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Beyond Politics: The Adeleke Model of Family Wealth, Loyalty, Influence and the Architecture of Generational PowerJide A...
08/17/2026

Beyond Politics: The Adeleke Model of Family Wealth, Loyalty, Influence and the Architecture of Generational Power

Jide Adesina | 1stafrika.com

In Nigeria, politics is often discussed as though it exists in isolation from business, family, culture, social networks and capital. That is one of the great analytical mistakes in understanding how power actually works.

Political power rarely survives on votes alone. Economic power rarely survives on money alone. And family wealth rarely survives simply because one generation became rich. The most durable families understand something deeper: wealth must eventually be converted into institutions, relationships, reputation, knowledge, social capital and, where appropriate, political influence. That is the architecture through which money becomes generational power.

The Adeleke family offers an unusually interesting case study of this phenomenon—not because every interpretation of the family’s activities is necessarily correct, but because the family sits at an extraordinary intersection of business, entertainment, education, philanthropy, social influence and Nigerian politics.

The story is therefore much bigger than Governor Ademola Adeleke’s dancing, the political career of the late Senator Isiaka Adeleke, the industrial wealth of Dr. Adedeji Adeleke or the global celebrity of David Adeleke, popularly known as Davido. Taken together, these personalities demonstrate how different forms of capital can reinforce one another across generations.

Dr. Adedeji Adeleke’s business career is particularly important to understanding this equation. His interests through Pacific Holdings have extended into areas including energy and education, while Pacific Energy has become an important participant in Nigeria’s power-generation industry. In 2025, he announced completion of a 1,250-megawatt power plant in Ondo State, a project reported to be valued at approximately $2 billion and awaiting gas-grid connection before commercial generation. 

That distinction matters because serious generational wealth is rarely built around one asset.

A family that owns a successful company may become wealthy. A family that builds businesses, educational institutions, professional networks, public reputation and political relationships has created something much more durable: an ecosystem of influence.

That is the difference between having money and understanding capital.

Money can buy a house. Capital can buy a company.

But social capital can open a door that money cannot easily open. Political capital can influence the environment in which businesses operate. Intellectual capital can prepare the next generation to manage institutions. Cultural capital can give a family visibility and legitimacy. And institutional capital can preserve the family’s influence long after the original entrepreneur is gone.

This is where the Adeleke phenomenon becomes politically fascinating.

The Family Is Bigger Than the Politician

Ademola Adeleke should not be examined merely as a governor who entered politics and subsequently became one of Nigeria’s most recognizable political personalities.

His political story sits inside a much older family narrative.

The Adeleke family already possessed political history before Ademola became governor. The late Isiaka Adeleke served as governor of Osun State and later as a senator. Ademola eventually followed into the governorship, while Adedeji Adeleke built a major private-sector enterprise. The family therefore represents a convergence of political inheritance, entrepreneurial capital and cultural visibility. 

This is precisely how political families in many societies become durable.

The child does not inherit merely money.

The child inherits a network.

He inherits a surname.

He inherits relationships.

He inherits institutional knowledge.

He inherits stories about people who helped the family and people who opposed it.

He learns which relationships should be maintained even when political circumstances change.

He learns that today’s opponent may become tomorrow’s negotiating partner.

And, perhaps most importantly, he learns that political victories are temporary while relationships can last for decades.

That is the psychology behind many successful family enterprises around the world.

The intelligent wealthy family does not teach its children merely how to spend money. It teaches them how money was created, how it is protected, how institutions work, how relationships are cultivated and how reputational capital is preserved.

That is why the greatest inheritance is often not the bank account.

It is the family operating system.

Ademola Adeleke and the Politics of Personal Relationships

Governor Ademola Adeleke’s political style is unconventional.

His dancing, humour, informality and emotional accessibility have become part of his public identity. In a political culture where leaders frequently construct distance between themselves and ordinary citizens, Adeleke has instead turned familiarity into political branding.

The dancing is therefore more politically significant than it appears.

It creates emotional proximity.

It humanizes authority.

It makes the governor memorable.

And politics, at its most fundamental level, is partly the management of human emotion.

A politician who can make supporters feel that they know him personally has created a form of social capital that cannot easily be measured in government budgets.

This does not automatically mean that dancing equals good governance. It does not. Public administration must ultimately be judged by institutions, infrastructure, fiscal management, security, employment, education, healthcare and measurable outcomes.

