In the end, the issue is not whether Olayinka or anyone else finds Oseni’s choice of words offensive, but whether the political circumstances make the metaphor conceivable. And therein lies the irony. In attempting to rebuke Oseni for describing Onor as gbewudani, Olayinka offered explanations that arguably strengthened the very impression he sought to dispel.
Amongst many others, two things sicken me about Nigerian politicians. The first is their capacity to approbate and reprobate. You know that inclination to blow hot and cold in the same breath. The second, which flows from the first, is their compulsion to assume that Nigerians are too dumb to read between the lines. I could cite endless examples of these annoying attempts to hoodwink Nigerians in virtually every aspect of our politics, but I’ll restrain myself and focus on last week’s live-television altercation over the presidential candidate of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP).
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The facts of the “Arise Morning Show,” interview with Mr Lere Olayinka on Friday, 4 September, are in the public, so I’ll save readers the trouble of a repeat. On Friday morning, Olayinka, Senior Special Assistant to the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Mr Nyesom Wike, on Public Communication and Social Media, lashed out at Mr Rufai Oseni, one of the programme’s three anchors, and refused to answer his question.
Olayinka said in response to Oseni’s question: “Well, I’m very sorry to say this, Oseni Rufai, I don’t want to answer any question from you. I want this conversation to be among reasonable human being (sic). People who will not come and describe other people as “gbewudani…” He was thereafter interrupted by co-anchor, Ayo Mairo-Ese, who brought the interview to a justifiable abrupt end. Although the main premise of this article is the gbewudani metaphor, I hope to return to the question of Olayinka’s choice of words presently.
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Let us begin by attempting to deconstruct the word. “Gbewudani” is one of those Yoruba expressions with imagery that says considerably more than any English translation can convey. The expression is derived from three words: gba (to take), ewu (clothes) and dani (to hold for a while). Literally, it evokes the image of someone holding another person’s clothes but for a moment. I understand that it is a traditional derogatory description of an excessively compliant man, especially a husband considered terribly beholden to his wife, such that the traditional hierarchy in a Yoruba household is inverted.
The word has, however, transcended its domestic origins and found its way into political discourse. In a 2020 study titled “Communicative Functions of Code-switching among Yoruba English Bilinguals on WhatsApp,” Rotimi Gbenga Akinyede and Adedamola Adetokunbo Ogunmola provided an interesting illustration of the contemporary political usage of gbewudani.
On page 4176 of the essay published in the International Journal of Creative Research Thoughts (IJCRT), the authors reproduced a WhatsApp chat between two people discussing the politics of Ekiti State. One participant says, “Nobody will ever vote for this gbẹ̀wùdání,” which the accompanying English translation renders as, “Nobody will ever vote for this stooge.” Later in the exchange, the same participant says of the subject of discussion, “He is Mr Governor’s gbẹ̀wùdání, true-true,” translated as, “He is truly Mr Governor’s stooge.”
In that conversation, the expression was employed to describe a deputy governor perceived as irredeemably subservient to his principal. The researchers’ accompanying translation renders the word simply as “stooge.” In contemporary political vocabulary, therefore, gbewudani, conveys the idea of a lackey, puppet, or subordinate figure. It would suggest someone who, even though possessing the title and trappings of an office, is perceived to exercise less independence or authority than their position confers.
That was essentially Oseni’s description of presidential candidate, Senator Sandy Onor, in his analysis of Mr Wike’s restatement of his commitment to supporting President Bola Tinubu’s second term, even though his party, the PDP, is fielding a candidate.
Even Olayinka made an extraordinary revelation, which unwittingly lent further plausibility to the gbewudani narrative in his Friday defence of Wike. According to him, the minister had told Onor that he was free to contest the presidential election, even though the current state of the PDP would make it difficult for the party to make much impact.
In considering this fact, we must also take cognisance of the fact that this candidate will be representing what is popularly described as the “Wike-backed faction of the PDP.” In the battle of wits that hit the PDP in the past few years, Wike held the party by the jugular, coming out triumphant in the courts and on the political field at the end of the day. He spoke loudly about why he is qualified to take leadership of the PDP and has never shied away from being described as the power behind the throne. In February, two PDP candidates in the local council elections in Abuja stepped down for candidates of the All Progressives Congress (APC), on what they described as “fatherly advice” from Wike.
There is even more! Although Wike was not at the event where Onor became the PDP consensus candidate in March this year, the PDP Presidential Primary Election Committee that announced the decision was headed by former Governor Samuel Ortom, one of Wike’s closest allies. The event was also held at the party’s national secretariat under the supervision of National Chairman, Abdullahi Mohammed and National Secretary, Samuel Anyanwu, two other figures associated with Wike’s tendency in the party. Wike would therefore be unable to disassociate himself from the emergence of this presidential candidate.
