I never knew my husband was a Prince until after our wedding invitation – Queen of Apomu Kingdom, Janet Afolabi • I won CNN award with a story I first refused to cover
By Temitope Adetunji
• Inter-tribal marriages can break ethnic barriers
HRM, Queen Janet Afolabi never imagined she would one day become Queen of Apomu Kingdom. In this interview with TEMITOPE ADETUNJI, She recounts her unexpected journey from the newsroom to the palace, and how she has embraced the call to serve her people
Take us back to your early days as a reporter with Tell Magazine.
Yes, I worked with Tell and also with Newswatch. In fact, I actually started my journalism career at Newswatch in 1989 as a reporter-researcher.
At that time, reporter-researchers were like foot soldiers, we went out to gather reports and brought them back to the newsroom. The editors handled the actual writing, but if you had your own story idea, you could push it, research it, and then submit it for consideration. Getting a story published back then was like trying to pass a horse through the eye of another needle, extremely tough, because you had to go through multiple editorial layers.
Newswatch maintained very high standards. Reporters competed fiercely, not just to have their stories published, but to get them on the cover page. Writing a cover story was a privilege reserved for journalists at the level of Assistant Editor or higher, because Assistant Editors were also members of the Editorial Board.
The cover story was the most prestigious piece in the magazine, and it carried the highest score, 30 points, on the newsroom’s performance chart. Every six months, reporters’ performances were evaluated based on the number and quality of their stories. Other stories might earn 20 or 15 points, with smaller pieces getting as low as 5 points. If your total score was low, you wouldn’t be promoted.
It was an intense environment. Every Monday, there was an editorial meeting where all the directors would come to the newsroom. Reporters would be sweating because they needed to suggest strong story ideas. Weak ideas were often dismissed outright. Out of, say, 20 suggestions, only about five might be accepted, and if your idea was not accepted, you went back to the drawing board.
The analog system had its own advantages and disadvantages. Yes, it delayed production and slowed down the process of getting publications out on time, but it also built our stamina. It helped reporters develop resilience, mental strength and made us hardworking. Despite those challenges, we always ensured our stories were turned in on time. It was a no-excuse era. Even the limitations of analog methods were never accepted as reasons for failing to meet deadlines. If a rock was an obstacle between a Reporter and a story, he was expected to either roll down the rock or develop wings to fly above the rock. The bottom line is he must get the story.
How would you compare the journalism of those days to nowadays?
Journalism back then was more thorough. All sides of a story were reflected before publication.
For instance, if someone died, we wouldn’t just write, “Mr. X is dead,” and stop there. We would send a reporter to the person’s family house, speak to their friends, relatives, and business partners. By the time the story was published, whether in a magazine or a newspaper, it would be very comprehensive. It would include details about the person’s life, their final days, who they last saw, and nothing would be left out.
We also believed in follow-ups. For example, if the government increased fuel prices, we wouldn’t just publish, “Government increases fuel price.” Over the weekend, we would send reporters to different parts of Nigeria to see the real impact, how it affected sales, the markets, businesses, and people’s daily lives. We would speak to analysts, experts, and ordinary citizens. By Monday, the story would be fully detailed, with context. That’s the big difference between then and now.
How did those experiences shape your work ethic and voice as a journalist?
They made me resilient, determined, and hardworking and a go getter. In the newsroom, there was no excuse for coming back without a story. You couldn’t tell the editor, “I didn’t see the person” or “I couldn’t get the story.” When reporters came back excuses, some Editors would respond angrily ” Are we going to publish excuse on Monday” which is the day the magazine was supposed to be on the newsstand. Excuse was not tolerated at all. That atmosphere pushed me to give my absolute best. I investigated thoroughly so that even if someone else was sent on the same assignment, they wouldn’t get better results than I did.
And you know how newsrooms are, the editors sit at the front, and if you came back empty-handed, you got called out loudly in front of everyone. Nobody wanted to look lazy or incompetent. That fear of public embarrassment made us deliver on every assignment, unless it was physically impossible.
It’s said that you won the prestigious CNN African Journalist Award. Is that true?
Yes. I won first prize in the General News Category of the CNN African Journalist Award in 1999.
What was the story behind that recognition, and how did it change your career path?
It was a story on a pipeline explosion in Jesse, a town in Delta State.
In 1998, news broke that people had died in the explosion. Initially, a colleague from Delta State was asked to cover it, but he refused. The editors felt he should go because he was from the area and knew it well, but he still declined. Then I was asked to go. At first, I also refused. l didn’t like assignment in rural areas. I preferred city assignments like Kano, or Port Harcourt.
Eventually, my colleague said he would introduce a local guide and a photographer to me.
So, l agreed to go. When l arrived Jesse, the tragedy had already attracted international attention.
One victim I interviewed was a teenage girl who had gone to scoop petrol to sell so she could buy Christmas clothes. While she was there, the pipeline exploded. Nobody could say for certain what caused it, some said it was a match, others claimed it was a spark from containers.
I took her photograph while interviewing her in the hospital. Sadly, she died shortly after. The combination of those photos, her personal story, and interviews with her mother and the village chief made my report unique. By the time other journalists arrived, they could only gather general accounts—my angle was exclusive.
I submitted the story to my editor without thinking of awards. A colleague entered it for the CNN award. In March 1999, I received a letter of nomination. Out of over 1,000 entries from across Africa, my story won. The prize included $5,000 and a laptop, and a mobile phone though at the time, Nigeria didn’t yet have mobile networks.
Three months before the CNN award, I won the first prize in the Diamond Award for Media Excellence in the Health category for a story analyzing the reality of AIDS in Nigeria. It was truly a remarkable period in my career.
