé:re of planning to physically attack its members at the inauguration ceremony by using the Dr Fredrick Fasehun faction of the Yorùbá ethnic militia, the Oodua People’s Congress (OPC) (Thompson 2001, 28). Thompson, in fact, alleged that ‘the Afé:nifé:re terror squad invaded’ Ibadan, but were repelled by the Oodua Redemption Alliance (ORA), another militia group loyal to the YCE leaders. Thompson further alleged that the Afé:nifé:re leaders took his name to a shrine, ‘to invoke diabolic forces on their own heads (not mine)’, but that ‘the shrine caught ﬁre and their priest [was] burnt to death’. The YCE scribe also accused the Afé:nifé:re leaders of sending a young man to his house after this to tell him that another occult attack was in the works against him. Three months later, in a crisis that resulted in what Margaret S. Archer (1988, 245) describes as a ‘competitive contradiction’, which ‘prompts attempts at mutual elimination’, Thompson again alleged that ‘a mighty thunderbolt struck my residence’. After this, Thompson further alleged that assassination threats were issued against him and the ORA leader, Taiwo (Thompson 2001, 28). As the allegations of threats of physical elimination were being raised, a more critical ideational war was also being fought between the two groups. The YCE not only attempted to legitimate its claims and activities, but also negated the legitimatory basis of Afé:nifé:re’s dominance (cf. Archer 1988, 241 ). This is understandable given that the claims to legitimate domination (by the Afé:nifé:re) needed to be undermined before its superior status in Yorùbá politics and society could be successfully challenged. As things

Afé:nifé:re’s cohesion and solidarity. If this was true, Alayande, Thompson and Ige were obviously unaware of it. 11 Some members of the Afé:nifé:re that I spoke with attest to Adesanya’s spiritual powers. Indeed, it is said that he always restrained people from invoking causes unnecessarily in the grounds of his house where the group met, because whatever was invoked on that ground would come to pass. On the other hand, Thompson was a publicly self-confessed mystic, who was also a member of the Rosicrucian Order. He claimed to close friends that he was in a higher plane of the Order than Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: , their late leader. 178 Part Two degenerated, some people approached Bishop Gbonigi, asking him again to intervene in the crisis. The role of Christianity and pioneer Yorùbá Christian clerics in tran- scending the history of violence and sub-ethnic rivalries which degenerated into long years of civil war in Yorùbáland after the collapse of the Oyo Empire in the 19th century, has already been captured by Peel in Religious Encounter and the Making of the Yorùbá (2000). This backdrop is important in understanding the unique role of the Christian clergy in the attempt to resolve political conflicts in Yorùbáland, which started in the 1960s with the crisis in the Action Group. This tradition was carried over to 21st century. The octogenarian bishop, Emmanuel Bolanle Gbonigi, retired as Bishop of Akure Diocese of the Church of Nigeria (Anglican Communion). He has had long-standing social (personal and religious) relationships with key members of the Awóló: wò: political movement, in what Abner Cohen (1981, 222) describes as a ‘network of amity’.Hefirst met Awo in Ikenne, in 1978. During Nigeria’s historic struggle against military fascism under Generals Ibrahim Babangida and Sani Abacha, Gbonigi achieved fame for his courageous attacks on the military regimes over their human rights violations and subversion of the democratic transition programmes. His pro-democracy activism was so significant that he was dubbed ‘NADECO Bishop’–the National Democratic Coalition being the umbrella pro- democracy organization that fought against Abacha’s dictatorship. After the inauguration of the YCE, Gbonigi went back to Venerable Alayande and to Chief Adesanya, asking both leaders to send twelve names each of the members of YCE and Afé:nifé:re, respectively, to participate in a reconciliation meeting. He also asked those who contacted him to bring the names of ‘credible Yorùbá people’ who were not in partisan politics, who would join him in adjudicating and reconciling the warring old men. The names of the credible people that he got included those of Justice Kayode Eso (now deceased), retired justice of the Supreme Court, Justice Akinọla Aguda (now deceased), retired judge of the Federal Appeal Court, Chief F.R.A. Williams (now deceased), perhaps Nigeria’s most eminent lawyer of all time, and Mrs Fola Ighodalo, retired top civil servant. All of them agreed to participate, along with the bishop, in the reconciliation meeting. Everyone on the Afé:nifé:re and YCE lists attended, except Ige (who was on the Afé:nifé:re list). Ige did not send apologies. Williams, one of the mediators, sent his eldest son, with apologies. After the two sides stated their cases, the bishop concluded that everything hinged on the D’Rovans Affair. It was agreed by all that Ige was central to the resolution and that he Reconciliation and Retrenchment 179 had to be present. Adesanya also asked Gbonigi to call a meeting of a few people to especially appeal to Ige. Every effort to get Ige to attend subsequent meetings, initiated by Bishop Gbonigi, failed. Ige never answered the priest’s calls and never responded to any of his messages until he was assassinated. ‘I understand that’, Gbonigi said. ‘As his bishop he could not say no to me. So, he chose to avoid any contact with me’ (interview, Akure, 16 December 2005). However, Supo Sonibare told me that Ige had expressed his willingness to resolve the dispute in the group after Onasanya’s burial. In fact, Vanguard (29 November 2011, 14) reported a few weeks before Onasanya’s burial that ‘Onasanya’s death has already presented an opportunity for reconciliation as the various factional leaders have started holding meetings with a view to giving the old man a befitting burial.’ It is not clear whether Ige would have kept his promise, because he was killed about forty-eight hours after Onasanya’s burial. However frustrating as this case was, Bishop Gbonigi did not give up. After the death of key members of the warring groups, that is, Solanke, Ige and Thompson, in that order, the retired bishop was chosen to lead Igbimọ Ọmọ Odùduwà. This group was to superintend overall Yorùbá interests and ensure that there would be no discord or conflicts in Yorùbáland. As it again turned out, the energies of the cleric and others were to be consumed by another crisis within the Afé:nifé:re and AD. The new crises grew out of the earlier crises, but with different inflections and with different personality clashes and coalitions of interests.

the crisis deepens

Egbinrin ote, baa se npa kan, ni kan nru (‘Leaves of conspiracy, the moment you pluck one, another sprouts in its place’) A Yorùbá proverb In the post-Ajasin period, conspiracies within the Afé:nifé:re were like the proverbial phoenix, they were constantly reborn anew after being assumed terminated. When ote (conspiracy, plot or intrigue) becomes multiple and endless, the Yorùbá describe such as ‘egbinrin ote’ (‘leaves of conspiracy’). Since D’Rovans, Afé:nifé:re was faced with the cultural and political challenges of unremitting conspiracies or intrigues. On 2 August 2006, I was at the Institute of Church and Society, Samọnda, Ibadan, where the leaders of the Afé:nifé:re and YCE were scheduled to hold a reconciliation meeting with two notable clerics, Bishop Emmanuel Gbonigi and Bishop Ayo Ladigbolu. Ladigbolu, a prince of the Alaaﬁnate in Oyo, was, at that time, recently retired as the 180 Part Two

Methodist Archbishop of Ilesa Diocese. He and Gbonigi were the peace- makers. As I waited outside for the conclusion of what turned out to be an abortive reconciliation, I talked with some of the associates of the warring leaders. Those close to Chief Bisi Akande, then the factional chairman of the AD, told me that he was in town but had decided not to attend the reconciliation meeting. Without his presence, like Ige in the earlier attempt, it was obvious that nothing could be achieved. Since the peace meeting initially convened in 2000 by Alajobi, and the other convened by Bishop Gbonigi, and since the death of Ige in December 2001, and the terminal sickness of Adesanya, the crisis in Afé:nifé:re had metastasized. The group had broken into two factions, one led by the acting leader, Fasoranti, and the other led by Senator Ayo Fasanmi, who had earlier been appointed the deputy leader of the group. Both sides claimed to have suspended the key members of the other faction. The party, AD, was also split into two factions led by two erstwhile friends, Senator Mojisoluwa Akinfenwa and Governor Bisi Akande. While Akinfenwa’s faction was supported by the Fasoranti-led Afé:nifé:re, the Akande faction was supported by the Fasanmi-led Afé:nifé:re. By 2003, the crisis within Afé:nifé:re – and AD – and between the group and the YCE, had taken a different turn. In the intervening period, YCE had enjoyed a closeness with President Obasanjo, which eventually led to disillusionment by the spearhead of the group, Justice Adewale Thompson, particularly after the assassination of Bọla Ige. While Thompson was denouncing Obasanjo on the pages of newspapers before he died on 17 March 2004, the president had made inroads into the YCE and already had eyes and ears within the group. One such person was Dr Kunle Ọlajide, who succeeded Thompson as the secretary-general of YCE. Ọlajide was fully involved in the president’s bid for a second term in ofﬁce. Incidentally, Obasanjo was also able to convince the high command of Afé:nifé:re, as the key leaders were sometimes described, to support this bid. He met with the AD governors and the leaders, who presented him with the key agenda of the group, which revolved around the restructuring of the Nigerian federation. After the PDP gubernatorial candidates defeated AD’s candidates in all but one of the Yorùbá states in 2003, ﬁve of the former and only surviving AD governors (with the exception of the former Governor of Ondo State, Adefarati) stopped attending Afé:nifé:re meetings. Some of Ige’s associates and admirers even saw the ‘humiliating defeat’ of the AD in the 2003 elections in the Yorùbá West, as ‘the ultimate vindication of Bọla Ige’ (Ogunbiyi, 24 April 2003, 63). In particular, Dr Yemi Ogunbiyi, Reconciliation and Retrenchment 181 describing Ige’s adversaries in the leadership of Afé:nifé:re as ‘those tired relics from a fossilised past’, who did not realize that a political party was ‘ not a gathering of elders in a conclave, something akin to an Os˙ugbo cult, where gerontocracy holds sway’, accused the Ijebu Four of ‘literally [hounding] Ige for his views [on the need to separate Afé:nifé:re from the AD and ensure a realignment of forces in the context of Yorùbá – Obasanjo – presidency] to the end of his life’ (ibid.).

Another commentator viewed things differently, stating that, There is a sense in which it may be said that [Ige] laid the foundation for what has now happened in Yorùbá politics. Following his humiliation by the Afé:nifé:re leaders in 1999 when they refused to elect him as presidential flag-bearer of the AD, Chief Bola Ige began a systematic undermining of the AD ...He began to sow seeds of doubt about the right of a chosen few to dictate the direction of Yorùbá politics. (Guardian, 18 April 2003, 51). Governor Bola Tinubu of Lagos, then in a secret alliance with the PDP’s Vice-President Atiku Abubakar, with the hope of forming a common front in 2007, convinced the other former AD governors and others to take over the AD or create a new party. Most of the old men and others supported Senator Mojisoluwa Akinfenwa for the national chairmanship of the AD, while Tinubu and others supported Chief Bisi Akande, the former Governor of Osun State. Two parallel conventions of the party were held, with the two men emerging as factional leaders. The trend was repeated in Afé:nifé:re. Bishop Gbonigi told me that, at this point, he personally visited Fasoranti to express his displeasure. Later, during the seventy-fifth birthday ceremony of former Governor Adefarati on 14 February 2006,in Akungba Akoko, Ondo State, in the sermon, the preacher launched into the AD crisis and advised members of the AD to bury the hatchet. After the service, Bishop Gbonigi, a childhood friend of the celebrant, moved by the preacher’s advice, asked AD members to meet him after the service. He then pushed the leaders to follow the preacher’s advice. Prior to this, two young politicians in Osun State and members of the AD, Bisi Alamun and Ọlapade Fakunle, had in 2005, contacted Bishop Ayo Ladigbolu, then the archbishop and head of Ilesa Diocese of the Methodist Communion, to intervene in the crisis. Bishop Ladigbolu (interview, Oyo, 8 January 2007), whose family members, as he proudly told me, were had been traditional Awo supporters in Oyo (when the city was dominated by NCNC supporters), had made limited contact but was hampered by the fact that he was preparing for his retirement. However, when Alamun and Fakunle heard about Bishop Gbonigi’s intervention at Adefarati’s birthday ceremony, 182 Part Two they decided to link the two bishops in the bid for the resolution of the crisis. Both clerics agreed. Shortly after his retirement, Bishop Ladigbolu travelled outside of Nigeria and so could not participate in the initial efforts led by Gbonigi, who had requested separate meetings in his country home in Akure with the factional leaders of AD, Chief Akande, and later Senator Akinfenwa, in March 2006. At the meeting, Gbonigi reminded both men of ‘the essence of the unity of the Yorùbá race’ and the legacy of Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: .He told them that reconciliation was still possible. This was followed by a meeting of all the AD governors – both former and serving. Gbonigi wrote a very powerful letter of invitation to the governors on the planned reconciliatory meeting; the letters were delivered by Alamun and Fakunle (interview, Alamun, Ibadan, 20 January 2007). This meeting was hosted by the former Governor of Ogun State, Osoba, in his house in Lagos on 30 April 2006. Before the meeting started, Bishop Gbonigi read a ‘powerful sermon’ to the warring politicians. There, the four former and serving governors, Niyi Adebayo of Ekiti, Segun Osoba of Ogun, Bisi Akande of Osun and Bọla Tinubu of Lagos State, all spoke out against the actions of their older colleague from Ondo State, Governor Adebayo Adefarati, whom they accused of abandoning them, despite their earlier resolve to work together. An informant revealed that the ‘working together’ planned by the governors was to ‘supplant’ the old men and take over the group and party. At the end of the meeting, the bishop and the two facilitators left with a sense of resolution of the crisis at the level of the governors. The governors had requested Gbonigi to meet with the Afé:nifé:re leaders on both sides and then convene a larger reconciliation meeting for the Afé:nifé:re and the AD, even giving Gbonigi a list of the leaders that he should meet. Gbonigi subsequently invited the Afé:nifé:re leaders led by Fasoranti. He also met the Fasanmi faction. Unknown to Gbonigi, however, both factions were already either harmonizing their plans to create a new party (Fasoranti faction) or join a new alliance (Fasanmi/Akande/Tinubu faction). Despite this, the initial reconciliation of the factions of AD and Afé:nifé:re was fixed for 2 August 2006. But at the reconciliation meeting – held at the Institute of Church and Society, Samọnda, Ibadan – while the Akinfenwa faction of the AD was fully represented, the Bisi Akande faction of the party ‘had no quality representation’. One of the ‘two combatants’,as Bishop Ladigbolu described them, Akande, failed to show up. One of the governors in the Akande faction, Lam Adesina, showed up late. But the factional leader of Afé:nifé:re, Fasanmi, arrived on time. It was clear from Reconciliation and Retrenchment 183 the discussions among members of the Akande group later that the peace meeting was going nowhere. For Ladigbolu, the concern with the collective was still paramount, despite the eventual failure of the bishops’ intervention to end the conflicts. He still nursed hope of unity in the future for the ethnic nationality. Ladigbolu told me later that:

We knew they were going to go their different ways and we just prayed that someday, sometime, maybe in another generation, something better than this will happen to the Yorùbá race when people will be better organized and their leadership will be focussed enough not to be selﬁsh ... (I)n the political leadership in Yorùbáland there can never be real consensus, because the binding factors are gone, the Awolowos .... And this new generation ... of self-seeking, position- grabbing leaders. And what do you do? You just have to wait. And like Ogunde said in ‘Yorùbá Ro’nu!’ after this era of thick darkness, we can still hope for a glorious dawn. (Interview, Ladigbolu, Oyo, 8 January 2007) Many other futile attempts were made between 2007 and 2011. Two of the most signiﬁcant involved retired Supreme Court judge, Justice Kayode Eso, while the other, again, involved Bishops Gbonigi and Ladigbolu.

conclusion

As the politicians who were interested in political ofﬁces began their calculations for the coming elections in 2007, power, and not peace, was on their minds. As they say in a popular Yorùbá proverb, the death of the head of the lineage leads to the abandonment of the ile, that is, the cluster of homes in a compound inhabited by members of the same family. The total absence of Adesanya due to terminal illness gave those opposed to the older leaders the boldness to go their separate ways. The Akande–Tinubu faction of the AD eventually joined Vice-President Atiku Abubakar, who also left his own party, PDP, to form the Action Congress, AC. Chief Akinfenwa, despite the fact that the AD hardly existed after all the battles, refused to follow the advice of the older men of Afé:nifé:re to dissolve it into another party which they had formed: the Democratic People’s Alliance (DPA). Meanwhile, the Tinubu–Akande faction of the AD – even after leaving to form the AC – were believed to have left Chief Michael Koleoso, former secretary to the Oyo State government under Lam Adesina, behind in AD. Koleoso also created a faction which contested legitimacy with the Akinfenwa faction. In the end, the AD only existed on paper while the major gladiators in the old Afé:nifé:re–AD continued their struggles under new political party platforms while seeking new alliances. 6

How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá

A bi omo l’Owu, o ni ako tabi abo ni, ewo ni yio se omo nibè? (A child is born in Owu and you ask, male or female: which will be a proper child?)1 A proverb in 19th-century Yorùbáland (Johnson 1921, 206)

History’s stammerer when will your memory master the vowels of your father’s name Niyi Osundare, Waiting Laughters (poems) 1990

the structure and agency of yoru` ba´ ness in 21st- century nigeria

In this chapter, I deal with some major socio-cultural and political acts of commission and/or omission which are regarded as un-Yorùbá, and, therefore, unﬁt for a proper Yorùbá. Most Awoists believe that President Olusegun Obasanjo is the most evident example of how not to be a proper Yorùbá (see Figure 14). Since the death of Ige (in 2001) and Adesanya (in 2008), the struggle for cultural authenticity as a basis for political power and leadership in Yorùbáland has produced a constant reference to the concept of omoluwabi (also written and pronounced as omoluabi). Omoluwabi has become the central emblem of the ethical system that is personiﬁed by Awóló: wò: .Anomoluwabi is someone who is an offspring of the god of character, someone who is well-bred and noble – thus possessing all celebrated virtues such as being lofty, elevated, high-minded,

1 Translation by Johnson.

184 How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 185

figure 14. President Olusegun Obasanjo (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library) principled, magnanimous, honourable, estimable, worthy and meritori- ous. However, it is only by going back to Yorùbá traditional religion that the concept can be fully understood, because it is a theological concept that has been secularized in social practices over the longue durée of Yorùbá history. At the core of Yorùbá religious beliefs and social relations is iwa (character or moral conduct). Within the Yorùbá aesthetic universe, iwa is related to ewa (beauty or something ‘well-made’). Roland Abiodun (1983, 13), a respected scholar of African art, afﬁrms that ‘the concept of iwa is crucial to the deﬁnition of beauty in Yorùbá thought’, while Babatunde Lawal (1974, 240) argues that ‘the most important element in the Yorùbá conception of human beauty is iwa inu or character (iwa)’. Olorun (God) or Eledumare (Almighty God) is regarded by the Yorùbá as Olu-Iwa (Lord or Chief of Character). Even though there is both good and bad iwa, the concept is primarily positive. However, because there is also bad iwa, the Yorùbá qualify iwa through such words as iwapele (gentle character), iwatutu (peaceful character), iwa-rere (good character) and so on. 186 Part Two

A leading scholar of Yorùbá traditional thought, who is also an Ifa priest, Wande Abimbola (1996, 98), argues that ‘The essence of religious worship for the Yorùbá consists ...in striving to cultivate iwapele’, a fact described by Abiodun (1983, 16) as the core of Yorùbá ‘macro-aesthetic order’. This is based on the assumption of a relationship between iwa (character) and iwa (existence). The first is derived from the other, argues Abimbola (1975, 393), because ‘the original meaning of iwa ... can be interpreted as the fact of being, living,orexisting’, with the perfect ideal being immortality. Therefore, in traditional Yorùbá society, good character is a form of religious devotion (ibid.). The concept of omoluwabi derives from the religious concept of iwa. The ultimate goal for every Yorùbá person is to be an omoluwabi. Omoluwabi is the shortened form of Omo(ti)Olu Iwa bi (the child begotten of the Lord, or Chief Source, of Character). An omoluwabi is therefore someone who epitomizes good character (see Lawal 1974; Awoniyi 1975; Abiodun 1983; Fayemi 2012). As the ultimate signifier of iwa in modern Yorùbá history and the ur- omoluwabi, Awóló: wò: is sometimes described in songs and local poetry as ‘Baba Yorùbá’ (Father of the Yorùbá), who is also ‘Baba Iwa’ (Father of Character). In that sense, he is second only to the mythical progenitor, Odùduwà, the full meaning of which is Odu t’o da iwa (the odu that created character) and the Supreme God himself, who, in Yorùbá religion, is Olu-Iwa (Lord of Character). Odu is a verse in the literary corpus of Ifa, the Yorùbá system of divination – called Odu Ifa. Against this backdrop, as the ‘Baba Iwa’, Awóló: wò: is also approached as the personification of that Odu (which created character). Therefore, the discourse of omoluwabi is a unifying, culturally powerful signifier that refers back to Awóló: wò: without necessarily mentioning him – since he could also be, for some, an excessively politically charged symbol. Yet, since Awoness represents the bedrock of the lifeworld of the dominant progressive political elite in Yorùbáland, Awoness ultimately condenses and overrepresents omoluwabi-ness as much in cultural life as in political life. Hence, in the Yorùbá lifeworld there is a taken-for-granted assumption that you are a proper part of the political and cultural whole only if you are acting like Awo and/or acting in consonance with Awo’s ideas and ideals – which are also the ideas and ideals of omoluwabi-ness – and which simultaneously derives from Odu, the sacred symbols holding the ase (power/life force) of everything in existence. Even though there is a consensus that nobody can be Awo (because he was exceptional), people can be like him in different degrees. Therefore, to be seen as proper Yorùbá, political leaders claim to be authentic Awo heirs, How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 187 while also claiming that the party or group they belong to is the authentic institutional manifestation of Awo’s ideas and ideal. In this sense, it can be argued that proper Yorùbáness – and therefore Awoness and omoluwabi- ness – has both structural and agential dimensions. The structural dimension is split into two. The first has to do with specific organizational expressions (including socio-cultural and political groups, such as Afé:nifé:re, and political parties like AD, DPA, AC and ACN). This results in mutual accusations and attacks of lacking omoluwabi qualities, not being proper Awoists and, therefore, not being proper Yorùbá, because of belonging or not belonging to specific groups or political parties – which are assumed to be the structural manifestations of Awo’s principal agency. The other structural dimension has to do with investment or belief in and/ or support for certain public policies, and structural and administrative manifestations of such policies assumed to be in the long-term interests of the Yorùbá in Nigeria. The latter are basically the political structures and constitutional arrangements that were originally articulated by Awóló: wò: and continue to be supported – with some modification in the light of current realities – by ‘true’ Awoists/omoluwabi/proper Yorùbá. These include ‘true’ federalism, regional autonomy, ‘fair and equitable’ revenue allocation, social welfare programmes in the areas of education, health and employment, and so on. These have constantly been articulated in different ways but with essentially the same core principles since Awóló: wò: captured the imagination of his people in the late 1950s. The agential dimension of proper Yorùbáness in postcolonial Nigeria is also related or tied to the structural dimension, because, ultimately, the two dimensions are expected to manifest in agential action. The agential dimension requires that the actions and inactions of Yorùbá agents (particularly political agents), even if they do not formally belong to specific organizational expressions of Yorùbáness, must clearly demonstrate belief in, and active support for, certain public policies, and the structural and administrative manifestations of what is assumed to be in the long-term interests of the Yorùbá in Nigeria. This burden of omoluwabi-ness, Awoness and proper Yorùbáness would require different things in different contexts. For instance, it would require material or symbolic support and voting for those who are omoluwabis and therefore best represent Awoness and proper Yorùbáness. These structural and agential dimensions of Yorùbáness understandably become problematic and are contested in different ways by different actors in different contexts in everyday life and politics. As is again evident in this chapter (and in Chapter 7), contemporary Yorùbá politics, as a play 188 Part Two on Awoness, can be a vexing process of living and representing proper Yorùbáness in 21st-century Nigeria for the elites, as individuals and as groups. Therefore, Awoness or proper Yorùbáness both enable, as well as constrain, members of the elite. In this chapter, I follow Margaret Archer (1995, 113, 213–46)in examining how the contradictory and complementary relations in the cultural and structural context of Yorùbá politics chart the orderly or conflictual relations among the elite, and how these determine stability and/or change in the political–cultural system that is based on Awo’s ideas. First, I specify which relations intrude upon notions and practices of agency in this context and how, and, second, which relations determine how the agents respond to and react back to the structural enablement and/ or limitations. I also show how all these determine change and stability. This chapter demonstrates that, as Emirbayer and Mische (1998) emphasize, the actions of the members of the elite are temporally embedded.

playing (im)proper yoru` ba´ in 21st-century nigeria

As earlier explicated, being a proper Yorùbá has come to be associated with the qualities exemplified by Awóló: wò: from the late 1950s. What then, in practical, political life, are the acts regarded as un-Yorùbá? What are the conditions under which such acts are performed? I intend to throw Yorùbáness into crisis in this chapter – and the next – by examining prominent, but contrasting, Yorùbá politicians. The case study in this chapter involves Chief Ajibola Ige and President Olusegun Obasanjo. The first was an Awoist who considered himself, and was considered by his admirers, as the Arole Awóló: wò: , but was regarded by some of his internal adversaries as the one who succeeded to the position of Akintola, the archetypical improper Yorùbá. The other is regarded as the archetypical anti-Awo, even though, at one point, he was ‘adopted’ by the Awoists. I use the example of Obasanjo to illustrate the category of the anti-Awo, and, therefore, improper, Yorùbá, while I use the case of Ige to problematize the categories of proper and improper Yorùbá. While Obasanjo’s case is, largely, an easy one for the Awoists, the Ige case contains contradictions or paradoxes, which point to the limitations of branding in cultural politics. This chapter again emphasizes the salience of Awoness as the defining ethos of understanding Yorùbáness within, and even beyond, Afé:nifé:re’s worldview, at a point when the group entered into a period of decline, which some have hastily judged as its final fragmentation and demise. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 189

rumour and riot as ethno-regional politics

On Monday, 17 May 1999, twelve days to the scheduled handover of power to civilians and the swearing-in of newly elected politicians, anxiety mounted across a few states in south-western Nigeria over a rumour that the president-elect, General Olusegun Obasanjo (rtd), had been assassinated. As the rumour spread across Yorùbáland, particularly Lagos and the adjourning cities of Abeokuta and Ibadan, rioting started in some parts of the former, with looting and destruction of property and harassment of people. Businesses hurriedly closed shop and people ran helter-skelter, as they heard shouts of ‘Won ti pa Obasanjo’ (‘They have killed Obasanjo’). In the evening of the next day, Obasanjo appeared on national television news to deny the rumour and reassure the people that he was hale and hearty. ‘I am happy that people are concerned about me, but let them know that I am well’, he said. He appealed to those who had reacted violently to the rumour to stop the violence. Obasanjo, who is an Owu-Yorùbá, could have wondered what kind of a people his Yorùbá kinsmen were. A people who had vandalized his property during the struggle to actualize the mandate of Abiola, and had overwhelmingly rejected him at the polls only a few weeks earlier, dismissing him as ‘a lackey of the northern Muslim establishment’,2 were now rioting to protest his rumoured assassination by the same establishment. Dr Ore Falomo, Abiola’s personal physician, said of this: ‘I hope they now see that Obasanjo is loved by the Yorùbá’ (Guardian 22 May 1999, 25). I argue here that Falomo described a complex matter in a rather simple, even somewhat false, way. On the surface, the riot would appear irrational; it would also appear contradictory that the Yorùbá were rioting for a man whom they and their leaders had always accused of not being a true or proper Yorùbá. When Obasanjo met the Afé:nifé:re leaders in Owo, about ﬁve years earlier, he was categorically accused of not being a proper Yorùbá. The question that then arises is: Why would the Yorùbá violently protest the (rumoured) death of an improper Yorùbá – something they otherwise would have celebrated? I would like to suggest that the purpose of the rioting was not contradictory, nor was the violence itself irrational. The key to understanding the dynamics lies in the ‘they’ who were rumoured to have killed Obasanjo. By

2 In the context of this image of Obasanjo, William Miles describes him as a ‘meta-Muslim’. See William Miles (2000). 190 Part Two his killing, they, that is, the Muslim northern establishment, were again assumed to have shown their unwillingness to allow an ‘other’, particularly a Yorùbá, to become the president of Nigeria – as was assumed to be the case of Awóló: wò: and Abiola. Former governor of Ondo State, Ade Adefarati, captures this sentiment by stating that ‘all along, [it has] been the Yorùbá on one side and Hausa-Fulani on the other’ (TELL, 26 March 2001, 31). Therefore, the assumed assassination was unacceptable to the Yorùbá because Obasanjo was regarded as the ‘Hausa-Fulani’s Yorùbá’. Coming after what the Yorùbá believed to be the ‘assassination’ of Abiola in detention by ‘them’, less than a year earlier, the rumoured assassination of Obasanjo could have been provoked by, and become believable because of, the permanent suspicion of the principal ‘other’–‘the Hausa-Fulani north’, otherwise known as ‘the Caliphate’. Through such rumours and the reactions to it, a discourse of Yorùbáness – and what the interest of that category is and entails – is staged or performed by the elite and their followers. Following Navaro- Yashin (2002), I would like to see this as the performance of discursive knowledge regarding the Yorùbá conception of the world through which, in Walter Benjamin’s(1968, 255) words, ‘memory ... flashes up at a moment of [perceived] danger’. Interestingly enough, as Michael Lambek and Paul Antze (1996, xii) have argued, ‘memory is intrinsically linked to identity’. Discursive forms, such as ‘Hausa-Fulani hegemony’, ‘domination by the Caliphate’ and Yorùbá opposition to what these signified, were staged in the rioting. It was not the past that was being performed here: it was a particular understanding of the past. Obasanjo was only a human subject in this discourse, and his subjectivity was not grounded so much in what he had been but in what he represented at the moment of his rumoured assassination – that is, in contradistinction to the principal Other. The rioting was, therefore, against them, and not for him. In the eight years that Obasanjo was in office, his popularity rose and fell in Yorùbáland on the score of what he did or did not do against the perceived interests of the Hausa-Fulani north – or those that were regarded as the representatives of that north – and the Yorùbá version of what constituted egalitarian leadership. When he was assumed to do well, he was said, for instance by Bola Ige, to be implementing the manifesto of Afé:nifé:re.3 When it was otherwise, he was seen as acting according to the script of the north and not being a proper Yorùbá. During such a latter

3 Obasanjo publicly rebutted Ige, stating that, rather, he was implementing the programmes of his party, PDP. See ‘Obasanjo Replies Ige’. Vanguard, 1 September 1999, 1. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 191 period, some of my respondents pointed me to what the other Yorùbá subgroups used to say about the Owu-Yorùbá, Obasanjo’s subgroup, in the 19th century, as cited at the beginning of this chapter. Samuel Johnson lists the negative attributes of the Owu in this era as including, ‘hardihood, stubbornness, immorality, and haughtiness’ (Johnson 1921, 206). Johnson added that, ‘Either sex when roused by passion would sooner die than not take dire revenge’ (ibid.). My informants insisted that Obasanjo exhibited all the traits of the 19th-century Owu. This constituted a veritable way of not only explaining Obasanjo, but also pointing to his improper Yorùbáness. But Obasanjo saw himself as the antithesis of what the dominant Yorùbá elite stood for. As John Iliffe (2011, 2) concludes in his laudatory study of Obasanjo’s ‘striving’‘to make Nigeria work’, while the Yorùbá elite ‘saw [Nigeria] as a colonial agglomeration of the ethnic groups to which their first loyalties lay’, Obasanjo claimed that his ‘long- term goal’ was ‘the nullification of all forms of identification except Nigerian citizenship’. At different points, this attempt to ‘nullify’ ethnic identities and identification brought him, off and on, into collision with the dominant Yorùbá elite.

the enemy of an ‘ancestor’

Egbe on’iro l’egbe e won/2ce Olori Elewon l’oga a won [Their party is a party of liars/2x A jailbird is their leader] AD supporters singing at a public event: indirect reference to Obasanjo (Lagos Airport Hotel, Ikeja, Lagos, 19 July 2005) On 9 May 2007, the town of Ikenne was again in festive mood. It was the twentieth annual remembrance of Awóló: wò: ’s death and many dignitaries were present. Those present at the church service who were leaders of the Afé:nifé:re included the acting leader, Chief Reuben Fasoranti, members of the caucus, Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, Chief Ayo Adebanjo and the secretary- general, Dr Femi Okurounmu. However, many other Awoists were con- spicuously absent. For instance, none of the former AD governors attended the event. Also, members of the Senator Ayo Fasanmi-led faction of Afé:nifé:re did not attend. But the Action Congress governor-elect of Lagos State, Babatunde Fashola, and the PDP governors of Ogun State and Osun State, Gbenga Daniel and Olagunsoye Oyinlola, were present. Also present were the representatives of President Olusegun Obasanjo, the minister of state for air transportation, Femi Fani-Kayode, and the PDP 192 Part Two

Governor-elect of Delta State, Emmanuel Uduaghan. Some of my informants at the ceremony wondered why Obasanjo decided to send Fani- Kayode, the son of Awo’s ‘enemy’. The late prominent lawyer, Chief Remi Fani-Kayode, popularly called ‘Fani-Power’, was the deputy premier to Akintola. The choice of Fani-Kayode, for some of the Awoists, was an exercise in power at its most arrogant and insulting. Obasanjo must have deliberately sent the son of a ‘traitor’, to an event at which Awo was being celebrated, they concluded. This was despite the fact that the younger Fani- Kayode had much earlier publicly stated his personal admiration of Awo. In the message he delivered on behalf of the president, Fani-Kayode stated that though Awo died twenty years ago, he was still a factor to reckon with in Nigeria and beyond. Said Fani-Kayode: ‘Awóló: wò: ’s name will never die in the country. His contributions to Nigeria are well noted and still here with us for everybody to see.’ While some of the members of the congregation applauded Obasanjo’s acknowledgement of their late leader, the old Awoists were sceptical and easily dismissed the statements. They were united in the belief that Obasanjo did not mean those words, if he indeed speciﬁcally asked Fani-Kayode to deliver them. In his controversial memoirs, Not My Will (1990) Obasanjo had commented on Awo’s bid for the presidency in 1979 thus:

