Wasiu Ayinde: The shame of a nation (2) - Newstrends
Connect with us

Opinion

Wasiu Ayinde: The shame of a nation (2)

Published

on

Tunde Odesola
Tunde Odesola

Wasiu Ayinde: The shame of a nation (2)

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, August 22, 2025)

Welcome, the ancient Land of Akoko beckons, where man lived in peace with nature until the day when the king, OlúfimoÀkókó, decided to let his wife into the secrets of Orò, forgetting the stern warning, “A woman is free to partake in Egúngúnfestival, she is free to partake in Gèlèdé festival, but the day she sets her eyes on Orò, she’s doomed!” Juju music legend, King Sunny Ade, amplifies this forewarning in his 1974 chart-bursting album, ‘E Kilo F’omo Ode’, crooning, “Awo egúngúnl’obirin le se, awo gèlèdé l’obirin le mo, b’obirin f’oju d’oro, oro a gbe! E kilo f’omo ode…”

Anyone who commits an unprecedented abomination, his eyes will witness an unexampled calamity, goes a Yoruba proverb captured thusly, ‘Eni ba se ohun ti enikan o se ri, oju re a ri ohunti enikan o ri ri’. Wasiu Ayinde’s ignominy at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja, was not a solitary case in the history of infamy. By its sheer repulsiveness, Wasiu’s àsàkasà ranks alongside the desecration of royalty by Oba Olúfimo Àkókó, a long time ago, when the eyes were at the knees.

But let’s be clear; the eyes were never located on the knees, literally. ‘When the eyes were at the knees’ is an imagery that explains the limited view, the eyes can see if they are embedded in the knees, as opposed to how far they can see when they are socketed in the head. ‘When the eyes were at the knees’ is a Yoruba expression which means ‘when there was little awareness’.

So, the story of Olúfimo Àkókó and his clingy wife, as documented in the Ifa corpus by Orunmila, dates back to ‘time immemorial’, with ‘time immemorial’ being the white man’s equivalent of ‘when the eyes were at the knees’.

According to the story rendered to me by the one and only Awise Agbaye, Prof. Wande Abimbola, the wife of Oba Olúfimo Àkókó knelt before the throne, saying, “My lord, I wish to know how the egúngún metamorphoses in the grove.” The bewildered king screamed, “Ha! No! Never! No woman sees the robing and the derobing of the egúngún. Èwò! Abomination!”

But the queen won’t take no for an answer. “Please, my lord,” she begged, cringing on her knees and blinking tears away from her eyes. For a minute, time and air froze between the king and the queen. “Uhmm!,” the kabiyesi exhaled, tilting his head to the left in thought as his horsetail sashayed in his right hand.

READ ALSO:

“Okay, my queen. You will hide in my footstool. From there, you can watch the egúngún metamorphosis,” the king said. “Thank you, my king,” the happy queen rolled on the floor to the right and the left, in gratitude.

As planned, the ruler hid his queen in the footstool and placed his feet on it. The atmosphere was charged as different shades and sizes of egúngún sprouted in the grove and stormed out to the delight of the ‘moríwo’, egúngún adherents. The queen watched how the ‘visitors from heaven’ chanted and sang in guttural voices while performing the rites of passage from the grove to the outer world.

Paje-Polobi is an amazing egúngún in Oyo. Its chief priest, the Alagbaa, shouted, “Paje-Polobi o o o o!” The egúngún burst forth in its colourful attire, running and jumping, chasing and dancing…out of the grove. One after the other, various egúngúnemerged from the grove. Alapansanpa was resplendent, so also was Oloolu, followed by Ologbojo, a most fearsome egúngún.

No matter how long the egúngún festival lasts, the child of the Alágbáà will eventually return to eating cornmeal. So, the festival came and went. And, Akokoland looked forward to the egúngún festival next year, even as the incoming Oro festival looms around the corner.

The Akoko queen had long fancied the Oro festival. So, she went to the king and poured out her heart’s desire, cooing in soft tones the sagas that mythify Akoko in honour and glory. “Impossible!” the king boomed, “No woman sees the Oro!” The queen whimpered, “My lord, no one saw me in the grove of egúngún; how can anyone see me in the grove of Oro when I’m inside the protection of your footstool?”

“Woman, pray, this endeavour won’t kill you,” the king blurted out, “Ok, we’ll repeat the egúngún tactics.” “Thank you, my lord,” the daredevil smiled, eyed the king flirtatiously and sang his panegyrics.

