Opinion
Eedris ‘teargasses’ Tinubu; Ali Baba ‘besaints’ Obasanjo
Eedris ‘teargasses’ Tinubu; Ali Baba ‘besaints’ Obasanjo
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, April 18, 2025)
Nose – off-centre; mouth – misshapen; eyes – squinted; ears – rabbity; every Nigerian is familiar with this green face without a grin. On the green face, teary streams gutter down the sides of the nose, towards the nostrils, coursing to the chin. This is Nigeria and its map.
The tears streaming on each side of the green face typify the River Niger and River Benue, which meet at the base and confluence of the nose at Lokoja, meandering through Onitsha and the Niger Delta – the chin of the Nigerian face.
Death is the cessation of life. To die, in the Hausa language, means ‘ya mutu’. I don’t need the letter ‘d’ in the ‘death’ referenced in the preceding sentence, but I will use the letter ‘y’ in the ‘ya mutu’ phrase. After centuries of running deep, River Niger and River Benue have etched a big letter ‘Y’ on the Nigerian map.
The northern and southern protectorates of Nigeria were amalgamated in 1914. Today, an x-ray of the letter ‘Y’ engraved by the two longest rivers on the Nigeria map, more than ever before, shows the frayed thread of colonial suture, threatening to rip apart. Successive leaders chanted CHANGE, but both rivers are drying up due to climate change. The discernible warned before polls; now we can all see that they pay lip service to Nigeria and global warming.
For ‘Ya mutu’ not to be written as an epitaph for Nigeria soon, the threat to the riverine ‘Y’ on the Nigerian map should be taken as a call for national rebirth. Rivers are natural sources of rejuvenation, but the ‘Y’ of the two rivers that geographically suture Nigeria together is a yoke. Let’s break the yoke!
A grandmaster of Nigerian comedy, Atunyota Alleluya Akpobome, is an influential personality. Popularly called Ali Baba, the ace comedian earns a living cracking ribs. In doing his job, Ali Baba mimics and distorts reality. In distorting reality, he could change the letter ‘y’ in his name, Atunyota, to ‘r’, thus becoming Atunrota. In the Yoruba language, Atunrota means someone who fools people, and Ali Baba fools his audience with his crazy jokes.
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On April 1, last year, Ali Baba came out with a viral post, saying his family had been blessed with a triplet. With the viral post emerging on April Fools’ Day, I had thought, “This Atunrota man can’t fool me.” But, lo and behold, Ali Baba wasn’t fooling, he was for real – he had truly become Baba ibeta.
Ali Baba was born on June 24, 1965, inching within a scraping distance of 60. I don’t know what fascination he has with April, but he has come out with a viral video in April 2025. In the video, Ali Baba, who spoke in a podcast, “Outside the Box,” revealed the political tactics of ex-President Olusegun Obasanjo.
Initially, I was cautious. Was Ali Baba in his prankish element? I asked myself repeatedly as I watched the video. No. Ali Baba wasn’t kidding. To show his seriousness, he asked the host if he could read from his phone, and he fished it out of his pocket and read out the private chat he had with Baba Obasanjo.
Since Ali Baba attained national prominence many years ago, trust has been the bedrock of his career. He is friends with many of Nigeria’s Who’s Who. My bosom friend, Duke Orusara, an Urhobo like Ali Baba, told me Atunyota means ‘Let us say the truth’. I believe Ali Baba was saying the truth in his podcast on OBJ.
In the interview, Atunyota recalled that Obasanjo had thought he was going to run for an elective post. So, OBJ gave Ali Baba the template needed to win a presidential election in Nigeria.
With the headline, ‘Infiltrate parties, secure governors’, Alibaba outlines Obasanjo’s political strategies for winning election, The PUNCH, on April 6, 2025, published the story of the podcast.
According to the podcast, Obasanjo told Ali Baba how to violate Nigeria’s electoral process and win fraudulently. Either as a joke or as an expression of the Nigerian reality, Obasanjo’s teaching in the podcast showed the truth of Nigerian politics. It showed the minds of those who lead the country and why Nigeria can never attain development. Obasanjo sees power as grabbable, Tinubu sees it as snatchable, Muhammadu Buhari sees it as a birthright, Goodluck Jonathan sees it as a toy, and Nigeria tumbles downhill.
To win a presidential or governorship election, Obasanjo counselled Ali Baba, “You need seven governors to win an election: Lagos, Bayelsa, Delta, Rivers, Kano, Kaduna and the CBN governor.”
