Rufai vs Umahi: “Were Lanfi Wo Were” When Ego Overshadows Professionalism By Haroon Aremu
A few weeks ago, Fuji musician Taiye Currency sparked controversy during the coronation of the 44th Olubadan of Ibadanland, Oba Rasheed Ladoja. With President Bola Tinubu, governors, and other dignitaries in attendance, the stage was set for traditional praise-singing — the kind of poetic panegyrics expected at Yoruba royal events.
Instead, Currency performed a street anthem with the line “were lanfi wo were” — roughly translated as “madness is cured with madness” or “you fight fire with fire.”
The choice of words struck the wrong chord. Many attendees and social media commentators felt it was disrespectful, calling it more befitting for a street rally than a royal coronation. Others argued that a performer like Saheed Osupa, widely regarded as Oba Orin (the King of Music) for his lyrical depth and cultural fluency, would have brought more dignity to the moment.
Interestingly, that same “tit for tat” energy resurfaced recently — not in music, but on national television.
On October 7, during a live Arise TV interview, journalist Rufai Oseni clashed with the Minister of Works, David Umahi, over the Lagos–Calabar Coastal Highway project. The exchange, meant to clarify policy and accountability issues, quickly devolved into a confrontation.
Oseni accused the minister of reporting him to the President, claiming to have “empirical evidence.” Umahi, visibly irritated, snapped: “You are too small for me to report you to the President… Keep quiet!”
The minister’s words — sharp and condescending — turned a national discussion into a personal showdown. Within hours, clips of the fiery exchange went viral, symbolizing what happens when professionalism gives way to pride. The phrase “were lanfi wo were” once again found expression — this time, not in a song, but in the tone and attitude of two professionals who allowed emotions to overrule decorum.
In journalism, tough questions are essential. In governance, calm and accountability are non-negotiable. When either side abandons these principles, the real casualty is the public interest.
While some viewers applauded Oseni’s assertiveness as “fearless journalism,” his phrasing and body language revealed something else: defensiveness. His claim — “I have empirical evidence you reported me to the President” — lacked the neutrality expected of a journalist. The tone carried an undertone of personal grievance rather than professional inquiry.
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Similarly, Umahi’s response betrayed poor preparation and weak emotional control. A composed official, properly briefed by his communication team, could have defused the tension with facts, not fury. A calm statement such as “That’s incorrect; here are the facts,” would have restored credibility and maintained focus on the project — not personalities.
What the public got instead was noise without clarity. The substantive issues — cost, compensation, demolition, and procurement transparency — were lost in the drama of ego.
For both journalists and public officials, this episode is a masterclass in what not to do. For the journalist, professionalism means confidence, not combativeness. Asking hard questions is part of the job, but doing so with composure and logical sequencing is key. Interviews should flow like well-built bridges — one question leading naturally to the next. When emotion takes over, the bridge collapses.
For the official, communication is strategy. Media appearances should never be approached casually. A minister’s spokesperson or media aide must anticipate tough questions, prepare clear responses, and train principals to maintain composure under pressure. Emotional outbursts do not project authority; they signal insecurity.
Preparation, emotional intelligence, and respect for roles are the pillars of effective public engagement. When a journalist becomes defensive and an official becomes dismissive, the result is confusion, not communication.
The coastal highway project deserved a detailed discussion — one anchored on data, documents, and transparency. Instead of trading words, both sides could have agreed to reconvene after reviewing verifiable documents on costs, environmental impact, and timelines. That would have turned the spectacle into accountability.
The viral clip, now a social media favorite, will likely be replayed in journalism and communication classrooms for years — as a study in interview technique, human behavior under pressure, power relations, ethical provocation, and message framing.
At its core, “were lanfi wo were” — “madness for madness” — is a reflection of a society where confrontation often replaces dialogue. It is the language of a culture struggling to balance confidence with civility. In both the coronation performance and the TV interview, the phrase encapsulated one truth: we are too quick to fight for dominance and too slow to listen with grace.
Both journalist and minister represent institutions vital to democracy — the media and government. Each owes the other, and the nation, a duty of respect, restraint, and reason.
Professionalism, after all, is not about who wins the argument. It’s about who preserves integrity when tested.
Haroon Aremu Abiodun is a Mass Communication graduate of the University of Ilorin and a Master’s student at Bayero University, Kano.
