Short Stories
Culture Through Curious Eyes: Discovering Idoma Traditions and Heritage
Dec 17, 2024
Celine Aju
0:00/1:34
It was the first week of summer, and Adakole's cousin Oche was visiting from the village. Although they referred to it as "the village," it wasn’t what most people might imagine. The village had paved roads, schools, markets, supermarkets, universities, and hospitals—just like in Lagos. But life there was different. It was calmer, quieter, with fewer frustrated faces and almost no traffic. Food was more affordable, the pace of life slower. It was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of Lagos, the big city where Adakole had spent his entire life.
"What time is it?" Adakole mumbled, rubbing his eyes in a half-hearted attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"8 AM," Oche replied, his voice muffled by the pages of a well-worn book he was engrossed in.
Adakole squinted at him, curiosity piqued. "What are you reading?" he asked, noticing the unusual intensity in Oche's demeanor.
"Things Fall Apart," Oche answered, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone.
Intrigued, Adakole slid onto the couch beside him, leaning in to catch a glimpse of the text that had so captivated his cousin.
"What’s so interesting about a book at 8 AM during the summer?" Adakole asked, trying to understand the source of Oche's enthusiasm.
Oche sighed, closing the book gently as he turned to face Adakole. A small smile played on his lips. "You really want to know?"
"Of course," Adakole replied, sensing there was more to this than just a good story.
Oche took a deep breath. "My elder brother read this book when he was my age. He used to talk about how Chinua Achebe had immortalized Igbo culture through fiction, making you feel like you could almost touch their customs and traditions. It made him feel connected to something bigger, something that would last even if the world around him changed. I wish someone would do the same for Idoma culture, you know? So our traditions and customs won't just fade away one day."
Adakole nodded, but his brow furrowed. "But why now? Why are you reading this book here?"
Oche chuckled softly. "My brother read it for school, so I never had a chance to get my hands on it. But when I found it in your library, I couldn’t resist. And since I’ve done my chores and your parents don’t have a farm, I figured I had nothing better to do."
"A farm? Why would we have a farm?" Adakole asked, his voice tinged with confusion.
Oche raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'Why would we have a farm'? Every Idoma man has a farm. Some are big, some are small, but a farm is part of who we are. It’s more than just land; it’s a piece of our identity. This is exactly why I wish someone would write a story about Idoma culture—so you, and others like you, don’t forget who we really are."
"Who we are?" Adakole repeated, a bit defensively. "Customs and traditions? Look, my parents are Idoma, so I’m Idoma. I wear red and black for special occasions, I eat pounded yam and Okoho soup, and I speak Idoma. Isn't that enough?"
Oche leaned forward, his expression serious. "You speak Idoma, you wear red and black, and you eat pounded yam and okoho soup. But do you really think that’s all there is to being Idoma? Do you think a state with over a million people can be reduced to just three things?"
Adakole hesitated, the confidence in his voice wavering. "I was born and raised in Lagos, but both my parents are from Benue State. I’ve always identified as Idoma, but I’ve never really thought about what more there might be to it."
Adakole’s shoulders slumped as he stared down at his feet. He shook his head slowly, words failing him as the truth settled in his mind. He was one of them, the people who wore the badge of belonging to a tribe proudly but had a shallow and non experiential knowledge of the tribe.
In an era of widespread identity crisis and African culture being globally celebrated, too many treat ethnicity as a membership card which one lets sink in the chasm of their handbag.
For some, being Idoma might be to speak Idoma, to wear black and red woven fabric on special occasions. For others, it might be to eat okoho soup and to have an inexplicable love for yams. But that cannot be all there is to being Idoma, can it? No, Idoma culture and people, like any tribe, group or cluster, have deep roots, rich history and distinct characteristics that create a sense of belonging to a community.
Being Idoma is a journey, one that starts the day you’re born and continues till you are laid to rest, experienced communally through an age grade system. In Idoma society, age grades are groups of people born within a specific period, usually spanning three to five years, who move through life stages together. Each age grade has specific roles and responsibilities within the community.