When Ali Baba reminded him Kano and Kaduna do not have money, Obasanjo said that the two states were for numbers, just as money was for numbers, too.
Reading further, Ali Baba quoted Obasanjo saying, “You need 44 of the most popular senatorial districts. You need to have awarded 10 contracts, and 15% of those contracts can give you a marginal impact at the polls. And you must award this contract in your first year of assumption of office.
“If you don’t do that, then you can’t ask the people for anything because when you give them at the first year of your getting into office, when it’s time for elections, you just tell them ‘Do you want to continue this contract or…?”
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According to Alibaba, Obasanjo also advised that pending cases of corrupt former governors who are ‘loaded’ should be suspended, even as Obasanjo advised him to have a hand in appointing all ruling and opposition parties’ chairmen.
Obasanjo was the man who said his kinsman and winner of the June 12, 1993 presidential election, Chief MKO Abiola, wasn’t the messiah Nigeria needed, after the business mogul and politician had been killed for winning the freest election in the nation’s history. His eight-year democrazy rule laid the foundation for the sky-high corruption bedevilling the Fourth Republic today. Anytime Obasanjo speaks, I see the ostrich, its buried head and exposed rump.
Now, come with me to Bourdillon, the Tinubu family house, where I’ll drop by to see Seyi, the son of the President.
Knock, knock, knock on Bourdillon gate.
“Hello.”
“Yes, how may I help you?”
“My name is Tunde, a journalist; I’m here to see Seyi.”
“Seyi?” Which Seyi?
“Seyi Tinubu, the President’s son.”
“Ha! You call Arole by name!? Who are you?”
“Yes, Seyi is a public figure and the son of our President, but I’m older than him.”
“Older than him? OK! He’s in Aso Rock; tell your age to take you to Aso Rock, Methuselah.”
(Slams the gate!)
At 39 years of age, I had expected Seyi to be weaned off his father’s apron strings and stand on his own like the other children of the President, who don’t live in the shadow of their father.
Seyi and his elder sister, Folasade, are the most politically exposed children of Tinubu. Officially, Folasade, in her post as the Iyaloja General of Nigeria, is the head of all market women in Nigeria. But Seyi presents like a catalyst. Seyi caresses the girth of power and hugs the width of wealth, thinking his father’s mystique will protect him from political arrows. He goes to the sea yet despises the splash of water.
In chemistry, a catalyst is a substance that speeds up a chemical reaction without itself being consumed in the reaction. A catalyst can be likened to a baker who works in a bakery without feeling the heat. Seyi wants to be seen as a smooth operator – he goes everywhere sandpapering the atrocities of his father’s reign and feathering his own nest.
Seyi lives in Aso Rock with his father. He’s much more visible than the First Lady, Mrs Remi Tinubu, inspecting a brigade of honour here and breaking Ramadan fast there. Seyi is more visible than any minister, Tinubu’s chief of staff and advisers. Seyi seems to be operating an invisible Office of the First Son. Seyi is looking for something on Lagos beach. It is a needle. Seyi needs his father and his wisemen to find the needle and raise his hand up in 2027.
The Office of the First Son is powerful. It’s more powerful than any government ministry or agency. That’s why the lickspittles at the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission lashed out at hip-hop singer, Eedris Abdulkareem, banning his song, “Tell Your Papa,” which lampoons the Tinubu administration.
Declaring ‘Not-To-be-Broadcast’ fatwah on the viral song, the NBC quoted Section 3.1.8 of its code, saying, “This section prohibits content deemed inappropriate, offensive, or in breach of public decency from being aired on Nigerian broadcasting platforms.”
In its ban order to all broadcasting stations in the country, the NBC woefully failed to mention just one word or phrase or clause or sentence in Eedris’ song that breached the NBC Code.
Eedris’ song says nothing new. The song is a lamentation of the sufferings Nigerians daily go through amid government’s insensitivity, telling Seyi to tell his father that Nigerians are suffering, after all, “omo ina la n ran sina,” literally meaning, “It is the son of fire that is sent to fire.”
If Seyi has the right to defend his father, Eedris also has the right to protest the bad policies of the Tinubu government affecting him.
Obasanjo banned Eedris’ song, “Jagajaga”, Tinubu bans “Tell Your Papa;” hypocrisy has caught OBJ and Jagaban in the same bed.
