The coronation of Oba Rashidi Adewolu Ladoja last week as the 44th Olubadan of Ibadanland has not only marked the ascension of a very respected and popular statesman to the throne but also signalled the beginning of a reign defined by big ideas and ambitious commitments. In his first set of promises to the people of Ibadan, the new Olubadan outlined an agenda that touches on state creation, youth empowerment, urban renewal, and the reclamation of economic dues from institutions that sit on Ibadan land. These pronouncements have stirred both hope and curiosity, as residents ponder what is truly possible under the moral authority of the Olubadan’s stool and what may be restrained by the hard walls of Oyo State, Nigeria’s political and legal realities.
Hence, one of the monarch’s strongest declarations was the renewed call for the creation of Ibadan State, a long-standing agitation that has echoed for decades among indigenes. True, Ibadan’s case appears compelling, the city is the largest in West Africa, a hub of commerce, education, and politics, and by population alone rivals some existing Nigerian states. The Olubadan’s insistence that President Bola Tinubu should ensure this dream materialises before 2027 places the demand at the heart of national conversation once again. Yet, as history has shown, state creation in Nigeria is a thorny process. It requires not only “constitutional amendments” but also the political will of the National Assembly and broad-based support from state legislatures across the federation.
However, this demand has entered a more visible stage in Nigeria’s political process, a constitutional amendment bill to split the existing Oyo State into two, Ibadan State and New Oyo State passed its second reading in the House of Representatives in October 2024, sponsored by Hon. Akeem Adeyemi and others. After the second reading, the bill was referred to the Constitutional Review Committee for further scrutiny and legislative action. Most recently, developments show the bill has reached what is described in reports as the final report stage in the House of Representatives. Yes, the move has also gained grass-roots support. The Ibadan State Creation Action Committee has submitted memoranda at the South-West zonal Public Hearings on constitutional review, and rallied together traditional rulers, civil society, opinion leaders, and those from Ibadan and Ibarapa zones to build pressure around the demand.
Still, even at this advanced legislative stage, many hurdles remain. The bill must also pass the Senate, get the approval of a two-thirds majority of state Houses of Assembly in the affected area, undergo possible referendum requirements (depending on constitutional stipulations), and ultimately receive presidential assent. Political negotiation, resource allocation, and consensus both at local and national levels will all be necessary before Ibadan State becomes reality. Now, maybe the Olubadan’s influence and stature may amplify the advocacy, but without a well-coordinated political strategy, the vision of Ibadan State could remain aspirational rather than achievable within the timeframe set.
The monarch also placed youth unemployment at the centre of his agenda, stressing that the crisis of joblessness must be addressed with urgency. For a city that produces thousands of graduates from institutions such as the University of Ibadan, The Polytechnic Ibadan, and Lead City University, the number of young people roaming without stable work has become a social emergency. Joblessness fuels poverty, restlessness, and insecurity, and it has left many youths turning to irregular hustles or migrating in search of better opportunities. The Olubadan’s pledge to provide jobs aligns with the yearnings of the city’s youth, but it raises a practical question: how far can a traditional ruler go in creating employment? Unlike the governor, the monarch has no statutory budget or executive power to employ workers. His strength lies in advocacy, partnerships, and moral persuasion. If well harnessed, Oba Ladoja’s influence could drive new collaborations between the government, the private sector, and international partners to build training programmes, support start-ups, and expand apprenticeships for Ibadan’s youth. What is visible here is the possibility of the throne serving as a unifying rallying point for youth development initiatives, but the scale of the unemployment challenge may exceed what traditional advocacy alone can solve.
In another strong statement, the Olubadan promised that all parts of Ibadan that have slipped into the appearance of slums would experience urban renewal under his reign. For many residents, this commitment speaks to a longstanding concern, Ibadan is a city of contradictions, where ancient heritage and modern institutions stand side by side with poorly planned neighbourhoods, inadequate drainage, and neglected roads. Renewal, however, is an expensive venture. It requires heavy investment in housing, sanitation, infrastructure, and utilities, alongside the political will to displace entrenched interests that benefit from the informal sprawl of the city. While the monarch does not wield the machinery of the state to undertake such projects directly, his voice can draw attention to neglected areas and place pressure on the Oyo State government to act decisively. Urban renewal in Ibadan is visible as a possibility, but its realisation will depend largely on how much influence the Olubadan can exert on elected leaders to prioritise such projects amid competing demands for resources.
Perhaps the boldest part of Oba Ladoja’s early pronouncements was his reference to the lands Ibadan indigenes once leased to major institutions such as the University of Ibadan (UI), the Cocoa Research Institute of Nigeria (CRIN), and the Nigerian Institute of Social and Economic Research (NISER). According to him, Ibadan people released these lands decades ago in good faith, without demanding payment, but the time has come for these institutions to acknowledge their debt and begin to pay dues to Ibadan. This argument touches on questions of resource justice and community benefit. If properly negotiated, such arrangements could bring significant funds or investments back into the city, supporting development projects that directly benefit the people. Yet the restraints are obvious, these institutions are federally owned, meaning their lands are treated as federal property under Nigerian law. Enforcing rent or royalties would require careful legal interpretation and political negotiation, and it is likely that the institutions themselves will resist on the grounds of underfunding. What may be more visible in the short term is not cash payments, but structured partnerships where the institutions invest in Ibadan’s development through scholarships, infrastructural projects, or research collaborations that uplift local communities.
Taken together, Oba Ladoja’s early agenda for Ibadan is both ambitious and visionary, stretching beyond the ceremonial confines of traditional rulership into the heart of economic and social policy. His words speak directly to the anxieties of Ibadan people, the hunger for political recognition, the desperation for jobs, the shame of slum-like conditions, and the demand for fairness in how communal lands have been used. Yet, the reality remains that the Olubadan’s stool derives its power more from moral authority and symbolic weight than from executive control. For his promises to move from rhetoric to reality, deep collaboration will be required between the palace, the Oyo State government, the federal government, and Ibadan’s political and business elites.
Now as the city watches the unfolding of this new reign, one thing is certain, the 44th Olubadan has set a very bold tone, not of passive custodianship, but of active advocacy for Ibadan’s future. Whether his promises can weather the storms of bureaucracy, politics, and financial constraint will determine how his legacy is written in the years to come.
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