Aworiland in Lagos: Mapping the Ancestral Footprint of Lagos State's Earliest Settlers

Long before Lagos became a megacity of glass towers and expressways, its lagoons, creeks, and forested stretches were home to the Awori people,  a distinct sub-ethnic group of the Yoruba whose presence shaped the foundations of what is now Nigeria’s commercial capital. Today, debates over ownership, origin, and identity still swirl around Lagos history, but few dispute the depth of the Awori footprint across the state.

Who the Awori Are

The Awori are a Yoruba sub-group with a recognizable dialect and shared cultural heritage. Traditionally, they are found in two Nigerian states: Lagos and Ogun. Their migration and settlement patterns place them among the earliest Yoruba groups to establish permanent communities along the coastal and lagoon areas of the southwest.

Scholars and historians commonly divide Awori settlements into two broad phases: the early Awori and the latter Awori groups. Early settlements included Otta, Ado-Odo, Isheri, Otto-Awori, Iddo, Ebute Metta, Apa, and Ibereko, communities that later became critical nodes in Lagos’ expansion.

Awori and the Making of Lagos

Awori history is inseparable from the story of Lagos itself. Many historians regard the Awori as the earliest dominant indigenous group in Lagos, predating later political influences from the Benin Kingdom. In an interview with The Punch, the late Nigerian lawyer and elder statesman, Lateef Olufemi Okunnu, described the Awori as the original inhabitants of Lagos State, noting that they settled in the area roughly 500 years ago,  long before the Bini incursion.

Awori political organization in early Lagos revolved around the Idejo chiefs, powerful land-holding families who governed vast territories and enforced customs that protected communal land ownership. According to Awori-born legal practitioner and former Ondo State commissioner, Sola Ebiseni, these systems ensured both possession and expansion of Awori lands across key parts of Lagos.

Where the Awori Live in Lagos

Historically, significant Awori populations spread across what later became Lagos Island, the Mainland, and coastal districts. Notable Awori communities include Apapa, Ajegunle, Makoko, Iwaya, Ikeja, Bariga, Oko Baba, Oto, Ebute-Metta, Oyingbo, Ijora, Igbo Elejo, Ojo, and Aloro Island off the Kirikiri coast, Oshodi-Isolo, Egbeda, Mushin. Others include Ajah, Badore, Iton Agan, Oworonsoki, Agboyi, Bayeku, and surrounding lagoon settlements.

Awori people constituted the bulk of the indigenous population in sixteen of Lagos State’s twenty local government areas.

Only Epe, Ikorodu, and Ibeju-Lekki were identified as having minimal Awori presence. Across these areas, the Awori established multiple kingdoms and chiefdoms that continue to influence local traditional structures.

Contested Narratives and Modern Debates

Despite extensive historical claims, Awori indigeneity has not gone unchallenged. In 2017, Erelu Kuti of Lagos, Abiola Dosunmu, sparked controversy by arguing that Lagos was originally an extension of the Benin Kingdom and that the Awori were not the first “owners” of the land. She claimed that Awori settlers initially paid royalties to the Oba of Benin.

Her position was publicly disputed by the Oba of Lagos, who acknowledged Benin’s role in Lagos’ political evolution but rejected the idea that Benin owned the territory. The debate highlighted how Lagos history sits at the crossroads of migration, conquest, and cultural exchange rather than a single, linear narrative.

Aworiland and the Question of Representation

In more recent political discussions, the Awori Welfare Association of Nigeria (AWAN) has advocated for increased local government representation rather than the creation of new states. During debates over a proposed Lagoon State, AWAN argued that further state creation could deepen minority marginalization without adequate consultation.

Communities identified as Aworiland in that proposal included Apapa, Iganmu, Somolu, Bariga, Akoka, Eti-Okun, Iwerekun, Kosofe, Agboyi, Ketu, Obalende/Ikoyi, Iru–Victoria Island, Eti-Osa East, West and Central, Etikun, Alimosho, Ibeshe, and Majidun, revealing  how deeply Awori territories are woven into modern Lagos.

Beyond Lagos: The Ogun Connection

Outside Lagos, Awori communities in Ogun State are concentrated in the Ogun West Senatorial District, covering about 37 percent of the state’s landmass and roughly 31 percent of its population. This continuity across state lines reflects older boundaries drawn by migration and kinship, not colonial maps.

From lagoon settlements to mainland towns, the Awori story is etched into Lagos geography. Understanding their territories offers more than a lesson in history; it provides a clearer lens through which to view ongoing conversations about identity, land, and belonging in Nigeria’s most complex city.