My knowledge of Nigeria convinced me that whoever would lead Nigeria politically must be tolerant, accommodating and forgiving. Some of the antecedental [sic] actions of Chief Awolowo that I know had not convinced me that he had these commodities [sic] .... Chief Awolowo seemed to have complexes either as a result of his birth or place of origin that he could not live down .... Playing on the fears of people is no leadership, it is exploitation ...I had nothing but sympathy for Chief Awolowo who seemed incapable of achieving his lifelong ambition to be his country’s chief executive .... [Awóló: wò: ] seemed to have exhibited signs of fixed delusion and subdued himself to excessive hatred and bitterness unbecoming of a professed Christian leader. (Obasanjo 1990, 172, 181, 182) Obasanjo added that he was sorry for Awo because Awo could not achieve what he – a barefooted high school boy when Awo visited his school, Baptist Boys’ High School, Abeokuta, in 1952 – was able to achieve in life: the leadership of Nigeria. Awo’s failure, Obasanjo added, was despite the fact that he had ‘struggled in vain [to become president] until he died’ (Obasanjo 1990, 182). Incidentally, many people, including his first wife, Oluremi (Obasanjo 2008), have also accused Obasanjo of some of the accusations he levelled against Awo, including intolerance and an unfor- giving spirit. Against the background of his attacks on Awo and his lieutenants over the years, and the recent massive rigging of the elections How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 193 believed to have been supervised by Obasanjo, the leading Awoists saw Obasanjo’s speech at the Awo remembrance as ‘insincere’. Dr Sunday Ola Makinde, the Prelate of the Methodist Church of Nigeria, who delivered the sermon at the occasion, seemed to have countered Obasanjo’s view of Awo in Not My Will, while stressing the conditions under which Awo was qualified for the praises heaped on him by Obasanjo at the service. The prelate attempted to give spiritual credence to Awo’s mission and vision, and his importance after his death. In a sermon entitled ‘Remembering Awo’s Unforgettable Deeds’, Makinde added that he decided to quote from the Book of Sirach (also known as Ecclesiasticus) because, among others, it was ‘written in praise of ancestors [which] fits the life and work of Chief Jeremiah Obafemi Awolowo’. After the church service, a few of the older Awoists met for an informal discussion – to which I was invited – on the massively rigged 2007 elections. What was to be done to rebuild the Awoist movement, as raised by the cleric who preached at the service, formed the basis of the discussion. Sir Ajayi, Chief Adebanjo and Senator Okurounmu debated whether it was desirable, given the way the group had splintered, to bring back all the members of the Awóló: wò: movement who had left the group for one reason or the other, since the departure of their leader twenty years ago. At this point in time, Afé:nifé:re had completely sundered, members having been ‘shared out’ among no less than five political parties. Despite the fractionalization, Obasanjo still is regarded by the Awoists as having constituted the biggest obstacle to the realization of the ambition of their leader, Awo, to become the President of Nigeria in 1979. The Awoists constantly reminded people of Obasanjo’s statement as military head of state that ‘the best candidate may not win’–which they saw as a veiled reference to Awo. During my fieldwork, Awo’s associates and followers regularly reminded me that ‘Obasanjo hated Awo’–in fact, for the most account, they used the present tense: ‘Obasanjo hates Awo’. This is not only an indication of Obasanjo’s posthumous ‘hatred’ of their leader, but also of the leader’s posthumous life. Chief Akinfenwa, the AD factional leader, told me ‘Obasanjo has profound hatred for Awolowo’. Also, Awo’s widow, Chief (Mrs) H.I.D. Awóló: wò: ,toldme,‘Ọmọ’kunrin yen o fẹran papa’ (lit. ‘That man – Obasanjo – does not like Papa [Awo]’). This was despite the fact that Obasanjo visited the matriarch a few times in Ikenne and paid tributes to her and her late husband. The matriarch and her husband’s followers are convinced that, despite such occasional gestures while in office as president, Obasanjo ‘detests’ Awo. Chief Olu Falae said to me: ‘Obasanjo’sgreatest 194 Part Two legacy is to obliterate Awo’s political legacy.’ Alhaji Lateef Jakande also told me during my fieldwork that Awo was so conscious of Obasanjo’snegative attitude towards him that he asked the latter in 1979, ‘Why do you hate me so much?’; while Chief Wumi Adegbonmire stated that ‘Obasanjo [usually] has migraine when he hears Awo’sname.’ Both Awo’s biological and political heirs therefore see Obasanjo as what Osundare (1990, 41,) poetically rendered as ‘History’sstammerer’, whose memory has not mas- tered ‘the vowels of [his] father’sname’. Thus, he is regarded as someone who is not a proper Yorùbá. Most of the problems within the Afé:nifé:re, and therefore in Yorùbáland, in the eight years of Obasanjo’s presidency, were said, by the core group members, to be traceable to Obasanjo’s hatred of Awo and his followers and the former’s attempts to destroy the group and Awo’s legacy (Ogunseye, Guardian, 24 and 25 March 1999). They often added that this included the way in which Obasanjo had ‘used Bola Ige’ to destroy the Awóló: wò: movement.

what are friends for? the fatality of affinity

A true friend always stabs you in the front Oscar Wilde On Saturday, 13 September 2008, eminent Yorùbá leaders and the admirers of former Governor of Oyo State and former attorney-general of the federation, Chief Bola Ige, who was assassinated in 21 December 2001, gathered at the Premier Hotel, Ibadan, for the posthumous celebration of his seventy-eighth birthday. I was asked to be the master of ceremonies at the event. The hall was ﬁlled. The posthumous lecture was delivered by Professor Sola Adeyeye, former member of the Federal House of Representatives, who was one of the closest intellectuals to Ige. In the middle of the lecture, Adeyeye broke down as he recalled the qualities of Ige and the details of his assassination. Against the backdrop of the disparaging comments that President Obasanjo recently made about his late friend, Adeyeye accused Obasanjo of being one of the ‘detractors’ of the slain lawyer. In the middle of delivering his lecture entitled, ‘If Ige Were Alive’, while denouncing Obasanjo’s role in Nigeria’s history and in Yorùbáland, Adeyeye sang a popular disparaging song about Obasanjo:

Do you know Obasanjo ma s’ewon l’ekan si? I know Obasanjo ma s’ewon l’ekan si. Do you know Obasanjo ma s’ewon l’eyin ijọba? I know Obasanjo ma s’ewon l’eyin ijoba. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 195

[Do you know (that) Obasanjo will be jailed once more? I know Obasanjo will be jailed once more. Do you know (that) Obasanjo will be jailed after leaving office? I know Obasanjo will be jailed after leaving office.] References to Obasanjo’s imprisonment under General Abacha, or the likelihood of his returning to jail, is constantly deployed by the Yorùbá in expressing their dissatisfaction with Obasanjo’s role in Yorùbá and Nigeria’s history. Adeyeye was hardly done with the first line of the song when the audience joined in the chorus. As speaker after speaker inveighed against the former president at the event, I was wondering at the irony of the friendship of the late Ige and President Obasanjo, which was brought to bold relief that day. What manner of friends were Ige and Obasanjo was a question that kept playing on my mind. The ‘repudiation of former trust and friendship’ and ‘personal’ betrayal that was evident in the Desmoulins–Robespierre case in the Terror-era in 18th-century France, led Marisa Linton (2008, 52), in her analysis of Jacobin ‘contradictory’ ideas about friendship, to conclude that ‘friendships could have fatal consequences’. Stupefied and crushed in the prison at Luxembourg, Desmoulins wrote to his wife, Lucile, lamenting: ‘This is my reward for so many virtues and sacrifices. I, who have braved so much hatred, so many perils, to devote my life for the past five years to the republic ...’ (ibid., 51) If Ige were to have a voice in his grave, he could have been lamenting in the same way, as his family members, friends and associates were lamenting in response to Obasanjo’s ‘betrayal’ of his friend. Scholars writing on friendship have always assumed that, while it lasts, friendship is ‘a significant, positive relationship’ (Walker 1995, 274), between at least two persons. It is further assumed that, being a positive relationship, friendship leads to positive consequences – such as ‘social support’, ‘understanding’, ‘equality’ and so on. Anthony Giddens (1991, 89) even goes as far as describing it as something close to a ‘pure relationship’. While anthropology, traditionally, has focused on kinship and affinity far more than friendship, in recent times there have been calls for ethnographers to focus more on friendship (Bell and Coleman 1999, 1–2) in the context of ‘numerous challenges to older social bonds based on kinship and proximity’. The need to focus more on friendship can be viewed against the backdrop of an observation made a few decades ago by Robert Paine (1969, 505): that ethnographers are involved in contexts in which ‘friendship was probably just as important as kinship’. Yet 196 Part Two ethnographers’‘academic preoccupations tended to dwell far more on the significance of blood ties for the construction and maintenance of social relations’ (ibid., cited in Bell and Coleman 1999, 1). Indeed, studying friendship, for anthropologists, raises ‘fundamental questions about our understanding of agency, emotion, creativity and the self’, challenges that ‘we cannot afford to ignore’ (ibid., 2). Here, I attempt to show, through the ‘fatal affinity’ between two friends, Ige and Obasanjo, that friendship does not always produce positive results, as assumed in the literature, nor does it necessarily preclude unhealthy competition among those described as ‘friends’. If Obasanjo is considered as the nemesis of ‘the Leader’ (Awo), he was a worse nemesis, as it turned out, of his friend, Ige – Awóló: wò: ’s ‘heir’. Ige was assassinated in his home in 2001, after serving notice to quit the Obasanjo cabinet at the end of March 2002. Some of my respondents repeatedly alleged that, ‘Àfì gbà t’okunrin’yen [Obasanjo] r’ẹyin Bola Ige!’ (lit: ‘That man ultimately saw the back of Ige!’). For some, it was Ige’s loyalty to an ‘undeserving’, and ‘even cruel’, friend that led him to his grave. Mr Yemi Farounbi, Ige’s special adviser as governor of Oyo State, told me that, ‘Ige can be the friend of two enemies [as he was of Awo and Obasanjo]. He was incapable of deep-seated anger or malice.’ Indeed, Ige himself said to me a few times during his lifetime, that while the Yorùbá would endorse punishment for a filial wrongdoer, they would rally to the wrongdoer’s side if they perceived the punishment as either excessive or unduly prolonged. He was faithful, he usually added, to that cultural impatience that the Yorùbá had against extremism or fundamentalist passions. But beyond personal and cultural explanations, some argued that what Ige displayed in his friendship with Obasanjo by accepting to serve under him – after attempting to contest the presidency against his friend – was ‘terrible political indiscretion’. Farounbi puts it differently: ‘As extremely intelligent, as intellectual as he was, [Ige could also be as] naïve as a baby .... He had lost a correct interpretation of the Nigerian dynamics.’ Ige’s assassination while serving in Obasanjo’s government is regarded by some key members of the group as part of a historical trajectory that could only have led Ige to his political and/or physical grave. Interestingly enough, some of the leaders of the group who were Ige’s ‘adversaries’ in the last few years of his life, also featured in the crisis in the group involving Ige and Obasanjo two decades earlier, in the early 1980s. The past, that is, particular interpretations of it, is, therefore, constantly evoked in How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 197 understanding and appreciating present actions by members of the Yorùbá political elite. As related by some of the leaders of the group, in 1982, Ige, then the Governor of Oyo State, was involved in a feud with his deputy, Chief Sunday M. Afolabi. Afolabi was Obasanjo’s ‘senior’ at the famous Baptist Boys High School, Abeokuta. Ige, on his part, had been a friend to Obasanjo since he was a commissioner in the cabinet of the military governor of the Western State in the 1970s. Obasanjo was then the commander of the army brigade stationed in Ibadan. The Iges and the Obasanjos were, therefore, family friends. Given his relationship with both Ige and Afolabi, Obasanjo, the inveterate enemy of the party and the leader, was invited to intervene in the local feud. This was without the knowledge of the party, the UPN, and its leader, Awóló: wò: . This intervention, ostensibly confidential, was later reported to Chief Awóló: wò: by Ige’s adversaries within the party. Eventually, the matter, considered a serious ‘anti-party’ activity, was brought before the National Executive Committee of the UPN in Yola in 1982. Ige and Afolabi were subjected to a trial by the party for several hours. At the trial in Yola, Jakande, Ige’s rival, who was then governor of Lagos State, was said to have stood up to condemn Ige and Afolabi’s action in the strongest of terms and demanded their expulsion from the party for ‘anti-party activities’. When I spoke to Jakande in 2005, he denied that he asked for Ige’s expulsion. On the contrary, Jakande claimed to have tried to ensure the resolution of the crisis. However, every other person present at the meeting, including Chief Ebenezer Babatope, then the party’s director of organization, Dr Fetmi Okurounmu, Chief Ayo Adebanjo and Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, denied that Jakande played any such reconciliatory role. They all affirmed that Jakande categorically called for Ige’s expulsion. Sir Olaniwun told me that he too spoke to condemn the action in strong terms, but reminded the group of the events of precisely two decades earlier, in 1962 at Jos, when Akintola was expelled by the National Executive Committee of the Action Group (AG) for ‘politically carousing’ in the company of the party’s enemies, the Northern People’s Congress (NPC), and its leader, Ahmadu Bello. This expulsion led to a crisis which eventually consumed the party (AG) and the First Republic. Sir Olaniwun, with this in mind, suggested that both ‘accused’ should be seriously reprimanded, but not expelled. My key informants, who attended the meeting in Yola, said that, at Ige’s instance, Ige and Afolabi, governor and deputy, decided to swear on the lives of their firstborn to prove the veracity of their counter claims. Some of 198 Part Two my informants remembered that it was at the point of swearing on the lives of their children, that Awóló: wò: , despite the mood of the meeting, stopped the trial. The leader was said to have been totally displeased with the fact that the men swore on the lives of their children. He was said to have subsequently asked that Ige and Afolabi be reprimanded but forgiven. However, two of my informants claimed that after the meeting Awóló: wò: told them privately that he was cautious about provoking another major crisis within the movement, which he feared could happen with Ige’s expulsion. The informants added that Awóló: wò: stated that he could see ‘another Akintola’ in Ige, given their (Ige and Akintola’s) shared gifts, including great eloquence, linguistic competence (in English, Yorùbá and Hausa) and their capacity for demagoguery. Commented Governor Adefarati about Ige in the context of the crisis between 1999 and 2001: ‘Ige is number one problem in Yorùbáland .... [W]ith the appointment of Ige as the deputy [leader of Afé:nifé:re], well, I think the type of assistance he was giving [Adesanya] was similar to what Akintola gave Papa Awóló: wò: ’ (TELL, 26 March 2001, 30–1). This reading of new events, which links them to earlier events in a trajectory of struggles and victories of good over evil, light over darkness, is a favourite of the members of the group. Ige, in this context, was a potential resurrection of Akintola, the archetypal improper Yorùbá. Interestingly enough, an internal enemy, or kin-enmity in general, is understood by the Yorùbá as far more devastating than non-kin enmity. In fact, in traditional Yorùbá belief, one can hardly suffer spiritual harm or targeted evil if there no kin collaborators are in league with the enemy. They say, ‘eyin’kule l’ota wa, ile l’ase ni ngbe’ (lit. ‘the enemy lives beyond the compound, the one who does harm lives within the household’). It is therefore understandable that when the crisis in the Afé:nifé:re reached its height shortly before Ige died, and while he was still in Obasanjo’s cabinet, some members of the group had started to dub him the ‘Second Akintola’ and regularly recalled the events of 1962 (Jos) involving Akintola, and 1982 (Yola) involving Ige, as ‘proof’ of Ige’s assumption of Akintola’s unenviable status. The group’s leaders, therefore, still had fresh memories of Ige’s near expulsion from the party owing to ‘fraternizing’ with the group’s latest (or, for them, Public) Enemy Number One: President Olusegun Obasanjo. However, Odia Ofeimun, Awo’s former private secretary, put a different slant on what must have influenced Awóló: wò: ’s position in 1982. Ofeimun told me that Awóló: wò: was aware of the struggle for succession going on between Ige and Jakande. Jakande’s pursuit of his ambition was How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 199 said to have been far more overt than Ige’s. Unknown to many people, argued Ofeimun, Awóló: wò: was using one to check the ambition of the other, so that, while scheming against each other, they could not threaten Awóló: wò: ’s leadership of the group. Both Ige and Jakande had presidential ambitions during the Second Republic and were hoping to be the UPN’s (or a progressive coalition’s) presidential candidate in 1983 or 1987. Ofeimun added that, ‘If Awóló: wò: allowed Jakande to get Ige out of the party, the next thing would be that he would aim for Awóló: wò: himself.’ Whatever might have been on the mind of Awóló: wò: as he saved ‘Obasanjo’s friends’, Ige and Afolabi, from being expelled, from 1979 onwards, and more so after the 1982 incident, Obasanjo continued to feature in the group’s life and in the members’ understanding ‘as a constant, lurking peril’–as one of my informants put it. For the group, when Obasanjo refused to support the struggle for the validation of the 12 June 1993 presidential election won by Chief Moshood Abiola, a fellow Egba, he was only continuing in his ‘life-course’ as an improper Yorùbá. When Obasanjo was eventually arrested and jailed by General Abacha’s regime for complicity in an alleged coup plot, a few members of the Yorùbá elite believed that Obasanjo had finally met his comeuppance. Despite this position, however, because Obasanjo’s imprisonment also constituted material in the fight against Abacha’s dictatorship, he won the public, even if not the private, sympathy of the group’s leaders. When Obasanjo became the consensus candidate of the conservative coalition of politicians in the north for the presidency in early 1999, the Awoists agreed that he had returned to his ‘traditional role’ as a ‘lackey’ of the Hausa-Fulani north; one who could be used against his own people. His friend, Ige, even stated publicly that what Nigeria needed was not ‘a surrogate’ (Sketch, 14 December 1998, 1). Subsequently, virtually all the candidates of Obasanjo’s party, the PDP, were thoroughly defeated in the state and national elections in 1999 in the Yorùbá region. In the federal elections, Obasanjo scored up to 25 per cent of the votes cast in the presidential race in only two (Ekiti and Ogun states) of the six core Yorùbá states, while he lost to AD even in his own ward and local government area. This was despite his promise to ‘reshape the thinking [of Nigerians] and ensure that Nigerian leaders should seek the broad and not the tribal base’ (Sketch, 7 December 1998, 1). When Ige accepted a position under Obasanjo in the post-D’Rovans era, his relationship with others in the core leadership of Afé:nifé:re wors- ened. Obasanjo, my informants claimed, was not only aware of this, but decided to exploit it. While he encouraged Ige’s decision to ‘avenge 200 Part Two himself’, which led to the creation of YCE, he also encouraged Ige’s adversaries in their view of Ige as ‘immodest’ and ‘error-prone’. Chief Adebanjo revealed to me during fieldwork that Obasanjo once told Adesanya, the Ooni of Ife, and himself, at a meeting in Ota, that ‘Ige is over-confident’. This was an ominous statement, coming from a friend for whom Ige had sacrificed part of his credibility in Yorùbáland. It was also an indication that Obasanjo was convinced that – as Ige’s former aide, Farounbi, stated – Ige ‘had lost a correct interpretation of Nigerian dynamics’. As the elite struggled against each other within Afé:nifé:re, the AD also became an important ground to play out their rivalries. At one point there was complete disagreement between the National Executive Committee, NEC, of the party led by the chairman, Ambassador Yusuf Mamman (supported by Adebanjo and other leaders of the group) and the National Convention Committee, NCC, led by the governor of Ekiti State, Mr Niyi Adebayo (supported by Ige and the AD Governors). Ige was accused of holding clandestine meetings with some members of the party from the north to ensure that there was no reconciliation of the positions of the NEC and NCC, and to encourage the northern members to threaten mass resignation from the party if the national convention of the party was not held on or before 15 September 2000. This information was alleged to have been reported to Adebanjo by some of the officers of the party from the north. Ige was also accused of planning to either take over the AD or gather those who had resigned from the party into another party. Some even said he was encouraging the creation of Afé:nifé:re Ẹsa- Oke by demanding that the leadership should move from Ijebu-Igbo (under Adesanya) to Esa-Oke (his hometown) (Babarinde 2002, 2). For some, this attempt by Ige supporters to ‘supplant’ Adesanya was regarded as similar to Ige’s alleged earlier attempt to supplant Awo. Even though he was no longer involved with the Awo movement, popular poet and former member of the UPN, Chief Olarewaju Adepoju, told me about what he regarded as Ige’s attempt to ‘supplant’ Awo and become the presidential candidate of the UPN, after Awo had lost the 1979 election. ‘I noticed that [once] Awo lost [the] elections in 1979, and some of his men won the governorship, some of them lost focus as far as Awóló: wò: ’s presidential ambition come 1983 was concerned. They started working at cross-purposes. Some of them laying bridges for their individual ambition[s] by building coalition and alliances across the country independent of Awo’, said the popular poet. ‘In Oyo State for instance, the slogan “Awo!” was quietly replaced with “Ige!” .... [F]ree education How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 201 students ...were branded “omo Bola Ige” [Bola Ige’s children”] instead of “ọmo Awóló: wò: ” [“Awo’s children”] as it used to be.’ The popular poet later left the UPN over his dissatisfaction with Ige. At a meeting of the Afé:nifé:re on 31 August 2000, allegations of disloyalty and encouraging fractionalization were levelled against Ige for the second time in his political life within the Awoist movement. Many of the members were very angry with Ige, with some of the younger members (who Ige’s supporters accused of being ‘sponsored’ by some of the elders) requesting his expulsion from Afé:nifé:re. But Adesanya deflected their anger by stating in Yorùbá that, ‘a kii f’ari l’ẹyin olori’ (lit: ‘You do not shave a man’s head in his absence’). He therefore insisted that Ige had to be present to defend himself before a decision could be taken. The group was moving towards its third attempt at expelling a ranking member of the group in its fifty-year existence. Ige featured twice – in 1982 and in 2000 – in these bids. Also, the office of deputy leader of the group was at stake for the second time in an expulsion case – Akintola in 1962, Ige in 2000. Less than two decades after his earlier escape from expulsion from the group/party, Ige thus faced another expulsion threat. Ige attended the extra-ordinary meeting of 500 delegates held at Ijebu- Igbo on 10 September 2000 to ‘try’ him. He denied all allegations of anti- party activities. But he was said to have admitted holding some clandestine meetings, while claiming that they were in the interest of the party. Some of the members of the group told me that Adesanya adroitly led the meeting towards absolving Ige of the charges. However, Ige was told not to hold meetings with party members without approval from the party leadership, and to curb his public utterances about the party and Afé:nifé:re. A ranking member of the group later told me, ‘Awóló: wò: saved Ige in Yola in 1982, and Adesanya saved him at Ijebu-Igbo in 2000.’ Ige himself said that ‘everything had gone well and praise, thanks and glory belong to God’. But did everything go well? Could Ige have persuaded himself that this ‘trial’, against the backdrop of a series of tests he had faced within the group, did not constitute humiliation for him? A similar assurance, that all was well, had been given at the end of the reconciliation meeting of 26 March 2000 (see Chapter 5). Despite the assurances over the Alajobi-inspired reconciliation earlier in the year, relations between the leaders continued to deteriorate. For some members, therefore, the expulsion of Ige was the ultimate solution. This was so, from what I gathered from members of the group on both sides, because Ige was indeed planning to take over the leadership of the group (Afé:nifé:re) and control of the political party (AD). But how he intended to do this was not 202 Part Two clear to even his closest associates. Being a keen student of Yorùbá politics, Ige knew he had to choose the right time to strike, so that his adversaries would not conspire to successfully hang on him the ‘horrible mantle’ of Akintola, as one of his admirers put it. This explains why, despite all the actions that Ige must have regarded as ‘harassment, intimidation, insult and humiliation’, he refused to leave Afé:nifé:re. At any rate, since he had stated that the current Afé:nifé:re was formed in his home, he could not hand over what he assumed to be his ‘brainchild’ to his adversaries in the group. As Jimi Agbaje puts it, ‘Ige never forgave them [Ijebu Four] for D’Rovans[‘selection of Falae]. Ige wanted to show them that he was superior to them, [that] he was the candidate of the people, [that] he was the moving spirit in Yorùbáland.’ Ige’s planned resignation from the federal cabinet and return home from Abuja would have created new dynamics within Afé:nifé:re in particular, and Yorùbá politics in general – with important implications for national politics. Some of my informants said that if Ige’s adversaries within the group were wary of what he would do if he returned to ‘reorganize’ the AD and Afé:nifé:re, Obasanjo and the members of the PDP in Yorùbáland ‘were jittery, knowing that with Ige’s political influence in Yorùbáland, it would be difficult for them to win elections in 2003’. How, then, can we understand Adesanya’s deliberate act of saving Ige from being expelled, despite the strain in their relationship? An informant told me that, instructively, Adesanya had stated that, ‘Whatever would happen to Bọla [Ige] would be caused by Bọla himself. Afé:nifé:re would have no hand in it.’ However, despite the fact that Ige was not expelled, as Akintola was, coincidentally he was assassinated, like Akintola. But unlike Akintola, Ige was not killed in a military coup, he was assassinated by unknown gun- men, a killing which, his family and friends alleged, was politically motivated.

how to crush your political enemies: af: nif: re, obasanjo and 2003 elections

The group/party’s loss in the 2003 elections in which all but one of its six governors were defeated caused the implosion of the Afé:nifé:re and the slide of their political party, AD, into total disintegration. Several factors led to the implosion of the group. The most important of these factors, I suggest, was the fuzzy alliance that the group had forged with President Olusegun Obasanjo – and the consequent savaging of the group/party that was How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 203 engineered by him. The members of the Afé:nifé:re gave different reasons why they decided on agreeing an understanding with Obasanjo in respect of the 2003 elections, but most of them were united in their opinion that Obasanjo, like Esu, the Yorùbá trickster god, ‘deceived’ them. They consequently accused President Obasanjo of ‘treachery’. As early as 2001, Ige had already given an indication of what was likely to happen between the group and Obasanjo. While he was working on either forming an entirely new party or building one from the disaffected factions of the existing parties (Vanguard, 8 September 1999, 1–2), Ige said that, ‘But if we leaders in Yorùbáland decide to support Obasanjo [for the 2003 presidential election], we will also do and tell the people that we are supporting Obasanjo not PDP and Yorùbá people can easily understand that. They can easily understand the difference between Obasanjo and PDP.’ When news started to filter that this was already happening in late 2002 and early 2003, even some junior members of the group found it incred- ulous that the leading Awóló: wò: associates would support the arch-enemy of the group. They recalled the traditional hostility in Afé:nifé:re to Obasanjo and what he represented. The last attempt at reaching an understanding was in July 1994 when Obasanjo visited Ajasin in Owo in the presence of other Awoists; then he was accused by the latter of having worked against their leader’s victory at the polls in 1979 and against Yorùbá interests ever since (see TheNEWS 27 February 1995, 31). This was part of the background of the sour relationship between Afé:nifé:re and Obasanjo. Thus, again, the insertion of Ige and Obasanjo’s friendship into the Afé:nifé:re (Awoists)-Obasanjo relationship was marked by paradoxes. By 2002, that is, after Ige’s assassination, when Obasanjo started making moves towards getting the Yorùbá to support him for a second term, the plans seem to be two-pronged. First, Obasanjo worked with the already converted, that is, the Ige-inspired Yorùbá Council of Elders (YCE), and, second, he had started working towards converting the Afé:nifé:re/AD, which had greater electoral value and controlled the six states of Yorùbáland. But President Obasanjo did not merely approach the Afé:nifé:re as a group – he also worked on the key individuals within it, making contact with the AD governors, individually and jointly. He first met with them jointly at Dodan Barracks in Lagos in July 2002. Obasanjo persuaded the AD–Afé:nifé:re governors not to hold local government elections, which were due in August 2002, in their states. Indeed, as I was told by former Ogun State Governor, Chief Segun Osoba, it was the AD governors themselves who pointed out the strategic nature of the local 204 Part Two government elections to Obasanjo as he started his wooing of them. This was critical, because elected local government chairmen were part of the electorate at any party national convention. Therefore, if the elections were held at that level, Obasanjo would have lost a substantial number of potential delegates for his party’s convention, given that virtually all the local government council chairmanship seats in the south-west would be won by the AD. In consequence, Obasanjo would have had to go to his party’s presidential primaries with only a handful of potential supporters from his home region. Some of the governors, like Lam Adesina of Oyo and Ade Adefarati of Ondo were early converts to the Obasanjo gambit. But, surprisingly for many, despite being also close to Ige, Governor Akande of Osun State refused for a long time to have anything to do with Obasanjo and regularly attacked him in the pages of newspapers until the presidential elections were due. By the time an agreement was reached with the Afé:nifé:re, Akande, at the commencement of his own re-election campaign, told the people of Osun State that ‘Obasanjo as their kinsman has done well to earn their votes’ during the presidential elections (Guardian, 17 March 2003, 3). However, after the elections, in which the AD governors were rigged out, Akande dismissed President Obasanjo as ‘a fraud’ (Guardian, 21 January 2006). On his part, Governor Segun Osoba of Ogun State told me that he was persuaded to support Obasanjo for a second term due to pressures from leading Yorùbá monarchs, businessmen and politicians, including the highly respected Yorùbá obas, as well as billionaire businessmen and Osoba’s friends, Alhaji Arisekola Alao and Chief Oba Otudeko. ‘It became clear to me that all the traditional rulers were being pressurized by Obasanjo, except the Awujale who was acting independently’, Osoba said. The Afé:nifé:re caucus eventually decided to accept the proposal to ensure that the AD did not field a presidential candidate against Obasanjo. Adesanya was mandated to lead discussions with Obasanjo. It can be argued that, next to the D’Rovans debacle, this decision would produce the gravest consequences – leading to the termination of Afé:nifé:re’s electoral hegemony in Yorùbáland for about eight years. However, given the ‘ideal’ and ‘principles’ on which the pact with Obasanjo was based, the caucus members assumed that they were on firm ground. This was all the more so since, with the exception of Ige, the members of the innermost circle of the group were not as interested in the presidency of Nigeria as they were in ensuring ‘genuine federalism’–as they stated to me repeatedly during my fieldwork. The key issues on which How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 205 the pact was based revolved around the key elements of the ‘Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Creed’, as written down by the group members in 1993, which was later renamed the ‘Afé:nifé:re Credo’ by the Committee on Political Restructuring in 2003. The members of the Afé:nifé:re caucus, including the leader, Chief Adesanya, his lieutenants, Chief Adebanjo, Sir Ajayi, Chief C.O. Adebayo, and the governors met secretly with President Obasanjo at his Ota farm in Ogun State where they presented their demands, which constituted the basis of the agreement to support him for the 2003 presidential election. After the various discussions with Obasanjo, Adesanya then sent a highly confidential ‘Memorandum of Understanding’ to the president to state the matters on which agreement had been reached. The preamble of the MOU, dated Sunday, 16 February 2003 – a copy of which was given to me by one of the top members of the group – states: ‘Following my previous discussions with you and meetings with our [AD] Governors, there is a measure of understanding between us now for which reason the group has ensured that our party would not be confronting you with an opponent in the forthcoming elections. The Group therefore hopes that we can have agreement of the following essentials as the basis of our collaboration: 1. There should be shedding of weight by the Central (Federal) Government so that more responsibilities would devolve to the States and Local Governments 2. More revenue should go down to the States and Local Governments concomitant with the new responsibilities 3. There should be a National Census to have accurate data for National Planning 4. A National Conference would be convened to lay the basis for a peaceful, harmonious and mutually beneficial relationship among the constituent units of the Federation 5. While ensuring the quantum of votes for optimal advantage for you in our zone, there should be reciprocal respect for our hold on all the states in our political space 6. There should be consultation with the group on political appoint- ments from our area.’4 One demand that was made that remains controversial was about the elections. While some of those present, like Osoba, insisted that the

4 ‘Memorandum of Understanding’, dated Sunday, 16 February 2003; emphasis added. 206 Part Two group only demanded a free and fair elections in the Yorùbá West, which, they assumed, would ensure the victory of Afé:nifé:re’s (AD’s) candidates in all the state and federal elections, except the presidency, the number five item on the list of the group’s demands indicated otherwise. A top member of the group even told me in an informal discussion that there was ‘a more confidential verbal agreement that both Obasanjo and the group should work together by doing everything necessary to ensure the highest number of votes for Obasanjo and the AD candidates’. Some of those present at the meeting stated that Obasanjo accepted all the demands and was even more vociferous than the Afé:nifé:re leaders about ‘dealing with the north’ and ending the region’s assumed ‘domination’ over the rest of Nigeria. Osoba, Adebanjo and Ajayi confirmed to me during separate interviews that Obasanjo told the group leaders that once a ‘true and credible’ census – which he had planned for his second term – was conducted, the ‘lie that the north was greater in population then the south would end’. Obasanjo was also quoted as stating that he had started implementing ‘fiscal federalism’, by ensuring the privatization of publicly owned businesses that were used by ‘northerners to disproportionately access federal resources’. The meeting must have ended on a happy note for the Afé:nifé:re leaders, because Osoba said that, at the Gateway Hotel, Ota, where he hosted the Afé:nifé:re leaders after the meeting with Obasanjo, Chief Ayo Adebanjo was so excited about the way Obasanjo spoke that he told Osoba that ‘this man [Obasanjo] has changed’. For the Afé:nifé:re leaders, Obasanjo, who was assumed to be a lackey of the north and an inveterate hater of the Awóló: wò: movement had, seemingly, been transformed by his experience as president of Nigeria. There was time yet for them to know if they were right. However, the number five item troubled the governorship candidates of Obasanjo’s PDP in the Yorùbá states, who picked up some intelligence about the agreement between their rivals and the presidential candidate of their party. Perhaps they did not get a copy of the secret MOU, but they were sufficiently informed about the agreement on ‘the quantum of votes for optimal advantage for [Obasanjo] in [Afé:nifé:re/AD] zone, [and the] reciprocal respect for our hold on all the states in our political space’. Even before the MOU was sent to Obasanjo, the PDP governorship candidates in the six Yorùbá states and the leadership of the party in the Yorùbá areas requested a meeting with Obasanjo. At the meeting, they expressed their fears over, and disagreement with, the rumoured agreement between Obasanjo and Afé:nifé:re/AD on ensuring the victory of AD’s governors at the polls. At this point, Obasanjo had won the ticket of his party, PDP. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 207

This confidential meeting was held at the Aso Rock Presidential Villa on the evening of 30 January 2003. I was given a copy of the minutes of the meeting by one of my informants. The president led his own team, described as the ‘presidential team’, which included Alhaji Shuaibu Oyedokun, the national deputy chairman (south) of the PDP; Chief S.M. Afolabi, the presidential campaign coordinator (south-west); Chief Richard Akinjide, member of the PDP Board of Trustees; Chief Bode Olajumoke, also on the Board of Trustees; Chief Oshunrinde, also a member of the Board of Trustees; Chief Bode George, chairman, PDP South-West; and Dr Gbolade Osinowo, special assistant to the president on political affairs (south-west). On the other side were the six state chairmen of the PDP in the south-west and all the governorship candidates of the party in the zone, including Mr Funsho Williams (Lagos), Mr Gbenga Daniel (Ogun), Senator Rasheed Ladoja (Oyo), Dr Segun Agagu (Ondo), Mr Ayo Fayose (Ekiti) and Col. Olagunsoye Oyinlola, rtd (Osun). Agagu spoke for the gubernatorial candidates. After congratulating Obasanjo for ‘being a listening father’ and winning the PDP ticket, Agagu said that there was the ‘need for dialogue and harmonization of strategy between Mr. President and the gubernatorial candidates of the party, especially in the South-West’. Specifically, he told Obasanjo that the gubernatorial candidates ‘were disturbed and worried by the so-called “PACT” with AD Governors in South-West States’. Agagu drew Obasanjo’s attention to the ‘fact’ that the AD ‘as a party ... is a divided house’, and gave ‘specific examples of this in each of the states controlled by the party’. He therefore concluded that what ‘belongs to us’ should not be given to the AD governors. Obasanjo spoke next. He assured the governorship candidates that he was ‘not a selfish man, who will sacrifice their own future for his sake’. According to the minutes, Obasanjo asked the candidates, ‘What [would] be his pride if he [won] the presidential election and lose [sic] the Gubernatorial election in his zone’? Continues the minutes:

Mr. President ...confessed holding a meeting with AD Governors, which the issue of a second term was raised .... On whether the issue of incumbency ...would be [used in the AD states] ...[he] said a number of things will be put in place in [the] south-west which will curtail any incumbency power by AD states-controlled Governors.5

5 Recording of the discussion Mr President had with south-west gubernatorial candidates of the party, 30 January 2003, Presidency, Abuja. Emphasis added. 208 Part Two

The record of the meeting seems to point to a politically sagacious Obasanjo, one who was well aware of the game he was playing with the different layers of the Yorùbá power elite and the ambitious politicians. The president is said in the minutes to have explained his understanding of the political dynamics further:

The AD Governors would be politically naïve not to know that winning the six states in [the] South-West is a priority and of interest to him. This will boost his political image and make Nigerians and the world know that the Yorùbá nation have joined the mainstream of national politics.6 At this point, there was loud ovation and ‘all the gubernatorial candidates prostrated on the ground to say “Thank you” to Mr. President’.7 Obasanjo’s statement on the Yorùbá nation joining the mainstream of national politics was later used publicly by Bode George to describe the outcome of the elections when the PDP candidates won in ﬁve of the six states. Interestingly enough, the details of this meeting, including the minutes, were also leaked to the Afé:nifé:re leader, Chief Adesanya. Adesanya then asked Obasanjo for an urgent meeting with the Afé:nifé:re leaders. As usual, Obasanjo asked them to his farm in Ota. Every one of the meetings with the Afé:nifé:re leaders was held in the south-west, often in Ota, except the meeting with Osoba and the Awujale, which was held in Abuja. The leader of Afé:nifé:re, Adesanya, requested two prominent Yorùbá clerics, Bishop Emmanuel Gbonigi and Bishop Ayo Ladigbolu, to join the former gover- nor of Kwara State (and later Obasanjo’s minister of communication), Chief Cornelius O. Adebayo, the president’s home state governor, Governor Segun Osoba, and two traditional rulers, the Awujale of Ijebuland, Oba Sikiru Adetona and Oba Ijowa, as witnesses to the meeting. At the meeting, as related to me by Bishop Ladigbolu, Governor Osoba and one other informant, Adesanya directly accused Obasanjo of planning to ‘ambush’ the AD and Afé:nifé:re. The Yorùbá leader told the president that he had ‘credible information’ that he was planning to renege on the agreement they had with him in favour of massive rigging that would lead to the electoral defeat of the Afé:nifé:re/AD candidates. As Governor Segun Osoba of Ogun State put it, ‘Papa Adesanya bluntly told Obasanjo that he was planning to use “military tactics” to steal the elections’. If this were to

