𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲: 𝗚𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗼𝗿 𝗪𝗵𝗼 𝗣𝗹𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀

𝗕𝘆 𝗘𝗠𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗛 𝗚𝗔𝗕𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗟

There is a reason we do not put matches in the hands of children. They do not understand that a small flame can swallow an entire forest. They think fire is beautiful. They watch it dance and they want to clap. Seyi Makinde is not a child. But last week in Ibadan, he behaved like one.

He reached deep into the cupboard of one of our country’s worst memories and pulled out an old ghost. An ugly chapter. And then he smiled. The men around him did not only laugh; they nodded and patted his back like he had just told a clever joke and like there was nothing dangerous about a sitting governor poking a sleeping lion with a stick.

For those who have forgotten or were not born, “Operation Wetie” was not folklore. It was hell on earth. The name came from a Yoruba phrase meaning “wet him” or “soak it,” and it described exactly what it sounded like. Political opponents were doused with petrol. Their homes were doused. Their vehicles were doused. Then came the matches and the inferno that followed.

It erupted after the disputed Western Region elections of 1965. The ruling faction was widely accused of stealing the vote. The opposition was boxed into a corner. And something snapped. Citizens poured into the streets of Ibadan and other towns with kerosene. Houses burned. Cars burned. Human beings burned. The Western Electoral Commission chairman resigned. Polling stations were abandoned. Rioting spread through Mushin, Ekiti, Ilesha, Ibadan, and Egba South. The Prime Minister had to declare a state of emergency in the entire Western Region. That is what Makinde chose to resurrect. Not a metaphor. A massacre.

By January 1966, the military had taken over the government with guns. The First Republic died. Democracy died. Soldiers ruled for thirteen years. The man who threw the match did not control the fire. Nobody ever did.

So when Makinde stood in Ibadan and said “they should remember that operation wetie started from here,” what exactly was he warning? That the opposition will burn things down? That the people will take kerosene to the streets? Or that the army will return? None of those outcomes is funny. None of them is a bumper sticker for a political rally.

Those men who laughed with him are the real tragedy. The ADC leaders who sat there like well-fed royalty watching a court jester. The party chieftains who nodded every time his voice rose. They have built a palace of mirrors around this man. Everyone in that room saw only what they wanted to see. They saw a power-drunk governor whom they believe they could use for political gains. What they do not see is the cliff. Leaders speak truth to power even when it hurts. Sometimes loyalty is pulling someone back from the edge. These men have confused bootlicking with brotherhood. They have traded their consciences for front-row seats. When the storm comes, those seats will be the wettest in the house.

Then there is the busy-body remnant of the PDP led by Turaki. By yesterday, they had released their statement. They did not waste a single word of caution. They didn’t even hide in shame for having associated with such vocal carnage. Instead, as they always do, they pontificated. They accused President Tinubu and the APC of being the real arsonists. They argued that Makinde’s historical recollection was a sober warning to a tyrannical federal government, not a threat. They reminded everyone that the same APC once promised to make Nigeria ungovernable. Not once did they tell their own governor to lower the temperature. Not once did they admit that a reckless tongue can burn down a house. They chose, as usual, to point fingers everywhere except at themselves. The usual dance. The familiar music.

A governor who jokes about fire does not get to complain when the smoke chokes his own house. Words are not stones until they are thrown. Then they become heavier than granite. Every political crisis in this nation’s history began the same way: a careless phrase. The men who cheered Makinde will not be the ones burying the dead if his prophecy accidentally comes true. They will be home, watching television, shaking their heads, saying they never thought it would go that far. It always goes that far. That is what fire does.

Makinde should ask himself one question. If the opposition actually took his words as a permit, if they really did bring kerosene to the streets, would he be able to stop them? Would his security guards surround him while the rest of Ibadan burned? No. He would be the first to call for calm. The first to say he was misquoted. The first to release a statement nobody believes. That is the tragedy of the match player. By the time he regrets striking it, his fingers are already gone.

They used to call the American West the Wild West. That name came from a time when every man carried a gun and every dispute ended in blood. Wild men made the West wild. Makinde called Ibadan the same “Wild Wild West”. He meant it as a warning to his enemies. But he should be careful. The Wild West was not a democracy. It was a graveyard. Oyo State, or Nigeria, does not need a wild man. The people do not need a governor who speaks like a wrestler before a match. They need a steady hand. A calm voice. Someone who understands that the job is to keep the peace, not to poke at its wounds. He seems to have forgotten that he is not a village drummer. A drummer can say anything. He can praise the king one minute and insult the queen the next. No one expects wisdom from a drummer. A governor is different. His words carry weight. They travel far. They land in places he never intended.

There is an old saying. Anyone who throws a stone into a market cannot be sure his own mother will not be hit. Makinde should stop throwing. The opposition should remember that defending the indefensible is not loyalty. It is cowardice wearing a party badge. The fire that starts with a match always ends with a funeral. No one claps at a funeral. They mourn.