Opinion
How Wande Abimbola rejected IBB’s ING bait, and other stories (1)
How Wande Abimbola rejected IBB’s ING bait, and other stories (1)
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, March 21, 2025)
Embarrassment has no truer depiction than the guilt a debtor feels each time the string of his indebtedness twangs at his soul. I am talking about an honest debtor here. A sincere debtor feels sad whenever his inability to mend his broken promises nudges his conscience. He sincerely wishes to pay but cannot, yet.
However, the insincere debtor, hard like the shell of a tortoise, is unperturbed whenever he remembers his empty repayment promises. He blinks like a toad on a full stomach, “My lender knows times are hard. I cannot come and kill myself, jare. I will pay someday,” he says with malicious arrogance.
Despite living in a cutthroat world of credit facilities, I dislike borrowing. However, due to banking bottlenecks, I occasionally need a quick loan. When this arises, my mind will never be at rest until I pay it off. Whenever I’m indebted, the chiefest of my prayer points will be the grace not to die suddenly so I can pay up my debt and not carry someone’s money to the grave.
I always say this to my lender, “Uhmm, if I die today and you start crying, people will think you are crying for me, they won’t know you are crying for your money. You would come to my wake, look at my corpse and say in your mind, ‘Look at his big head! He has carried my money to heaven, idiot!’”
My lender would laugh and say, “Ha, you are not serious. You are not going to die now. Do not talk like that!”
But I talk like that because I know death lurks in the shadow of every mortal. I know each minute is a gift; each breath – a favour.
A jolly good friend of mine, Idowu Bailey, was born on Wednesday, November 14. Last month, Bailey, a giant, danced at a wedding anniversary shindig on a Saturday, visited his mechanic on Tuesday, spoke with a friend on Wednesday, and on Thursday, he died in the parking lot of his workplace, right inside the car with which his wife had taken him to work. Born in 1962, Bailey was 62 when he died. Bailey had a good heart and left a good impression of himself on everyone.
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When he noticed our church pastor, Mr Peter Oyediran, had chosen the ‘Gorimapa’ hairstyle, which leaves no strand of hair on the head, Bailey presented a new set of clippers to the cleric, saying, “I observed you keep no hairs on your head nowadays. Here is a good set of clippers, sir.”
Debt. Since January last year, I have looked forward to writing a sequel to the series, “Wande Abimbola @ 91: How an àbíkú decided to live”, which I started in honour of the exemplary life of a former Vice Chancellor, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife.
The series was a debt I felt I owed to the integrity, dedication, courage and excellence that define the grass-to-grace story of a village boy, who rose from the relics of the ancient Oyo Empire to peak at the academic mountains of Harvard University, Boston University, Amherst College, University of Louisville, Kentucky; Colgate University, Smith College, Massachusetts; and Great Ife, among others.
But I could not bring myself to do a follow-up on my series on Abimbola because Nigeria is a land of ‘one week, plenty troubles’. And, to remain in touch with readers, a columnist’s commentaries should sync with current affairs and realities.
Here’s a rundown of my articles between November last year and March, this year: the nation woke up to a member of the House of Representatives, Alex Ikwechegh, dehumanising and threatening to make a taxi driver disappear. A few days after this, a violence-encouraging video of the Alapomu of Apomu, Oba Kayode Afolabi, surfaced online, charging some members of the Peoples Democratic Party to take up arms during an election. Days apart, the story of Godwin Emefiele’s alleged 753-duplex estate broke, then Dele Farotimi wrote a book, and the Timi of Ede knelt to the Emir of Ilorin.
Along the way came the king of Orile-Ifo, Oba Abdulsemiu Ogunjobi, who threatened a 73-year-old man, Pa Arinola Abraham, with death. Later, IBB sold the most dishonest autobiography of all time. Then Bola Tinubu’s Lagos State House of Assembully replaced democracy with tyranny just before Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan dragged Senate President, Godswill Akpabio, to the virtual superhighway, accusing him of tailgating.