6 Ibid. Emphasis added. 7 Ibid. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 209 happen, the Afé:nifé:re leader feared a mass uprising that might lead to the collapse of the Fourth Republic – a repeat of what happened in the First and Second Republics. Adesanya added that he called the clerics and the traditional rulers to join the meeting with the president to act as ‘God’sand posterity’s witnesses’. Bishop Gbonigi, to the surprise of others, confirmed Adesanya’s ‘credible information’. When he was challenged by a visibly angry President Obasanjo, Gbonigi said his information came from his friend and Governor of Ondo State, Chief Ade Adefarati. Obasanjo rubbished Adefarati’s credibility, but Gbonigi insisted that he could vouch for him. Gbonigi and Bishop Ladigbolu therefore called for caution. The Awujale also intervened. Rather than challenge the credibility of the fears expressed by the politicians and the bishop, the traditional ruler of Ijebuland asked the president to state what he would do to ensure free and fair elections. In the end, according to Bishop Ladigbolu, President Obasanjo gave solemn assurances that everyone would act within the law, adding that he was not intent on reneging on his promise: ‘politics is not a do-or-die thing; winning or losing, we are all still citizens of Nigeria’, Ladigbolu remembers the president as saying to the gathering (interview, Oyo, 8 January 2007). When the elections were held in April 2003, the AD had no presidential candidate. The Yorùbá, at least going by the official figures, voted overwhelmingly for Obasanjo – even though Obasanjo’s party was accused of ‘adding much more’ to the valid votes cast for him. He scored 92 per cent in Ekiti, 69 per cent in Lagos, 99 per cent in Ogun, 94 per cent in Ondo, 95 per cent in Osun and 93 per cent in Oyo. These results were in stark contrast to Obasanjo’s electoral fortune in the Yorùbá states in the 1999 presidential elections when he ran against APP–AD’s candidate, Olu Falae. In 1999, he scored 26 per cent in Ekiti, 11 per cent in Lagos, 15 per cent in Ondo, 30 per cent in Ogun, 23 per cent in Osun and 24 per cent in Oyo. However, all but one of the governors of the Afé:nifé:re/Alliance for Democracy (in Ekiti, Lagos, Ogun, Ondo, Osun and Oyo states) were defeated at the polls by the PDP candidates in the 2003 gubernatorial election. The group/party also lost its majority in all but one of the State Houses of Assembly, while only a few of its candidates for the federal parliament won elections against the PDP candidates. The leaders and most members of the Afé:nifé:re believed that the president ‘tricked them’ into the pact, rigged the elections for his party and did not respect his end of the deal. Subsequently, both the group and the party imploded. The leaders of the group and the rank and file traded accusations in the media. Some denied knowledge of the ‘understanding’ with 210 Part Two

Obasanjo, while others accused some leaders of complicity. However, the truth is that the core leadership of the group and all the governors had consented to the decision to support Obasanjo in the 2003 presidential race. Against the background of the inﬁghting that resulted in the Afé:nifére and AD, many felt that Yorùbáland had returned to the early 1960s in its political and cultural fractionalization, but with deeper political enmities: dangerous discords with the potential for widespread and destabilizing violence. Obasanjo was seen by many as the main ‘odada’ (‘instigator’), acting singly or, for some, alongside Ige, to cause the implosion in the AD and Afé:nifé:re. Yinka Odumakin, the publicity secretary of the Afé:nifé:re, said,

Obasanjo has succeeded in polarising the [Yorùbá] race to the extent that some of our leaders could now be found in the Alliance for Democracy (AD), some in the Action Congress (AC), some in Democratic People’s Alliance (DPA) while some are even in the People’s Democratic Party (PDP). His [Obasanjo’s] agenda is to ensure that by the end of his tenure, he would assume the leadership of the race, but he fails to realise that Chief Obafemi Awolowo achieved that status by a dint of hard work. He was never a selfish leader. (Independent 17 January 2007,B3) Another informant said that in the second coming of Obasanjo, he ‘tried to complete the work he started in his first coming in the late 70s: the destruction of Awo and his movement’, adding that ‘The Yorùbá say that ti ile kan ba ntoro, omo ale ibe o tii d’agba ni.[‘If a particular household is peaceful, it is because the bastard in the household is yet to mature.’] This was what happened with Obasanjo’s second coming.’ It was yet another play on Yorùbá binaries, this time between omooko (true- born), meaning proper Yorùbá, and omoale (bastard) – which also trans- lates to an improper Yorùbá. As one of the most vocal Yorùbá supporters of Obasanjo stated in a confidential letter to a Yorùbá leader in the PDP, Awóló: wò: ’s associates ‘who operate like a cult’, treated Obasanjo and his name ‘as an outcast in Odùduwà’s House’.8 At the end of the day, as some of my respondents averred, the ‘outcast’ had brought a bulldozer to the house. It is in the context of this politics of proper Yorùbáness that one can understand the ‘revelation’ by the Nation newspaper on Obasanjo’s paternity, shortly after Obasanjo left power. The paper, owned principally by former Governor Tinubu, published photographs of Obasanjo and one

8 This conﬁdential letter, written in March 2005, was shown to me by someone who was given a copy by the writer. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 211

‘Igbo [man] who lived in Abeokuta area of Ogun State in the 1930s about when the former president was born .... But before leaving the south-west, he interacted fruitfully with the local community and had a brief affair with an Owu lady’ (Nation, 10 June 2007, 1). The striking resemblance between the man (an Igbo, named Igwe Okwudili Onyejekwe, who was later the Obi of Onitsha), who was rumoured to be Obasanjo’s real father, and the former president was, in Yorùbá eyes, a decisive ‘conﬁrmation’ that such a man as Obasanjo could not have been a proper Yorùbá – even though his mother was incontrovertibly one. This further illuminates contemporary discourses of proper and improper Yorùbáness. Obasanjo never personally responded to this challenge regarding his paternity.

death and an elite in retrenchment

Well, that’s what politics is, you make your way over corpses Aunt Adelina in Mario Vargas Llosa, The Feast of the Goat (2002, 201) ‘The murderers are among us’, said Professor Wole Soyinka, Nobel laureate and Bola Ige’s friend at the funeral oration at the Liberty Stadium on 11 January 2002 (see Figure 15). ‘Let no one be in any doubt’, Soyinka went on, ‘they sit among us, right within this sombre gathering that honours the passage of a hero. There are the unwitting collaborators whose blind politics brought this moment to be, whose primitive notions of contestation offered up this lamb on sacrificial platter. Perhaps they are contrite.’ Whether they were contrite or not, the murderers of Ige, perhaps deliberately, could also be said to have dealt a fatal blow to the political tradition, which, for about five decades, championed Yorùbá interests as defined around Awóló: wò: ’s ideas. For some of my informants, Soyinka had Ige’s adversaries within Afé:nifé:re in mind –‘whose primitive notions of contestation offered up this lamb on sacrificial platter’–as much as those who actually conspired to physically eliminate Ige. As the crowd, almost comparable to the crowd that greeted his leader’s corpse fourteen years earlier, shouted ‘Ige, Ige, Ige’, when the casket of the late politician was driven into the stadium that day, it was obvious that Ige had escaped the attempt to foist on him the ‘horrible mantle of Akintola’. On the contrary, as his admirers insisted, he wore the mantle of Awo in death. This was perhaps one major point in which there was great dissonance between the position of the core elite and the mass of the Yorùbá people. Indeed, the farewell ceremony held for Ige at the Liberty Stadium was second only to 212 Part Two

figure 15. Ige’s friend and Nobel Laureate Professor Wole Soyinka, holding the widow, Justice Atinuke, at Ige’s internment (Photo courtesy Nigerian Tribune Library)

Awóló: wò: ’s. The radio and TV stations in all of the western states devoted most of their airtime to the three-day-long funeral programme. The newspapers reported ‘shock and despair across the nation’ (Guardian, 25 December 2001, 4) as the man they loved to call the Cicero ‘went home’. For some, it was the death of the ‘last Awoist’. Even while serving in Obasanjo’s cabinet, and despite the attempt to cast him in the image of Akintola, Ige was usually celebrated by crowds in Yorùbáland whenever he appeared at events. A case in point, which Governor Bisi Akande related to me, was when President Obasanjo visited Oyo State as the guest of Governor Lam Adesina in February 2001. Ige, said Akande, due to playing the good host to those who came with the president from Abuja at the Ibadan airport, arrived late at the stadium at which the president was appearing. The gate had already been closed to How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 213 vehicular movement by the president’s security men. Therefore, Ige had to walk into the stadium. When he was sighted by thousands of people who had been mobilized by the state governor to welcome the president, the shouts of ‘Ige, Ige, Ige’, rent the air. Akande said the proceedings were disturbed as the shouts did not abate after the few minutes that it took Ige to walk to the seat reserved for him. Akande, who was already seated not too far from Obasanjo, said he noticed that Obasanjo looked unhappy with the warm reception accorded Ige by the crowd – which had not been accorded him as the president of Nigeria. For Governor Akande, Obasanjo, whom he describes as ‘very petty’, must have felt indirectly humiliated by the reception that greeted Ige. Indeed, some of my respondents alleged that Obasanjo could have concluded that Ige specifically planned his late entry to attract such a thunderous ovation, in order to show who was more popular: him or his friend, the president. After his assassination, as Ige’s family ‘mocked death’ by holding a service of songs, Obasanjo, while worshipping at the Living Faith World Outreach Centre in Ota, stated that, despite the killing of his friend and attorney-general, he had taken refuge in the Lord. Said President Obasanjo, ‘If God says “Do not fear.” What do I do? I will relax!’ (Guardian, 31 December 2001, 1). He quoted from the Book of Isaiah 41:11: ‘Behold, all they that were incensed against thee shall be ashamed and confounded, they shall be as nothing; and they that strive with thee shall perish.’ A few of the Afé:nifé:re leaders, who spoke to me in confidence, asked if Obasanjo was mocking ‘his friend’, Ige, and celebrating his physical liquidation by quoting this passage from the Bible. Obasanjo did not stop at that. At Ige’s funeral, Dr Omololu Olunloyo, mathematician and Ige’s successor as governor of Oyo State, had stated that he once asked Ige if Nigeria was worth dying for. Olunloyo disclosed that Ige’s response was that he was sure that Nigeria was worth living for, but he was not sure if Nigeria was worth dying for. Less than three years later, Obasanjo said that whoever was not prepared to die for Nigeria did not deserve to be a Nigerian citizen. ‘The earlier such [a] person walked out of Nigeria’, the BBC reported him as saying on national television, ‘the better for the country’ (Odunfa, 2 July 2004). Obasanjo added that if such person had held public office in the past, ‘he was an impostor and did not deserve the office’. Before Ige was killed he had had serious disagreements with the nou- veau riche deputy governor of his home state, Iyiola Omisore, who was engaged in a battle with his boss, Governor Bisi Akande. This disagreement, many believed, was the background for the physical attack on Ige in 214 Part Two

Ile-Ife, Omisore’s hometown. At a ceremony, on Saturday, 15 December 2001, at which Obasanjo’s wife, Stella, was given a chieftaincy title by the Ooni of Ife, Thugs suspected to be loyal to Omisore seized the cap from Ige’s head publicly. Five days earlier, on 10 December, an unsuccessful attempt had been made at the Osun State House of Assembly to impeach Omisore. The supporters of both the governor and the deputy had clashed at the venue and disrupted the proceedings of the House. Hon. Odunayo Olagbaju, representing Ife Central Constituency at the Osun State House of Assembly, was one of Omisore’s supporters. He was also in the forefront of frustrating the attempt to impeach his ‘godfather’. Some alleged that he was involved in planning the attack on Ige at the palace of the Ooni. Four days after the attack, on the evening of 19 December, Olagbaju was assassinated in Ife. And four days after Olagbaju’s assassination, Ige was killed in his home. When the assassins arrived, the federal attorney- general’s police guards had all left to go for dinner. Ige’s supporters pointed accusing fingers at Omisore and his supporters. Although Omisore denied that Ige’s murder had anything to do with the political crisis in their home state of Osun, the police arrested Ige’ssecurity guards and other Omisore allies, and declared Omisore protégé and student of the Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: University, Olugbenga Adebayo (alias Fryo), a wanted man. On 14 January 2002, a Lagos lawyer, Festus Keyamo, held a press conference in Lagos, where he distributed an affidavit sworn to by Olugbenga Adebayo on the murder ofIge.Hethenpromisedtotake Adebayo to the police station to surrender himself. In the affidavit, Adebayo allegedly recalled the crisis that led to the assassination of Olagbaju and Ige andclaimedthatOmisorehadinitiatedIge’s murder. Fryo further alleged that Omisore had promised to pay him to help assassinate Ige (Ifijeh et al. 2002, 1). The affidavit claimed that when Fryo asked Omisore about the security around Ige, the deputy governor allegedly stated that ‘with Abuja, that would not be too difficult’ (Nnadozie and Akon 2002, 1). At the press conference, Adebayo reportedly told anxious reporters that, ‘everything my solicitor said should be taken as true. I made the statements and gave the facts together with dates. If you need more information, go to my lawyer’ (ibid.). However, Adebayo later denied that he had made the declarations in the affidavit, claiming that his lawyer, Keyamo, ‘tampered with his original statement’ (Nigerian Tribune 22 February 2002, 1). While Keyamo himself was then arrested and kept in jail for many months, he insisted that the denial by Adebayo and the turn of events was ‘a deliberate ploy by the Federal Government and the police to bungle investigations into the assassination of Ige’ (ibid.). How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 215

Omisore was successfully impeached in December 2002 and subsequently arrested and put to trial alongside other suspects for the murder of Ige. He left the AD and joined the PDP, and subsequently became the party’s flag-bearer in the senatorial race. Sixteen suspects were arrested by the police. Of these, apart from Omisore, fourteen people were subsequently arraigned for conspiracy and murder. They included Alani Omisore, Iyiola Omisore’s brother, Adesina Adewale, Adekunle Alao, Olugbenga Adebayo (aka Fryo), Adesiyan Oyewale, Lambe Oyasope, Daramola Ezekiel, Sergeant Oye Oniyanda, Adebayo Adegoke, Kasim Lawal, Nelson Kumoye, Oluwole Ogunjimi, and Police Constables Sule Ibrahim and Idowu James, who were both said to be at large. The trials of the accused started in September 2002, with Omisore’s trial beginning in March 2003. While the latter was in detention, in the massively rigged April 2003 elections Omisore was elected as senator to represent a senatorial district which included Ige’s hometown. In the middle of the trial in Ibadan, Oyo State, two of the trial judges withdrew from the case due to pressures and threats. On 30 July 2003, Justice Moshood Abass, the third High Court judge handling Omisore’s trial, also withdrew due to ‘untold pressure ...from unexpected quarters’. In early 2004, the Oyo State government, which was then run by the PDP, applied to the court to drop the murder charges against four of Omisore’s associates. Omisore and the others standing trial for the murder of the former attorney-general of the federation, were eventually acquitted in November 2004. Before this, the rigmarole and shenanigans involved in the case, exemplified by the withdrawal of the trial judges, forced Ige’s family to withdraw their interest in the trial. In statement signed by Ige’s eldest daughter, Mrs Olufunso Adegbola, and younger brother, Sir Dele Ige, in June 2003, the family stated that they had decided to ‘leave the matter in the hands of the Almighty Lord who has no successor’ (Vanguard, 11 June 2003, 1). They added, ‘We watched with dismay as the case was turned into a stage for political theatre with the accused treated as celebrities especially within the confines of the courts and within prison walls’ (ibid.). Ige’s friend, Soyinka, seemed to have anticipated the confusion over the investigations and trial of suspects in the Ige murder. He told the press that the ‘killers’ were some ‘powerful people in the society whose protective cover gave them the confidence to carry out the killing’ (Vanguard, 22 January 2002, 1). More than a year later, Soyinka publicly accused Obasanjo of ‘dancing on Ige’s grave’ (Punch 4 July 2003, 1). At a press conference on 4 July 2003, Soyinka said his late friend had expressed his 216 Part Two concern to Obasanjo over the plan of the PDP to overrun Yorùbáland politically, ‘But he said he [Ige] would not allow them to get away with their plan, that he was ready for them.’ Soyinka referred to the letter of resignation, dated 19 December 2001, which Ige wrote to President Obasanjo, in which, as Soyinka claimed, he indicated that he would resign by 31 March 2002 from the government in order to reposition the AD and ensure that the PDP did not win a single seat in the south-west. Ige was assassinated four days after he submitted the letter. In Ige’s handwritten letter, which was later obtained by some of Ige’s admirers and the press, he did not state categorically that he would ensure the defeat of Obasanjo’s PDP in the south-west. But he did imply it through his resolve to reorganize and strengthen the AD. However, Soyinka stated that Ige told him in the presence of Professor Sola Adeyeye now a Senator of the Federal Republic – during a visit to the United States, that he was going back home to ‘counter moves by the PDP to sweep the region by fair and foul means’ (Odunuga, 29 July 2003). Ige stated in his letter:

I wish to reiterate some of the reasons [for my resignation]. There is much work to be done in Yorùbáland for the purpose of consolidating strong participation in the governance of this Federal Republic of Nigeria in an atmosphere of mutual toler- ance, freedom from fear and suspicion, and assurance that Yorùbáland has a pivotal role to play in the sustenance of this Federal Republic .... As you are no doubt aware, I am a disciple and apostle of Obafemi Awolowo, and I intend to harness the efforts of all of us who believe in his political philosophy towards the attainment and enhancement of the greatness of this country, taking into consideration, of course, of the facts on the ground at this point in time. The Nobel laureate said that ‘the slain Minister was worried about the antics of the PDP which he said was pointing towards a sinister plan to overrun the South-West politically but that he would make sure that the PDP did not win one Local Government in Yorùbáland’ (Punch, 4 July 2003). Speciﬁcally, Soyinka lambasted the authorities for the haphazard manner in which the investigation and trial of the suspected killers of the late justice minister was carried out, alleging that there was a deliberate plot to ensure that justice was not done. Soyinka also queried why a prime suspect in the murder of Ige, Iyiola Omisore, could be feted and treated like royalty by members of the PDP, who continued to ‘rig’ him into ofﬁce as a senator representing Ige’s constituency. Added Soyinka:

I am convinced, beyond any further doubt, that there exists within the ruling party a nest of murderers. Their purpose is power, and to attain and retain this at all costs is a mission that harbours a deep contempt for moral scruples. This nest is prepared How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 217 to subjugate the rest of the nation to a reign of terror, backed by a display of contempt that is best expressed by a familiar Americanese: In your face! (ibid.) Soyinka implied that Ige’s assassination could be directly related to the victory of the PDP in Yorùbáland in the 2003 elections. President Obasanjo reacted angrily to Soyinka’s statement in a letter he sent to Soyinka and to the press, expressing ‘sheer disbelief and the utmost surprise’. Describing Ige as ‘my good friend and former Attorney General of the federation’, Obasanjo said the letter which Ige wrote to him ‘did not contain even one of these statements which [Soyinka] alleged were contained therein’. Enclosing a copy of Ige’s letter in his response to Soyinka, the president described Soyinka’s claim as ‘nothing short of perﬁdious falsehood’ and an attempt to ‘sensationalize’ the process that led to Ige’s death. As pointed out by some observers, Obasanjo obviously confused what Soyinka and Adeyeye said Ige told them with what Ige wrote in his letter of resignation (see Murray 2003). In late 2011, Ige’s close associate and the former governor of Oyo State, Lam Adesina, also alleged that President Obasanjo and PDP knew about Ige’s assassination. He told a newspaper that after he returned from the hospital where Ige died, when he had still to inform President Obasanjo, the phone rang in his bedroom. The president was on the phone. Adesina related his experience further:

The question Obasanjo just asked was: ‘Is he [Ige] certiﬁed dead?’ I said: ‘Yes sir.’ Then he dropped the phone. That was all .... I can never forget that experience. It means somebody must have told him about the shooting of Bola Ige .... I was taken aback; I was surprised because I thought the president would let me brief him ﬁrst before asking that question .... He just dropped the phone and went away .... Ige resigned [from the Obasanjo government] to come and re-organise the AD .... But before Obasanjo accepted his resignation, he was killed, because they knew that with Bola Ige in the West at that time, the plan of PDP to take over the West would not work. Obasanjo had an agenda to supplant the legacy of Chief Obafemi Awolowo .... They dreaded Bola Ige and that was why they planned to kill him. I am still saying it without any equivocation that the Government of Nigeria knew how Bola Ige was killed. That is why the killers cannot be found ... (Nation, 25 December 2011, 16, 69).

After Ige’s death, there was a vacuum in the Afé:nifé:re. Also, those opposed to the dominance of the three remaining leaders of the ‘cult’, called the ‘Ijebu Four’, no longer had an arrowhead in their struggle to limit what was considered to be the overweening influence of the ‘Ijebu Four’–now ‘Ijebu Three’ after Onasanya’s death. Yet the irreconcilable nature of the crisis in Afé:nifé:re and the perpetual search for ota ile (internal enemies), 218 Part Two even after Ige’s death, manifested in some of the Afé:nifé:re general meetings that I attended in Ijebu-Igbo. On 22 September 2005, the issue of ‘betrayal’ by the former (Fourth Republic) governors was debated by the members. A few asked whether it would be necessary to place office holders under not just an oath but also a spell, so that they would be controllable by the group and party. Again, on 15 December 2005, one of the members decided to play at being a ‘megaphone’ for whoever spoke at the meeting under the tree, particularly the acting leader, Fasoranti, who spoke in a low tone. Whenever Fasoranti mentioned Tinubu the ‘megaphone’ would add a disparaging word as a suffix to the name of the Governor of Lagos State. This was greeted with a good laugh by most of the members. It was an indication of a growing gap between the leaders of the group and their only surviving governor in office.

the occult and human agency: a yoru` ba´ theory of causality

Aje ke l’ana, omo ku l’eni; tani ko mon pe aje t’oke l’ana l’opa omo to’ku l’oni [The witch howled yesterday, the child dies today; who does not know that it is the witch that howled yesterday that is responsible for the child’s death] A Yorùbá proverb

And, your party lords! Patriarchs of easy victories in happy warfare that sucks the fear of sweat into love of magic! Their curse will scream ‘Traitor’ at your exits and your entrances riddle public ear with doubt at your every oath, they’ll stamp on your faith; and name you heathen of the age, traducer of ancestral shrines... Odia Ofeimun, ‘BolaIge’ (poem) As of 2013, Ige’s killers remain unknown. But a few days before President Obasanjo left ofﬁce in May 2007 he announced to a shocked nation that Ige’s killers had been found. Shortly after that announcement, the retiring inspector general of police, Mr Sunday Ehindero, paraded a drug baron and two other people whom, he said, allegedly conspired to kill Ige. The police informant was masked at the press conference. Ige’s family, the media and most Nigerians dismissed Obasanjo’s and Ehindero’s claims as part of the ‘elaborate attempts’ to hide Ige’s real killers. The police never mentioned the matter again. Shortly before this, Obasanjo, during a radio phone-in programme, had dismissed the late Ige as someone ‘who did not know his left from his right’ How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 219

(P.M. NEWS, 21 May 2007) with regard to his role as minister for power and steel in relation to the crisis in the power sector. During another interview with TELL magazine, Obasanjo made references to Awóló: wò: and Ige that were considered spiteful by the admirers of the latter. Said Obasanjo on Ige: ‘I did not know the depth of the morass in NEPA [the National Electric Power Authority]. You will recall that the late Bola Ige said that he could do it in six months, but he was there for one year and still did not know how to tackle the problem’ (TELL, 14 May 2007, 20 and 25). Ige’s admirers believed that Obasanjo colluded with those who stopped Ige from fixing the acute problems in the power sector because he didn’t want Ige to take the glory for resolving a national challenge which had existed for about four decades. The elders in the Afé:nifé:re wondered why Obasanjo continued to fight Awo and ‘his friend’, Ige, even in death. Yet they pointed out a paradox. Awóló: wò: , in death, remained Obasanjo’s inveterate political enemy, an enmity which Ige, as Arole Awóló: wò: , ought to have inherited while alive. But Ige was Obasanjo’s bosom friend. This was despite the position of Ige’s supporters that, with a friend like Obasanjo, Ige needed no enemy. In a way, Ige’s adversaries were accusing him of being an Arole (Awóló: wò: ) ti ko r’ole – because of his friendship with Obasanjo and his position serving in Obasanjo’s government. This would translate roughly to ‘a heir apparent/successor that fails to sustain the household’. Arole literally means ‘one who is the pillar’ (of a house). Thus, a pillar that does not hold a house in place is a weak pillar. In a sense, Ige was perceived by his adversaries as having been ‘used by Obasanjo’ to cause divisions in, and the decline of, the House of Awo, and, by the same token, the House of Odùduwà. In this context, one of the major rivals of Ige, Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, wrote a book after Ige’s death on the Yorùbá and Nigeria, entitled This House of Odùduwà Must Not Fall (2005). One of Ige’s adversaries told me that ‘the leader [Awóló: wò: ] would not be surprised about how Bọla [Ige] ended up in Obasanjo’s service’, adding that ‘Awóló: wò: had predicted Ige’s end’. My informant disclosed that not too long after the Obasanjo troubleshooting, which almost led to Ige’s expulsion from the UPN in 1982, Awóló: wò: , still smarting from that incident and other alleged Ige ‘sins’, told his closest confidants in Yorùbá, ‘E fi Bola si le, igbeyin l’oju’ [lit: Leave Bọla [Ige] alone, the end is what matters most]. For my informant, this was a curse that could only lead to a tragic end. Other informants said that Awóló: wò: regarded as perfidious Ige’s alleged agreement with Obasanjo to seek the support of key northerners so as to pave the way for Ige to run for the presidency in 220 Part Two

1983 or 1987, since Awóló: wò: was ‘not acceptable’ to the Muslim northerners.9 Dr Femi Okurounmu, Afé:nifé:re’s general secretary, told me that, ‘If Awo had lived longer, he would have disowned Ige and Jakande for their attempts to supplant him.’ Some informants claimed that Awo similarly cursed Jakande for seeking, like Ige, to ‘supplant’ him, stating that ‘b’osen’iyi to, lo maa te to’, meaning his (present) fame would be matched by his (future) infamy. The total irrelevance of Jakande in contemporary politics is cited as proof of Awo’s curse. As Gluckman (1955, 84) has argued, such ‘egocentric’ interpretation of misfortune – as in the case of Ige and Jakande – explains the ‘why of [an] event, rather than the how’, thus leading ethnographers ‘to seek its meaning in the network of relationships in which the victim ...is involved’ (Mitchell 1965, 194). Indeed, Awóló: wò: saw loyalty to the leader as the most important virtue for members of his group. This perhaps explained why Ige kept emphasizing that he was loyal to Awóló: wò: throughout his life. He once wrote in his column that, ‘I thank God that many of us will NEVER betray Awo’s ideals and teachings’ (Tribune 15 March 1997, 5; capitals in original). For Awóló: wò: ’s disciples therefore, you are better dead than disloyal; for disloyalty would bring tragic death. One of the older members of the group told me that ‘The Yorùbá are a unique people. No other group is like us in the world. There is something we call adabi. You can ask Babalawos [Ifa priests] to avert epe [curse], but you can’t do that with adabi. It cannot be removed or reversed, nor can you controvert it. Eni t’o ba da’le aba’le lo. [lit: ‘Whoever betrays the soil, vanishes into the soil’, meaning, whoever is guilty of betrayal, will perish].’ Adabi has no exact parallel in English language – it can roughly be translated literally as ‘i only if’ but also means inevitable repercussion, something like the law of karma. But Fasoranti, the acting leader of Afé:nifé:re, disagrees with the other old men of the group concerning Ige’s ‘betrayal’. He told me that he would not accuse Ige of this. While the temporal authorities are still assumed to be investigating Ige’s murder, some of Ige’s associates believe that his death ‘kii se oju lasan’ (lit: ‘is not ordinary’), meaning that the death was caused by supernatural elements. I suggest that this position can be understood strictly within what I call a Yorùbá theory of causality (cf. Mitchell 1952). In the context of this theory, virtually everything that happens in the world is regarded as

9 This allegation was repeated by Dr Fẹmi Okurounmu in a press interview. TELL, 23 April 2001, 51. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 221 unnatural and, therefore, not to be taken at face value. There is usually a cosmic, spiritual or occult basis or reason for everything that happens, particularly evil or negative things but also trivial things, such as striking one’s foot against an object. Depending on what leg one strikes against an object, it could be either a good or bad omen. Even physical illness is explained either as a result of sorcery or witchcraft by enemies or a manifestation of the anger of a particular god or gods. Evil is consequently assumed to be omnipresent in the Yorùbá lifeworld. The death of Ige, therefore, even though admittedly through assassination, would still not be merely and solely a result of whatever must have been the specific reasons for which the assassins killed Ige; that could only be an after-effect of the evil always and already invoked by the internal enemies or, alternatively, provoked by Ige’s actions against the elements or the gods. Evans-Pritchard, in his influential work on witchcraft, sorcery and magic among the Azande (1937), presents us with the logical consistency of such elements as social institutions (Hulstaert and Marwick 1965, 21). However, for many years, anthropologists gave a narrower meaning to sorcery and witchcraft, equating it with only destructive magic that meets with social disapproved or is deemed illegitimate (Hulstaert and Marwick1965, 22). Thus, all destructive magic used legitimately was excluded from sorcery. In line with this, Evans-Pritchard (1937) described both the witch and the sorcerer as ‘enemies of men’. However, in the Yorùbá case, there is a measure of ambivalence about sorcery particularly, and even about witchcraft. Sorcery is not regarded as anti-social or illegitimate if, and only if, it is used against the collective enemy or for the collective good. One of my informants, who was close to the late Justice Thompson, revealed that Thompson told him that Ige’s ‘enemies within’ or ‘internal enemies’ (ota ile) – that is, among the Afé:nifé:re leaders – had harmed Ige mystically ‘by means of psychic emanations’, and that it was only a matter of time before Ige’s ‘external enemies’ (ota ode), would take advantage of that. Ige, my informant reported Thompson as claiming, allegedly belonged to sixteen secret cults, apart from being a Rosicrucian – like Awo and other members of the caucus, including Thompson and Onasanya. For Thompson, therefore, an ‘alagbara’ (spiritually powerful person) such as Ige could not have been physically liquidated that easily, if he had not been ‘destroyed spiritually’ by his internal enemies. One of my key informants disclosed that in the popular belief of the members of the group, an indication of Ige’s possible death was given two 222 Part Two days before he was killed. At the funeral ceremony of Chief Solanke Onasanya, one of the leaders of Afé:nifé:re, Ige was said to have slipped and fallen. There were two different interpretations of the fall. Ige’s adversaries claimed that it was an indication that he had fallen spiritually, that he had ‘died’ in the spirit realm, due to his ‘serial acts of betrayal against the group and its dead and living leaders’. But Ige’s associates claimed that he told those who were with him at the event, after he had risen fully to his feet, that, ‘awon people yi ti pa mi’ (‘these people have killed me’)or‘awon people yi maa pa mi’ (‘these people will kill me’). Ige’s associates, therefore, insist that he was aware that he had been ‘destroyed spiritually’ through the ‘malevolent esoteric powers’ possessed by his aged adversaries within the group, and that he was, spiritually speaking, only a physical shell at the time he was assassinated. Most of my informants believe absolutely in the efficacy of sorcery, witchcraft and magic. No one could rise to the level that the leaders of Afé:nifé:re had risen, they argued, without being, like Awóló: wò: , ‘spiritually powerful’. One of the Afé:nifé:re leaders who once held a key position in the group, but is younger than the older men of the group, told me that, ‘all those old men are members of powerful cults. They must have invoked curses on anyone who crossed their path in the group.’ Another, who had left the group long before the current crisis, swore to me that, ‘won ta Buroda Bola l’ase ni’ (‘ They put Brother Bola [Ige] under a spell/curse’). This informant alleged that Ige was devoid ‘of the spiritual protection he ordinarily should have had against evil because he had no discipline where women were concerned. Ige lost the spiritual, occult protection he should have had because of women. Awo stopped sleeping with his wife at 50.He never slept with any other woman after that. Ige was not like that.’10 One of the spells to which the Yorùbá believe that someone may be ‘spiritually sentenced’ is that of eedi (lit. ‘tie/bind’), which is assumed to predispose its sufferer to total and paralyzing non-recognition of danger – having been spiritually ‘tied up’. Eedi can lead to asise (‘committing grave errors’) which makes the sufferer fi ọwọ ara rẹ se’rarẹ (‘commit fatal self- injury’ or ‘make grievous mistakes’). Such a spell is generally believed to lead its sufferer to fatalities, including death. In the understanding of my informants, Ige’s personal temporal agency was snatched at the spiritual level; his actions in the material and political realm, therefore, were mere manifestations of the evil already practised on him. The way in which belief in the efficacy of sorcery, witchcraft or occult powers may be

10 Discussion with a ranking Awoist, Ibadan, November 2005. How (Not) to Be a Proper Yorùbá 223 mobilized is therefore critical to understanding the dynamics of the relations within Afé:nifé:re. In this context, sorcery is not only a practice but, as Barth (1993, 122) has argued in the Balinese case, it is ‘a tool people use for interpreting and understanding events’. While, at the temporal level, people continue to busy themselves with the physical (‘legal–rational’) causes of Ige’s death, many members of Afé:nifé:re, those who have left and those who remain within the group, continue to search for spiritual explanations for his death within Yorùbá occult categories.

conclusion

Despite the fractionalization of the group and the resulting devastations experienced, it is obvious that the work of rebuilding the Awóló: wò: political family is now being appropriated by the faction led by Governor Bola Tinubu. This is so despite the fact that some Awo faithful are still contesting Tinubu’s emergence as the most politically strong contender, particularly given that his allies and followers are in charge in most of the Yorùbá states as governors. With the ‘retrieval’ of more states from the conservative PDP in the 2011 elections, many Yorùbá progressives are certain, despite the contradictions and the unresolved internal battles, that a new struggle for the reconstruction and re-appropriation of the House of Awo has begun. As Professor S˙ egun Gbadegesin put it at the seventy-seventh Bola Ige Birthday Commemorative Lecture in Ibadan on 13 September 2007, what is needed is ‘to go back to him [Awóló: wò: ] and rediscover the nation that he reinvented’, because ‘the Yorùbá nation of Awóló: wò: ’s reinvention is constant no matter the perverse and unprincipled inconstancy of its elite’ (Gbadegesin 2007, 5–6). To be a proper Yorùbá, therefore, you have to follow, or return to, the path that Awo already charted. As Governors Kayode Fayemi, Rauf Aregbesola, Olusegun Mimiko and Babatunde Fashola – and Senator Abiola Ajimobi and Senator Ibikunle Amosun, the governors of Oyo and Ogun states, respectively, who were both sworn in on 29 May 2011 – all emphasize, Awóló: wò: remains the idea, the ideal and the representation of all that is good and imperishable in Yorùbá history. Gbadegesin, like the governors, was restating that it is only through Awoness that one can afﬁrm one’s proper Yorùbáness. As Nairn (1981, 348) observes, nationalism moves forward by a ‘certain sort of regression’. Any deviation from this ‘moving forward by returning to the past’, as symbolized by Awóló: wò: , is, therefore, regarded as the province of those who are not proper Yorùbá. 7

Seizing the Heritage: Playing Proper Yorùbá in an Age of Uncertainty

LION-HEARTED cedar forest, gonads for our thunder, Even if you are very far away, we invoke you: Give us our hollow heads of long-drums ... Hide us; deliver us from our nakedness ... Many-ﬁngered canebrake, exile for our laughter, Even if you are far away, we invoke you Christopher Okigbo, ‘Laments of the Drums I’ (1971, 45)

recovering awo

This chapter concentrates on the struggle, after the deaths of Adesanya and Ige, to succeed to the stool of Awo. It focuses on the ways in which those struggling to succeed to Awo’s ‘throne’ act out their proper Awoness/ Yorùbáness in the context of 21st-century regional, national and global socio-economic and political uncertainties. In the struggle for succession, the members of the Yorùbá elite are more or less constantly ‘invoking’ Awo, even if he is ‘far away’,to‘Hide us; deliver us from our nakedness ...’–to use the poetic lines that Christopher Okigbo (1971, 45) wrote for Awo while he was in jail. The case study here focuses on Senator Bola Tinubu (see Figure 16), Governor of Lagos State (1999–2007) and his relationship with Governor Gbenga Daniel of Ogun State (2003–11), whom he has since circumvented in the struggle to claim the heritage of Awo in practical politics. Having played a pivotal role in the victory of seven governors in the old Western Region – six under the ﬂag of his party, Action Congress

