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Jimi Solanke, Wasiu Ayinde and the cartoon called Nigeria

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Stop, CBN! The baby is in the bathwater
Tunde Odesola

Jimi Solanke, Wasiu Ayinde and the cartoon called Nigeria

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, February 16, 2024)

Aníkúlápó is the man who bears death in a pouch, not Jimi Solanke. Solanke knew a braggadocious name couldn’t stop death. So, when death came calling, Solanke followed it without fear. But Solanke wasn’t afraid of death, he was afraid of life – this he told me many years ago at the backstage of the Oduduwa Hall, Obafemi Awolowo Univerity, Ile Ife, when I sneaked up on him.

It is true, time is a virus that corrupts memory. Despite its limitation, however, memory remains nature’s hard disk embedded in the skull of every mortal. And, when I bolted from the Oduduwa Hall congregation – in pursuit of Solanke – to the backstage, I never knew my inquisitiveness would someday memorialise his memory.

I can’t remember the particulars of the event that was held in the architectural wonder called Oduduwa Hall many, many years ago. But I remember Baba Agba, as Uncle Jimi Solanke was popularly called, being the moderator of the event. As his baritone soaked the hall in honey, my mind journeyed down memory lane, marvelling at the lanky enigma before the audience – the great Jimi Solanke – world-class storyteller, actor, folklorist, singer, playwright, poet, dancer, guitarist, drummer, cultural aficionado and compere extraordinaire!

“Tunde, you must interview this wizard,” I told myself. So, I bided my time, looking for a break. My lucky break came when the session went on a break, and Baba Agba sauntered backstage. I sneaked away from my reporter colleagues, melted into the shuffling crowd, and went after him.

“Good morning, sir!” “Good morning, my dear,” he replied, the glint in his eyes was welcoming. Wow!! I couldn’t believe I was talking live with Mr Voice himself. My heart raced like a rabbit in a park. “My name is Tunde Odesola; I’m from PUNCH newspapers,” I identified myself. “Oh, PUNCH, that’s my paper,” he said. “Thank you, sir,” I gushed. “It’s a dream come true talking to you, sir.” He eyed me with his big eyes.

I didn’t bring out my tape recorder yet because I didn’t want him to see me as a bother. I continued, “I thought you came out to smoke, sir” “Oh, no! I quit smoking,” he said in his rich voice. “You quit? Why? Health reasons?” I fired a threesome.

“I’ll tell you the short story. Someone died in my family and relatives converged in my house to discuss the burial. I stepped out to smoke. When I stepped back into the house, it was as if I carried faeces with me into the house. Everyone turned their noses up, looking at me as though I was a strange object. I felt embarrassed. That wasn’t the first time I would step into a gathering after smoking a cigarette, and people would feel uneasy. To make people not feel awkward by my smoking, I decided to stop. They say smokers are liable to die young, I’m no longer young, 70 is around the corner,” he said with a grin.

No matter the manner of death that kills the elderly, his cranium won’t vanish; kò sí ikú tí yíò pa àgbàlagbà, tí a ò ní bá poolo orí è. This proverb means no matter the situation, the elderly must speak the truth at all times, without fear. Solanke exemplified the letters and spirit of this proverb through his art.

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There, at the backstage of Oduduwa Hall, Solanke wasn’t afraid of telling me the truth about his struggles with smoking, he wasn’t afraid of facing the challenge too. Solanke is the citizen Nigeria desires but does not deserve.

The same thing cannot be said of Fuji music maestro, Alhaji Wasiu Ayinde, aka K1 De Ultimate. Wasiu is far beneath the league of Solanke and his kindred, Tunji Oyelana. Wasiu is the citizen Nigeria desirously deserves – tribalistic, selfish, ignorantly endowed and materialistic. The Nigerian citizen epitomised by Wasiu sees music as a means to a cash-and-carry end and not a selfless tool for social change.

