Ibadan, Oyo State — Few figures in Nigeria’s modern political history have combined influence, theatre, and cultural savvy quite like Alhaji Lamidi Ariyibi Adedibu, the late Garrison Commander of Oyo politics and the Balogun Musulumi of the state. Known as much for his unmatched grassroots mobilization as for his capacity to wield humour as a political tool, Adedibu left behind a trove of anecdotes that continue to entertain and educate.
One such episode—now legendary among political circles in the South-West—speaks volumes about Adedibu’s political genius, religious pragmatism, and his penchant for comedic control of perception.
Faith and Power at Molete
From his expansive Molete residence in Ibadan, Adedibu ruled the political landscape of Oyo State for decades. His home was more than a residence; it was a movement. Strategists, politicians, thugs, clerics, job seekers, traditional rulers, and journalists all converged on Molete like a pilgrimage site. On most days, his private mosque bustled with Quranic recitations and political supplications. Yet, in an extraordinary show of religious diplomacy, it was not uncommon to find Christian pastors and evangelists conducting prayer sessions right inside his quarters.
Adedibu’s balancing of the two dominant religions was as strategic as it was sincere. As one of the earliest powerbrokers in the region to deliberately court Muslim and Christian leaders alike, he was known for lobbying to appoint Chairmen of both the Muslim and Christian Pilgrims Welfare Boards once his preferred governor assumed office. His annual sponsorship of pilgrims to Mecca and Jerusalem further reinforced his image as a patron of faith and facilitator of favour.
The Morning Drama: When Politics Met Prophecy
On one otherwise typical morning, a well-known Pentecostal pastor arrived at Molete for a private prayer session with Adedibu. As was his custom, the political warlord knelt in solemnity before the preacher, who began to offer passionate prayers. In that moment, religion and politics stood side-by-side—until the unexpected happened.
A prominent Imam, recently turbanned and highly respected in Oyo Islamic circles, walked into the room mid-prayer. What followed was vintage Adedibu—unscripted brilliance wrapped in cultural wit.
Without breaking the prayer session or rising to greet the Imam, Adedibu half-opened one eye, turned slightly, and in his native Ibadan dialect, delivered an astonishing explanation:
“Baba, oníṣe ara ni Ọlọrun. Tóòri yín ni a ṣe adura yi. Pasito lo jí mi lọ́rọ̀ òwúrọ̀ yi. Ó ní àwọn ọ̀tá fẹ́ gbà ẹ̀mí Lemomu wa tuntun. Mo sọ pé ko pé yín, kó má bọ́lẹ̀ ju. Ẹ dakun, ẹ gúnlẹ̀ kí a pari adura.”
(Baba, Allah works in mysterious ways. This prayer session is for you. The pastor woke me early with a troubling vision that our newly turbanned Imam’s life is in danger. I felt it might be too late to send for you. Please kneel so we can conclude the prayer for your protection.”)
Caught in a mix of shock, respect, and urgency, the Imam promptly knelt beside Adedibu. The pastor completed the session. Both clerics then departed, seemingly satisfied with their roles in a divine orchestration.
The Real Masterstroke
As soon as they left, Adedibu’s aides—long accustomed to his clever manoeuvres—could no longer contain their curiosity.
> “Baba,” one asked, “but the pastor never said anything about danger to the Imam. Why did you say that?”
Adedibu, ever calm and calculated, leaned back and explained:
> “Omode ni nyin. Lemomu ba wa lori’kunle niwaju pastor. Awa ni o fi se waasi ni mosalasi Jimoh. Yo pe ‘Lailaha illallah, e wo Balogun Musulumi to n gunkunle niwaju pastor…’ Iyun ni gbogbo Jama’a yo ma so kiri. Ṣugbọn nísinsin yii, a ti jẹ kó gúnlẹ̀ pẹ̀lú wa. Ofin tó mú ẹ̀gún, ti mú eléhà.”
> (You are thinking like children. The Imam met me kneeling before a pastor. He would’ve used that in his Friday sermon: ‘Can you imagine the Balogun Musulumi kneeling before a pastor?’ It would have spread everywhere. But now that he too knelt before the pastor, he cannot say a word. The law that binds the masquerade binds the veiled woman as well.”)
The room reportedly erupted in laughter, but the point was made: in Adedibu’s world, perception was power—and controlling the narrative was the ultimate political survival strategy.
A Legacy in Laughter and Strategy
Adedibu, who passed away in 2008, was never merely a political godfather. He was a theatre of governance, a master of symbols, and a philosopher of the street. While some may remember him for his controversial methods or his fierce battles within the PDP, stories like this reveal a man deeply attuned to the socio-religious fabric of his people, and skilled in turning any scenario to his political advantage.
In today’s Nigeria, where divisive religious rhetoric too often overshadows common humanity, the Molete master reminds us—with both humour and humility—that sometimes, the best way to neutralize conflict is to bring everyone to their knees—literally.
By Headlinenews.news special report.
Documenting the people, the power, and the pulse of Nigeria.
