Mayowa Balogun has been trying to attend Ojude Oba for three years. But this year he finally got his wish and was one of the horsemen representing the Alatishe ruling family of Ijebu, even though he is not Ijebu himself.
“It was such an honour,” he told Zikoko in an interview. Though for him it was just as adrenaline-filled as sky diving, he is already preparing for next year.
This is Mayowa’s experience as told to Dennis.
I had no intentions of being a horseman at Ojude Oba. I didn’t even think it was possible for me, as someone who isn’t Ijebu. I am from Ekiti State. But two years ago, I told my friend Adedoyin Alatishe, who is from one of the Ijebu ruling houses that ride horses and perform in front of the king, that I wanted to come. He asked if I would also like to ride a horse with his family. I jumped on the offer.
I couldn’t make it that year because the date was in conflict with another trip I had planned. Ojude Oba is held two days after the Sallah. The Sallah date is not decided until well into the new year. I also planned to attend last year but I couldn’t make it because of schedule problems.
This year, it was the same thing. I had a trip planned for Sunday, the day chosen for the Ojude Oba festival. But I didn’t want to move it again. I wanted to be a part of the action. So I moved my trip to Monday.
We had two Zoom calls with the Alatishe family. People who could make it drove down to Ijebu for the meeting in person. I couldn’t, so I joined on Zoom. We had a WhatsApp group chat. We paid ₦200,000 to cover the cost of the horse, matching agbada and fila, a handkerchief and a hand fan with “Alatishe” branded on it. I didn’t buy the walking stick, the rope, or the horsetail. Some people who bought them and other accessories spent as much as ₦400,000.
I left Lagos for Ijebu by 6 a.m. I went through Epe. I have driven to Ijebu many times because I have a factory there. That early, the traffic was already building. A drive that would normally have taken me an hour and thirty minutes took way more. I drove straight to the Alatishe compound. When I got there, it was past 8 a.m.
Horses lined up at the compound—there could have been 30 to 50 of them. Their stable hands stood with them, brushing their furs, cleaning them, training them, preparing them for the long day.
They asked us to wear white, so I wore a white slim-fit kaftan. When I got to Ijebu, they gave us the agbada and fila. Ours had green and yellow stripes. I wore red coral beads. No one had told me to buy them, but I had seen photos from previous Ojude Obas and saw that the men wore them. I had old ones at home, but I wanted new ones for Ojude Oba. So I bought these ones from Lagos Island. It came in a set of three: a long necklace and two bracelets. I wore one on each hand.
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I also wore a gold chain I already owned and two gold bracelets. I wore simple dark sunglasses. I had no experience riding a horse and had never been to Ojude Oba.
My friend, Adedoyin, had been training with his horse for months. He would be one of the lead performers when we rode before the king. Some of the other horsemen, like me, friends of his and other cousins, had also been training with their horses.
This was my first time on horseback. This was my first time at Ojude Oba. But I had some experience with adrenaline-filled activities. I had done skydiving and bungee jumping. Also, my horse couldn’t do those strenuous activities.
I practised some movements with the stable hands, just how to move the horse around. The stable hand stood by my side, guiding the horse. By 11:30 am, we were ready to head to the Ojude Oba arena. It was not a walk in the park.
The streets of Ijebu Ode were packed full. Fathers and sons wore matching agbada. Uncles reunited with nephews. Land disputes were suspended. Friends, foes, rivals—all on horseback—waved at each other.
I sat on my horse. I felt regal. There is no other way to describe it.
The Alatishe family had north of 30 men on horseback heading to the arena. Other families had similar numbers. Indigenes of the community came out to watch the procession. There were people who had no interest in Ojude Oba but needed to move around in their area. Some were heading to church. Some were tourists who had come to witness the Ojude Oba festival. They were all outside. The road was blocked.
Adedoyin began performing just as we took to the streets. His horse’s acts were jumping, standing on two legs, and dancing. Companies that had come to support families lined the streets offering drinks.
What would have taken less than 15 minutes took hours. By 2 p.m., we were still on the road on horseback. I could hear loud gunshots from the arena. Convoys blocked the road, and horses blocked the road. I hadn’t eaten all day. I didn’t want to have a running stomach or anything that would make me feel disoriented, yet I felt disoriented.
My feet were numb. My ass was on fire. I squirmed from side to side, just to get the blood flowing. But relief was impossible. I saw someone from another house faint from dehydration. Even the people who had participated last year said that this year was different. More people had come to witness Ojude Oba this year. I got off my horse just for a while to reset.
I thought about it too—turning back, not doing it anymore. Just going back home to the peace and quiet. But I thought, never. I must do this.
By 4 pm, we got to the arena. I sat resplendent on my horse. There was cheering. There were gunshots. Some people were spraying money. People were taking pictures of us. Some were stopping to ask for money. I felt like a celebrity. Adedoyin’s horse had picked up speed. I nudged my stable hand to move faster. I had to be where the action was. I had to be as close to Adedoyin as possible.
As he was heading to perform before the king and other dignitaries, I told my stable hand to move closer to him. You have to be hyper-vigilant. There are many things to distract you, and in the crowd, you can lose the spotlight. So I made sure I was alert, and my stable hand was alert. The chaos had more than tripled. The horses were hitting each other. The gunshots were getting louder.
Adedoyin finally performed in front of the dignitaries, and we were riding back. Someone stopped to make a video of me. As I rode out on my horse, a young mother asked if her son could ride with me on my horse. So I lifted him on the horse. The young lad, in dark sunglasses, was beyond elated.
There is no way I won’t be here next year. I made a mental note of all the things I would buy: the rope, the walking stick, the shekere, the horse whip, the glove. I will be back next year fully prepared. I would spend more time with my horse preparing.
It was such an honour to have performed with the Alatishe family this year. As we rode back home, the traffic was beginning to subside. But the road was far from free. It took us 15 minutes to get back to the Alatishe compound. As I dismounted my horse, I squeezed my hand and said to myself, “Please remember. Please remember.”
