Late His Eminence, ENB Opurum, GSSRS, MFR, JP, Ochie of Etche Ethnic Nationality.
For now, Etche is mourning.
The Etche Ethnic Nationality is mourning the passing of the Ochie of Etche Land, and at a moment such as this, there are some conversations that should wait. There are battles that should be suspended, drums that should remain silent and political calculations that should be temporarily buried beneath the weight of collective grief.
This is not the time to turn mourning into a political battlefield.
This is not the time to measure influence, display political strength or manufacture supremacy.
This is the time to mourn.
When the mourning period is over, however, there will be ample time to talk.
And when that time comes, some uncomfortable questions may have to be asked.
I do not ordinarily like to delve deeply into traditional leadership matters because I hold the traditional institution in high esteem. Traditional institutions are the custodians of the history, customs, values and collective memory of our people. They are supposed to stand like ancient iroko trees, providing shade for generations and serving as landmarks of identity and continuity.
But when political interests begin to cast long shadows over traditional institutions, silence can sometimes become an accomplice to the very problems we claim to dislike.
Let those who believe that everything is politics continue with their politics.
Let those who have created, encouraged or supported divisions within different clans continue with whatever calculations they consider expedient.
Let those who believe that a newly manufactured doctrine of seniority can automatically supersede the customs and traditions of the Etche people continue to preach it.
Let those who believe that the administrative or political balkanisation of the Etche Ethnic Nationality, which some of us accepted in good faith as a development that could bring government and representation closer to the people, will somehow determine the occupant of the highest traditional stool of Etche continue to nurture that expectation.
But let nobody mistake administrative boundaries for the erasure of history.
Let nobody confuse political arrangements with traditional legitimacy.
And let nobody assume that the map drawn for political administration automatically becomes the constitution of an ancient people.
These are matters that deserve sober examination.
When Politics Meets Tradition
Politics has its own language.
Tradition has another.
Politics is often driven by numbers, alliances, interests, calculations and temporary power.
Tradition, at its best, is driven by history, customs, legitimacy, continuity and the collective identity of a people.
When the two are mixed without restraint, the result can be combustible.
The traditional institution should not become another branch of partisan politics. A traditional stool should not be reduced to a prize to be captured through political manoeuvring. And the customs of a people should not be treated like clay that can be reshaped whenever political circumstances change.
If there are competing interpretations of Etche custom regarding succession, seniority, clan representation or the emergence of the Onye Ishi Etche, those questions should be subjected to historical evidence, established customs, credible traditional authorities and broad consultation.
Not political muscle.
Not social-media noise.
Not intimidation.
Not manufactured consensus.
And certainly not the loudest voice in the room.
Who Is Really a Custodian?
There is another question that may eventually demand an answer.
Who is a true custodian of tradition?
Is it merely the person who occupies a traditional stool?
Is it the politician who suddenly discovers the vocabulary of tradition when a coveted traditional position becomes available?
Is it the person who invokes seniority only when seniority becomes politically convenient?
Or is it the person who has consistently demonstrated respect for the customs, values and traditional institutions of the people?
These are not questions to be answered by emotion.
They require history.
They require evidence.
They require honesty.
And above all, they require Etche people to look beyond the immediate political weather and ask what kind of traditional institution they want to bequeath to their children.
Mourning Is Also a Test of Character
There is something profoundly symbolic about how a people behave when one of their foremost traditional figures dies.
Mourning is not merely the wearing of black, the beating of drums or the gathering of crowds.
Mourning is a demonstration of respect.
It is a moment when personal ambition is expected to bow before communal grief.
Therefore, when the mourning period is eventually over, Etche people may legitimately ask questions about how individuals and institutions conducted themselves during this period.
Who showed restraint?
Who demonstrated respect?
Who placed the collective grief of Etche above personal ambition?
And who, despite the solemnity of the moment, appeared determined to continue the political dance?
I am deliberately choosing my words carefully here.
I am not declaring anyone guilty of disrespecting the dead. I am saying that public conduct during a period of mourning is naturally open to public observation and interpretation, and those who participated in events during this period must allow the people to form their own conclusions from what they saw.
The dead cannot speak.
But the living can remember.
And history has a very long memory.
The Iroko Has Fallen
The Ochie of Etche Land was not merely an individual.
The office he occupied represented an important part of the traditional identity of Etche.