A Mother’s Blessing Is a Shield: Why Ifá’s 2026 Message Centers Iyami and Family Protection

 

In Yoruba spirituality, power does not always roar. Sometimes, it whispers. Sometimes, it cooks your meals, braids your hair, scolds you into wisdom, and prays over you when you are not in the room. That power is Iyami—the primal, maternal force—and according to Ifá’s 2026 outlook, ignoring it comes at a cost.

This year’s spiritual emphasis is not about conquest or personal glory. It is about home. About lineage. About the invisible hands that guard families when the world grows harsh. Ifá is reminding us of an ancient truth many have forgotten: no one rises higher than the blessing of their mother—biological or spiritual.

Who Are Iyami, Really?

Iyami is often misunderstood, even feared. Popular narratives flatten them into something dark or malevolent. But in Yoruba cosmology, Iyami refers to the collective power of mothers—life-givers, protectors, and enforcers of cosmic balance. They are the custodians of creation itself.

To be clear: Iyami is not about gender alone. It is about source power. The womb that births, the voice that warns, the authority that decides whether a lineage thrives or collapses.

Ifá teaches that when Iyami are honored, society flourishes. When they are mocked, silenced, or ignored, chaos follows quietly—through broken homes, restless children, and unexplainable misfortune.

Why 2026 Brings Iyami to the Forefront

Ifá’s 2026 message is striking in its focus. Rather than pushing individuals to chase status, wealth, or public victories, the divination points inward. It warns that external success built on internal neglect will not stand.

This is a year where spiritual vulnerability begins at home.

Families are under pressure—emotionally, economically, spiritually. Ifá acknowledges this strain and responds with a directive: protect the source. Heal maternal lines. Reconcile with mothers. Respect elders. Restore family rituals. Speak blessings into children before the world speaks fear into them.

The emphasis on Iyami is not mystical drama. It is spiritual realism.

The Mother’s Blessing as Spiritual Insurance

In Yoruba thought, a mother’s words carry weight beyond emotion. A blessing spoken by a mother—or a woman standing in that maternal authority—travels. It follows you into unfamiliar cities. It negotiates battles you do not see.

Likewise, unresolved conflict with maternal figures weakens spiritual defenses. Ifá does not moralize this. It states it plainly: when the gatekeeper of life is offended, protection thins.

That is why elders say “Iya ni wura”—mother is gold. Not sentimentally. Strategically.

 Family Protection Is the New Prosperity

Ifá’s 2026 message reframes success. What is wealth if children are spiritually exposed? What is achievement if families are fragile? This year asks harder questions and offers older answers.

Protection begins with acknowledgment:

Checking on your mother’s wellbeing

Repairing long-standing family rifts

Teaching children their lineage with pride

Honoring women who carry family burdens quietly

These are not small acts. They are spiritual infrastructure.

A Gentle Warning, A Loving Reminder

Ifá does not threaten. It advises. The focus on Iyami in 2026 is a reminder wrapped in compassion: do not abandon the hands that held you first.

In a noisy world chasing speed and spectacle, Yoruba spirituality pauses us and says, go home. Not just physically, but spiritually. Return to the source. Mend what was broken. Say the thank you, you delayed. Ask for the blessing you assumed you no longer needed.

Because in the end, the strongest protection is not armor.

It is a mother’s prayer spoken in your absence, and remembered by the universe.

Esu Is Not Satan: How a Yoruba Deity Was Miscast and Misunderstood

African traditional religions are among the most misunderstood belief systems in the world, and within the Yoruba pantheon, no figure has suffered more distortion than Esu.

At Ojuelegba, one of Lagos’ busiest transit points linking the Mainland to the Island, a small white shrine bears the inscription “Ojubo Esu.” It stands quietly amid traffic, churches, billboards, and commerce. In one of the most evangelical Christian societies on earth, its presence is a reminder that indigenous African spirituality is neither extinct nor hidden. It is still lived, still practiced, and still contested.

Yet for many Nigerians, especially those shaped by missionary Christianity, Esu has become shorthand for evil itself. To say “Na devil do am” is to excuse wrongdoing by blaming an external, malevolent force—often unconsciously equated with Esu. This association, however, is not native to Yoruba cosmology. It is the result of history, translation, and power.

A Faith System Misread

The Aborisa religious system that emerged among the Yoruba people is structured around a supreme creative force, Olodumare, and a constellation of primordial beings known as *orisa*. These orisa embody elements of nature, moral forces, and human experience. Guidance flows through divination, ritual, and ancestral communion. Far from chaos, the system is ordered, ethical, and philosophical.

