By Debo Akinbami
As a deputy governor, Lucky Aiyedatiwa walked on egg-shells. Yes, before Aketi, his erstwhile boss, took the final sleep. Why did he? Was it the case that he was innately slothful, as hastily theorized by some ideologues? Was he merely aligning himself with the political intrigues of the season, or was he acting as a beguiling, ambitious conformist? It is doubtful that Lucky was exactly stooping to win imminent spoils. Since Àkétì’s death was in the future at the time, one would have been in error to conclude that Lucky’s acquiescing posture was in anticipation of Àkétì’s demise—to take over. That was, in fact, beyond mortal knowing.
Lucky must have conformed in what reads like strategic buffoonery. He could understandably have done that to be politically correct as a deputy governorship candidate, perhaps to win the heart of his boss and endear himself to his immediate family, who were a huge influence. He must have acted the fool to retain his position and possibly position himself as a probable successor. That was not out of place since not a few got positions in Àkétì’s government through the influence of his immediate family. It was an era when even cabinet members struggled for the qualifying tags of ‘Arabinrin sons’ or ‘Arabinrin daughters’—including those who now feign turncoats under Aiyedatiwa.
As is usual with Nigeria’s brand of politics, an aptitude for puppeteering and sycophancy would readily qualify one for juicier political positions than the mileage intellect or academic testimonials would provide. Such qualifications as nepotism, ‘yes-manism’, social or spiritual ties, and tribal or religious affiliations are usually stronger considerations than intellect and competence.
Lucky occupied that space as a manipulable alternative to his stubbornly uncompromising predecessor, Agboola Ajayi. He strove, albeit unsatisfactorily, to bend where Agboola would not. By this complicit posture, Lucky made the office of deputy governor nearly unattractive to some of us who merely watched the drama unfold. I may return to this after now or elsewhere in future essays. Looking back, he (Lucky) made unlikely sacrifices under the circumstances to have maneuvered and survived those slippery seasons.
But did he actually survive? Or was he merely helped by certain fortuitous circumstances that subdued mortal ploys, perhaps as compensatory incidents for a man who virtually lost himself to the ploy of enduring (or enjoying?) being plundered in silence? Maybe he did not endure enough to deserve stepping into Àkétì’s shoes that were in the hands of those who owned Àkétì. Those who owned Àkétì defined what constituted the “truth” for Àkétì at the dying minute. They designed and decided the letters of loyalty or betrayal as they deemed necessary. He is a saint whom they declared as saintly and an infidel whom they so pronounced! The “owners” did a plethora of harm to the deputy as they did to the state, and would not cease until the former governor’s body was interred. Even so, the inexplicable angst subsists beyond Àkétì’s committal.
The mystery of how the “impatient,” “disloyal,” and “unpreferred” Lucky stepped into the shoes that its ‘owners’ adjudged as undeserving for him necessarily explains the angst that endures and other associated issues. One may necessarily worry if these suppositions had, in fact, punctuated the making of a deputy for the intrepid Oluwarotimi Akeredolu. Or if deputizing Aketi had actually warranted the many chaos. To answer this, I shall lend Biodun Jeyifo’s description of a man as a creature of sentiment. And, if, indeed, we’re, as mortals, creatures of sentiment, that, perforce, suggests that not even Àkétì, in spite of his sterling performances, is precluded from mortal flaws.
Ownership mentality around public servants, especially the chief executives, as exemplified in this treatise, has done no meager harm to the body politic. And where and when this is not nipped in the bud, its consequences sprout fast and hurt the state direly. Ondo State has had and coped with its share of the beatified anomaly. It has even managed to take another leap by electing a new governor in Lucky Aiyedatiwa, and, in so doing, offered the state a clean slate. While it is unlikely that Lucky, who himself was a victim of a ridiculously distractive ownership mentality, would indulge in a repeat of the same shaming tradition to the detriment of the state, those who have since profited from the trade called “Àkétì’s people” while it lasted should forthwith cease the sour show in deference to citizens’ sensibilities.
Àkétì did his best while in the saddle. He did well for the state and his country. He prioritized citizens’ welfare and spoke in their defense where others hid their heads. He was a people’s person who cultivated good friendships throughout life. He even nurtured a clement relationship with Lucky Aiyedatiwa, as then his deputy, until he was bodily ill and “his owners” took over, and their words became the law. Àkétì, in spite of these ifs and buts, left good legacies, and it should matter to those who had unselfish love for him how to preserve the fine legacies.
Whatever happens after now, the fact we must all acknowledge, irrespective of where we stand on the divide, is that Lucky himself remains Àkétì’s biggest legacy. Àkétì gave Ondo State the person of Lucky Aiyedatiwa as his deputy in the first place, and that in itself nullifies the new, contradicting narratives. Need I add that now that Lucky Aiyedatiwa is the substantive governor, the mortality of other attributable material legacies of Àkétì may largely depend on what Lucky—his sturdiest legacy—does with them?
Akinbami, a lecturer in Mass Communication at Adekunle Ajasin University in Akungba Akoko, previously held the position of Special Assistant for Media and Archives under former Governor Rotimi Akeredolu.
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