By Segun Olatunji
Welcome to the peak of Nigerian political theatre, where the rules of engagement are simple: if you cannot beat your opponent on policy, developmental track records or grassroots popularity, you simply question their DNA and raise the hell about their ancestry.
The latest episode of this long-running soap opera stars Senator Solomon Olamilekan Adeola, affectionately known to friends, foes, and voters as Yayi. As the consensus governorship candidate of the All Progressives Congress (APC) for the 2027 election in Ogun State, Yayi has found himself at the centre of a hilarious genealogical mystery. According to a fiercely dedicated band of political opponents, the Senator is not actually a son of the Yewa soil in Ogun State. Instead, they insist he is a secret agent exported directly from the rugged hills of Ekiti State. Yet, when asked for a single shred of concrete evidence – like the name of a village or a basic birth certificate – the grand narrative goes hilariously blank. For all their televised certainty, they have managed to produce zero concrete receipts – no village names, no documents, just vibes. It’s a bold campaign strategy that relies entirely on the public believing a secret exists before anyone has bothered to find out.
Now, making a bold claim on national television is one thing. Backing it up with a single shred of verifiable, concrete evidence is apparently an entirely different ballgame—one that Yayi’s detractors are currently losing by a landslide. It turns out that shouting “I know your secret!” on national television is much easier than producing the actual receipts. It’s a breeze; it’s the minor detail of producing an actual birth certificate or a real village name that has left them completely ghosted by their own narrative.
Take the recent performances on Channels Television, for example. The political airspace was filled with confident declarations from opposition figures like Folake Marcus-Bello of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) and Abayomi Hunye, a suspended APC member. They looked straight into the cameras and confidently announced that Yayi is from Ekiti. The proof? Well, Marcus-Bello creatively suggested that Yayi’s late father was buried in Ekiti, while his mother found her final resting place in Epe, Lagos State. It is a fascinating piece of funeral geography, but when the dust settled, the grand revelation lacked the most crucial ingredient: actual documentation. When pushed for specific details—like, say, the name of the exact village, town or compound in Ekiti where Yayi allegedly hails from—the opposition’s grand narrative went hilariously blank. It turns out that accusing someone of hiding their true ancestry requires knowing where they are supposedly from in the first place.
Amused and predictably irritated by the televised drama, Yayi did what any politician holding a strong hand would do. He issued a swift 24-hour ultimatum demanding that his accusers publicly present their evidence or prepare to meet him in a court of law for libel. You would think a 24-hour countdown would send the accusers scrambling to unleash a treasure trove of birth certificates, ancient family trees, or definitive tax receipts. Instead, their response was a Masterclass in deflection. Rather than showing the public the evidence they claimed to possess, the opposition suddenly discovered a profound respect for the judiciary. “The courtroom is where evidence is tested, not the pages of newspapers,” they boldly declared. How convenient! It is perfectly fine to broadcast unverified claims to millions of viewers on national television, but the moment you are asked for receipts, it suddenly becomes a private judicial matter.
Not to be outdone by their own rhetoric, the opposition took the drama a step further. Abayomi Hunye actually filed a lawsuit before the Federal High Court in Abuja. But wait, did he sue to present the definitive proof that Yayi is from Ekiti? Not exactly. The lawsuit is actually asking the court to order a judicial review of Yayi’s previous Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) nomination forms. The goal is to examine all past electoral documents submitted under oath to find out if Yayi committed perjury in his previous declarations.
Let the irony of that sink in for a moment. For weeks, the public was led to believe that the opposition already possessed ironclad, devastating proof of Yayi’s deception. Yet, their actual legal strategy relies on asking a judge to go fishing through old INEC archives to find the very evidence they claimed to already have. It is the political equivalent of shouting “I know your deepest, darkest secret!” and then immediately asking the court to help you find out what that secret actually is.
Meanwhile, the traditional authorities in Yayi’s corner aren’t staying silent. The elders and traditional custodians of Kemta have openly affirmed his ancestral ties to the community. His stepmother also released a viral video dismissing the Ekiti claims entirely, reinforcing that he is, indisputably, a son of Yewa. But in the theatre of the absurd that defines this pre-election season, facts are merely suggestions, and accusations are treated as gospel.
At this point, one can only admire the sheer dedication of Yayi’s opponents. They have successfully elevated the mundane question of ancestry over actual governance, security, and economic development. If this evidence-free drama is the best strategy the opposition can muster to slow down Yayi’s momentum ahead of 2027, they might want to head back to the drawing board. Until they can produce an actual town, a verifiable family tree, or a real smoking gun instead of filing exploratory lawsuits, the entire “Ekiti Origin” saga remains nothing more than a breezy comedy routine. After all, running a gubernatorial campaign on nothing but vibes and funeral geography is a bold choice – it’s not just a very smart one.
Olatunji, a Political/Crisis Communication Strategist, writes from Ilaro, Ogun State