But political communication is not the same thing as public administration.

Adeleke appears to understand the former exceptionally well.

He has created an image of accessibility that makes his supporters feel emotionally connected to him. That connection can become political loyalty, and political loyalty can become electoral resilience.

The deeper lesson is that political power is partly psychological.

People do not vote exclusively according to spreadsheets.

They vote according to identity, memory, emotion, belonging, perceived fairness, personal relationships and expectations of the future.

The Tinubu Calculation: Loyalty as Political Currency

Perhaps the most strategically interesting dimension of Adeleke’s recent political positioning is his repeated endorsement of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu for the 2027 presidential election.

This is not speculation; Adeleke has publicly reaffirmed the endorsement several times. In March 2026, he said the political crisis involving Osun’s local governments would not alter his support for Tinubu’s reelection. Later, he explained the position partly through regional and ancestral considerations, describing Tinubu as a son, father and leader and arguing that Osun’s historical connection to the President gave the state an additional reason to support him. 

Whatever one’s political interpretation, the move demonstrates an important principle of Nigerian political strategy: politics does not always operate according to the logic of permanent enemies.

Today’s political opponent may become tomorrow’s strategic partner.

Adeleke’s endorsement can therefore be interpreted through several lenses simultaneously.

There is personal loyalty.

There is Yoruba political culture.

There is regional calculation.

There is federal-state diplomacy.

There is development politics.

And there is political risk management.

A governor does not control the federal government, yet the federal government controls or influences enormous national resources, institutions and policy frameworks affecting states.

Nigeria’s fiscal structure reinforces this reality. State governments participate in the Federation Account Allocation Committee system and receive allocations from nationally collected revenues. 

Consequently, the relationship between a state governor and the presidency has practical economic implications beyond party ideology.

A governor may disagree with the president politically while still maintaining a working relationship with the federal administration.

That is not necessarily hypocrisy.

It can be governance.

The mature political actor understands that ideological disagreement and institutional cooperation can coexist.

But Loyalty Is Not the Same as Patronage

There is, however, an important line that must not be crossed.

Political loyalty should not be confused with a guaranteed exchange of government contracts, preferential treatment or private business benefits.

There is no evidence sufficient to establish that Adeleke’s endorsement of Tinubu was designed to secure contracts for the Adeleke family, and such a claim should therefore remain an analytical hypothesis rather than be presented as fact.

This distinction is crucial.

A serious political analysis must separate documented fact, reasonable political interpretation and unsupported speculation.

The Adeleke family’s private economic interests and Ademola Adeleke’s public responsibilities as governor are not automatically the same thing.

In fact, the more powerful a political family becomes, the greater the importance of maintaining ethical boundaries between public office and private enterprise.

That is not merely a legal principle.

It is a wealth-preservation principle.

Because reputational destruction can destroy generational capital faster than financial losses.

The Power Sector Changes the Conversation

The economic dimension becomes even more interesting when the family’s private-sector presence in electricity generation is considered.

Adedeji Adeleke’s Pacific Energy has invested heavily in power generation, and the family’s 1,250MW project represents a substantial industrial undertaking. Reports have described the project as a roughly $2 billion investment and highlighted its potential employment and economic impact. 

There has also been considerable public discussion about the scale of the company’s contribution to Nigeria’s power system. Some claims circulating publicly are larger than independently established figures, so they should be treated cautiously. For example, a 2026 report attributed to Davido claims that the family generates approximately 18 percent of Nigeria’s electricity, but that figure is not equivalent to an independently verified national statistic. 

This is why serious journalism matters.

A family can be extraordinarily wealthy without exaggerating its achievements.

Indeed, the strongest economic argument for the Adeleke family does not require exaggeration.

The documented investments in energy, education and other businesses are already substantial.

And energy is not an ordinary business.

Electricity is infrastructure.

Infrastructure is economic power.

Economic power creates employment.

Employment creates social relationships.

Social relationships create influence.

Influence can eventually become political capital.

That is the cycle.

Davido Represents a Different Form of Power

Then there is Davido.

His significance to the Adeleke family is not simply that he is famous.

He represents a completely different category of capital: global cultural capital.

His music career has given the Adeleke name international visibility among millions of people who may know Davido without knowing anything about Nigerian politics, Osun State or Pacific Energy.

That is an extraordinary form of soft power.

Davido can enter a room where a politician may struggle to enter.

