Like Detty December, The Spectacle of Ojude Oba Can Not Compensate for Nigeria’s Foundational Problems

In a clip making the rounds on social media, Mr Farooq Oreagba rhapsodizes about how his eldest son, who before the spectacle of last year’s famed Ojude Oba procession had little interest in the time-honored festival, intimated his desire to participate in this year’s edition of the festival. Oreagba is slouched in a chair, his legs crossed comfortably, wearing a white shirt, ankara pants, and dark shades. “All of a sudden, people are taking an interest in what we do—the younger generation. What this means, hopefully, is that the traditions will not die, they will not fizzle out, there will be continuity,” he says. His words are laden with contagious honesty and present an optimistic outlook on the future—one where the beautiful age-old traditions of the festival are carried on by the younger generation into the future. 

While Ojude Oba has for decades been one of the most glamorous festivals in the southwestern part of Nigeria, last year, the event received a breath of fresh life as beautiful pictures from the festival flooded social media. Much like how in the Victorian era, where every social season, young women of noble provenance were presented  to the queen to mark their entry into society and the most-sought after debutante was unofficially recognized by society; Ojude Oba has a similar dynamic and Farooq Oreagba, emerged as the star of last year’s event. But his fame was stratospheric, transcending the confines of the festival and vaulting him into the heart of popular culture.

In the space of a gavel stroke, he became a celebrity, more than that, he became something of a national hero. Pictures of him riding his horse dressed in stately traditional garb and radiating an effortless cool percolated through social media and contributed to boosting the profile of the festival, especially among younger people, who, enamored by its spectacle, had come to perceive the festival in a new light. 

Naturally, this year’s edition of the festival opened to much fanfare, unleashing a torrent of similarly glamorous pictures on social media. A quick search through social media will reveal lush pictures of colorfully dressed revelers seated at the arena; horse riders dressed in luxuriant attire preening for the cameras; jaunty vlogs by excited attendees canonizing the event through short-form videos, and not least wistful comments from those who observed the action from the comfort of their couches. Something about the festival feels strikingly similar to the Detty December craze of last year. Remember how in December pictures and videos of revelers in Lagos’ many leisure spots—beaches, clubs, raves—flooded social media? Celebrities from across the world flocked to the city in droves. Tourists from all over the world followed suit. Nobody wanted to miss out on the action. The “FOMO” of that period was so intense and palpable, you could almost taste it. At some point, it felt like the whole world was in the city. 

The similarities between this year’s edition of the Ojude Oba festival and Detty December extend beyond the feverish excitement fomented by events, they also share in common tart criticism from disillusioned tourists. Tourists who had visited Lagos in December, on the premise that their experiences would mirror, or at least come close to, the lavish, bedazzled lifestyles flaunted by celebrities like Poco Lee, were gobsmacked when they discovered the peculiar problems the city is steeped in. Complaints of the stifling traffic in the city—which, ironically was exacerbated by the influx of visitors, fake drinks, and unsavory comments about the seeming ubiquity of “area boys” cascaded through social media as these tourists offered their reviews of their Detty December experience. 

Similarly, a deluge of censuring remarks has dominated social media in the wake of this year’s Ojude Oba festival. Admittedly, some of these complaints derive from a fundamental misunderstanding of the festival’s minutiae. Take the pervasive complaints of a lack of central planning. These complaints fail to take into account the fact that the festival is, by design, intended to be centered around families and age groups, as opposed to a central figure; meaning there’s no one convener of the event. While the festival is in honor of the king, the Awujale of Ijebu Ode, families, and age groups independently contribute towards what culminates in the festival. 

Other complaints however are profoundly incisive and point to a grim truth: the spectacle of Ojude Oba, just like Detty December and other cultural touch points in the country, cannot compensate for the myriad infrastructural and organizational shortcomings that plague Nigeria, Ogun State in this case. Regulars at the festival are probably acclimatized to the dizzyingly terrible road networks that line Ijebu Ode, the ancient town where the festival is held. Newcomers were however incredulous at the level of disrepair the road networks were in. 

The security at the event was also dangerously shabby. Fola Stag, who took many of the iconic photos of Farooq Oreagba and has produced some of the most spectacular photographs of the festival in the last two years, griped bitterly about being assaulted by armed guards despite having his press pass. He also reported having been robbed of his phone. The spate of tweets in which he detailed his experiences is excruciating but one especially stands out: “Bruh I cried! I felt serious pain. I have never felt that kind of pain in my life, I couldn’t walk at some point. I had to lie down on the floor.”

Another excoriating tweet by X-user “Revival Robert” reads “I’m home now, so, I’ll say it. Ojude Oba is only cute in pictures. It was a madness out there today. I couldn’t wait to run away from there. Beautiful displays nonetheless.” Couched  beneath the comments of that tweet is a horde of missives from disaffected attendees recounting their experiences at the festival. The overture of the tweet—“Ojude Oba is only cute in pictures”—while lacking the nuance of a balanced critique, aptly captures the essence of the range of criticisms against the festival: the spectacle of the festival, the splendorous pictures, and bucolic scenes have hardly been able to compensate for the foundational problems of Ogun state. The infrastructure in the state—particularly the road networks—remain decrepit. Going by Human Development Index (HDI), a statistical composite comprised of life expectancy, education and per capita income, Ogun state ranks 21st in Nigeria, which is egregious and particularly abysmal considering the state’s manufacturing potential, the vast swath of arable land in the state (74% of its total land area is arable), and not least, its proximity and long-running relationship with Lagos state, the commercial capital of the country. 

In a sense, it’s a wry metaphor for the Nigerian experience. No amount of ingenuity or brilliance, or in the case of Ojude Oba and Detty December, spectacle, can compensate for the limitations of a third-world country like Nigeria. Living in Nigeria as a Nigerian confers one with a visceral sense of the strictures that bear down on the country. One might land an international contract only to be throttled by retrogressive stereotypes about Nigerians, poor connectivity, or a lack of smooth and secure channels for international payments. Poor internet connectivity is another infamous culprit. Profiling at international airports is a problem that Nigerians of all economic classes routinely gripe about. In recent years, courtesy of Afrobeats’ mercurial rise, Nigeria has carved out a hallowed position in the international popular culture scene. Notwithstanding, this has done little to compensate for the problems everyday Nigerians are faced with. 

Likewise, no amount of public spectacle generated by cultural touchpoints like Ojude Oba can make up for the foundational, low-level problems that blight Ogun State. The situation is kafkaesque: even as the families and creatives put up and broadcast magnificent displays from the festival, attracting throngs of tourists, who potentially can boost the local economy, the decrepit infrastructure of the state as well as the shoddy security continue to undermine their efforts. “Together, we will continue to safeguard this vibrant heritage while building a prosperous and inclusive Ogun State that honors its past and embraces its future,” Governor Dapo Abiodun wrote in a speech commemorating the event. The speech rings hollow and ignores the real roadblocks that stand in the way of safeguarding Ojude Oba and Ogun State’s legacy. If he’s serious about preserving the festival for posterity, he needs to start with the derelict roads  that led him to the festival.