Like classes in a school, each age grade shares specific communal experiences together and deepens their knowledge of the culture. The journey begins at childhood and adolescence through a group called the Ego (age mates). During this period, children and adolescents are gradually introduced to a variety of cultural practices, communal values, and tasks that help them integrate into society and prepare them for future responsibilities. This includes understanding the significance of particular festivals and celebrations.
The Ocho Festival is one of the most significant Idoma celebrations. It is held to honor the gods and ancestors, seeking their blessings for a bountiful harvest. The festival includes traditional dances, music, feasting, and masquerade (an assembly or party of people wearing usually elaborate, fanciful costumes) performances. The New Yam Festival is an annual festival that celebrates the harvest of new yams, a staple crop in Idoma culture. It involves offering the first yams to the gods, followed by communal feasting, dancing, and other cultural activities. The Eaje Alekwu Festival is held to honor the Alekwu spirits (spirit of members of society who have departed). This festival involves rituals, sacrifices, and communions with the ancestors. It is a time for the community to come together, seek protection, and celebrate their heritage.
Outside learning about customs, young children are involved in farming activities. They assist in planting, weeding, and harvesting crops, learning about agricultural practices and the value of hard work. This age grade is often tasked with keeping the community clean by cleaning communal spaces, such as the village square and pathways. They also assist in decorating venues, preparing food, and organizing materials needed for the events and festivals.
As Oche was narrating in his own words these concepts, Adakole looked up, a newfound understanding dawning in his eyes. "So, after everything we do as kids in the Ego, what comes next?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Oche smiled, recognizing the spark of genuine interest in his cousin. "After all those years identifying as an Ego, one day, there's a transition to a group called Ujo ka'oklobia (Ujo)—the youth group," Oche began, his tone carrying the weight of importance. "This is when the responsibilities really start to stack up. Farming- yams, cassava, maize (corn) millet, sorghum, spinach, okra, fluted pumpkin, beans and groundnuts - building and maintaining public facilities—it’s all on our shoulders now."
Adakole nodded slowly, trying to imagine himself in that role. "So, you go from helping out at festivals to actually being a part of them?"
"Exactly," Oche continued. "Not just a part, but one of the main attractions. Like being a dancer or taking on roles that really show your deeper knowledge of Idoma culture. It’s a big shift from just watching and assisting."
Adakole’s eyes widened as he absorbed this new information. "It sounds like becoming an Ujo is a whole new level of being Idoma."
"It is," Oche agreed, "and it’s what makes the journey of being Idoma so meaningful. Each stage brings you closer to the heart of who we are."
As a youth, you begin with the Alekwu dance, a spiritual dance associated with the ancestral spirits known as Alekwu intended to honor ancestors and reflect a deep connection between the Idoma people and their ancestors. You also learn the Ichahoho Dance, which is performed during major cultural festivals by warriors and ceremonies characterized by elaborate costumes and masks, and is intended to entertain as well as convey cultural stories and values.
There is also the Ikpokwu dance, a dance enacted solely by a vangade of security men within the community. The Ikpokwu would expose the criminals by speaking truth in the wee hours of the morning before the break of day to everyone's hearing. They also perform during communal gatherings and festivals when an Ikpokwu masquerade would give gifts of fruit to unsuspecting spectators only to come back to retrieve the gift plus an interest. You dare not have an interest in Ikpokwu’s gift as this would subject you to a ceremonial lashing of weeps. Finally, you learn the Ogba dance, known for its impressive costumes, usually performed by masquerades,a central feature of many traditional ceremonies and a symbol of power and cultural pride.
Once you master the dances, farming, and advance in age, you move to the Egbo group (young adult group). This age grade takes on the role of cultural custodians, responsible for organizing events and ensuring traditional rituals like those for the New Yam Festival are performed correctly. Security is an equally significant part of their duties, as they organize patrols, respond to emergencies, train in traditional warfare, and coordinate community drills, keeping the wheels of the community turning smoothly.
