By every benchmark. We have no business belonging to their North. All odds are against us. We are not cut out for their North.
All indices that define a boundary do not work in our favour. Not even one bit. The list is legion. Talk of rivers, topography, mountains, hills, valleys, vegetation, et al.
Naturally, all these are more than sufficient. They effectively cut us far away from their North. What other proof? What other evidence
We ought to be comfortable with our kith and kin in the West. Not anywhere else. That’s what we earnestly desire. Not this crude, cruel injustice. We detest it like a pandemic!
Unfortunately, that’s where we are. We, the Yoruba in Kwara and Kogi states: Wanderers in their North. We are in a strange culture. With different sets of values. And we’re curious.
They labelled themselves the so-called core North. They beat their chest. Their North is exclusively theirs. And they behave explicitly and deceptively so. No qualms!
They take us for strangers, intruders. We aren’t moved or bothered a bit. Whether their North erroneously remains “monolithic.” Or breaks into countless pieces.
It’s our deliberate determination. And it’s in-built. Because they never for a moment cared for us in their old North. We yearn to be let out. To our tents.
We never ever desired to belong in their North. It’s a choice we chose from the beginning. We’re resolute, restless and restive. To stick to our guns to the end of time. We will not be weary. Nor tired. The end justifies the means.
Their North wasn’t ours and it will never be. We’re very conscious of this stark reality. Our being in their North is an anomaly. It’s awkward. It’s an “arrangee” from the pit of hell!
We don’t pretend. We’re their unwanted guests. We’re only to be used. And dumped at their crude convenience. They have done that many times over.
In those dark days of yore. They made us their chessboard. We were at their beck and call. At their wicked whims and caprices. We were merely made to add to their fake figures. And dubious numbers.
Over the years, we were crudely explored and brutally exploited. And to the very maximum. Our unforgotten hero was Chief Josiah Sunday Olawoyin, aka JS Olawoyin. In death, he remains the same.
He confronted them without fear. He was a thorn in their flesh. He did traumatise them. He inflicted endless nightmares on them. He was defiant, bold and brave. A rare combination. He was driven by his uncommon love for his people.
Olawoyin was our undisputed arrow-head in the old Northern Region. He knew almost all the jailhouses in their North. Courtesy, Premier Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto! Olawoyin was an irritant to him. He gladly made prison Olawoyin’s permanent abode.
Bello saw any flimsy excuse as a golden chance. He would violently fling Olawoyin into any prison of his choice. Be it in Sokoto, Maiduguri, Jos, et cetera.
But our Olawoyin wouldn’t wink or blink. He would not waver. He saw it as an opportunity to make a statement. He became more emboldened. He came out stronger at every jail outing. And he had so many to his credit.
That rattled his traducers the more. Nothing they did not try to win him over. They were desperate. They lured him to join Chief Sunday Bolorunduro Awoniyi in their camp. Sardauna particularly wanted him badly in his government. The hard stuff in Olawoyin would not compromise. He would not yield to deceit.
He had cherished antecedents: Olawoyin started as a ward councillor. He moved to the Northern Region House of Assembly in Kaduna. He was the opposition leader between 1956 and 1961. He opted to remain as that. And he did that to our delight.
Sardauna underrated Olawoyin. And he missed the point. He refused to be a black leg. He would not stab his people in the back. That’s not in his resilient character.
He turned down so many juicy offers. That got the feared Sarduna more infuriated and agitated. Olawoyin would not fail his people. They were the essence of the struggle.
He couldn’t risk betraying his leader, Chief Obafemi Awolowo. Abomination! Neither would he be disloyal to his party, Action Group (AG). Not even for a meal of hot porridge.
Olawoyin resisted their North all his lifetime. And he did all that for us. He never wanted us in their North; whether “monolithic” or not.
He wanted a distinct state for the old Ilorin/Kabba province. He even proposed Ilorin to remain the capital. The late Alhaji AGF Abdul-Razaq wholly bought into the idea. He was the father of the Governor of Kwara State, AbdulRaham AbdulRazaq.
That was during the 1979 electioneering. Olawoyin was flying the flag of the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN). Abdul-Razaq did the same for his Great Nigeria Peoples Party (GNPP).
Their aim was to be governor of the old Kwara State. None of the duo of like minds made it. Adamu Attah of the National Party of Nigeria (NPN) did.
Awoniyi was the exact opposite of Olawoyin. He was planted to spite Olawoyin. Ever identifying himself with their North. He was forever proudly “northern Nigerian.” That earned him the chairmanship of Arewa Consultative Forum (ACF). He held the post till death.
Strange? Not at all! He enjoyed it to the fullest. At a point. Sardauna adorned him with Secretary to the Executive Council of his government.
Wikipedia wrapped it up: “Awoniyi often held up the assassinated premier (Sardauna) as an example of good governance, and was known as ‘Sardauna Keremi’, or little Sardauna.”
