It's a term I have always heard, but I have never paid so much attention. So when Tope mentioned that she would be Abóbakú while roles for a church drama were being assigned, I was intrigued. I laughed at it like everyone else.

"This one is offering to be an Abóbakú." The lady beside me said, "You want to die with the King." I pity you."

I'm not sure if she said anything else, but it jolted me awake, jolting all of my senses. Someone would be buried with the King alive and his eyes opened? That was a rude awakening.

It was not the first time I had heard the word, but this time it was sparking a different reaction. I had never actually thought of it.

A few days before that day, I had seen a Yoruba movie where a man had volunteered to be the young king's Abóbakú, and surprisingly, the king died early, and that was when his dilemma began. It didn't mean much to me, as I laughed it off with my siblings. The fact that he volunteered made it funny.

A couple of days later, Oba Adeyemi Lamidi, the Alaafin of Oyo, died, and then it was on the news that the Abóbakú had fled for his life. I was surprised; I didn't think it was still a tradition.

For my non-Yoruba readers, Abóbakú literally means one who dies with the king. A better meaning would be "dine and die with the king." It's an age-long Yoruba tradition, more of a chieftaincy title, where someone is assigned, either voluntarily or involuntarily, to die with the king.

It was not exactly strange, but I didn't know much about it, so I decided to talk to people I knew would have answers.

Once upon a time, when a king died, it was believed he couldn't go alone; he would need people to see him off, like a governor with his escort, to the afterlife and to also serve him, since he was a king in this life and would also be a king in the afterlife. As a result, able-bodied men were frequently buried alive alongside the King.

A popular story in my church is about a man whose family never had a man reach the age of forty. They would usually dream of seven able-bodied men carrying a coffin days before their deaths. This man had that dream before his fortieth birthday and rushed to a church where thorough deliverance was carried out. It was revealed that his forefathers were kings who had practiced this kind of ritual, and one of the men who would also be buried cursed the entire lineage so that none of the men would cross forty.

I don't think this particular practice was limited to Yorubas alone.

So in Yoruba Land, an Abóbakú can be chosen. The people I have talked to about this have various answers; some believe you would be chosen—usually from a lineage of Abóbakús—and others believe you could decide to be one and that it was a position that so many people used to fight for.

Strange, right? I thought so too. Why would anyone fight to get into a death trap?

The Abóbakú during the reign of the Oba allowed the king to enjoy so many benefits—every benefit, that is—that the king would enjoy and was entitled to. They would have houses, lands, women, and so much more at their disposal and were usually the closest to the king. They would even taste Oba's food before he did. As long as the king lived, he was entitled to all of this, but after the king's death, that was it. He would also die.

It was a way of ensuring the king's safety. The Abóbakú knew better than to be a part of a plot or to even plot against the Oba, because the death of the king would also mean his death. If one was lucky, he would be assigned to an Oba that had a long life, and if one was unlucky, he would be assigned to a short-lived one, but one would enjoy life to the fullest. That was the part that caused the tussle for the post.

The Abóbakú culture is one of the cultures in Yoruba land, and according to my mom, it is a kind of human sacrifice, even if some would argue. I want to say it isn't practised anymore but with the Oba Adeyemi story, I'll leave it at this.

I'm not here to condemn or approve of this culture, but to open your eyes to one of the many cultures in Yoruba Land. I want to say it isn't practised anymore but with the Oba Adeyemi story, I'll leave it at this.


I hope you enjoyed reading this.

love and light.