After serving your community in this capacity, the next age grade is the Ijinkpa (mature adults) . Their existence resembles a judiciary. They focus heavily on law enforcement and conflict resolution. They are the community leaders, Ad’Ocha’Oka (clan heads), and the council of elders. Some become Oche (traditional clan chiefs) or Ochaliya (village heads), meaning they are in position to select and advise the clan head, commonly referred to as Och’Idoma (the king).
In old age you become part of the Onyakuoche (elders). You have lived a full colorful life listening to stories and myths, learning dances, farming, planning festivals and resolving conflicts. Now, it is your turn to tell tales to the Ego.
"Being Idoma is more than just a label—it's a tapestry woven from the threads of our life experiences, values, and traditions," Oche explained, picking up his book. "It's the language we speak, the way we carry ourselves, our sense of right and wrong, the food we eat, and our understanding of existence. That's what it truly means to be Idoma."
Adakole's eyes widened in awe as he absorbed Oche’s words. "There's so much more to being Idoma than I ever realized," he said, his voice filled with wonder.
"Yes, Adakole, there is," Oche agreed, his tone serious. "And if we lose sight of all this, our history could easily fade away. If our stories aren’t captured in books, like Achebe did for the Igbo in Things Fall Apart, then it’s up to us to preserve them. We must keep telling our stories, practicing our customs, even in small ways, so that our heritage isn't lost."
Adakole looked at his cousin, a bit skeptical. "But how do you know so much about Idoma culture? You’re only 17," he asked, wondering if Oche might be exaggerating.
Oche chuckled softly. "I’m an Ujo now, which means I’m taking on more responsibility in my father’s farm after school, learning the traditional dances, and participating in our festivals. I remember watching my older brother when he became an Ujo —I couldn't wait to reach that stage, but now I see how much work it really is!" Oche laughed, a note of fondness in his voice. "Now, my brother is part of the Egbo group, my parents have been Ijinkpa for as long as I can remember, and our grandma is an Onyakuoche. Living alongside all these generations has given me firsthand knowledge of our customs and traditions. So no, cousin, I’m not making any of this up," Oche said with a smile, his eyes gleaming with pride.
Lexicon
Alekwu spirits, spirit of members of society who have departed
Masquerade, an assembly or party of people wearing usually elaborate, fanciful costumes
Ochaliya, village head
Oche, traditional clan chief
Age grades
Ego, age mates
Ujo ka'oklobia, youth group
Egbo, young adult group
Ijinkpa, mature adults
Onyakuoche, elders
It was the first week of summer, and Adakole's cousin Oche was visiting from the village. Although they referred to it as "the village," it wasn’t what most people might imagine. The village had paved roads, schools, markets, supermarkets, universities, and hospitals—just like in Lagos. But life there was different. It was calmer, quieter, with fewer frustrated faces and almost no traffic. Food was more affordable, the pace of life slower. It was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of Lagos, the big city where Adakole had spent his entire life.
"What time is it?" Adakole mumbled, rubbing his eyes in a half-hearted attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"8 AM," Oche replied, his voice muffled by the pages of a well-worn book he was engrossed in.
Adakole squinted at him, curiosity piqued. "What are you reading?" he asked, noticing the unusual intensity in Oche's demeanor.
"Things Fall Apart," Oche answered, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone.
Intrigued, Adakole slid onto the couch beside him, leaning in to catch a glimpse of the text that had so captivated his cousin.
"What’s so interesting about a book at 8 AM during the summer?" Adakole asked, trying to understand the source of Oche's enthusiasm.
Oche sighed, closing the book gently as he turned to face Adakole. A small smile played on his lips. "You really want to know?"
"Of course," Adakole replied, sensing there was more to this than just a good story.
