A few weeks ago, we were wrapped in the joy and excitement of the Ileya festivities. Like millions of Nigerians, people travelled from different parts of the world to reconnect with family, friends, and familiar places. Mine was Abeokuta, and as always, it was a memorable homecoming.
The day after the celebration, I found myself at a popular relaxation spot, soaking in the atmosphere that accompanies festive periods in Ogun State. At a nearby table sat five middle-aged men engrossed in a passionate discussion about the politics of the state while downing their booze. Their conversation traversed administrations, personalities, victories, betrayals, and political intrigues from the return of democracy in 1999 to the present day. As is often the case in such settings, verifiable facts blended freely with beer-parlour folklore. Some defended their preferred political leaders with near-religious devotion, while others dismissed certain administrations with equal fervour.
What struck me most was not the disagreement itself but the confidence with which one participant advanced hearsay as fact. Every claim was presented as gospel truth, despite the absence of evidence. It reminded me of a larger Nigerian problem: our tendency to embrace popular narratives without interrogating their foundations. We often prefer conclusions to facts and rumours to records. Verification demands effort, and effort is rarely as attractive as convenience. But the discipline of verifying facts remains one of the surest protections against ignorance.
That conversation took me down memory lane and prompted me to reflect on the trajectory of governance in Ogun State since 1999. More specifically, it made me consider the relationship between outgoing and incoming administrations and how political transitions have shaped the state’s development.
Unlike Lagos State, where transitions between successive governments have largely maintained a degree of continuity despite occasional disagreements, Ogun State’s political history has often been characterised by rivalry and confrontation. The result has been the frequent abandonment of projects, disruption of policies, and the subordination of governance to political warfare.
For much of the Fourth Republic, election seasons in Ogun resembled battlefields rather than democratic contests. One of the earliest illustrations of this was the political turbulence that accompanied the end of Aremo Olusegun Osoba’s administration. The famous “Segun l’oke, Segun ni’sale” mantra symbolised what many supporters believed was a political understanding between President Olusegun Obasanjo and Governor Osoba.
The eventual outcome, however, revealed a recurring lesson in Nigerian politics: alliances are often permanent only until power calculations change. The episode left deep political scars and inaugurated a pattern of succession struggles that would reverberate through subsequent administrations.
Before he became governor in 2003, Otunba Gbenga Daniel had already established himself as a visible political force through the Gateway Front Foundation, an organisation that engaged in various social intervention programmes. Through empowerment initiatives, community projects, and strategic public engagement, the foundation built a considerable following across the state. Many residents saw in Daniel a leader who appeared capable of translating private initiative into public service.
When he eventually emerged as governor, expectations were understandably high. His administration began with significant goodwill and ambitious developmental promises. There were visible efforts in infrastructure and public services, and many believed Ogun State was on the cusp of a major transformation.
However, politics soon overshadowed governance. Daniel’s second term became increasingly defined by political confrontations. Disagreements emerged with various stakeholders within the political establishment, creating an atmosphere of tension that often distracted from governance. By the closing years of his administration, the political environment had become deeply polarised.
The 2011 governorship election reflected that tension. Daniel’s attempt to influence the succession process through a different political platform, the Peoples Party of Nigeria, popularly nicknamed by many Ogun residents as “Pin Pin L’owo Nosiru,” ultimately failed. He presented a candidate many considered credible, but the approach proved politically ineffective. The episode underscored a recurring reality in Ogun politics: power transitions are rarely straightforward and often generate fierce resistance. At other times, they are accompanied by anti-party activities, succession battles, or attempts by outgoing leaders to impose their preferred successors on the political establishment and the electorate.
Then came Senator Ibikunle Amosun. He assumed office with a strong reformist image and quickly became associated with an ambitious programme of urban renewal and road construction. Across Abeokuta and other parts of the state, he promised major infrastructure projects that will alter the physical landscape. Supporters praised his boldness and decisiveness, while critics questioned aspects of implementation and the disruption caused by some projects.
Regardless of where one stood, it was impossible to ignore the scale of his infrastructural ambitions. Yet, as with many administrations, politics eventually became intertwined with governance. By the approach of the 2019 elections, Ogun once again found itself in the middle of a succession battle. The disagreements surrounding the choice of a successor created divisions within the ruling party and intensified political tensions across the state.
