I don’t usually write about politics, but this one, I simply couldn’t resist. Maybe I’m overthinking things, but hear me out.
Some politicians have recently come together under the banner of the African Democratic Congress (ADC), positioning themselves as a united front to unseat the Jagaban come 2027. It’s a good sign for our democracy — that opposition voices can gather and organize without harassment from the ruling party. I like it for them, and I wish them well.
Now, if you’ve watched the Netflix series King of Boys (seasons 1 and 2), the title of this piece should already give you a hint about where I’m going. For those who haven’t seen it, let me offer a quick recap of the parts that relate to this article.
In the series, a secret council of power brokers — the so-called “table” — holds the real political and economic power in Lagos. Made up of about six or eight influential figures (forgive me, I can’t recall the exact number), this group is constantly engaged in battles for supremacy. To “lead the table” means wielding untold influence across public and private sectors alike.
Alhaja Eniola Salami, the main character, is both feared and revered. She plays the roles of antagonist and protagonist at different points — it never really mattered, as long as she got what she wanted.
Now here’s where it gets really interesting.
In the final episodes of Season 2, members of the table plot to overthrow Alhaja Salami and install a new leader — Odudubariba (played by Charly Boy). An outsider named Otunba, who isn’t even a member of the table, instigates the move. They invite Alhaja to hand over power in a dramatic ritual, and surprisingly, she agrees to come.
But, as the clairvoyant and calculating woman she is, Alhaja had already seen their moves before they were made. She had a plan. Her most trusted ally, Ade Tiger, had been sent undercover into the enemy camp, pretending to betray her. He convinced the others that he knew all her secrets and had truly switched sides.
On the day of the handover, Alhaja arrives appearing defeated — even Ade Tiger turns against her to sell the illusion. But she asks for just one thing: a proper handover ritual before her execution.
Then comes her iconic line:
“Do you know how I have remained the King of this table for so many years? It is because I have learnt to read the moves of my enemies long before they planned them.”
With that, she commands Ade Tiger to shoot one of the table members. He obeys without hesitation. Chaos breaks out. Her backup, including a former rival Makanaki, storms the scene. Unknown to viewers, she had reconciled with Makanaki as part of her master plan.
In the end, Odudubariba is killed. Alhaja reclaims control of the table, but chooses to step aside, installing Makanaki as leader — because she was on her way to becoming governor of Lagos State.
Now, back to 2027.
The newly formed coalition includes several angry and disgruntled politicians. One of them is Rauf Aregbesola, popularly known as Baba Hafusa (“Half Salary”). The rift between Jagaban and Baba Hafusa has been public for years. But if you truly know the history between them, you’ll understand why I find it hard to believe he’s sincerely part of a movement to unseat his former political godfather.
Rauf? The Baba of Alimosho? Haa, ko resemble! (in Yoruba: “It doesn’t add up.”)
Even if their feud is real, I just can’t picture him sitting comfortably at a table with those trying to take down the Jagaban. It feels… off.
Could Rauf be the Ade Tiger in this scenario?
I don’t know. But given Jagaban’s political playbook and Nigeria’s unpredictable political theatre, one thing’s for sure — if it’s not Rauf, there is certainly an Ade Tiger in their midst.
2027 is around the corner.
May Allah preserve us all until then, and beyond.