The Awujale succession dispute has become a four-exit roundabout of petitions, government suspension, kingmaker uncertainty, and public suspicion. This essay argues for a lawful reset, stronger screening of the ruling house, and urgent intervention by Ijebu elders before delay weakens the throne’s legitimacy.
A Four-Exit Roundabout
The search for the next Awujale of Ijebuland has become a curious journey. The traveller has arrived at a four-exit roundabout, yet nobody appears certain which road leads to the palace. The road signs are blurred, the traffic wardens are arguing, and the passengers are increasingly suspicious. The destination remains visible, but the route has become the subject of endless controversy. What ought to have been a dignified transition from one reign to another has gradually evolved into a prolonged exercise in uncertainty.
First came reports that the Ilamuren Kingmakers had nominated five princes and forwarded their names to the Ogun State Government. Then came a swift denial from the Government itself, insisting that the selection process remains suspended and that the purported communication should be disregarded. The consequence is both unusual and unsettling. A throne is vacant, princes are waiting, petitions are flying, rumours are multiplying, and Government maintains that the process remains suspended. Meanwhile, Ijebuland waits.
What Is Government Looking For?
This naturally raises a fundamental question: what exactly is Government looking for? The selection of an Awujale is not an election regulated by INEC. There are no statutory campaign periods, no voters’ registers, and no constitutional deadlines. Yet there is also no wisdom in allowing one of the most important traditional institutions in Yorubaland to drift indefinitely in administrative limbo. Government originally justified the suspension on grounds of petitions, procedural irregularities, security concerns, and rising tensions. These are serious matters. No responsible government can ignore allegations capable of undermining the legitimacy of a monarch before he ascends the throne.
However, investigations are not pilgrimages without destinations. At some point, the people of Ijebuland are entitled to know whether Government is conducting a legal review, a security assessment, a reconciliation exercise, an investigation into allegations of corruption, or simply waiting for circumstances to become more convenient. The longer the silence persists, the louder speculation becomes. Some believe Government is interrogating the legal capacity of the Kingmakers. Others suspect that petitions challenging the composition and jurisdiction of the selection body are under examination. There are those who believe allegations of inducement and corruption have compelled closer scrutiny. All these concerns are legitimate.
Yet there is another concern that is equally important: Government must be careful not to create an Awujale in the image of Government. Traditional institutions derive authority from history, custom, and communal acceptance, while Government derives legitimacy from law and constitutional mandate. Both must cooperate, but neither should replace the other. An Awujale must emerge from a credible traditional process, not from the perception of political preference. A monarch may be installed by law, but he is sustained by legitimacy. Once the throne is perceived as an extension of Government, the institution begins to lose its moral weight.
Legality, Legitimacy, and the Five Names
That is why the reported nomination of five princes raises difficult questions. Was this an abdication of responsibility by the Kingmakers or a pragmatic response to a contaminated process? Reasonable arguments exist on both sides. On one hand, Kingmakers exist to select, not to shortlist endlessly. On the other hand, they may have been confronted with a process so burdened by petitions, suspicions, threats of litigation, lobbying, and factional interests that narrowing the field became a survival strategy rather than a failure of duty. Whatever the interpretation, one reality remains unavoidable: if Government ultimately selects one prince from several nominees, the question will arise — who truly selected the Awujale?
Legally, one may argue that the Kingmakers performed their function by reducing the field. Critics will argue that the decisive act was performed elsewhere. This is why legitimacy matters as much as legality. The late Oba Sikiru Kayode Adetona reigned for sixty-five remarkable years not only because the process was lawful, but because it was widely accepted. Institutions endure not merely because procedures are followed, but because outcomes command trust. That trust is now threatened by the persistent shadow of corruption allegations. Whether proven or speculative, the rumours have become part of the atmosphere. There are claims that some heads of ruling houses encouraged an excessive proliferation of aspirants, operating on the logic that the more seeds sown, the greater the harvest. The result is predictable: a process that should produce clarity now resembles a census of princes. Every branch produces a claimant, and every claimant believes destiny has issued him a personal invitation.
At different stages, the government itself reportedly intervened through security agencies amid allegations that the proverbial fried meat was finding its way to unintended destinations. In such an environment, suspicion becomes the dominant currency. Kingmakers now operate under intense public scrutiny. In such a climate, even ordinary lifestyle changes may be misread as evidence. A new vehicle, a renovated house, or a fresh coat of paint risks becoming “exhibit A” in the court of public opinion.
The Institutional Vacuum
Corruption, however, is only part of the problem. The deeper institutional challenge lies in the near-complete atrophy of the Osugbo institution. The political turbulence of the Second Republic created a lasting fracture between the Awujale stool and key traditional institutions, particularly the Osugbo and the Alagemo. Although the Awujale was restored after the collapse of that era, the institutional harmony that once defined the system never fully recovered. This loss has consequences. Traditionally, the Osugbo served as the judicial, moral, and constitutional intelligence arm of the kingdom. It was not decorative. It existed to provide balance, oversight, and institutional memory. Its diminished role has created a vacuum. Where such structures weaken, confusion does not merely appear — it expands.