He can mobilize young people through culture rather than ideology.

He can create attention without a government position.

He can influence conversations without holding public office.

And during Nigerian elections, his enormous social following can translate into political visibility for members of his family.

His participation in support of his uncle therefore deserves to be understood not merely as celebrity endorsement, but as an example of how cultural capital can intersect with political capital.

However, predicting that Davido will eventually become governor or president would go beyond the available evidence.

It is certainly conceivable that a globally recognized Nigerian celebrity could someday enter politics. But celebrity is not the same thing as political capacity, and electoral success requires coalition-building, institutional competence, policy credibility, grassroots organization and public trust.

If Davido ever chooses that path, the family name would give him an extraordinary starting platform—but it would not guarantee victory.

The Real Adeleke Legacy May Be Institutional

The most interesting question, therefore, is not whether Ademola Adeleke dances.

It is what happens after the dancing stops.

Every politician eventually leaves office.

Every musician eventually leaves the stage.

Every businessman eventually grows old.

The family that understands generational wealth therefore thinks beyond individual careers.

What happens to the businesses?

What happens to the university?

What happens to the political network?

What happens to the family foundation?

What happens to the family’s reputation?

Who takes over?

How are assets governed?

How are disputes resolved?

How are younger members trained?

How is political involvement separated from corporate governance?

How does the family avoid the classic African problem of first-generation wealth being consumed by second-generation extravagance?

These are the questions that determine whether wealth becomes a dynasty or a historical footnote.

Adeleke University, for example, represents something more significant than another family asset. An educational institution can become a mechanism for producing intellectual capital and institutional continuity. The family’s involvement in education therefore fits into a broader model of converting private wealth into institutions capable of surviving individual personalities.

That is how generational wealth becomes durable.

The Nigerian Political Economy

Nigeria’s political economy makes this relationship between wealth and politics particularly complex.

Political office controls access to public resources, regulatory decisions, infrastructure priorities and development policy. Private capital controls investment, employment, technology and productive capacity.

The healthiest relationship between the two is not political capture.

It is institutional cooperation under transparent rules.

A businessman should be able to work with government without becoming politically dependent.

A governor should be able to maintain relationships with wealthy families without converting government into a family enterprise.

A president should be able to work with governors across party lines without demanding political submission as the price of development.

And citizens must remain the ultimate beneficiaries.

That is the democratic test.

If political relationships produce roads, electricity, hospitals, schools, jobs and investment while maintaining transparency and competitive procurement, society benefits.

If relationships become mechanisms for private enrichment at public expense, democracy suffers.

The difference is accountability.

The Greatest Political Asset Is Not Money

The Adeleke story ultimately reveals something larger about Nigerian politics.

Money is powerful, but money alone does not create enduring political power.

The more durable formula is:

wealth + relationships + reputation + institutions + culture + political intelligence + generational education.

That combination is far more powerful than cash.

The late Isiaka Adeleke demonstrated political ambition.

Adedeji Adeleke demonstrated entrepreneurial capacity.

Ademola Adeleke demonstrated electoral resilience and a distinctive political personality.

Davido demonstrated global cultural influence.

Different members of one family therefore occupy different spheres of Nigerian public life.

That is precisely what makes the family politically fascinating.

They do not all need to do the same thing.

One person can build industry.

Another can build political institutions.

Another can build cultural influence.

Another can build education.

And collectively, those different forms of capital can reinforce the family’s historical position.

That is how dynasties are constructed.

Not necessarily through conspiracy.

Not necessarily through secret agreements.

But through continuity.

The Governor’s Real Assignment

For Ademola Adeleke, however, the ultimate political responsibility is bigger than protecting a family name.

His greatest opportunity is to transform personal popularity into institutional legitimacy.

If he can bring political factions together, reduce unnecessary hostility, strengthen governance institutions, maintain peaceful political competition and demonstrate measurable improvements in Osun’s economy and public services, he will accomplish something much more valuable than merely winning elections.

He will convert personality into legacy.

That is the difference between a popular politician and a statesman.

The dancing may win affection.

The politics may win elections.

But institutions win history.

Adeleke’s greatest challenge, therefore, is to make Osun peaceful enough that political opponents can coexist, prosperous enough that young people do not see migration as their only economic strategy, and institutionally strong enough that the state does not depend on the personality of whichever individual occupies the Government House.

