By Olarinre Salako,
Published in the Systems and Society Column, Backpage of The Nigerian Tribune, Monday, June 1, 2026.
Globally, teaching is associated with building state capacity, modest livelihoods, and peace of mind. Teachers shape civilization.
Teachers and students in rural Nigeria are now casualties of social collapse. Rural schools are no longer merely underfunded; they are exposed frontlines of national insecurity.
The Federal Government recently exempted intending teachers from JAMB examinations. Yet a more disturbing question confronts the country: why should anyone teach in vulnerable rural communities where the Nigerian state cannot guarantee protection of life?
What happened at Ahoro-Èsíèlè in Oríire, Ọ̀yọ́ State, was not merely murder. It was civilization butchered publicly.
A Mathematics teacher, Mr. Michael Oyedokun—a custodian of reason and logic—was beheaded by Abẹ́nilórí (head severers), and the gruesome spectacle was circulated globally as though human life was meaningless.
Expanding Geography of Abẹ́nilórí
The Nigerian military has identified the Abẹ́nilórí as members of Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’awati wal-Jihad (JAS)—the original Boko Haram organization. Six teachers and thirty-nine students remain in captivity.
Boko Haram emerged in the North-East under Obasanjo. Under Jonathan, the movement evolved into an insurgency that abducted hundreds of schoolgirls from Chibok, dozens of whom remain missing. Under Buhari, Boko Haram metastasized from a regional insurgency into a wider ecosystem of banditry, mass kidnappings, and jihadist violence across the North-West and North-Central. Now, under Tinubu, Boko Haram has expanded into villages in Yorubaland.
Nothing better illustrates the failure of the Nigerian State. Four presidents, including two retired Army-generals. Yet the geography of terror expands.
It is the paradox of Nigeria’s over-centralized security architecture: local priorities are sacrificed in the name of national security, yet national security continues to decay.
A unification of mutual peril.
History of Head Severing in Yorubaland
From Chibok in Borno to Maga in Kebbi, and now Oríire in Ọ̀yọ́, Boko Haram’s trajectory has culminated in Abẹ́nilórí— in Yorubaland under a Yoruba Nigerian Commander-in-Chief.
Is the Nigerian state collapsing? Who will now defend Yorubaland?
Before the British incursion, beheading in Yorubaland was not random savagery against innocent people but a grave punishment reserved for treason or existential threats.
Aláàfin Májẹ̀ọ́gbé, who ruled the Old Oyo Empire between 1768 and 1774 and misused the power of beheading, was himself not spared by the traditional system.
One day, he summoned a queen to the royal bathroom. Seeing the king without royal regalia, the queen forgot the gravity of the throne. She mocked his size, wondering how such a small man wielded so much power.
Májẹ̀ọ́gbé concealed his anger at the remark, secretly dispatched royal executioners (Abẹ́nilórí) to the queen’s village to decapitate her parents and return their heads in calabashes. He then convened a palace assembly and ordered the queen to open the gifts. Upon lifting the lids, she confronted the bloodied heads. The Aláàfin explained that his authority could destroy anyone who disrespected the throne.
Overwhelmed by terror and grief, the queen wept: “Ikú tó pa bàbá àti yèyé mi!” Meaning: “The death that has slain both my father and my mother!” The expression later became “Ikú Bàbá Yèyé,” a royal salute acknowledging Aláàfin authority.
The Old Oyo Empire possessed a sophisticated system of constitutional restraint. The Aláàfin’s authority was not absolute. It was moderated by the Oyo Mesi—a council of seven kingmakers led by the Basọ̀run, who functioned as prime minister. When an Aláàfin became tyrannical, the political system intervened.
In this instance, after consultations, the Basọ̀run presented Májẹ̀ọ́gbé with the “calabash of rejection” containing an empty space—a declaration that both the gods and the people had rejected his rule, compelling ritual suicide as punishment.
Such was the sophistication of the old Oyo political order.
Unfortunately, although contemporary laws still recognize the role of traditional kingmakers, politicians increasingly shape traditional institutions in ways that weaken their independence, moral authority, and role as the conscience of Yoruba society.