224 Seizing the Heritage 225

figure 16. Tinubu and the ACN Governors: Left to right: Kayode Fayemi, Adams Oshiomola, Rauf Aregbesola, Tinubu, Ibikunle Amosun, Abiola Ajimobi and Babatunde Fashola (Photo by Okanlawon Taiwo)

of Nigeria (ACN) and one under the Labour Party (the latter, the Governor of Ondo State, Dr Olusegun Mimiko, has since broken ranks with him) – Tinubu is now the most visible and most powerful politician in Yorùbáland. Tinubu has emerged as what I call the ‘most valuable player’ in post-Adesanya, post-Ige and post-Afé:nifé:re implosion Yorùbá politics. He has become the leader of the successor party (formerly, Action Congress, AC, currently, Action Congress of Nigeria, ACN). On the other hand, Daniel, who is closest to the Awóló: wò: biological family among the contenders and leaders in Yorùbáland, was, until he left ofﬁce in 2011, the strongest challenger of Tinubu. The actions and inactions of the two throw Yorùbáness/Awoness into crisis in an era of deepening uncertainty about the future of the Yorùbá in Nigeria. However, this chapter focuses more on Tinubu, as the new power centre in Yorùbá politics.

becoming the ‘leading light’

It was a day of unusual celebration. In the afternoon of 27 November 2010, thousands of people from all six Yorùbá states and beyond gathered in Osogbo, the capital of Osun State, to witness the swearing-in of Rauf 226 Part Two

Aregbesola of the ACN as governor of the state. After more than three years of legal battles, Aregbesola had been declared, by the Federal Appeal Court sitting in Ibadan, as the duly elected Governor of Osun State in the 2007 gubernatorial election. He replaced the Olagunsoye Oyinlola of the PDP, who had robbed him of his victory. The special guests included a full set of ACN notables. The thunderous ovation greeted new governor-elect, Aregbesola, as he entered the open field of Government Technical College, Osogbo. Amid singing and merry-making, the famous Yorùbá talking-drum thundered through the open field. Its message was instantly decoded by the tumultuous crowd, which sang along to the rhythm of the drumbeats: ‘Aregbesola mi gboro titi, omi’gboro’ [‘Aregbesola shakes the city vigo- rously; shakes the city!’). For six hours in the scotching sun, the crowd continued to grow as members of the political elite congratulated themselves and the masses for their victory in the long-drawn-out battle to reclaim the mandate of the people and what they described as ‘the heritage of Awolowo’. As he saluted the people for their courage in the years under the unpopular PDP government in the state, which he described as ‘political wilderness’, Aregbesola, like Governor Kayode Fayemi of Ekiti State before him a few weeks earlier, promised to rebuild the state for the good of all. And what better qualifier of that promise of better life for the people of the state could Aregbesola find? Awóló: wò: .Aregbesola’s speech, like that of Fayemi before him, was suffused with promises captured in number three of the cardinal points of ‘Awolowo’sCreed’ or the ‘Afé:nifé:re Credo’: ‘The well-being of the people is the sole purpose and raison d’être of government and the glory of any government is the well-being of the people.’ Governor Aregbesola asked that the anthem of the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN) be played. Awóló: wò: ’s voice-over, which preceded the anthem, reverberated through the stadium ‘to refresh the memories of thousands of people that witnessed his swearing-in ceremony’–as the Guardian (Adeyemi and Omofoye 2010, 1) put it. While extolling the virtues of the late leader of the Yorùbá, the new governor said he would follow the path of Awóló: wò: ‘wholaidthe foundation for diligence and exemplary leadership’.Awo’sideasand the (administrative) practices were being re-presented by the new gover- nor as the ideal. Aregbesola consequently announced that the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN) anthem would be adopted by Osun State. Later he adopted the Afé:nifé:re (Yorùbá) version of the song, with ‘Omo Odua’ (‘Odùduwà’s Seizing the Heritage 227 children’, that is, the Yorùbá) substituted for ‘Nigeria’,1 thus changing the meaning of the song. To drum home the point about ‘retrieving’ the Yorùbá West from what he described as the ‘Poverty Development Party’ (a parody of the name of the rival PDP), Aregbesola’s mentor, former Governor Tinubu, told the gathering that the ‘weak house [that former] President [Olusegun] Obasanjo built on falsehood [through the rigging of elections in the Yorùbá states in 2003 and 2007] had begun to collapse in his lifetime’. Tinubu, who wears horn-rimmed glasses similar to Awóló: wò: ’s, told the crowd and members of the Yorùbá political elite present that Oyo and Ogun states, still led by PDP governors, would be ‘retrieved’ in the following year’s elections ‘to complete the cycle of the agenda to liberate the [Yorùbá] southwest from the hold of the PDP ....’

from awo to tinubu? agency and the politics of succession

Before, and especially since, he left ofﬁce as Governor of Lagos State, Bola Tinubu’s home on Bourdillon Road, Ikoyi, Lagos, became a place which serves, as described by Michael de Certeau, as, ‘a base from which relations with an exteriority composed of targets or threats ...can be managed’ (de

1 The version adopted by Osun State is different in some important respects from the original translation of the UPN anthem. On the right below is the Yorùbá translation of the original (UPN) version, while the Afé: nifé: re/Osun State version is on the left. Where the original UPN version in last verse states, ‘Up, Up Nigeria/And take thy rightful place/’Tis thy birthright and thy destiny/Afric’s leading light to be’, the Afé: nifé: re version states, ‘Oduduwa’s chidren arise/And take thy rightful place/You are the light of/The whole of black race’. Verses one and three of both versions are largely the same. 1. Ise wa fun ‘le wa 1. Ojuse awa ni, Fun ile ibi wa Fun ile ibi wa owon Ka gbe e ga (2x) Ka gbe ga, ko gberu si Ka gbe e ga f’aye ri Fun gbogbo aye ri 2. Igbagbo awa ni’pe 2. Ijoba orikojori Ba ti b’eru, la b’omo L’ase to gbe’le yi ro Ka sise (2x) T’ologboo gba, t’arina ko’re Ka sise, ka jo la L’ere wa dajudaju 3. Isokan at’ominira 3. Ominira ife ara wa Ni e je ka maa lepa Ni e je ka maa lepa Tesiwaju f’opo ire Tesiwaju, f’opo ire At’ohun to dara At’oun rere gbogbo 4. Omo Odua, dide 4. Dide, Nigeria Bo si’po eto re Kosi gba eto re Iwo ni imole Ogun re ni, ise da re ni Gbogbo adulawo To s’asaaju imole Africa 228 Part Two

figure 17. The new Asiwaju: Governor Bola Tinubu (Photo by Okanlawon Taiwo)

Certeau 1984, 36; emphasis in original). Place is important in de Certeau’s understanding of what constitutes strategy, because it composes of ‘the calculation (or manipulation) of power relationships that becomes possible as soon as a subject with will and power ... can be isolated’ (ibid.). Against this backdrop, I approach ‘place’ here both as location and as attraction, particularly in relation to power, privilege, opportunity, benefit, profit and so on. As a subject with an abundance of will and power – and with the death of the most important leaders (either political or politico-cultural) in immediate post-Awo Yorùbá politics, starting with Abiola (1998), Ige (2001) and Adesanya (2008) – Tinubu (see Figure 17) turned his house on Bourdillon Road into the ultimate space of political power, privilege and opportunity in Yorùbáland and beyond. This is where many of the most important and the most consequential political decisions in Yorùbáland are taken today, not only in terms of matters internal to Yorùbáland, but also in terms of Yorùbá political relations with the rest of Nigeria. This is the home from which every single governor in the six Yorùbá states today receive their most consequential blessing in their quest for political office. It is also the place to which everybody comes; at least, most members of the political elite who want consequential decisions about political affairs in the Yorùbá region of the country to be taken in Seizing the Heritage 229 their favour. Tinubu’s small study, the bigger consultation room, the expansive living room and sometimes – when all these are full – the spaces within the compound, are all spaces of and for power. Despite opening a prestigious three-storey office building in Victoria Island to divert some of the overwhelming attention from his Ikoyi home, for many Tinubu’s house is the new ‘Park Lane’ or 6 Ajina Street: that is, Awóló: wò: ’s homes in Apapa, Lagos, and Ikenne, Ogun State, respectively. I have myself become a regular visitor to the house.. I first met Tinubu there in late 2006 when I started my fieldwork for this book. Tinubu was then in the last year of his tenure as Governor of Lagos State. But since he left office, his power and influence in Yorùbáland and the rest of Nigeria has increased tremendously, such that any ethnographer of Yorùbá (national) politics would need to understand Tinubu’s politics, because the man has become a centre of attraction. In July 2011, I drove with the Governor of Ekiti State, Dr Kayode Fayemi, from a hotel in Victoria Island to Bourdillon. When we arrived, we found that Chief Bisi Akande, the former Governor of Osun State and Chairman of the ACN, had been holding a short meeting in a consultation room. Shortly after Fayemi left, the Governor of Lagos State, Mr Babatunde Fashola, arrived. Fashola had been Tinubu’s chief of staff before the latter nominated him for this governorship and ensured his victory as his successor. When Governor Fashola came into Tinubu’s study, I excused myself because they had a confidential matter to discuss, as the former governor had hinted earlier. Just as I exited the room, Governor Segun Osoba, the famed journalist and former Governor of Ogun State, and Governor Niyi Adebayo, former governor of Ekiti State, arrived. All were there to see the man they call the ‘Governor of Governors’, the ‘Governor-General’ or ‘Governor Emeritus’. In Tinubu’s house, since 2006, I have encountered some of the most important politicians in the country, including a former head of state, current and former governors, retired generals, captains of industry and business men of all categories, including oil magnates, former top security chiefs, managing directors and editors of the most important media organizations in Nigeria, high-society women – and, a few times, the hoi polloi, who have come to beg for one thing or the other. Alhaji Lai Mohammed, the spokesperson for the ACN puts Tinubu’s emergence into context. ‘The intention of [President] Obasanjo was to wipe our AD completely from the political landscape. If he had taken Lagos [State in 2003 or 2007], the entire political history of the country would have been re-written’, he told me. One of Tinubu’s disciples and 230 Part Two current Lagos state commissioner for environment, Tunji Bello, contends that Tinubu has brought a ‘new paradigm’ (Bello 2012, 17) into Yorùbá politics. Indeed, in his ascendance to power as the most important politician of his age in Yorùbáland, Tinubu has not only ‘knocked down’‘old orthodoxy’, as Bello argues, he has also tried to knock out some of the bearers of that old orthodoxy, such as the old men of Afé:nifé:re. Indeed, as Awoists struggle after Obasanjo’s presidency to reconcile the ideology and politics of Awoism and Awoness, respectively, Tinubu’s emergence represents a new order within the Awo political movement, because he is a practical, but not a doctrinal or orthodox Awoist. Perhaps because of this, the strategies which worked to make him the numero uno of Yorùbá politics today are resented by many of the older members of the Awóló: wò: movement and other factions of the progressive Yorùbá elite. These people have refused to accept him as the ‘Asiwaju of the Yorùbá’ and the current embodiment of Awoness (as a body of politico-cultural practices) or Awoism (as political philosophy). For instance, in 2012, as Governor Mimiko of Ondo State separated himself from Tinubu’s political movement and rallied the older Awoists and other Tinubu adversaries to his side, he was pronounced ‘areincar- nate of the sage, Chief Obafemi Awolowo’. The older members of the Afé:nifé:re, such as the leader of the group, Chief Reuben Fasoranti, Chief Ayo Adebanjo and Chief Olu Falae, defined themselves at Mimiko’srally as ‘pure-breed Awoists’ who are the embodiment of Awo’s progressive politics as opposed to ‘the pretenders’ (Ogbodo 2012). However, the governor closest to Tinubu, Governor Aregbesola of Osun State, not only describes Tinubu as an Awoist but proposes that people should recognize that Odùduwà, the progenitor of the Yorùbá, has ‘reincarnated himself in two forms: first as Awolowo and then as Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu’. While Awóló: wò: united the Yorùbá, that is, the proper Yorùbá (omoluwabis), he explains, Tinubu ‘flushed out’ the PDP, the improper Yorùbá. Tinubu craves this position as the successor to Awo’s stool. As evident in the billboards all over Lagos during his period as governor of Lagos State emphasizing the horn-rimmed glasses – which Awóló: wò: copied from Mahatma Gandhi, and which Tinubu copied from Awóló: wò: – with the catchphrase ‘Great Minds Think Alike’, it is clear that Tinubu relishes becoming the ‘new Awo’. He warmly embraces this image as the new leader of the progressive movement and ‘liberator’ of the south-west of Nigeria (Yorùbáland). He told me in his London home in February 2011: Seizing the Heritage 231

I will continue to strive for that [heritage of Awo]. A good challenge has been placed before me. If all that I have done propels me to be compared to Awolowo, I will appreciate it. I will feel grateful to God for engineering positive change, for leading the struggle for rapid and radical change in the country. I will use this pedestal to promote progressive politics and vision and chart a new course for the country. This is not limited to Yorùbáland. We will use the Yorùbá states as models for development which others can emulate. (Interview, London, 11 February 2011) In the lead-up to the April elections in 2011, a popular juju musician turned full-time evangelist, Ebenezer Obey, released ‘A Special Music Project for Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu’ entitled, ‘Tinubu: A Leader Like Awolowo’. In the song, Obey sings:

Ohun to ba j’oun, lo ye ka fi we’un Tinubu jo Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: ... Asiwaju rere, bi ti Awóló: wò: ... [We should compare like to like, Tinubu resembles Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: .... Good leader, like Awóló: wò: ...] Indeed, the new ACN governors, in affirming the new leadership of Tinubu, also constantly remind people that they too live by Awóló: wò: ’s ideas and ideals, while their supporters constantly describe them as Awóló: wò: ’s heirs. For instance, Lagos State Governor Babatunde Raji Fashola said he has been influenced by Awo’s life, works and books. He concluded that the secret of his success as the governor of Lagos State is ‘Awolowo’sinfluence’ (TheNEWS, 9 February 2009). Also, the members of the Association of Local Governments of Nigeria (ALGON), Oyo State branch declared, in marking the first 100 days of Governor Ajimobi’s administration in Oyo State, that administration is working in ‘the footsteps of Papa Awolowo!’ The truth of what Tinubu represents in contemporary Yorùbá politics seems to lie between the profuse adulations of his followers and supporters and the harsh recriminations of his adversaries. Odia Ofeimun, Awóló: wò: ’s former private secretary, puts it simply: that Tinubu ‘is remarkable’. While he concedes that the political party Tinubu leads, the ACN, is a progressive party, Ofeimun argues that ‘No political party in Nigeria at the moment has the kind of structures that can defend the party positions. You will expect that a party that considers itself close to and benefits from Awolowo’s legacy to have a clear position on all those policies that made Awolowo [strong]’ (Ofeimun 2012, 9). Ofeimun, however, praises Tinubu as one who, as Lagos State governor, ‘had a very big dream and ...went after it steadily’ (ibid.). 232 Part Two

Indeed, Tinubu’s ascendancy in Yorùbá politics is very remarkable. He climbed the ladder in an unusual way since Awóló: wò: redefined Yorùbá politics in the 1950s. He paid his dues in the larger pro-democracy movement, rather than strictly within the Awóló: wò: movement. He started out as a member of the Major General Shehu Musa Yar’Adua political movement, the People’s Front (PF), which later became the People’s Democratic Movement (PDM) – and not the People’s Solidarity Party (PSP), which was formed by the followers of Awóló: wò: during the Babangida transition years. When PSP and PDM were banned, like the other members of both parties, he joined the SDP, which was popular in Yorùbáland. Under this platform, he became a senator in the Third Republic. However, with Abiola’s emergence as a contender for the presidential ticket of the SDP, Tinubu supported Abiola and stood by him until his death. At one point Tinubu fled into exile, after he was released from detention under General Sani Abacha. He formally joined the Awóló: wò: movement, Afé:nifé:re, only after he returned to Nigeria from exile in 1998, and has struggled to be the leader of that movement since he survived the ‘PDP hurricane’ which kicked out the other AD governors in 2003. One of the central uniqueness of Tinubu within the Awóló: wò: movement is that he is the third politician who has not only worked hard consistently – and has gained substantial legitimacy in this context, despite some opposition – but has also been generally recognized within a formal party structure that claims the heritage of Awóló: wò: as one with an original ambition for the presidency of Nigeria. By original ambition, I am referring to an ambition: (i) that emanates from the individual as agent, (ii) which is not initially encouraged or mobilized by others, (iii) which is constantly and elaborately announced by the agent to his political associates and supporters, and (iv) around which the agent builds a formal and elaborate structure geared towards actualizing that ambition. Since the Western Region achieved self-government status in 1954 under colonial rule, there have been six Yorùbá politicians whose political ambitions within Yorùbáland and beyond, that is, in the larger national politics, have had important implications for dominant (progressive) Yorùbá politics. These include Awóló: wò: ,BolaIge,Lateef Jakande, Moshood Abiola, Olu Falae and Bola Tinubu. Out of the six, the ambitions of four have been most consequential, within and beyond Yorùbá politics: Awóló: wò: , Ige, Abiola and Tinubu. The ambitions of the four have defined and/or redefined Yorùbá politics vis-à-vis national politics, even though, as I have argued throughout the preceding chapters, doubtless Awóló: wò: ’s ambition was, for a long time, the Seizing the Heritage 233 factor that overdetermined the state of affairs in Yorùbá politics until his death. However, despite Abiola’s inclusion on this list, I will argue that the ambitions of the other three constitute the most critical continuum strictly within the context of the Awóló: wò: movement. Therefore, in understanding the agency of national (presidential) ambitions in modern Yorùbá politics, we can leave out Abiola and the other two, Jakande and Falae. Why is this so? In Abiola’s case, he was never a member of the Awóló: wò: movement at any time. In Jakande’s case, apart from the fact that his presidential ambition was considered as manifestly ‘errant’, first before Awo died and later when he left the group to join the presidential race, his ambition never gained much footing. In Falae’s case, as explained in earlier chapters, he was originally recruited by the leaders of the Awóló: wò: political movement after Awo’s death, that is, at the start of the Babangida transition programme. This was solely because leading members of the group who might have had presidential ambitions were banned by General Babangida’s regime from participating in politics. Therefore, as I stated earlier, he did not have an ‘original’ ambition. When he re-emerged as a candidate within Afé:nifé:re during the General Abubakar transition programme that led to the Fourth Republic, his ambition was generally regarded as constructed against Bola Ige’s ambition. Also, even though he was eventually selected as the presidential candidate of the AD–APP alliance, he was never at any point considered, or considered himself to be, the most popular, most visible and most respected (within and beyond Yorùbáland) leader of the Awóló: wò: movement. Only Awóló: wò: himself, Ige and Tinubu have achieved this status. However, I do not suggest that gaining this did, or does, not entail opposition to that status within and beyond the movement and in Yorùbáland. (The case of Awo has already been explored in Chapters 1 and 2, and Ige’sisinChapters 3–6.) Tinubu, like Ige, is unable, and indeed is not expected, to equal Awo’s combination of cultural and political legitimacy with electoral popularity. However, neither lacked (lacks) Awóló: wò: ’s consuming ambition for the presidency of Nigeria. Also, both have demonstrated in elaborate and laborious ways, and with greater salience that any other, their interest in succeeding to the Awo stool. I suggest that it is in this sense that Ofeimun argues that ‘Tinubu is remarkable’. However, Ige and Tinubu have pursued the ambition to become both the leader in Yorùbá politics and the leader of the progressive movement in Nigeria, who is also qualified for and ‘entitled’ to the presidency, with a 234 Part Two different inflection. Ige used to say to me that Awo was too ‘fixated’ on the presidency or the headship of the Nigerian state. He wanted to avoid that kind of fixation. Despite Ige’s claim, however, he too was obsessed with the presidency. But his oft-stated conscious decision to avoid exhibiting that obsession produced a particularly interesting path. Beyond Yorùbáland, the limitations of Awo’s and Ige’s national politics was primarily due to the fact that they were seen as bearers of the ‘Yorùbá agenda’ in Nigeria. Their major opposing political camp, the conservative Northern political elite (and their allies across the country, including in Yorùbáland), and the Igbo political elite opposed what Awo and Ige represented on both ideological and ethno-regional grounds. In spite of the fact that some people outside of Yorùbáland saw Ige as a Yorùbá nationalist, the man who spoke Hausa fluently and constantly reminded people of how he grew up in the north courted the elite across the country in a much more purposive way than Awóló: wò: ever did. Awo had only political–ideological relationships beyond Yorùbáland (almost always groups, rather than individuals), but Ige had personal friends across the country who were not necessarily ideologically on the same page with him. This is where Tinubu is different from both Awo and Ige. Tinubu has done better than them in this context. He has both friends and political allies – and he is linked with alliance-forming political parties – across the country. However, these relationships are without rigid ideological platforms or shareable political principles. This is part of Tinubu’s significance as the most important political leader in Yorùbá politics today. He has tried to combine elements of the other two (Awo and Ige) without acquir- ing the burdens of their ‘limitations’ in national politics. However, this effort has opened him up to charges of ideological vacuity and excess commitment to power. I will suggest that, conceptually, the key difference between the three most important Yorùbá political figures of the last century is their attitude to (political) power and ideology. In this context, I approach power in terms of political office, influence and the capacity to do things that have the greatest social, economic and political consequences. In terms of ideology, I mean a comprehensive vision of society, based on the centrality of ideas in human action and in the structure of any organization. In this context, logical coherence is what links the role of ideas in human interaction with the structure of any organization to mobilize those ideas and deploy them in the service of particular goals. Against this backdrop, I suggest that Awo approached power from an ideological standpoint, whereas Tinubu approaches ideology from a power standpoint. Awo Seizing the Heritage 235 believed that it is on the basis of ideological interests that one ought to mobilize for power, but Tinubu has demonstrated his belief in the fact that it is only by accessing power that one can mobilize one’s interests and make one’s vision of society practical. Ige was in-between. He was ideological but did not overemphasize ideology in the context of accessing power, yet he also tried never to overstate power at the expense of ideological commit- ments. It was this betwixt-and-between position – a commitment to ideology combined with a risky longing for power – that could account for the mess which consumed Ige politically. In Tinubu’s case, he has a prudent fancy for ideology but a fierce commitment to power. As he articulates his attitude to power and ideology in many conversations: if the agenda to which the (Yorùbá) progressives are committed in Nigeria can be achieved only by capturing power, for Tinubu there will be no need to ostracize others by rigidly insisting that the route to power must be based on ideological congruence. He has demonstrated his belief in the fact that, without power, the progressive ideology will only remain at the margins of the federal level in Nigeria. The most important feat that Tinubu has pulled off is to disrupt the specific and rigid relationship between ideology and power which Awo had taken for granted and which has been canvassed by Awo’s followers, even beyond the man’s life. Even if, within the larger Awo political family, the achievement of this feat by Tinubu is not accepted as ‘good’ politics – based on the sense of ‘ideology’ as the instrument which commands or orders the agent’s pursuit of power – Tinubu has gone a long way to reverse the logic of ‘good politics’ as it was understood prior to his emergence. He has shown that, for him, whatever works and works well in politics is ‘good’ politics. Therefore, ‘good’ politics, from this standpoint, is not merely about a set of collectively shared convictions about the overall social organization (whether or not they are triumphant in actual political relations), but what triumphs at the practical level. It is about how particular political agents overcome their personal, social, cultural and political constraints, to mobilize the capacity to execute their agential conception of shared convictions about social organization. According to this standpoint and its practical consequences, Tinubu has, therefore, disrupted the ways in which the Awóló: wò: movement perceived and related to the rest of Nigeria or, at least, the way in which they articulated their perception of their relation to the rest of Nigeria. Consequently, Tinubu challenges existing assumptions and practices (within the Yorùbá–Awo–progressive fold) which approach politics as a ‘morality play’. He constantly dramatizes his conception of politics as war 236 Part Two by other means: not a tea party in which you expect the best conduct from all players. Perhaps this is why, while Awo’s UPN was able to retrieve only Ondo State from among the three states stolen by the rival NPN in the Second Republic, and the AD was not able to retain only a single state in 2003, Tinubu not only held his own state (Lagos) in 2003 under AD but, after the 2007 elections, retrieved all the ‘stolen’ states, first through the courts (Edo in November 2008, Ondo in February 2009, Ekiti in October 2010 and Osun in November 2010), then through subsequent elections (Oyo and Ogun in April 2011). The process of retrieving these states from the PDP was definitely messy; it included compromises such as that with Mimiko of the Labour Party in Ondo State and with Abiola Ajimobi and Ibikunle Amosun, who had been the candidates of the ANPP during the previous gubernatorial election, in Oyo and Ogun. Evidently, for Tinubu, politics is a mess that should be managed with a focus on power, while, for Awo, politics was a mess to be moderated by ideology. This would seem to be the fundamental problem that many members of the Awóló: wò: movement opposed to Tinubu have with him – what they see as his unconditional valorization of power over ideology. Interestingly enough, it was the obverse problem that most conservative Yorùbá and other politicians across Nigeria had with Awo; that is, Awo’s unconditional valorization of ideology over power. It was often said in plain language that Awóló: wò: was ‘too rigid’ or ‘inflexible’. He wanted every political association to be based on a definite consensus on the ideological. On the contrary, the man who claims his legacy, Tinubu, organizes political consensus on the basis of a clear apprehension of what needs to be done to capture power. While this approach has brought him a large following in Yorùbáland and attracted to him broad possibilities of political coalition across the federation, it has also limited his appeal to an important section of the Awo political family. It is in this sense that I argue that Tinubu has created a very interesting and politically salient rupture in Awoness – but not in Awoism, the political philosophy. On the basis of his belief in, or attitude to, power, Tinubu – who holds the chieftaincy title of Jagaban Borgu in central Nigeria and the Ezeobaludikegwu of Oko in eastern Nigeria, among many others – has methodically constructed alliances with individuals across the country, including the powerful emirs of the north, towards ensuring that he con- structs a political template that would lead to his emergence not only as the presidential candidate of a party or an alliance but also the first progressive president in Nigeria. His political network is awesome because his generosity is only second to Abiola’s in Yorùbáland. Abiola built a similarly Seizing the Heritage 237 powerful network, albeit without the organizational core of Tinubu’s. The agential and structural bases of Tinubu’s emergence as the leading Yorùbá politician since 2003 – including his disruption of the specific and rigid relationship between ideology and power within the Awoist movement, his inflexible and unflinching commitment to power and long-range political battles, his organization for political consensus on the basis of an uncom- mon insight into what needs to be done to capture power, his approach to politics as a mess that ought to be managed with a focus on influence and dominance, his readiness to deploy unlimited financial resources and tactical reasoning in constructing party organization, including the mobilization of complex and complicated cross-ethnic alliances and his almost unmatched capacity for hazardous political risks – constitute his strengths in regional and national politics. They are also responsible for his eagerness to work with anyone, including people of debatable progressive credentials, to achieve his ultimate ambition. In 2007, he worked with former Vice-President Abubakar Atiku, formerly of the ruling PDP, in the hope of becoming his running mate as the presidential candidate of the Action Congress (AC). That didn’t work out. After that, he tried to work with former head of state, General Muhammadu Buhari, working hard to be Buhari’s running mate for the 2011 elections. But Buhari refused to accept that as a condition upon which the alliance of his party, the Congress for Progressive Change (CPC), and the ACN was based. Consequently, Tinubu’s ACN then went with its own presidential candidate, Nuhu Ribadu, the former Chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). However, Tinubu eventually ensured that the ACN-dominated states in the south-west voted for President Goodluck Jonathan, who begged Tinubu for support only a few days before the 2011 presidential elections. Excepting Osun State, all ACN-dominated states voted massively for President Jonathan in the 2011 presidential election. Through such manoeuvres Tinubu demonstrated his belief that it is only by accessing power that one can mobilize one’s interests and make one’s vision of society practical. Another significant thing about Tinubu’s ascendancy in Yorùbá and national politics is the way in which it has slightly changed the socio- cultural basis for accessing power in the context of religious identity; or, put differently, the way in which his dominance re-emphasizes the challenges of politico-cultural coherence in the face of religious differences. Since Awóló: wò: ’s emergence, Tinubu is the first Muslim to dominate Yorùbá (progressive) politics. Even though his cultural identity as a Yorùbá political figure is not overdetermined by his religious identity, 238 Part Two

Tinubu has directly, and perhaps unconsciously, created opportunities for high political offices for Muslims in Yorùbáland and a political visibility for Muslim (progressive) politicians that has never been witnessed in modern Yorùbá politics. This is a very significant shift in a political culture (as explained in Chapters 1 and 2) where Yorùbá Christianity has represented, albeit in an unobtrusive way, the salient context for modern politics since the leadership of Awóló: wò: . The long-drawn-out attempt, since Samuel Johnson’s History of the Yorùbás, to reconcile the fate and destiny of the Yorùbá nation with Christianity, and therefore enlightenment and modernity, is facing an interesting revision under Tinubu’s leadership. While, as they did with Christianity, the Yorùbá have ‘domesticated’ Islam – which long preceded the Yorùbá encounter with Christianity – such that we can speak of Yorùbá Islam, yet, as I have argued in Chapter 1, because of its imbrications with Western modernity, Yorùbá Christianity has had a greater influence in the overarching modernist project of the progressive movement in Yorùbáland. Therefore, Tinubu’s emergence is very significant in the longue durée of Yorùbá cultural politics and its fundamental affinity with modernity, particularly in terms of the intermit- tent irruptions throughout modern Yorùbá history of Yorùbá Islamic identity as a limitation to the salience of Yorùbá Christianity in the politics of Yorùbáland (for examples over the long term, see Peel 2011). Yet, unlike northern Muslim politicians, Yorùbá Muslim politicians from Adegoke Adelabu to Bola Tinubu, with few exemptions, do not see a connection between their religious identity and their politics. For instance, Adelabu stated in his Africa in Ebullition (1952 [2008], 62) that his Muslim identity is ‘by chance’, while he ‘depracate[d]’ any attempt to ‘import [the Muslim identity] into the political arena’. Tinubu would seem to have the same attitude, despite the fact that his most important lieutenants are Muslims. It appears that the emerging trend is primarily a function of the fact that Tinubu occupies a critical position, even though he happens to be a Muslim, rather than that he is promoting his Islamic identity through the choice of the leaders that surround him. I will illustrate the difference in the new configuration with some examples. In the Second Republic, four of the five UPN governors were Christians (Bola Ige, Bisi Onabanjo, Adekunle Ajasin and Ambrose Alli; the last, the governor of Bendel State, was not a Yorùbá), with only one Muslim (Lateef Jakande). Also, in the Third Republic, only one (Isiaka Adeleke) of the four SDP governors (including Kolapo Ishola, Bamidele Olumilua and Segun Osoba) was a Muslim. In the first half of the Fourth Republic, there were three Christians (Segun Osoba, Niyi Adebayo and Seizing the Heritage 239

Ade Adefarati) and three Muslims (Bola Tinubu, Lam Adesina and Bisi Akande). In the current dispensation, that is, under Tinubu’s leadership, four of the five Yorùbá ACN governors are Muslims (Raji Fashola, Rauf Aregbesola, Abiola Ajimobi and Ibikunle Amosun), with only one being a Christian (Kayode Fayemi). Their erstwhile ally, Labour Party’s Olusegun Rahman Mimiko of Ondo State converted from Islam to Christianity. I am not arguing that Yorùbá Muslims played second fiddle in the politics of Yorùbáland before Tinubu’s emergence (see Peel 2011). However, it is a fact that the highest political offices in the Yorùbá states within the Awóló: wò: movement have never included as many Muslims as under Tinubu’s leadership. What does this mean for the texture of contemporary Yorùbá politics in the age of Tinubu? While I admit that there is now a greater salience on the Muslim identity in Yorùbá political culture, still it must be recognized that part of this is a reaction to the global fundamentalist movements in Islam, which has at least given greater emphasis to the Muslim identity and the expansion of Muslim proselytiz- ing within Yorùbáland. However, despite this, because dominant (progressive) Yorùbá politics is, first and foremost, about Yorùbá cultural identity and cultural values which are drawn primarily from Yorùbá religious culture and sustained by opposition to the conservative ideas and ideals and the national ruling ethos overrepresented by the Hausa- Fulani conservative political elite, the greater visibility of Yorùbá Muslims is unlikely to produce excessive religious tension in Yorùbáland. It is also unlikely, at least among most progressive politicians, to produce the substitution of Yorùbá cultural identity in politics for that of religion.

obasanjo and tinubu: the scourge and his nemesis

The irony of the struggle to re-seize the heritage of Awo between Daniel (‘Lion of the West’) and Tinubu (‘Lion of Bourdillon’) could not have been better expressed than through what happened on Friday, 26 November 2010. On that day, on the web page of the Tribune was the photograph of Mrs Awóló: wò: being helped to cut her ninety-fifth birthday cake by the Ooni of Ife, Oba Okunade Sijuade, and Governor Daniel. Above that photograph by late afternoon of the same day was the breaking news of the decision by the Appeal Court in Ibadan declaring Rauf Aregbesola, one of Tinubu’s associates, as the duly elected governor of Osun State. The previous day, the PDP governor of Osun State, Olagunsoye Oyinlola – who was to be sacked by the Appeal Court in about twenty- four hours – joined his other colleagues in congratulating Mrs Awóló: wò: 240 Part Two on her birthday. Oyinlola said H.I.D. Awóló: wò: ’s life ‘is a confirmation of the divine words in Proverbs 16:31 that grey hair is a crown of splendor attained by a righteous life’ (Adekanmbi, 25 November 2010, 1). In his own message, Oyinlola’s Oyo State counterpart, Governor Adebayo Alao- Akala – who re-erected the statue of the Unknown Soldier to replace that of Awóló: wò: – described the widow ‘as a virtuous woman and a source of inspiration to millions of Nigerians’ (ibid.). Daniel crowned these congrat- ulatory messages by stating that ‘it was a great delight that God’s shower of benevolence on Mama had energized her to continue to wax strong and be able to mentor and inspire the nation towards a virile nationhood’ (ibid.). While the PDP governors were serenading Awo’s widow, the Tinubu-led Action Congress of Nigeria was making successful advances against the PDP in Awo’s home region. A few weeks earlier, on 15 October 2010, the Appeal Court sitting in Ilorin sacked the PDP governor of Ekiti State, Segun Oni, declaring in favour of Kayode Fayemi of ACN, the governor who had been duly elected in the election held more than three years earlier. Oni, who incidentally, like Fayemi, wears Awo’s cap, was also one of the Yorùbá PDP governors who regularly attended Awóló: wò: family events in Ikenne. Aregbesola’s victory was the third in the series of reversals by the courts of the victory of the PDP in the five remaining Yorùbá states earlier governed by the Awóló: wò: faithful. Only Oyo and Ogun states were spared in the electoral reversals by the courts as the politicians prepared for elections in April 2011. Consequently, in addition to Lagos, Tinubu was now effectively in charge of all but one of the six Yorùbá states – as well as Edo State, which was part of the old Western Region that Awóló: wò: governed as premier. On the basis of this Tinubu was declared by some as the ‘new Yorùbá leader’. It appears that in the elaborate schemes by President Obasanjo to take over Yorùbáland after Bola Ige ’s assassination, another Bola (Tinubu) has become his nemesis. Femi Orebe, in celebration of what he saw as the collapse of Obasanjo’s political schemes in Yorùbáland, wrote that, ‘Never in history have a few felons so malignantly shredded the culture of a people as the now ravaged and rootless PDP jokers [governors] in the South-West did to the Yorùbá race’ (Orebe, 1 May 2011). Orebe argued that when President Obasanjo helped to rig the elections and get the PDP governors in the Yorùbá states into power, he ‘must have seen in this the one opportunity he had ever craved: that of rubbishing and upstaging Awo in Yorùbáland’ (ibid.). The defeat of the PDP in Yorùbáland, therefore, was not only a loss for Obasanjo but a victory for Awóló: wò: and his successors. The new Ekiti State Governor, Seizing the Heritage 241