Across the Atlantic, through enslavement and diaspora, Aborisa beliefs took root in Cuba, Brazil, Haiti, and the United States, influencing religions such as Santería, Candomblé, and Vodou. Globally, Yoruba deities have entered popular culture—Osun invoked in Beyoncé’s “Hold Up,” Oya inspiring characters like Storm in X-Men, and Sango becoming the subject of Nigerian animated projects.

Esu, however, remains conspicuously absent from this celebration, despite his central role in Yoruba thought.

Who Esu Really Is

In Yoruba cosmology, Esu is not a force of evil. He is the divine messenger and enforcer of balance—the intermediary between humans, the orisa, and Olodumare. No ritual proceeds without acknowledging him. He governs crossroads, choice, consequence, and moral accountability. Esu does not compel wrongdoing; he reveals intention and ensures that actions meet their outcomes.

This complexity does not fit neatly into a Christian moral binary of good versus evil. And that mismatch is where the trouble began.

The Translation That Changed Everything

In 1821, a young Yoruba boy named Ajayi was kidnapped with his family and placed on a slave ship bound for the Americas. British forces intercepted the vessel, and Ajayi was freed. He later became Samuel Ajayi Crowther—bishop, linguist, and one of the most influential African Christian missionaries of the 19th century.

Crowther played a key role in translating the Bible into Yoruba. When faced with rendering the concept of Satan, the translators chose an existing Yoruba deity: Esu. Jesus became *Jesu Kristi*. Satan became Esu.

That single decision reshaped religious understanding for generations.

Suddenly, a complex cosmological figure was recast as the embodiment of Christian evil. Over time, this translation collapsed two distinct theological systems into one, positioning Yoruba spirituality as something sinister rather than separate. Aborisa practitioners were no longer followers of an ancestral faith; they were framed as devil worshippers.

The debate over Crowther’s intentions continues. Some, like journalist Remi Oyeyemi, argue that the choice was deliberate, a conscious act of misrepresentation rooted in historical resentment. Others insist it was a theological convenience, an attempt to bridge conceptual gaps for new converts. What is clear is that Yoruba cosmology paid the price.

A Conflict of Belief

The consequences have been profound. For many Nigerians, Christianity and ancestral religion are no longer seen as parallel traditions but as enemies. Indigenous belief systems are often dismissed as backward, dangerous, or demonic. This has fueled cultural shame and religious intolerance, cutting many off from their own intellectual and spiritual heritage.

Yet the original Yoruba worldview never described Esu as a fallen angel or rebel cast out of heaven. That narrative belongs to Christian theology, not Aborisa cosmology.

As Bishop Crowther himself once wrote, Esu is an executor of divine will, not its opponent.

 Reclaiming Esu

In recent years, a quiet reawakening has begun. Cultural scholars, artists, and Aborisa practitioners are pushing back against centuries of distortion. Online campaigns such as EsuIsNotSatan have gained traction, encouraging Nigerians, especially younger generations, to revisit Yoruba spirituality on its own terms.

Digital platforms have allowed practitioners to speak openly, explain rituals, and challenge caricatures that once went unopposed. Rather than asking for validation from Christianity, they are asserting intellectual and spiritual sovereignty.

Whether this shift will lead to widespread re-education remains uncertain. What is certain is that Esu’s story exposes a larger truth: how colonialism, translation, and religion can reshape identities, turning guardians into villains and philosophy into heresy.

At the crossroads, Esu’s domain, the question now facing Nigeria is one of choice. Continue inheriting a misunderstanding, or return to the nuance of a belief system that long predates the labels imposed upon it.

Five Reasons President Tinubu Deserves a Second Term in 2027

 

Tinubu

As Nigeria looks ahead to the 2027 general election, debates over leadership, performance and the future of the country are gaining momentum. President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s administration, though operating in a period of deep economic and social challenges, has pursued far-reaching reforms that are reshaping governance and the economy. Supporters argue that continuity is crucial to consolidating these changes. Here are five reasons many believe President Tinubu merits another mandate in 2027.

1. Bold Economic Reforms, Not Easy Politics

One of the defining features of Tinubu’s presidency has been his willingness to take politically risky decisions in the interest of long-term stability. The removal of fuel subsidy and the push to unify the foreign exchange market were tough choices that previous administrations avoided. While painful in the short term, these reforms aim to free up public funds, reduce corruption and place the economy on a more transparent footing. Backers say abandoning the process midway could reverse hard-won gains.