After the CNN award, I left NewsWatch, where I was a principal staff writer, to join Tell magazine as an Assistant Editor. Later, I co-founded Insider Magazine with seven other Editors from Tell. I was the only woman among them.
After seven years, I left to start my own publication, Scroll, in 2007. It began as a print publication and later moved online as the internet became more prominent.
Let’s talk about your journey to becoming the Olori of Apomu Ikire Kingdom. How did that transition come about, and what was the experience like for you?
My husband is a prince, and his family was the next ruling house. Among those eligible for the throne, he was nominated. When the time came, he was selected and formally presented with the staff of office by the government. That was how I became the Olori, not because I fought battles, but because my husband ascended the throne.
At the time you married your husband, were you aware of his royal lineage?
When I met my husband, I didn’t know he was a prince, let alone that he would one day become a king.
We had already printed our wedding invitations when he said, “They didn’t add ‘Prince.’” I replied, “Prince from where?” That’s when he told me he was a prince and suggested we cancel the cards and print new ones. That was the moment I found out. It had never occurred to me before.
No one had ever told me he would become a king. He himself wasn’t interested in royalty.
So when it happened, I felt it must have been God’s will. Initially, I didn’t want it either. As a cosmopolitan journalist for 30 years, the idea of becoming a queen felt almost like a joke. But eventually, I realized royalty had called both my husband and l, and we had to answer.
What year did he become king?
January 2020. By next January, it will be six years.
What were your biggest cultural and personal adjustments as Olori?
The first happened at the coronation. I was used to calling my husband by his first name, “Kayode.” During the ceremony, I tried to speak to him, and someone told me, “Don’t call him Kayode here.” After 32 years of marriage, suddenly I couldn’t call him by name in public. Now, I’m so used to it that I can’t imagine doing otherwise.
How do you merge your journalism background with your royal responsibilities?
My journalism background has been invaluable. Over 30 years, I covered every kind of assignment—crime, Defence, Government House, and met all sorts of people. It taught me to read character, understand situations, and identify motives.
Royalty is a new calling, an opportunity to transform the lives of the vulnerable and the poor. In journalism, I often questioned those in power about what they were doing for the people. Now, I ask myself the same question: What am I doing for my community, women, youth, and children?
Even without a budget, I take intentional, calculated actions to make an impact. I initiate projects rather than simply reacting. But I’ve also had to adapt, royalty demands protocol, and I’ve had to change even my dressing and mannerisms to reflect the dignity of a queen.
Many see traditional roles as ceremonial. How do you make yours impactful?
For my husband and me, this role is a call to service. We aim to transform our community and address pressing needs.
For women, I addressed the lack of capital, especially after COVID-19, by giving 100 women interest-free loans, which they repaid faithfully. The repayments funded loans for others, and no one defaulted.
For students, I discovered poor English skills were a major barrier. Since 2020, I’ve been teaching English in my Free Learning Centre, to help them pass WAEC. What began with 15 students has grown to over 300. After each class, I give them snacks because many attend lessons hungry.
Could you tell me about your early life and where you were raised?
I’m from Akwa Ibom State but grew up in Ibadan because my father worked for GB Olivant . I attended primary and secondary school in Ibadan, studied at the University of Benin, and later at the University of Lagos.
As someone from Akwa Ibom who is married to a Yoruba king, how do you view inter-tribal marriage and its significance in fostering unity and cultural understanding?
It’s a good thing. It is a beautiful experience. It is a celebration of culture and love. We rise above cultural differences. We accept each other for who we are and not for where we come from. His father encouraged him to marry me because he had worked in my state before as a policeman. My father was happy I married someone from the West because he too spent most of his life in Ibadan. My father believed I would be in safe hands because he understood the culture and language. Inter-tribal marriages can break down ethnic barriers and promote unity.
What is one misconception about Oloris you’d like to correct?
Many believe Oloris are uneducated or idle. That’s not true. Most Oloris I know are educated, enlightened, and actively working to improve their communities. Personally, I am very busy because I want to make a meaningful impact.
Palace life comes with its own politics. How do you handle internal conflicts?
My years in journalism taught me to navigate challenges with grace. In every position of authority, there are manipulators with hidden agendas. I’ve learned to recognize them, remain calm, and let time reveal their true intentions.
What is the boldest decision you’ve taken as an Olori that shocked people?
This June, during the Ileya festival, I distributed 150 bags of 50kg rice, without discrimination based on religion, gender, or politics. It was beyond expectations, and people were amazed because nothing like it had ever happened before.
Does Kabiyesi have other wife aside from you?
I am the only wife.
Do you think he will marry other wives?
I believe he will never marry another wife.
Given that many traditional rulers are often polygamous, how confident are you that your husband will remain monogamous, and what gives you that assurance?
Truly, kings tend to be polygamous. Some kings take many wives for reasons only them can explain. But in my husband’s case, I am sure he will not marry another wife because there will be no reason for it.
What do you wish more Nigerians understood about the role of women in traditional leadership?
Nigerians should understand that women have important roles to play in traditional leadership, especially at the grassroots. Women are mothers, wives, and often breadwinners. In rural areas like mine, some men have four or five wives, and the women are the ones taking care of their children and paying their school fees.
That’s why there is a high rate of school dropouts—at some point, these women can no longer cope, and the children simply stop schooling. Women play crucial roles and should be given leadership positions.
Many feel neglected and abandoned.
Many of them lack access to water and other basic needs. I know what they are going through, and I want to see women live better lives. In short, rural women deserve better.