When an iroko falls, the forest does not immediately understand the magnitude of the loss.
It is only with time that the empty space becomes visible.
The birds lose their familiar resting place.
The shade disappears.
The younger trees suddenly realise that the giant that stood before them is no longer there.
That is where Etche finds itself today.
The iroko has fallen.
Etche is mourning.
This is therefore not the moment for anyone to be in a hurry to inherit the shadow of the fallen tree.
Let the dead be buried.
Let the people grieve.
Let the traditional processes breathe.
Let history speak.
Let the customs be examined.
Then, when the mourning drums have gone silent and the tears have dried, let the conversation begin.
Desperation Can Become Its Own Trap
There is an old wisdom that desperation can make a person mistake speed for progress.
The pursuit of power can sometimes become so consuming that the person pursuing it fails to notice the footprints being left behind.
A desperate attempt to gain an advantage today can become the very evidence used to question that person’s intentions tomorrow.
In traditional matters, this danger is even greater.
A traditional position is not a trophy.
It is a trust.
It is not simply an ornament of prestige.
It is an obligation.
It is not merely a platform from which an individual speaks.
It is a responsibility to generations.
Those who seek traditional authority must therefore understand that the crown carries weight. The stool carries history. The staff carries symbolism. And the name attached to the office becomes part of the historical record of the people.
That is why desperation should never be allowed to become the compass guiding the search for traditional leadership.
Etche Must Not Become a Chessboard
Etche has experienced political divisions.
Some were created by administrative arrangements.
Some have emerged from political competition.
Others may have been deepened by the actions and interests of individuals.
Whatever their origins, the people must be careful not to allow temporary political structures to permanently fracture their cultural identity.
A people can have different political constituencies and still possess one cultural identity.
A people can belong to different administrative units and still share one history.
A people can disagree politically and still recognise one another as members of the same ethnic nationality.
The danger begins when political boundaries are transformed into cultural boundaries.
That is when the knife goes too deep.
That is when temporary political arrangements begin to masquerade as permanent historical realities.
And that is when politicians may become the cartographers of a people’s cultural identity.
That must be approached with caution.
I Will Not Rush This Conversation
I have deliberately restrained myself from saying everything I know or everything I have heard.
There is a difference between knowing something, hearing something and being able to establish something.
That distinction matters.
Where historical claims are involved, evidence matters.
Where allegations are involved, verification matters.
Where customs are involved, authentic traditional sources matter.
Where political interests are involved, caution matters even more.
I therefore will not present rumours as facts or political narratives as historical truths.
But caution should not be mistaken for cowardice.
Silence should not be mistaken for ignorance.
And respect for traditional institutions should not be interpreted as an unwillingness to question actions that may affect the future of those institutions.
When the appropriate time comes, I will be prepared to ask the difficult questions.
Fearlessly, but responsibly.
Critically, but respectfully.
And with an understanding that the objective should not be to destroy the traditional institution but to protect its integrity.
Let Etche Mourn
For now, however, Etche must mourn.
Let the people mourn their Ochie.
Let the traditional institutions mourn.
Let the clans mourn.
Let political ambitions wait.
Let succession calculations wait.
Let arguments about seniority wait.
Let political alliances wait.
Let everyone take a step back from the edge of the precipice.
There will be time for debate.
There will be time for history.
There will be time for tradition.
There will be time for questions about succession, legitimacy, seniority, clan representation and the future of the Etche traditional institution.
But not everything must be said today.
Sometimes wisdom is knowing when to speak.
Sometimes courage is knowing when to remain silent.
And sometimes the most powerful statement a people can make is to allow their dead to receive the dignity of silence before the living begin their arguments.
The Ochie of Etche Land has fallen.
The iroko has fallen.
For now, Etche should mourn.
When the mourning period is over, let us sit beneath the shade of history and talk.
And when we talk, let it not be about who shouts the loudest.
Let it be about what Etche tradition actually says.
Let it be about what history can establish.
Let it be about what the people can collectively defend.
And let it ultimately be about the kind of Etche we intend to leave behind for generations yet unborn.
My name is Kingdom Chieche Nwafor.
I am still studying the traditional institution, its history, customs and traditions. I therefore speak here not as the final authority on Etche tradition, but as an Etche son who believes that our history deserves to be protected from both ignorance and political expediency.
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