The Cultural Metropolis(Conclusion)
In heated palm oil, morning, noon and night; from Iwo Road to Orita Bashorun I come across quite a number of Akara spots, where residents stand.
n and on Prince goes, espousing point after point of the Ibadan monarchy. A historian by training, Prince finds himself writing often on politics and traditional issues. He is not, he says, an Ibadan man by birth but he has lived in the city for most of his adult life.
Ibadan was always bidding me to come to it. Much earlier in the year, the city started to get in the news: a shocking spat among the leading monarchs of the State – the Alaafin of Oyo, Soun of Ogbomosho and Olubadan of Ibadan - rippled across the southwest; the Alaafin and the Soun traded words over the stool of Ibadan, when the Olubadan vehemently opposed plans by a quartet of Baales (village heads) from four localities who were lobbying to be upgraded to Obaship status, a move that would, in effect, put them at par with the Olubadan.
The Olubadan would not hear of it, saying (through his media aide) that nothing like what the Baales were routing for had ever happened in the entire history of Ibadanland. At a meeting the king called to discuss the development, the ambitious chiefs were not invited. The chiefs too responded in kind, defying the king at every opportunity and waging a proxy war. 
Much earlier, the Olubadan had frowned at the government’s declaration of the Alaafin of Oyo as the permanent head of the Oyo State Council of Obas and Chiefs, as opposed to the earlier system of rotational presidency among the Alaafin, the Soun and the Olubadan. The royal battle has simmered now and everything appears normal – on the surface, at least. As a parting shot, I ask Prince what he thinks of the decades’ old Mapo Hall, which so happens to be the next stop on my itinerary.
“There isn’t much to it, in my reckoning,” he says flatly, “It is only a hall for functions, just like the Centenary Hall in Abeokuta.”
Undeterred by his comments I wander in hesitantly, half expecting to see someone in the premises, though I have been assured by a bystander I met on my way in that the place is open to the public, any time and any day. Nobody is around. I walk the milky-white marble floor on tip toe and make for the main auditorium. The blue, translucent ceiling cast a bluish hue on the interior. Compared to the cool weather outside, the interior feels very warm. And just as I have observed outside, the hall floor is littered with empty cans and bottles of all sorts of drinks. There must have been a party here two days previously, a Saturday.
For a building of Mapo Hall’s pedigree, I expect it to be better managed than it is at the moment. I imagine that it would be a Mecca of sorts, if only there are more documentary evidences of its history (a picture gallery for starters) from way back 1925, when the foundation stones were first laid by a Captain W.A Ross, who at the time administered (1914-1931) the then Oyo Province.
“Mapo Hall was like the seat of government of the time and it served as a legislative chamber of sorts,” Lanre, one of the workers, explains while conducting me round the hall on my second visit, “and it was also where the people came to air their grievances or have their disputes settled by ‘judges’. At we both pace round the building, impressed by its expansive surrounding, I notice that a meeting is going on in one room on the ground floor. In its heyday and up till now, Mapo Hall has hosted countless administrative meetings and social gatherings.
“They are Ibadan High Chiefs,” Lanre says, “you can’t be allowed in.”
The immense 30-odd pillars that forms part of the exterior is what gives Mapo Hall its charm. My guess is that the newly constructed Ibadan Civic Centre (at the Idi Ape area) must have been designed with Mapo Hall in mind, except that its own pillars are without stature. A signpost in the Beere area announces the sitting government’s intentions: “Revamping decayed monuments, our priority.” This campaign has resulted in the Mapo Hall being fitted with air conditioners and touched up with a new coat of white paint (the hall was a shade of cream from time past).
From the buildings’ top balcony I can see the endless spread of Ibadan’s legendary ‘brown rusted roofs’ subdued in the early morning sun. From another balcony, I look on fascinated by the larger-than-life black sculpture of a Bashorun Oderinlo, a warrior of 15th century Ibadan, standing dominantly in the middle of the road and – almost like a guardian angel -- overlooking the busy Orita Merin market.
Later, I settle into one of the black, armless chairs to read a newspaper, absorbing the detailed report of the activities at the 30th coronation anniversary of the Oba of Benin. From where I sit, I can hear the distant rush of vehicles outside but it is not too loud as to be a distraction. I am alone in this whole place and relishing the privacy. Ibadan, Like Nigeria, is largely a cultural destination. If and whenever the Oyo State government decides to look in the direction of tourism for all that it is worth, it will do well to make Mapo Hall a major pillar of that endeavour. For one, it has a sellable story; and besides that the first settlers in Ibadan are believed to have camped just a few metres down road from here.
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