The Oro deity is chauvinistic and patriarchal. On the first night of the Oro festival, spirits and gods are evoked to commune with the sons of man. In the custom of the grove, young oros engage in call-and-response chants. The first oro booms, “Ewe meje-meje ni ege ni! (Cassava has seven leaves)” But, instead of the chant reverberating in and outside the grove, it hardly left the mouth of the oro. “What is going on?” Oro disciples began to wonder. A second oro chants, “Ewe meje-meje ni…,” but the second oro couldn’t finish the chant. Clearly, something was amiss. The third Oro burst into the chant, “Ewe me…,” and stopped abruptly like a rat caught in a gum trap.

READ ALSO:

The gods are angry. The chief priest rose, looked up and down, and brought out his kola nuts for divination. He threw them on the ground. None looked up. “There’s an intruder in the grove,” he declared. Wizened with age and wisdom, the chief priest sang, “Baye ba ye won tan, iwa ibaje ni won n wu. O difa fun Olufimo Akoko ti o fi aya re mo oro, a pe ita, ita o je, a pe oro, oro o mi titi; e jeka ye inu apere oba wo, e je a ye inu apere oba wo. Translation: When they become successful, they begin to misbehave. This is the Ifa tale of Olufimo Akoko, who showed the secret of Oro to his wife; we called ‘ita’, ita didn’t respond, we called oro, oro didn’t vibrate – let’s look into the footstool of the king!)

Therefore, the footstool was flung open. The queen was brought out. A sword was unsheathed before her eyes, but she never lived to see it sheathed – ‘won ti oju e yo ida, won ti eyin e kiibo’.

Abimbola, a former vice chancellor of Obafemi Awolowo University, concludes in Yoruba, “Wasiu has become successful; he is now misbehaving. When you become successful, you should be careful. The plane would have cut his head off like the wife of Olufimo Akoko was beheaded. May our land not witness evil. Wasiu should be careful.”

What is in a name? Wasiu calls himself Arabambi, a name similar to Olubambi, the name of Sango, the Yoruba god of thunder and lightning, whose death was wrapped in mystery and controversy. Some say Sango committed suicide by hanging, but some say he never did. Abimbola said, “It’s a lie. Sango never committed suicide. It’s not in the Ifa corpus. The lie that he committed suicide was spun by the Anglican Mission to malign the memory of Sango. Sango’s name was not Arabambi; he was Olubambi.”

Well, Wasiu is a music icon and cultural asset to Nigeria, but may he not use his hands to undo himself, I pray. I say this prayer because a psychoanalysis of Wasiu’s actions reveals an expert in the art and science of arrogance and bootlicking. In the video of his disrespectful telephone conversation with President Tinubu, Wasiu put his left hand behind him – a sign of respect – when he talked to the President respectfully, using the pronoun ‘e’, but he put the same hand in his pocket when he talked to the President disrespectfully, using the pronoun ‘o’, like he was talking to his band boy.

READ ALSO:

In his unbashful character, Wasiu, in an old video, boasted on stage that he could stop a traveller from landing at the Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Lagos: “Emi gangan, walahi, ti n ba ni o ni de Murtala, o le wo Murtala; eniti o mo oba lo n fi oba sere o.” Jatijati.

The conciliatory way the police, NCAA, FAAN and Keyamohandled Wasiu’s case, in contrast to the way authorities hurriedly bundled the daughter of a nobody, Emmanson, into prison, paints the picture of tigers tearing at the godfatherlessand a pride of lions caressing a bull. The Federal Government’s appointment of Ayinde as aviation security ambassador without the conclusion of the investigation amounts to an abuse of justice.

Some argue that Wasiu should not be brought to justice because he had tendered an apology. If an apology were the price for freedom for offenders, there would be no convicts in Nigerian prisons. R. Kelly and P. Diddy, by music achievements and success, are far better than Wasiu. But they are behind bars in the US today for criminal offences. If ‘I’m sorry’ could fetch them freedom, both would churn out Grammy-winning monster hits. If ‘I’m sorry’ could fetch ex-CBN Governor, Godwin Emefiele, freedom, the 64-year-old banker would use numbers to write “I’m sorry”. Despite saying sorry, the troublemaking singer, Portable, was arrested and made to pay fines when he beat up Ogun State environmental officials. He also corrected the building infraction he committed.

With a brand of Fuji relying more on beats than pearls of wisdom, Wasiu has endeared Fuji to the younger generation who prefer form to substance, but with his airport show of shame, he has dragged Fuji into the mud of shame.

