Oogun ‘alokunna’, the powdery concoction meant to end the life and reign of Wasiu, was already on the grindstone. The junior priest assigned to grind the ingredients was on his knees, his white loincloth tied securely at his waist.
He was about to begin the grind when a swift, smooth breeze blew away the leaf representing the breath and body of the Fuji Maestro. The junior priest scrambled to his feet. He knew something was amiss. That was also the point, the very instant King Wasiu Ayinde Marshall, K1, The Ultimate, ducked his head just in time to miss the dangerously pointed ‘nose’ of Value Jet last week.
You do not believe me? You think a widely travelled music star decided he could stop an aircraft with his small chest all on his own? Even if you agree, without conceding, that Wasiu was under the influence of something, why did he not start a fight, slap the ground staff (like Kwam 2) or even remove his shirt or threaten to ‘unbox’ his third leg? Why did he choose to dare the sharp wings of a plane set to take off? He could hear the engine running, feel the heat coming from it. Yet, in his church mind (or was it mosque mind), he concluded that he was star enough to stop a plane in its tracks. You still think it is ‘ordinary eye’? Think again, and again.
Olori Omo Oba Akile Ijebu — is that not the head of the princes of the Awujale, an heir apparent? Did the last Awujale, Oba Sikiru Adetona, not join his ancestors on July 13, 2025? Has KWAM 1 not been touted as a major contender to the throne? Did you not watch a trending video where he thumped his chest and pointed at himself as Awujale who could not be intimidated by Eluku, the dreaded deity of Ikorodu? Indeed, I have heard how it was a done deal, that Wasiu would soon ascend the throne of his forebears, albeit from people who had no proof. And then ‘they said’ he is the friend of the President. Poor Asiwaju — only God knows how his ears have not fallen off his head, considering the number of times we mention his name per second. But seriously, when an Oba joins his ancestors in Yorubaland, the dramatic conflagration that follows almost always leaves many charred or scarred or both. Only the Olubadan throne has found the permanent antidote.
When princes from all the ruling houses decide to test their popularity with Ifa and the kingmakers, everything is possible, including leaves flying off a grindstone and a royal son daring death in broad daylight. The fight for a royal stool is usually a fight to the finish. Now, imagine if that leaf had not escaped the grindstone and the beautiful Captain had continued taxiing as directed by the control tower, oblivious of objects in a blind spot attempting to stop it. I have refused to picture the gory sight — a swift slice, cracked bones, the blood, the commotion, the mess on the tarmac, the scandal.
Thank God for that timely breeze. Thank God that our enemies did not succeed in throwing us into another round of national mourning. Thank God that a star did not fall from the sky and a prince taken swiftly out of the equation. Today, we can all analyse the incident until we are hoarse because we are not analysing the fidau. Yes, it could have all ended in tragedy but it didn’t. Allahu Akbar. Even if you did not believe my narrative of how we arrived at the miracle, I am sure you believe the miracle itself — the miracle of life, of 11th-hour or last-minute intervention.
In the Yoruba pantheon, there are many gods and goddesses, and Esu (pronounced Eshu) is one of them. But no, he is not the one that took Eve out on a date and gave her the forbidden apple and caused God to curse Adam. He is also not the Saytan in the Qur’an. Esu in Yoruba cosmology is a god just like Amadioha and Ogun and Oya. He has worshippers who openly associate with him and propitiate him. Yes, he is renowned for tricky stuff, but he is also reputed for teaching the stubborn hard lessons. Indeed, he thrived, in his days, on making the stubborn suffer, after which he would now weep more than the bereaved.
Elekun nsunkun
Laaroye nseje.
When the hurt or bereaved is weeping tears, Esu Laaroye weeps blood — probably to empathise or mock or do everything at the same time. He definitely is a powerful and complex, mostly misunderstood deity. His primary assignment is that of a liaison between humans and the other gods, especially as a divine messenger between the Supreme Being, Olodumare, and Orunmila. However, this is not an African Traditional Religion (ATR) class and so there is neither space nor time to analyse how Esu does what he does. Let us just attempt to figure out if ‘Laalu Ogiri Oko’ was on the airport tarmac with KWAM 1 and Value Jet on the fateful day.