Each week I tried to go back to the Wande Abimbola story, a calamitous story broke in Naija. Just this week, a state of emergency was foisted on Rivers State by the Asiwaju of Nigeria.
Since life is but a walking shadow and Baba Abimbola is 92, I pushed the pause button on my editorial desk to celebrate the Awise while he is alive. More so, President Tinubu breathed a six-month lifespan into the nostrils of the emergency rule in Rivers, so I have enough time to come back and paddle my canoe on the Rivers of turbulence.
This series is a further exploration of Abimbola’s phenomenon as a beacon of good leadership, transparency in public office and religious fidelity.
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To different people, Abimbola means different things. While many foreign religion worshippers call him a pagan, he is a hero to traditional religion adherents. Wande, the only surviving son of Iroko Abimbola, has spoken at the conclaves of world religious leaders, which included the Pope, upholding the truth of Ifa and radiating the essence of Yoruba culture and tradition.
Abimbola and the late MKO Abiola shared one thing in common. Both are abikus. “I am an abiku, who decided to stay after five comings. Abiola came 23 times before he chose to live.”
Abimbola and MKO met in the late 1960s at the Staff School of the University of Lagos. “I joined UNILAG as a senior research fellow in 1966 and I enrolled my children at the staff school. I took them to and fro the school. Abiola too was doing the same thing for his two children – Kola and his sibling. In the afternoon, we both got there before the school closed. It was while waiting for the school to close that we got talking. Abiola was an accountant with the International Telephone and Telegraph Corp,” the Awise Agbaye began.
He continued, “Abiola was a most jovial friend. He regularly visited me at my UNILAG house on Bode Thomas Street in Surulere, Lagos. When he comes, he would say, “Bàbá Àgbà, óò dè ní yòdí, óò dè ní béèrè énìkankan, óò dè je ka sere lo…,” exhorting me for not asking of him and urging me to let us go and hang out.
“Abiola told me he came from a very poor background and had to play a stringed musical instrument called ‘Osugbo’ to fend for himself. He loved me and I loved him, too. In 1972, I left UNILAG and went to Ife as a senior research fellow, so we lost contact temporarily. It was later, I began to read about him in newspapers and I began to wonder if it was the same Abiola who was my friend. One day, he sent an invite to me for the christening of his child. So, I went, and we reunited.
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“I soon became the vice chancellor, and he would visit me for three or four days. His convoy would come late into the night, and I would lodge him in the chancellor’s lodge, which was behind my lodge. Anytime he visited, the domestic staff knew they had hit a jackpot because he would give them a huge sum of money that they all would share. After sharing, each worker would get as much as N5,000 when their salary was less than N200,” Abimbola said.
After the world-acclaimed scholar finished his two-term tenure of seven years as V-C (1982-1989), he tried his hands in politics, emerging a senatorial candidate of the Social Democratic Party in Oyo State after he was rigged out of the governorship race, which he said he won. Abimbola said the late Strong Man of Ibadan politics, Alhaji Lamidi Adedibu, and some other Oyo political leaders appeased him with a senatorial ticket. “They said they knew I won the primary but that they want an Ibadan son, Kolapo Ishola, to be the governor. After consultations with my people in Oyo, I accepted and worked for Ishola in Oyo.”
Abimbola won his senatorial election by a landslide. When the National Assembly convened, he emerged as the Senate Majority Leader, making him a leading Yoruba voice in national politics at the time.
No sooner had the Senate convened than the majority leader attracted enemies to himself when he single-handedly repelled the move by senators to determine and approve their salaries.
It was also in his direction that the Ibrahim Babangida military junta first looked when searching for who would head the Interim National Government – after annulling the June 12, 1993, presidential election won by Chief MKO Abiola.
“I was contacted twice to come and head the Interim National Government. I think they chose me because I was the highest-ranking Yoruba political office holder then. They probably thought if they chose me, that would assuage the feelings of the Yoruba. Four reasons made me reject the offer,” Abimbola said.
To be continued.
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
How Wande Abimbola rejected IBB’s ING bait, and other stories (1)
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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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