Dr Kayode Fayemi, consequently announced that ‘the progressive forces have no apology to offer for the roles played by the former Governor of Lagos State, Asiwaju Bọla Tinubu, in the liberation of the Southwest [Yorùbáland] from the Peoples Democratic Party’ (Nation, 12 December 2010). As he was sworn in on Saturday, 16 October 2010, in Ado-Ekiti, the capital of Ekiti State, Fayemi, donning a green-coloured ‘Awo cap’, invoked Awo’s name and the late leader’s tortuous political career. He quoted Awo’s famous statement in his 1963 allocutus, ‘After rain comes sunshine’, while announcing that ‘A new dawn is here’. Surrounded on all sides and taunted by his predecessor, former Governor Segun Osoba, who claimed that the ACN was the ‘inheritance of the late sage [Awóló: wò: ]’, Governor Gbenga Daniel returned the salvo by claiming that ‘Yorùbáland is not available for vagabonds’ (Nigerian Tribune Tuesday, 14 December 2010, 1). Governor Daniel’s choice of word, ‘vagabond’, was quite instructive because the struggle is between those who regard themselves as ‘true-born’ Yorùbá (‘omo oko’) – and therefore Awo’s heirs and omoluwabi – and those regarded as ‘vagabonds’ (‘omo ale’). This trope is constantly thrown around by the Awo associates in the ﬁght for legitimacy. Indeed, for the Awoists in the ACN, the Yorùbá in the PDP are the real ‘vagabonds’, the ‘traitors’ to Awóló: wò: ’s heritage. This trope and the political drama and conﬂict that it provokes was on display on 6 March 2012 in Lagos, when members of the Yorùbá elite gathered to witness the public presentation of the Development Agenda for Western Nigeria (DAWN), organized by the Afé:nifé:re Renewal Group (ARG). All the governors of the Yorùbá states except Governor Mimiko of Ondo State, who sent his commissioner to represent him, were present. Governor Rauf Aregbesola of Osun State, who spoke after Mimiko’srep- resentative, criticized some of the latter’s claims and concluded that anyone who was not a member of his (Aregbesola’s) party, ACN, in Yorùbáland ‘is an amulumala [muddle or jumble], and not an omoluabi’. It was a direct shot at Governor Mimiko whose ‘hybrid politics’ had become terribly irritating to Aregbesola as well as to other members of the ACN. This was yet another instance of the play on, and politics of, proper Yorùbáness. The politics of proper Yorùbáness was also directed at Governor Daniel. Earlier in his emergence as a politician of note, Daniel’s local opponents had queried his origin in Sagamu in the Ijebu-Remo area of Ogun State by calling him ‘ojiji omo’ (lit. ‘sudden/unexpected child’, meaning ‘vagabond’). It was a direct challenge to Daniel’s personal and political pedigree. His supporters responded by verbalizing his initials – OGD (Otunba Gbenga Daniel) – in Yorùbá and pronouncing it as ‘ogidi omo’ 242 Part Two

(‘true-born child’). Contrary to this, one of his main political adversaries, US-based activist and gubernatorial candidate of the National Conscience Party (NPC) in Ogun State, Lanre Banjo, dismissed ‘Daniel’s claim to Awo’s image [as] a fraud’ (Daily Independent 4 November 2005,B1). Consequently, claims to Awoness and proper Yorùbáness continue to attract controversy and contestations, whether at the symbolic or at the material level.

conclusion

While he is now the most powerful progressive Yorùbá politician, Tinubu has achieved dominance without becoming hegemonic. Within the Awóló: wò: movement he is strongly opposed by the older Afé:nifé:re leaders who were closest to Awóló: wò: , and is unpopular with some of his contemporaries and the younger elements who never joined, or have left, his political party, the ACN. In what Ayo Olukotun (2012) describes as an ‘elusive search for another Awóló: wò: ’, the two groups are working hard to ensure that Tinubu does not successfully claim Awo’s heritage. The ﬁrst group is symbolized by the octogenarian Chief Ayo Adebanjo, who, in supporting Segun Mimiko of the Labour Party in Ondo State for a second term as governor, stated that, ‘Iamadirect disciple of Awolowo and I know what Awolowo stood for .... When did ACN become the umbrella party for the South West region or who endorsed anybody the leader of Yorùbá race? ...As a matter of fact, which Yorùbá gathering selected or appointed Tinubu leader of Yorùbá? (Bello 2012; emphasis added). The second (younger) group is represented by the former publicity secretary of Afé:nifé:re and later of Afé:nifé:re Renewal Group (ARG), Yinka Odumakin. Odumakin left the Fasoranti-led Afé:nifé:re in support of the Fasanmi–Tinubu–Akande faction and joined the Tinubu-led Action Congress (AC). He later left the AC over the party primaries in 2007, and also later left the ARG. He has since returned to the Fasoranti-led Afé:nifé:re. For those sharing his position, Odumakin declared that since the death of Adesanya ‘we [have not had] a leader in Yorùbáland’. Added Odumakin, ‘Looking at the horizon now, I’m still searching. I have not found any one who can be called a Yorùbá leader at the moment .... Bola Tinubu is just a leader of Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN); he is just a leader of his party in the southwest’ (Adewale, 2012). It can be argued that Odumakin, like many others – as evident in the preceding chapters – who struggle to deﬁne Awo’s legacy, demands ‘an Seizing the Heritage 243 emotional commitment to a discipleship of lived practice’, as Margaret Archer (2000, 186) describes it, from anyone who wants to be the next Awo. To emphasize the fact that Tinubu cannot claim exclusive leadership of the Awoist camp in Nigerian politics, when the members of the Yorùbá Unity Forum (YUF), led by Bishop Emmanuel Gbonigi, met Governor Mimiko to congratulate him after he won the bitterly contested October 2012 governorship election, defeating both the candidates of the PDP and the ACN to second and third positions respectively, he told his guests that he would continue to follow Awo’s ideology to develop his state. Even though one of Tinubu’s closest allies and Lagos State chairman of the Action Congress of Nigeria, Chief Henry Ajomale, states that there can never be anyone like Awóló: wò: again in Yorùbáland, adding that what a politician should do is to ‘work towards achieving his vision, rather thinking of how to become another Awolowo’ (Ajibola, 2010), Governor Rauf Aregbesola told me that Tinubu is the indisputable current leader of the Yorùbá – and thus Awo’s current successor. It is evident that in the unending struggle for succession the veneration and/or imitation of the corporate agency of the ‘modern progenitor’, Awo, will continue for a long time in Yorùbá politics. conclusion

Corporate Agency and Ethnic Politics

The name Awo will not die. When I am leaving you, I am leaving you not as a dead person, but I will shed this body into another life Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: ,Ikẹnnẹ, 9 May 1986

[Awóló: wò: ] believed passionately in the potential of [Nigeria] and of Africa as a whole .... [I]t was the future, not the past, which was always his prime focus. So as we celebrate his centenary today, I intend to follow his lead and look ahead Mr Koﬁ Annan, former UN Secretary-General, Address at the Awóló: wò: Centenary Celebrations, Lagos, Nigeria, 20 March 2009

The belief in the world of spirits rests on the actual fact that a dead person continues to affect society Radcliffe-Brown (1922, 304)

political life and the web of culture

In his The Interpretation of Culture, Clifford Geertz emphasized the difficulty of finding a middle ground between ‘the stream of events that make up political life and the web of beliefs that comprises a culture’.Thisisbecause, alternately, both look like a ‘clutter of schemes and surprises’ and like ‘avast geometry of settled judgments’ (1993 [1973], 311). Therefore, for the theorist of culture, what joins ‘such a chaos of incident to such a cosmos of sentiments’ is not only extremely obscure, it is also difficult to formulate. But Geertz proposes an approach to solving this problem: ‘(W)hat the attempt to link politics and culture needs is a less breathless view of the former and a less aesthetic view of the latter’ (Geertz 1993 [1973], 311). In interpreting the political culture that is embodied by the man whom Kofi Annan described as one whose ‘prime focus’ was the future (see

244 Conclusion 245

figure 18. Former United Nations Secretary-General Koﬁ Annan with Awóló: wò: ’s daughter, Dr Tokunbo Awóló: wò: Dosumu, at the Awóló: wò: Centenary Lecture in Lagos in March 2009 (Photo courtesy Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation, Lagos)

Figure 18), I have attempted to avoid the twin ‘sins’ against which Geertz warned anthropologists of culture and politics. I have tried to render ‘political life intelligible by seeing it, even at its most erratic, as informed by a set of conceptions – ideals, hypothesis, obsessions, judgments – derived from concerns which far transcend it and to give reality to those conceptions by seeing them as having their existence ... in the concrete immediacy of partisan struggle’ (ibid.). Seeing cultural reflections in the political practices of an elite formation reveals the efficacy and contingency of cultural symbols, rules and resources in the struggle for power. Against a tradition in anthropology that over-concentrates on mapping consistencies in ‘culture’ that produce social stability, I have focused on the struggle for consistency that brings a degree of stability as well as on the inconsistencies, tensions and the crises at the very heart of Yorùbá culture, and the politics produced and reproduced by these inconsistencies. This book presents a particular elite formation through the prism of the interaction of agency, an embodied culturally specific, consolidated stream of composite actions and interactions that are geared towards specific social endeavour and structure, that is, conventions and social parameters through which agency and social practices are performed and become 246 Conclusion performative (Adebanwi 2009, 207). These embodied and consolidated streams of composite actions and interactions and the conventions and social parameters are, I have shown, informed by the past in their ‘habitual aspects’ (Emirbayer and Mische 1998, 963), oriented towards the future (as evident in their ‘capacity to imagine alternative possibilities’) (ibid.) and (re)marked by present challenges because of the ways in which they are simultaneously constrained and freed by ‘past habits’ and the future projects through which they gain their legitimacy (cf. Ortner 1990, 57–63, 84 and 92). As in Abner Cohen’s case, this study is about a particular elite group which is ‘concentrated territorially’ and is ‘culturally homogenous’ (1981, xiv), with the ‘concentration’ and ‘homogeneity’, and the structures and practices that are (re)produced by them, representing freedom as well as constraint. As Sherry B. Ortner (2003, 277) famously renders it, ‘history makes people, but people make history’. Therefore, I have placed a greater emphasis on agency than on structure, while showing how it is overtly central in the social process. Within and beyond the ‘concentration’ and ‘homogeneity’, my main objective is to understand how Yorùbáness was reconstituted through the political actions, rules and resources that attempt to conform to the ideal, ideas, representations and practices of Chief Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: – or what I have called Awoness and the political philosophy articulated by Awo – which is called Awoism. The structures and agencies constructed around the form and practices of this identity (that is, Yorùbáness = [omoluabi- ness]= Awoness) started from the early 1950s, blossomed in the 1960s and came to full fruition in the 1980s and beyond. In postcolonial Nigeria, an ‘individually conceived project’ was transformed into ‘a more or less coherent’ ethno-nationalist project (cf. Pina-Cabral 2000, 224). Evident in the earlier chapters is the fact that this ethno-nationalist project (modern Yorùbáness) is fluid, despite sometimes being represented as rigid, static and even essentialized. The identity is changeable; it is constantly revised through the tactics and strategies which are adopted in the light of new opportunities and challenges by the agents. Paradoxically, the identity is also constant and bounded in terms of the defined interests and the overall ethos that are generally accepted as authorizing it. ‘The result’ as Sherry B. Ortner (2006, 53) argues – and as the ethnographic details in this book show –‘is a complex but illuminating picture of shifting loyalties, shifting alliances, and above all shifting categories, as [members of the Yorùbá power elite] contended for power, resources and legitimacy’. At every point, there are particular ways in which the practices of Yorùbáness morph into the realities of quotidian politics of a typical Conclusion 247 postcolonial, multi-ethnic state. For instance, despite their famed ‘inflexi- bility’ (different factions of) the Awoist movement, at different points, supported ‘anti-Awo’ or ‘non-Awoist’ presidential candidates in the post Awo-era, including Basorun Moshood Abiola of the Social Democratic Party (1993), President Olusegun Obasanjo of the People’s Democratic Party (2003), General Muhammadu Buhari of the All Nigerian People’s Party (2007), Vice-President Atiku Abubakar of the Action Congress (2007) and Malam Nuhu Ribadu of the Action Congress of Nigeria (2011). Thus, Awo’s corporate agency has been thrown into crisis by the political challenges facing his heirs and by the heirs themselves. As Chris Shore (2002, 14) understood the task of anthropology in the study of elites, I have used different methods to study and elaborate the ‘inner worlds of meanings that define and sustain’ the identity of the Yorùbá elite, ‘the cultural mechanisms’ that they use in maintaining their status, and the ways that the members of this elite ‘relate to, and are embedded within, wider socio-economic and political processes’ in Nigeria and beyond. In this concluding chapter, I will try to relate theory to ethnographic data in locating the interface of elite politics and ethnicity.

awo´ lo´. w: and contemporary politics in yoru` ba´ land For three days in late October 2007, a group of younger Awoists, the Afé: nifé: re Renewal Group (ARG), which was formed earlier in the year, invited the warring leaders of Afé:nifé:re and other Yorùbá professionals to the International Institute of Tropical Agriculture (IITA), Ọjoo Ibadan, to deliberate on the current state of the Yorùbá nation in the post-Obasanjo era. It was tagged ‘Yorùbá Retreat’. The IITA is a haven of sorts in the contemporary chaos of underdevelopment which is Ibadan, the metropolis of Yorùbáland. The Institute, run by Americans, had been granted diplomatic status during the military era. When the proud members of the Yorùbá political establishment drove into the Institute and encountered the order, peace and tranquillity that reigned there, the lush green grass and particularly the fact that, contrary to what obtains in the rest of the city and the country, everything worked within the gates of the IITA, they bemoaned their fate in Nigeria. This, some noted, was how the University of Ibadan, which was next door, and the Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: University, in Ile-Ifet, had looked in the 1960sand1970s. For the members of the Yorùbá elite, the Retreat mirrored the retreat of Yorùbá interests and egalitarian political culture within Nigeria. The 248 Conclusion

‘stereotypes’ that Awóló: wò: set out to correct – including that the Yorùbá were ‘badly disunited’, had a feeling of inferiority to the ‘go-ahead’ Igbo and so on (see Chapter 2) – and which he replaced with positive values and image, such as the view that the Yorùbá were ‘enlightened’, ‘civilized’, ‘united’, ‘progressive’, ‘hardworking’, were constantly re-evoked at the Retreat. Expressions of frustration dominated the formal and informal discussions and debates. The members of Afé:nifé:re were sad to realize how bad things were for the Yorùbá nation – even as they were quarrelling among themselves. The accounts of decline overshadowed the expressions of eagerness to overcome the divisions and rivalries in Afé:nifé:re, so as to confront the challenges facing the Yorùbá nation. There is a sense of absolute frustration currently exhibited by members of the Yorùbá power elite. They argue that Nigeria is at best ‘impeding’,or at worst ‘preventing’, the Yorùbá from expressing themselves in line with the politico-cultural philosophy of ‘freedom for all, life more abundant’. What to do about this ‘impediment’–that is, Nigeria as it is presently organized – is a question that continues to exercise the Yorùbá as they reflect on their options. Yet in all these discussions and in reflections on the division among the progressive (Awóló: wò: ) camp in Yorùbá politics, there is little attention paid to the great gap that now exists between the egalitarian rhetoric of the political elite and the realities of class divide in Yorùbáland. The latter is (re)produced not only by national-level, but by regional-level, corruption and avarice, by unprecedented levels of private accumulation and by a politics based almost exclusively on the benefits of personal ambition rather than collective well-being – the latter the ideal for which Awóló: wò: continues to be celebrated. However, between those who advocate total separation from Nigeria in the near future and those who insist on capturing federal power and using it to ‘free’ not only the Yorùbá but also other ethnic groups from the ‘ethno-religious yoke’ imposed by the conservative Hausa-Fulani power elite, the future will undoubtedly present its challenges. The paradox is that many members of the elite that hold either of these views are often forced, because of the reality of practical politics and the limitations of ideological and ethnocentric standpoints in a multi-ethnic polity, to work with Hausa- Fulani (northern) politicians (and others) occasionally to help ‘save Nigeria’. This study points to the fact that even though the man regarded as the most vicious military ruler in Nigeria, Abacha (1993–8), messed with the Yorùbá and allegedly ordered their leaders assassinated, he didn’t succeed in messing up the Yorùbá, largely because Abacha was regarded Conclusion 249 by the elite as an uncomplicated evil – an evil that ended with his death. The Yorùbá political figures ensnared by Abacha were not subsequently significant, either because they were originally ‘improper Yorùbá’ or instantly became, by the very act of joining the Abacha regime, ‘improper Yorùbá’–and therefore more or less lost their political credentials. Thus, under Abacha, because they faced a common enemy, core members of the Yorùbá elite were fairly united. Together they were forced to wait for an opportunity which they believed would enable them to realize their corporate, collective destinies. But when Abacha suddenly died in June 1998, with Moshood Abiola soon afterwards, the political field opened up. Abiọla’s death was convenient for the Afé:nifé:re. Despite what he became – the symbol of the struggle to end conservative Hausa-Fulani-military hegemony – he was not regarded as a long-term proper Yorùbá by the core of this elite because he had been, for the most part, opposed to the Awoist movement. Among other things, Abiola’s long-term role in Yorùbá and national politics represented some of the ironies and challenges of reconciling a ‘modern’‘secular’ Yorùbá identity with that of Yorùbá Islam. This is particularly so because of the affinity of important Yorùbá Muslim politicians with the dominant Islamic Hausa-Fulani north. As Yorùbá Muslims in general, and Yorùbá Muslim politicians in particular, continue to affirm their religious identity as a path to political relations with the rest of the country, could this lead to a rupture in Yorùbá identity organized around the Awoist ethos? Against this backdrop, some of the members of the elite saw Abiọla’s sacrifices as partly constituting remission for his past political sins against Awóló: wò: and the Yorùbá – sins which, they argue, ‘are always punished by the Yorùbá ancestors and by God’. Even though they had stood by him while his ordeal lasted, Abiọla’s ‘removal by destiny’, paradoxically (or even ‘providentially’, as some believed) so soon after Abacha in July 1998, opened political opportunities for those who were the loudest in defending his mandate. After Abiola and Abacha’s deaths, the Yorùbá elite assumed that the time had come for the realization of their collective destiny – although the means and methods of that were understood in significantly different ways by the most ambitious members of the group. Between those who wanted a semi-autonomous Yorùbá region, if not a separate nation-state, as the institutional apparatus of fulfilling that destiny and those who wanted the seizing of federal power as the best way to achieve Yorùbá destiny within the context of Nigeria, the Afé:nifé:re imploded. 250 Conclusion

The window of opportunity opened by Abacha’s death was, in one sense, closed with the election of the archetypal ‘improper Yorùbá’, President Obasanjo, in 1999. Obasanjo then opened a little window for some of the actors in the group who were strategic improvisers – like Bọla Ige and C.O. Adebayo – to achieve his own political ambitions in Yorùbáland and Nigeria. Despite being regarded as an improper Yorùbá, Obasanjo used his Yorùbáness to frustrate the Afé:nifé:re by exploiting the ambitions, rivalries, cleavages and deep divisions within the group. Broadly, in this book, through a combination of historical sociology and ethnography, I have argued that the disputes and crises that followed were part of the basic texture of Yorùbá cultural and political lifeworld in the longue durée. The third civilian elections in the Fourth Republic held in early 2007 saw the Awoist forces divided between at least five parties, unlike in the past when Afé:nifé:re used to relate to a single party. Consequently, and despite ‘recapturing’ all the states ‘stolen’ by the PDP by 2011, the Yorùbá can no longer speak of one Awoist force and, therefore, a common destiny, jointly conceived and jointly pursued under the same political umbrella. The politics of heritage was thus broken up. Some people have expressed the suspicion that the Yorùbá power elite have got to a point where the Awoist heritage has lost its meaning and potency as a guide to a singular ethno-political political framework of action (see, for instance, Nwabukwu 2003). However, the revival of the Awoist ethos signalled by the victory of the ACN governors (in Ekiti, Lagos, Ogun, Osun and Oyo states), who have all spoken about the revival of the ethos, shows that this suspicion has limited purchase. The Awóló: wò: heritage involves a linkage between a particular approach to Yorùbá and Nigerian politics that looks back to Awo’s ideological programme as a single, coherent political force, and one in which political agents that invoke his name and see themselves as inheritors – both in corporate and personal senses – of this politico-cultural agenda. Conservation, consolidation, succession and reproduction by the members of the elite, as captured in earlier chapters, are some of the ways in which the heritage is elaborated in actual practice. However, as Awóló: wò: recedes as a particular ancestor – even if he remains in the background, like Odùduwà, Sango or any of the other Yorùbá ancestor/ gods – is he likely to become a distant figure, who is less regularly invoked? I would argue that, as the recent victories of the ACN and Labour Party gubernatorial candidates in Lagos, Ekiti, Ogun, Ondo, Osun and Oyo states show, Awóló: wò: will continue to be a powerful Conclusion 251 referent; an idea and the ideal which every ‘proper Yorùbá’ political leader will invoke. In my opinion, Awóló: wò: will always be honoured as the greatest Yorùbá of the 20th century, while what he wrote, said and did will continue to be the reference points, if not touchstones, of Yorùbá political action. His monumentalization would also continue, but, most likely, less as a commemoration of his achievements and more as an active reconstruction of his ideals and ideas, not only in the context of the history of the Yorùbá but also in the history of progressive (egalitarian) politics in Nigeria. This would constitute the frame with which new actors in every age would seek to re-present themselves. Yet in the end, as the memory of the man recedes like other ancestors, the number of those who can claim association with him will greatly decline. This is, in fact, already evident. In 2011, one of his lieutenants, Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, pleaded at an Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: Foundation Special Dialogue seminar held in Ikenne, that schoolchildren in Yorùbáland should be taught about Awo (Akingbade, 31 July 2011) because many in the new generation are far removed from the reality of Awóló: wò: ’s actual existence. I suggest that, gradually, Awóló: wò: will become more and more of a referent and a corporation rather than a person. He will be the central agent and the pillar of the structure of a ‘glorious past’ of the Yorùbá – a general, rather than a particular, ancestor. A cult of worshippers would still exist, but the ancestor would become totally impersonal and remote, such as is true now with the Yorùbá ancestral cult of Egungun. This is also becoming evident, not only in agential terms but also in organizational terms, as the Awóló: wò: movement can no longer sustain itself as a single, coherent apparatus. Unlike in the past, the Yorùbá are showing they are ready to accept those who profess Awoist ideals and ideas – and are therefore proper Yorùbá – joining different political parties, an almost heretical practice until the last few years. The cultural respect still enjoyed by the old men of Afé:nifé:re, in contrast to the popular political support enjoyed by the leaders of the now dominant political party in the Yorùbá south-western region of Nigeria, ACN, is an example of this phenomenon. The preceding chapters specify how the operations of structure and agency generate specific kinds of continuities and change, stability and instability in the Yorùbá lifeworld. It also shows, following Sewell (1992), how the members of the Yorùbá power elite display their capacities to use different rules and resources in the pursuit of their interests and goals, and transpose, at different times, these cultural rules and resources to new 252 Conclusion contexts of political and social challenge. Also, it has been made evident here that when cultural rules and resources are used in specific contexts they sometimes result in new forms of validation and are sometimes modified in the light of new knowledge, and when new challenges arise the members of the elite reinterpret and mobilize new rules and resources within the same cultural fields, even though such new rules and resources are not initially part of the field of their endeavour. Furthermore, the cases examined here demonstrate that the mystique of eliteness is cultivated or constructed over time and is based on specific cultural ideals which are generally accepted as fundamental. Persons, ideas and events interact within a historical context in ways that produce a category of ‘improper’ and ‘proper’ politics. It is evident from what I have explored here that the notion of Yorùbáness has not weakened. The contemporary form of Yorùbáness is organized around Yorùbá displeasure with the way they assume they have been cheated of power at the centre since 1960, when Nigeria gained independence – in spite of the eight years of President Obasanjo. This must be understood in the context of the ambivalence constantly exhibited by the Yorùbá power elite about the federal unity of Nigeria since Awo’s electoral defeat in 1983, and particularly since his death in 1987. Will the current dissatisfaction, caused for the most part by their ‘bastard son’–as Professor Segun Gbadegesin, a Howard University professor of philosophy and one of the respected intellectuals of the Awoist camp, indirectly described Obasanjo during the 2007 Ige Memorial Lecture – lead to a revival of self-determining (if not separatist) Yorùbá nationalism? I will suggest that this is not unlikely, given the palpable nationalism that still exists in Yorùbáland, in spite of the successes and setbacks of the Awoist project. One of the intellectuals closest to Awóló: wò: , who was also a senator in the Second Republic, Professor Adebanji Akintoye, insists that if Awo had lived longer, he would have abandoned his belief in Nigeria’s potential greatness. This was in a response to my argument, articulated during a keynote address at the Yorùbá Retreat, that Awo would have wanted the Yorùbá to remain within Nigeria (given his preoccupation with the country’s potential). Akintoye disagreed, adding that, if he had lived to the last decade of the 20th century, Awo would have convinced himself that Nigeria was not ‘save-able’. On the contrary, Awo’s former private secretary, poet and public intellectual, Odia Ofeimun, in a conversation with me, maintained that Awo would never have changed his position that Nigeria can, and must, be saved. He contended further that, if he were alive now, Awo would still have pushed for ‘Nigeria’s salvation’ as a basis for Conclusion 253

‘saving the rest of the continent’. Olufemi Taiwo, a Cornel University expert on Awo’s political philosophy, would seem to agree with Ofeimun when he argues that, given Awo’s ‘embrace of the much wider movement of modernity’ and his concern with ‘the perennial questions of ethics and political philosophy’, he was geared towards something bigger than only Yorùbáland. States Taiwo (2010), ‘[Awóló: wò: ] wanted to preserve the prodigious production associated with capitalism while using the instrumentality of the state, especially through taxation, to effect a more equitable distribution of the wealth that is produced, especially with regards to providing the lower classes with the resources requisite for humane living with dignity.’ As a former UN Secretary-General said in his address at the Awóló: wò: Centennial Celebrations in Lagos, ‘[Awóló: wò: ] believed passionately in the potential of [Nigeria] and of Africa as a whole. ... [I]t was the future, not the past, which was always his prime focus.’ Was Awo therefore, at heart, and in his larger political vision, a Yorùbá nationalist, a Nigerian nationalist or a black nationalist? Or all of these? Is he to be used to make a case for an independent Odùduwà Republic (a sovereign Yorùbá state), the renewal of Nigerian federation or the re- articulation of the common destiny of all Africans? Whatever version of Awo his disciples or scholars examining his legacy embrace, Yorùbáland was his laboratory and remains the greatest advertisement of his agency.

the centenary of a ‘geographical expression’

In his Path to Nigeria Freedom (1947, 47), Awolowo elaborates his foundational ideas about the political organization of a culturally diverse and divisive country such as Nigeria (as represented in Figure 19 by the sultan and emir from the north and the ooni and Awo’s daughter from the south). Before concluding that the country is a ‘mere geographical expression’ rather than a nation, Awóló: wò: starts out by lampooning the British Empire and its officials (Awóló: wò: 1947, 17–18). Today, Britain and British officials can be substituted for Nigeria and Nigerian officials in describing the attitude of many of the members of the Yorùbá elite to the Nigerian project. The followers of the man who spent all his political life writing and working hard for the political redemption of Nigeria – as Kofi Annan attests – and its continued existence as a corporate entity are no longer sure that sustaining the Nigerian project is the right course to take. They constantly call for the convocation of a Sovereign National Conference (as described at the beginning of this book) 254 Conclusion

figure 19. At the 2012 Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Annual Memorial Lecture. Left to right: the Sultan of Sokoto, Alhaji Muhammad Sa’ad Abubakar III, Awo’s daughter, Tokunbo Awóló: wò: Dosumu, the Ooni of Ife, Oba Okunade Sijuade, Olubuse II and the Emir of Kano, Alhaji Ado Bayero (Photo courtesy Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation, Lagos.) to readdress the foundations of national togetherness. To rephrase Awóló: wò: ’s words, his heirs ‘are extremely cynical, and cannot understand why Yorùbáland is in Nigeria’, and they believe that the Nigerian state is ‘characterized by ...aimlessness, drift, and want of imagination’. However, Awóló: wò: warned in his book that it would be ‘reckless’ for Nigerians and other colonial people to ‘imagine that British rule could be terminated by bitter denunciation of imperialism, or sweeping general- izations about oppression, exploitation and the like’, adding that ‘In order to attain self-government, Nigerian politicians must impress reasonable men both in British public life, and in other parts of the world, that they are qualified in all respects to maintain, and if possible improve upon, the present state of efficient and orderly government in the country’ (ibid., 34). Awóló: wò: elaborates how Nigeria should go about accomplishing this. His most important proposal in the book is that, contrary to what had obtained since the amalgamation of 1914 during which the British ran Nigeria as a unitary state, the country should be organized as a federal state in which ‘each group, however, small, is entitled to the same Conclusion 255 treatment as any other group, however large’ (ibid., 54). This, he believes, ‘would enable each group to make rapid progress than at present; and as a result the pace of the country as a whole would be considerably quickened towards a federal unity’ (ibid., 55). More than six decades after Awo first proposed federalism as the best form of political organization for Nigeria – which was initially opposed by his adversaries who described him as a ‘Pakistanist’–even though it operates a federal system in name one of the biggest challenges that Nigeria faces is over-centralization of power. As Gabrielle Lynch (2011, 216) also notes in the case of Kenya, ‘[over-]centralization of power’, is one of the most important structural issues to be addressed in resolving the crises in multi-ethnic postcolonial states in Africa. This was the overriding focus of Awóló: wò: ’s politics since the late 1940s and has remained at the centre of the politics of the elite organized in his name. He continues, therefore, to be Nigeria’s ur-federalist. In her foreword to Path to Nigerian Freedom, Margery Perham, the British historian, states that, ‘If ...the main groups can come together at the centre to pool and share their traditions and resources, whether through a federal or a unitary system, then there may someday be a Nigeria which will be a leading power on the African continent and might make Africa’s main contribution in the international sphere.’ She adds, however, that, ‘The day when Nigeria from being a name written on a map by Sir George Goldie and an administrative framework put together by Lord Lugard, becomes a true federation, still more a nation, is still far away’ (Perham, 1947, 16). A century after the Nigerian project started, and more than sixty years after Awo published this wish for federal unity, Nigeria remains a deeply divided country with economic and social indices which are irreconcilable with her natural and human endowments. Much about Nigeria remains contested, from the jihadist organization based in the north-east of Nigeria, Jama¯’atu Ahlis Sunnah La¯dda’awatih wal-Jihad, better known as Boko Haram (lit. ‘Western education is sinful’), which is insisting on the Islamization of Nigeria, to the insurgency in the oil-bearing Niger Delta region of Nigeria, where the youth have taken up arms against the federal government and international oil companies. The country remains ‘a mere geographical expression’ while Awo’s political heirs continue the battle started by their late leader to end the ‘aimlessness, drift, and want of imagination’ that has characterized Nigeria’s history. While articulating a form of political agency for modern, egalitarian rule in Nigeria (see Awolowo 1947, 1966, 1969, 1970, 1981) and the rest 256 Conclusion of Africa (see Awolowo 1977), and then practically grounding that project of modernity and egalitarianism in his ethno-nationalist constituency, I suggest that Awo was as concerned about the practical implications of his political philosophy for ‘man’ (meaning human beings) everywhere as he was about the specific manifestation of that political philosophy in his immediate environment, that is, Yorùbáland. That the practical implications of his egalitarian political philosophy were more evident in his leadership of Yorùbáland was more a function of the limitations of the politics of his era and the structural challenges of Nigeria than of the inadequacy of the expansive vision of his ideas. Against this backdrop therefore, both in lay and academic literature, we trivialize the agency of the elite when we construct a ‘natural’ lineal progression from the (ethno- nationalist) elites towards violence or separatism exclusively, rather than also towards social progress, democracy, modernity, enlightenment and pluralist democracy. The history of Africa since colonial rule may contain a lot of regrets about the road not taken by the elite, but it also includes many phases of socio-economic and political progress, starting with the struggle for political independence led by the elite. The elite that I have studied, despite the factionalization among them in their personal struggles for power within the context of group solidarity, show that, even within the context of ethnic politics, elite agency is not a matter of absolute regression. In explaining elite mobilization of cultural values and ideas in relation to contemporary challenges from the colonial to postcolonial era, it is evident that the practical politics of olaju among the Yorùbá, which subtends the agency of enlightenment, development, progress, modernity as well as the modern or enlightened person and also corresponds with the idea and practices of omoluwabi, do not constitute examples of mobilizations towards violence or war. While they necessarily provoke conflicts, both within and outside the group, in the attempts to understand and elaborate them as idea and as practice, olaju and omoluwabi are directed towards positive social, economic and political goals. For instance, contemporary Yorùbá understanding of olaju has been deployed in the service of democratization more than in the case of any other ethnic identity in postcolonial Nigeria. It has also been used in the promotion and defence of federalism – the political architecture, which, despite serial breaches, is perhaps one of the strongest pillars that has kept Nigeria together. Therefore, to assume a priori that ethnicity is negative and that the elite are mere manipulators of ethnic identities is not useful. We need to pay greater attention to the struggle for power and Conclusion 257 how this struggle illuminates the search for just and more equitable democratic states in Africa. At the centenary of Nigeria’s amalgamation, the perpetual search for a better society cannot proceed without an attempt to examine the country’s failed promises against the backdrop of the fundamental logics of its composition as a colonial project and in relation to the continued challenge of reconciling the hopes and aspirations of the many constituent groups in the country with that of a united country. Awóló: wò: , the ‘master builder’, and his ideas – especially as initially elaborated in Path to Nigerian Freedom – were and remain at the centre of this search. His proposals about what is to be done to unite and strengthen ‘the future United States of Nigeria’ (Awolowo 1947, 54) revolve around structure (principally federalism) and later projects of rule (captured in the idea of ‘egalitarianism’) (see Awolowo 1966, 1969, 1970, 1981). If each of the ethnic groups in Nigeria make ‘more rapid progress than at present’, Awóló: wò: concluded in 1947, ‘as a result, the pace of the country as a whole would be considerably quickened towards federal unity’ (ibid., 55). ‘He ...lived that flag may mean more to men’, concluded Afam Akeh (2010, 16), in his poem for Awo entitled ‘Elegy’, even while lamenting the fact that the country has ‘hoisted his face and forget[ten] his flag’. The way in which the country has forgotten Awo’s ‘flag’ while ‘hoisting his face’ (on the national currency, for instance) – that is, the refusal of Nigeria to meet what Awo saw as the country’s manifest destiny – continues not only to drive Yorùbá politics, but also drives debates and disagreement among the Yorùbá elite. This refusal also still drives a wedge into the relationship between the Yorùbá elite and the elites of other powerful ethnic groups in Nigeria. The man who ‘dreamed immortally of tomorrow’, as Akeh describes Awo, would have wished for a different outcome.

Bibliography

Abimbola, Wande. 1975. ‘Iwapele: The Concept of Good Character in Ifa Literary Corpus’.InYoruba Oral Tradition, ed. Wande Abimbola. Ile-Ife: Department of African Languages and Literatures, University of Ife. Pp. 389–420. Abimbola, Wande. 1996. ‘Wapele: The Concept of Good Character in Ifa Literary Corpus’. In Moleﬁ Asante and Abu S. Abarry, African Intellectual Heritage. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Pp. 98–106. Abimbola, Wande. 1997. Ifa Will Mend Our Broken World: Thoughts on Yoruba Religion and Culture in Africa and the Diaspora, intro. Ivor Miller. Roxbury, MA: Aim Books. Abiodun, Roland. 1983. ‘Identity and the Artistic Process in Yoruba Aesthetic Concept of Iwa’. Journal of Cultures and Ideas 1/1: 13–30. Abiodun, Roland. 1994. ‘Àse: Verbalizing and Visualizing Creative Power through Art’. Journal of Religion in Africa 34: 309–22. Aborisade, Sunday and Akin Oyedele. 2008. ‘I’ll Construct New Statue for Awo – Alao-Akala’. Punch, 16 January. P. 11. Abrams, Philip. 1982. Historical Sociology. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Achebe, Chinua. 1983. The Trouble with Nigeria. Oxford: Heinemann. Adebanwi, Wale. 2005. ‘The Carpenter’s Revolt: Youth, Violence and the Reinvention of Culture in Nigeria’. Journal of Modern African Studies 43: 339–65. Adebanwi, Wale. 2009. ‘The Cultural Agency of Elites: Awolowo and the Remaking of the Yoruba’. Journal of Historical Sociology 22: 207–33. Adedayo, Abass-Olisa. 2008. ‘Demolition of Awo’s Statue’. Nation, 23 January. P. 14. Adebayo, Moshood. 2009. ‘Afenifere Factions End Feud. I’m Not Gunning for Leadership –Awo’s Widow’. The Sun, 13 February. Pp. 1, 4. Adekanmbi, Dare. 2010. ‘Govs, Business Magnates, Others Celebrate HID at 95’. Nigerian Tribune, 25 November.P. 4 & 45. Adelabu, Adekoge. 2008 [1952]. Africa in Ebullition. Ibadan: Board Publications.

