After a successful launch of the 2018 film, King of Boys, producer and director Kemi Adetiba partnered with Netflix to produce a 7-episode sequel series, King of Boys: The Return of The Oba, which translates from Yoruba to English as King of Boys: The Return of The King. Released in 2021, the show opens up with the return of protagonist Eniola Salami, played by Sola Sobowale, following a five-year exile, following the assassination of her son and daughter by her political enemies, along with threats against her own life.
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We see a powerful woman back with a vengeance to reclaim her sovereignty, standing in the face of adversity from indignant men who believe a woman should not lead. These sentiments are reflected by a culture of institutionalised sexism and misogyny that exists in Nigeria’s reality, as well as fiction. For example, in response to the crime series’ massive popularity, Nigerian actor Zuny Michael scornfully commented, “A woman can never be Oba.” Though in the literal sense he is correct, as “Oba” is a gendered term that directly indicates a man of high socio-political power, its usage has become the default, leaving little room for female authority. Indeed, looking at the nation’s current political climate, we see how President Muhammadu Buhari went on live TV to unashamedly demean the position of women across the globe. Using his wife, the First Lady, as a case study, he said: “My wife belongs to the kitchen and the other room”, relegating the value of women to cooking and providing sex. That statement, by extension, implied that the authority any woman holds –– if any –– doesn’t exist beyond the home.
Against this backdrop, we see how Kemi Adetiba’s King of Boys: Return of the King brings in a refreshing perspective on what an authoritative figure looks like. Eniola Salami moved from the misogynistic narrative of women being weak and unable to make hard decisions to a position that commands respect matched with love via her cult following of supporters.
Adetiba’s fictional story connects to Nigerian folklore and history, which subvert colonial trends of absolute male authority. Take Queen Idia of the Benin kingdom, for example, who was one of the most fearsome female warriors of her time. She was popularly known to fight in securing the crown for her son, Oba Esigie. Her ability to secure her future and that of her son could have only been achieved by someone with a fierce mind and attitude — someone of influence and great power.
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The 2021 Netflix series references these proxy positions of power that women have often had to occupy to ascertain influence. We see this through the character of First Lady Jumoke Randle, played by Nse Ikpe-Etim, who is married to President Mumusa. Randle's authority remains tied to her husband's — from organising rallies and campaigns to stir up support to calculated financial planning to form alliances to political pragmatism against a common enemy. Her efforts were, all in all, in a bid to keep her husband in governance, thus not directly distinguishing her own political prowess.
So, how do we apply the insight gained from this powerful Netflix series to lessons for the real world? Well, a friend recently told me a story. One time, he had the privilege to educate primary kids on leadership. The kids were so interested in the ideas of rulership they each began to state the various offices they could occupy. My friend told them to dream big, to which one of the younger girls asked, “Uncle, you mean like being the First Lady of Nigeria?” His response? “Why be the First Lady when you can be the president?” Their eyes shone. Leadership and political power are not realms that should be exclusive to men. Teaching, educating and informing the younger generation that women’s roles go beyond the four walls of the home is one of the best ways to leave the patriarchal political system. A lot of these things are learned behaviour. Until we make a conscious decision to educate children on the nuances and diversity of gender, we’ll continue repeating cycles of sexist harm as a society.