And to be fair to him, he doesn’t appear to suggest that. In the interview that precipitated Oseni’s intervention and use of the contentious expression, Wike portrayed Onor’s emergence as a communal decision to which he played a part. While rejecting insinuations from the panellists that Onor might be a placeholder, Wike had said: “I have said it… and whether anybody likes it or not (note the absoluteness), yes we fielded a presidential candidate, that does not mean that we have decided to win…”
So, what is the ordinary Nigerian expected to make of that? That a party fields a presidential candidate without deciding to win? And, if that is indeed the disposition of the political establishment behind Onor, where does it leave the candidate himself? Why would a grown-up man, a professor and former senator of the Federal Republic, lend himself to a presidential contest in which some of the most influential forces behind his emergence apparently do not expect victory?
Even Olayinka made an extraordinary revelation, which unwittingly lent further plausibility to the gbewudani narrative in his Friday defence of Wike. According to him, the minister had told Onor that he was free to contest the presidential election, even though the current state of the PDP would make it difficult for the party to make much impact.
Now, let us pause there for a moment. Onor did not emerge from a faction hostile to Wike. He was the sole aspirant and consensus presidential candidate of the Wike-backed PDP faction. Yet, here is Wike’s spokesman recounting a conversation in which the minister apparently tells that presidential candidate that he is “free to contest.” Free? So, who grants the permission?
It gets even more curious when you remember that Wike repeatedly announced his support for Tinubu, the man Onor must defeat to realise his presidential ambition, long before he emerged as PDP candidate. The impression this creates is that, even if the PDP candidate was unlikely to go far in the 2027 presidential election, it remained important for the party to demonstrate that it could field one. And Onor fit the bill.
Whether Oseni’s language was appropriate for television is a different debate. Political commentary has always employed metaphor, satire and occasionally brutal language to interrogate power. The useful response to an uncomfortable description from a spokesperson should therefore not be outrage, but an understanding of the circumstances that make the description plausible, followed by a strategic effort to put things straight.
Olayinka then suggested something even more intriguing. He argued that not everyone who contests an election expects to win. Some candidates, he said, merely contest to “register their presence.”
He claimed he was speaking generally, even mentioning candidates from other parties who, in his estimation, stand no chance of winning in the 2027 presidential election. However, coming in the context of his defence of Wike’s position, the observation leaves an irresistible question: Does Wike regard the presidential candidate of his own political tendency as one of those merely registering his presence?
And then, what does Candidate Onor himself make of all this? He had described Wike’s support for Tinubu as Wike’s personal decision when he purchased his nomination form in May. And that is fair enough. But politics is not an association of private preferences. Political parties exist principally to acquire power, and the presidential candidate should ordinarily be the rallying point of his party’s effort to achieve that purpose. Here, however, one of the most influential figures behind the political tendency that produced Onor openly supports his principal opponent. This important figure neither whispers his preference, nor disguise it. He declares it to the hearing of the whole world. He even predicts that Tinubu will have an easy ride because a major opposition party, of which he is the best-known promoter, is too weak to challenge him. And everyone carries on!
This is what makes gbewudaní such a devastating political metaphor. It does not merely suggest weakness; it evokes an inversion of authority, a suspension of self-will at the pleasure of another person or group for whatever reason.
Whether Oseni’s language was appropriate for television is a different debate. Political commentary has always employed metaphor, satire and occasionally brutal language to interrogate power. The useful response to an uncomfortable description from a spokesperson should therefore not be outrage, but an understanding of the circumstances that make the description plausible, followed by a strategic effort to put things straight.
And this brings us to the disposition of government spokespersons in Nigeria to pour invectives on journalists and citizens who hold contrary views. Public officials are servants of the people, and their spokespersons have an even greater responsibility to communicate rather than turn interview opportunities into battlefields. This remains so even where they suspect bias. Oseni may sometimes become overly emotional and descend into the arena. Still, even if he, or any other journalist, were partisan, a government spokesperson’s primary responsibility remains effective communication aimed at increasing understanding between government and the people. It shouldn’t be combative.
In the end, the issue is not whether Olayinka or anyone else finds Oseni’s choice of words offensive, but whether the political circumstances make the metaphor conceivable. And therein lies the irony. In attempting to rebuke Oseni for describing Onor as gbewudani, Olayinka offered explanations that arguably strengthened the very impression he sought to dispel. If gbẹ̀wùdání is an unfair description of a presidential candidate produced by a political tendency whose most influential figure openly supports his principal opponent, has told him he is “free to contest,” and apparently does not expect his party to win. Perhaps the more interesting question should be: what would be a more fitting description?
Niran Adedokun is a writer, book coach and public relations consultant.
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