By Wale Ojo-Lanre, Esq.
What I am about to tell you is not a story. It is not gossip. It is not one of those political concoctions stirred like roadside noodles to attract attention. No! This is a lived experience a burning memory, a stubborn scar, a moment that has refused to leave my soul for one full year. And if you are expecting diplomacy, soft words, or careful caution ,abeg, you are in the wrong place. Because what happened at Igbojaiye that day shook me to my very foundation.
Yes , shook me!
I am talking about an encounter with the Governor of Oyo State himself Seyi Makinde a man many have described as calm, calculated, and composed. But what I saw… what I experienced… what I endured in his presence that day… ah! It forced me to ask a dangerous question: Can power surprise you like this? Can leadership confuse your expectations this badly?
And to God be the glory , my witnesses are still alive , Hon Shina Peller ,Hon Wole Kanle ,Hon Oshine Ireakari , Remi Oladoye ,and several other guests including Uncle Tunde Kilani and Mrs Abiola Adelana of Sterling Bank..
Walahi, by the time you finish reading this, you will either stone Governor Makinde or haul a bag of anything on him. … or question him endlessly.
Because I did not expect it.
Honestly, I don’t think I deserve such a treatment
I did not imagine it.
I never thought a sitting Governor would descend yes, descend into the arena of raw, personal, public engagement the way he did. Not behind closed doors. Not in whispers. But in the full glare of dignitaries, cameras, and a crowd that could not have been less than one thousand five hundred souls.
It was exactly one year ago.
A day I tried to bury. A day I struggled to forget. But memory is a stubborn tenant it refuses eviction. It keeps knocking, keeps whispering, keeps dragging me back to that moment: “Tell it. Say it. Expose it.”
And so today, I surrender.
I left Usi Ekiti on a long, punishing journey of about 350 kilometres to Igbojaiye, Oyo State, just to honour a man Kunle Afolayan whose father, the legendary Ade Love, shaped part of my youthful hustle. From hiring his films at Adeyemi College, Ondo, to visiting his Orile Iganmu residence in Lagos, to listening to his stories about Cannes and cinematic struggles I carried that history with pride.
So when Kunle built that multi-billion-naira KAP Film Village in his mother’s land, I knew I had to be there.
And truly, when I arrived, Kunle welcomed me warmly. He admired my outfit Aso Ofi trousers, shirt, monkey jacket and my stubborn crown, the Visit Ekiti cap. At that moment, I told myself: Lanre, the journey was worth it.
Ah! I didn’t know destiny had another script waiting.
The gathering was massive. Distinguished personalities everywhere. The Honourable Minister of Arts, Culture and Creative Economy—Hannatu Musawa had arrived. Lawmakers, commissioners, bankers, media giants all present.
Then came the moment:
“The Governor is arriving.”
We were asked to line up.
Honestly, I didn’t want to join. Something in me resisted. I dislike the rush, the pushing, the overzealous aides who treat human beings like movable barricades. But Kunle called me. And when a host calls, a guest obeys.
So I joined.
And there… my “disgrace” began.
Governor Makinde arrived , smiling, exchanging pleasantries, acknowledging guests with grace. I watched him. I studied him. I assumed my turn would be ordinary.
Then it got to me.
He looked at me.
Paused.
Looked again.
“Haa! Wale Ojo-Lanre!!”
Before I could even react, he turned to those around him and began what I can only describe as a public unveiling of my identity:
“This is my brother… a good man… a fine journalist… former Chairman Oyo NUJ… a reliable personality…”
Then he held my hand ,firm, warm, deliberate.
“E pele… Long time, sir!”
Ah!!!
Tell me ,what kind of disgrace is this?
The kind that lifts you when you are prepared to be ignored.
The kind that announces you when you are trying to remain invisible.
The kind that strips you of anonymity and dresses you in sudden honour.
Because instantly, the same eyes that had been scanning me curiously perhaps wondering about the man with the Visit Ekiti cap ,changed. Respect replaced doubt. Recognition replaced indifference.
But he was not done.
Inside the event hall, during his speech, he paused again:
“Where is my brother, Wale Ojo-Lanre? I saw him earlier…”
Ah! I wished the ground would open.
From the back row—yes, the back where I deliberately hid—I stood up. And as if a spotlight had been switched on, heads turned. Eyes searched. Identity confirmed.
And just when I thought the disgrace had ended…
As he was leaving, he saw me again and said:
“Brother mi… I still use the same number. Call me. I want to see you.”
Now tell me…
Is this not the highest level of public disgrace?
The kind that humbles you unexpectedly.
The kind that honours you without announcement.
The kind that plants responsibility in your soul.
And since that day?
I have not called him.
I have not gone to see him.
Not because I cannot.
Not because I was not invited.
But because some moments are not meant to be exploited ,they are meant to be treasured.
Yes, I have written. I have critiqued. I have even satirised famously so. But beneath every satire lies truth. Beneath every irony lies experience.
So, my dear reader…
I have told you my story.
Judge him yourself.
As for me? I began this piece sounding like a wounded man… a man disgraced in public.
But now you understand.
If this is disgrace… then perhaps Nigeria needs more of it.
And if this is how power chooses to humble a man like me… then I accept it ,fully, gratefully, and without resentment.
Because, in truth, that day at Igbojaiye did not reduce me ,it elevated me.
And so, I say it without hesitation, without satire, without disguise:
Blessed be the man who disgraced me with such a bumper honour.
God bless Seyi Makinde.
May God increase him.
May He strengthen his hands for greater service.
May He lift him higher beyond expectations.
And may his kind ,the kind that lifts men in public instead of diminishing them ,never go extinct in our land.
Amen.