What I am about to tell you is not a story. It is not gossip. It is not one of those political concoctions stirred like roadside noodles to attract attention. No! This is a lived experience—a burning memory, a stubborn scar, a moment that has refused to leave my soul for one full year. And if you are expecting diplomacy, soft words, or careful caution, abeg, you are in the wrong place. Because what Governor Seyi Makinde did to me at Igbojaiye that day shook me to my very foundation.
The Encounter at Igbojaiye
I am talking about an encounter with the Governor of Oyo State himself, Seyi Makinde—a man many have described as calm, calculated, and composed. But what I saw… what I experienced… what I endured in his presence that day… ah! It forced me to ask a dangerous question: Can power surprise you like this? Can leadership confuse your expectations this badly?
My witnesses are still alive: Hon Shina Peller, Hon Wole Kanle, Hon Oshine Ireakari, Remi Oladoye, and several other guests including Uncle Tunde Kilani and Mrs Abiola Adelana. Walahi, by the time you finish reading this, you will either stone Governor Makinde or haul a bag of anything on him… or question him endlessly.
Because I did not expect it. Honestly, I don’t think I deserve such treatment. I never thought a sitting Governor would descend—yes, descend—into the arena of raw, personal, public engagement the way he did. Not behind closed doors. But in the full glare of dignitaries, cameras, and a crowd of over one thousand five hundred souls.
Journey to KAP Film Village
It was exactly one year ago. I left Usi Ekiti on a long, punishing journey of about 350 kilometres to Igbojaiye, Oyo State, just to honour a man—Kunle Afolayan—whose father, the legendary Ade Love, shaped part of my youthful hustle.
When Kunle built that multi-billion-naira KAP Film Village in his mother’s land, I knew I had to be there. Kunle welcomed me warmly. He admired my outfit—Aso Ofi trousers, shirt, monkey jacket, and my stubborn crown, the “Visit Ekiti” cap. At that moment, I told myself: Lanre, the journey was worth it. Ah! I didn’t know destiny had another script waiting.
The Moment of ‘Disgrace’
The gathering was massive. The Honourable Minister of Arts, Culture and Creative Economy, Hannatu Musawa, had arrived. Then came the moment: “The Governor is arriving.”
We were asked to line up. I joined only because Kunle called me. Governor Makinde arrived, smiling and acknowledging guests with grace. Then it got to me. He looked at me. Paused. Looked again.
“Haa! Wale Ojo-Lanre!!”
Before I could even react, he turned to those around him and began what I can only describe as a public unveiling of my identity:
“This is my brother… a good man… a fine journalist… former Chairman Oyo NUJ… a reliable personality…”
Then he held my hand—firm, warm, deliberate.
“E pele… Long time, sir!”
Tell me, what kind of disgrace is this? The kind that lifts you when you are prepared to be ignored. The kind that announces you when you are trying to remain invisible. Respect replaced doubt. Recognition replaced indifference.
A Lesson in Leadership
Inside the event hall, during his speech, he paused again: “Where is my brother, Wale Ojo-Lanre? I saw him earlier…”
I stood up from the back row as heads turned. And as he was leaving, he saw me again and said: “Brother mi… I still use the same number. Call me. I want to see you.”
Is this not the highest level of public disgrace? The kind that humbles you unexpectedly. I have not called him. Not because I cannot, but because some moments are meant to be treasured, not exploited.
If this is disgrace, then perhaps Nigeria needs more of it. That day at Igbojaiye did not reduce me; it elevated me. I say it without hesitation: Blessed be the man who disgraced me with such a bumper honour. God bless Seyi Makinde.
