Preserving Our Heritage: How the Igbo Tradition and Culture Can Evolve for Our Future

Part 3 — If We Evolved in The Past, Why Not Now?

It’s tempting to look at traditions in Alaigbo as though they’re set in stone, unchanging and eternal. But history tells a different story. Igbo culture has evolved over centuries, adapting to societal shifts, moral awakenings, and new beliefs. In our desire to preserve our heritage, we sometimes overlook how much it has already changed. Tradition has never been static; instead, it has grown and evolved to meet the needs of our people. And today, it is worth reflecting on how we can continue that evolution with the wisdom of both our past and present.

Take, for example, the practice of twin killings that once haunted parts of Igbo society, which also particularly impacted generations before myself in my family. There was a time when twins were seen as omens, a disruption in the balance of life, and their births filled families with fear rather than joy. But as our communities grew, as knowledge expanded, and as we were exposed to new perspectives, we began to challenge these beliefs. Traditions repugnant to natural justice were jettisoned. Slowly, compassion replaced fear, and twin lives were not just spared but celebrated. Today, twins are cherished as symbols of good fortune, and rather than ostracizing them, we see them as blessings that bring vitality and prosperity. Our people made a collective choice to evolve, to let go of practices no longer aligned with our values.

Or consider the age-old widowhood practices, which, though rooted in respect for tradition, often placed an unbearable burden on grieving women. Losing a husband was, and still is, a time of deep sorrow, yet in some places, this grief was made even heavier by oppressive rituals. A widow could be forced into isolation, stripped of her dignity, and made to go through harsh “purification” ceremonies. In some areas, she might be confined for 28 days after the funeral, sits and sleeps on a mat on the bare floor for 28 days; has to wail twice, morning and evening, every day for 28 days; take no bath until after burial of the corpse; forced to shave her hair by the Umuada. In some places, widows have inheritance rights whatsoever. Her husband’s property and farmland are automatically taken over by her husband’s brothers, the sisters and their children.

These practices were carried out in the name of tradition. And yet, we found the strength to let them go. As time passed and our communities became more conscious of human dignity, these harsh practices began to change. Today, there are efforts in many communities to honour widows with respect rather than subjecting them to grief that compounds their loss. Change has come slowly, but it has come. And it speaks to our culture’s ability to evolve with empathy. If we could make these transformations in the past, why should we not continue to do so now? Holding onto customs that no longer serve us only risks alienating the younger generation. Culture must resonate with those who carry it forward; otherwise, it becomes a burden rather than a blessing. There is no greater tragedy than a tradition that becomes so rigid it pushes away the very people it seeks to embrace.

Aligning Ọdịnala with Modern Values and Faith

I know that for many young Igbos, reconciling heritage with the Christian faith is no easy feat. How do you stay rooted in Ọdịnala, our ancestral faith, while embracing Christianity? It’s a question many face, and the struggle is real. I have friends who are devout Christians yet feel conflicted about taking on specific cultural roles, fearing these may contradict their religious beliefs. But maybe it doesn’t have to be this way. Instead of seeing Ọdịnala and Christianity as clashing worlds, what if we viewed them as complementary? Both teach values like integrity, service, and compassion.

This is where institutions like the Ọzọ society can be pivotal. The Ọzọ title, traditionally rooted in integrity, community service, and leadership values, embodies principles that resonate beyond religious divides. Imagine if the Ọzọ institution made space for Christian prayers alongside ancestral pronouncements, acknowledging both the Creator and our lineage. Picture young men and women stepping forward to take on the Ọzọ title, firmly grounded in both their heritage and their faith, proudly embodying the best of both worlds. By opening our traditions in this way, we allow our culture to breathe, to be a place where different beliefs can co-exist and enrich each other.

When I look at the ịkwe-ezi ceremony in my hometown of Mgbidi, I see a glimpse of this adaptability. Ịkwe-ezi was once a significant rite of passage for girls entering womanhood but has undergone its own transformation over the centuries. Traditionally, the ceremony included ritual elements such as visiting the river to honour Obana, Mgbidi’s river goddess and staying in a “fattening room” where the girl would be pampered and fed as a symbol of her new status. With the spread of Christianity, many began to question these rituals. Yet rather than abandoning ịkwe-ezi, we adapted it. Now, some families perform a simplified version that respects their Christian beliefs, even allowing the ceremony to be conducted remotely for those living abroad. The heart of ịkwe-ezi, which is about the values of honour, care, and preparation for adulthood, remains intact, demonstrating that cultural practices can grow without losing their essence.

Tradition as a Bridge, Not a Barrier

But not all traditions have adapted so gracefully. The Osu caste system is one such custom that, despite efforts to dismantle it, still lingers in our communities. Rooted in beliefs that certain families were dedicated to deities, it led to their being ostracized and excluded from certain aspects of society. Even as a child, I remember hearing whispered warnings about who was Osu and who was not — an invisible wall that divided us. It was a painful reminder of how traditions, once meant to serve society, can become chains that hold us back.

However, reflecting on our past, I see a culture willing to challenge itself, willing to shed outdated beliefs for a better future. Imagine the possibilities if we came together to eliminate the Osu caste stigma, celebrating the end of a system that has outlived its purpose. Just as we now embrace twins, we could unite to embrace all Igbo people as kin. We have shown that we can be resilient and compassionate, choosing unity over division.

Rather than seeing Ọdịnala and Christianity as opposing forces, what if we saw them as complementary? Both seek to guide us, to foster community, and to provide a sense of purpose. Tradition should not stand as a barrier but as a bridge, a means of connecting different parts of our identity. When culture and faith are allowed to coexist, they can enrich each other and allow us to pass on a heritage that is both strong and adaptable.

This power to adapt is what gives me hope. Tradition is meaningful only when it resonates with those who practice it. Our history is full of lessons on change, from the celebration of twins to the evolution of widowhood practices. Our culture can and should evolve, not by abandoning our heritage but by allowing it to grow and meet the needs of each new generation. This does not diminish our past but honours it, showing that we are willing to keep our heritage alive by letting it thrive.

Let us remember that our ancestors, too, faced moments of transformation. They made changes when they needed to, knowing that it takes flexibility to survive, thrive, and pass on something meaningful. So, as we look forward, I ask: If we evolved in the past, why not now?

Don’t miss Part 4 of this series, coming soon. If you’re just joining me, catch up with Part 1 and Part 2. As always, I welcome your thoughts and am available for interviews and further discussion on this subject.