Oche took a deep breath. "My elder brother read this book when he was my age. He used to talk about how Chinua Achebe had immortalized Igbo culture through fiction, making you feel like you could almost touch their customs and traditions. It made him feel connected to something bigger, something that would last even if the world around him changed. I wish someone would do the same for Idoma culture, you know? So our traditions and customs won't just fade away one day."
Adakole nodded, but his brow furrowed. "But why now? Why are you reading this book here?"
Oche chuckled softly. "My brother read it for school, so I never had a chance to get my hands on it. But when I found it in your library, I couldn’t resist. And since I’ve done my chores and your parents don’t have a farm, I figured I had nothing better to do."
"A farm? Why would we have a farm?" Adakole asked, his voice tinged with confusion.
Oche raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'Why would we have a farm'? Every Idoma man has a farm. Some are big, some are small, but a farm is part of who we are. It’s more than just land; it’s a piece of our identity. This is exactly why I wish someone would write a story about Idoma culture—so you, and others like you, don’t forget who we really are."
"Who we are?" Adakole repeated, a bit defensively. "Customs and traditions? Look, my parents are Idoma, so I’m Idoma. I wear red and black for special occasions, I eat pounded yam and Okoho soup, and I speak Idoma. Isn't that enough?"
Oche leaned forward, his expression serious. "You speak Idoma, you wear red and black, and you eat pounded yam and okoho soup. But do you really think that’s all there is to being Idoma? Do you think a state with over a million people can be reduced to just three things?"
Adakole hesitated, the confidence in his voice wavering. "I was born and raised in Lagos, but both my parents are from Benue State. I’ve always identified as Idoma, but I’ve never really thought about what more there might be to it."
Adakole’s shoulders slumped as he stared down at his feet. He shook his head slowly, words failing him as the truth settled in his mind. He was one of them, the people who wore the badge of belonging to a tribe proudly but had a shallow and non experiential knowledge of the tribe.
In an era of widespread identity crisis and African culture being globally celebrated, too many treat ethnicity as a membership card which one lets sink in the chasm of their handbag.
For some, being Idoma might be to speak Idoma, to wear black and red woven fabric on special occasions. For others, it might be to eat okoho soup and to have an inexplicable love for yams. But that cannot be all there is to being Idoma, can it? No, Idoma culture and people, like any tribe, group or cluster, have deep roots, rich history and distinct characteristics that create a sense of belonging to a community.
Being Idoma is a journey, one that starts the day you’re born and continues till you are laid to rest, experienced communally through an age grade system. In Idoma society, age grades are groups of people born within a specific period, usually spanning three to five years, who move through life stages together. Each age grade has specific roles and responsibilities within the community.
Like classes in a school, each age grade shares specific communal experiences together and deepens their knowledge of the culture. The journey begins at childhood and adolescence through a group called the Ego (age mates). During this period, children and adolescents are gradually introduced to a variety of cultural practices, communal values, and tasks that help them integrate into society and prepare them for future responsibilities. This includes understanding the significance of particular festivals and celebrations.
The Ocho Festival is one of the most significant Idoma celebrations. It is held to honor the gods and ancestors, seeking their blessings for a bountiful harvest. The festival includes traditional dances, music, feasting, and masquerade (an assembly or party of people wearing usually elaborate, fanciful costumes) performances. The New Yam Festival is an annual festival that celebrates the harvest of new yams, a staple crop in Idoma culture. It involves offering the first yams to the gods, followed by communal feasting, dancing, and other cultural activities. The Eaje Alekwu Festival is held to honor the Alekwu spirits (spirit of members of society who have departed). This festival involves rituals, sacrifices, and communions with the ancestors. It is a time for the community to come together, seek protection, and celebrate their heritage.
Outside learning about customs, young children are involved in farming activities. They assist in planting, weeding, and harvesting crops, learning about agricultural practices and the value of hard work. This age grade is often tasked with keeping the community clean by cleaning communal spaces, such as the village square and pathways. They also assist in decorating venues, preparing food, and organizing materials needed for the events and festivals.
