Ojude Oba 2025: When royalty, rhythm, and riders lit up Ijebu-Ode

•We want to put this festival on the world map, make it the biggest in Africa —-Governor Abiodun

If the rhythm of tradition and the explosion of colour at the 2025 Ojude Oba didn’t capture the heart of Ijebuland, then nothing else could. This year’s festival was a bold celebration of heritage, honour, and the unbreakable bond between a people and their king. 

From the first glance as this reporter touched down in the city, one thing was conspicuous–the ancient city did not sleep, and the people did not hold back. For the Ijebu, this was not just a festival—it was an identity on full display.

Days before the festival, talks about how the event would unfold and its rich cultural display had dominated conversations within and outside of the city.

For many, it was time to go back home, identify with their roots and pay homage to their king dressed in different shades of elegance and grandeur.

Held three days after the Ileya (Eid-el-Kabir) celebration, this year’s Ojude Oba turned into what many are calling the most spectacular edition in the festival’s modern history. 

With a crowd so vast it stretched from the bustling Ibadan Road to the Lagos corridor and spilled into the city’s outskirts, the event transformed Ijebu-Ode into a regal theatre of culture, fashion, faith, and community.

With dignitaries from all walks of life seated in admiration, it was a moment that symbolised not just monarchy, but generational continuity and cultural reverence.

Governor Dapo Abiodun, the Ogun State helmsman, served as the chief host, reiterating in his remarks the government’s commitment to promoting the rich cultural heritage of the state. 

But the highlight for many was when the Governor rode gallantly into the arena in a finely decorated chariot, waving from side to side in a well-tailored native agbada, beaming with delight as the crowd erupted in cheers.

A native of Ijebu who was admiring the governor from a distance was quoted saying “ This is what the people want to see and identify with. I don’t have to see the governor every day but his presence today tells a lot about his love for the people and their tradition”.

Perhaps nothing captured the collective heartbeat of the festival more than the regberegbe—the age-grade groups—making their ceremonial entries, resplendent in coordinated aso-ebi outfits, dripping in sequins, silk, lace, and native embroidery. 

The men marched in royal confidence, the women danced with radiant grace. The homage paid to the king despite his absence was not just symbolic—it was deeply emotional.

But it was the horse riders who took the day to another dimension. Mounted like warriors of old, they galloped into the ceremonial grounds with such charisma and control that the crowd roared in delight. 

Their outfits were regal, their horses bejeweled. Some did daring stunts that left children gasping and elders nodding in reverence. It was a brilliant spectacle, a testimony to the Ijebu spirit—bold, beautiful, and proud.

However, there were moments that unsettled the excitement. Due to the overwhelming turnout, the entire venue, both inside and its surrounding streets became so jam-packed that some people fainted. 

First responders and volunteers were seen rushing to revive those affected, mostly the elderly and children overwhelmed 

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by the heat and human congestion. It was a chaotic scene for a brief period.

For hours, thousands of attendees who couldn’t gain access to the main arena were left stranded outside, crushed in between human waves, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the cultural performances inside. 

Many expressed frustration, others simply gave up, sitting on curb sides to enjoy the music and atmosphere from afar. “This crowd pass anything we don ever see before,” one man said, wiping sweat from his brow.

Security agencies, including the Nigeria Police, Military men, Civil Defence, and private task forces, had their hands full. Several attempts by street urchins and unruly elements to breach access points were swiftly shut down. The men and women in uniform stood firm, turning what could have been chaos into coordinated protection. Their presence gave families, tourists, and elders the peace to fully enjoy the festivities.

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The crowd was not just large; it was a phenomenon. From every available road, pedestrian lane, and corridor leading to the Awujale’s palace, humans formed a river of cultural solidarity. Movement became nearly impossible at peak hours as both the young and elderly fought for a glimpse of the historic pageantry.

In fact, hotels across Ijebu-Ode and neighbouring towns were fully booked weeks in advance, a testament to how deeply connected people are to their roots and how far they’re willing to go to be part of something greater than themselves. 

Many attendees flew in from Lagos, Abuja, London, and even Toronto. “This is one event I can’t miss, no matter the cost,” said one guest. “We spend to celebrate our culture because it gives us life.”

For business owners, it was a gold rush. From food vendors and water hawkers to fashion retailers and souvenir sellers, commerce bloomed at every corner. Petty traders reported brisk sales, with many emptying their inventory before the event even hit midday. The economic ripple effect was felt far beyond the palace grounds.

Mrs. Fola Adedeji, a trader from Ibadan who spoke with Sunday Tribune, summed up the day from an economic lens. “I’m not from Ijebu, but I come here every year to sell puff-puff, sachet water, and soft drinks. By 3 p.m., I had sold everything,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Ojude Oba is money. This festival feeds families like mine.”

Another trader, Azeez Adekunle, who came from Shagamu to sell grilled chicken and drinks, described the day as “a mini-December.” He said, “I doubled my price, and nobody complained. When there’s beauty and culture, people spend. Ojude Oba is a blessing.” 

Many festival-goers who spoke to Sunday Tribune expressed their emotional attachment to the event. “No matter where I am in the world, I will always come back for Ojude Oba,” said Bunmi Kuku, who flew in from the UK. “It is the one time I feel fully rooted, fully seen, and fully proud to be Ijebu.”

A local youth, Ibrahim Alade, said the festival connects the past and present. “Even if we dress with Gucci or have phones worth millions, today we are all sons and daughters of this land. That’s why we come—because culture still matters.”

Speaking with Sunday Tribune, Farooq Oreagba, the standout figure from last year’s celebration, reiterated the festival’s bigger vision. 

“We want to put Ijebu-Ode and Ojude Oba on the world map. This isn’t about one person or me—this is about us all and the heritage of our state,” he said passionately. “This is who we are, and we can’t bend or adjust for anyone.”

For a monarch who has ruled with wisdom and grace for over six decades, seeing his people uphold this tradition with such passion must have been deeply fulfilling. His presence remains the glue that binds the festivity to its ancestral roots.

And as dusk approached and the crowds slowly melted away, the streets of Ijebu-Ode were left with footprints of joy, commerce, and unforgettable memories. 

The traffic gridlock eased, but not before creating a shared frustration that, ironically, only emphasized how magnetic the festival has become.

And as one elder quietly put it while leaving the palace arena, “As long as there is life, we will return. Because this is who we are.”