The king in pre-colonial Oyo had power over everything. He determined who lived and who died. At a point in time, there was this street drummer in Oyo metropolis who moved from one point of the town to the other plying his trade. And, he was a master of his art, great skill, vigorous activity. He would praise those he considered praiseworthy; he would deprecate the deplorable. The people enjoyed what he did as long as he did not make them the object of his pillory.
One day, the drummer got up early and woke up the town with a strange beat and a strange message:
Kòtò kan nbe n’íta oba,
Olórun ó mu
Kò ì yá ni
(Meaning: There is a pit in front of the king’s palace; God will catch him (the king) but it is not yet time).
What is he saying? Alarm bells rang in homes and across Oyo that a drummer was spreading a strange message against the king. Is it not said that a dog is allowed to run mad but its insanity notwithstanding, it is expected to know and avoid fire? B’ájá bá nsínwín sebí ó ye k’ó m’ojú iná. This particular dog had a madness that obviously knew no limits. He had added the king to his list of objects of scorn.
The message soon got to the King, the Alaafin. He sent for the drummer.
“Ngbó, what are you saying about me?” Kabiyesi asked him.
The drummer responded before Ikú Bàbá Yèyé with his drumbeat:
Kòtò kan nbe n’íta oba,
Olórun ó mu
Kò ì yá ni.
You would not be a Yoruba in those days if you did not understand the language of drums.
Everyone heard him loud and clear and gasped. This one should die! Ar’óbafín l’oba á pa. Palace guards moved to assault him; the king stopped them. Kabiyesi took a long look at the drummer, took a deep breath and told the man to go home. He even gave him money for his trouble. The drummer was equally stunned by the king’s verdict. He left.
The king looked round his chiefs, then turned to his people. “We must not touch him. Oba kìí mú akorin (The king does not arrest the bard).” He said and added, in very low tones that apart from the fact of a bard having immunity, touching him because of that particular message would set the town ablaze.
What is Kabiyesi saying? He and a few of his trusted aides understood clearly what the drummer was saying. There was truly a deep pit in front of the king’s palace. In that pit were the king’s deepest secrets. It was into that pit he threw the unfortunate heads of his enemies.
So, what happened thereafter? A contrite Aláàfin ordered the pit closed. He also stopped the serial murders he was committing.
Where did the above story come from? I got it from the late Aláàfin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Olayiwola Adeyemi III. It was in his palace he told me a few months before he joined his ancestors in 2022. I was not there alone; my friend, Festus Adedayo, was also there.
With the oba, we had many deep discussions on the notions of rights and privileges in the context of Yoruba identity and cultural nuances. This was one of them. The Aláàfin stressed that the story was real. Kabiyesi said he also heard it from his fathers. He pointed at the probable site of the pit. We agreed that the drummer of that era would be today’s press.
I am writing on the spirit of protest and resistance – my focus is the Yoruba. My dictionary says the opposite of acquiescence is resistance. Anywhere you find the Yoruba and there is injustice or simple insult, do not think of acquiescence; think of the opposite. They value their girl’s idí bèbèrè but they don’t deck the voluptuous waist of a bad daughter with beads of stupid accommodation. They also do not make their hips available for dislocation by bumbling relations. To them, pimples find seats only on foolish faces. It makes very little difference whether the actors are men or they are women.
What we heard about the ancient time is what we read of more recent eras. Professor Ulli Beier lived in Yorubaland and patiently studied the Yoruba of the 1950s and the 1960s. He was in Ede, Osogbo, Ilobu, Okuku, Ibadan, etc. Ulli Beier witnessed resistant women bringing grasping men to their knees in Ede in 1955. He recollects this in his piece, ‘The Position of Yoruba Women’. Ulli Beier writes: “The women who sell ògì, a food prepared from ground maize, must bring their maize to the mill owners for grinding. These mill owners are men. Now the women began to complain that the charge of the men was too high to allow them sufficient profit on the sale of ògì. The Iyalode then made representations to the mill owners, demanding a lower price for the grinding. The men refused at first, then tried to bargain. The Iyalode, however, called out all ògì sellers on strike. The women then began to grind the corn by hand and after a week, the mill owners surrendered unconditionally” (Beier, 1955:40).
Women in any Yoruba society would do exactly what those who have long departed did in Ede in 1955.
