Odolaye aremu biography of barack

Big calamities seldom knock before opening the door. Calamities’ sneaky essence is articulated in one song by grand old Odolaye Aremu, Ilorin, Kwara state-born Dadakuada song minstrel. While philosophizing the concept of calamity, which Yoruba call “eemo”, Odolaye sang that surprise and swiftness are primary features of calamities, holding tight to them like leeches. So he sang, “Peki laa k’eemo,” (calamity is met suddenly). The singer points at horses used in races and in ancient wars meeting their end unprepared during races. It is the same with soldiers who mount horses and ride them to death. Odolaye sang that, as sudden death pounces upon warhorses, so also do buffalos meet their end in the treacherous thickets of the savannah.

Last week, though not racing on horses nor does it have anything in similarity with buffalos, calamity swiftly walked into the capital of Oyo state and like Odolaye aptly dissected it, it was sudden. It came with its handmaidens – weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Residents of Bodija, Ibadan, suddenly heard a late evening loud bang which reverberated around many parts of the ancient city. By the time the bang settled, lives had been lost, property destroyed and Ibadan suddenly became an epicentre of bad New Year news. Buildings were reduced to rubble, vehicles destroyed and a yet-to-be-ascertained number of people killed by the explosion.

Preliminary investigation found out that this calamity was the handiwork of some Malian miners who lived there. They had allegedly brought in high-level dynamite into a human neighbourhood. As at the time of writing this, official sources put the number of dead at five while excavation of bodies was still being done. One of the dead was said to be a United Kingdom returnee who met his untimely death while visiting. Mining activities have become harbingers of “eemo” in Nigeria’s lucrative mining fields, Zamfara state being an earlier

This volume examines how African indigenous popular music is deployed in democracy, politics and for social crusades by African artists. Exploring the role of indigenous African popular music in environmental health communication and gender empowerment, it subsequently focuses on how the music portrays the African future, its use by African youths, and how it is affected by advanced broadcast technologies and the digital media. Indigenous African popular music has long been under-appreciated in communication scholarship. However, understanding the nature and philosophies of indigenous African popular music reveals an untapped diversity which can only be unraveled by the knowledge of myriad cultural backgrounds from which its genres originate. With a particular focus on scholarship from Nigeria, Zimbabwe and South Africa, this volume explores how, during the colonial period and post-independence dispensation, indigenous African music genres and their artists were mainstreamed in order to tackle emerging issues, to sensitise Africans about the affairs of their respective nations and to warn African leaders who have failed and are failing African citizenry about the plight of the people.

At the same time, indigenous African popular music genres have served as a beacon to the teeming African youths to express their dreams, frustrations about their environments and to represent themselves. This volume explores how, through the advent of new media technologies, indigenous African popular musicians have been working relentlessly for indigenous production, becoming champions of good governance, marginalised population, and repositories of indigenous cultural traditions and cosmologies.

They say I am crazy. In a way maybe I am Ibadan-kind crazy. The type of craziness that follows a logic to a point and depart from it when such logic expires midway. The chronic bipolarity of that city lives with me and within me forever and ever. For example I don’t understand how Lagosians could choose to sheepishly follow one Jagaban to the end of time. In Ibadan we are quick to recalibrate our position or allegiance to the growth or development or even to the irregular, electrical touches of our brain cells. We act to the notorious pattern of the privileged residents of that fabled, invincible city within the big city itself known only to outsiders as – Láyípo!

Now back to base. More than the attractive aura of the ball club that added an allure to the lore of the city for me, Baba Ẹlẹ́ran was another Ibadan entity that helped to fully secure my love for the beautiful city. There was Lekan Salami and there was Baba Eleran. Their’s was the symbiotic relationship between Lekki and Somolu. One seemingly high and the other seemingly low. But both functioned perfectly to the massive growth of the club they both managed and supported respectively.

The picture of Haji Gani is that of a Legend. He was as legendary as the ball club he devoted his life, business and all to. One of his children reportedly fell sick on on the eve of one of the Stars outing out of state, he only prayed for the kid and followed his heart. Fortunately the Stars won. Unfortunately the kid died. Baba Ẹlẹ́ran reportedly sucked up and thank God for taking the child but more for allowing the Stars not to disgrace him! That’s Ganiyu Elékuru, Baba Eleran!

He was our Supporters Club leader. And at the same time a one-time President of The Ibadan Butchers Association; hence the lifetime moniker: Baba Ẹlẹ́ran. He was equally one of our unofficial team scouts. By his carrying-on too, he was the man to further rei