259 260 Bibliography

Aderibigbe, A. B. 1983. ‘Biobaku: The Scholar and his Works’.InStudies in Yòrùbá History and Culture: Essays in Honour of Professor S.O. Biobaku, ed. G. O. Olusanya. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press. Pp. 4–25. Adewale, Abiodun. 2012. ‘Tinubu Not Fit to be Yoruba Leader – Yinka Odumakin’. Nigerian Compass, 28 June. Pp. 30–1. Adeyemi, Muyiwa and Tunji Omofoye. 2010. ‘Awo’s Regime Back in Osun, Says Aregbesola’. The Guardian, 28 November. Pp. 1, 7. Adeyemo, Sola. 2008.. ‘Ajimobi: I’ll Restore Awo’s Statue’,Nation, 21 January. P. 9 Agbaje, Adigun, Rasheed Okunola and Wale Adebanwi. 2003. ‘Religious Pluralism and Democratic Governance in South-Western Nigeria’. Research Report Submitted to the Centre for Research and Documentation, Kano, Nigeria. Pp. 1–45. Ajani, Jide. 2001. ‘Pa Solanke Onasanya’. Vanguard, 29 November. P. 14. Ajasin, Michael A. 2003. Ajasin: Memoirs and Memories. Lagos: Ajasin Foundation. Ajayi, A. J. F. 1974. ‘The Aftermath of the Fall of Old Oyo’.InHistory of West Africa, II, ed. J. F. Ade Ajayi and Michael Crowder. London: Longman. Pp. 129–66. Ajayi, J. F. Ade and R. Smith. 1971. Yòrùbá Warfare in the Nineteenth Century. 2nd edn, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ajayi, Olaniwun. 2005. This House of Odùduwà Must Not Fall. Ibadan: Y-Books. Ajibola, Soji. 2012. ‘There Can’t be Another Awo Again – ACN’. Nigerian Tribune, 30 August.. P. 3. Ajisafe, A. K. 1924. The Laws and Customs of the Yòrùbá People. London: Routledge. Ake, Claude. 1993. ‘What is the Problem of Ethnicity in Africa?’ Transformation 22: 1–14. Akeh, Afam. 2010. ‘Elegy (for Oduduwa)’.InSalute to the Master Builder, ed. Odia Ofeimun. Lagos: Hornbill. Pp. 16–17. Akin, Omoboriowo. 1981. Awoism: Select Themes on the Complex Ideology of Chief Obafemi Awolowo. Ibadan: Evans Brothers. Akingbade, Tunde. 2011. ‘Our Leaders are in Slow Coach; They Have No Fire – Olaniwun Ajayi’. The Guardian, 31 July. (http://www.ngrguardiannews.com/ sunday-magazine/newsfeature/56138-our-leaders-are-in-slow-coach-they-have- no-ﬁre-olanihun-ajayi- (accessed 25 August 2011). Akinjogbin, I. A. 2002. Milestones and Social Systems in Yòrùbá History and Culture. Ibadan and Lagos: Olu-Akin. Akinlotan, Idowu. 2008a. ‘Palladium: Politics of Awo’s Statue’. Nation, 13 January. P. 56. Akinlotan, Idowu. 2008b. ‘Palladium: Adedibu as Contemptuous as Ever’. Nation, 13 January. P. 56. Akintola, Victor Ladipo. 1985. Akintola: The Man and the Legend. Enugu: Delta Publications. Akintoye, Adebanji S. 1971. Revolution and Power Politics in Yòrùbáland 1840–1893: Ibadan Expansion and the Rise of Ekitiparapo. London: Longman. Akintoye, Adebanji S. 2010. A History of the Yoruba People. Dakar: Amalion. Bibliography 261

Akinyele, Isaac Babalola. 1981 [1911]. Iwe Itan Ibadan Ati Die Ninu Awon Ilu Agbegbe Re Bi Iwo, Osogbo, Ati Ikirun [‘A History of Ibadan and Some of its Districts Like Iwo, Osogbo, and Ikirun’]. Ibadan: Board Publications. Akinyele, R. T. 2001. ‘Ethnic Militancy and National Stability in Nigeria: A Case Study of the Oodua People’s Congress’. African Affairs 401: 623–40. Alexander, Jocelyn and JoAnn McGregor. 1997. ‘Modernity and Ethnicity in a Frontier Society: Understanding Difference in Northwestern Zimbabwe’. Journal of Southern African Studies 23/2: 187–201. Aluede. R. O. A. 2006. ‘Universal Basic Education in Nigeria: Matters Arising’. Journal of Human Ecology 20/2: 97–101. Anikulapo, Jahman and Nnamdi Inyama. 2001. ‘Ige’s Sharp Tongue, His Sharper Mind.’ The Guardian, December 25. Pp. 6–7. Annan, Koﬁ. 2009. ‘Africa in the 21st Century: Challenges and Opportunities’. Address delivered at the Obafemi Awolowo Centenary Celebrations, Lagos, Nigeria, 20 March. Apter, Andrew. 1992. Black Critics and Kings: The Hermeneutics of Power in Yòrùbá Society. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Archer, Margaret S. 1982. ‘Morphogenesis versus Structuration: On Combining Structure and Action’. British Journal of Sociology 33: 455–83. Archer, Margaret S. 1995. Realist Social Theory: The Morphogenetic Approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Archer, Margaret S. 1996 [1988]. Culture and Agency: The Place of Culture in Social Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Archer, Margaret S. 2000. Being Human: The Problem of Agency. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Archer, Margaret S. 2003. Structure, Agency and Internal Conversation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Arens, W. and I. Karp. 1989. ‘Introduction’.InCreativity of Power: Cosmology and Action in African Societies, ed. W. Arens and I. Karp. Washington and London: Smithsonian Institution Press. Pp. xi–xxix. Arifalo, S. O. 2001. ẸgbẹỌmọ Odùduwà: A Study in Ethnic and Cultural Nationalism (1945–1965). Akure: Stebak Books. Arogundade, Lanre and Keith Ehigiaton. 1999 ‘New Parties Coming – Ige’, Vanguard, 8 September. Pp. 1, 7. Atieno-Odhiambo, Elisha Stephen. 2002. ‘Hegemonic Enterprises and Instrumentalities of Survival: Ethnicity and Democracy in Kenya’. African Studies 61/2: 223–49. Atkinson, Ronald R. 1989. ‘The Evolution of Ethnicity among the Acholi of Uganda: The Precolonial Phase’. Ethnohistory 36/1: 19–43. Atkinson, Ronald R. 1994. The Roots of Ethnicity: The Origins of the Acholi of Uganda before 1800. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Awe, Bolanle. 1964a. ‘The Ajele System: A Study of Ibadan Imperialism in the Nineteenth Century’. Journal of the Historical Society of Nigeria 3/1: 47–60. Awe, Bolanle. 1964b. ‘The Rise of Ibadan as a Yoruba Power, 1851–1893’. D. Phil. Thesis, University of Oxford. Awe, Bolanle. 1967. ‘Ibadan: Its Early Beginnings’.InThe City of Ibadan,ed. P. C. Lloyd, A. L. Mobogunje, and B. Awe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 262 Bibliography

Awe, Bolanle. 1973. ‘Militarism and Economic Development in Nineteenth Century Yòrùbá Country: The Ibadan Example’. Journal of African History 14: 65–77. Awóló: wò: , Hannah Idowu Dideolu. 2003. A Memoir of the Jewel. Ile-Ife: Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: University Press. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1947. Path to Nigerian Freedom. London: Faber and Faber. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1960. Awo: An Autobiography of Chief Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1966. Thoughts on Nigeria’s Constitution. Ibadan: Oxford University Press. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1969. The People’s Republic. Ibadan: Oxford University Press. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1970. The Strategy and Tactics of a People’s Republic. London: Macmillan. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1977. The Problems of Africa: The Need for Ideological Reappraisal. London: Macmillan. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1981. Path to Nigerian Greatness. Enugu: Fourth Dimension. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1985. My March through Prison (Adventures in Power. Book 1). Lagos: Macmillan. Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfémi. 1987. The Travails of Democracy and the Rule of Law (Adventures in Power. Book II). Ibadan: Evans Brothers. Awóló: wò: , Wole. 2002. An Unbreakable Heritage: The Story of Wole Awóló: wò: . Ibadan: African Newspapers PLC. Awoniyi, Timothy A. 1975. ‘Omoluwabi: The Fundamental Basis of Yoruba Traditional Education’.InYoruba Oral Tradition, ed. Wande Abimbola. Ile- Ife: University of Ife Press. Pp. 357–88. Aziken, Emmanuel. 2008. ‘Awo: Senators Blast Alao-Akala’. Vanguard, 20 January. P. 5. Babarinde, Tayo. 2000. ‘Afenifere Crisis Latest: Moves to Expel Bola Ige’. Sunday Tribune, 10 September. P. 2. Babarinsa, Dare. 2003. House of War: The Story of Awolowo’s Followers and the Collapse of Nigeria’s Second Republic. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Babasola, Sina. 2004. ‘Ige: Omisore Opens Defence, Says it’s Good for Democracy’. Vanguard, 4 May. Pp. 2, 12. Babatope, Ebenezer. 1989. Awo and Nigeria – Setting the Records Straight. Lagos: Ebino Topsy. Barber, Karin. 1981. ‘How Man Makes God in West Africa: Yòrùbá Attitude Towards the Orisa’. Africa 51: 725–45. Barth, F. 1993. Balinese World. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Bascom, W. R. 1944. Sociological Role of the Yòrùbá Cult Group, Memoir 63. Washington DC: American Anthropological Association. Bascom, W. R. 1969. The Yòrùbá of SouthWestern Nigeria. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Baxter, Hugh. 1987. ‘Systems and Life-World in Habermas’s Theory of Communicative Action’. Theory and Society 16: 39–86. Bayart, J.-F. 1993. The State in Africa: The Politics of the Belly. New York: Longman. Bibliography 263

Bayart, J.-F., S. Ellis and B. Hibou. 1999. The Criminalization of the State in Africa. Oxford: James Currey. Bell, Sandra and Simon Coleman. 1999. ‘The Anthropology of Friendship: Enduring Themes and Future Possibilities’.InThe Anthropology of Friendship, ed. Sandra Bell and Simon Coleman. Oxford: Berg Publishers, 1–20. Bello, Niyi. 2012b. ‘Fasoranti: ACN Members Pretenders to Progressive Ideology’. The Guardian, 5 August. P. 57. Bello, Niyi. 2012a. ‘The Politics of Afenifere’s Support for Mimiko and LP’. The Guardian, 30 July. P. 12. Bello, Tunji. 2012. ‘Asiwaju: Who the Cap Fits’.In T. Bello, Sam Omatseye and Segun Ayobolu (eds.), Asiwaju: Leadership in Troubled Times. Ibadan: Kraft Books Limited. Pp. 7–18. Benjamin, Walter. 1968. ‘Thesis on the Philosophy of History’.InIlluminations: Essays and Reﬂections. New York: Schocken Books.Pp. 253–64. Berman, Bruce J. 2004. ‘“A Palimpsest of Contradictions”: Ethnicity, Class, and Politics in Africa’. International Journal of African Historical Studies 37/1: 13–31. Biobaku, Saburi O. 1957. The Egba and their Neighbours, 1842–1872. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Biobaku, Saburi O. ed. 1973. Sources of Yòrùbá History. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Blau, P. M. ed. 1976. Approaches to the Study of Social Structure. London: Open Books. Bottomore, T. B. 1964. Elites and Society. New York: Basic Books. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1984. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, trans. R. Nice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1987. Choses Dites. Paris: Editions de Minuit. Bourgois, P. 2008. ‘Forward’.InEngaged Observer, ed. V. Sanford and A. Angel- Ajani. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, ix–xii. Bradbury, R. E. 1965. ‘Father and Senior Son in Edo Mortuary Ritual’.InAfrican Systems of Thought, ed. M. Fortes and G. Dieterlen. London: Oxford. Pp. 96–121. Brain, J. L. 1973. ‘Ancestors as Elders in Africa – Further Thoughts’. Africa 43: 122–139. Bratton, M. and N. Van de Walle. 1997. Democratic Experiments in Africa: Regime Transitions in Comparative Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bryant, C. G. A. and D. Jary. eds. 1991. Giddens’ Theory of Structuration: A Critical Appreciation. London: Routledge. Burns, T. R. 1986. ‘Actors, Transactions, and Social Structure: An Introduction to Social Rule System Theory’.InSociology: From Crisis to Science? (Vol 2), ed. U. Himmelstrand. London: Sage Publications.Pp. 8–37 Burns, T. R. and H. Flam. eds. 1987. The Shaping of Social Organization: Social Rule System Theory with Applications. London: Sage. Burton, Michael and John Higley. 2010. ‘The Study of Political Elite Transformation’. International Review of Sociology 2: 181–200. 264 Bibliography

Calhoun, C. J. 1980. ‘The Authority of Ancestors: A Sociological Reconsideration of Fortes’s Tallensi in Response to Fortes’s Critics’. Man 15, June: 304–19. Callahan, J. C. 1987. ‘On Harming the Dead’. Ethics 97: 341–52. Callinicos, A. 1988. Making History: Agency, Structure and Change in Social Theory. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Chaudhry, Lubna N. 1997. ‘Researching “My People”, Researching Myself: Fragments of a Reﬂexive Tale’. Qualitative Studies in Education 10/4: 441–53. Christopher, A. J. 1995. ‘Regionalisation and Ethnicity in South Africa 1990–1994’. Area 27/1: 1–11. Clarke, K. M. 2004. Mapping Yòrùbá Networks: Power and Agency in the Making of Transnational Communities. Durham, NC, and London: Duke University. Claude, E. Welch Jr. 1995. ‘The Ogoni and Self-Determination: Increasing Violence in Nigeria’. Journal of Modern African Studies 33/4, December: 635–50. Clegg, S. R. 1989. Frameworks of Power. London: Sage. Clignet, R. and P. Foster. 1966. The Fortunate Few: A Study of Secondary Schools and Students in the Ivory Coast. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Cohen, A. 1981. The Politics of Elite Culture: Explorations in the Dramaturgy of Power in a Modern Africa Society. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Cohen, P. S. 1968. Modern Social Theory. London: Heinemann. Cohen, Ronald. 1983. ‘Elite Theory and the Formation of Elites among the Bura Intellectuals of Nigeria’.InElite: Ethnographic Issues, ed. George E. Marcus. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Cohen, W. 1989. ‘Symbols of Power: Statues in Nineteenth-Century Provincial France’. Comparative Studies in History and Society 31: 491–513. Cole, J. and K. Middleton. 2001. ‘Rethinking Ancestors and Colonial Power in Madagascar’. Africa 71: 1–37. Coleman, James. 1958. Nigeria: Background to Nationalism. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Comaroff, Jean and John Comaroff. 1991. Of Revelation and Revolution, vol. 1: Christianity, Colonialism, and Consciousness in South Africa. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Comaroff, John and Jean Comaroff. 1997. Of Revelation and Revolution, vol. 2: The Dialectics of Modernity on a South African Frontier. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Connell, R. 1998. ‘Interpreting Historical Change: Comments on Toews and Zolberg’. Theory and Society 27: 597–8. Crehan, Kate. 2002. Gramsci, Culture and Anthropology. London: Pluto Press. Crozier, M. and E. Friedberg. 1980. Actors and Systems: The Politics of Collective Action, trans. A. Goldhammer. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dahl, Robert A. 1958. ‘A Critique of the Ruling Elite Model’. The American Political Science Review 52: 463–9. Daily Independent. 2005. ‘Daniel’s Claim to Awo’s Image is a Fraud – Lanre Banjo’, 4 November. P. B1, 3 & 6. Daily Independent. 2008. ‘The “Unknown Soldier” at Government House, Ibadan’, 11 January. P. B2. Bibliography 265

Daily Times. 1987. ‘Best President Nigeria Never Had.’ 11 May. P. 1. 1955 ‘ ọ Ọ ’ Daily Times. . K la Balogun Says Os˙ogbo led shun in Tax Payment . Daily Times, 28 April. P. 1. Dare, Olatunji. 1987. ‘The Man Who Spoke Truth to Power’. The Guardian, 19 May. P. 9. Dare, Olatunji. 2008. ‘They Also Gave Much’. Nation, 22 January. P. 48. David, W. L. 2004. Humanitarian Development Paradigm. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Dawodu, G. O. 1998. Awo or Zik: Who Won the 1951 Western Nigeria Election. Ibadan: Aike Books. De Certeau, M. 1984. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. De Lima, A. P. 2000. ‘“How Did I Become a Leader in My Family Firm?” Assets for Succession in Contemporary Lisbon Financial Elites’.InElites: Choice, Leadership and Succession, ed. J. de Pina-Cabral and A. P. de Lima. Oxford and New York: Berg. Pp. 31–51. Dietz, T. and T. R. Burns. 1992. ‘Cultural Evolution: Social Rule Systems, Selection and Human Agency’. International Sociology 7: 259–83. Dixon, P. J. 1991. ‘“Uneasy Lies the Head”: Politics, Economics and the Continuity of Belief among the Yòrùbá of Nigeria’. Comparative Studies in Society and History 33, January: 56–85. Doortmont, M. D. 1990. ‘The Invention of the Yòrùbá: Regional and Pan-African Nationalism versus Ethnic Provincialism’.InSelf-Assertion and Brokerage: Early Cultural Nationalism in West Africa, ed. P. F. de Moraes and K. Barber. Birmingham: Centre for West Africa Studies. Pp. 101–8. Dow, James. 1973. ‘On the Muddled Concept of Corporation in Anthropology’. American Anthropologist 75/3, June: 904–8. Eades, J. S. 1980. The Yòrùbá Today. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Easterly, William and Ross Levine. 1997. ‘Africa’s Growth Tragedy: Policies and Ethnic Divisions’. Quarterly Journal of Economics 112: 1203–50. Eller, Jack D. 1999. Culture to Ethnicity to Conﬂict: An Anthropological Perspective on International Ethnic Conﬂict. Michigan: University of Michigan Press. Ellis, A. B. 1894. Yòrùbá-Speaking People of the Slave Coast of West Africa. London: Chapman & Hall. Ellis, S. and G. ter Haar. 2004. Worlds of Power: Religious Thought and Political Practice in Africa. London: C. Hurst and Company. Emirbayer, Mustafa and Ann Mische. 1998. ‘What is Agency?’ American Journal of Sociology 103, January: 962–1023. Erikson, E. H. 1975. Life History and the Historical Moment. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. Etzioni-Halévy, E. ed. 1997. Classes and Elites in Democracy and Democratization: A Collection of Readings. London: Routledge. Evans-Pritchard, E. E. 1937. Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic among the Azande. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Eyo, D. 1999. ‘Community, Citizenship and the Politics of Ethnicity in Post- Colonial Africa’.InSacred Spaces and Public Quarrels, ed. E. Kalipeni and P. Zeleza. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Pp. 271–300. 266 Bibliography

Eyoh, D. 1998. ‘Through the Prism of a Local Tragedy: Political Liberalisation, Regionalism and Elite Struggles for Power in Cameroon’. Africa 68: 338–59. Ezenwa-Ohaeto. 1997. Chinua Achebe: A Biography. Oxford: James Currey. Fadipe, N. A. 1970. The Sociology of the Yòrùbá, ed. and intro. F. O. Okediji and O. O. Okediji. Ibadan: University of Ibadan Press. Fagunwa, D. O. 1987. ‘Awo’s Lesson for All’ (trans. Segun Bucknor) The Guardian, 6 June. P. 13. Falade, Dapo. 2012. ‘Ondo Gov Poll Will Become Template to Resolve Issues in Yoruba Politics – Odumakin’. Tribune on Saturday, 13 October.pp. 39 & 41. Faleti, Adebayo. 2003. ‘The Making of Awo’s Statue’. Nigerian Tribune, 2 July. P. 12. Falola, Toyin. 1985. ‘From Hospitality to Hostility: Ibadan and Strangers, 1930–1904’. Journal of African History 26/1: 51–68. Falola, Toyin. 1989. Politics and Economy in Ibadan, 1893–1945. Lagos: Modelor Press. Falola, Toyin. 1991. ‘Kemi Morgan and the Second Reconstruction of Ibadan History’. History in Africa 18: 93–112. Falola, Toyin. 1997. ‘Yoruba Writers and the Construction of Heroes’. History in Africa 24: 157–75. Falola, Toyin. 1999. Yoruba Gurus: Indigenous Knowledge Production of Knowledge in Africa. Trenton and Asmara: Africa World Press. Falola, Toyin. 2012. Ibadan: Foundation, Growth and Change, 1830–1960. Ibadan: Bookcraft. Farias, P. F. M. 1990. ‘Yoruba Origins Revisited by Muslims: An Interview with the Arókin of Oyo and a Reading of the A¸ls Qaba¯’il Yu¯ruba¯ of Al-Ha¯jjA¯ dam al- Ilu¯r¯ı ’.InSelf-Assertion and Brokerage: Early Cultural Nationalism in West Africa, ed. P. F. M. Farias and K. Barber. Birmingham: Centre for West African Studies, University of Birmingham. Pp. 109–47. Farias, P. F. M. and Karin Barber. eds. 1990. Self-Assertion and Brokerage: Early Cultural Nationalism in West Africa. Birmingham: Centre for West African Studies, University of Birmingham. Fayemi, Kayode. 2012. ‘Character as Devotion: Towards a Transformative Ethos’. In K. Fayemi, Reclaiming the Trust. Ado-Ekiti: Ekiti State Government. Pp. 111–18. Field, G. L. and J. Higley. 1985. ‘National Elites and Political Stability’.InResearch in Politics and Society, Vol. 1: Studies of the Structure of National Elite Groups, ed. Gwen Moore. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. Pp. 1–44 Fontana, B. 1993. Hegemony and Power: On the Relationship between Gramsci and Machiavelli. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press. Fortes, Meyer. 1940. ‘The Political System of the Tallensi of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast’.InAfrican Political Systems, ed. M. Fortes and E. E. Evans-Pritchard. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pp. 239–71 Fortes, Meyer 1961. Pietas in Ancestor Worship: Time and Social Structure and Other Essays, London School of Economics, Monograph 40. London: Athlone Press. Fortes, Meyer. 1964. ‘Some Reﬂections on Ancestor Worship in Africa’.InAfrican Systems of Thought, ed. M. Fortes and G. Dieterlen. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pp. 122–42. Bibliography 267

Fortes, Meyer. 1969. Kinship and the Social Order: The Legacy of Lewis Henry Morgan. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company. Francis, Suzanne. 2011. Institutionalizing Elite: Political Elite Formation and Change in KwaZulu-Natal Provincial Legislature. Leiden: Brill. Frank, Arthur W. n.d. ‘Notes on Habermas: Lifeworld and System’. http://people. ucalgary.ca/~frank/habermas.html (accessed May 23, 2011 ). Frobenius, Leo. 1913 [1968]. The Voice of Africa. New York: Benjamin Bloom. Fuchs, S. 2001. ‘Beyond Agency’. Sociological Theory 19/1: 4–40. Gbadamosi, G. O. 1978. The Growth of Islam among the Yòrùbá 1841–1908. London: Longman. Gbadegesin, Segun. 1988. ‘Awolowo and the Politics of Democratic Socialism’.In Obafemi Awolowo: The End of an Era? ed. Olasope O. Oyelaran, Toyin Falola, Mokwugo Okoye and Adewale Thompson. Ile-Ife: Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: University Press. Pp. 166–77. Gbadegesin, Segun. 2007. ‘Reinventing the Yòrùbá Post Obasanjo Presidency’. 77th Birthday Commemorative Lecture in Memory of Chief Bola Ige, Premier Hotel, Ibadan, 13 September. Gbadegesin, Segun. 2009. ‘Obafemi Awolowo and the Golden Era of the Yoruba’. In Awo: On the Trail of Titan, ed. David O. Oke, Olatunji Dare, Adebayo Williams and Femi Akinola. Lagos: The Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation. Pp. 57–73. Geertz, C. 1993 [1973]. The Interpretation of Culture: Selected Essays. London: Fontana Press. Geschiere, Peter. 1997. The Modernity of Witchcraft: Politics and the Occult in Postcolonial Africa. Charlottesville and London: University of Virginia Press. Giddens, Anthony. 1979. Central Problems in Social Theory: Action, Structure and Contradiction in Social Analysis. London: Macmillan. Giddens, Anthony. 1984. The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration. Berkley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Giwa, Yemi, Bayo Oladeji, Soji Eze-Fagbemi and John Awe. 2002. ‘Fryo, Keyamo in War of Words. Paraded in Abuja’. Nigerian Tribune, 22 February. Pp. 1–2. Glazier, J. 1984. ‘Mbeere Ancestors and the Domestication of Death’. Man 19: 133–47. Gluckman, M. 1937. ‘Mortuary Customs and the Belief in Survival after Death among the South-Eastern Bantu’. Bantu Studies 2: 117–36. Gluckman, M. 1955. Custom and Conﬂict in Africa. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Goldsworthy, David. 1982. ‘Ethnicity and Leadership in Africa: The “Untypical” Case of Tom Mboya’. Journal of Modern African Studies 20/1, March: 107–26. Goody, J. 1974. ‘Death and the Interpretation of Culture: A Bibliographic Overview’. American Quarterly 26: 448–55. Goulbourne, Harry. 1997 ‘Ethnic Mobilization, War and Multi-Culturalism’.In War and Ethnicity: Global Connections and Local Violence, ed. David Turton. San Marino: Center for Interdisciplinary Research on Social Stress. Pp. 163–77. Gramsci, Antonio. 1975. Quaderni del carcere, ed. Valentino Gerratana. Turin: Einaudi. Greenhouse, C. J. 1996. A Moment’s Notice: Time Politics across Cultures. Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press. 268 Bibliography

Grohs, G. 1967. Stufen Afrikanischer emancipation. studie zur selbstverständnis West Afrikanischer eliten. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Gupta, Akhil. 1995. ‘Blurred Boundaries: The Discourse of Corruption, the Culture of Politics, and the Imagined State’. American Ethnologist 22/2: 375–402. Habermas, Jürgen. 1984. The Theory of Communicative Action, vol. 1: Reason and the Rationalization of Society, trans. Thomas McCarthy. Boston: Beacon Press. Habermas, Jürgen. 1987. The Theory of Communicative Action, vol. 2: Lifeworld and System: A Critique of Functionalist Reason, trans. Thomas McCarthy. Boston: Beacon Press Hallgren, Roland. 1995. The Vital Force: A Study of Ase in the Traditional and Neo-Traditional Culture of the Yoruba People. Lund: Coronet Books. Harris, Hermione. 2006. Yòrùbá in Diaspora: An African Church in London. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hastings, Adrian. 1997. The Construction of Nationhood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hastrup, K. 1995. A Passage to Anthropology: Between Experience and Theory. London and New York: Routledge. Hays, S. 1994. ‘Structure and Agency and the Sticky Problem of Culture’. Sociological Theory 12: 57–72. Healy, K. 1998. ‘Conceptualizing Constraint: Mouzelis, Archer and the Concept of Social Structure’. Sociology 32: 509–22. Held, David and John B. Thompson. eds. 1989. Social Theory of Modern Societies: Anthony Giddens and His Critics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Herzﬁeld, Michael. 1992. The Social Production of Indifference: Exploring the Roots of Western Bureacracy. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Herzfeld, Michael. 2000. ‘Uncanny Success: Some Closing Remarks’.InElites: Choice, Leadership and Succession, ed. J. de Pina-Cabral and A. P. de Lima. Oxford and New York: Berg. Pp. 227–36. Higley, John and Michael Burton. 2006. The Elite Foundations of Liberal Democracy. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littleﬁeld. Hobsbawm, Eric. 1992. ‘Ethnicity and Nationalism in Europe Today’. Anthropology Today 8/1, February: 3–8. Horton, Robin. 1983. ‘Social Psychologies: African and Western’.InOedipus and Job in West African Religion, ed. Meyes Fortes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pp. 41–82. Husserl, Edmund. 1936 [1970]. The Crisis of the European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology: An Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy, trans. David Carr. Evaston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Idowu, E. Bolaji. 1967. ‘Religion in Ibadan: Traditional and Christianity’.InThe City of Ibadan: A Symposium on Its Structure and Development, ed. P. C. Lloyd, A. L. Mabogunje and B. Awe. London: Cambridge University Press. Pp. 235–47. Idowu, E. Bolaji. 1962. Olodumare: God in Yòrùbá Belief. London: Longmans. Ifayemi, Awodele. 2010. ‘The Nature of the Odu Ifa’. Ilé Ifà, 30 March. http:// ileifa.org/the-nature-of-the-odu-ifa/ (accessed 5 September 2012). Bibliography 269

Ifijeh, Godwin, Christian Ita, Hammed Bodunrin and Chuks Akunna. 2002. ‘Suspect: Omisore Plotted Ige’s Murder’. Thisday, 15 January. Pp. 1, 4. Ige, Bola. 1999. ‘Keeping Hope Alive’, Uncle Bola’s Column. Sunday Tribune, 31 January. P. 5 Ige, Bola. 2000. The Essential Ige: Tribute to Uncle Bola at 70, ed. Akinyemi Onigbinde. Ibadan: Frontline Books. Iliffe, John. 2011. Obasanjo, Nigeria and the World. Woodbridge, Suffolk: James Currey. Iwere, Ted. 1987. ‘A Statesman’s Swan Song’. African Guardian, 21 May. Pp. 11–15. Jakande, Lateef Kayode. 1966. The Trial of Obafemi Awolowo. Lagos: John West Publications. Jeffrey, R. 1980. ‘What the Statues Tell: The Politics of Choosing Symbols in Trivandrum’. Pacific Affairs 53: 484–502. Jefremovas, Villia. 1997. ‘Contested Identities: Power and the Fictions of Ethnicity, Ethnography and History in Rwanda’. Anthropologica 39/1–2: 91–104. Johnson, Dayo. 2003. ‘Why Ige Family Opted Out of Case Against Omisore, Others – NBA Boss’. Vanguard, 11 June. Pp. 1–2. Johnson, Dayo.. 2010. ‘Fayemi, Aregbesola woo Mimiko for ACN’, Vanguard, 6 December. P. 45. Johnson, Samuel. 1921. The History of the Yòrùbás: From the Earliest Times to the Beginning of the British Protectorate, ed. O. Johnson. London: George Routledge & Sons Ltd. Joseph, Richard. 1987. Democracy and Prebendal Politics: The Rise and Fall of the Second Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kagwanja, Peter. 2009. ‘Courting Genocide: Populism, Ethno-Nationalism and the Informalisation of Violence in Kenya’s 2008 Post-Election Crisis’. Journal of Contemporary African Studies 27/3: 365–87. Kasfir, Nelson. 1976. The Shrinking Political Arena: Participation and Ethnicity in African Politics, with a Case Study of Uganda. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Kean, Webb. 1997. ‘From Fetishism to Sincerity: On Agency, the Speaking Subject, and their Historicity in the Context of Religious Conversion’. Comparative Studies in Society and History 39/4: 674–93. Kearl, M. C. and A. Rinaldi. 1983. ‘The Political Uses of the Dead as Symbols in Contemporary Civil Religion’. Social Forces 61: 693–708. Keesing, R. 1983. ‘Ancestors, Sociology and Comparative Analysis’. Man 18: 185–90. Keller, S. I. 1963. Beyond the Ruling Classes: Strategic Elites in Modern Society. New York: Random House. Khan, Shamus Rahman. 2012. ‘The Sociology of Elites’. Annual Review of Sociology 38: 361–77. Kiernan, J. P. 1982. ‘The “Problem of Evil” in the Context of Ancestral Intervention in the Affairs of the Living in Africa’. Man 17: 287–302. Kirk-Greene, A. H. M. 1991. ‘His Eternity, His Eccentricity, or His Exemplarity? A Further Contribution to the Study of H.E. the African Head of State’. African Affairs 90: 163–88. 270 Bibliography

Konrad, Monica. 2002. ‘Pre-Symptomatic Networks: Tracking Experts Across Medical Sceince and the New Genetics.’ In Elite Cultures: Anthropological Perspectives, ed. Cris Shore and Stephen Nugent. London: Routledge. Pp. 227–248. Kopytoff, Igor. 1971a. ‘Ancestor as Elders in Africa’. Africa 41: 129–42. Kopytoff, Igor. 1971b. ‘The Authority of Ancestors’. Man 16: 135–8. Korieh, Chima J. 2010. The Land has Changed: History, Society and Gender in Colonial Eastern Nigeria. Calgary, AB: University of Calgary Press. Kumolu, Charles. 2012. ‘Awo Lecture: Why North is a Problem to National Unity – Eminent Nigerians’. Vanguard, 10 March. P. 5. Kuper, Leo. 1965. An African Bourgeoisie: Race, Class and Politics in South Africa. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Laitin, David D. 1986. Hegemony and Culture: Politics and Religious Change among the Yòrùbá. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Lambek, Michael. 2001. ‘Reﬂections on the “Ethno-” in Malagasy Ethnohistory’. Ethnohistory 48: 301–8. Lambek, Michael and Paul Antze. 1996. ‘Introduction: Forecasting Memory’.In Tense Past: Cultural Essays in Trauma and Memory, ed. P. Antze and M. Lambek. New York and London: Routledge. Pp. xi–xxxviii. Lasswell, Harold D. 1961. ‘Agenda for the Study of Political Elites’.InPolitical Decision-Makers, ed. Dwaine Marvick. Glencoe: The Free Press. Pp. 264–87. Lave, Jean. 2000. ‘Re-Serving Succession in a British Enclave’.InElites: Choice, Leadership and Succession, ed. J. de Pina-Cabral and A. P. de Lima. Oxford and New York: Berg. Pp. 167–99. Law, John. 1994. Organizing Modernity. Cambridge: Blackwell. Law, R. C. C. 1970. ‘Anthropological Models in Yòrùbá History’. Africa 43: 18–26. Law, R. C. C. 1973a. “‘The Heritage of Odùduwà”: Traditional History and Political Propaganda among the Yòrùbá’. Journal of African History 14: 207–22. Law, R. C. C. 1973b. ‘Constitutional Troubles of Oyo in the Eighteenth Century’. Journal of African History 12: 25–44. Law, R. C. C. 1990. ‘Constructing “a Real National History”: A Comparison of Edward Blyden and Samuel Johnson’.InSelf-Assertion and Brokerage: Early Cultural Nationalism in West Africa, ed. P. F. de Moraes and K. Barber. Birmingham: Centre for West African Studies, University of Birmingham Press. Pp. 78–100. Lawal, Babatunde. 1975. ‘Some Aspects of Yoruba Aesthetics’. British Journal of Aesthetics 14/3: 239–49. Lentz, Carola. 1994. ‘Home, Death and Leadership: Discourses of an Educated Elite from Northwestern Ghana’. Social Anthropology 2: 149–69. Levenbook, Barbara B. 1984. ‘Harming Someone After His Death’. Ethics 94: 407–19. Levine, D. N. 1965. Wax and Gold: Tradition and Innovation in Ethiopian Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lindfors, Bernth. 1997. Conversations with Chinua Achebe. Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi. Bibliography 271