In the heat of the economic hardship suffered by Nigerians during the Olusegun Obasanjo presidency, Wasiu, in 2006, lifted his voice up to God, singing unto Him to eclipse Obasanjo, “Ba wa mu baba kuro..” But Wasiu’s tongue appeared super-glued to his palate and his ears stuffed with palm oil wool when the herdsman, General Muhammadu Buhari, misruled the country for 8 years as he didn’t give Buhari, who’s the worst Nigerian leader ever, the same treatment he gave Obasanjo.

Wasiu has kept a deafening silence since the economy further nosedived after his tin god, President Bola Tinubu, assumed power in 2023. In societies emancipated from mental slavery, Wasiu’s action would’ve been met with a backlash that would affect his musical image and fortunes, but Nigeria is Babel, where the Toad’s croaking is music to the ears.

Did Solanke love children? No. He worshipped them. He dedicated his life of storytelling to them. In his programme, Story Land, Solanke would dance like a five-year-old, giggle like a preteen on his first excursion, and yet pass across his teachings with the charm of sage. Oh, how I love him!

Solanke saw the wicked world through the innocent eyes of the child and armed himself with a paddle strong enough to steer his canoe, singing on his earthly journey his songs of wisdom that include Baba Agba, Onile Gogoro, Eje ka jo, Jenrokan, Na Today You Come, among others.

Since he travelled to America after graduating from the Theatre Arts Department of the University of Ibadan in 1969, before his eventual return to Nigeria in 1986, Solanke produced many albums such as In the Beginning, Ase, Orin Orisa, Storyteller, America Has Got Magic, Multiplicity of Praise, Hidden Gold, Once Upon a Time, among others. Gesamtkunstwerk is a German word that means total art. Solanke was a Total Man, who practised Total Art, giving his totality to his art.

That was why Solanke, the voice of the narrator in the Nollywood blockbuster, Jagunjagun, was ever happy, contented and respectable. That was why he was never a servant at Bourdillon. However, this is not to say Wasiu has no class at all. Wasiu has his own class and remains a savant of Fuji, with great hits under his belt. But when compared with Solanke, shoe get size.

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At this juncture, I want to wear the Solankean robe and see the world through the eyes of a friend’s 11-year-old child. ’Busola Durojaiye was a younger colleague in the pen-pushing profession. She distinguished herself at the Osun State Broadcasting Corporation, Osogbo, in the early 2000. She has a good grasp of the sociopolitical and economic situation of Nigeria, making her my go-to person on Nigerian gists.

Last week, our talk centred on the exorbitant prices of foods, goods and services across the country. ’Busola has a wicked sense of humour. “Ara n kan everybody ni Nigeria o, everybody is touchy. Everybody is sick. Even ‘your’ daughter (name withheld) is sick,” she said. “Ha, kilo se, what’s she sick of,” I asked, worried.

“On Saturday, her boarding school housemistress called, saying Angel (not her real name) was sick with fever. The housemistress said she had been taken to the hospital for a Widal Test, whose result was being expected. I told the housemistress to give the phone to Angel,” ’Busola explained.

“When Angel came online, she said she had a high fever. Orí mi kó kó fò lo ná; I was alarmed. High fever ke? Angel said she wasn’t the only one having a high fever in the school. She said about 12 students were affected, including two of her close friends, Dab and OmoT (real names withheld). Then, in a conspiratorial tone, she said, ‘The doctor and nurse said I have no blood at all’.

“I asked her if the doctor and the nurse told the housemistress about her having no blood at all. She said no. She said the doctor and the nurse confided in her only. Angel then told me she knew the remedy to her acute blood shortage. She listed the remedy to include malt drink, ice cream and jollof rice from a particular restaurant. I told her it was blood that she needed, but she said ice cream, malt drink and jollof rice produce better blood. She said students, including her two friends, whose parents had sent money for the cure, were already getting well.

Mother sent N11,000 to daughter’s housemistress for the cure of blood shortage. When mom called the next day, Angel’s voice was clearer. “How are you feeling now, Angel?” mother asked. “Blood is returning to my body now,” she said. “How did you know blood is returning to your body,” mother queried. “I can feel it in my system,” daughter answered.

Solanke understood the ways of children. He must have loved cartoons, too. Nigeria is a huge cartoon; a cruel, unfunny joke, yoking the storyteller and his audience. At 63, Nigeria remains a child, its spine cracked by corruption, nepotism and evil leadership.