Can Wasiu ever change? I doubt it. In his first show after the meltdown, Wasiu, in a most unrepentant manner, referenced the airport saga as ‘isele kekere’ (a minor incident), in a song in which he was begging for forgiveness. To say Wasiu cannot replicate his Abuja dishonourable display in countries such as the US, UK, Canada, etc., is far-fetched. He cannot do such in the Republic of Benin. I doubt if he could do that in Anambra, Abia, Rivers, etc. Cowards bully in their areas of influence.

One thing still beats me in all of this Fuji House of Commotion; it is the shocking realisation that some passengers on the Value Jet plane have not come together to file a class action lawsuit against Wasiu for endangering their lives. If I were on that plane, I would personally and jointly sue Wasiu, who needs to be taught a lesson.

Can Wasiu ever change? Yes, when the cock grows teeth.

* Concluded.

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

////////////////////////////////////////

NB: This column goes on a break from next week.

See you!

Wasiu Ayinde: The shame of a nation (2)

Opinion

El Rufai’s Arise News mind game with Ribadu, By Farooq Kperogi

Published

on

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

El Rufai’s Arise News mind game with Ribadu, By Farooq Kperogi

Nasir El-Rufai claimed in his interview with Arise News that someone intercepted and recorded his former friend Nuhu Ribadu’s phone call in which Ribadu allegedly instructed El-Rufai’s arrest.

He acknowledged the illegality of the act but said the government had used similar methods against him.

My strong suspicion is that El-Rufai is merely playing mind games. It is operationally improbable that a serving NSA, with all the personnel and paraphernalia available to him, would issue a sensitive directive of that nature over an unsecure call. I would bet my bottom dollar that the claim is made up.

Still, the allegation serves powerful and artful rhetorical warfare purposes, which El-Rufai appears to have calculatedly designed. If authorities pursue action based on his admission of illegal interception, critics may interpret this as indirect validation of his story, thereby injuring Ribadu’s professional competence and judgment.

In other words, arresting El-Rufai for admitting that he illegally obtained help to intercept and listen in on the NSA’s call could authenticate his claim, which I strongly suspect is manufactured for psychological warfare, and portray the NSA as vindictive and unprofessional for supposedly relaying sensitive information through insecure means.

READ ALSO:

By admitting to the illegality of the interception, he is begging to be apprehended to give an indirect stamp of legitimacy to what I suspect is an intentionally strategic fib.

But if authorities ignore the claim, some observers may assume it is true. Silence in this context could be construed as consent.

At the same time, if the NSA’s office issues a public denial, El-Rufai could plausibly commission AI tools to generate a voice call mimicking the NSA’s voice. Convincing AI-generated voice simulations are no longer difficult to produce, and people’s gullibility seems to be at an all-time high.

Finally, El-Rufai’s remarks may also be designed to induce paranoia within Ribadu’s inner circles. Suggesting that someone taped the NSA implies that either close associates of his or elements within the SSS are monitoring him on behalf of adversaries. That kind of insinuation can foster a crippling persecution complex.

Of course, if Ribadu issued no such order, or communicated only through secure channels, he would simply laugh off El-Rufai’s claim as a wily but unsuccessful mind game from a former friend who’s still hurting from his unexpected exclusion from the orbit of power.

El-Rufai’s ultimate objective, however, appears to be to cultivate public sympathy ahead of his scheduled appearance at the EFCC on Monday while simultaneously attempting to psychologically unsettle his adversaries. Interesting times!