That is where the interests of family legacy and public responsibility should converge.

A strong family legacy does not require the state to belong to the family.

Quite the opposite.

The strongest legacy is one in which the family becomes respected because the institutions around it become stronger.

The Future

The Adeleke story should therefore not be reduced to the image of a dancing governor or the glamour of a global Afrobeats superstar.

It is a study in the interaction of economic capital, political capital, cultural capital and social capital.

The family has demonstrated how entrepreneurship can produce wealth, how politics can produce public influence, how entertainment can produce cultural power and how relationships can connect otherwise separate worlds.

But the next chapter will determine whether this becomes a true generational institution or simply another spectacular Nigerian political family story.

For Ademola Adeleke, the historical assignment is straightforward but difficult: govern beyond the family name.

For Adedeji Adeleke, the challenge is preserving and institutionalizing the entrepreneurial wealth he has accumulated.

For Davido, the future remains his own to determine. Music may remain his principal legacy, or someday he may choose another public role. Nothing should be assumed before he makes that decision.

And for the younger generation of the family, the real inheritance will not simply be billions, political connections or celebrity.

It will be the knowledge of how all three can be responsibly managed.

That is the true psychology of generational wealth.

The first generation asks, “How do I become rich?”

The second asks, “How do I preserve what we built?”

The third asks, “How do I turn wealth into institutions?”

And the fourth asks the most difficult question of all:

“How do we use inherited power without becoming prisoners of it?”

That is where wealth becomes legacy.

That is where influence becomes statesmanship.

And that is where the Adeleke story—whether one admires it, questions it or studies it academically—becomes far more significant than politics alone.

It becomes a case study in how modern African families can transform money into institutions, institutions into influence, influence into political relevance, and political relevance back into long-term social and economic capital.

The real measure of the Adeleke dynasty will therefore not be how loudly its members are celebrated today.

It will be whether, decades from now, the institutions they built are still standing when the names attached to them no longer need to dance, sing, campaign or explain themselves.

By : Jide Adesina | 1stafrika.com
Hall of fame @2026
Political reporting

The Olubadan Moment: How Local Power, Political Machiavellianism and Accord Rewrote Nigeria’s One-Party Political Equati...
08/16/2026

The Olubadan Moment: How Local Power, Political Machiavellianism and Accord Rewrote Nigeria’s One-Party Political Equation

By Jide Adesina | 1stafrika.com

History sometimes announces itself quietly.

It does not always arrive through a presidential declaration, a massive political rally or the machinery of one of Nigeria’s dominant political parties. Sometimes, history emerges from the ancient political architecture of a city, from the wisdom of an old political hand, and from the ability of a local political network to understand what the larger political establishment has forgotten: politics ultimately belongs to the people and their communities.

That is what makes the political significance of the Olubadan of Ibadanland, His Imperial Majesty Oba Rashidi Adewolu Ladoja, so important in the aftermath of the 2026 Osun State governorship election.

The Independent National Electoral Commission declared Governor Ademola Adeleke, running on the platform of Accord, winner of the August 15 election with 511,067 votes, defeating APC candidate Bola Oyebamiji, who polled 444,815 votes. 

But beyond the numbers lies something much bigger.

There is a political lesson here about local power, political independence, institutional survival and the possibility of breaking Nigeria’s increasingly dangerous gravitational pull toward two or three dominant political machines.

And in that story, credit must be given to the Olubadan.

Oba Ladoja is not merely a traditional ruler who suddenly appeared inside Nigerian politics. His political history predates his ascension to the throne. He was a former Governor of Oyo State and a former Senator representing Oyo South. He also previously belonged to Accord before becoming Olubadan. 

That history matters.

It means that when we examine the political significance of the Olubadan institution today, we should not look at Oba Ladoja simply through the traditional lens of a monarch sitting above partisan politics. We are witnessing something considerably more complicated: the intersection of traditional authority, political experience, community networks and electoral democracy.

That intersection could become one of the most fascinating developments in Nigeria’s evolving political history.

The politics of the smaller party

For years, Nigerian politics has operated under an informal assumption: if you want political power, join the big party.

The APC and PDP have historically possessed the national structures, financial resources, political networks and institutional visibility capable of overwhelming smaller parties.

The result has been a political environment in which smaller parties frequently become vehicles for individual ambition rather than sustainable political institutions.

Accord’s survival therefore deserves particular attention.