Esu, also known as Elegbara, is not simply a force of evil, but rather a complex figure who embodies both positive and negative potentials, often testing and challenging individuals to learn and grow, according to historical documents. Like all other deities, Esu has symbols of worship and taboos. Ogun is not propitiated with snake, Obatala hates palm wine. Nobody takes sheep as sacrifice to Osun. Esu, on his part, cannot stand black palm kernel oil (adi eyan), two-eye kolanuts (obi gbanja), dog, tortoise, and hot liquid.
The humans who know Esu know how to activate him. A prince who actually wants to become king should know and do certain things, make sure certain things do not happen. Me don’t think Wasiu Ayinde did everything he ought to have done if he truly was interested in becoming the next Awujale. If he blocked any loophole, they were the ones that kept the enemies away from his fame and music. The cracks in his princely wall are big enough for rodents, lizards, and even poisonous reptiles. The insurance that works on the stage and protects mics and top-grade musical equipment cannot stop those who want the throne of their fathers, especially one as desirable as Awujale’s.
So picture this: a desperate prince or a group of princes, determined to remove Wasiu Ayinde from the equation, decided to do what even the President or the Inspector-General of Police would not be able to legally trace to them. They bought a jar of adi eyan, palm kernel oil, seven pieces of obi gbanja, a black dog, a tortoise, and a flask of hot water, and took all these forbidden materials to the shrine of Esu. Then they delivered a message like this:
“Esu Laalu ooo,
We are the bosom friends of Olori Omo Oba Wasiu Ayinde.
You know he is a man of means.
He is also a brave man.
That is why he sent us with these materials to you.
He said there is nothing you can do to him.
We told him these are taboos.
He replied that his head is hard enough to carry the consequence.
So, Esu Laalu Ogiri Oko,
Onile Orita, we are ordinary messengers.
Do not be angry with us. Go on and be angry with Wasiu Ayinde.
Riran l’a ran wa wa.
Awa ko la ran ra wa.
Ase dowo eni to ran wa wa.”
(We were sent. The buck stops on the table of the one who sent us.)
When you feed a deity with taboo food and drink, death and affliction will be summoned to teach you a lesson. Are you following this or you still think Wasiu was so inebriated he did not know a moving plane would decapitate him if he stood in its path? Have you seen a mad dog so overwhelmed by its madness it walked into a fire? Bi aja ba nsinwin, a maa m’oju ina.
Anyway, message delivered, the determined princes must have gone back home to await the logical result of their sacrifice. If you ask me, the twin force of ‘efun, eedi, and asasi’ was on duty on that day.
In Yoruba language, eedi and asasi are concepts that refer to misfortune or negative outcomes. Eedi is misfortune that befalls an individual due to their own actions, while asasi is misfortune brought about by external forces or circumstances beyond one’s control. The two were working both in the cockpit and on the tarmac.
Or why else would a prince prefer a flask to his own life? But a wind blew and rescued Wasiu.
Hopefully, Wasiu has learnt his lessons.
Lesson 1: Die omokunrin ko to. A real man is more than his fine face, his talent, or ability to attract the most beautiful women.
Lesson 2: Never think you are smarter than those who are monitoring you. As far as our Fuji star was concerned, he is a made man with money, talent, and connections in the right places. Those monitoring him knew that too. They decided to test his real ‘manhood’ and it almost cost him his life.
Lesson 3: A boy who wants to compare the size and length of his manhood with his father’s does not yet know that a ‘pecker’ is not a penis. In the gathering of men, children do not speak; they sit and learn.
Lesson 4: The rain is still falling and you are saying it is not as heavy as yesterday’s; wait until it stops falling before you decide which was heavier. My word of advice here: those on the trail of Wasiu have probably gone back to restrategise; this season belongs to the rains; more rains can still fall. Until or unless he announces that he is not interested in that Ijebu throne, my Lesson 1 should be his guide.
Egbemode can be reached via egbemode3@gmail.com
