By joshua 
PRINCE OLATUNJI OLUSOJI SHOULD BE MINDFUL OF HIS DANCE SPEP TO THE RHYTHM OF THE TORTOISE
By Pastor Stanley Ajileye
The first time I told this story from my late grand mother, was in 2011, in my regular column in Kogi Agenda. It was written as a clear warning to the then governor of Kogi State, Captain Idris Wada, who had just assumed office. I cautioned him to beware of praise singers, whose seductive songs often sing leaders out of office after their first term. The warning was simple but prophetic. Captain Wada listened more to applause than to wisdom, and history recorded the consequences. Today, the once humble governor is still licking his wounds.
In 2019, I repeated the same story, this time as a warning to Kogi West elders. The caution was against falling prey to the empty promises of Alhaji Yahaya Bello, who was seeking support for a second term with assurances that power would be handed over to a Kogi West person afterward. I warned that such promises were nothing but Greek gifts, attractively wrapped but hollow inside. Again, the prophecy came to pass. Power was not handed to Kogi West. Instead, it was handed to his cousin.
History, it appears, enjoys repeating itself, especially when its lessons are ignored.
This time, my story is directed at our young Ayere, Ijumu born multimillionaire, Prince Olusoji.
The story itself is not originally mine. It is one I inherited from my late maternal grandmother, Deborah Jaiye, née Olutekunbi, fondly known as Deborah Kẹkẹ, of blessed memory.
I was in secondary school when Mama died in 1979 or 1980. My siblings, cousins, and I were very close to her, and she showered us with immeasurable love. As children, she taught us moonlight tales and rhymes that sharpened the intellect and disciplined the mind. Mama was my first teacher. In my preschool days, she taught me the famous Yoruba philosophical rhyme, “Ìṣẹ́ ni òògùn ìṣẹ́”, work is the cure for poverty, hard work the antidote to want. That lesson left an indelible mark on my life.
The Bible was Mama’s favourite literature. Through Eko Agba, adult education, she learned to read the Bible fluently at a time when my own reading ability was so limited that I called the letter “Y” a catapult and “?” a fishing hook. She taught us to memorise many scriptures, including “Emi yóò gbé ojú mi s’ori òkè wọ̀nni”, I will lift up my eyes unto the hills, from Psalm 121.
Mama had many goats. Whenever she slaughtered one, often when her last born, Joshua Olopa, appeared in his enviable police uniform, we were assured of goat head pepper soup. Sometimes, a goat meets its end under the wheels of Bedford or Austin lorries belonging to Alátakọ and Aliu (the two commercial lorry drivers that passed through our community at that time.)
I still remember, with nostalgia, how our big cousin, Aunty Alaba, compelled us to sing I K Dairo’s “I Remember My Darling” before food was served. Yet Mama never missed Psalms and moonlight tales.
One moonlight tale that has remained fresh in my memory is that of the Tortoise and the Elephant, made unforgettable by its haunting rhythm,
A ò merin jọba, Ẹrẹ̀kù ẹ̀wẹ̀lẹ̀
We are going to crown the elephant king, only for him to fall into a leafy trap.
The tale tells of a mighty elephant whose fame spread beyond the jungle into the kingdom of men, where he was acclaimed king of animals.
The tortoise, eaten up by envy, went to protest in the kingdom of men. He claimed he was the true king and that the elephant was merely his errand boy. To prove it, he promised to command the elephant to submit himself for suya if crowned king. The deal was sealed.
The tortoise returned to the jungle, praising the elephant lavishly and persuading him that arrangements had been made for his coronation as king of men. The elephant believed him and prepared royal regalia.
Unknown to him, the tortoise had instructed the men to dig a deep pit, cover it with a decorated mat, and place a throne nearby. On the appointed day, an orchestra sang the elephant to his doom,
A ò merin jọba, Ẹrẹ̀kù ẹ̀wẹ̀lẹ̀.
Dancing joyfully, intoxicated by praise, the elephant stepped forward and fell into the pit. Thus ended the reign of a mighty king who sold his honour cheaply to the sweet tongue of Ijapa Tírókò, Ọkọ Yànnìbọ̀, the crafty tortoise, master of deceit.
Now the prophetic song returns, this time for Prince Olusoji, who appears to have stepped onto a political dance floor, swaying to a deceptive rhythm capable of mortgaging his future. By openly condemning the agitation for power rotation to Kogi West in 2028, he has placed his wrong foot forward in a dangerous dance choreographed by deception and sustained by historical amnesia.
More troubling is the promissory note allegedly handed to him, that he would become governor of Kogi State after the eight years reign of Governor Ahmed Usman Ododo. That promise is eerily familiar. It is the same note issued to others before him, a note that history has consistently dishonoured. Such promises have expired values and no collateral.
This is a timely warning to Prince Olusoji, do not mortgage his political destiny on empty assurances. Political history in Kogi State is littered with the wreckage of those who danced to borrowed tunes. Wisdom demands that he quickly recalibrate his steps by aligning with the just, equitable, and widely supported call for power rotation to Kogi West in 2028.
Anything short of this risks turning him into yet another elephant, dancing blindly toward a decorated pit.
For now, the rhythm on my lips for Prince Olusoji remains,
A ò merin jọba, Ẹrẹ̀kù ẹ̀wẹ̀lẹ̀.
Beware of sweet songs that lead to traps.