El Rufai’s Arise News mind game with Ribadu, By Farooq Kperogi

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

Continue Reading

Opinion

Oshiomhole: Behold the 13th disciple of Christ

Published

on

Tunde Odesola
Oshiomhole: Behold the 13th disciple of Christ
Tunde Odesola
(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, February 13, 2026)
Friday, February, 13, 1976: A libidinous soldier, Lieutenant-Colonel Buka Suka Dimka, waited in ambush for a black Mercedes-Benz, counting down to the zero hour, caressing his gun, ready for the whistle from death. Dimka was not alone. He was in company with fellow coupists and treasonable felons.
Today, Friday, February 13, 2026, marks exactly 50 years since assassin bullets pierced the unarmoured body of the black Benz to pierce the body of the Nigerian Head of State, General Murtala Ramat Muhammed, seated at the back of his official car, snaking its way through Lagos traffic. That was a period when Nigerian Heads of State commuted in just one official car; no convoy, no siren, no madness.
It was a death most gruesome for the 37-year-old General, bubbling with life by 8a.m, stone-dead by nine. His aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Akintunde Akinsehinwa, and driver, Sergeant Adamu Michika, were killed in the Dimka-led ambush on George Road, Ikoyi, Lagos, en route to their Dodan Barracks place of work.
The gunshots pumped into Murtala were still echoing when the coup bit the dust. His body had not gone cold when federal forces rose to quench the coup. Dimka’s comrades-in-harms, Minister of Defence, Major-General I.D. Bisalla; the first military Governor of defunct Benue-Plateau State, police commissioner Joseph Gomwalk; Major Ibrahim Rabo, Captain M. Parvwang, Lieutenant William Seri, and 32 others were rounded up, tried, tied to the stakes and shot. An eye for an eye. A bullet for a bullet.
But Dimka fled Lagos, the scene of his crime, and headed to the East, his newfound refuge, to live in subterfuge. To book hotel accommodation, Dimka shed his lieutenant-colonel khaki and wore the garb of a faceless Mr C Godwin. If Dimka could kill Murtala on the eve of Valentine’s Day, only God knows what he did on Lovers’ Day, as he was caught on May 5, 1976, with a prostitute in Afikpo at a police checkpoint when fleeing to Cameroon.
Before escaping through the toilet window when he suspected police presence, Dimka holed up at Friendship Hotel, smoking, drinking and cooling his hot blood off in the bosom and thighs of luscious daughters of Eve. Cold blood needs warm blood.
READ ALSO:
What kind of man would kill on the eve of Valentine’s Day and cuddle Eves on Valentine’s Day? Ha! Dimka got balls. Some men do. What must have been going through Dimka’s mind, watching and listening to reports of his coup and his manhunt, while he sipped beer and kissed and caressed? Daylight coldbloodedness.
On February 3, 2026, as the alleged dalliance of the representative of Edo-North senatorial district in the National Assembly, Senator Adams Aliyu Oshiomhole, shook the internet, I hissed at the ignorance of Nigerians who rose in anger, calling for his head.
I hissed because a lot of those stomping on social media streets against Osho Baba are hypocrites ready to trade places with the husband of Lara Fuentes, the Cape Verdean model he married in 2015 after the death of his beautiful wife, Clara, who led him to Christ, and purportedly adopted a Christian name, Eric, upon conversion. Sadly, Clara lost a battle with breast cancer in 2010, aged 54.
Oshiomhole is a man of moral rhymes. From Clara in 2010 to Lara in 2015, there was a period of five long years. So, the born-again Eric waited five long years before looking another woman in the eye. That was honour. That was respect. That was fidelity. How many Nigerian men can wait that long? How many Nigerian septuagenarians are as hot as the ex-defender of the masses? How many possess his handsome looks? How many possess his fit and proper body? When you see Oshiomhole in the gym, you will know he is on a mission.
Dimka dimmed the light of Nigeria’s governance in 1976, throwing the nation into darkness. Despite all of the manhunt and national uproar against his action, however, he remained ensconced in carnal cares, nourishing his whims and the stiffness of his phallus. Some other leaders wouldn’t make it out of Lagos, let alone go as far as Afikpo. But Dimka did with aplomb. That was the hallmark of grit and greatness, something missing in today’s Nigerian leadership.
Although Osho Baba has come out to rebut the viral video displaying his image massaging the foot of a South African goddess, ‘adult content creator’ and ‘professional sugar baby’, Lashaan Dagama, I would have advised against such a move because I know some nosy Nigerians would run veracity checks on the controversial 30-second video.
READ ALSO:
Here’s the finding of an online newspaper, The Whistler, which deployed multiple deepfake detection tools to determine the authenticity of the love-in-the-air video shot aboard a luxury aircraft thousands of feet above a grounded country, whose citizens grope in darkness on empty stomachs amid worsening insecurity. The tools deployed by The Whistler included Deepware Scanner, Zhuque AI Detection Assistant, AU Video Detector, Sight Engine, and Hive AI Deepfake Detection.
