Rashidi Ladoja: From the gut punch of betrayal to the quiet strength of a king – By Temitope Abegunde

Picture this: it is a hot, tense morning in Ibadan back in January 2006. Rashidi Ladoja, the man who’d poured his heart into fixing roads, schools, and the daily grind for everyday folks in Oyo State, wakes up to find his world crumbling. Armed thugs from the transport union, rough, street-hardened guys loyal to a powerful godfather storm the state assembly. They herd lawmakers like scared sheep, wave machetes and guns, and in a blink, impeach him on flimsy charges that no one really believes.

Born on September 25, 1944, in the bustling Gambari quarter of Ilorin to a cocoa-trading dad and a mom who poured love into her community, he was wired for the long haul. Today, at 81, as the clock ticks toward his official crowning as the 44th Olubadan on September 26, 2025 a date that just happens to match the number of his birth year, like fate winking Ladoja’s story feels like a comeback movie we all needed. It is about the human grit that turns scars into wisdom, and how one man’s refusal to bend helped quiet the storms that once tore Oyo apart.

Rashidi wasn’t born with a silver spoon; he earned every step. Growing up in a family tied to Ibadan’s royal roots from Isale Osi, his granddad was the Osi Olubadan before his demise, a reminder that leadership runs in the blood he still had to hustle. School at Methodist Boys’ High in Lagos and the Polytechnic Ibadan wasn’t easy, but he pushed through, grabbing a business admin degree from the University of Ife. By his 20s, he was knee-deep in textiles, turning the R.L. Ladoja Group into something solid shipping, farming, even banking stints that showed he knew how to spot opportunity without stepping on necks.

Politics called in 1993, landing him a short Senate gig under the shaky Third Republic, but it was 2003 when he really stepped up. Elected governor on the PDP ticket with a whopping 70% of the vote, Ladoja rolled up his sleeves. Free education for kids, better clinics, roads that didn’t swallow cars, he was the guy who showed up, listened to market women griping about potholes, and actually tried to fix things. But power in Oyo back then wasn’t about fixing; it was about who controlled the cash and the muscle. And that is where the knives came out.

The real storm hit because Ladoja wouldn’t play the game. He dug into corruption, poking at the fat cats who treated state funds like personal piggy banks. Worse, he crossed the biggest one: President Olusegun Obasanjo, about an alleged third term agenda. Ladoja, straightforward as ever, told him flat out in a private chat: “Sir, you’re not qualified. God gave you eight years; don’t tempt fate.” It wasn’t malice; it was Ladoja being Ladoja honest, almost folksy, like an uncle calling out nonsense at family dinner. Obasanjo seethed.

He needed Oyo’s assembly to rubber-stamp a constitutional tweak for his scheme, and Ladoja stood firm: No way. Enter the godfather, the late Alhaji Lamidi Adedibu, Obasanjo’s local enforcer, who unleashed his secret weapon the National Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW). These weren’t just drivers; they were a rough and tumble crew turned into a private army, shaking down buses for “dues,” sparking street fights that left blood on the asphalt, and doing dirty work for politicians.

On that fateful January 12, the NURTW boys made their move. Led by the infamous Lateef Salako Eleweomo to those who feared him they rolled up to the assembly in jeeps, armed to the teeth. They locked out Ladoja’s allies, bullied 18 lawmakers into signing off on “gross misconduct” lies, and just like that, Deputy Governor Christopher Alao-Akala was sworn in. Ladoja, 61 and battle-worn, barricaded in his Agodi house as goons lobbed stones and threats, slipped out to Abuja. Eleven months of hell followed exile, court battles, whispers of hit squads. His wife, Mutiat, held the fort, kids scattered for safety.

While Ibadan boiled over in riots that shuttered markets and claimed lives. It felt personal, like the universe testing if he had the stomach to fight back, he did.

Courts called it a sham, the Supreme Court reinstated him in December 2006, and he walked back into office to cheers, finishing his term with his head high. But the hurt lingered. Adedibu’s death in 2008 didn’t heal it; it just shifted the chaos to new union bosses, keeping Oyo in a chokehold of fear and favors.

What makes Ladoja human, though, isn’t just surviving it is how he carried on without the poison. After 2007, a PDP nomination snub stung, but he didn’t sulk. He backed fresh faces in local races, winning many seats on the Accord Party platform, and kept building his businesses real estate now, steady jobs for folks who’d never seen a paycheck from a suit like him. He mentored quietly, advised governors without demanding spotlights, and when the NURTW’s grip finally cracked under Seyi Makinde’s reforms in 2019 banning their violence and handing parks to park managers, Ladoja nodded approval, knowing the peace Oyo breathes today is what he fought for. No more daily dread of park shootouts; murders way down, elections almost civil, it is like the state exhaled.

And through it all, the traditional side simmered. As a chief of the Olubadan line through Egbe Agba, the civil wing, he climbed steadily. In the 1980s, he was installed as Mogaji of Arusha Compound, official join the line as Jagun on the 1st of October, 1993, and now the Olubadan.

He even turned down a beaded crown once under old rules that smelled political, but accepted it later, proving he’ is no pushover. Now, with the 43rd Olubadan gone, it is his turn.

The coronation week’s buzz starts today, September 22, with prayers at Oke Aremo Palace folks from all faiths giving thanks for a man who’s seen it all. Tomorrow’s cultural bash at the stadium, Wednesday’s lecture by Prof. Toyin Falola on Ibadan’s soul, Thursday’s praise night doubling as his birthday blowout. Then Friday at Mapo Hall is the official crowning, alongside kings, governors, and everyday Ibadans who have got stories of how Ladoja touched their lives maybe a scholarship that changed a kid’s path or a road that got grandma to market safer.

At 81, Ladoja’s no flawless hero; he’s had critics call him stubborn, and yeah, politics left bruises. But step back: This is a guy who stared down a president, dodged bullets from union goons, and came out preaching unity. In his words from chats over the years, it’s about service lifting the vulnerable, healing old rifts, letting youth dream big. As the drums beat for his crowning, Oyo feels lighter, like a family mending after a ugly fight. Rashidi Ladoja didn’t just rise; he pulled the whole place up with him. From that gut-wrenching impeachment to this throne that’s waited decades, he’s proof that real strength isn’t loud it’s the quiet choice to keep going, one honest step at a time.

Congratulations! Congratulations!! Congratulations!!!

• Abegunde writes from Abegunde Compound Adeoyo, Yemetu Ibadan.