“Very stubborn”—that is a phrase I have often heard used to describe me. Not only me, but also the people of Ekiti, the proud stock of the Yoruba race from which I come. Over the years, few have bothered to challenge or correct this characterization. Yet Nigerians are quick to use words carelessly, without considering their precise meaning or the weight they carry.
Say no to corruption—you are called stubborn. Resist oppression—you are stubborn. Stand against an unjust law or confront an unjust leader—again, you are stubborn. Write or protest against wrongdoing, and suddenly you are branded a “petition writer.” Elsewhere, this is called whistleblowing, an act of courage performed by people of honor and deep integrity. But here, it is often dismissed, usually by weaklings—those who stand for nothing and sway like leaves in the wind of indignities.
Not long ago, the wife of a former governor, at a public ceremony, accused me and Ekiti people of being “stubborn” simply because I engaged her husband in an intellectual discussion. To her, a governor was beyond reproach and not to be challenged. Too bitter to swallow, yet I kept my cool.
For as long as I can remember, Ekiti people have carried this label of stubbornness. But I have always disagreed. What is often described as stubbornness is, in truth, being principled.
The Difference Between Stubbornness and Principle
Stubbornness suggests obstinacy—an unreasonable refusal to yield even in the face of sound reason. Being principled is different. It is standing firm on values, defending what is just, and refusing compromise when compromise would mean betraying truth.
Yoruba wisdom captures this well: “Eni ti o duro lori otito, kì í ṣubu”—he who stands on the side of truth cannot fall. The principled person may be mocked as stubborn in the moment, but history vindicates them.
Ekiti’s reputation, then, should not be that of a people unwilling to bend, but of a people unwilling to bow when conscience demands they stand. Across generations—whether in resisting tyranny, questioning authority, or insisting on fairness—Ekiti people have chosen the harder path of principle over the easier path of silence.
Examples of Principle in Action
I recall my grandfather, Sanni Owolabi Ojudu, who resisted the Akintola/Fani-Kayode tendency when crisis engulfed the Southwest in the mid-1960s. For his stand, he was arrested and imprisoned for a year until the military took over. As a child, I would follow my grandmother daily to Okitiorigbo, where the prison in Ado Ekiti was then located, to deliver his meal of pounded yam.
Or take Colonel Adekunle Fajuyi, the military governor of Western State. When Head of State Major General Aguiyi Ironsi visited him during the counter-coup of July 1966, Fajuyi chose to die alongside his guest rather than betray him. That act was not stubbornness—it was principle, loyalty, and honor.
Consider also Chief S.B. Falegan, who as Managing Director of the Federal Mortgage Bank in the early 1980s resisted pressure from his board to tamper with public funds. When the pressure became unbearable, he resigned rather than compromise, issuing a blistering public statement that shook the nation. Think of Prof. Sam Aluko, G.B. Akinyede, Prof. Akin Oyebode, Comrade Ola Oni, Femi Falana, Dele Ajaja, Dr. Bunmi Borisade, and many others cut from the same cloth.
My father, too, was shaped by this ethic. As a member of the radical Zikist Movement, he traveled the country campaigning against colonialism. Later, in Ado Ekiti, he resisted the imposition of wrong candidates as kings, chiefs, Iyaloja, or chief imam. He stood firm until his last breath. My grandmother’s life, too, was one of courage, resistance, and contentment—deserving of a book of its own.
Carrying the Inheritance
I have carried this inheritance into my own journey. In 2018, when I sought to be governor of Ekiti, some leaders of my party dismissed me as “too stubborn, too unyielding, too independent, even too smart to be swayed.” Not because I lacked competence, but because of that wrongly applied word—stubborn.
Yet in rejection, defeat, and persecution, we remain resolute—like the rock Orole in Ikere: unconquerable, smooth, and shining. That is who we are. Yes, cultures mix and times change, but the Ekiti essence endures. That is why today I worry when I see children of Ekiti, raised outside our land, behaving in ways contrary to our values.
In a morally challenged Nigeria, when you need someone trustworthy to hold your money, manage your affairs, or be your assistant, an Ekiti person remains your best choice. In Ekiti, we still remind ourselves: “Orúkọ rere sàn ju wúrà àti fàdákà lọ”—a good name is better than silver or gold. We send our children into the world with the instruction: “Rántí ọmọ ènì tí ìwọ ń ṣe”—remember the child of whom you are. That is our brand. It is why we are known as : Ilé Ìyì, Ilé Ẹ̀yẹ -the land of honor and dignity.
As another Yoruba saying reminds us: “Otítọ́ kì í ṣeré pẹ̀lú ẹni tí kì í ṣe olóòótọ́”—truth never plays along with falsehood. To be principled is to stay aligned with truth, even when it isolates you, even when it costs you comfort.
So, when next you hear Ekiti people described as stubborn, correct the record: we are not stubborn, we are principled. And in that distinction lies our beauty, our dignity, and our power.
We are the rock.
* Ojudu is a former Nigerian Senator