Lindgren, Björn. 2002. ‘The Politics of Ndebele Ethnicity: Origins, Nationality, and Gender in Southern Zimbabwe’. Doctoral Thesis, Uppsala University. Linton, Marisa. 2008. ‘Fatal Friendships: The Politics of Jacobin Friendship’. French Historical Studies 31/1: 51–76. Llosa, Mario Vargas. 2002. The Feast of the Goat, trans. Edith Grossman. New York: Picardo. Lloyd, Barbara B... 1966. ‘Education and Family Life in the Development of Class Identiﬁcation among the Yòrùbá’.InThe New Elites of Tropical Africa, ed. P. C. Lloyd. London: Oxford University Press. Pp. 163–83. Lloyd, P. C. 1954. ‘Traditional Political Systems of the Yòrùbá’. South-West Journal of Anthropology 4: 366–84. Lloyd, P. C. ed. 1966a. The New Elites of Tropical Africa. London: Oxford University Press. Lloyd, P. C. 1966b. ‘Class Consciousness among the Yòrùbá’.InThe New Elites of Tropical Africa, ed. P. C. Lloyd. London: Oxford University Press. Pp. 328–41. Lloyd, P. C. 1973. ‘The Yòrùbá: An Urban People?’ In Urban Anthropology, ed. A. Southall. New York: Oxford University Press. Pp. 107–24. Lonsdale, John. 1994. ‘Moral Ethnicity and Political Tribalism’.InInventions and Boundaries: Historical and Anthropological Approaches to the Study of Ethnicity and Nationalism, ed. Preben Kaarsholm and Jan Hultin. Denmark: Institute for Development Studies, Roskilde University. Pp. 131–50. Lonsdale, John. 2000. ‘Agency in Tight Corners: Narrative and Initiative in African History’. Journal of African Cultural Studies 143: 5–16. Loyal, Steve. 2003. The Sociology of Anthony Giddens. London: Pluto Press. Lukes, Steven. 2005 [1977]. Power: A Radical View. 2nd edn, New York: Palgrave. Lynch, Gabrielle. 2011. I Say To You: Ethnic Politics and the Kalenjin in Kenya. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. McCall, J. C. 1995. ‘Rethinking Ancestors in Africa’. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 65: 256–70. Macebuh, Stanley. 1983. ‘Cicero at Agodi’. The Guardian, 29 May. P. 2. Maine, Sir Henry S. 1931. Ancient Law. London: Oxford University Press. Makinde, M. Akin. 1987a. ‘Awo’s Place in Philosophy’. The Guardian, 1 June. Pp. 13, 17. Makinde, M. Akin. 1987b. ‘Mental Magnitude: Awolowo’s Search for Ultimate Reality, Meaning and the Supreme Value of Human Existence’. Ultimate Reality and Meaning: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Philosophy of Understanding 10/1, March: 3–13. Makinde, M. Akin. 1988. ‘Social and Political Philosophy of Obafemi Awolowo’. In Makinde, M. Akin, African Philosophy, Culture and Traditional Medicine. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Pp. 59–86. Makinde, M. Akin. 2002. Awo as a Philosopher. Ile-Ife: Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: University Press. Malkki, Liisa H. 1995. Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National Cosmology among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Mamdani, Mahmood. 1996. Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 272 Bibliography

Mamdani, Mahmood. 2001a. When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and Genocide in Rwanda. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Mamdani, Mamood. 2001b. ‘Beyond Settler and Native as Political Identities: Overcoming the Political Legacy of Colonialism’. Comparative Studies in Society and History 43/4: 651–64. Marcus, G.E. 1979. ‘Ethnographic Research among Elites in the Kingdom of Tonga: Some Methodological Considerations’. Anthropological Quarterly 52: 135–51. Marcus, G.E. ed. 1983a. Elites: Ethnographic Issue. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico. Marcus, G.E. 1983b. ‘A Review of Ethnographic Research on Elites in Complex Societies’.InElites: Ethnographic Issues, ed. G. E. Marcus. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Pp. 29–39. Marcus, G.E. 2000. ‘The Deep Legacies of Dynastic Subjectivity: The Resonances of a Famous Family Identity in Private and Public Spheres’.InElites: Choice, Leadership and Succession, ed. J. de Pina-Cabral and A. P. de Lima. Oxford and New York: Berg. Pp. 9–29. Marwick, M.G.. 1965. ‘Some Problems in the Sociology of Sorcery and Witchcraft’.InAfrican Systems of Thought, ed. M. Fortes and G. Dieterlen. London: Oxford. Pp. 171–95. Marx, K. and F. Engels. 1932. The German Ideology. London: Lawrence & Wishart Ltd. Matthew, Kayode, Emma Nnadozie, Kenneth Ehigiator and Innocent Anaba. 2002. ‘Powerful People Killed Ige, Soyinka Insists. Keyamo in Court over Fryo’. Vanguard, 22 January. Pp. 1–2. Mazrui, A. 1963. ‘On Heroes and Uhuru Worship’. Transition 11: 23–8. Mendosa, E.L. 1976. ‘Elders, Ofﬁce-Holders and Ancestors among the Sisala of Northern Ghana’. Africa 46: 57–65. Merry, Sally Engle. 2003. ‘Hegemony and Culture in Historical Anthropology: A Review Essay on Jean and John L. Comaroff’s Of Revelation and Revolution’. The American Historical Review 108/2, April: 460–70. Merton, R. 1972 ‘Insider and Outsider: A Chapter in the Sociology of Knowledge’. American Journal of Sociology 78: 9–47. Messerschmidt, Donald A. 1981. ‘On Anthropology “at Home”’.In Anthropologists at Home in North America: Methods and Issues in the Study of One’s Own Society, ed. Donald A. Messerschmidt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 3–14. Meyer, John and R. Jepperson. 2000. ‘The Actors of Modern Society: The Cultural Construction of Social Agency’. Sociological Theory 18: 100–20. Miles, William. 2000. ‘Muslim Ethnopolitics and Presidential Elections in Nigeria’. Journal of Muslim Minority Affair 20: 229–41. Miller, Robert A. 1974. ‘Elite Formation in Africa: Class, Culture, and Coherence’. Journal of Modern African Studies 12: 521–42. Mills, C.W. 1956. The Power Elite. New York: Oxford University Press. Millson, Alvan. 1891. ‘The Yoruba Country, West Africa’. Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society and Monthly Record 13/10: 577–87. Bibliography 273

Mitchell, J.C. 1852. ‘A Note on the African Conception of Causality’. The Nyasaland Journal 5: 51–8. Mitchell, J.C. 1965. ‘The Meaning in Misfortune for Urban Africans’.InAfrican Systems of Thought, ed. Meyer Fortes and G. Dieterlen. London: Oxford University Press. Pp. 192–203. Morton-Williams, P. 1960a. ‘Yòrùbá Responses to the Fear of Death’. Africa 30: 34–40. Morton-Williams, P. 1960b. ‘The Yòrùbá Ogboni Cult in Oyo’. Africa 30: 362–74. Morton-Williams, P. 1964. ‘An Outline of the Cosmology and the Cult Organization of the Oyo Yòrùbá’. Africa 34: 243–61. Mosca, G. 1939. The Ruling Class, ed. and rev. A. Livingston. New York: McGraw-Hill. Mukwuzi, Michael. 2007. ‘A Paternity Controversy?’ TheNEWS, 25 June. Pp. 27–29. Muller, Jerry Z. 2008. ‘Us and Them: The Enduring Power of Ethnic Nationalism’. Foreign Affairs 87/2: 18–35. Murray, Senan John. 2003. ‘Ige’s Letter: Soyinka is Telling the Truth – Prof. Adeyeye’. Punch, 30 July. P. 1. Murray, Stuart J. 2006. ‘Thanatopolitics: On the Use of Death for Mobilizing Political Life’. Polygraph 18: 191–215. Nadar, L. 1969. ‘Up the Anthropologist – Perspectives Gained from Studying Up’. In Reinventing Anthropology, ed. D. Hymes. New York: Vintage. Pp. 284–311. Nairn, Tom. 1981. The Break-up of Britain: Crisis and Neo-Nationalism. London: Verso. Nation. 2008 ‘Adedoja Faults Akala on Awo’s Statue’. Nation, 13 January. P. 5 Nation. 2010. ‘No Apology for Tinubu’s Role in Southwest’s Liberation from PDP, Says Fayemi’, 12 December. P. 8. Nation. 2011. ‘Tinubu Writes HID Awolowo’, 14 June. Pp. 1–2. Navaro-Yashin, Yael. 2000. Faces of the State: Secularism and Public Life in Turkey. Princeton, NJ, and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Newbury, Catharine. 1988. The Cohesion of Oppression: Clientship and Ethnicity in Rwanda, 1860–1960. New York: Columbia University Press. Newbury, Catharine. 1998. ‘Ethnicity and the Politics of History in Rwanda’. Africa Today 45/1: 7–24. Nigerian Tribune. 2008. ‘Awo’s Statue: OPC Moves Against Alao-Akala’, 12 January. P. 5. Nkwi, Walter G. 2006. ‘Elites, Ethno-Regional Competition in Cameroon, and the Southwest Elites Association (SWELA), 1991–1997’. African Study Monographs 27/3: 123–43. Nnadozie, Emma and Akon, Olasunkanmi. 2002. ‘Ige: Governor, Deputy, Presidency Accused’. Vanguard, 15 January: 1. Nnaemeka, Obioma. 1998. ‘Introduction: Reading the Rainbow’.InSisterhood, Feminisms and Power: From Africa to the Diaspora, ed. O. Nnaemeka. Trenton, NJ: African World Press. Pp. 1–35. Nolte, Insa. 2009. Obafemi Awolowo and the Making of Remo: The Local Politics of a Nigerian Nationalist. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Nwabuikwu, Paul. 2003. ‘No Tears for Afenifere’. The Guardian, 16 April. P. 63. 274 Bibliography

Nwankwo, Uchenna. 2012. ‘Zik/Eyo Ita Face-Off – Aladinma’s Misrepresentations’. Vanguard, 11 July. http://www.vanguardngr.com/2012/07/zikeyo-ita-face-off- aladinmas-misrepresentations/ (accessed 28 October 2012). Nwanwene, Omorogbe. 1969–70. ‘Awolowo’s Political Philosophy’. Quarterly Journal of Administration 4: 127–53. Nwanwene, Omorogbe. 1970–1. ‘Awolowo’s Strategy and Tactics of the People’s Republic of Nigeria – A Review Article’. Quarterly Journal of Administration 5, October: 229–41. Nyamnjoh, Francis and Michael Rowlands. 1998. ‘Elite Associations and the Politics of Belonging in Cameroon’. Africa 68/3: 320–37. Obasanjo, Oluremi. 2008. Bitter-Sweet: My Life with Obasanjo. Lagos: Diamond Publications Limited. Obasanjo, Olusegun. 1990. Not My Will. Ibadan: University Press Ltd. Odunfa, Sola. 2004. ‘Is Nigeria Worth Dying For?’ BBC, Lagos, 2 July. http://news. bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/3853859.stm (accessed 21 July, 2004). Odunuga, Yomi. 2003. ‘Obasanjo Takes Up Soyinka on Ige’s Last Letter’. Punch, 29 July. P. 1. Ofeimun, Odia. 1987a. ‘For a Truly Federal Burial.’ The Guardian, May 22.P.9. Ofeimun, Odia. 1987b. ‘Awolowo’s Struggles: the Myth and the Man.’ The Guardian, June 7. Pp. B4–B5. Ofeimun, Odia. 1995. ‘The Yorùbá and the Rest of Us’. TheNews, 26 June. Pp. 13–15. Ofeimun, Odia. 2000. ‘Nigeria’s Man of the Century’. People in TheNEWS. Lagos: ICNL. Pp. 119–23. Ofeimun, Odia. 2012. ‘Why Tinubu is Remarkable’. Asiwaju: Untold Story of the Leader, a special publication of TheNEWS, Lagos, Nigeria. Pp. 8–9. Ogbodo, Abraham. 2012. ‘Battle of the Progressives, Awoism’. The Guardian, 5 August. P. 56. Ogbontiba, Femi Ade. 1994. Nigeria: The Awolowo Factor. Lagos: Delafare Nigeria Ltd. Ogunbiyi, Yemi. 2003. ‘The Ultimate Vindication of Bola Ige.’ The Guardian, 24 April. P. 63. Ogunmade, Omololu and Tunde Sanni. 2008. ‘Reactions Trail Removal of Awo’s Statue’. THISDAY, 9 January. P. 1. Ogunmodede, F.I. 1986. Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s Socio-Political Philosophy: A Critical Interpretation. Ibadan: Intec Publishers. Ogunsanwo, Olufemi. 2009. Awo’sUnﬁnished Greatness: The Life and Times of Chief Obafemi Awolowo. Lagos: Pace Books and Periodical. Ogunseye, B. 1999a. ‘Why I Did Not Vote for Obasanjo (I)’. The Guardian, 24 March. P. 49. Ogunseye, B. 1999b. ‘Why I Did Not Vote for Obasanjo (II)’. The Guardian, 25 March. P. 41. Ohnuki-Tierney, Emiko. ed. 1990a. Culture through Time: Anthropological Approaches. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Ohnuki-Tierney, Emiko. 1990b. ‘Introduction: The Historicization of Anthropology’.InCulture Through Time: Anthropological Approach, ed. Emiko Ohnuki-Tierney. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Pp. 1–25. Bibliography 275

Ojeifo, Sufuyan, Rotimi Ajayi and Ben Agande. 1999 ‘Obasanjo Replies Ige’, Vanguard, 1 September. Pp. 1–2. Ojo, A. G. J. 1990. Yòrùbá Culture: A Geographical Analysis. London: University of London Press. Ojukwu, Odumegwu Emeka. 1989. Because I am Involved. Ibadan: Spectrum Books. Oke, David. O. 2009. ‘Obafemi Awolowo’s Development Legacy’.InAwo: On the Trail of a Titan, ed. David O. Oke, Olatunji Dare, Adebayo Williams and Femi Akinola. Lagos: The Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation. Pp. 147–67. Oke, David O., Olatunji Dare, Adebayo Williams and Femi Akinola. eds. 2009. Awo: On the Trail of a Titan. Lagos: The Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation. Okigbo, Christopher. 1971. ‘Laments of the Drums I. In Labyrinths. Ibadan: Heinemann. P. 45. Oladele, Bisi. 2011. ‘Obasanjo, PDP Knew about Ige’s Death’, Nation, 25 December. Pp. 16, 69. Oladele, Bisi. 2012. ‘Yoruba Nation and the Nigerian Project’, Nation, Sunday, 2 September. P. 19. Oladoyinbo, Yinka. 2010. ‘Mimiko Challenges Yorubas to Remain Pacesetters. Eulogises Awolowo’s Visionary Leadership’. Nigerian Tribune, 6 December. P. 8. Olarinmoye, Omobolaji. O. 2006. ‘The Politics of Ethnic Mobilization: The Yòrùbá Experience’. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Ibadan, Nigeria. Olukotun, Ayo. 2002. ‘Traditional Protest Media and Anti-Military Struggle in Nigeria 1988–1999’. African Affairs 101/403: 193–211. Olukotun, Ayo. 2012. ‘Elusive Search for Another Awolowo’. The Guardian, 19 March. http://www.ngrguardiannews.com/index.php?option=com_content& view=article&id=80515:olukotun-elusive-search-for-another-awolowo&catid=38: columnists&Itemid=615 (accessed 13 October 2012). Olukoya, Yinka.. 2009. ‘Remain Steadfast, HID Charges Daniel’, 1 September. P. 45. Olukoya, Yinka. 2010. ‘Yorubaland, Not for Vagabonds – Daniel’, 14 December. P. 3. Olupona, Jacob K. 2011. The City of 201 Gods: Ile-Ife in Time, Space, and the Imagination. Berkeley: University of California Press. Olurin, Adetunji. 1987. ‘Funeral Oration’. Nigerian Tribune, 2 June. Pp. 2, 4, Olurode, Lai. 2005. The Life and Times of LKJ. Lagos: Rebonik Publications. Olusanya, G.O. ed. 1983a. Studies in Yòrùbá History and Culture: Essays in Honour of Professor S.O. Biobaku. Ibadan: University Press. Olusanya, G.O. 1983b. ‘Introduction’.InStudies in Yòrùbá History and Culture: Essays in Honour of Professor S.O. Biobaku, ed. G. O. Olusanya. Ibadan: University Press. Pp. 1–3. Olutoye, Olufemi. 2010. The Awo I Knew. Akure: Teedek Consult. Omoboriowo, Akin. 1982. Awoism: Select Themes on the Complex Ideology of Chief Obafemi Awolowo. Ibadan: Evans Brothers. Omoruyi, Omo. 1999. The Tale of June 12: The Betrayal of the Democratic Rights of Nigerians (1993). London: Press Alliance Network Limited. 276 Bibliography

Orebe, Femi. 2011. ‘Olusegun Obasanjo: 1999–2010, Awo, Forever in Our Hearts’. Nation, 1 May. P. 14. Ortner, Sherry B. 1990. ‘Patterns of History: Cultural Schemas in the Founding of Sherpa Religious Institutions’.InCulture through Time: Anthropological Approaches, ed. Emiko Ohnuki-Tierney. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Pp. 57–93. Ortner, Sherry B. 1995. ‘Resistance and the Problem of Ethnographic Refusal’. Comparative Studies in Society and History 37: 173–93. Ortner, Sherry B. 2001. ‘Specifying Agency: The Comaroffs and their Critics’. Interventions 3/1: 76–84. Ortner, Sherry B. 2003. New Jersey Dreaming: Capital, Culture, and the Class of ‘58. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Ortner, Sherry B. 2006. Anthropology and Social Theory: Culture, Power, and the Acting Subject. Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press. Osadolor, Kingsley. 1987. ‘Awo’s Other Selves’. African Guardian, Lagos, 11 June. Pp. 11–15. Osaghae, E.E. 1991. ‘A Re-Examination of the Conception of Ethnicity in Africa as an Ideology of Inter-Elite Competition’. African Study Monographs 12/1: 43–60. Oshun, Olawale. 2005. The Kiss of Death: Afenifere and the Inﬁdels. London: Josel Publishers. Osundare, Niyi. 1987. ‘Chief Obafemi Awolowo’. Nigerian Tribune, 24 May. P. 15. Osundare, Niyi. 1990. Waiting Laughters. Ibadan: Malthouse. Osundare, Niyi. 2010. ‘For Obafemi Awolowo (Ten Mays Later)’.InAwo: On the Trail of a Titan, ed. David O. Oke et. al. Lagos: The Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation. Pp. vii–xi. Osunnuga, Tola. 2010. ‘Tinubu, the real Yoruba leader’. Nation, 13 December. P. 18. Osuntokun, Akinjide. 1984. Chief S. Ladoke Akintola: His Life and Times. London: Taylor & Francis. Otegbeye, T. 1991. Awo and the Politics of the 90s. Lagos and Ibadan: Macmillan. Oyelaran, O., T. Falola, M. Okoye and A. Thompson, eds. 1988. Obafemi Awolowo: The End of an Era? Ile-Ife: Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: University Press. Oyerinde, N.D. 1934. Iwe Itan Ogbomosho [The History of Ogbomosho], Jos: Niger Press. Paine, Robert. 1969. ‘In Search of Friendship: An Exploratory Analysis in “Middle-Class” Culture’. Man 4/4: 505–24. Pareto, V. 1935. The Mind and Society. New York: Harcourt-Brace. Pareto, V. 1968. The Rise and Fall of the Elites. Totowa, NJ: Bedminster Press. Pareto, V. 1997. ‘The Governing Elite in Present-Day Democracy’.InClasses and Elites in Democracy and Democratization, ed. Eva Etzioni-Halévy. New York: Garland. Pp. 47–52. Parry, G. 1969. Political Elites. London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd. Parsons, T. 1951. The Social System. New York: Free Press. Peel, J. D. Y. 1978. ‘Olaju: A Yòrùbá Concept of Development’. Journal of Development Studies 14: 139–65. Bibliography 277

Peel, J. D. Y. 1983. Ijeshas and Nigerians: The Incorporation of a Yoruba Kingdom 1890s–1970s. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Peel, J. D. Y. 1984. ‘Making History: The Past in the Ijesha Present’. Man 19: 111–32. Peel, J. D. Y. 1989. ‘The Cultural Work of Yòrùbá Ethnogenesis’.InHistory and Ethnicity, ed. Elizabeth Tonkin, M. McDonald and M. Chapman. London: Routledge, 198–200. Peel, J. D. Y. 1994. ‘Historicity and Pluralism in Some Recent Studies on Yòrùbá Religion’. Africa 64: 150–66. Peel, J. D. Y. 2000. Religious Encounter and the Making of the Yòrùbá. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Peel, J. D. Y. 2011. ‘Islam, Christianity and the Unﬁnished Making of the Yoruba’. Paper presented at the Mellon Foundation Sawyer Seminar, University of Michigan, 1–2 April. Pemberton, J. 1975. ‘Eshu-elegba: The Yòrùbá Trickster God’. African Arts 9: 20–7, 66–70, 90–2. Pina-Cabral, D.J. 2000a. ‘Introduction’.InElites: Choice, Leadership and Succession, ed. J. de Pina-Cabral and A. P. de Lima. Oxford and New York: Berg. Pp. 1–29. Pina-Cabral, D.J. 2000b. ‘How Do the Macanese Achieve Collective Action?’ In Elites: Choice, Leadership and Successio, ed. J. de Pina-Cabral and A. P. de Lima. Oxford and New York: Berg. Pp. 201–25. Pitcher, G. 1984. ‘The Misfortunes of the Dead’. American Philosophical Quarterly 21: 183–8. Porter, A.T. 1963. Creoledom: A Study in the Development of Freetown Society. London: Oxford University Press. Posel, Deborah and Pamila Gupta. 2009. ‘The Life of the Corpse: Framing Reﬂections and Questions’. African Studies 68/3: 299–309. Post, K. W. J. and G. D. Jenkins. 1973. The Price of Liberty: Personality and Politics in Colonial Nigeria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Punch. 2012. ‘Yoruba National Assembly Communique’, 2 September. http:// www.punchng.com/news/for-the-record/yoruba-national-assembly-communique/ (accessed 3 September, 2012). Putnam, Robert D. 1976. The Comparative Study of Political Elites. New Jersey: Prentice Hall. Putnam, Robert D. 1977. ‘Elite Transformation in Advance Industrial Societies: An Empirical Assessment of the Theory of Technocracy’. Comparative Political Studies 10/3: 383–411. Quadiri, Yinka. 2002. Saving the Ship of State: The Living Thoughts of Obafemi Awolowo. Ibadan: Bookcraft. Quandt, William B. 1970. The Comparative Study of Political Elites. Beverly Hills: Sage. Radcliffe-Brown, A.R. 1922. The Andaman Islanders. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rẹmọ Today. 2006. ‘Awo Never Said I am a Premier I Want to Remain as a Premier’. Vol. 5, No. 6, February–March. Pp. 10–12. 278 Bibliography

Ritzer, George. 1996. ‘Agency-Structure Integration’.InSociological Theory, ed. George Ritzer. New York: The McGraw-Hill Company Inc. pp. 77–78. Robert, M. 1997. ‘The Oligarchical Tendencies in Working Class Organizations’. In Classes and Elites in Democracy and Democratization, ed. Eva Etzioni- Halévy. New York: Garland. Pp. 243–50. Rubinstein, D. 2001. Culture, Structure and Agency: Towards a Truly Multidimensional Society. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Ryan, Michael. 2004. ‘Agency-Structure Integration’.InEncyclopedia of Social Theory, Volume 1, ed. George Ritzer. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Pp. 5–6. Sahlins, Marshall. 1985. Islands of History. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Saler, M. 1998. ‘Hearing Voices of the Past: Comments on Toews and Zolberg’. Theory and Society 27: 591–6. Sanni, Tunde. 2008a. ‘Awo’s Statue: 2 Journalists Arrested’. THISDAY, 11 January. P. 1. Sanni, Tunde. 2008b. ‘Adedibu to Move Awo’s Statue to Molete’. THISDAY, 13 January. P.1. Sawyer, H. 1970. God, Ancestor or Creator? Aspects of Traditional Belief in Ghana, Nigeria, and Sierra Leone. London: Longman. Schütz, Alfred. 1973. The Structures of the Life-World, vol. 1, trans. Thomas Luckmann. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Sekoni, R. 1997. ‘Politics and Urban Folklore in Nigeria’.InReadings in African Popular Culture, ed. Karen Barber. London: IAI/James Currey. Pp. 142–6. Sekoni, Ropo. 2008. ‘Heroes and Villains in Yoruba Politics’. The NATION, 11 January. P. 9. Sewell, Jnr.W.H. 1992. ‘A Theory of Structure: Duality, Agency, and Transformation’. American Journal of Sociology 38: 1–29. Sheils, D. 1975. ‘Towards a Uniﬁed Theory of Ancestor Worship: A Cross-Cultural Study’. Social Forces 54: 427–40. Shilling, C. 1999. ‘Towards an Embodied Understanding of Structure/Agency Relationship’. British Journal of Sociology 50: 543–62. Shore, C. 2002. ‘Introduction: Towards an Anthropology of Elites. In Elite Cultures: Anthropological Perspectives, ed. C. Shore and S. Nugent. London and New York: Routledge. Pp. 1–21. Shore, C. and S. Nugen. eds. 2002. Elite Cultures: Anthropological Perspectives. London and New York: Routledge. Sklar, Richard. 1963. Nigerian Political Parties: Power in an Emergent African Nation. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sklar, Richard. 1966. ‘Nigerian Politics: The Ordeal of Chief Awolowo, 1960–65’. In Politics in Africa: Seven Cases in African Government, ed. G. M. Carter. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World. Pp. 119–65. Smith, A. 1983. ‘A Little New Light on the Collapse of the Alaﬁnate of Yòrùbá’.In Studies in Yòrùbá History and Culture: Essays in Honour of Professor S.O. Biobaku, ed. G. O. Olusanya. Ibadan: University Press. Pp. 42–71. Smith, Anthony D. 1986. The Ethnic Origins of Nations. Oxford: Blackwell. Smith, Anthony D. 1991. National Identity. London: Penguin. Bibliography 279

Smythe, Hugh H. and Mabel M. Smythe. 1960. The New Nigerian Elite. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Soyinka, Wole. 2002. ‘Ige: An Ecumenical Spirit’. (Funeral oration delivered at the burial of Chief Bola Ige). Ibadan. 11 January. Soyinka, Wole. 2010. ‘One Tree That Made a Forest’.InSalute to the Master Builder, ed. Odia Ofeimun. Lagos: Hornbill. P. 12. Spencer, Jonathan. 1990. A Sinhala Village in a Time of Trouble: Politics and Change in Rural Sri Lanka. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Svanikier, Johanna Odonkor. 2008. ‘Political Elite Circulation: Implications for Leadership Diversity and Democratic Regime Stability in Ghana’.InElites: New Comparative Perspectives, ed. Masamichy Sasaki. Leiden: Brill. Pp. 103–22. Swartz, David. 1997. Culture and Power: The Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Sztompka, P. 1991. Society in Action: The Theory of Social Becoming. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Taiwo, Olufemi. 1988. ‘Awolowo’s Socialism: A Politico-Conceptual Assessment’. In Obafemi Awolowo: The End of an Era? ed. Olasope O. Oyelaran et al. Ile-Ife: Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: University Press. Taiwo, Olufemi. 2010. ‘On Obafemi Awolowo’. Paper presented at the Bernard M. Magubane at 80 International Conference: An Intellectual Celebration, Tshwane, South Africa, 26–8 August. Tan, L. 2006. A Blueprint for Change: Diversity as a Civic Asset. Washington: Partners for Livable Communities. Tardits, C. 1958. Porto-Novo: les nouvelles générations africaines entre leurs traditions et l’occident. Paris: Mouton & Cie, La Haye. TELL. 2001. ‘Bola Ige is Selﬁsh – Okurounmu’, 23 April. P. 51. TEMPO. 1994. ‘Obasanjo Crashes Again: The Political Death of an Ambitious General’, 8 December. P. 4–5. TEMPO. 2000. ‘How Ige Escaped Afenifere’s Axe’, 21 September. P. 20. TheNEWS. 2009. ‘The Secret of Our Success– Gov Fashola’, 16 February. Pp. 20–1. Thompson, Adewale. 2001. ‘Details of Attempt On My Life’. Nigerian Tribune, 21 September. P. 28. Thompson, John B. 1989. ‘The Theory of Structuration’.InSocial Theory of Modern Societies: Anthony Giddens and His Critics, ed. David Held and John. B. Thompson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pp. 56–76. Thompson, John B. 1990 [1994]. Ideology and Modern Culture: Critical Theory in the Era of Mass Communication. Cambridge: Polity Press. Tinubu, S. A. 1992. S. L. Akintola, His Politics and His Nation: The Reminiscences of an Associate. Ibadan: African Digest. Touraine, A. 1977. The Self-Production of Society, trans. D. Coltman. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Troyansky, D.G. 1987. ‘Monumental Politics: National History and Local Memory in French Monuments aux Morts in the Department of the Aisne Since 1870’. French Historical Studies 15: 121–41. Tuden, A. and L. Plotniko. eds. 1970. Social Stratiﬁcation in Africa. New York: The Free Press. Ubong, Ukpong. 2008. ‘Akala Not Awo Hater’. The Sun, 21 January. P. 7. 280 Bibliography

Udenwa, Onuora. 1988. ‘The Nobel is Not an African Prize.’ Quality Magazine (Lagos). November 3.P.7. Uhakheme, Ozolua. 2007. ‘Lateef Jakande: Awo Played a Fast One on Me’, Independent, Lagos, 7 July. D1.Vail, Leroy. 1991. ‘Preface’.InThe Creation of Tribalism in Southern Africa, ed. Leroy Vail. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Pp. 1–19. Valdes, M.J. ed. 1991. A Ricoeur Reader: Reﬂections and Imaginations. New York: Hamster-Wheatsheaf. Valeri, V. 1990. ‘Constitutive History: Genealogy and Narrative in the Legitimation of Hawaiian Kingship’.InCulture through Time: Anthropological Approaches, ed. E. Ohnuki-Tierney. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Pp. 154–92. Vaughan, Olufemi. 1994. ‘Communalism, Legitimation and Party Politics at the Grassroots: The Case of the Yoruba’. International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 7/3, Spring: 419–40. Vaughan, Olufemi. 2000. Nigerian Chiefs: Traditional Power in Modern Politics, 1890s–1990s. Rochester, NY: Rochester University Press. Vaughan, Olufemi. 2003. ‘Chieftaincy Politics and Communal Identity in Colonial Western Nigeria, 1893–1951’. Journal of African History 44: 283–302. Verdery, Katherine. 1999. The Political Life of Dead Bodies: Reburial and Postsocialist Change. New York: Columbia University Press. Vincent, Joan. 1971. African Elite: The Big Men of a Small Town. New York and London: Columbia University Press. Wadley, R.L. 1999. ‘Disrespecting the Dead and the Living: Iban Ancestor Worship and the Violation of Mourning Taboos’. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 5: 595–610. Walker, K. 1995. ‘“Always There for Me”: Friendship Patterns and Expectations among Middle- and Working-Class Men and Women’. Sociological Forum 10: 273–96. Weber, Max. 1947. The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, trans. A. Henderson and T. Parsons. New York: The Free Press. Weber, Max. 1968. Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. and trans. G. Roth and C. Wittich. New York: Bedminster Press. Weekly Gateway Mirror. 2006. ‘I’ll Forever Remain an Awoist’, 12 September. P. 17. Werbner, Richard. 2004. Reasonable Radicals and Citizenship in Botswana: The Public Anthropology of Kalanga Elites. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Williams, Adebayo. 2002. ‘After Cicero’. Africa Today, Vol. 8, No. 2, February. Pp. 8–9. Williams, Adebayo. 2004. ‘Awolowo and the Longest Goodbye’. Ọbáfémi Awóló: wò: Foundation Annual Lecture. Lagos, Nigeria, March 6. Williams, R. 1976. Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. London: Fontana. Wolcott, Harry F. 1981. ‘Home and Away: Personal Contrasts in Ethnographic Style’.InAnthropologists at Home in North America: Methods and Issues in the Bibliography 281

Study of One’s Own Society, ed. Donald A. Messerschmidt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pp. 255–65. Yusuf, Razak, Ademola Adeyem and Hammed Bodunrin. 2002. ‘As Detainees’ Families Call for Police Report ... Ige: Suspects are Innocent, Says Omisore’. Thisday, 15 May. Pp. 1 & 6. Zolberg, V. 1989. ‘Contested Remembrance: The Hiroshima Exhibit Controversy’. Theory and Society 24: 565–90. Zuckerman, A. 1977. ‘Political Elite: Mosca and Pareto’. The Journal of Politics 39: 324–44.

Periodicals African Concord, Lagos African Guardian, Lagos Daily Service, Lagos Daily Sketch, Ibadan Daily Times, Lagos The Guardian, Lagos Hotline, Kaduna The Independent, Lagos The Independent, London New Nigerian, Kaduna Newswatch, Lagos Nigerian Tribune, Ibadan Remo Today, Sagamu TELL, Lagos TEMPO, Lagos TheNEWS, Lagos Thisday, Lagos THISWEEK, Lagos Vanguard, Lagos West African Pilot, Lagos

Interviews Alhaji Azeez Alao Arisekola, Ibadan-based businessman Alhaji Ganiyu Dawodu (deceased), former chairman of AD, Lagos State Alhaji Gbenga Kaka, former deputy governor, Ogun State Alhaji Lai Mohammed, national publicity secretary, Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN) Bishop Ayo Ladigbolu, retired bishop of Ilesa Diocese (Methodist) Bishop Emmanuel Bolanle Gbonigi, retired bishop of Akure Diocese (Anglican) Bishop Emmanuel O. Alayande (deceased), former president of the YCE Chief Ayo Adebanjo, lawyer, chieftain of Afé: nifé: re and former acting national chairman of the AD Chief Ebenezer Babatope, former director of organization, UPN, and former federal minister of transportation Chief Olanrewaju Adepoju, poet and author 282 Bibliography

Chief Olu Falae, former secretary to the government of the federation and presidential candidate of the AD/APP alliance. Chief Reuben Fasoranti, leader of Afé: nifé: re Chief Wumi Adegbọnmire, former secretary to the state government (Ondo) Dr Akinyemi Onigbinde, Olabisi Onabanjo University, Ago-Iwoye, and secretary of Alajobi Dr Amos Akingba, businessman and ex-NADECO activist Dr Dejo Raimi, former secretary to the state government (Oyo) and member of YCE Dr Femi Okunrounmu, secretary of Afé: nifé: re and former senator Dr Frederick Fasehun, founder of OPC Dr Kunle Olajide, YCE secretary-general General Alani Akinrinade, former chief of defence staff Governor Bisi Akande, former governor of Osun State and chairman of the ACN Governor Bola Tinubu, former governor of Lagos State (1999–2007) Governor Gbenga Daniel, former governor of Ogun State (2003–11) Governor Lam Adesina, former governor of Oyo State (1999–2003) Governor Lateef Jakande, former governor of Lagos State (1979–83) Governor Niyi Adebayo, former governor of Ekiti State (1999–2003) Governor Segun Osoba, former governor of Ogun State (1991–3; 2003–7) Mr Ademola Oyinlola, executive editor of TELL and member of Alajobi Mr Ayo Opadokun, former secretary of Afé: nifé: re Mr Bisi Alamun, member of the AD Mr Funminiyi Afuye, member of Alajobi Mr Gani Adams, factional leader of OPC Mr Gbenga Kaka, former deputy governor of Ogun State Mr Jimi Agbaje, former gubernatorial candidate of the DPA, Lagos State Mr Niyi Owolade, former commissioner for health, Osun State Mr Peter Ajayi (deceased), journalist and former managing director of Sketch Press Limited Mr Supo Sonibare, chairman of Afé: nifé: re, Lagos State Mr Tokunbo Ajasin, son of late Afé: nifé: re leader, Chief Ajasin Mr Tunde Odanye, lawyer and former member of Afé: nifé: re Mr Yemi Farounbi, retired broadcaster and politician Mr Yinka Odumakin, publicity secretary of Afé: nifé: re Mr Dare Babanrinsa, journalist, author and leader of Alajobi Mr Dayo Adeyeye, journalist, lawyer and member of Alajobi Mr Odia Ofeimun, poet and former private secretary of Chief Awóló: wò: Mr Olapade Fakunle, member of AD Mr Olawale Oshun, author and leader of Afé: nifé: re Renewal Group Mrs H.I.D. Awóló: wò: , Awóló: wò: ’s widow Oba Dokun Abọlarin, the Orangun of Oke-Ila Oba Lamidi Adeyemi III, the Alaaﬁn of Oyo Professor Bolaji Akinyemi, former external affairs minister Rev. Adetunji Adebiyi, former assistant to Chief Adesanya Senator Ayo Fasanmi, deputy leader of Afé: nifé: re Bibliography 283

Senator Mojisoluwa Akinfenwa, chairman of factional AD Sir Olaniwun Ajayi, lawyer and one of the leaders of Afé: nifé: re

Memoranda, Handbooks, Press Releases and Minutes of Meetings The Family Handbook (Idile), April 1996. ‘The Ijebu-Igbo Declaration’, 26 March 2000. Memorandum of Understanding (Between President Obasanjo and AD/ Afenifere), 16 February 2003. Memorandum of Understanding of Alajobi. Minutes of the CWC Meeting held 1 March 1993, at Chief Bola Ige’s house, Bodija, Ibadan. ‘Speech’, Chief Abraham Adesanya, 26 January 1999, Ibadan.

