Preserving Our Heritage: How the Igbo Tradition and Culture Can Evolve for Our Future
Part 2 — Navigating the Clash Between Tradition and Faith
My decision to pursue the Ọzọ title wasn’t one made on a whim; it was a conscious choice rooted in my belief that young people have a responsibility to lead and uphold tradition. When I think of Nigeria’s founding fathers like Nnamdi Azikiwe, Ahmadu Bello, and Obafemi Awolowo, I’m reminded of their youth vigour and commitment to shaping the nation. Many were under 40 when they took on the monumental task of nation-building. In the Igbo tradition, we say, “Nwata kwọcha aka, o soro okenye rie nri” (when children wash their hands, they dine with elders). I believe if young people step up, prepared and committed, society will move forward with the vigour of youth tempered by the wisdom of tradition. In that spirit, we must actively involve young people who are properly educated, morally grounded, and willing to serve rather than merely seek status or wealth.
This conviction is what drew me to the Ọzọ traditional institution. For me, taking up the title means embracing a role that binds me not only to my kindred and family but also to a larger duty to Igboland. The duty and responsibility it brings remind me of Proverbs 29:2, “When the righteous rule, the people rejoice.” For me, it’s not about prestige but about answering the call to serve. We need young, morally grounded leaders who are capable of nurturing our community’s growth, not as opportunists but as mentors. By investing in self-reliance, through ọrụaka (craftsmanship), and even tech empowerment — we can equip people to build their futures on solid ground. This is what the ‘akụ ruo ụlọ’ movement is all about. Our African principle of communalism calls on us to support each other; the well-being of one should reflect on the well-being of all. This is the spirit I want to uphold and promote with this title.
But when it came time for my own initiation, I found myself confronting an unexpected yet profound tension — one that forced me to reckon with my Christian beliefs and my decision to accept this traditional role. During the initiation, I was presented with the Ikenga, a symbol of strength and personal power that represents the essence of a man’s life and achievements in Igbo culture. The elders believe that receiving the Ikenga is akin to being entrusted with a part of one’s spiritual essence. It represents a person’s vitality and ancestral blessings, and in the Ọzọ initiation, it holds an even more profound significance. I knew its significance, but I hadn’t anticipated what came next. In line with tradition, animal blood was poured over the Ikenga, a sacrificial ritual meant to endow the symbol with life and power. I could feel the weight of the moment — its sacredness, its meaning — yet I felt conflicted.
For many, this act of consecration has deep cultural significance. It binds the individual to the ancestors, connecting them with the strength and resilience of generations past. Yet, as a Christian, I found myself deeply troubled by the act. My discomfort wasn’t rooted in a disregard for the tradition but in my own Christian beliefs. As the blood was poured, I grappled with questions of faith and cultural identity. Could I, as a Christian, accept a ritual sacrifice in the name of tradition? Could I separate the spiritual essence of this act from my religious convictions? These were questions that left me feeling uneasy, and I began to wonder how many others had experienced a similar struggle.
This wasn’t a new dilemma, nor one unique to me. Throughout the region, countless people have faced the challenge of balancing the tenets of Christianity with the cultural practices passed down through generations. For many Christians in Southeastern Nigeria, honouring ancestral customs can feel like walking a fine line between reverence and sacrilege. The tension between tradition and faith is real and pressing, and my initiation only brought it into sharper focus.
Reconciling Faith and Tradition
Many Igbo Christians likely find themselves navigating similar waters. We hold on to our customs, proud of where we come from, yet we often face the discomfort of certain rites. Christianity is deeply embedded in Southeastern Nigeria, so much so that its values shape much of our everyday life. And yet, traditions like the Ọzọ initiation require a level of engagement with spiritual practices that, in some cases, directly conflict with Christian teachings.
In Igbo cosmology, figures like Ikenga and other deities play significant roles, acting as intermediaries between the living and the spiritual realms. In “Arrow of God,” Chinua Achebe portrays a vivid landscape of this traditional worldview, where figures like Ulu, the god of Umuaro, are not mere symbols but living parts of the society’s fabric. Achebe’s novels taught me that these gods, each representing a natural force or moral idea, were integral to the worldview that had shaped generations of Igbos before me. They represent the sacred, the fearsome, and, most importantly, a worldview that is inseparable from the concept of personal and community strength.