When will blood return to the veins and arteries of Nigeria? When, I ask?

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

Jimi Solanke, Wasiu Ayinde and the cartoon called Nigeria

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Onaiyekan: Is Tinubu insensitive to Nigerians’ plight? By Bolanle BOLAWOLE

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Onaiyekan: Is Tinubu insensitive to Nigerians’ plight? By Bolanle BOLAWOLE

 

turnpot@gmail.com 0705 263 1058

(Published in the ON THE LORD’S DAY column in the Sunday Tribune edition of Sunday, 9 August 2026).

The Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Nigeria (CBCN) recently held a closed-door meeting with President Bola Ahmed Tinubu after which one of the bishops, John Onaiyekan, Bishop Emeritus of Abuja, went public with the contents of the meeting. The public was aghast when the president was reported as saying that hunger has been in the land before he was born!

But is it a lie? It is not! Tinubu reportedly asked the church leaders to feed the people if they – the church leaders – actually knew the people were hungry! Is it not a fact that many church leaders and denominations today behave like the scribes and Pharisees of Jesus Christ’s era – whom the Lord described as “serpents and generation of vipers”! – who “bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers”? As many as eight times, Jesus said unto them: “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!” He also repeatedly called them “fools and blind guides.” (See Matthew 23: 1 – end).

How many of the Catholic bishops who confronted Tinubu with the case of hungry Nigerians do not have hungry parishioners under their watch? How many of the hungry do they feed? Are they themselves among hungry Nigerians? How many of them, having two coats, give one to the naked (Luke 3:11)? How many follow the example of the Fathers (Acts 4: 32 – 37) or the Marxian doctrine of “From each according to his ability and to each according to his need”?

Despite the hardship in the land, which the Bishops went to Tinubu to complain about, are Church leaders not demanding tithes, vows, first fruit, and all manner of offerings – love offering, sacrificial offering, seed offering, thanksgiving offering, etc. from the same suffering masses? Before our very eyes, are they not building cathedrals worth billions of Naira, driving expensive cars, flying private jets, and living life to the hilt? Are they not?

However, this is an uncomfortable truth no one wants to hear! I should know because I am involved – if you know what I mean! Without speaking for Tinubu – because I, too, have my own grievances! – this must have been what he hinted at but which, understandably, was interpreted as an act of insensitivity. But since I, too, was born, up to date, I make bold to say that notable Nigerian musicians one after the other have complained of hard times. It is as if there has never been a time when things were okay in this country – except when we look back! Better times are usually behind us. No matter how bad a government might have been, succeeding governments always appear worse! That has been the narrative!

It appears to me that Tinubu loves to be audacious once in a while. Like when he made his “O lu’le” speech at Abeokuta, detailing how the then President Muhammadu Buhari contested election thrice but failed until he, Tinubu, came to the rescue. The icing on the case at the occasion was his angry reference to Gov. Dapo Abiodun, as “eleyi”, meaning “this one!” Consider as well his wandering off-script “subsidy is gone” statement in his very first speech and on his very first day as President and Commander-in-Chief!

Tinubu possesses enough knowledge of the media to guess what kind of headlines his statements can attract. In the case of the Catholic bishops, maybe he thought he was safe behind the iron curtain of confidentiality – until one of the bishops chose to tear the veil, forcing the Presidency to respond.

Presidential response to Onaiyekan

The response by Temitope Ajayi, Senior Special Assistant to President Tinubu on Media and Publicity, compelled this intervention lest we, again, throw the baby away with the bath water. Often, once we have pitched our tents for or against, we fail to see the merits in opposing advocacies – all to the chagrin of our collective good. Let’s hear from Ajayi:

“There is something fundamentally inappropriate about Cardinal John Onaiyekan granting a television interview to offer his own account and interpretation of what transpired during the private meeting between the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Nigeria and President Bola Tinubu. It is, in my view, an abuse of clerical privilege.