Index

Abacha, Ibrahim (Sani) Abubakar, Abdusalami, 137, 142–143, 144 generally, 116, 123–124, 138, 146 Abubakar, Alhaji Atiku, 144, 181, 183, Alliance for Democracy and, 142–143 237, 247 Arisekola and, 160 Achebe, Chinua, 57, 96–97 assassination of Rewane and, 120, 135 Action Congress (AC), 78–79, 183, 237, attempted assassination of Adesanya 242, 247 and, 123 Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN), 28, death of, 137, 139 224–226, 237, 240, 241, 242–243, 247, Falae and, 148 250–251 Gbonigi and, 178 Action Group (AG) in Hausa-Fulani oligarchy, 136–137 generally, 12, 15, 48, 49, 50, 147, 167 Jakande and, 122, 133, 140 aims of, 53 Obasanjo and, 195, 199 Christianity and, 178 regime of, 133–134, 248–249 electoral politics and, 56–58 statue of Awóló: wò: and, 99 formation of, 55, 56 Tinubu and, 232 secrecy in, 55–56 Abass, Moshood, 215 social policy of, 58–59 Abatan, Dayo, 117, 129 Adabi (Only if), 220 Abati, Reuben, 103 Adams, Gani, 79 Abayomi, Kofo, 53 Adamu, Adamu, 96 Abimbola, Wande, 132, 186 Adbulazeez, Yakuba, 61 Abiodun, Roland, 186 Ade, Kole, 167 Abiola, Kudirat, 135 Adebanjo, Ayo Abiola, Moshood Kasimawo Olawale generally, 132, 173, 191 generally, 65, 132, 189, 228, 247 Awóló: wò: and, 114–115, 120–122 annulled election of, 99, 130–131, current status, 230, 242 133–134, 189–190, 199 in D’Rovans Affair, 146, 160, 161 Awóló: wò: compared, 135–137 Ige and, 141, 142, 172, 197 Islam and, 248–249 in “Ijebu Four,” 128, 129, 132 position in Yorùbá politics, 232–233 Obasanjo and, 199–200, 206 Tinubu and, 232, 236–237 Onigbinde and, 168 Abolarin, Dokun, 166, 167 position in Yorùbá politics, 116, 120, 124, Abrams, Philip, 17 134–135

285 286 Index

Adebanjo, Ayo (cont.) Adesina, Lere, 132 restructuring of Afé:nifé:re and, 170, 173, Adewale, Adesina, 215 193 Adewumi, Folu, 149 Adebayo, Adeyinka, 63, 156, 175, 205 Adeyeye, Dayo, 143, 144, 166 Adebayo, Cornelius O., 132, 142, 170, Adeyeye, Sola, 194–195, 216, 217 208, 250 Adigun, Modupe, 167 Adebayo, Olugbenga, 214, 215 Adiitu Olodumare (Fagunwa), 67 Adebayo, Otunba Niyi, 149, 182, 200, 229 Adu, Akerele, 149 Adebiyi, Adetunji, 123, 166 Afé:nifé:re (“Lovers of what is good”) Adedayo, Abass-Olisa, 75 generally, 6–7, 15, 23 Adedibu, Lamidi, 68, 79, 101, 102–103 Awóló: wò: and, 78, 91 Adefarati, Ade, 132, 149, 157, 181–182, D’Rovans Affair and, 145–158 190, 198, 204, 209 electoral politics and, 152, 158–162 Adegbola, Olufunso, 215 formation of, 129 Adegbonmire, Wumi, 149, 157, 194 naming of, 128, 129, 133 Adegboyega, Ajibola, 166 Obasanjo and, 202–211 Adegoke, Adebayo, 215 rebuilding of, 164–169 Adekeye, Pa, 149 reconciliation in, 169–173, 179–183 Adelabu, Adegoke, 45, 48–49, 58, 99, recruitment of younger members, 102, 238 164–169 Adelana (Chief), 41 withdrawal from PDP, 142–144 Adeleke, Taofeek, 99 YCE and, 174 Ademodi, Bayonle, 167 Afé:nifé:re Creed, 204–205, 226 Adenekan, Bayo, 166 Afé:nifé:re Renewal Group, 241, 242, 247 Adepoju, Olarewaju, 200–201 Afere, Oluwole, 167 Aderemi, Adesoji, 66 Afolabi, Ayo, 166, 167, 168 Adesanya, Abraham Afolabi, Kayode, 167 generally, 113, 143, 180 Afolabi, Sunday M., 197–198, 199, 207 alleged spiritual powers of, 177 Afuye, Funminiyi, 166 attempted assassination of, 135 Agagu, Olusegun, 91–92, 207 baba concept and, 115 Agbabiaka, Ayo, 167 death of, 228 Agbaje, Jimi, 167, 202 in D’Rovans Affair, 147, 150, 151, 152 Agency electoral politics and, 120 as analytical basis of corporate agency, Ige and, 141, 142, 144 15–19 in “Ijebu Four,” 128, 129, 132 constraint in, 17–18 Ijebu-Igbo Declaration and, 173 enablement in, 17–18 Obasanjo and, 199–201, 202, 204, 205, Marxian perspectives on, 15, 16 208–209 Aguda, Akinola, 178 Onigbinde and, 168 Agunloye, Olu, 174 position in Yorùbá politics, 112, 116–117, Agunsoye, Rotimi, 166 122–124, 134–135, 144 Aikulola, Duro, 170 restructuring of Afé:nifé:re and, 170, 172, Aina, F. N., 149 173 Ajakaye, Lai, 102 YCE and, 175, 177, 178, 179 Ajasin, Michael Adekunle Adesina, Alhaji Lam generally, 112, 118, 119, 122, 124, 126, generally, 149, 174, 182–183, 212 127, 134, 141 on assassination of Ige, 217 Abiola and, 132 in D’Rovans Affair, 156 baba concept and, 115 Obasanjo and, 204 electoral politics and, 65, 124 statue of Awóló: wò: and, 73–74, 78, 80, 99 Falae and, 128, 148 Index 287

Ige and, 128 Akintoye (King), 84 Obasanjo and, 203 Akintoye, Adebanji, 41–42, 43–44, 46, Owo Group and, 119–120, 122 59–60, 66, 68, 252 position in Yorùbá politics, 116 Akinwunmi, Sola, 132 Ajasin, Tokunbo, 166, 167, 170 Akinyemi, Bolaji, 149, 156, 170 Ajayi, Olaniwun Alajobi (Consanguinity), 164, 167–169, generally, 121–126, 128, 134–135, 170–171, 172–173 173, 191 Alakija, Adeyemo, 53 Awóló: wò: and, 114–115, 120–122 Alamun, Bisi, 181–182 burial of Awóló: wò: and, 88 Alao, Adekunle, 215 current status, 251 Alao-Akala, Christopher Adebayo, 74–77, in D’Rovans Affair, 146, 160, 161 78–79, 103, 239–240 Ige and, 142, 172, 197 Alayande, Emmanuel in “Ijebu Four,” 129 in D’Rovans Affair, 149, 152, 156 legal career, 113 electoral politics and, 161 Obasanjo and, 205, 206 restructuring of Afé:nifé:re and, 169–170, position in Yorùbá politics, 116, 120, 124 171, 172 restructuring of Afé:nifé:re and, 170, YCE and, 173, 175, 176, 178 173, 193 Alliance for Democracy (AD) on Yorùbá people, 34, 219 generally, 74, 78–79 Ajayi, Popoola, 167, 170 crisis in Afé:nifé:re and, 179–183 Ajibola, Kayode, 167 in D’Rovans Affair, 145, 152–153 Ajimobi, Abiola Isiaka, 78–79, 223, 231, electoral politics and, 79–80, 103, 235–236 235–236 Ajomale, Henry, 243 formation of, 33–34, 142–144 Akande, Bisi Obasanjo and, 199, 202–204, 205–206 generally, 128, 132, 229 All Nigerian People’s Party (ANPP), 78–79, Afé:nifé:re and, 129 235–236, 247 Alajobi and, 168 All People’s Party (APP), 139, 144, 153 Awóló: wò: and, 92 “Alpha,” 166, 167 crisis in Afé:nifé:re and, 180, 181, 182–183 Amosun, Ibikunle, 223, 235–236 in D’Rovans Affair, 149, 156–158 Ancestor worship among Yorùbá people, Obasanjo and, 204, 212–213 81–85 YCE and, 174 Ancient and Mystical Order Rosae Crucis. Ake, Claude, 5 See Rosicrucian Order Akeh, Afam, 257 Annan, Koﬁ, 244 Akinfenwa, Mojisoluwa, 149, 156, 180, Anthropology and study of elites, 8–11 181, 182–183, 193 Antigone, 79 Akinjide, Richard, 65, 174, 175, 207 Antze, Paul, 190 Akinlotan, Idowu, 79 Apapo Omo Oodua, 167 Akinloye, Meredith Adisa, 58, 65, 129 Apter, Andrew, 35, 65 Akinola, Kehinde, 166 Archer, Margaret S., 16, 17, 19, 20, 177, Akinrinade, Alani, 1, 4, 170 188, 242–243 Akinsanya, Kayode, 129 Aregbesola, Rauf, 223, 225–227, 230, 239, Akintola, Faderera, 117 240, 241, 243 Akintola, Samuel Ladoke Arisekola Alao, Alhaji Azeez, 59–60, 159, generally, 102, 117, 171, 191–192, 160–161, 204 197, 201 Armed Forces Remembrance Day, 75 in Action Group, 147 Ataturk, Mustafa Kemal, 93, 97–98 Awóló: wò: and, 60–61, 99, 162 Awe, Bolanle, 46 Ige compared, 188, 198, 202, 211 Awo as a Philosopher (Makinde), 51 288 Index

Awodeyin, Kola, 167 Baba (Father) concept, 114–116, 186 Awoism, 246 Babalola, S. K., 132 Awóló: wò: , Hannah I. D., 89, 91–92, 95, 104, Babangida, Ibrahim 117–118, 174, 193, 239–240 generally, 178 Awóló: wò: , Ọbáfé:mi. See also speciﬁc topic Awóló: wò: and, 93, 95, 147–148 generally, 244 banning of candidates under, 130, 131, 133 Abiola compared, 135–137 burial of Awóló: wò: and, 95 Adebanjo and, 114–115, 120–122 creation of political parties under, Afé:nifé:re and, 78, 91 127–128 Ajayi and, 114–115, 120–122 Interim National Government, 133 Akande and, 92 in PDP, 144 Akintola and, 60–61, 99, 162 transition to civilian rule, 122–123, ancestor worship and, 81–89 126–127, 232, 233 arrest of, 61–62 Babarinde, Eniola, 102 Babangida and, 93, 95, 147–148 Babarinsa, Dare, 164–165, 166–167, as “Big Man,” 85, 86, 93 170–171, 172–173 birth of, 40–41 Babasola, Sina, 175–176 on British imperialism, 253–255 Babatope, Ebenezer, 117, 133, 197 burial of, 71–72, 94–97 Balewa, Tafawa, 136–137 childhood of, 40–41 Balogun, Alhaji Kola, 175, 176–177 Christ metaphor and, 64 Banjo, Lanre, 241–242 contemporary Yorùbá politics and, Barber, Karin, 68, 81–82 247–253 Barth, Frederick, 158, 223 conviction of, 61–62 Bayart, J.-F., 14 corporate agency of elites and, 69–70 Bello, Ahmadu, 60–61, 197 Daniel and, 106 Bello, Tunji, 229–230 death of, 80–81, 87–88, 92–94 Benjamin, Walter, 190 on federalism, 255 Biafra, 6 idea of as surviving death, 103–107 “Big Man,” 85, 86, 93 “immortality” of, 88–89 Biobaku, Saburi, 60 imprisonment of, 61–62 Bodunde (Chief), 149, 156 Jakande and, 68, 119, 220 Boko Haram, 2 lifeworld of, 42–43 Botswana, elites in, 14–15, 20 Obasanjo compared, 103–104, 192–193, Bottomore, Tom, 12 193–194 Bourdieu, Pierre, 17, 35, 93, 103 occult and, 85–87, 88 Bradbury, R. E., 102 Ofeimun and, 59, 86, 198–199 Brain, J. L., 82–83 as personiﬁcation of Odùduwà, 44–45, British imperialism, 253–255 64, 66–67, 68, 186 Buhari, Muhammadu, 237, 247 practical implications of politics, 255–257 Burns, T. R., 17 release of, 62 Burton, Michael, 9 spirit of as surviving death, 103–107 statue of (See Statue of Awóló: wò: ) Calhoun, C. J., 85 supernatural powers attributed to, 85–87 Callahan, J. C., 101 Tinubu compared, 103, 227–239 Causality and death of Ige, 218–223 transition politics following death of, 89–92 Central Working Committee, 129, 131–132 Yorùbá people, as symbol of, 52 Certeau, Michael de, 227–228 Awóló: wò: , Wole, 95, 117, 174 Christianity, 36, 45, 47, 178, 237–239 Awóló: wò: Creed, 129–130, 131, 133, Christ metaphor and Awóló: wò: , 64 204–205, 226 Church Missionary Society, 36, 47 Azikiwe, Nnamdi, 49, 54, 55–58, 88, 103 “Cicero at Agodi,” 165–166 Index 289

Cohen, Abner, 10–11, 13–14, 15, 20, 22, Egbe Omo Odùduwà 24–25, 77–78, 81, 178, 246 generally, 15, 37, 38, 120, 171 Comaroff, Jean, 18, 36 aims of, 53 Comaroff, John, 18, 36 formation of, 33, 50, 53–54 Congress for Progressive Change, 237 naming of, 43, 50–51 Congress of Leaders, 131, 132 Ehindero, Sunday, 218 Corporate agency of elites Ekwueme, Alex, 142–143 overview, 19–24 “The Elements,” 132 agency as analytical basis if, 15–19 Elites Awóló: wò: and, 69–70 African concepts of, 13 closedness versus openness, 22 as analytical basis of corporate agency, collective agency distinguished, 19–20 11–15 corporate group, role of, 21 anthropology and, 8–11 elites as analytical basis if, 11–15 in Botswana, 14–15, 20 iconic politics, 21 deﬁning, 9, 10 individual leader, role of, 21 democratic politics and, 15 secret societies, role of, 20–21 elective afﬁnity with masses, 12–13 tension in, 22–23 ethnic nationalism and, 4–8 Crozier, M., 17 Marxian perspectives, 8–9 Culture and politics, 244–247 Marxian perspectives on elites, 8–9 non-Marxian perspectives on elites, 9 Daily Service (newspaper), 60 political aspect, focus on, 9–10 Daniel, Gbenga in Sierra Leone, 13–14, 20, 24–25, 77–78 generally, 191, 207 Yorùbá concepts of, 11–13 Awóló: wò: and, 106 Ellis, A. B., 34 Awóló: wò: family and, 91 Ellis, S., 14, 87, 88 current status of, 241–242 Emirbayer, Mustafa, 17, 18, 188 in new generation of Afé:nifé:re, 167 Eso, Kayode, 178, 183 Obasanjo and, 103–104 Ethnic nationalism and elites, 4–8 Tinubu and, 224–225, 239–240 Evans-Pritchard, E. E., 221 Davies, H. O., 53 Ewa (Beauty), 185 Dawodu, Alhaji Ganiyu O., 142, 146, 149, “Expanded Park Lane Constituency,” 120 157–158, 170 Eyo, Dickson, 4–5 Dawodu, Olufunmi, 166 Ezekiel, Daramola, 215 Democratic People’s Alliance (DPA), 183 Ezenwa-Ohaeto, 57 Democratic politics elites and, 15 Fagbenro, Sina, 167 in multi-ethnic states, 54–68 Fagunwa, D. O., 59–60, 67 Desmoulins, Camille, 195 Fakeye, Lamidi, 38–39 Development Agenda for Western Nigeria Fakunle, Olapade, 181–182 (DAWN), 241 Falae, Olu Dickson, Edward, 73, 75, 77 generally, 161, 170 Dietz, T., 17 in Babangida regime, 113 Diya, Oladipo, 174 current status, 230 Doherty, Akanni, 53 in D’Rovans Affair, 147–149, 152–153, D’Rovans Affair, 145–158 154–155, 156, 157–158 Durkheim, Emile, 15, 16 electoral politics and, 127–128, 130, 143, 163 Eades, J. S., 169 Obasanjo and, 193–194, 209 Egbe Afé:nifé:re, 33–34, 37, 38 position in Yorùbá politics, 132, 232–233 Egbe Apapo Omo Yorùbá, 175 Faleti, Adebayo, 99–101 290 Index

Falola, Toyin, 39–40, 41–42, 46, 47, 66 Hausa-Fulani oligarchy, 61, 131, 135, Falomo, Ore, 189 189–191, 199, 248–249 Famakin, Yinka, 167 Hegel, G. F. W., 8 Fame (magazine), 159 Heritage Group, 166 Famoriyo, Kunle, 166, 167 Herzﬁeld, Michael, 27 Fani-Kayode, Femi, 191–192 Hibou, B., 14 Fani-Kayode, Remi, 191–192 Higley, John, 9 Farias, P. F. M., 70 Historical background Farounbi, Yemi, 128, 129, 196, 199–200 overview, 27–28 Fasanmi, Ayo, 146, 149, 152–153, 157, 180, Ibadan state, 45–50 182–183 of Yorùbá people, 38–45 Fasehun, Frederick, 135–136, 177 A History of the Yorùbá People (Akintoye), 41 Fashesin, Lekan, 166 The History of the Yorùbás (Johnson), 41, 238 Fashinro, Alhaji H. B., 149 Hobsbawm, Eric, 4 Fashola, Babatunde Raji, 191, 223, 229, 231 Hotline (newspaper), 96, 97 Fasoranti, Reuben, 112–113, 116–117, This House of Oduduwa Must Not Fall 124, 142, 180, 182, 191, 218, (Ajayi), 34, 219 220, 230 Husserl, Edmund, 7 Fatunde, Tunde, 167 Fayemi, Kayode, 223, 226, 229, 240–241 Ibadan: Foundation, Growth and Change, Fayose, Ayo, 207 1830–1960 (Falola), 46 Federalism, 255 Ibadan People’s Party (IPP), 57, 58 Flam, H., 17 Ibadan state, 45–50 Fom, Alex, 68 Ibrahim, Sule, 215 Fontana, Benedetto, 31 Idile, 166–167 Fortes, Meyer, 85, 107, 111–112 Idowu, E. Bolaji, 81 Fourah Bay College, 120 Idowu, P. A., 166 Frazer, James, 82 Ige, Atinuke, 146, 157 Friedberg, E., 17 Ige, Dele, 215 Frobenius, Leo, 34 Ige, James Ajibola Idowu (Bola) Fulani (jihadists), 45 generally, 115, 118, 120, 122, 128, 250 Abacha and, 134 Gandhi, Mahatma, 97, 230 Abiola and, 133 Gbadegesin, Segun, 223, 252 in Afé:nifé:re, 139–142 Gbonigi, Emmanuel, 175, 176–180, Akintola compared, 198, 202, 211 181–182, 183, 208, 209, 242–243 Alajobi and, 168–169 Gboyega, Oyebade, 167 Alliance for Democracy and, 142–144 Geertz, Clifford, 37, 244 assassination of, 180, 194–202, 211–218, George, Olabode, 101, 207 218–219 The German Ideology (Marx), 8 Babangida and, 93 Giddens, Anthony, 17, 35, 195 burial of Awóló: wò: and, 88 Gluckman, M., 220 D’Rovans Affair and, 145–158 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 12 electoral politics and, 126–127, 128–129, Gowon, Yakubu, 62 158–162 Gramsci, Antonio, 31 Obasanjo compared, 188, 190, 194–202, The Group, 167 203 The Guardian (newspaper), 165–166 position in Yorùbá politics, 122, 125, Gupta, Akhil, 77–78 138–139 reconciliation in Afé:nifé:re and, 169–170, Habermas, Jurgen, 7–8, 17 171, 172, 173 Hastings, Adrian, 5 Tinubu compared, 228, 232–234 Index 291

YCE and, 164, 174, 175–176, Kirk-Greene, A. H. M., 93 178–179 Koleoso, Mike, 132, 149, 156, 183 younger generation and, 165–166, 167 Kopytoff, Igor, 82, 83 Ighodalo, Fola, 178 Kumoye, Nelson, 215 “Ijebu Four,” 124, 128, 129, 132, 142, 150, 152, 155, 157–158, 173 Labour Party, 224–225, 235–236, 242, Ijebu-Igbo Declaration, 173 250–251 Ijebu people, 47–48 Ladigbolu, Ayo, 179–180, 181–183, Ile-Ife University, 36, 38 208–209 Iliffe, John, 191 Ladoja, Rasheed, 74, 80, 101, 102, 207 Ilori, Kolawole, 166 Laitin, David, 36 Imeri Group, 155 Lambek, Michael, 190 Imperialism, 253–255 Lambo (Chief), 132 Independent National Electoral Commission Land Use Act, 119 (INEC), 127, 144 Laniyan, Tunde, 166 Interim National Government, 133 Lawal, Babatunde, 185 International Monetary Fund, 147 Lawal, Kasim, 215 The Interpretation of Culture (Geertz), 244 Leadership among Yorùbá people (see Islam “Yorùbá, leadership among”) Hausa-Fulani oligarchy, 61, 131, 135, The Life and Times of LKJ (Olurode), 119 189–191, 199, 248–249 Lima, Antonia Pedrosa de, 10–11 among Yorùbá people, 36, 45, 47, Linton, Marisa, 195 237–239 Lukes, Steven, 17 Iwa (Character), 185–186 Lynch, Gabrielle, 255

Jakande, Alhaji Lateef Mabolaje Grand Alliance, 48 generally, 115, 120, 122, 129 Macebuh, Stanley, 165–166 in Abacha regime, 122, 133, 140 Maine, Henry S., 22 Abiola and, 133 Maja, Akinola, 53, 120 on Achebe, 97 Makinde, Akin, 51 Awóló: wò: and, 68, 119, 220 Makinde, Sunday Ola, 193 Awóló: wò: family and, 118–119 Mamman, Yusuf, 200 electoral politics and, 126–127, 128, 199 Marcus, George E., 10–11 Obasanjo and, 194, 197 Marx, Karl, 8 position in Yorùbá politics, 232–233 Marxism James, Idowu, 215 agency, perspectives on, 15, 16 Jeffrey, Robin, 80 elites, perspectives on, 8–9, 27 “Jeremiah of Africa,” 80–81, 92–94 Mazrui, Ali, 85 Johnson, Samuel, 41, 46–47, 66, 67, 191, 238 Mbembe, Achille, 87 Jonathan, Goodluck, 237 McCall, J. C., 83 Joseph, Richard, 49, 65 Memorandum of Understanding, 205 Methodological question, 24–27 Kaka, Alhaji Gbenga, 170 Miles, William, 189 Kale, S. I., 63 Mills, Wright, 12 Keesing, R., 83 Mimiko, Olusegun Rahman, 223, 230, Kenyan Times (newspaper), 80 235–236, 239, 241, 242–243 Kenyatta, Jomo, 85 Mische, Ann, 17, 18, 188 Keshiro, Dayo, 167 Mobolurin, Tola, 167 Keyamo, Festus, 214 Mohammed, Alhaji Lai, 229 Khan, Shamus Rahman, 12 Moremi Initiative (MI), 167 Kingibe, Alhaji Baba Gana, 133 Mosca, Gaetano, 8, 9, 12 292 Index

Mowaiye, Z. O., 132 assassination of Ige and, 212–213, Multi-ethnic states, democratic politics in, 215–219 54–68 Awóló: wò: compared, 103–104, 192–194 Musa, Alhaji Balarabe, 3–4 destruction of Awóló: wò: statue, 76, 78, Mysticism, 177 79, 101 election of, 163, 202–211 Nader, Laura, 25 elites and, 104 Nairn, Tom, 223 Ige and, 150, 153–154 Nation (newspaper), 75, 210–211 Ige compared, 188, 190, 194–202, 203 National Conscience Party, 241–242 as “improper” Yorùbá, 250 National Convention Committee, 200 in PDP, 79–80, 144 National Council of Nigeria and the rumour of assassination, 189–191 Cameroons (NCNC), 49, 50, 56–57, Tinubu and, 239–242 58, 147 YCE and, 180 National Democratic Coalition (NADECO), Obasanjo, Stella, 213–214 120, 123–124, 133, 134, 148 Obatala (Yorùbá deity), 84 National Executive Committee, 197, 200 Obayori, Femi, 167 National Party of Nigeria (NPN), 65, 86–87, Obey, Ebenezer, 231 235–236 Odebiyi, Jonathan A. O., 149 National Republican Convention (NRC), Odedeyi, Femi, 167 127, 131 Odùduwà Awóló: wò: as personiﬁcation of, Native Settlers Union (NSU), 48 44–45, 64, 66–67, 68, 186 Navaro-Yashin, Yeal, 97–98, 190 as orisa, 84 Ndigbo Council for National role as progenitor of Yorùbá people, Coordination, 58 38–45 New Nigerian (newspaper), 94, 96 Odumakin, Yinka, 210, 242 Nigerian National Democratic Party Odumegwu-Ojukwu, Chukwuemaka, 2, 93 (NNDP), 60–61 Odunjo, J. F., 59–60 Nigerian People’s Party (NPP), 68 Odùduwà, 41 Nigerian Security Organization, 144 Oduyoye, Babatunde, 145 Nigerian Tribune (newspaper), 60, Ofeimun, Odia, 57 63, 73, 75, 77, 89, 102, 145, generally, 218 158, 239 on Awóló: wò: , 55 Nigerian Youth Movement, 56 Awóló: wò: and, 59, 86, 198–199 Nolte, Insa, 37 burial of Awóló: wò: and, 95 Northern People’s Congress, 197 current status, 252–253 Not My Will (Obasanjo), 192 on early Yorùbá politics, 57–58 Nugent, Stephen, 10–11 Tinubu and, 231, 233 Nwankwo, Uchenna, 58 Ogbontiba, Femi, 145 Nziem, Ndlawel, 25 Ogun (Yorùbá deity), 81 Ogunbiyi, T. A. J., 20, 62 Obadoﬁn, Rotimi, 167 Ogunbiyi, Yemi, 180–181 Obafemi Awolowo and the Making of Ogunde, Hubert, 61–62, 68, 89, 113 Remo: The Local Politics of a Nigerian Ogunjimi, Oluwole, 215 Nationalist (Nolte), 37 Ogunsanwo, Gbolabo, 117 Obafemi Awóló: wò: Creed, 129–130, 131, Ogunsanwo, Olufemi, 86, 87 133, 204–205, 226 Ojo, Adebayo, 167 Ọbáfé:mi Awóló: wò: University, 94 Okigbo, Christopher, 224 Obasanjo, Olusegun Okun People’ s Front, 167 generally, 127, 175–176, 247, 252 Okurounmu, Femi, 149, 156–157, 191, 193, Afé:nifé:re and, 202–211 197, 220 Index 293

Olabintan, Afolabi, 132 Orebe, Femi, 240 Oladosu, Rasaq, 167 Orisas (Deities), 81–85 Olagbaju, Odunayo, 214 Ortner, Sherry B., 15, 16, 17, 25–26, 27, Olajide, Kunle, 175, 180 35–36, 67, 246 Olajumoke, Bode, 155, 207 Oshun, Olawale, 88, 117, 170, 174 Olatunde, Sola, 167 Oshunride (Chief), 207 Olawoyin, Josiah, 132 Osinowo, Gbolade, 207 Oloko, Alhaji Abass, 102 Osoba, Segun Olugbode, Dejo, 166 generally, 149, 182, 208, 229, 241 Olukini, Yemi, 166 crisis in Afé:nifé:re and, 182 Olukotun, Ayo, 242 in D’Rovans Affair, 156–157 Olunloyo, Omololu, 102, 213 Obasanjo and, 203–204, 205–206, 208 Olupona, Jacob, 36 Osomo, Mobolaji, 133 Olurin, Adetunji, 80 Osun (Yorùbá deity), 81, 84 Olurode, Lai, 119 Osundare, Niyi, 89, 138, 194 Omega Weekly (newspaper), 140 Otegbeye, Tunji, 148, 175 Omisore, Alani, 215 Otitolaye, Taiwo, 167 Omisore, Iyiola, 156, 213–215 “Owo Group,” 119 Omoboriowo, Akin, 124 Owolade, Niyi, 157 Omo-Ikhiroda, John, 117 Oya (Yorùbá deity), 84 Omojola, Baba, 167 Oyasope, Lambe, 215 Omole (Chief), 149 Oyedokun, Alhaji Shuaibu, 207 Omoleye, Mike, 175 Oyewale, Adesiyan, 215 Omoluwabi (Offspring of the god of Oyewole, Godspower, 87, 94 character), 184–185, 186–187 Oyinlola, Ademola, 92, 143, 144, 166, 170 Omo Odùduwà (Odùduwà ‘s children), 21 Oyinlola, Olagunsoye, 191, 207, 226, Onabanjo, Bisi, 95–96, 118, 122, 128 239–240 Onagoruwa, Olu, 133 Oyo Empire, 42, 45, 49, 178 Onasanya, Solanke generally, 120, 134–135, 170 Paine, Robert, 195 burial of, 222 Pareto, Vilfredo, 8, 9, 12 in D’Rovans Affair, 149 “Park Lane Constituency,” 117, 118 Ige and, 172, 173, 179 Parsons, T., 22 in “Ijebu Four,” 124, 128, 129, 142 Path to Nigerian Freedom (Awóló: wò: ), 2–3, as Rosicrucian, 221 28, 51, 253, 257 Onasile, Taiwo, 166 Peel, John D. Y., 11, 18, 19, 35, 41, 46, Oni, Segun, 240 83–84, 114, 136, 178 Onigbinde, Akinyemi, 164–165, 166, People’s Consultative Forum, 127 168, 170 People’s Democratic Movement (PDM), 232 Oniyanda, Oye, 215 People’s Democratic Party (PDP) Onu, Ogbonnaya, 153 generally, 74, 78, 90–91, 226, 227, Onyearegbulem, Anthony, 116 247, 250 Oodua Liberation Movement (OLM), 167 overview, 28 Oodua People’s Congress (OPC), 79, current status, 240–241, 242–243 135–136, 177 destruction of Awóló: wò : statue and, 101 Oodua Redemption Alliance, 175, 177 on education, 91–92 Oodua Youth Movement (OYM), 167 electoral politics and, 79–80, 223, Ooni (King), 66 235–236 Opadokun, Ayo, 129, 142, 149, 170 Ige and, 153–154 Operation Unity, 63 Obasanjo and, 199, 202, 206–207 Opitans (Storytellers), 44–45 withdrawal of Afé:nifé:re from, 142–144 294 Index

People’s Front of Nigeria (PFN), 127, 232 Spencer, Herbert, 82 People’s Solidarity Party (PSP), 127, 232 Spencer, Jonathan, 27 Pina-Cabral, João de, 10–11, 70 Statue of Awóló: wò: Putnam, Robert, 12 destruction of, 74, 80, 101–103 erection of, 73–74, 80, 97–101 Quandt, William, 9 replacement of, 73, 74–76, 77, 78–79 Structural Adjustment Programme, 147 Radcliffe-Brown, A. R., 244 Sunday Tribune (newspaper), 134, 172 Raimi, Dejo, 155, 175, 176–177 Sztompka, P., 17 Reformed Ogboni Fraternity (ROF), 20–21 Taiwo, Olufemi, 51, 52, 64–65, 253 Religious Encounter and the making of the Taiwo, Victor, 175 Yorùbá (Peel), 35, 178 TELL (magazine), 143, 166–167, Of Revelation and Revolution (Comaroff 175–176, 219 and Comaroff), 18, 35–36 ter Haar, G., 87, 88 Rewane, Alfred, 120, 134–135, 172 Things Fall Apart (Achebe), 57 Ribadu, Malam Nuhu, 237, 247 Thomas, Bode, 53 Ricoeur, Paul, 103 Thompson, Adewale Rimi, Alhaji Abubakar, 143 generally, 170 Robespierre, Maximilien de, 195 Alajobi and, 168 Robinson, Edwin Arlington, 81 crisis in Afé:nifé:re and, 180 Rooney, Frank, 89 in D’Rovans Affair, 149, 152, 154, 156, Rosicrucian Order, 20–21, 86, 94, 158, 159, 160 177, 221 Ige and, 134–135, 161 Rotimi, John, 166 as Rosicrucian, 177, 221 Rubinstein, D., 17 spiritual matters and, 132 YCE and, 174, 175, 176–177, 179 Sagay, Itse, 148, 154 Tinubu, Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Sahlins, Marshall, 32, 66, 71 generally, 149, 183, 210–211 Sango (Yorùbá deity), 81, 84 Awóló: wò: compared, 103, 227–239 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 15 crisis in Afé:nifé:re and, 181, 182 Sawyer, H., 82 current status, 223, 227, 242–243 Schütz, Alfred, 42–43, 111 Daniel compared, 224–225 Sekoni, Ropo, 79 in D’Rovans Affair, 157–158 Senge, Rahman Akanbi, 167 Ige compared, 228, 232–234 Sewell, W. H., Jr., 251–252 Obasanjo and, 239–242 Shinkaﬁ, Alhaji Umaru, 144, 153 unpopularity of, 218 Shore, Chris, 10–11, 38, 247 Tofa, Bashir, 131 Sierra Leone, elites in, 13–14, 20, 24–25, Touraine, A., 17 77–78 Tylor, Edward, 82 Sijuade, Okunade, 66, 127–128 Sketch (newspaper), 63 An Unbreakable Heritage: The Story of Smith, Anthony D., 5 Wole Awolowo (Awóló: wò: ), 117 Social Democratic Party (SDP), 127, 128, Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN), 28, 65, 133, 232, 247 200–201, 226–227, 235–236 Sonibare, Supo, 122–123, 179 “Unknown Soldier” statue, 73, 75–76, Sorcery and death of Ige, 218–223 77, 99 Sources of Yorùbá History, 60 Usman, Ahmed, 99 Soyinka, Wole, 96–97, 155, 160, 211, 215–217 Vanguard (newspaper), 175–176, 179 Soyode, Tayo, 117 Vargas Llosa, Mario, 211 Index 295

Vaughan, Olufemi, 48 Yorùbá people Verdery, Katherine, 72, 85, 101 ancestor worship among, 81–85 anthropological literature on, 34–36, Walcott, Harry F., 25 37–38 Weber, Max, 8, 12, 22 Awóló: wò: as symbol of, 52 Weekly Gateway Mirror (newspaper), 104 Christianity and, 36, 178, 237–239 Werbner, Richard, 10–11, 14–15, 20 creation story of, 43–44 West African Pilot (newspaper), 54, 55–56, demographics of, 32–33 57–58 dialect of, 59–60 Wilde, Oscar, 194 elites, concepts of, 11–13 Williams, Adebayo, 37, 96–97, historical background, 38–45 107, 142 Ibadan state and, 45–50 Williams, F. R. A., 178 Islam and, 36, 45, 47, 237–239 Williams, Funsho, 157–158, 207 leadership among, 1, 4, 14–15, 42, 54, “Wise Men,” 149 64, 67, 100–101, 117–120, 122–126, 148, 190 Yar’Adua, Shehu Musa, 122–123, Odùduwà, role of as progenitor, 38–45 127, 232 recent calls for return to federalism by, Yerokun, Femi, 166 1–4 Yorùbá Council of Elders (YCE), 164, “Yorùbá Retreat,” 247–248 173–179, 180, 203–204 Yorùbá Ro’nu (play), 61–62 Yorùbá Historical Research Scheme, 60, 66 Yorùbá Unity Forum, 242–243