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
Eedris ‘teargasses’ Tinubu; Ali Baba ‘besaints’ Obasanjo
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AFCON 2025: Flipping Content Creation From Coverage to Strategy
AFCON 2025: Flipping Content Creation From Coverage to Strategy
By Toluwalope Shodunke
The beautiful and enchanting butterfly called the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) emerged from its chrysalis in Khartoum, Sudan, under the presidency of Abdelaziz Abdallah Salem, an Egyptian, with three countries—Egypt, Sudan, and Ethiopia—participating, and Egypt emerging as the eventual winner.
The reason for this limited participation is not far-fetched. At the time, only nine African countries were independent. The remaining 45 countries that now make up CAF’s 54 member nations were either pushing Queen Elizabeth’s dogsled made unique with the Union Jack, making supplications at the Eiffel Tower, or knocking at the doors of the Palácio de Belém, the Quirinal Palace, and the Royal Palace of Brussels—seeking the mercies of their colonial masters who, without regard for cultures, sub-cultures, or primordial affinities, divided Africa among the colonial gods.
From then until now, CAF has had seven presidents, including Patrice Motsepe, who was elected as the seventh president in 2021. With more countries gaining independence and under various CAF leaderships, AFCON has undergone several reforms—transforming from a “backyard event” involving only three nations into competitions featuring 8, 16, and now 24 teams. It has evolved into a global spectacle consumed by millions worldwide.
Looking back, I can trace my personal connection to AFCON to table soccer, which I played alone on concrete in our balcony at Olafimihan Street—between Mushin and Ilasamaja—adjacent to Alafia Oluwa Primary School, close to Alfa Nda and Akanro Street, all in Lagos State.
Zygmunt Bauman, the Polish-British sociologist who developed the concept of “liquid modernity,” argues that the world is in constant flux rather than static, among other themes in his revelatory works.
For the benefit of Millennials (Generation Y) and Generation Z—who are accustomed to high-tech pads, iPhones, AI technologies, and chat boxes—table soccer is a replica of football played with bottle corks (often from carbonated drinks or beer) as players, cassette hubs as the ball, and “Bic” biro covers for engagement. The game can be played by two people, each controlling eleven players.
I, however, enjoyed playing alone in a secluded area, running my own commentary like the great Ernest Okonkwo, Yinka Craig, and Fabio Lanipekun, who are all late. At the time, I knew next to nothing about the Africa Cup of Nations. Yet, I named my cork players after Nigerian legends such as Segun Odegbami, Godwin Odiye, Aloysius Atuegbu, Tunji Banjo, Muda Lawal, Felix Owolabi, and Adokiye Amiesimaka, among others, as I must have taken to heart their names from commentary and utterances of my uncles resulting from sporadic and wild celebrations of Nigeria winning the Cup of Nations on home soil for the first time.
While my connection to AFCON remained somewhat ephemeral until Libya 1982, my AFCON anecdotes became deeply rooted in Abidjan 1984, where Cameroon defeated Nigeria 3–1. The name Théophile Abéga was etched into my youthful memory.
Even as I write this, I remember the silence that enveloped our compound after the final whistle.
It felt similar to how Ukrainians experienced the Battle of Mariupol against Russia—where resolute resistance eventually succumbed to overwhelming force.
The Indomitable Lions were better and superior in every aspect. The lion not only caged the Eagles, they cooked pepper soup with the Green Eagles.
In Maroc ’88, I again tasted defeat with the Green Eagles (now Super Eagles), coached by the German Manfred Höner. Players like Henry Nwosu, Stephen Keshi, Sunday Eboigbe, Bright Omolara, Rashidi Yekini, Austin Eguavoen, Peter Rufai, Folorunsho Okenla, Ademola Adeshina, Yisa Sofoluwe, and others featured prominently. A beautiful goal by Henry Nwosu—then a diminutive ACB Lagos player—was controversially disallowed.
This sparked outrage among Nigerians, many of whom believed the referee acted under the influence of Issa Hayatou, the Cameroonian who served as CAF president from 1988 to 2017.
This stroll down memory lane illustrates that controversy and allegations of biased officiating have long been part of AFCON’s history.
The 2025 Africa Cup of Nations in Morocco, held from December 21, 2025, to January 18, 2026, will be discussed for a long time by football historians, raconteurs, and aficionados—for both positive and negative reasons.
These include Morocco’s world-class facilities, the ravenous hunger of ball boys and players (superstars included) for the towels of opposing goalkeepers—popularly dubbed TowelGate—allegations of biased officiating, strained relations among Arab African nations (Egypt, Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco), CAF President Patrice Motsepe’s curt “keep quiet” response to veteran journalist Osasu Obayiuwana regarding the proposed four-year AFCON cycle post-2028, and the “Oga Patapata” incident, where Senegalese players walked off the pitch after a legitimate goal was chalked off and a penalty awarded against them by DR Congo referee Jean-Jacques Ndala.