“The bishops requested an audience with the president. He granted the audience graciously. They presented, as was their right, a catalogue of the country’s economic, social, and security challenges as they saw them. Except for their grudging acknowledgement of the benefits of NELFUND, they were dismissive of the other great things done by the administration. The bishops were notably acerbic in their submission, but the president listened to them patiently and responded.

“That should ordinarily have been where the matter rested. None of the issues raised by the bishops is beyond scrutiny or rebuttal. Their assessment is neither scripture nor an article of faith. It is a perspective, and perspectives can be challenged with facts and evidence.

“President Tinubu did exactly that, responding point by point to the issues they raised. On the bishops’ demand for the return of schools to their owners, the President was surprised that such an issue could be tabled before him, as it is a matter for the states to resolve, in line with our Constitution. So, he asked the bishops to take the matter to the governors and reminded them he returned mission schools in Lagos State (to their original owners) when he was (the) governor.

“The President argued that the bishops’ characterization of the country’s current condition was incomplete and, in several respects, inaccurate. He pointed to measurable progress on the economic, social, and security fronts. He did not pretend that Nigeria’s problems had disappeared. He acknowledged that significant economic and security challenges remain. His point was that the country has emerged from ‘a dark tunnel’, that his administration has laid the foundations for recovery and that the next phase is to ensure the greatest number of Nigerians feels the gains.

“What the clerics often overlook in these interventions is that governing a country is fundamentally different from shepherding a church. In a democracy, every interest group, including the Catholic Church, has every right to demand more from (the) government. That is part of democratic engagement. But the president of a nation of more than 200 million people is required to make difficult choices every single day. Those choices involve competing interests, limited resources, and imperfect options…There is no president…who can wave a magic wand and make Nigeria’s accumulated problems disappear overnight.

“It is easy to compile a list of national problems. It is far more difficult to acknowledge the disasters that have been averted. Whatever anyone thinks of President Tinubu’s policies, it is impossible to ignore the fiscal crisis he inherited and the measures taken to pull the country away from the edge of a financial cliff. Even the bishops themselves should recognize that one tangible consequence has been the restoration of greater fiscal stability across many states.

“Countless civil servants and pensioners who, for years, endured unpaid salaries and pensions are now receiving them more regularly. That was certainly not the reality in many states from around 2014. Even about four years ago, 27 state governments struggled to meet even their most basic obligations. Many of those civil servants and pensioners are themselves parishioners in Catholic churches. They know, from lived experience rather than official pronouncements, that there has been real relief in the regular payment of salaries and pensions. While this does not erase the discomfort many Nigerians still face, it is wrong to dismiss or ignore those improvements casually.

“So when President Tinubu reminded the bishops of these facts during the meeting, he was not, as Cardinal Onaiyekan later suggested, being aloof or dismissive. He was presenting evidence to support his argument that the country is not standing still. A disagreement over facts should not be interpreted as arrogance. The same applies to security. The bishops declared that Nigeria is bleeding. The President thinks otherwise. President Tinubu did not deny the seriousness of the security situation. Rather, he acknowledged the challenges while outlining the gains recorded by the Armed Forces and intelligence agencies across different theatres of operation…

“Cardinal Onaiyekan’s Arise News interview also reflected a familiar error that many ideological and professional critics make. They often assume that only critics speak truth to power while everyone around a leader is either unwilling or incapable of doing so. It is an attractive narrative, but it is rarely true. What truth does anyone really need to tell President Tinubu that he does not already know? As president, he has multiple channels for feeling the pulse of the country…

“The Catholic Bishops discharged what they considered their moral obligation by presenting their concerns to the president. President Tinubu, for his part, accorded them respect by granting them an audience and responding to every issue they raised. That exchange reflected the civility expected in a constitutional democracy.

“Reciprocity should have dictated that the confidentiality and dignity of that engagement be preserved. As such, it was inappropriate for one of the participants to emerge almost immediately on national television to provide his own version of what was essentially a private conversation with the president…” That was Temitope Ajayi, SSA to the President for President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

Obligations of confidentiality

I asked Google: Is it appropriate to divulge the specifics of a closed-door meeting without the other party’s consent or prior knowledge? Google: “No, it is generally inappropriate and a breach of professional trust to divulge the details of a closed-door meeting without the other party’s consent or prior agreement. Why it is inappropriate: Breaches trust: Closed-door meetings imply an expectation of privacy and confidentiality so participants can speak freely. Damages relationships: Revealing private discussions destroys mutual respect and makes future cooperation difficult. Distorts context: Sharing only one side of a private conversation often misleads the public or other stakeholders who were not in the room.”