As Oche was narrating in his own words these concepts, Adakole looked up, a newfound understanding dawning in his eyes. "So, after everything we do as kids in the Ego, what comes next?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Oche smiled, recognizing the spark of genuine interest in his cousin. "After all those years identifying as an Ego, one day, there's a transition to a group called Ujo ka'oklobia (Ujo)—the youth group," Oche began, his tone carrying the weight of importance. "This is when the responsibilities really start to stack up. Farming- yams, cassava, maize (corn) millet, sorghum, spinach, okra, fluted pumpkin, beans and groundnuts - building and maintaining public facilities—it’s all on our shoulders now."
Adakole nodded slowly, trying to imagine himself in that role. "So, you go from helping out at festivals to actually being a part of them?"
"Exactly," Oche continued. "Not just a part, but one of the main attractions. Like being a dancer or taking on roles that really show your deeper knowledge of Idoma culture. It’s a big shift from just watching and assisting."
Adakole’s eyes widened as he absorbed this new information. "It sounds like becoming an Ujo is a whole new level of being Idoma."
"It is," Oche agreed, "and it’s what makes the journey of being Idoma so meaningful. Each stage brings you closer to the heart of who we are."
As a youth, you begin with the Alekwu dance, a spiritual dance associated with the ancestral spirits known as Alekwu intended to honor ancestors and reflect a deep connection between the Idoma people and their ancestors. You also learn the Ichahoho Dance, which is performed during major cultural festivals by warriors and ceremonies characterized by elaborate costumes and masks, and is intended to entertain as well as convey cultural stories and values.
There is also the Ikpokwu dance, a dance enacted solely by a vangade of security men within the community. The Ikpokwu would expose the criminals by speaking truth in the wee hours of the morning before the break of day to everyone's hearing. They also perform during communal gatherings and festivals when an Ikpokwu masquerade would give gifts of fruit to unsuspecting spectators only to come back to retrieve the gift plus an interest. You dare not have an interest in Ikpokwu’s gift as this would subject you to a ceremonial lashing of weeps. Finally, you learn the Ogba dance, known for its impressive costumes, usually performed by masquerades,a central feature of many traditional ceremonies and a symbol of power and cultural pride.
Once you master the dances, farming, and advance in age, you move to the Egbo group (young adult group). This age grade takes on the role of cultural custodians, responsible for organizing events and ensuring traditional rituals like those for the New Yam Festival are performed correctly. Security is an equally significant part of their duties, as they organize patrols, respond to emergencies, train in traditional warfare, and coordinate community drills, keeping the wheels of the community turning smoothly.
After serving your community in this capacity, the next age grade is the Ijinkpa (mature adults) . Their existence resembles a judiciary. They focus heavily on law enforcement and conflict resolution. They are the community leaders, Ad’Ocha’Oka (clan heads), and the council of elders. Some become Oche (traditional clan chiefs) or Ochaliya (village heads), meaning they are in position to select and advise the clan head, commonly referred to as Och’Idoma (the king).
In old age you become part of the Onyakuoche (elders). You have lived a full colorful life listening to stories and myths, learning dances, farming, planning festivals and resolving conflicts. Now, it is your turn to tell tales to the Ego.
"Being Idoma is more than just a label—it's a tapestry woven from the threads of our life experiences, values, and traditions," Oche explained, picking up his book. "It's the language we speak, the way we carry ourselves, our sense of right and wrong, the food we eat, and our understanding of existence. That's what it truly means to be Idoma."
Adakole's eyes widened in awe as he absorbed Oche’s words. "There's so much more to being Idoma than I ever realized," he said, his voice filled with wonder.
"Yes, Adakole, there is," Oche agreed, his tone serious. "And if we lose sight of all this, our history could easily fade away. If our stories aren’t captured in books, like Achebe did for the Igbo in Things Fall Apart, then it’s up to us to preserve them. We must keep telling our stories, practicing our customs, even in small ways, so that our heritage isn't lost."