Ilorin Dadakuada musician, Odolaye Aremu, in his album, Olówe Mòwe, characterised the immediate past Iyalode of Ibadan, Alhaja Aminatu Abiodun, as a man: “Wón pè é l’óbìnrin ní/ohun t’ólókó nse ló nse (They call her a woman but she does what those who have penises do).” Long before Abiodun, there was Madam Efunroye Tinubu whose activism straddled business and politics in Lagos, Badagry and Abeokuta. In Lagos of the early mid-1880s, she was with Oba Adele I whom she married and lived with. Then Adele died, there was a problem in Lagos, she went on exile to Badagry. From exile in Badagry, she led the push that ousted Oba Kosoko and re-installed Adele’s younger brother, Akintoye, and reigned with him. She shared the throne with Oba Dosumu, Akintoye’s first son, and with it ruled the business world of Lagos.
While doing all these, Madam Tinubu ensured that her activism broth had a large dose of nationalist condiments. Oladipo Yemitan wrote Efunroye’s biography and gave it the title: ‘Madam Tinubu: Merchant and Kingmaker’. In that book, the biographer notes that though Tinubu was overbearing in her dealings with Dosumu, one of the obas she dealt with in Lagos, “her pre-emptory orders had a nationalistic undertone: She did not want the oba to be dominated by foreigners” (Yemitan, 1987:38). Madam Tinubu organised resistant actions against Europeans in Lagos seeking their expulsion from the land. On one occasion, a major uprising against foreign ‘rule’ ensued under her instigation. “Several meetings were held in her house by the dissidents. So efficient was her organising machinery that this uprising nearly succeeded…”, Yemitan wrote. At a point, the white man felt her cup was full. She was deported back to her hometown, Abeokuta.
The zenith of Madam Tinubu’s activism was her becoming the Iyalode of Egba, the number one woman in Abeokuta. In Abeokuta, she remained a major force in politics and business. Marjorie Mclntosh in her ‘Yoruba Women, Work and Social Change’ (2009: 137) wrote that when the Dahomeys attacked Abeokuta in 1864, Efunroye Tinubu “was a key figure in organising the defence of Egbaland and securing the enemies’ defeat.” Her biographer, Yemitan (page 47) wrote: “The women’s war-cry – ‘Elele-múlele’ – meaning: let everyone reach for his machete – was a slogan coined by Madam Tinubu on that occasion. She moved from quarter to quarter in Abeokuta rousing up women for concerted action.”
On that incident, Saburi Biobaku, in his ‘Egba and Their Neighbours’ (1957: 38) wrote about Tinubu: “Her compound was converted into a veritable arsenal from which arms and ammunition were issued to the Egba forces on their way to the front: Then she took up a position at Aro gate, nearer the front, at which the wounded were nursed by her and her female associates, where soldiers whose powder had exhausted in battle replenished their store and from which any would-be deserters were sent back with a renewed determination to fight the Dahomey and save the Egba metropolis from destruction.”
At about the time Madam Tinubu reigned in Lagos, in Badagry and, later, in Abeokuta, another Egba woman activist was in charge in Ibadan putting the men there in their proper place. She was Madam Efunsetan Aniwura (c. 1790-1874). Like Tinubu, Madam Aniwura was the Iyalode of Ibadan. Historians credit her with uncommon entrepreneurial ability, enormous wealth and man-like bravery. Efunsetan’s activism saw her challenging the power structure of Ibadan which was effectively in the firm grips of her male counterparts. She was assertive and daring, and would be called, in today’s parlance, a feminist who queried lords and troops and the incessant disruptive wars they fought, hurtful to women and their trade, injurious to children and their growth.
Akinwumi Ishola, who wrote ‘Efunsetan Aniwura: Iyalode Ibadan’ (1981), a very negative play on this woman, would later describe her as a positive force in the evolution of Ibadan as a metropolis. In an interview in The Punch of 16 November, 2013, Akinwumi Isola said: “I was very young with little education when I wrote the book. If I were to write it today, it would be different. Efunsetan can be described as a woman fighting for the rights of womenfolk. She could be described as a woman rights activist. She is not as tough as I portrayed her.”