Again, I asked: Was Onaiyekan mandated by the CBCN to address the media after their meeting with President Tinubu? Google: “There is no official indication or report that Cardinal John Onaiyekan was specifically mandated or designated by the CBCN to grant media interviews or brief the press following their meeting with President Bola Tinubu…”

Then I asked: Is Onaiyekan the official leader of CBCN? Google: “No, Cardinal John Onaiyekan is not the current leader of CBCN; he is the Archbishop Emeritus of Abuja and previously served as CBCN president from 2000 to 2006.” The current president of CBCN is Most Rev. Matthew Man-Oso Ndagoso, the Metropolitan Archbishop of Kaduna.

Answering another question, Google described Onaiyekan as “a forthright and consistent critic of President Bola Tinubu’s electoral legitimacy and economic policies…” Arising from the above, we can see that Onaiyekan and Tinubu are no strangers to one another but are “old customers”, so to say!

Neither here, nor there

That said, Onaiyekun enjoys freedom of speech as enshrined in our Constitution, regardless how acerbic or far from the truth those views may be. Tinubu, too, has the right of reply which his being a sitting president does not deny him. Achebe said “Let the kite perch and let the eagle perch too. If one says ‘No’ to the other, let his wing break.” China’s revolutionary leader, Mao Zedong, put it this way: “Let a hundred flowers blossom, let a hundred schools of thought contend.” Scriptures cap it all in Proverbs 11: 14 thus: “Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety.”

Tinubu’s man described the president meeting with the bishops as a privilege; no, it wasn’t! It was their right – and the president’s duty. There is nothing “gracious” in it; it is an obligation duly discharged.

Onaiyekan, however, ought to know that closed-door meetings should be accorded the confidentiality they deserve. To break this important rule is to burn bridges and destroy trust. As journalists, we do not rush to press with information gotten from such sources; we store them to be discretely leveraged in future.

That Onaiyekan was not specifically mandated by the CBCN to speak on its behalf makes his case worse. If it was so important for the bishops to speak, why not their president?

It is not everyone that understands the nuances of Nigeria’s prebendal politics. Femi Adesina, media adviser to President Muhammadu Buhari, said they were flying with Buhari when news of Tinubu’s “O lu’le” atomic bomb dropped on Buhari at Abeokuta reached them. Who was detailed by Buhari’s kinsmen on the same flight to break the news to Buhari? Adesina! Why him? And, now, why Onaiyekan? Dirty jobs reserved for who?

 

* Former editor of PUNCH newspapers, Chairman of its Editorial Board and Deputy Editor-in-chief, BOLAWOLE was also the Managing Director/Editor-in-chief of The Westerner news magazine. He writes the ON THE LORD’S DAY column in the Sunday Tribune and TREASURES column in New Telegraph newspaper on Wednesdays. He is also a public affairs analyst on radio and television.

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WHO WILL SPEAK FOR WASILAT? WHEN TRADITION BECOMES HUMILIATION, JUSTICE MUST SPEAK

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TikToker undergoes cleansing after filming Oloolu procession in Ibadan

WHO WILL SPEAK FOR WASILAT? WHEN TRADITION BECOMES HUMILIATION, JUSTICE MUST SPEAK

A young Nigerian lady, Wasilat, has become the centre of a disturbing controversy that should concern every defender of human rights, justice, and the rule of law.
According to her own account during a live interview on Lagelu FM, she did not film the Olóòlù masquerade itself. She said she only recorded the gathering of people and later uploaded the video to TikTok. She further stated that she was advised to remove the video, and she complied.

If her account is true, the events that followed should alarm every conscientious citizen.
She alleged that she was arrested the following day by followers of the olóòlù and later detained by the police. Images that circulated widely on social media appeared to show her publicly humiliated—made to wear a red wrapper, adorned with ritual objects, compelled to carry a live She-goat, and having her head shaved in public while being filmed. She also stated that these rituals were arranged between her mother and those involved while she was in detention not with her own consent.

