So far in Echoes of People and Places in Oriki Ibadan, we’ve translated and interpreted verses that praise kings, warriors, and landmark quarters of Ìbàdàn. Together, we’ve traced a cultural map written in rhythm and reverence.

In this fourth and concluding part, we touch on the mentioned water bodies of the town and its malady, civil disorder.

Eleyele is the lake from which both slaves and freeborn of Layipo drink.

The Eleyele River is a tributary of the Ogun River. Known for its picturesque scenery and rich, green surroundings, it is deeply woven into the folklore and oral history of Ibadan, with tales about its mystical origins and hidden powers.
It sustains a thriving ecosystem, home to a variety of birds, fish, and reptiles, making it a hotspot for ecological research and the study of marine biodiversity.

The river serves multiple purposes. As it was in the early days, it remains a vital source of water for communities in and around Eleyele and plays a key role in the Ibadan city water project. In addition, it is a vital fishing ground that supports the livelihood of local fishermen and acts as a transportation route for riverine travel to some communities. With its natural beauty and scenic surroundings, the river has become a popular location for shooting films and stands out as a tourist destination for those seeking relaxation or a deeper connection with nature.

And Layipo!

“Ibadan lo mo, o mo Layipo” — “It is Ibadan you know, but you do not know Layipo” — is a statement heavy with meaning. A pregnant proverb.
Because Layipo is not just a place or a path. It is a metaphor. A mood. A way of life.

It speaks of Ibadan’s circular energy—its sprawling geography, its unpredictable politics, its layered history, and the winding journey one must take to understand her soul.

To know Layipo is to know that Ibadan is not a city you walk through in straight lines. You must go round and round—physically, socially, even emotionally—before you catch a glimpse of her essence.

So yes, you may know Ibadan, but if you don’t know Layipo, then you have only scratched the surface.

Oríkì Ibadan: A Complete Translation of Ibadan’s Panegyric

Layipo has been described both as a totem and a metonym for Ibadan—capturing the city’s spirit, motion, and identity, both in metaphor and in matter.

The term is believed to have emerged from the experience of climbing Bower’s Tower, the iconic 60-foot monument perched on Sapati Hill. With its 47 spiral steps, visitors are literally made to go in circles—layipo—as they ascend.

Unveiled on December 15, 1936, the tower was designed by Taffy Jones, who also designed Mapo Hall, and it was named after Captain Robert Lister Bower, the first British resident officer in Ibadan and a travelling commissioner for the interior of Yorubaland. From the summit of Bower’s Tower, one enjoys a sweeping view of Ibadan: Mapo Hall, UCH, the Cultural Centre, Cocoa House, Total Garden, and several other prominent landmarks dot the horizon.
Today, Bower’s Tower stands not just as a tourist attraction, but as a symbol of Ibadan’s vastness, complexity, and circular rhythm—captured in one simple, powerful word: Layipo.

Echoes of People and Places in Oriki Ibadan

Echoes of People and Places in Oriki Ibadan (2)

Echoes of People and Places in Oriki Ibadan (3)

Asejire is the water that nourishes and bathes the residents of Ibadan.

Asejire lies approximately 30 kilometres east of Ibadan, near the border between Oyo and Osun States. Fed by the Osun River, the area is known for its large reservoir, built in the late 1960s. The river has been a critical water source for the region with a water level which remains consistently high throughout the year. This makes it an enduring asset for both domestic and industrial use.

None comes to this world without a fault—civil disorder is the disease of Ibadan.

Ibadan’s story is inseparable from civil unrest. The first epoch collapsed after the infamous masquerade unmasking—a seemingly minor incident that spiralled into chaos and culminated in a brutal three-year war. The second era crumbled under what began as a domestic disagreement but soon exploded into open conflict. Even the foundation of modern Ibadan was laid on the ashes of insurrection—Maye, the town’s first ruler, was overthrown and killed by his own people.

Throughout the empire-building years, only a few Ibadan leaders such as Opeagbe and Ogunmola reigned without tasting rebellion. The others had to face internal strife—quelling uprisings or being consumed by them. Disorder, it seems, is the shadow that has followed Ibadan’s greatness from the very beginning.

Conclusion

The Oríkì of Ibadan is no idle flattery—it is a call, a challenge, and a chronicle. It tells of a city shaped by the sword, yet ruled by wit; a city that devours its own to sharpen its destiny; a place where strangers become legends, and where justice, even when flawed, is pursued with fire.

To recite these verses is to remember that Ibadan’s greatness lies not in perfection, but in resilience. It is a city that stumbles forward, bruised but unbowed, welcoming all who dare to dream. And in this raw, complex heritage, we find the true beauty of Ibadan—where history lives, and the future is forever being written.