THE OLUWO WHO LISTENED TO THE FOREST

In the late 1890s, when the land of Iwo still slept beneath the shade of ancient irin-wo trees and the night carried the smell of burning palm kernels, the people often spoke of their king—Oluwo Adeyemi Olutimehin, the ruler whose wisdom traveled farther than wandering hunters and whose courage could settle storms before they rose.

Oluwo Adeyemi was not the tallest king, nor the loudest. His power lived in the steadiness of his thoughts and in the calm weight of his voice. Elders said that if he walked alone before dawn, he could hear what ordinary ears could not—the gentle warnings of the forest spirits.

THE SIGNS OF TROUBLE

One harmattan season, strange things stirred across Iwo.

• The ground shook at night, rattling calabashes on shelves.
• Animals fled from the bush as if chased by invisible flames.
• Even the River Oba shrank back from its banks, trembling like a frightened child.

People whispered under their breath:

“Ayé ń yí padà… the world is turning.”

Seeking clarity, Oluwo Adeyemi rose before the third cockcrow and walked into the ancient grove. The trees leaned inward, rustling like old men sharing secrets. At the grove’s heart, a voice traveled on the wind—gentle, yet firm:

“Oluwo… the earth is restless. A great drought approaches. Prepare your people.”

He bowed deeply to the unseen presence and hurried back to the palace.

THE WARNING

At the next council meeting, the chiefs sat in rich àṣọ-òkè, fanning themselves in uneasy silence. When the Oluwo stood, his calm settled the room like a talking drum finding its rhythm.

“We must dig new wells,” he said.
“We must store water.”
“And we must honor the land spirits, for their warning has come.”

Some chiefs doubted him. Some feared what he claimed to hear. But the people obeyed—because the Oluwo never spoke without truth.

THE DROUGHT BEGINS

Days passed. The sky paled.

Weeks dragged on without a single raindrop.

Leaves curled like fists.
The sun burned without mercy.
Across neighboring towns, rivers dried and farms cried out for water.

But in Iwo, the wells were full.
The stored water flowed.
The people, their animals, and their farms lived on.

Other villages came pleading for help, and the Oluwo—generous like the moon that shines on all roofs without choosing—shared freely.

THE LEGACY OF WISDOM

When the rains finally returned, Iwo stood untouched by the disaster that swept across the land. Word of Oluwo Adeyemi’s foresight spread throughout Osun like morning smoke rising over rooftops.

Until his last breath, the people of Iwo believed one truth:

Their king saved them—not with warriors or weapons,
but with wisdom…
and with the whispers of the forest that only a true ruler could hear.