When a man whom some people have spent years dismissing as a comedian, a dancer & just as a happy-go-lucky fellow wins a 2nd term as Governor, after 14 other fellows came to the same electoral marketplace, each apparently convinced that he or maybe she was the real deal, then something rather profound has happened.
And when this “comedian” does not merely win, but annihilates the entire field, to the extent that even if the votes of those 14 aspirants are gathered together & thrown into one political basket against his own, he still carries the day, then, ladies & gentlemen, the people have spoken in a language that requires no interpreter.
They have spoken with thunder. They have spoken with their thumbs. And, most importantly, they have spoken with their votes.
Now, I have watched Senator Ademola Nurudeen Jackson Adeleke closely enough to know that he is not exactly your conventional, permanently-frowning, tie-tight-around-the-neck, “I-have-not-smiled-since-1983” type of politician.
Far from it. The man is happy. Almost suspiciously happy.
His happiness is electric, infectious & enveloping. He dances. He laughs. He radiates the sort of carefree energy that makes some people wonder whether he takes politics seriously enough.
But perhaps, & this is the delicious irony, the people themselves had become tired of politicians who appeared to take everything too too seriously. With faces set let unkind concrete, like they were just their against their will to just help the people.
Perhaps Osun had simply had enough of the perpetual solemnity. Enough of the grave faces.
Enough of the political atmosphere that sometimes felt like a funeral where nobody had yet remembered to bury the coffin. Perhaps the people just wanted to breathe. They wanted to exhale. They wanted to laugh again. To be relaxed & not unnecessarily stiff. Perpetually doing face like there was poop on it!
And perhaps they looked at the dancing Governor & said, in their own peculiar wisdom: “At least this one makes us happy.”
There is a lesson in that which political scientists, strategists & assorted experts may want to write several PhDs about.
When a people become sufficiently fed up with a situation, nothing can permanently restrain the movement that eventually emerges from that frustration. You may deploy money. You may deploy machinery. You may deploy intimidating political pedigrees. You may deploy all the overtly “serious” men you can find.
But once the people have made up their minds that they want something different, the river will find its way.
And Osun has just demonstrated that with considerable drama.
There is, however, another part of this victory that I think deserves much more attention.
Imole. Light. Illumination.
That was the unmistakable emotional & political anchor around which Adeleke & Accord built their message. And there is something extraordinarily powerful about the symbolism.
Because once you say Imole, you have said more than “light.” You have introduced the opposite of darkness. You have introduced illumination.
You have suggested that something once obscured is now visible; that somewhere previously gloomy has become bright; that whatever darkness had descended must now retreat.
And politics, as we know, is as much about emotion & symbolism as it is about manifestos. The message was therefore beautifully simple: Light has come. The symbol of the light- Adeleke.
And if light has come, darkness cannot be permitted to return & envelope the people again. Because light does not hold a meeting with darkness. Never. It does not negotiate a coalition agreement with darkness. It does not ask darkness to please vacate politely.
Light simply appears, & darkness gives way. That was the energy Adeleke’s camp projected.
Fiercously. Unapologetically. And, judging from the result, gallantly.
Now, let me make something clear.
Much as I do not subscribe to the Accord Party, I honestly do not know them well enough to subscribe to them, I cannot deny what Senator Ademola Nurudeen Jackson Adeleke has done for that platform.
He has projected Accord Party to a political altitude it has probably never experienced before.
And that is no small achievement. Accord should therefore not merely celebrate this moment. They should consolidate it. Because something has changed.
Adeleke is no longer simply the man carrying a party ticket.
He has become the party’s magnet. Its face. Its political currency. Its totem pole. Its bride.
And, suddenly, everybody who previously walked past the bride without saying hello may now be looking for her telephone number. That is politics.
And that is also why Adeleke must understand the extraordinary leverage that this victory has handed him. He can play the field now. If he so wishes! But he must play it smartly.
Very smartly.
Because after this sort of electoral earthquake, everybody wants to suddenly become your old friend.
The man who was yesterday considered unserious has today become extremely serious electoral mathematics. The dancer has become a denominator.
The happy-go-lucky fellow has become a formidable political proposition.
And the man some thought could not possibly command the room has walked back into Government House with an even bigger mandate, an even louder statement &, dare I say, far more aplomb.
14 men gathered to stop him. They came from different directions. They arrived with different stories. Different pedigrees. Different claims to superiority. Different reasons why they were the better choice.
But when the music stopped, it was Adeleke still standing on the dance floor. And that, my dear friends, is politics.
Sometimes the man you think is merely dancing is actually counting the rhythm of the electorate.
Sometimes the man you dismiss as unserious is the one who understands the mood of the people better than all the serious men in the room.
And sometimes, when a people have been holding their breath for too long, the man who gives them permission to breathe becomes their choice. So, to Governor Ademola Adeleke:
Dance on. Laugh on. But govern even better.
Because the dancing may have won the affection, but governance must now justify the mandate.
And to Osun: You have spoken. Loudly. Decisively.
Almost mischievously.
You looked at 14 alternatives & said, essentially: “Thank you very much. We know what we want.” And to those still wondering what happened: Perhaps nothing mysterious happened at all.
Perhaps the people simply wanted light. Perhaps they wanted joy. Perhaps they wanted to exhale.
And perhaps, after everything, they simply wanted to dance.
Ijo wa le se re, ma jo…
Ma jo lo mo wo eyin re…
Let the dancing continue. Let the light shine. Let the darkness dissipate.
And let every politician who witnessed this election understand one immutable truth: When the people are truly fed up, you can bring the whole political establishment to the dance floor, & still not stop them from choosing their own music.
All hail Governor Adeleke. The dancer has danced again.
And this time, Osun danced with him.
Happily written by Omoba Abiola Olatunde Aloba, proudly Ijesa, but Ijebu-Ode by maternal birth, & of the Fusengbuwa Royal Clan.
