IN an era where the erosion of African culture has become increasingly pronounced, few figures stand out as both critics and guardians of tradition.
Chief (Dr) Newton Jibunoh, newly inducted as the Nna Omu of Anioma, embodies this dual role. His journey as an environmental crusader and cultural custodian underscores the urgency of reclaiming and revitalizing traditional institutions sidelined by modernity.
In this conversation with RITA OYIBOKA, Jibunoh shares his vision for the Nna Omu role, the challenges of upholding indigenous practices in a rapidly changing world, and his unwavering belief in the power of cultural heritage to guide the future.
Congratulations on being conferred the Nna Omu of Anioma Kingdom. What does the Nna Omu title entail and how does it fit into the Omu institution?
The role of Nna Omu isn’t unique to Anioma alone; you can find similar institutions in various cultures, even in Western societies. These roles are often established to provide checks and balances within the monarchy. The Omu, traditionally, looks after the welfare of women—wives, daughters, and so on.
However, over time, especially in this century, there’s been a recognized need for a paternal figure within the institution, someone to guide and father it. The late Martha Dunkun was a monumental figure as the Omu Anioma. After her passing, they sought someone to fill that paternal void, and that’s how I was approached for the role.
What exactly made you accept this position? Was it an immediate decision, or did you have reservations?
Well, they approached me with white chalk, which traditionally signifies an offer you can’t refuse. So, I didn’t have much choice in the matter.
But beyond that, they saw something in me—a willingness to speak the truth, a sense of integrity, and someone they could run to when issues arise. They told me that these qualities made me the right person for this position, even though I wasn’t fully aware of them myself.
You’ve mentioned that they saw you as someone who could speak the truth and resolve crises. In your own opinion, what other qualities or experiences do you believe made you particularly suited for this role?
If I had to speculate, I’d say it’s because of my involvement in resolving past crises within my community. I’ve had to mediate several disputes, and perhaps that gave them confidence in my ability to maintain peace and unity. The last Nna Omu was a man of great integrity, and I was honored they saw those same qualities in me. They told me that I was someone who could tell them the truth no matter how difficult it was, and I suppose that reputation preceded me.
The role seems to carry significant responsibilities, especially in resolving communal conflicts. Could you elaborate on the specific duties and how you plan to fulfill them?
The responsibilities are indeed vast. The Nna Omu plays a crucial role, especially during our yearly activities, like the New Yam Festival, which marks the beginning of the New Year across Anioma. During such events, the Nna Omu is expected to host or chair proceedings.
But beyond the celebrations, communal conflicts are unpredictable—be it family disputes, inheritance issues, or land conflicts, which are becoming more common. When such matters escalate to the point of communal disunity, they are brought before the Nna Omu. It’s a powerful position and also a call to serve my people and preserve our culture.
Speaking of power and responsibilities, how does the office of the Nna Omu relate to that of the traditional monarch?
The office of the Nna Omu and the traditional monarch is a complementary dynamic. The monarch’s office can indeed be influenced by politics, especially with the involvement of state and local governments. But the Nna Omu is entirely independent. We don’t get paid by the government, so we’re not subject to their control. This independence makes the Nna Omu a last resort in many cases of crisis. When the community can’t resolve an issue, they turn to the Nna Omu, knowing that our decisions are unbiased and rooted in tradition, not politics.
You reside in Asaba, while your duties as Nna Omu are based in Akwu-kwu Igbo. Do you foresee any challenges in fulfilling your responsibilities due to the distance?
Not at all. Akwu-kwu Igbo is only a thirty to forty-minute drive from Asaba. I visit regularly, sometimes on very short notice, and I’m prepared to increase those visits if necessary. We live in a global village now, so communication is easy. My location in Asaba won’t hinder my duties.
We’ve seen a gradual erosion of cultural practices in modern times, why is that?
That’s a critical issue. The Omu institution was nearly forgotten some 30 to 40 years ago until the late Omu Anioma, Martha Dunkun revitalized it. When I was a boy, the Omu institution was revered.
Their music, their interventions—they were deeply respected. However, government intervention in every aspect of life led to its decline.
