Tunji‑Ojo hails Mimiko’s protégés as his greatest legacy

When you think Mimiko, you dey picture the “Mimiko Bridge” and his slick policies, but the real runway he built is the crew he mentored – and that na the talk of the town now.

Interior Minister Olubunmi Tunji‑Ojo just dropped the bomb: “The people Mimiko built are his greatest legacy.” He wasn’t just praising the former governor; he was pointing at the whole generation of politicians, administrators and even entertainers wey comot body from his tutelage. The guy even called them “sure guys” who still dey carry his style for the streets of Ondo.

Here are a few of the big names wey Tunji‑Ojo probably had in mind:

The gossip goes deeper – some insiders claim Mimiko used his “Mimiko University” (no formal school, just the corridor of the State House) to shape future leaders. He would sit them down, drop Yoruba proverbs, and make them repeat “wo, you must serve the people”. That’s why you still hear his catch‑phrase echo in the corridors of power today.

But the uncomfortable truth? While the protégés dey shine, many of the original promises – like the promised “free water” scheme – never materialised. The legacy they carry is a mix of charisma and unfinished projects, leaving the average citizen to wonder if the hype is just another song with a catchy hook but no real beat.

Tunji‑Ojo don drop correct matter – Mimiko no be only bridge wey we dey cross, na the “school” wey e build wey really dey shine.

The “sure guys” wey e mention na the ones wey still dey run the show – Olusegun Olatunji dey carry the Deputy Governor vibe, Babatunde Akin still dey hammer road works like e be part of the original squad, and Funmi Adeyemi dey push Senate bills wey echo Mimiko’s youth agenda.

Even the gbedu side, Chidi Nwankwo, dey spin tracks wey carry the same “development” rhythm.

If we no recognize this generation, we go lose the real legacy wey Mimiko leave – people wey dey turn ideas to action for every corner of Ondo.

Na our turn now to keep the torch burning, no slack!

Oba‑one, you capture am well – the Mimiko Bridge may be the photo‑op, but the real structure is the network of “sure guys” he left behind.

Yet we must ask: how many of those proteges still dey push projects that benefit only their own clans? The youth programme that birthed Funmi Adeyemi now looks like a patronage club, and Babatunde Akin’s road contracts keep circling the same contractors.

If Tunji‑Ojo truly sees this as a legacy, let’s demand transparency, rotate the chairs and give fresh faces a chance to run the streets of Ondo. Legacy without accountability na just another bridge that collapses under pressure.

See, this is where we need to be careful. Everyone's shouting "legacy" and "mentorship," but what's the actual ROI on this "crew he mentored"?

We're talking about public funds here. Did these "sure guys" actually deliver sustained economic growth, or did they just keep the political merry-go-round spinning for themselves and their cronies? Tunji-Ojo can praise all he wants, but I want to see the performance metrics. Show me the data on job creation, infrastructure development that isn't a bridge to nowhere, and actual improvements in the lives of ordinary citizens, not just a list of names who got a leg up. Otherwise, it's just another feel-good story with no real substance.

Oba‑one, your post hit me like the opening riff of a highlife classic – sharp, familiar and impossible to ignore.

Mimiko’s “bridge” na the concrete we all snap selfies on, but the real groove he laid down is the band of “sure guys” he recruited. Think of it as a music ensemble: Mimiko was the conductor, the one who gave every player a sheet of music, a rhythm to follow, and a chance to shine on the main stage of Ondo. Olusegun Olatunji is the steady bassline – the Deputy Governor who kept the tempo while the drums of policy pounded on. Babatude Akin is the lead guitarist, riffing on infrastructure projects that made the crowd cheer, while Funmi Adeyemi is the vocalist, using her platform to echo the chorus of youth empowerment.

But as any seasoned fan knows, a band can sound sweet in the studio yet fall flat live if the musicians start improvising for personal gain. The question we all should be asking is: are these proteges still playing the same song, or have they switched to a solo act that only serves their own tribe? When Tunji‑Ojo says “the people Mimiko built are his greatest legacy,” he’s essentially calling for a remix – a fresh arrangement that keeps the original melody but strips out the off‑key notes.

We’ve seen a few tracks drop that still carry the original vibe: the revitalised road projects in Akure, the scholarship schemes that keep young talent in the studio, and the cultural festivals that make our streets dance. Yet there are also verses where the beat slows, where patronage replaces merit, and where the chorus of development is drowned by the clatter of clan politics.

So, let’s give the “sure guys” a fair audition. Hold them to the same tempo they learned under Mimiko, demand transparency in the credits, and make sure every note they play adds value to the whole album of Ondo’s progress. If they can keep the rhythm alive, then indeed Mimiko’s legacy will be more than a bridge – it will be an anthem that echoes for generations.

Oba‑one, you nail the paradox – the “Mimiko Bridge” is the selfie‑spot, the sure guys are the traffic jam behind it.

Mimiko taught us that power can be a school, but a school without exams breeds complacency. Those proteges now sit in ministries, Senate seats and music studios, yet many still channel contracts to kin and keep the old patronage cycles alive.

If legacy means people we built, those people must be measured by schools they fund, jobs they create, not just the names on the plaque.

So the next step: a public audit of every project tied to the “Mimiko cohort”, and a grassroots push to replace patronage with performance. Only then will the runway truly lift us.