2. Focus on Fiscal Responsibility and Revenue Growth

Under Tinubu, the Federal Government has intensified efforts to broaden the tax base and improve revenue collection rather than relying heavily on borrowing. By strengthening institutions such as the Federal Inland Revenue Service and promoting efficiency in government spending, the administration is working to reduce fiscal leakages. Proponents argue that a second term would allow these policies to mature and translate into more sustainable public finances.

3. Renewed Push for Infrastructure Development

Infrastructure remains central to Tinubu’s development agenda. From road and rail projects to power sector reforms, the administration has signaled continuity with an emphasis on private sector participation and alternative financing models. Supporters believe that sustained leadership is essential to complete ongoing projects and unlock their full economic benefits, particularly in trade, transportation and energy.

4. Experience in Governance and Political Consensus-Building

Tinubu’s long career in public service, notably as former governor of Lagos State, is often cited as a strength. He is widely regarded as a strategic thinker with the ability to build alliances across Nigeria’s diverse political landscape. In a country where reforms often stall due to political resistance, advocates say his experience positions him to navigate complex negotiations and maintain policy direction.

5. A Case for Stability and Policy Continuity

In an era of global uncertainty and domestic transformation, stability is a powerful argument. Supporters contend that frequent changes in leadership often lead to abandoned policies and stalled reforms. Voting Tinubu in 2027, they argue, would provide continuity, allow current reforms to take root and give Nigerians a clearer basis to judge long-term outcomes rather than short-term disruptions.

As the election approaches, Nigerians will weigh competing visions for the country’s future. For those who prioritize continuity, structural reform and experienced leadership, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s record offers reasons to consider a second term in 2027.

Lagos Emerges as World’s Fastest-Growing Tech Ecosystem in Global Ranking

Lagos has been ranked the world’s fastest-growing emerging technology ecosystem, outpacing major innovation hubs across Asia, Europe, Latin America, and the Middle East, according to the Global Tech Ecosystem Index (GTEI) 2025 released by global data platform Dealroom.

The Nigerian commercial capital claimed the top spot on the World’s Top 20 Fastest-Growing Emerging Tech Ecosystems list, strengthening its reputation as Africa’s leading technology hub and an increasingly influential player on the global innovation stage.

Lagos finished ahead of Istanbul, Turkey, which ranked second, and Pune, India, in third place. Other cities in the top 10 include Belo Horizonte and Curitiba in Brazil, Mumbai and Chennai in India, Riyadh in Saudi Arabia, Johannesburg in South Africa, and Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam.

According to Dealroom, the ranking measures growth across key indicators such as startup formation, venture capital investment, talent concentration, and overall ecosystem maturity. The 2025 index places particular emphasis on cities outside traditional global tech capitals, highlighting how innovation is accelerating in new and previously underrepresented markets.

Lagos’ rise has been driven by a surge in fintech, e-commerce, logistics, health tech, and creative technology startups, alongside growing interest from local and international investors. The city is home to several of Africa’s most valuable startups and attracts a significant share of the continent’s venture capital funding.

Industry analysts say the ranking reflects Lagos’ ability to combine a large consumer market, entrepreneurial talent, and increasing digital adoption, despite ongoing challenges such as infrastructure gaps and regulatory pressures.

With its top placement in the GTEI 2025, Lagos continues to position itself not just as Africa’s tech capital, but as one of the most dynamic emerging innovation ecosystems in the world.

Source: Dealroom, Global Tech Ecosystem Index (GTEI) 2025

Fela Kuti: From Lagos Shrine to Grammy Glory: Fela's Historic Lifetime Achievement Award

 

FELA KUTI

Yemi Olakitan 

For nearly three decades since his death in 1997, Fela Anikulapo Kuti—affectionately called Abami Eda (the strange one) or the King of Afrobeat—has been celebrated by fans, activists, and musicians worldwide. Yet the global music establishment, embodied by the Grammys, long overlooked him. That changes in 2026: Fela will posthumously receive the Lifetime Achievement Award, becoming the first African, ever to earn this honor in the award's 63-year history.

This isn't just an award, it's a seismic shift. The Recording Academy's recognition places Fela alongside legends like Carlos Santana, Chaka Khan, Paul Simon, and others in this year's class. More importantly, it validates the revolutionary power of Afrobeat, a genre he co-created with drummer Tony Allen, blending highlife, jazz, funk, Yoruba rhythms, extended jams, and unapologetic political commentary.