The election season was marked by uncertainty, competing loyalties, and open displays of political disagreement. It reinforced the perception that Ogun politics had developed a pattern in which outgoing administrations often found themselves at odds with emerging political realities. In Abeokuta, the then-sitting President, late Muhammadu Buhari, the current President, Bola Tinubu, and other party leaders had stones and other objects hurled at them during an electioneering campaign when Tinubu raised the hand of the APC’s gubernatorial candidate. President Buhari had declined to do so because Senator Ibikunle Amosun was openly backing a different candidate from another party, an act widely regarded as anti-party activity.
Against that backdrop emerged Prince Dapo Abiodun. His victory was not universally predicted. He faced significant political resistance and entered office amidst intense scrutiny. During his first term, he encountered criticism from multiple quarters. Like many public officials in the age of social media, his administration became the subject of relentless political attacks, allegations, and counter-allegations.
However, what distinguishes his tenure from those of his predecessors is not necessarily the absence of political disagreements but the management of succession politics.
Historically, transitions in Ogun State have often been accompanied by hostility between former and incumbent leaders. A report even claimed that a governor kept his predecessor’s hotel under lock and key for nearly eight years. In Yoruba wisdom lies a warning: ‘Ìjà o d’olá, orukọ ni ń s’óní”. The pattern has been so consistent that many assumed it was inevitable. The emerging political atmosphere ahead of the next governorship election, however, appears markedly different.
For perhaps the first time since the return of democracy, there appears to be a broad effort among major political stakeholders within the ruling party to avoid a destructive succession battle. The growing consensus around Senator Solomon Olamilekan Adeola, popularly known as YAYI, is noteworthy not only because of the individual involved but because of what it represents politically.
Even more significant is the fact that the candidate comes from Ogun West, a senatorial district whose quest for the governorship has been a recurring subject in the state’s political discourse. Previous attempts to build consensus around candidates from the zone — by Otunba Gbenga Daniel and Senator Ibikunle Amosun — often encountered formidable obstacles. The current situation appears different.
What is emerging may not be perfect, and politics, by its nature, rarely is. Nevertheless, the relative calm compared to previous transitions deserves recognition. The state has witnessed fewer public hostilities, fewer dramatic defections, and fewer existential political battles than many observers expected.
Credit should, therefore, be given where it is due. Political maturity is often measured not by how leaders acquire power but by how they manage its transfer. Democratic stability depends not only on elections but also on the willingness of political actors to place institutional continuity above personal ambition.
The significance of continuity extends beyond political optics. Political warfare weakens institutions because governance becomes subordinated to personal rivalries. Civil servants become uncertain about policy direction. Development plans are interrupted. Public agencies spend valuable time adjusting to political conflicts instead of serving citizens. More importantly, policy reversals often discourage investors. Investors value predictability as much as they value opportunity. When projects are abandoned, agreements are revisited, or developmental priorities change abruptly with every administration, confidence suffers. Capital is naturally cautious; it gravitates towards environments where policies outlive political cycles. This is why continuity is not just a political virtue but also an economic asset.
Notably, the most encouraging lesson is that governance and succession need not be mutually exclusive. Ogun State’s political history has shown the cost of allowing personal rivalries to dominate public affairs. Abandoned projects, policy reversals, and prolonged political conflicts have often left ordinary citizens bearing the consequences.
If the current course charted by Prince Dapo Abiodun is sustained, it could mark a significant shift in the state’s political culture. The true beneficiaries would not be politicians but the people of Ogun State. Development projects would stand a better chance of completion. Public resources would be directed towards governance rather than political vendettas. Investors would find greater certainty in the state’s policy environment. Institutions would become stronger because they would no longer be forced to repeatedly reinvent themselves at the altar of political disagreements.
Democracy flourishes when competition ends at the ballot box, and governance begins thereafter. For too long, Ogun politics extended electoral battles into governance itself. The result was a cycle in which political energy that should have been deployed towards development was often consumed by succession disputes and power struggles.
Finally, posterity will ultimately judge all the actors involved, and continuity alone is not a substitute for performance. Yet it creates the conditions under which performance can be sustained. If Ogun has finally discovered that continuity is more profitable than conflict, then the state’s greatest political achievement may not be the emergence of a governor or a successor. It may well be the emergence of a political culture where institutions matter more than individuals, where development survives transitions, and where power is transferred without warfare.
That would be a victory not for any administration, party, or political tendency. It would be a victory for Ogun State itself.
The conversation does not end here. You can continue it with me on X via @folorunso_adisa, LinkedIn: Folorunso Fatai Adisa, or Facebook at Folorunso Fatai Adisa.
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