Ijebuland Questions Its Past - The Awujale’s Throne Caught Between Ancestral Truth and Modern Day Influenced Power Struggle

In the ancient town of Ijebu-Ode, where tradition is neither ornamental nor negotiable, the question of who may ascend the revered stool of the Awujale has ignited a crisis far deeper than dynastic rivalry. What is unfolding in Ijebuland is not merely a family disagreement dressed in royal robes. It is a profound examination of law, lineage, and legitimacy, a reckoning with centuries of carefully preserved custom and the moral authority that sustains Yoruba kingship.

At the centre of this storm lies the “Fusengbuwa Exclusivity” debate. Within the Fusengbuwa Ruling House, who is truly entitled to wear the crown? Should eligibility be narrowly confined to descendants of Oba Fusengbuwa, or does custom and law recognize a broader ancestral umbrella that includes forebears who ruled before him? The stakes are high, this is not just about a throne, but the historical integrity of an entire kingdom.

The four recognized Ruling Houses in Ijebuland are Anikinaya, Fidipote, Gbelegbuwa, and Fusengbuwa. Within Fusengbuwa itself exist four units, Jadiara, Bubiade, Tunwase, and Fusengbuwa. These internal divisions highlight the layered complexity of succession and the careful deliberation traditionally required to determine eligibility.

Long before colonial administrators drafted memoranda and intelligence files, the institution of the Awujale was governed by sophisticated customary systems refined over generations. Succession depended on genealogy, the authority of the Ilamuren, consultation with Ifa, and consensus forged through deeply rooted tradition. These were not mere rituals, they were mechanisms of continuity, ensuring leadership flowed legitimately through ancestral lines respected by the community.

When British authorities compiled an intelligence report on Ijebu-Ode in 1943, their aim was administrative clarity, not cultural preservation. The report simplified complex royal networks into categories digestible for bureaucracy. It could not capture the full nuance of indigenous law. Treating such colonial documentation as definitive codification of succession mistakes convenience for authority.

The 1959 Chieftaincy Declaration recognized four ruling houses, Fusengbuwa, Tunwase, Jadiara, and Bubiade, condensing over sixteen lineages into a manageable framework. Yet the question remains, did this formalize a pre-existing structure, or extinguish other legitimate hereditary claims? That interpretation now shapes both legal arguments and public perception.

Statutory language is central to the dispute. Section 15(B)(iii) of the governing law refers to “any descendant of an Awujale from the Fusengbuwa Ruling Dynasty.” The word “any” signals inclusivity, not restriction. Unless a statutory amendment or authoritative customary pronouncement explicitly excludes pre-Fusengbuwa lineages, attempts to confine eligibility narrowly appear legally fragile.

The 2021 Ogun State Chiefs Law outlines procedural steps for selecting traditional rulers, but does not redefine bloodline eligibility unless explicitly stated. Advocates of exclusivity argue that limiting the field reduces opportunistic claims and litigation. Yet excessive narrowing carries dangers: it risks amputating history, disinheriting branches of a family whose legitimacy predates colonial records, and weakening the stool’s moral foundation. Nigerian courts have repeatedly affirmed that chieftaincy declarations reflect custom they do not override it.

A persistent historical misconception claims that Jadiara fathered Fusengbuwa. Yet the timeline tells a very different story. Munigbuwa reigned first, from 1475 to 1480, marking a common ancestral point. Generations later, Jadiara ruled between 1680 and 1695, and long after him, Fusengbuwa ascended the throne from 1790 to 1820. The succession clearly spans centuries, revealing a layered, interconnected lineage that cannot be reduced to a single patriarch.

Between Jadiara and Fusengbuwa, four Awujales reigned, and seven ruled before Jadiara. The lineage is complex and interconnected, not confined to one branch. Treating the Fusengbuwa Ruling House as rigidly segmented, considering only the Fusengbuwa unit while ignoring Jadiara, Tunwase, and Bubiade distorts history rather than clarifies it. Any attempt to interpret succession through such a narrow lens oversimplifies centuries of shared heritage and undermines the very continuity it purports to protect.

Today, procedure and politics overlap in unsettling ways. Social media speculation has blurred fact with rumor, while reports suggest that a candidate said to be sponsored by an influential state actor may have attempted to manipulate the nomination and selection process. Other factions have raised concerns about the reclassification of lineages, including debates over which branches of the family are considered eligible, raising fears that outcomes may favor predetermined interests.

The poser still remains. How can so much be entrusted to individuals, the culture, tradition, and history, only for it to be treated lightly for transient gain? This question hangs over the kingdom, a sharp reminder that the stakes are not merely procedural but moral and ancestral.

Transparency, far from a modern imposition, is the lifeblood of legitimacy. Any perception of favoritism or procedural shortcuts threatens both the current selection and the long-term credibility of the Awujale stool.

In December 2017, correspondence from Pastor Bola Salami, Secretary of the Arojojoye Ruling House and descendant of Jadiara, revealed that the Fusengbuwa House adopted the name Arojojoye Ruling House. This shift, reportedly unanimous, aimed to realign with historical roots and the Oriki of Adele Tejitẹji, Arojojoye. Supporters argue it restores lineage consciousness, not repudiates Fusengbuwa.

Colonial archives add nuance. Intelligence reports from the 1930s and a 1943 memorandum by District Officer T.B. Bovell-Jones classified Idowa princes and princesses as part of Fusengbuwa. These records are reference points but reflect a colonial lens, they illuminate history without settling it.

The Afobaje faction faces allegations of attempting to rewrite nearly three centuries of monarchical history via a disputed installation process involving Bimbo Onabanjo. Chief (Prof.) Dr. Fassy Adetokunboh Yusuf, Vice Chairman of the Fusengbuwa/Arojojoye Ruling House, publicly distanced himself from the contested list, citing procedural irregularities. Allegations of inducements, manipulation, and compromised process continue, threatening the moral authority of the stool.

Ijebuland stands at a critical juncture. Selecting a new Awujale is about more than crowning a ruler, it is a test of whether history will be interpreted with integrity, statutory language read in fidelity to custom, and tradition safeguarded from distortion.

The kingdom’s future depends on a delicate balance, inclusivity grounded in verified genealogy, fairness guided by law, and leadership worthy of ancestral trust. The next Awujale must command not only rights of blood but the confidence of a people who understand that tradition evolves, yet cannot survive manipulation.

Finally, the struggle in Ijebuland is about stewardship, of memory, of law, and of a legacy that has defined the kingdom for generations. Whether that legacy endures intact depends on decisions made now, in a moment when history is watching closely.

Olumide Adekunle Fashina is a Lagos-based public affairs commentator writing on power, institutions, and legitimacy in Nigeria

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