Adakole looked at his cousin, a bit skeptical. "But how do you know so much about Idoma culture? You’re only 17," he asked, wondering if Oche might be exaggerating.
Oche chuckled softly. "I’m an Ujo now, which means I’m taking on more responsibility in my father’s farm after school, learning the traditional dances, and participating in our festivals. I remember watching my older brother when he became an Ujo —I couldn't wait to reach that stage, but now I see how much work it really is!" Oche laughed, a note of fondness in his voice. "Now, my brother is part of the Egbo group, my parents have been Ijinkpa for as long as I can remember, and our grandma is an Onyakuoche. Living alongside all these generations has given me firsthand knowledge of our customs and traditions. So no, cousin, I’m not making any of this up," Oche said with a smile, his eyes gleaming with pride.
Lexicon
Alekwu spirits, spirit of members of society who have departed
Masquerade, an assembly or party of people wearing usually elaborate, fanciful costumes
Ochaliya, village head
Oche, traditional clan chief
Age grades
Ego, age mates
Ujo ka'oklobia, youth group
Egbo, young adult group
Ijinkpa, mature adults
Onyakuoche, elders
It was the first week of summer, and Adakole's cousin Oche was visiting from the village. Although they referred to it as "the village," it wasn’t what most people might imagine. The village had paved roads, schools, markets, supermarkets, universities, and hospitals—just like in Lagos. But life there was different. It was calmer, quieter, with fewer frustrated faces and almost no traffic. Food was more affordable, the pace of life slower. It was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of Lagos, the big city where Adakole had spent his entire life.
"What time is it?" Adakole mumbled, rubbing his eyes in a half-hearted attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"8 AM," Oche replied, his voice muffled by the pages of a well-worn book he was engrossed in.
Adakole squinted at him, curiosity piqued. "What are you reading?" he asked, noticing the unusual intensity in Oche's demeanor.
"Things Fall Apart," Oche answered, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone.
Intrigued, Adakole slid onto the couch beside him, leaning in to catch a glimpse of the text that had so captivated his cousin.
"What’s so interesting about a book at 8 AM during the summer?" Adakole asked, trying to understand the source of Oche's enthusiasm.
Oche sighed, closing the book gently as he turned to face Adakole. A small smile played on his lips. "You really want to know?"
"Of course," Adakole replied, sensing there was more to this than just a good story.
Oche took a deep breath. "My elder brother read this book when he was my age. He used to talk about how Chinua Achebe had immortalized Igbo culture through fiction, making you feel like you could almost touch their customs and traditions. It made him feel connected to something bigger, something that would last even if the world around him changed. I wish someone would do the same for Idoma culture, you know? So our traditions and customs won't just fade away one day."
Adakole nodded, but his brow furrowed. "But why now? Why are you reading this book here?"
Oche chuckled softly. "My brother read it for school, so I never had a chance to get my hands on it. But when I found it in your library, I couldn’t resist. And since I’ve done my chores and your parents don’t have a farm, I figured I had nothing better to do."
"A farm? Why would we have a farm?" Adakole asked, his voice tinged with confusion.
Oche raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'Why would we have a farm'? Every Idoma man has a farm. Some are big, some are small, but a farm is part of who we are. It’s more than just land; it’s a piece of our identity. This is exactly why I wish someone would write a story about Idoma culture—so you, and others like you, don’t forget who we really are."
"Who we are?" Adakole repeated, a bit defensively. "Customs and traditions? Look, my parents are Idoma, so I’m Idoma. I wear red and black for special occasions, I eat pounded yam and Okoho soup, and I speak Idoma. Isn't that enough?"
Oche leaned forward, his expression serious. "You speak Idoma, you wear red and black, and you eat pounded yam and okoho soup. But do you really think that’s all there is to being Idoma? Do you think a state with over a million people can be reduced to just three things?"
Adakole hesitated, the confidence in his voice wavering. "I was born and raised in Lagos, but both my parents are from Benue State. I’ve always identified as Idoma, but I’ve never really thought about what more there might be to it."