In ‘Iyalode Efunsetan Aniwura (Owner of Gold)’, Bolanle Awe describes Efunsetan as a very ‘independent-minded’ and outspoken woman who was not afraid to criticise Aare Latoosa and his other chiefs. Very importantly, Awe says she was a woman who was strong enough to openly oppose Ibadan war chiefs’ constant wars. “She realised that the condition of almost continuous warfare disrupted her own and other people’s trading. She therefore became the spokesperson for a group of chiefs who were opposed to the aggressive policy of the leading war captain. For the expedition launched in 1874, she refused to field any soldiers, give ammunition on credit, or demonstrate her solidarity by meeting with the chiefs at the town gate” (McIntosh, 2009: 139).
If we want more on contemporary activism of the Yoruba woman, I think we should read about the Nigerian General Strike of 1945. We should read how Yoruba market women took the lead in giving moral and logistic support to the striking workers: “The workers found support among the women community especially market women headed by Madam Alimotu Pelewura… The women traders deliberately lowered their prices to enable workers purchase available foodstuffs apart from contributing generously to the workers Relief Fund. Madam Adunni Oluwole in particular donated 100 pounds to assist the workers”. That quote is from Wale Oyemakinde’s ‘The Nigerian General Strike of 1945’, published in 1975. Check page 704.
Rebellion or resistance; strifes and wars are usually preceded by songs (of abuse). Among the Yoruba, songs or even drama can be channels of resistance – and of change. Akinwumi Isola in his ‘The African Writer’s Tongue’ (1992) tells a story: “An aggrieved king tried in vain to punish an oral artist who had caricatured his lawless messengers. The masquerade was Agborako at Oyo, and the king was Alaafin Ladigbolu (1911-1944). When the king’s messengers, usually identified by the single tuft of hair in the center of their heads, became intolerably cruel in the execution of their duties, Agborako (the masquerade) organised a performance that criticised the king’s lack of control over his messengers. Members of Agborako imitated the customary hair style of the king’s messengers and dramatized examples of their lawless behavior. The king was furious! He immediately ordered the arrest of Agborako! But the arrest stirred up considerable anger among the people, who participated in a huge demonstration demanding the immediate release of the masquerade singers. At this point, the king was reminded of the rule: ‘Oba ki i p’okorin’ (The king never kills an artiste). Agborako was released.”
The story of Hubert Ogunde is well known to members of my generation. The generation before ours experienced his trail-blazing exploits in the decade before independence. In 1945, Ogunde came out smoking with an opera titled ‘Strike and Hunger.’ Oliver Coates (2017) wrote a descriptive piece on that play. He says the play “provides a unique opportunity to examine the ways in which late colonial politics were reimagined in drama.” The play was inspired by the 1945 General Strike in Lagos and “offers an allegorical dramatisation of the events”. Recalcitrant Ogunde and his theatre company had considerable problems with the government over that product. The company was banned in Jos in 1946 and fined 125 pounds for staging ‘Strike and Hunger’. The Ogunde Theatre was again banned in Kano in May 1950 for staging another of his plays, ‘Bread and Bullet’. In addition to the ban, he was arrested and charged with sedition. He was discharged of that count but fined six pounds “for posting posters of the play without permission.” Ebun Clark’s ‘Hurbert Ogunde: The Making of Nigerian Theatre’ (1979) which contains accounts of those incidents also has other details of the activities of this activist artiste. Tunde Kelani’s ‘Saworoide’ (1999) and its sequel, ‘Agogo Eewo’ (2002), continue the Ogunde tradition of using drama as a vehicle for social commentary and activism.
I started this piece with the story of an oba and an activist drummer. I have also quoted Professor Akinwumi Isola’s recollection of a communal resistance to an oba who ordered the arrest of a masquerade. Both incidents tell us that the oba is in reality not above the law – although he is greeted Kabiyesi, a salutation which mocks the invincibility of the unwary.