Meanwhile, we’re losing our identity by borrowing cultures. When we borrow traditions without understanding them, we dilute our own culture. For example, look at the coronation of King Charles and the burial rites of the Late Queen Elizabeth in the UK. Their rituals and traditions are deeply rooted in their culture, and they preserve them with pride. But when it comes to our traditions, they are often dismissed as fetish. This erosion of culture was a deliberate strategy by the colonizers to control us.
Can you elaborate more on the common perception of African traditions as fetish, sinful, and devoid of modernity?
That perception is largely due to ignorance. Many traditional institutions are going to sleep, and it’s affecting our development. Some people see the Omu institution as a fetish, but in reality, it’s a peaceful and integral part of our culture.
You can be a Christian, worship in your way, and still be part of the Omu institution. For example, a Reverend Father I know criticized my involvement, but I told him he was ignorant of the value these traditions hold. It’s about preserving our heritage, not contradicting our faith. It is for the same reason I established the Didi Museum in Lagos, the only private museum in Nigeria that’s over 40 years old, showcasing our rich cultural history. It’s the best way to revive our old ways and understand how far we’ve come.
That’s a powerful statement. You also mentioned earlier that our traditional culture has been eroded, making it easier for foreign influences to control us. Can you share more about how this cultural erosion affects us today?
The erosion of our culture has made us more susceptible to foreign control. When we abandon our traditions, we lose our identity, making it easier for others to influence and invade us. It’s tragic because our culture is what makes us unique.
For example, when I was building my first house in the village over 50 years ago, there was no need for fences or security. But one night, someone stole a bag of cement from my site.
The thief was caught, tried by the Nna Omu, and sentenced to guard my property for eight days and nights till I returned. When I returned, I decided to let him go and when the Nna Omu got wind of it, the council queried and fined me for not consulting them first. This was our traditional judicial system in action—swift and effective.
Today, we rely on the police, which is expensive and may not be as effective. We’re losing those valuable systems that once kept our communities strong. Today, Nigerians are confused and underdeveloped because we have abandoned our culture.
Reviving it now means not just restoring old practices but elevating them to meet today’s challenges. The younger generation needs to see the value in these traditions. If they don’t, we risk losing our cultural identity altogether.
On that note, the chieftaincy institution itself has suffered similar setbacks, with wealth often being the main criterion for becoming a chief these days. What are your thoughts on this trend?
It’s true, and it’s disheartening. Like the Omu institution, the chieftaincy has also been watered down. I hold chieftaincy titles in many places, but I rarely use them because the title of chief has become so diluted. I prefer to be called “Dr.” because it holds more dignity in today’s context.
The problem is that people now see chieftaincy as something to be bought, rather than a position of honor and service. We need a revival, much like what the late Omu did for her institution.
With your deep connection to the culture and your experience, what do you hope to bring to the Nna Omu office?
I was close to the late Omu Anioma, especially because of her efforts to strengthen Anioma culture. She was introduced to me by the then Oba of Benin, His Royal Majesty, Omo N’Oba N’Edo, who spoke highly of her. Over the years, I saw how she operated and how she upheld our cultural values. My goal is to build on what she started and to continue her work in preserving and promoting our traditions.
Has a new Omu Anioma been named since her passing?
Not yet. Traditionally, we wait for the journey of the departed to be completed.
According to our customs, it takes about six months for the spirit to reach the next life. Only then will a new Omu be appointed. It’s a process that requires patience and respect for the traditions.
As someone deeply involved in environmental sustainability, how do you see the connection between our traditional practices and modern environmental challenges?
Our ancestors understood the importance of environmental sustainability long before it became a global issue.
They created the concept of the “Evil Forest,” which was a form of environmental conservation. The Evil Forest was sacred—no one farmed or hunted there. It was a way to protect the environment and ensure the sustainability of the land. Today, we’re spending billions of dollars to revive forests like the Amazon, but our ancestors had already put measures in place to preserve nature. Unfortunately, those practices have disappeared, and we’re facing the consequences.
Given this loss of cultural practices and the erosion of traditional values, do you think there’s hope for a revival, or are we too far gone?
I want to believe there’s hope, but I’m not entirely optimistic. We’ve drifted so far from our roots that it will take a monumental effort to bring back what we’ve lost.
But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. Institutions like the Omu and initiatives like my museum are steps in the right direction. It’s about blending our cultural heritage with modern life in a way that respects both.