Fela's life was defiance incarnate. Born Olufela Ransome-Kuti, he rejected colonial vestiges (dropping "Ransome" from his name), championed pan-Africanism, and used music to lambast corruption and military rule in Nigeria. 

His 1976 track Zombie mocked soldiers as mindless puppets, provoking a savage 1977 raid on his Kalakuta Republic compound. His mother, activist Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, died from injuries sustained. Undeterred, Fela turned tragedy into protest with Coffin for Head of State.

His Afrika Shrine performances weren't mere concerts, they were rallies, spiritual gatherings, and communal resistance spaces. Bare-chested, saxophone blazing, leading ensembles like Africa '70 and Egypt '80, Fela created music as mission. As longtime manager Rikki Stein recalls, audiences didn't applaud; they participated.

This Grammy nod arrives amid Afrobeats' global explosion—think Burna Boy's nomination and the Grammys' 2024 Best African Music Performance category. It's "better late than never," as Stein says, and a "double victory" per Seun Kuti, who notes it balances Fela's narrative.

Fela didn't seek awards; he sought free minds. Yet this honor cements his immortality. As album cover artist Lemi Ghariokwu declares, "Fela has been an ancestor for 28 years. His legacy is growing by the day. This is immortality."

In a world still grappling with injustice, Fela's sound—rhythmic, rebellious, rooted—remains a call to action. The Grammys' belated embrace doesn't diminish his independence; it amplifies how one man's fearless groove can reshape global music forever.

Long live Fela. The Shrine echoes on.

Africa’s Digital Gold Rush: How Nigeria and Emerging Hubs Are Powering a New Tech Economy

By Yemi Olakitan

Across Africa, a quiet but determined tech surge is rewriting old economic stories. From Lagos to Nairobi, Kigali to Accra, digital innovation is no longer a side conversation, it’s fast becoming a core driver of growth, jobs, and global relevance. At the center of this momentum sits Nigeria, whose startup ecosystem now acts as both a bellwether and a launchpad for the continent’s wider tech ambitions.

Nigeria’s rise as a tech heavyweight

Nigeria’s digital economy has grown on the back of necessity, creativity, and scale. With one of the world’s youngest populations and deep mobile penetration, the country became fertile ground for fintech, e-commerce, edtech, and health tech solutions. Startups like Flutterwave, Paystack, Andela, and Moniepoint showed that African companies could build globally competitive products while solving local problems.

What makes Nigeria stand out is demand. Millions remain underserved by traditional banking, logistics, and public services. Startups stepped into those gaps with mobile-first tools, creating platforms that feel native rather than imported. The result is an ecosystem driven by real usage, not hype.

Startup ecosystems beyond Lagos

While Lagos remains the continent’s most visible tech hub, Africa’s digital growth is increasingly decentralized. Nairobi continues to lead in climate tech and agritech, supported by strong research institutions and donor-backed innovation. Rwanda has positioned itself as a testbed for smart governance and health innovation, pairing policy clarity with infrastructure. Ghana’s Accra is emerging as a fintech and creative-tech hotspot, benefiting from political stability and cross-border collaboration.

This spread matters. It reduces risk, encourages specialization, and proves that Africa’s tech story isn’t tied to one city or country.

Funding shifts and local resilience

Venture capital flows into Africa cooled slightly after the global tech slowdown, but the ecosystem didn’t stall. Instead, startups adjusted, focusing on revenue, efficiency, and regional expansion rather than rapid burn. There’s also growing interest in local capital, corporate venture arms, and public-private partnerships, especially in Nigeria and Kenya.

Another notable shift is the rise of infrastructure startups: data centers, cloud services, payments rails, and logistics platforms. These may not grab flashy headlines, but they form the backbone that future innovation depends on.

Policy, talent, and the road ahead

Governments now play a bigger role than ever. Nigeria’s digital economy policies, startup acts in countries like Tunisia and Senegal, and continent-wide frameworks such as the African Continental Free Trade Area are slowly reducing friction for founders. Talent, too, is a major export. African developers are in global demand, and many are now choosing to build from home rather than relocate.

Challenges remain, power supply, broadband access, regulatory uncertainty, but the trajectory is clear. Africa is no longer just adopting technology; it’s shaping it to fit its realities.

Why this moment matters

The growth of regional tech economies in Africa signals something deeper than startup success stories. It points to a future where innovation is not imported, where solutions are built by those who understand the problems firsthand, and where digital tools become engines of inclusion.

For Nigeria and its peers, the next chapter isn’t about catching up. It’s about setting their own pace, and inviting the world to pay attention.