Kabiyesi 

“The age of kingdoms and empires has passed. They belong to history books and folklore. What remains is the opportunity for traditional rulers to redefine their relevance, to serve as custodians of culture, mediators of peace, and moral voices in a complex society. That role, if embraced with humility, is far more valuable than any hollow claim to supremacy”

Each time I hear, read, or watch traditional rulers fight over supremacy, something shifts within me. It is not that such scenes make me despise tradition or culture. Far from it. What unsettles me is the quiet sickness they provoke, the feeling that decades after the world has moved on, we are still allowing ourselves to be emotionally and psychologically pressured by the ghosts of our ancestors.

These ancestors lived in a different era altogether. Theirs was a time when life was basic and survival was local. Electricity was unknown. Airplanes were unimaginable. Telephones, radio, television, and even the earliest modern inventions had not yet entered human consciousness. Their worldview was shaped by the limits of their environment, their technology, and their understanding of the universe.

Their actions and inactions were dictated by their time. Their behaviors, beliefs, and power structures were molded by the circumstances they found themselves in. From the architecture of their homes to the clothes they wore, from how they governed to how they worshipped, context played a decisive role in how things unfolded. They did what made sense to them, within the boundaries of what they knew and what was possible.

This is why, in this age and time, I worry deeply when one traditional ruler claims superiority over another and violence or social tension erupts as a result. It is troubling when each side begins to summon history as ammunition, dredging up ancient memories to validate present-day claims. The tragedy is that many of these historical accounts are not sacrosanct. They are not infallible truths etched in stone. In fact, scholars have long pointed out the inadequacies, contradictions, and gaps in many of these narratives. Oral histories, while valuable, are fluid. They evolve, they merge myth with memory, and they are often reshaped by power, politics, and pride. Yet, we continue to treat them as unquestionable evidence, worthy of bloodletting and endless rivalry.

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Growing up, we heard all kinds of stories about the origins of the Yoruba people. One narrative I have always found difficult to accept without question is the claim that Oduduwa, the acclaimed progenitor of the race, came from Saudi Arabia and descended into Ile-Ife using a chain. Was Ile-Ife empty when he arrived? From what scholars have established, Ile-Ife was not an uninhabited space. There were people there long before Oduduwa’s arrival.

Still, if as a people we have chosen to accept him as the symbolic father of the race, a race that was not even called Yoruba in Oduduwa’s time, then so be it. Faith, symbolism, and collective agreement often matter more in identity formation than strict historical accuracy. But we must also admit that these stories are layered, contested, and far from straightforward.

We were also taught that Oduduwa had seven children who went on to establish kingdoms such as Oyo. Even this account has been questioned by historians and researchers. Some argue that the number seven is symbolic rather than literal. Others suggest that the dispersal of power and people was far more complex than a neat family tree would suggest. If these foundational stories are open to debate, reinterpretation, and scholarly scrutiny, then one must ask a simple question. Why should traditional rulers in this modern age still be fighting over supremacy based on them? The era when traditional rulers were the ultimate powers-that-be ended long ago. Colonial authorities, with calculated precision, dismantled their political authority and nailed the coffins of absolute traditional power. The modern Nigerian state, like many others, placed kings and chiefs within a constitutional framework that stripped them of sovereignty.

Today, political leaders decide who ascends these revered stools. Governors sign the papers. Courts adjudicate disputes. And as we have seen repeatedly, politicians have demonstrated the powerlessness of these stools by suspending or deposing traditional rulers when it suits their interests. From the West to the North, monarchs have been removed, sanctioned, or humiliated by elected officials. This is not conjecture. It is documented reality. Given this reality, one would expect traditional rulers to recalibrate their sense of relevance. Instead of expending energy on needless supremacy tussles, they ought to smell the coffee and accept that we live in a completely different world.

This world bears little resemblance to the one inhabited by Oduduwa, Oranmiyan, Obatala, Bayajidda, and other revered ancestors. It is not just different. It is constantly changing. The world of ten years ago is not the world of today. The world of twenty years ago bears little resemblance to that of fifty or one hundred years ago. Technology alone has rewritten the rules of power, influence, and authority.

There was a time when the compact disc was revolutionary. There was a time when owning a flash drive felt like being ahead of the curve. There was a time when the video player was the pride of many living rooms. All of these have been overtaken by newer, faster, and more efficient innovations. Progress does not ask for permission. It moves on, relentlessly. Societies that refuse to adapt are left behind, clinging to symbols whose substance has long evaporated. Culture, like technology, must find ways to stay relevant without becoming destructive. Tradition should guide, not chain. It should inspire, not incite conflict.

I cherish ancient stools such as the Alaafin, the Ooni, the Awujale, and many others. They are repositories of history and symbols of continuity. But we do ourselves no favors by deceiving ourselves about their place in this rapidly changing world. Reverence does not require rivalry. Honor does not demand hostility.

From time immemorial, I have recognised only one true Kabiyesi, the ultimate authority, the one who can do and undo without limitation. That is God, our source, our creator, and our comforter. Anyone else who lays claim to absolute supremacy is, at best, engaging in self-deception.

I urge our traditional rulers to come to terms with this reality. I also implore them not to forget the times we live in. Let this awareness guide their actions and inactions. Only then can they free themselves from needless supremacy battles.

My final take: The age of kingdoms and empires has passed. They belong to history books and folklore. What remains is the opportunity for traditional rulers to redefine their relevance, to serve as custodians of culture, mediators of peace, and moral voices in a complex society. That role, if embraced with humility, is far more valuable than any hollow claim to supremacy.