The Myth of Oji Igbo
In the days when the earth was still young, there existed a sacred bond between the world of spirits and the world of humans. It was in this time, a time before time, that the gods summoned the founding ancestors of Ndi Igbo to a gathering.
The ancestors, guided by the ancestral winds, crossed into the sacred realm which was the dwelling place of the gods, where rivers sang, and the land bloomed with eternal light. The gods, regal in form and clad in robes spun from starlight, welcomed them into a divine orchard, a grove planted by Chukwu Ukpabi, the Supreme Creator Himself.
This orchard bore every tree that ever was and ever could be. Trees of flame, trees of laughter, trees that wept and trees that shone, each with fruits of unimagined power and splendor. The gods, in their eternal wisdom, posed a single challenge to Igbo ancestors:
“Choose, O children of the earth, one fruit from our orchard. Let that fruit bind your people to the heavens forevermore.”
The ancestors wandered through the grove for seven days and seven nights. They tasted the honeyfruit of the Fire Tree, which sang songs of conquest. They touched the golden pods of the Sky Tree, which granted visions of tomorrow. But none stirred the soul as did one humble tree, gnarled yet noble, standing at the heart of the orchard. It was the Oji, the Kolanut Tree.
Its fruit was not the most dazzling. It did not sing, it did not gleam — but when cracked open, its scent rose like incense, and its taste opened the mind like the rising sun splits the darkness of night. The ancestors, moved by their renowned wisdom, chose Oji as their fruit.
The gods were pleased.
“You have chosen well,” they said. “For Oji is the First Tree planted by Chukwu’s own hand before the earth knew rain or sun. It holds the breath of creation, and in its sharing, an eternal bond with our realm will be formed.”
Thus did Oji Igbo, the Igbo Kola Nut, become the sacred bridge between the human and the divine. The gods gave it to the ancestors as a token of covenant, a symbol of communion, a medium of prayer. Through it, words reach Chukwu. Through it, libations flow true. Through it, the spirits of the departed are called home.
From that day to this, Oji has been revered. Before councils, before marriage, before war or peace, Oji is broken and offered as a sacred rite.
Even as iron birds came from the West and foreign gods marched with fire and ink, Oji stood unmoved as a living relic of the first pact. Colonial books could not erase it. Alien tongues could not silence its message. It endures in the soul of Ndi Igbo.
For as long as the kola is broken and shared, the covenant of the ancestors and the gods lives on.
Onye wetara oji, wetara ndu:
One who brings kola, brings life.
END.
