Yorubaland is under siege. Terrorists have turned the region into a blood-soaked battlefield, with kidnappings and killings becoming a daily grind. From the Ahoro-Esinele tragedy in Oyo State, where a teacher was killed and 46 pupils abducted, to fresh attacks in Ondo, Ekiti, and beyond, the Southwest is drowning in violence. Sending children to school now feels like stepping on a landmine. The government’s response? A president more focused on 2027 votes than on stemming the tide of bloodshed. He has become a national mourner-in-chief, offering condolences while terrorists roam free.
Enter Sunday Igboho. The self-styled Yoruba nation activist, once hunted by the state for issuing an ultimatum to Fulani herders, is back. He recently launched a security outfit called Iru Ekun, claiming it will work with police and military to flush out bandits. But is this a solution or a new problem?
History offers a warning. In the 19th century, Yorubaland was torn apart by warlords like Aare Latoosa and Ogedengbe Agbogungboro, who rose from the ashes of the Old Oyo Empire’s collapse. Their rise militarized society, shifting power from monarchs to armed strongmen. The British eventually restored order, but the scars remain. Fast-forward to modern times: the Agbekoya revolt of 1968-69 showed how desperation can birth armed resistance.
Igboho’s offer to tame insecurity, even vowing to expand to Kogi and Kwara, deserves scrutiny. He claims to know the politicians behind the Oriire kidnappings, calling them Tinubu haters. But his past as a land-grabber and political pawn raises red flags. Handing such power to a non-state actor with little education in modern warfare is dangerous. Remember Mohammed Yusuf? He started as a security ally to a Borno governor, only to morph into Boko Haram’s founder. Nigeria is still paying for that mistake.
The Yoruba say: even when a mad person is cured, fragments of insanity remain. Igboho’s Iru Ekun could arm political thugs, empower other ethnic militias, and deepen chaos. The government’s own plan—1,000 forest guards—is a placebo, not a cure. The real answer lies in state police, but the presidency, eyeing votes, drags its feet.
In Yoruba lore, when the guinea worm, Sòbìà, strikes, the Olúgànbe leaf is called to heal the wound. But what if the Oluganbe itself is the affliction? That is the tragedy of Nigeria’s security crisis—and the risk of Igboho’s Iru Ekun.
