By Abioye Tosin Lawrence Ekiti and Osun are neighbors, yet their political markets tell two very different tales. Like twin towns with the same surname but different destinies, one is alive with bargaining voices while the other looks like a bazaar after fire, its walls standing, its stalls intact, but its energy consumed by smoke and ash. In Ekiti, politics has rhythm. The market is awake, traders sharpening their tongues as much as their cutlasses. Governor Biodun Oyebanji, popularly called BAO, moves about like a returning buyer whose last trade left the sellers satisfied. His gestures are measured, his face familiar, and his presence carries the air of someone who knows both the price of yam and the cost of salt. The whispers in the crowd are clear: he is likely to return to the stall for another round of shopping. But Osun tells another story. If Ekiti’s politics blossoms, Osun’s appears to be in hibernation. The tempo is low, as if the drummer has misplaced his sticks. Her...