A Reset Through the Ruling Houses
The way forward cannot lie in escalation. It must lie in refinement. The elders rightly say that when the head and the hands are already overburdened, wisdom seeks another way to carry the load. The present process is overloaded with candidates, allegations, and uncertainty. Insisting on the same structure while expecting a different outcome only deepens the impasse.
A reset, therefore, becomes necessary — not a collapse, but a recalibration. The four families within the Fusengbuwa Ruling House must first undertake their responsibility. Let each family screen, sift, and select. Let each present two candidates and no more. Eight names are easier to evaluate than eighty. Even sacred processes lose coherence when overloaded beyond their design. Ifa should not be burdened with administrative impossibilities disguised as tradition.
From that refined pool, properly constituted Kingmakers — possessing full statutory authority, legal competence, and unquestionable jurisdiction — can perform their role. This legal clarity is essential. A throne cannot be stable if its selection process is vulnerable to judicial reversal. Tradition must be strong enough to command respect, and law must be firm enough to defend it.
Where Are the Elders of Ijebuland?
Yet there is one final question that may be the most uncomfortable of all. Where are the elders of Ijebuland? Why does the response to this prolonged uncertainty appear so muted? Governor Dapo Abiodun recently attended the magnificent Ojude Oba celebrations. The horses galloped, the regberegbes dazzled, the drums thundered and the cameras rejoiced. Yet there was no visible sense of urgent approach regarding the vacant throne. One would have expected that an issue touching the soul of Ijebuland would command at least as much attention as the spectacle celebrating its heritage.
Indeed, one cannot help but notice a certain irony. The same enthusiasm with which many of our revered Chiefs and elders ordered their magnificent agbada girike, polished their coral beads and prepared their neck-to-feet chains for the splendour of Ojude Oba ought to have been replicated in the pursuit of a resolution to the Awujale succession impasse. There is nothing wrong with celebrating our culture. Ojude Oba remains one of the finest expressions of the dignity, elegance and collective pride of the Ijebu people. Yet culture is not sustained by pageantry alone. The true test of leadership is not how splendidly one appears at a festival, but how steadfastly one defends the institutions that make the festival possible.
After all, chieftaincy titles are not ornamental decorations to be displayed on festive occasions, nor are they merely badges conferring bragging rights and social prestige. They carry heavy responsibilities. Every title derives its significance from the institution that created it, and when the very stool from which those honours flow is confronted by uncertainty, silence becomes difficult to justify. The pedestal that hosts the titles deserves at least as much attention as the titles themselves. One would have expected the same energy devoted to attire, ceremonies and horse-riding processions to be devoted to seeking audiences, building consensus, resolving disputes and pressing for clarity from Government. For if the palace is weakened, the splendour of the courtyard eventually fades with it.
One is reminded of the famous story of the late Otunba Subomi Balogun, who reportedly seized the flowing garment of a visiting Vice-President at a church service in pursuit of a banking licence. Whether embellished by time or not, the story captures the spirit of a generation that understood that public causes required personal intervention. They knew that there are moments when protocol must yield to purpose. Would it be unreasonable for a delegation of our respected chiefs, professionals, industrialists and elder statesmen to seek a definitive audience with the Governor? Would it be excessive to carry the concerns of Ijebuland to the President in Abuja if necessary? Would Chief Obafemi Awolowo have remained silent? Would Ogbeni Oja Timothy Adeola Odutola? Would Chief Samuel Olatubosun Sonibare? Would Chief Emmanuel Okunowo? Would the indomitable Otunba Michael Olasubomi Balogun have been content to wait endlessly for official statements? One suspects not. Perhaps this is the core issue. Not the absence of a king, but the absence of urgency. History is rarely kind to spectators. Institutions are not preserved by admiration alone, but by intervention.
Before the Destination Fades
Ultimately, the danger is not merely taking the wrong exit at the roundabout. It is remaining too long at the roundabout until the memory of the destination begins to fade. If the Awujale stool matters to Ijebuland, then Ijebuland must be seen to matter to the Awujale stool. Only then will the road signs begin to make sense again.
In the end, institutions endure not because they are perfect, but because they are protected with clarity, courage, and collective responsibility. Where confusion has crept in, wisdom must be restored; where suspicion has grown, trust must be rebuilt; and where delay has overstretched patience, lawful decisiveness must return.
Ijebuland has never lacked men of honour, nor tradition strong enough to guide succession. What is required now is not noise, but alignment; not rivalry, but refinement; not paralysis, but purposeful movement toward resolution. If all stakeholders — Government, Kingmakers, ruling houses, and the wider Ijebu nation — embrace restraint and sincerity, the exit from the roundabout will reveal itself, and the palace will once again stand at the end of a clear road.
And so, in hope and in continuity, one can only pray:
“Osi Ijebu a gbe dede eni o.”
PABIEKUN (Pabiekun.com)