Adakole’s shoulders slumped as he stared down at his feet. He shook his head slowly, words failing him as the truth settled in his mind. He was one of them, the people who wore the badge of belonging to a tribe proudly but had a shallow and non experiential knowledge of the tribe.
In an era of widespread identity crisis and African culture being globally celebrated, too many treat ethnicity as a membership card which one lets sink in the chasm of their handbag.
For some, being Idoma might be to speak Idoma, to wear black and red woven fabric on special occasions. For others, it might be to eat okoho soup and to have an inexplicable love for yams. But that cannot be all there is to being Idoma, can it? No, Idoma culture and people, like any tribe, group or cluster, have deep roots, rich history and distinct characteristics that create a sense of belonging to a community.
Being Idoma is a journey, one that starts the day you’re born and continues till you are laid to rest, experienced communally through an age grade system. In Idoma society, age grades are groups of people born within a specific period, usually spanning three to five years, who move through life stages together. Each age grade has specific roles and responsibilities within the community.
Like classes in a school, each age grade shares specific communal experiences together and deepens their knowledge of the culture. The journey begins at childhood and adolescence through a group called the Ego (age mates). During this period, children and adolescents are gradually introduced to a variety of cultural practices, communal values, and tasks that help them integrate into society and prepare them for future responsibilities. This includes understanding the significance of particular festivals and celebrations.
The Ocho Festival is one of the most significant Idoma celebrations. It is held to honor the gods and ancestors, seeking their blessings for a bountiful harvest. The festival includes traditional dances, music, feasting, and masquerade (an assembly or party of people wearing usually elaborate, fanciful costumes) performances. The New Yam Festival is an annual festival that celebrates the harvest of new yams, a staple crop in Idoma culture. It involves offering the first yams to the gods, followed by communal feasting, dancing, and other cultural activities. The Eaje Alekwu Festival is held to honor the Alekwu spirits (spirit of members of society who have departed). This festival involves rituals, sacrifices, and communions with the ancestors. It is a time for the community to come together, seek protection, and celebrate their heritage.
Outside learning about customs, young children are involved in farming activities. They assist in planting, weeding, and harvesting crops, learning about agricultural practices and the value of hard work. This age grade is often tasked with keeping the community clean by cleaning communal spaces, such as the village square and pathways. They also assist in decorating venues, preparing food, and organizing materials needed for the events and festivals.
As Oche was narrating in his own words these concepts, Adakole looked up, a newfound understanding dawning in his eyes. "So, after everything we do as kids in the Ego, what comes next?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Oche smiled, recognizing the spark of genuine interest in his cousin. "After all those years identifying as an Ego, one day, there's a transition to a group called Ujo ka'oklobia (Ujo)—the youth group," Oche began, his tone carrying the weight of importance. "This is when the responsibilities really start to stack up. Farming- yams, cassava, maize (corn) millet, sorghum, spinach, okra, fluted pumpkin, beans and groundnuts - building and maintaining public facilities—it’s all on our shoulders now."
Adakole nodded slowly, trying to imagine himself in that role. "So, you go from helping out at festivals to actually being a part of them?"
"Exactly," Oche continued. "Not just a part, but one of the main attractions. Like being a dancer or taking on roles that really show your deeper knowledge of Idoma culture. It’s a big shift from just watching and assisting."
Adakole’s eyes widened as he absorbed this new information. "It sounds like becoming an Ujo is a whole new level of being Idoma."
"It is," Oche agreed, "and it’s what makes the journey of being Idoma so meaningful. Each stage brings you closer to the heart of who we are."
As a youth, you begin with the Alekwu dance, a spiritual dance associated with the ancestral spirits known as Alekwu intended to honor ancestors and reflect a deep connection between the Idoma people and their ancestors. You also learn the Ichahoho Dance, which is performed during major cultural festivals by warriors and ceremonies characterized by elaborate costumes and masks, and is intended to entertain as well as convey cultural stories and values.