An oba’s behaviour must not endanger the community. If it does, he will pay. In a proverb, the Yoruba found an oba involved in money ritual. His exasperated people rose against him and asked why! Is there any other position bigger than the throne in a kingdom? They queried and chastised the oba: “Do you want to become God?” Won fi o j’oba, o tun nw’awure, se o fe d’Olodumare ni? Deeper into history, no oba who misbehaved escaped justice at the hands of their subjects. Samuel Johnson, author of ‘The History of the Yorubas’ (1921), has a long list of such obas. He calls them the wicked kings. He also remembers to tell what became of them:
Alaafin Ojigi reigned a long time ago. Some accounts say he was the eighth Alaafin of Oyo. He was a good, effective king but he lost his throne and his everything to the excesses of his crown prince. This is how Johnson (1921: 206-207) tells the story: “Ojigi, who was elected to the vacant throne, was a powerful and warlike king…Personally, he was a very good man, but a too indulgent father. The Aremo (crown prince) by his cruelties and excesses brought about the father’s rejection and death. He ordered Oluke, the Basorun’s son, to be unlawfully beaten. As this wrong could not be avenged without serious consequences, and as the king did not punish the wrong doer, it was thought more expeditious to effect the king’s death, for about this time the custom began to prevail for the Aremos to die with the father, as they enjoy unrestrained liberty with the father. A pretext was soon found for rejecting the king and fond father, and consequently he died, and his eldest son with him.” That Alaafin did well running the empire but did not do well running his home.
That king’s immediate predecessor, Osinyago, suffered a similar fate. He had an Aremo who died young because, according to Johnson, “he was of a grasping propensity…like his father, an avaricious man who by exactions, massacre and confiscations amassed wealth which he did not live long to enjoy.” This king lost all when his second child, a lady “of masculine character” out of envy and “wounded pride”, slew the son of a commoner. The king had to die, his family with him (Johnson, 1921: 205).
One more example from the same Oyo. It is said that one of the early kings, Oba Jayin, killed himself before he was publicly disgraced by an Egungun for murdering his own son whose sin was that he was a better person in character. And, so, the people sang: “O ku dede k’a ko’wi w’Akesan, Oba Jayin te’ri gb’aso.” (Johnson, 1921 [2017]: 202-203).
There is also Yoruba praise names or praise chants, oriki. Karin Barber, an authority says an individual’s oríki is the standard unit that “refers to qualities of character or physical appearance” of someone. She says sometimes the oriki refers “to incidents in the subject’s life – often apparently trivial or even scandalous.” In Adeboye Babalola’s ‘Oriki Orile Metadinlogbon’ I find these verses on ‘Oriki Iran Olofa’:
“Won l’Omo òtòsi Ộfa, wáá lo sódò lo rèé ponmi wa,
K’ómo olówó o ri mu…
Omo òtosi Ộfa.
Ò lóun ò ní i lọ sódò lo rèé pọnmi wa, k’ómo olówó ó ri mu.
A fọn ộn kò dún.
A tè é ko ya’nu.
Ộrò d’ilé Abiódún Oba Aláafin…”
(They told the child of the poor to go to the stream and fetch water for the child of the rich to drink. The child of the poor said no, he would not go to the stream to fetch water for the child of the rich to drink. There was trouble. The matter was taken to the palace of Abiodun, Alaafin of Oyo. Alaafin asked the child of the poor to go and enjoy his life in peace).
The above explains the Yoruba ideal of equality and justice: “Ibi ko ju’bi; bi a ti bi eru ni a bi omo (birth pangs are the same; a slave has the same privilege of birth as the freeborn).”
I was the lead paper presenter at a major conference on ‘Yoruba Activisms’ which was held at the Lead City University, Ibadan, between Monday and Wednesday last week. There were 247 presentations and participants were drawn from across this country and from countries abroad. What you have read so far here is a reworked excerpt from the paper I presented at that conference. The drummer story was my opening glee.
Parrot is bird of the sea; cardinal is bird of the Lagoon. I wrote the above and have read it all over again. My conclusion is that if you have a Yoruba as your president, do not seek to overwhelm him without good planning. He will fight back without taking prisoners. Also, if a president has the Yoruba as his subjects, he should not take them for granted. If he is a leader who shoots his arrow towards the sky and covers his own head with a mortar, the Yoruba will gasp at his wickedness; the resistance in their gene will come to the fore. They will light their torch of fire for the face of that masquerade. And if he is of their house, it won’t gel to suggest bastardy as reason for their telling ‘their brother’ that his regime is painful. If they can’t hit the streets in open confrontation, they will migrate away from the unfeeling without the drama of a noisy rejection.
Àbò mi rèé o. I have said my own.