The Whistler did a story on its multiple checks. Please, read: “These tools analysed for visual artefacts (such as hand/finger inconsistencies, lip-sync mismatch, unnatural facial blending, or lighting errors), audio patterns, metadata inconsistencies, and provenance signals.
“The scans showed no detectable hallmarks of generative AI manipulation, with high confidence scores indicating the video is authentic footage rather than synthetically created or significantly altered by current AI video generation methods.”
The report returned with a verdict which dismissed Oshiomhole’s AI claim as false, stressing that “the claim that the video is AI-generated lacks supporting evidence and is contradicted by the woman’s public response implying the event occurred, the absence of detectable AI artefacts in the clip, and results from deepfake detection tools confirmed no signs of AI generation or manipulation.”
Do not compare Dimka with Oshiomhole, please; one is a soldier, the other is a democrat. One is a killer, the other is a caresser. One gripped the trigger; the other groped a foot. One exfoliated life; the other moisturised it. Please, do not compare apples with oranges.
But the coping mechanism and survival strategy of Dimka is a lesson in military adaptability, just as Oshiomhole’s transfiguration should be a topic of interest to students of Nigerian politics. Adams transmutation from a poor background in Iyamho, near Auchi, working as a textile hand, joining textile politics before emerging as the President, Nigeria Labour Congress, demanded great coping capacity, courage and consistency.
In February 1999, Oshiomhole rose to labour peak at the dawn of Nigeria’s Fourth Republic, leading the NLC to national greatness and acceptability, organising government-shaking rallies to protest lack of electricity, fuel price hike, rising food costs, and harsh economic policies – all on behalf of an applauding masses. By the time he completed two terms in 2007, Oshiomhole had done more than enough to engrave himself in the hearts of Nigerians who spread palm fronds on the ground for the donkey-riding Messiah on his way to the Edo State Government House.
READ ALSO:
Even while he was Governor of Osun State between 1999 and 2003, the Baba Isale of the All Progressives Congress, Chief Bisi Akande, had called Oshiomhole names when labour idealism looked politics in the eye. Since crossing over to politics, however, Oshiomhole seems to have acquired 3D glasses which beautify ugly spectacles. He now dines at the same table with Akande, on whose face sits a plastered smile.
If I were in the inner caucus of Osho Baba, I would have told him to damn the naysayers and encouraged him to strut on the runway, exhibiting his 73-year-old masculinity, locking his hands up in a flex, like Mr Universe. I would have sincerely told him that the lovey-dovey Dagama video was a big opportunity to set Nigerian eyes ogling and tongues wagging, distracting the masses from the existential issues of poverty, insecurity, electricity, homelessness, waterlessness, healthlessness and schoollessness. I would have urged the Comrade to treat the foot massage issue like Sage Bola Tinubu described power, saying, “Osho Baba, a model as beautiful as Lashaan Dagama is not served a la carte, you should own her, fight for her, grab her, snatch her and run with her.”
Lady Dagama lives her life on online street. She knows the potential damage her silence on Oshiomhole’s disclaimer could do to her brand, hence her annoyance over the rebuttal was understandable. For an adult content creation business driven by flesh and personage, Osho Baba was a large fish caught by Dagama’s hook, so the attempt to wriggle off the hook made her burst out in frustration, “Your senator is the problem; go, be mad at him, not me.” She went a mile further to proclaim her truth, saying, “The video wasn’t AI, but okay, believe your senator,” when the former APC national chairman maintained the video was AI-generated.
For the multitude ignorantly calling for the head of Oshiomhole because he dedicated precious time and energy to Dagama’s beautiful foot, here are the Yoruba and the Jewish worldviews on foot. In their wisdom, the Yoruba say the head and the feet are interconnected. They affirm the interconnectivity in this proverb, “Ori wo ibo rere gbe mi ya, ese wo ibi rere gbe re.” Thus, it is the belief of the Yoruba that the head and the legs are capable of taking an individual to a fortunate or unfortunate place.
The Yoruba, they are never done; they also say, “Adiye kii ti ibi ese ku,” meaning: the chicken never dies from an injury to its feet.” This is why you never see a chicken walking on a prosthesis. No matter the severity of its leg injury, you will see the chicken hobbling on, at least, one foot, but certainly not with crutches. Oshiomhole understands Yoruba. He knows the curative powers of long, sexy legs. He knows. He knows. He knows.