Its victory in Osun is not simply the victory of another political party. It is evidence that a party outside the traditional APC-PDP axis can become electorally consequential when it finds the right candidate, the right local networks and the right political moment.

Accord’s own national leadership has also demonstrated a desire to maintain its independent identity. In April 2026, the party publicly rejected claims that it had joined an opposition coalition seeking to produce a single presidential candidate for 2027. 

That decision may appear insignificant today.

Historically, however, it could become important.

Because democracy requires competition.

A democracy in which every ambitious politician eventually migrates into one of two dominant political camps gradually becomes a democracy without meaningful ideological diversity. Political parties become brands rather than institutions, while citizens are reduced to spectators in a permanent contest between competing political machines.

Accord’s Osun victory therefore provides a small but powerful counterargument to the assumption that Nigerian politics must inevitably become a two-party or one-party ecosystem.

The Olubadan’s extraordinary political inheritance

Oba Rashidi Adewolu Ladoja occupies a particularly unusual position.

He is simultaneously a traditional monarch and a man who understands the mechanics of electoral politics from the inside.

That combination is extraordinarily rare.

The Olubadan institution itself is one of Nigeria’s most historically sophisticated traditional systems. But Ladoja’s personal political history gives that institution another dimension.

He understands political parties.

He understands elections.

He understands candidates.

He understands constituencies.

He understands negotiations.

And, perhaps most importantly, he understands the difference between political noise and political machinery.

That distinction is the essence of Machiavellian politics—not Machiavellianism as manipulation for its own sake, but the classical understanding that political power is ultimately determined by organisation, alliances, timing, perception and control of political constituencies.

The 2026 Osun experience demonstrated precisely that principle.

Adeleke did not win merely because Accord possessed the financial and structural power of the APC. It did not.

He won because a political coalition was constructed around a candidate who already possessed significant personal popularity, while networks beyond the conventional party structure helped reinforce the electoral equation.

The Olubadan’s endorsement of Adeleke had been publicly recorded as early as September 2025, when the then Olubadan-designate formally endorsed Adeleke for a second term. 

The significance of that intervention should not be exaggerated into a claim that one monarch single-handedly delivered Osun State.

He did not.

Elections are won by voters.

But neither should the political importance of his influence be dismissed.

The Olubadan understood the value of political networks.

And that is where the story becomes historically interesting.

From palace authority to a new model of political influence

Nigeria has traditionally separated the palace from the ballot box.

The Constitution does not establish traditional rulers as a fourth arm of government. They do not possess the constitutional independence enjoyed by the executive, legislature or judiciary.

But Nigerian political reality has always been more complicated than constitutional text.

Traditional rulers influence communities.

They command respect.

They possess historical legitimacy.

They can convene people.

They can mediate conflicts.

They can open political doors.

And in some communities, their social capital is greater than that of elected politicians who may remain in office for only four years.

This raises a question Nigeria may eventually have to confront:

Should traditional institutions have a more formally recognised constitutional role in local governance?

Not as unelected governors.

Not as substitutes for elected representatives.

But perhaps as an independent institutional sector responsible for cultural governance, community mediation, traditional justice, heritage, local reconciliation and community development.

That would require constitutional debate and enormous safeguards against abuse.

But the idea deserves intellectual examination.

The Olubadan experience demonstrates why.

The possibility of a new monarchist-democratic paradigm

What if Nigeria eventually develops a political model in which traditional authority and liberal democracy coexist without one destroying the other?

The Nigerian constitutional order could potentially recognise traditional institutions while maintaining elected government as the source of political authority.

Such a model would not mean turning kings into politicians.

Rather, it could mean recognising the traditional institution as an independent community institution—somewhere between cultural authority, civic mediation and local governance.

The judiciary is constitutionally independent.

The legislature has its constitutional mandate.

The executive has its constitutional mandate.

Why, therefore, should Nigeria not continue debating whether traditional institutions can be given a carefully defined constitutional role without compromising democratic sovereignty?

The Olubadan question gives us a reason to begin that conversation.

And there is another historical irony.

Oba Ladoja himself has already been a governor.

So the idea of a traditional ruler possessing political networks capable of influencing the emergence or survival of elected political leadership is not theoretical in his case. His biography already contains both worlds.

That makes the Olubadan institution an extraordinary laboratory for examining the relationship between Nigeria’s traditional political heritage and modern electoral democracy.