We’re resolute in our resolve. Yes! We remain pellucid. We are clear in our minds. We never at anytime gave up, neither did we rest on our oars.
Several serious attempts were made to return us to our kith and kin. All were thwarted by our enemies. Both within and beyond. Those were the sad memories of our turbulent past. Unfortunately. We can’t ignore that ugly part of our chequered history. We dare not feign it never existed. We need it to negotiate and navigate the future.
We were first denied in 1952 through referendums. We had a good and impressive outing. The results sent chilling shivers to the camp of our oppressors.
The referendums were held in all the nooks and crannies of Ilorin/Kabba Province. No corner was left unreached. Including the remotest part of the province.
We wholeheartedly opted to be part of the enviable Western Region of Nigeria. There was no ambiguity in our decision. But the hawks and wolves would not let us be.
The British colonial government was mischievous. And it did us lifetime damage. It was monumental. The results of the referendums were secretly handed over to Tafawa Balewa and Nnamdi Azikwe in 1960.
This report succinctly captured the substance: “Being non-Yoruba but Prime Minister and Governor-General of Nigeria, respectively, denied the Yoruba people in Ilorin and Kabba their fundamental human right to be part of their kith and kin in Western Region of Nigeria.”
That was how we were frustrated by the powerful combined forces of the day. Nothing can placate us. We can’t be pacified either. It’s indelible in our sharp memory.
We find it extremely hard. Near impossible to forget. We would have been comfortably in the midst of our folks since the 1950s.
Another golden chance dropped on our laps in the 60s. That was the creation of 12 states. It happened on May 27, 1967. Three central states came out of that exercise.
One each from East, West and North. They were aptly christened: West Central, East Central and North Central states. Unfortunately, only West Central lost its name at infancy.
The two others grew to adulthood. They even became indigenous, original. East Central was rightly renamed Enugu State. North was correctly re-christened Kaduna State. General Murtala Mohammed made that happen very early in February 1976.
But West Central was lost to evil machinations and intrigues. It was dubbed Kwara State. Some say it is a Nupe word for “big river.” Referring to River Niger. There’s still hot contest on the real meaning.
Dr. Olusola Saraki and his ilk effected the name change. He launched an onslaught on us. We couldn’t understand why. He led a formidable team of Fulani irredentists. And they wrecked huge havoc on us. We’re always their preys.
They would want nothing good for us. They detested “their” state being tagged West Central. It pissed them off. It was nauseating to them.
Added to that “insult.” Then Lt-Col. David Bamigboye was appointed pioneer governor. That put salt to their festering injury. They carried their hot vexation to Dodan Barracks, Ikoyi, Lagos. The seat of the Federal Military Government (FMG).
They were expectedly backed by the Fulani oligarchy. They sought for change in name and governor. What a callous audacity!
Head of State, General Yakubu Gowon, couldn’t hold them back. He proffered a “middle-of-the-road” solution. He insisted Bamigboye was strictly on a military posting. And it’s signed, sealed and delivered!
Saraki’s team argued. Ilorin/Kabba Province was carved out of the North. Should it then be ceded to the West? They were baffled. It beat their understanding hollow. That Bamigboye, Yoruba (Igbomina) was made the first governor.
Gowon lost the military in him. He bought into their name change. He literally kowtowed. He generously offered them a second chance. He succumbed West Central was not it. Kwara is it!
Ever since. Yoruba in Kogi and Kwara have been in one accord. They align on state creation. They once mooted Oya State during the military era. This is informed by River Niger. Yoruba call it Odo Oya.
Don’t be deceived. Don’t be carried away. There was no time the North was one and monolithic. It was their hallucination. Borne out of sheer illusion. They were forced down our throats. And they breathed heavily on us.
Thank heavens we survived to tell our tale. We have escaped like a bird out of the fowler’s snare. The yoke has been broken. And we have escaped. Our help is in the name of the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
We clamour to be equally yoked with our brothers and sisters. They are in the West, corrupted as South West. For their selfish expedience.
It’s never for our convenience in any form. We were never contacted, consulted or convinced. Yet we were herded like cattle into their North.
The very reason restructuring is ever on our collective mind. Until the injustice is reversed. And the festering injuries healed completely. We won’t stop mouthing it. We are aware, it’s a Herculean task but quite surmountable.
We remain adamant. Their North is not in our DNA. And it can never be. No matter the frustrations. We keep on pushing and surging. Blood is far thicker than water. Yoruba blood runs in our veins. It’s thick and in “reckless” abundance.
It is gross injustice to lump us together with their North. We have our West thirsty to have us back home. They are waiting with bated breath.
The reason our sing-song will never cease. It’s restructuring. All the way. All the time. And at all times!
Shout it loud: We are proud to be wanderers in their North.