Yet, for Christians, participating in such rites can feel like endorsing beliefs that contradict their faith. I knew elders like my grandfather, who performed these rites with ease, their devotion unwavering. But to my Christian friends and I, the experience held an uneasy tension. Even in Achebe’s stories, there’s a nuanced portrayal of conflict, where the traditional and the modern constantly wrestle. His characters face this tension, too — torn between loyalty to ancestral ways and adapting to a new world that demands change. His portrayal of Ezeulu, the chief priest, illustrated a man rooted in the spiritual world of his ancestors yet finding himself in a society transformed by external influences. Through Achebe’s narrative, I saw a mirror of my own struggle. I found myself wrestling with tradition’s insistence on blood rituals and my faith’s reverence for the symbolic, ultimate sacrifice of Christ.
Experiences like this brought me to a crossroads. I started wondering if there could be a way to preserve the spiritual power and significance of our traditions without violating the convictions of those whose faith runs deep. Could a blessing or symbolic act suffice? Could we honour the Ikenga without pouring animal blood? After all, what truly makes the Ikenga powerful isn’t the ritual in itself but what it represents: the legacy of resilience, a channelling of ancestral strength.
This idea resonates with many modern Igbos, who seek to honour their heritage without forsaking their beliefs. I’ve come to realize that perhaps what we need is not to discard the rituals but to reframe and reinterpret them. Imagine an Ikenga ritual where, instead of blood, we use consecrated oil or palm wine as a symbol of life and strength. Such a shift could retain the meaning of the ritual while bridging the divide between faith and tradition. Or better still, we pronounce blessings because words have power.
Ultimately, my journey has taught me that there is room to question and reflect. The discomfort I felt when holding the Ikenga wasn’t a sign of disrespect but a signal of my values. I believe we need to ask these difficult questions and search for answers that resonate with both our traditions and our beliefs. The point of my story is not to resolve this tension but to invite reflection: Can we reframe our traditions in a way that honours the past without compromising our convictions? Can we honour the values of our ancestors in ways that don’t contradict our beliefs? If our traditions are to survive, they need to adapt and offer relevance to those who live in this dual space. If not, we risk alienating future generations who may feel they have to choose between their heritage and their faith.
Honouring Communalism and Bridging Generational Ideals
In our African tradition of communalism, the well-being of one is inherently tied to the well-being of all. The Ọzọ title is a commitment to this principle. It’s a call to pour our skills, wisdom, and ideals into the community — guiding and uplifting each other so that, as a collective, we progress. This is also where Christian values like “love your neighbour as yourself” come into play. Such values don’t necessarily demand that we share material wealth alone but rather that we impart knowledge, foster inclusivity, and support each other’s growth. Like my people say, “Igwe bụ ike” (there is strength in unity).
When I reflect on my grandfather, a core traditionalist who practised his faith deeply, I admire his commitment to tradition but know that each generation must interpret and adapt these traditions to keep them relevant. In my view, the Ọzọ institution should help bridge our cultural heritage with modern principles of unity, conscientious leadership, and sustainable development. Preaching for peace and advocating for cooperation isn’t a sign of weakness. On the contrary, it aligns with Igbo values of truth and integrity, qualities that we have historically prized and that are woven into the fabric of our identity.
Yet, we must be mindful of how we pursue progress. Exploitative practices and unchecked competition, fueled by a ‘get-rich-quick’ mentality, have led some to engage in actions that erode our communal values. Some are even tempted toward rituals or practices that detract from our dignity and unity. While tradition plays an essential role in grounding us, it’s worth asking if there are ways to honour our heritage while integrating ethical values that benefit everyone. As a society, we can be entrepreneurial without exploitation, fostering an environment where young people see opportunity in uplifting one another rather than at each other’s expense.
Traditions like the Ọzọ society can play a powerful role in encouraging unity, respect, and growth in ways that align with both our heritage and modern ideals. Our communities are strengthened not by those who hoard resources or wield power for personal gain but by those who empower others. Igwe bụ ike reminds us that we are strongest together. For me, this journey is about creating space for healthy competition, nurturing a spirit of forgiveness and collaboration, and ensuring that as we pursue individual success, we don’t lose sight of our collective welfare.
As I contemplate this balance, I think of Christ’s instruction to “give unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and unto God what belongs to God.” The line between our cultural obligations and our spiritual beliefs can be delicate, but some things remain non-negotiable. Integrity, compassion, and the pursuit of truth — these values are as much at home in Igbo tradition as they are in Christian teachings. And perhaps, by blending the strengths of both, we can forge a path that respects the wisdom of our ancestors while embracing the moral insights of our faith.
Read Part 1, and look out for Part 3