Whether one believes in the spiritual significance of the Olóòlù tradition is beside the point.

The questions are:

1- Can any Nigerian be deprived of liberty, publicly humiliated, or compelled to participate in rituals against their will simply because of a traditional belief?

2- If the belief is that any woman who sees Olóòlù will automatically suffer supernatural consequences, why would human beings need to arrest, detain, and punish the alleged offender the next day?

3- If the supernatural claim is true, why was human intervention necessary?

4- If it is not true, then what justification exists for the alleged humiliation?

These are legitimate questions. They are not attacks on culture. They are questions about justice.
Nigeria is governed by law, not fear.
The Constitution guarantees the dignity of every human person. It protects personal liberty. It protects freedom of conscience. It prohibits degrading treatment.
No tradition, however ancient, should become a licence for intimidation, coercion, or public disgrace.
Culture deserves respect.
Human dignity deserves greater respect.
If Wasilat’s account is accurate, then what happened to her represents far more than a disagreement over tradition. It raises concerns about arbitrary arrest, coercion, degrading treatment, invasion of privacy, and possible violations of her constitutional rights.

Even more troubling is the public circulation of images depicting her alleged humiliation. In the digital age, such images can haunt a victim for years, affecting education, employment, mental well-being, and social acceptance.
Justice cannot remain silent.
Today it is Wasilat.
Tomorrow it could be another young woman.
The silence of good people is often the greatest ally of injustice.
This is therefore a call—not for violence, not for hatred against any cultural group—but for lawful action.
We call upon human rights organisations, the legal community, civil society organisations, women’s rights advocates, youth groups, and all lovers of justice to demand an impartial investigation into these allegations.
Let the truth be established.

If Wasilat’s rights were violated, those responsible should be held accountable in accordance with the law.
If public officials participated in or enabled unlawful conduct, they too should answer before the law.
No Nigerian should be subjected to degrading treatment in the name of culture.
No woman should be publicly humiliated because of superstition.
No citizen should lose her dignity because others choose fear over justice.
A society is judged not by how it treats the powerful, but by how it protects the vulnerable.
Justice delayed encourages injustice.

Justice denied encourages oppression.
Justice done restores confidence in both culture and the law.
Today, let us ask one simple question:
If this happened to your daughter, your sister, your wife, or your mother, would you remain silent?
If your answer is “No,” then now is the time to speak—not with anger, but with courage; not with violence, but with justice; not with vengeance, but with the unwavering conviction that every Nigerian deserves dignity, liberty, and equal protection under the law.
Justice for Wasilat is justice for every Nigerian woman.

Almudeer Ajiginni
Director, The City of knowledge /SSA to National chairman PCRC
4/8/2026.

 

WHO WILL SPEAK FOR WASILAT? WHEN TRADITION BECOMES HUMILIATION, JUSTICE MUST SPEAK

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Five days in Salvador, Brazil’s Yoruba city, By Farooq Kperogi

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Five days in Salvador, Brazil’s Yoruba city, By Farooq Kperogi

Five days in Salvador, Brazil’s Yoruba city, By Farooq Kperogi

For the past couple of years, my wife and I have instituted a yearly self-care ritual of taking at least one vacation in a part of the world we have not visited before. This year, I suggested Brazil for two reasons.

One, my interest in recreational genetics has led me to join Facebook groups where people from all over the world share their DNA results and invite conversation. I was struck by the number of phenotypically white Brazilians who show significant Central and West African ancestry. Although the Brazilians who share their DNA results on social media groups are not representative of the entire population, their results nonetheless signaled to me that African filiation in the country is higher and deeper than most people assume.

Second, I have had a faint familiarity with the surviving vestiges of African, particularly Yoruba, cultural and linguistic influences in Brazilian culture and wanted to deepen my knowledge experientially.