No wonder, nearly 250 years after Májẹ̀ọ́gbé’s punishment, an innocent Yoruba school teacher’s head is severed by invading terrorists and displayed; yet the Aláàfín, Oòní, Olúbàdàn, Sọ̀ún, Ataójá, Ọ̀wá Ọ̀bòkun, Awùjalẹ̀, Aláké, Àkàrígbò, Déjì, Òṣèrèmọ̀wẹ̀, Ọlọ́wọ̀, Olúfẹ̀, Ẹwì, Ogóga, Ẹlẹ́kọ̀, Olófin, and other custodians of Yoruba history stand muted.
Civilization retreats while barbarism advances, as the Yoruba intelligentsia, the Ààrẹ Ọ̀nà Kakaǹfò, and the Afẹ́nifẹ́re appear eerily silent.
One hopes this silence reflects underground efforts to prevent impending doom—not the curse of the Nigerian presidency.
Ọmọlúàbí admonition to the Kábíyèsís
As the political class decays alongside a failing Nigerian state, can you, our royal fathers—custodians of our history and culture—summon the moral courage to defend your people?
These Abẹ́nilórí understand the vulnerabilities of the Nigerian state. They know the Nigerian Police lacks rural presence. They know the political class lacks both the ability and the will to design functional community policing or meaningfully devolve security despite increasingly overstretched centralized forces.
Unlike the First Republic leaders, the Fourth Republic politicians lack the courage and discipline to renegotiate the unitary distortions of the 1999 Constitution toward the federal parliamentary system of the 1963 Constitution and regional security anchored on development.
The Boko Haram insurgents also understand the Kábíyèsís are not united. Even within the ceremonial honors politicians extend them, mutual respect has weakened. No strategic coordination. Àì f’àgbà f’ẹ́nìkan kò jẹ́ kí ayé rọ́jú (No society survives when elders lack respect for one another).
The Abẹ́nilórí understand these weaknesses and how easily collaborators emerge within a fragmented society.
Today, your kins in Kwara are losing their domains.
Your children are being kidnapped, ransomed, and beheaded in Ọ̀yọ́, while over forty worshippers were slaughtered in Ọ̀wọ̀ in 2022 without justice four years later.
Ikú tò ń pa ojúbà ẹni, òwe ló ń pa fún ni (The death befalling one’s kins is a warning to oneself).
Tomorrow, Boko Haram may invade your palaces and drag away your queens.
When your son declared boldly: “Yorùbá ló kàn, èmi ló kàn,” he failed to recognize that power without structural security invites predators to your gates.
He became Commander-in-Chief and recently appointed another Yoruba son as homeland security adviser, yet Abẹ́nilórí entered your gates.
What is the meaning of proximity to centralized power when your villages remain exposed to terror?
Why then do you patronize transactional political elites largely devoid of ideology?
Some of you visited the President not to demand constitutional restructuring toward a better 1963 arrangement, but to request the creation of more vulnerable states. Are you learning anything?
Will you rise in strategic unity to confront the impending danger, or continue paying the price for the illusion of merely producing the Nigerian President?
Unite yourselves now, and demand a fully armed regional security architecture (Àmọ̀tẹ́kùn), akin to the US National Guard.
Remember Maga in Kebbi, where terrorists attacked the Government Girls Comprehensive Secondary School shortly after deployed soldiers reportedly withdrew. Remember Jonathan’s warning that Boko Haram had infiltrated the military and the federal government.
Soon, your son and the opposition politicians will return seeking royal blessings. Make security—not protocol—the price of those blessings. Demand a fully armed Àmọ̀tẹ́kùn before terrorists reach your palaces.
Alágbára má mọ èrò
I watched Igboho invoke the President’s name, claiming approval to establish Ìrù-Ẹkùn against the same Abẹ́nilórí the Nigerian state has struggled to contain for decades.
To be fair, he emerged defending Yoruba communities against criminal herdsmen, filling a vacuum created by state failure and the legitimacy of local resistance.
But Boko Haram terrorists possess advanced weapons. They have attacked military formations and killed Army-generals. Yet he claims capacity to confront them outside state structures involving Àmọ̀tẹ́kùn and military reservists.
Can an Ìrù-Ẹkùn (a leopard’s tail) be stronger than a whole Àmọ̀tẹ́kùn?
A matter this serious belongs within disciplined state coordination to avoid exposing Yoruba communities to greater danger.
Courage without strategy becomes an invitation to catastrophe—and to more Michael Oyedokuns.
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