There is also the Ikpokwu dance, a dance enacted solely by a vangade of security men within the community. The Ikpokwu would expose the criminals by speaking truth in the wee hours of the morning before the break of day to everyone's hearing. They also perform during communal gatherings and festivals when an Ikpokwu masquerade would give gifts of fruit to unsuspecting spectators only to come back to retrieve the gift plus an interest. You dare not have an interest in Ikpokwu’s gift as this would subject you to a ceremonial lashing of weeps. Finally, you learn the Ogba dance, known for its impressive costumes, usually performed by masquerades,a central feature of many traditional ceremonies and a symbol of power and cultural pride.
Once you master the dances, farming, and advance in age, you move to the Egbo group (young adult group). This age grade takes on the role of cultural custodians, responsible for organizing events and ensuring traditional rituals like those for the New Yam Festival are performed correctly. Security is an equally significant part of their duties, as they organize patrols, respond to emergencies, train in traditional warfare, and coordinate community drills, keeping the wheels of the community turning smoothly.
After serving your community in this capacity, the next age grade is the Ijinkpa (mature adults) . Their existence resembles a judiciary. They focus heavily on law enforcement and conflict resolution. They are the community leaders, Ad’Ocha’Oka (clan heads), and the council of elders. Some become Oche (traditional clan chiefs) or Ochaliya (village heads), meaning they are in position to select and advise the clan head, commonly referred to as Och’Idoma (the king).
In old age you become part of the Onyakuoche (elders). You have lived a full colorful life listening to stories and myths, learning dances, farming, planning festivals and resolving conflicts. Now, it is your turn to tell tales to the Ego.
"Being Idoma is more than just a label—it's a tapestry woven from the threads of our life experiences, values, and traditions," Oche explained, picking up his book. "It's the language we speak, the way we carry ourselves, our sense of right and wrong, the food we eat, and our understanding of existence. That's what it truly means to be Idoma."
Adakole's eyes widened in awe as he absorbed Oche’s words. "There's so much more to being Idoma than I ever realized," he said, his voice filled with wonder.
"Yes, Adakole, there is," Oche agreed, his tone serious. "And if we lose sight of all this, our history could easily fade away. If our stories aren’t captured in books, like Achebe did for the Igbo in Things Fall Apart, then it’s up to us to preserve them. We must keep telling our stories, practicing our customs, even in small ways, so that our heritage isn't lost."
Adakole looked at his cousin, a bit skeptical. "But how do you know so much about Idoma culture? You’re only 17," he asked, wondering if Oche might be exaggerating.
Oche chuckled softly. "I’m an Ujo now, which means I’m taking on more responsibility in my father’s farm after school, learning the traditional dances, and participating in our festivals. I remember watching my older brother when he became an Ujo —I couldn't wait to reach that stage, but now I see how much work it really is!" Oche laughed, a note of fondness in his voice. "Now, my brother is part of the Egbo group, my parents have been Ijinkpa for as long as I can remember, and our grandma is an Onyakuoche. Living alongside all these generations has given me firsthand knowledge of our customs and traditions. So no, cousin, I’m not making any of this up," Oche said with a smile, his eyes gleaming with pride.
Lexicon
Alekwu spirits, spirit of members of society who have departed
Masquerade, an assembly or party of people wearing usually elaborate, fanciful costumes
Ochaliya, village head
Oche, traditional clan chief
Age grades
Ego, age mates
Ujo ka'oklobia, youth group
Egbo, young adult group
Ijinkpa, mature adults
Onyakuoche, elders
© 2024, The Nuruba Media & Publishing Company Ltd. & Aberdeen Experience Labs
© 2024, The Nuruba Media & Publishing Company Ltd. & Aberdeen Experience Labs
© 2024, The Nuruba Media & Publishing Company Ltd. & Aberdeen Experience Labs
© 2024, The Nuruba Media & Publishing Company Ltd. & Aberdeen Experience Labs