READ ALSO:
The spartan-looking comrade emerged general secretary of the National Union of Textile Garment and Tailoring Workers of Nigeria in 1982, a time when over 450,000 textile workers ran the 180 mills across the country. Today, the mills have thinned down to about 20. I’m sure Oshiomhole cannot be happy with this shameful decline because he was at the helm of labour affairs when Nigeria was good, and he is at the corridor of power now that Nigeria is bad.
For a born-again Christian about to climb the 74th year on life’s almanac, Osho Baba reads his Bible diligently, fully aware this world is not his home, he’s just a pilgrim. Despite eyeing heaven, Oshiomhole is also as wise as the serpent and as gentle as a dove – two biblical injunctions necessary to dominate and conquer the earth. Oshiomhole is the serpent; he is also the dove. But he is only following biblical commandments.
Osho Baba worships God in deed and in truth. He believes in Jesus Christ as his personal lord and Saviour. The way he placed Dagama’s foot gently on his lap and anointed it with alabaster oil shows that he has read and missed nothing in the story of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.
In ancient Jewish tradition, foot washing symbolises respect, honour, hospitality, service, purification and humiliation. Servants or juniors are expected to wash the feet of their masters or superiors. But Jesus changed the social order when he, the Master, washed the feet of his disciples, including the treacherous Judas Iscariot, to teach unconditional love. So, the former labour lion is punctual in church. He knows the feet-washing story, and he wants to go to heaven. So, what is wrong with him washing the feet of Dagama to fulfil all righteousness and earn a place in paradise?
Still talking Jewish tradition. A woman described as a sinner washed the feet of Jesus during a banquet. Some Bible scholars have come to identify her as Mary Magdalene, while some call her Mary of Bethany. The act is recorded in the Books of Luke 7:36-50 and John 12: 1-8. Here is St John’s version: “Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive oil; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.” Mary washed Jesus’ feet with her tears, wiped them with her hair, kissed them, and anointed them with alabaster oil. Now, Nigerians who want to see Oshiomhole in paradise must tell him to produce the full, unedited, un-AI-ed version of his encounter with Dagama. They must ask if he washed, shed tears, kissed and anointed Dagama’s foot. Oshiomhole is bald; otherwise, I would have urged his teeming supporters to ask if he wiped Dagama’s foot with his hair.
And I did not see Dagama’s shoes on the floor. I wonder where she flung them. I had thought ‘bata’ was a Yoruba word for shoes. This was until I discovered that a Czechoslovakian footwear company, Bata Shoe Company, set foot in Nigeria in 1932. So, I looked up the history of Bata in the Czech Republic. Google dumped pages of history on my lap. It says, “In the Czech Republic, Bata is a renowned, historic brand of shoes and apparel founded in Zlín in 1894 by siblings Tomas, Antonín, and Anna Bata. Bata is considered a household name in the Czech Republic, synonymous with shoes.”
With its factory in Ojota, Lagos, Bata Shoe Factory was to later open retail outlets across the country. Where are Dagama’s shoes, Senator Oshiomhole? As you ponder providing an answer to this question, Your Excellency, permit me I ask another: as Chairman, Senate Committee on Interior, and a former general secretary of the National Union of Textile, Garment and Tailoring Workers of Nigeria, why is it difficult to establish a shoe-manufacturing company in the country?
I love you, Comrade-Senator. I love you with the love of God. I know you know the love of God is also called agape love. Being from humble beginnings like our Lord Jesus Christ, however, I wish to sing you a song by ghetto boy, Daddy Showkey. I’m sure you will remember the song, and you will love it.
“If you see Adamso, Hosanna
Tell am say o, Hosanna
I dey Igbajo, Hosanna
I no get problem, Hosanna
E get one women, Hosanna
Her name na Lashaan, Hosanna
Oh, Lashaan baby, Hosanna
Oh, Lashaan baby, Hosanna
Lashaan fine well, well, Hosanna
I say she fine well, well, Hosanna
Oh Lashaan baby, Hosanna
Oh Lashaan baby, Hosanna
Adamso carry Lashaan, Hosanna
E put am for jet, Hosanna
E rub im leg o, Hosanna
E sweet am well-well, Hosanna
Naija pipu come vex, Hosanna
Dem vex for Adamu, Hosanna
Dem vex for Dagama, Hosanna
Dem vex for dem, Hosanna
Naija pipu ask Adamu, Hosanna
Why im kari woman, Hosanna
When Naija no smile, Hosanna
Adamu deny, Hosanna
Dagama come vex, Hosanna…
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola

Oshiomhole: Behold the 13th disciple of Christ

Continue Reading

Opinion

AFCON 2025: Flipping Content Creation From Coverage to Strategy 

Published

on

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

Continue Reading
HostArmada Affordable Cloud SSD Shared Hosting
HostArmada - Affordable Cloud SSD Web Hosting

Trending