A victory against political occupational aggression

There is another way to interpret what happened.

Nigeria’s dominant political parties have increasingly behaved like political corporations seeking territorial expansion.

They absorb politicians.

They absorb smaller parties.

They attract defectors.

They acquire structures.

They build electoral machines.

And eventually, the smaller parties risk becoming politically irrelevant.

This is what I would call political occupational aggression: the systematic expansion of dominant political organisations into constituencies previously occupied by smaller parties and independent political movements.

The answer cannot be political violence.

It cannot be ethnic mobilisation.

It cannot be religious division.

It cannot be intimidation.

The answer must be better organisation at the constituency level.

That is perhaps the greatest lesson of Accord.

APGA should learn it.

NNPP should learn it.

Labour should learn it.

SDP should learn it.

YPP should learn it.

And every smaller Nigerian political organisation that wants to survive should learn the same lesson:

Stop waiting for the big parties to validate your existence. Build your constituency.

A political party does not necessarily need to dominate Nigeria to become politically important.

It needs to dominate where it has genuine social capital.

Build the ward.

Build the local government.

Build the youth network.

Build the professional network.

Build the women’s organisation.

Build the diaspora connection.

Build the intellectual constituency.

Build credible candidates.

Build electoral agents.

Build data.

Build trust.

Then contest.

That is how political parties become institutions rather than electoral ornaments.

The Osun lesson is bigger than Adeleke

Governor Ademola Adeleke’s victory should therefore not be reduced to a personality cult or the victory of one political family.

It is a demonstration of what happens when personality, family networks, popular culture, political machinery and an alternative party platform converge.

But the most important question is what happens after the election.

Can Accord institutionalise its success?

Can it reproduce the model outside Osun?

Can it become a genuine national alternative?

Can smaller parties learn to build constituencies rather than continuously negotiating their survival with APC and PDP?

That is the real test.

The Osun election has shown that political power does not always have to come from Abuja.

Sometimes it can emerge from the local government.

Sometimes it can emerge from the ward.

Sometimes it can emerge from a family.

Sometimes it can emerge from a traditional institution.

And sometimes it can emerge from a political party that everyone had already counted out.

Credit where credit is due

For that reason, history should record the role of Oba Rashidi Adewolu Ladoja, the Olubadan of Ibadanland, with intellectual honesty.

He did not personally cast 511,067 votes.

The people of Osun did.

He did not replace INEC.

He did not determine the result.

He did not command the electorate.

But his political history, network and public support for Adeleke formed part of the wider political environment surrounding the Accord project.

And he deserves credit for understanding something many Nigerian politicians consistently forget:

politics is local before it becomes national.

That understanding may ultimately be more important than the immediate Osun victory.

Because if the lesson spreads, Nigeria’s political architecture could begin to change.

The big parties may remain big.

But they may no longer be untouchable.

The smaller parties may stop behaving like petitioners at the gates of APC and PDP.

Traditional institutions may begin demanding a more serious constitutional conversation.

And communities may rediscover their own political bargaining power.

The Olubadan moment

Perhaps this is therefore the beginning of what we might call the Olubadan Moment.

A moment when the ancient authority of the Ibadan monarchy intersects with the modern machinery of electoral democracy.

A moment when a former governor sitting on a traditional throne demonstrates that political influence does not necessarily disappear when one enters the palace.

A moment when Accord proves that a smaller political platform can challenge the gravitational force of Nigeria’s political heavyweights.

And a moment when Nigerian political thinkers should begin asking whether our democracy has become too dependent on political parties that are themselves becoming too powerful.

The future may not belong exclusively to APC, PDP or any other dominant national machine.

It may belong to those who understand their constituencies deeply enough to organise them.

That is the real lesson from Osun.

And that is why the Olubadan deserves recognition—not as the man who single-handedly won an election, but as an important political actor in a remarkable experiment in traditional authority, local political organisation and democratic pluralism.

If the experiment can be replicated elsewhere, particularly in Oyo State, it could become one of the most consequential political developments in contemporary Southwestern Nigeria.

Nigeria does not need fewer political voices.

It needs stronger political voices, stronger institutions and stronger constituencies.

And perhaps, after Osun, the Nigerian political establishment should begin looking beyond the conventional ballot-box arithmetic and start paying attention to the palace.

Because sometimes, the chessboard is much larger than the political party.

By Jide Adesina | 1stafrika.com

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