So, we planned a 10-day, three-city vacation. We would visit Salvador, Brazil’s Blackest and fifth-largest city, which has the distinction of being the country’s first capital and is now the capital of the northeastern state of Bahia; São Paulo, Brazil’s commercial nerve center and the most populous city in the Americas; and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil’s second-largest city and its federal capital until 1960, which is also home to the Christ the Redeemer statue, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World.

Because of Salvador’s historical and cultural significance to us, we chose to spend half of our stay there. In this remarkable city, we repeatedly encountered West Africa speaking Portuguese. The resemblance was not always visible in faces. Sometimes it announced itself in food, gesture, rhythm and words whose African ancestry had survived even when their speakers no longer remembered it.

In more ways than I can express, driving and walking through Salvador was redolent of the sights, sounds, occasional smells and rhythms of Lagos.

Except for its exquisitely hilly landscape and its mixed-race and white populations, almost everything else about it reminded me of Lagos. The sight of helmeted “Okada” riders competing with motorists for the road, vulcanizer shops, street vendors, occasional unsolicited car windshield cleaners during traffic jams, bus conductors shouting destinations to attract passengers, open-air markets and the architecture of the buildings could have made me momentarily lose awareness of where I was. Only the phenotypic diversity of the people around us kept reminding us that we were not in West Africa.

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Although Salvador is Brazil’s Blackest city, and the northeastern region is the country’s Black Belt, Black people who look like me are no longer the numerical majority there. They now constitute about 34 percent of the city’s population. Mixed-race people, classified as pardos in Brazil, are the majority, with more than 49 percent of the population. White Brazilians constitute a little more than 16 percent of the city’s population.

Salvador’s demographic changes reflect a broader national trend in Brazil. Brazil’s population went from predominantly Black in 1872 to predominantly white in subsequent censuses and then, for the first time in its census history, to predominantly mixed-race in the 2022 census. According to that census, mixed-race Brazilians now constitute about 45 percent of the country’s population. Whites constitute a little over 43 percent and Blacks a little over 10 percent.

However, although Salvador is now only a little over 30 percent Black, the Yoruba influence in the city is unmistakable. The people depicted in murals are predominantly Black. Representations of traditional attire reflect unmistakably West African aesthetics.

The most recognizable monument to the city’s Yoruba heritage can be found near its center. There stands a historic urban lagoon called Dique do Tororó, distinguished by eight monumental sculptures of Yoruba and Fon-Gbe deities standing in the water.

Designed by the Bahian artist Tatti Moreno, the sculptures represent Oxalá, or Òrìṣà-ńlá; Iemanjá, or Yemọja; Oxum, or Ọ̀ṣun; Ogum, or Ògún; Oxóssi, or Ọ̀ṣọ́ọ̀sì; Xangô, or Ṣàngó; Nanã, or Nàná Bùrùkúù; and Iansã, or Ọya.

Four smaller sculptures on the surrounding land represent Oxumaré, or Òṣùmàrè; Ossain, or Ọ̀sanyìn; Logun-Edé, or Lógun Ẹ̀dẹ; and Ewá, or Yewa. The works were created during the 1990s and have become internationally recognizable symbols of Salvador’s African religious and cultural identity.

We visited the city’s historic Pelourinho neighborhood, where Michael Jackson performed with Olodum, the Afro-Brazilian percussion group whose name recalls Olódùmarè, the Yoruba name for the Supreme Being, and shot his iconic music video for “They Don’t Really Care About Us.”

Pelourinho was once a place where enslaved Africans and others were publicly punished during the colonial period. Today, it is known for its cobblestone streets, brightly painted colonial buildings, churches and strong Afro-Brazilian cultural presence.

There, we also visited the Afro-Brazilian Museum, where we found street vendors selling everything from food and clothing to artwork amid the familiar sounds and movements of African open-air markets.

We explored Salvador’s cuisine, which reminded us of West Africa in several ways. In Salvador, you cannot miss acarajé, which anyone with even a faint familiarity with Yoruba would recognize as deriving from “àkàrà jẹ,” that is, “eat akara.”

Like Nigerian akara, acarajé is made from beans, although the Bahian version is fried in palm oil. Salvador’s acarajé is then sliced open and filled with sautéed shrimp, diced onions and peppers, with chopped okra sometimes added. The acarajé we ate in São Paulo, however, looked and tasted almost exactly like Nigerian akara.

