Opinion
The Sunday Igboho I know
By Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH on Monday, February 8, 2021)
Gangan is the hourglass-shaped talking drum covered by cowskin that talks in the voice of man. Unique, the gangan talking drum is Yoruba’s invaluable gift to the world.
Quite unlike countless artefacts stolen from Africa, and transported to Europe, America and beyond, I believe that the talking drum was left unstolen because the gangan can’t talk without the dexterity of the fingernails – a fact supported by the Yoruba proverb, ‘ati ranmu gangan, kii sehin ekanna’.
But dexterity, in the case of gangan, belonged to the black man. Probably frustrated by in-dexterity, the white man let the talking goatskin, the wooden hourglass and its strings be.
Two weeks ago, the gangan roared in Igangan town of Ibarapa in Oyo State. Just like in the days of yore when drummers accompanied warriors to the warfront, I heard the gangan clearly, saying, “Sunday Igboho npale ogun mo, orisa ma je o t’enu mi jade!” Meaning: “Sunday Igboho is preparing for war, may the gods forbid me saying so.”
About three weeks ago when I interviewed the Akoni Oodua of Yoruba land, Chief Sunday Adeyemo alias Sunday Igboho, he talked passionately about Yoruba culture and tradition.
Despite the mystique surrounding his persona, Igboho was respectful. Without knowing my age, he accorded me the honour due to an elder brother, using the English noun, ‘sir’, and the Yoruba pronoun, ‘e’, both of which confer seniority – while talking to me.
Our talk centered around whether or not African bulletproof aka ‘ayeta’ or ‘odeshi’ truly exists. Igboho insisted that ‘ayeta’ is real and vowed to stake his life and N10m against anyone who doesn’t believe that African bulletproof exists. He said, “I will stake N10m against the N10m of anyone who doesn’t believe African bulletproof exists. The person should bring his gun and shoot at me. I will win the bet.”
A few days after Igboho spoke to me about ‘ayeta’, he visited Igangan and stood in the gap for his embattled ethnic nationality, which has come under incessant murderous attacks by Fulani herdsmen while the Yoruba political leadership, with the exception of Governor Rotimi Akeredolu of Ondo State, maintained criminal silence.
Shortly after the gangan thundered victoriously in Igangan, echoing the liberation of Oduduwa children from rape, kidnapping and killings by Fulani herdsmen, a dirge was heard at the Tinubu Square in Lagos.
Ogini? Kilode? Wetin happen? Who die? Media attention shifted swiftly to Tinubu Square, where a torn gangan was found in the possession of a footman singing the songs of sorrow and crying more than the bereaved.
What’s the mission of this flunkey? The manservant wanted to outshine his master and reap quick media traction from the emerging Igboho sensation but met his Waterloo in a classic comeuppance.
Blinded by ambition, the opportunistic, imprudent and chauvinistic fellow danced naked to some anti-FEMInist music at the popular OJODU bus stop near Berger, in Lagos, when a rickety okada crushed him for his blasPHEMY.
The Igboho I know is a commoner, who doesn’t have access to questionable public funds like Nigeria’s politicians in the federal executive council, state executive councils, federal and state legislatures, and local government councils.
The Igboho I know is a 48-year-old tribal-marked man who spoke the only language President Muhammadu Buhari understood – force – forcing the northern president to sack his redundant service chiefs after yearly strident calls for the removal of the underwhelming military chiefs by Nigerians fell on deaf ears.
Shamefully, in order for the removal of the service chiefs not to appear as forced by the Igboho enigma, Buhari rewarded the failed military chiefs with ambassadorial posts when they’ve not even turned in their letters of stewardship for assessment.
The cluelessness of the trivial Buhari administration is further highlighted by the three-month tenure extension of the IGP, Mohammed Adamu, on the premise that the President is searching for the right candidate. This is the most stupid excuse for dullness. I don’t know how Buhari would use just three months to search for Adamu’s successor when he couldn’t do so in the last two years Adamau has been in the saddle.
The Igboho I know is a tribal lord, just like Buhari, who told all other Nigerian ethnic nationalities to vacate their lands and water for his Fulani kinsmen to freely use for Ruga.
Sadly, it’s on record that no Fulani herdsman has been prosecuted and brought to justice by the Buhari presidency despite damning evidence of complicity.
In its characteristic knee-jerk approach to issues, security sources said the Presidency’s first reaction was to attempt to arrest Igboho, but was advised against such a move for fears that the tension already generated by Fulani killings nationwide could result in simultaneous protests that would be larger than the #Endsars riots.
The Sunday Igboho I know is far more compassionate and courageous than Vice President Yemi Osinbajo, Asiwaju Bola Tinubu, all Yoruba governors, except Akeredolu, all Yoruba leaders, ministers, senators, and House of Representative members who have kept quiet because they and their children are safe from killer Fulani herdsmen.
The sound emanating from the gangan being beaten by spineless and greedy Yoruba political leaders is clear. It says, “Bamu, bamu layo, awa o mo bi Fulani npa omo enikankan, bamu, bamu la yo.” Meaning, “We’re filled to the throat, we don’t know if Fulani kills anyone, we are filled to the throat.”
The same thing goes for 99.9% of Yoruba obas, whose member, the Olufon of Ifon, Oba Adegoke Adeusi, was killed by suspected Fulani kidnappers, but who didn’t speak against the killing. Well, if a foremost oba was killed and Yoruba obas kept quiet, won’t they go dancing shaku-shaku if sons and daughters of nobodies in their domains are killed or raped? Yet, this set of leaders clamour for constitutional empowerment.
Only the Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, wrote an open letter to Buhari, warning of the tragic consequences of the actions of Fulani kidnappers, herdsmen, and the general insecurity in the land. A couple of other Yoruba monarchs may share Alaafin’s views, but they need to speak up against the killing and raping of their subjects.
The Igboho I know understands the language of the fascist Buhari regime. Force is the language. Former US President Donald Trump thought Nigeria was in a democracy when he asked Buhari why were Nigerian Christians being killed over an alleged Islamisation agenda.
Nobel laureate, Professor Wole Soyinka, General Olusegun Obasanjo, General TY Danjuma, Pastor Enoch Adeboye, Bishop David Oyedepo, emirs and numerous leaders of thought have warned Buhari that Nigeria is about to collapse, but the Katsina warlord will never listen because the only language he understands is force.
That Buhari’s next-of-kin presidency granted university licence to the General Sani Abacha family, last week, gives an idea of the depthless corruption subsuming the All Progressives Congress-led government.
If Abacha, Buhari’s benefactor, didn’t steal the country blind, maybe Nigeria would today have the capacity to store millions of COVID-19 vaccines about to be donated by western countries but which are at the risk of getting spoilt as a result of inadequate power supply.
Since I met Igboho at the Osun Peoples Democratic Party secretariat in the Dada Estate area of Osogbo in mid 2000, he has never changed from his down-to-earth nature. With what he did in Igangan, the puppy of Igboho is far better than the toothless and clawless lion of the Aare Ona Kakanfo, Gani Adams. I won’t gloat and beat my chest, saying I predicted the unfitness of Adams for the Kankafo post in 2017. The lesson I took away from Adam’s appointment was that to err is kingly, to forgive is divine.
My advice for the Igboho I know: You’ve blunted the sword of the Fulani with your palm, they’re coming from the highest places to demystify you. Be prepared, talk less, issue press statements. Nigerians are on your side, and they’re watching.
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @tunde odesola
Twitter: @tunde_odesola
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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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