While these narratives dominated global discourse, another critical issue—less prominent but equally important—emerged within Nigeria’s media and content-creation landscape.
Following Nigeria’s qualification from the group stage, the Super Eagles were scheduled to face Mozambique in the Round of 16. Between January 1 and January 3, Coach Eric Chelle instituted closed-door training sessions, denying journalists and content creators access, with media interaction limited to pre-match press conferences.
According to Chelle, the knockout stage demanded “maximum concentration,” and privacy was necessary to protect players from distractions.
This decision sparked mixed reactions on social media.
Twitter user @QualityQuadry wrote:
“What Eric Chelle is doing to journalists is bad.
Journalists were subjected to a media parley under cold weather in an open field for the first time in Super Eagles history.
Journalists were beaten by rain because Chelle doesn’t want journalists around the camp.
Locking down training sessions for three days is unprofessional.
I wish him well against Mozambique.”
Another user, @PoojaMedia, stated:
“Again, Eric Chelle has closed the Super Eagles’ training today.
That means journalists in Morocco won’t have access to the team for three straight days ahead of the Round of 16.
This is serious and sad for journalists who spent millions to get content around the team.
We move.”
Conversely, @sportsdokitor wrote:
“I’m not Eric Chelle’s biggest supporter, but on this issue, I support him 110%.
There’s a time to speak and a time to train.
Let the boys focus on why they’re in Morocco—they’re not here for your content creation.”
From these three tweets, one can see accessibility being clothed in beautiful garments. Two of the tweets suggest that there is only one way to get to the zenith of Mount Kilimanjaro, when indeed there are many routes—if we think within the box, not outside the box as we’ve not exhausted the content inside the box.
In the past, when the economy was buoyant, media organisations sponsored reporters to cover the World Cup, Olympics, Commonwealth Games, and other international competitions.
Today, with financial pressures mounting, many journalists and content creators seek collaborations and sponsorships from corporations and tech startups to cover sporting events, who in turn get awareness, brand visibility, and other intangibles.
As Gary Vaynerchuk famously said, “Every company is a media company.” Yet most creators covering AFCON 2025 followed the same playbook.
At AFCON 2025, most Nigerian journalists and content creators pitched similar offerings: on-the-ground coverage, press conferences, team updates, behind-the-scenes footage, analysis, cuisine, fan interactions, and Moroccan cultural experiences.
If they were not interviewing Victor Osimhen, they were showcasing the stand-up comedy talents of Samuel Chukwueze and other forms of entertainment.
What was missing was differentiation. No clear Unique Selling Proposition (USP). The result was generic, repetitive content with little strategic distinction. Everyone appeared to be deploying the same “Jab, Jab, Jab, Hook” formula—throwing multiple jabs of access-driven content in the hope that one hook would land.
The lesson is simple: when everyone is jabbing the same way, the hook becomes predictable and loses its power.
As J. P. Clark wrote in the poem “The Casualties”, “We are all casualties,” casualties of sameness—content without differentiation. The audience consumes shallow content, sponsors lose return on investment, and creators return home bearing the “weight of paper” from disappointed benefactors.
On November 23, 1963, a shining light was dimmed in America when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
As with AFCON today, media organisations sent their best hands to cover the funeral, as the who’s who of the planet—and if possible, the stratosphere—would attend. Unconfirmed reports suggested that over 220 VVIPs were expected.
While every newspaper, radio, and television station covered the spectacle and grandeur of the event, one man, Jimmy Breslin, swam against the tide. He chose instead to interview Clifton Pollard, the foreman of gravediggers at Arlington National Cemetery—the man who dug John F. Kennedy’s grave.
This act of upended thinking differentiated Jimmy Breslin from the odds and sods, and he went on to win the Pulitzer Prize in 1986.
Until journalists and content creators stop following the motley and begin swimming against the tide, access will continue to be treated as king—when in reality, differentiation, aided by strategy, is king.
When every journalist and content creator is using Gary Vaynerchuk’s “Jab, Jab, Jab, Hook” template while covering major sporting events, thinkers among them must learn to replace one jab with a counterpunch—and a bit of head movement—to stay ahead of the herd.
Toluwalope Shodunke can be reached via tolushodunke@yahoo.com
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