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The women who traditionally fry and sell acarajé are called baianas. They dress in white or other brightly colored dresses with matching headwraps, resembling exaggerated forms of modern West African dress. They could easily pass for our mothers and sisters in almost any part of West Africa.

We also found that Brazilian cuisine is full of something that looked and tasted to us like garri. They call it farofa, a toasted cassava flour prepared in many varieties and often mixed with palm oil. It is served alongside stews, incorporated into other dishes or sprinkled dry as a garnish.

My wife initially thought it was something else. When she tasted it and discovered that it was essentially garri by another name, she remarked that she would not pay good money to fly from the United States to Brazil to eat garri in expensive restaurants.

It turned out that cassava, from which garri is made, came to us in Nigeria by way of Brazil. The Portuguese who introduced cassava to Africa first encountered it in Brazil.

But the similarities in our cuisines did not stop there. On Salvador’s beaches, which have an elaborate nightlife, we sampled several kinds of street food. One that stood out was queijo coalho, often translated simply as coalho cheese, which tasted exactly like wàrà to us. It is a firm, mildly salty Brazilian cheese made from cow’s milk. You buy it ungrilled and beach vendors roast it for you on skewers.

Perhaps the most surprising gastronomic discovery for us on the beaches was the sight of vendors selling what looked, and even tasted, like tsire, the Hausa-style skewered meat, usually beef, coated with a spicy groundnut-based seasoning and grilled over an open fire.

Brazilians call their version espetinho. Although it is not coated in the distinctive groundnut-and-spice mixture used for tsire, it looks every bit like tsire nonetheless. It is served with farofa, vinaigrette-style salad or hot sauce.

Seeing tsire-like meat being sold alongside people hawking sugarcane made me do a double take. Was I suddenly in Kano?

By far the most mind-blowing experience for us was attending two Candomblé ritual ceremonies. Candomblé is an Afro-Brazilian religion rooted in Yoruba and other African traditions. Much of its ritual liturgy is preserved in Yoruba.

I have a working knowledge of Yoruba, and my wife, who attended high school in Ogbomoso for three years, speaks Yoruba even better than I do.

It was a surreal experience seeing Portuguese-speaking Brazilians beating drums and dancing like Yoruba people while reciting incantations, prayers and songs in Yoruba, a language they did not speak conversationally and whose literal meanings many of them did not appear to understand.

Because the ceremonies were not open to everyone, we had to gain access through a tour guide who was an adherent of the faith.

He had given his business a Yoruba name, and because he was as dark-skinned as any regular Nigerian, I assumed he spoke some Yoruba. He did not. But, like the worshippers we encountered at Ilê Asé Opô Aganju, as the shrine is called, he had memorized inherited prayers, chants and songs in Yoruba, much as non-Arabic-speaking Muslims use Arabic in worship.

The ritual language, of course, often preserves older Yoruba forms and pronunciations shaped by centuries of transmission in Brazil.

We encountered an Egúngún, a Yoruba ancestral masquerade preserved in Bahia. Completely concealed beneath an elaborate cascade of brightly colored cloth, the masquerader is regarded as the temporary embodiment of a departed ancestor returning to counsel, bless or discipline the living.

As it danced and lunged through the gathering, a cane or ritual staff enforced a respectful distance, threatening men who obstructed its path and sending spectators scrambling aside.

After the Egúngún ceremony was over and the crowd was dispersing, we heard someone say in accentless Yoruba, “Kí ló dé?” That stopped us in our tracks.

We did not know the context in which he said it, but it fascinated us. Could this be a native Yoruba speaker visiting from Nigeria or the Benin Republic? Could it be a Brazilian who had learned and understood the language?

So, I asked, in my limited Yoruba, who there spoke Yoruba. The person looked in our direction with great surprise and enthusiasm, but we had to leave because it was late and our guide had other commitments.

I will conclude this travelogue next week.

Five days in Salvador, Brazil’s Yoruba city, By Farooq Kperogi

 

Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of Journalism 

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