We Are Igbo, Stop Denying It: Omu of Obio Kingdom Decries Identity Crisis Among Anioma People
A powerful royal rebuke has reignited a decades-old identity debate among the Anioma people of Delta State, as HRH Omu Onyebuchi Okonkwo, the traditional Omu of Obio Kingdom in Aniocha North Local Government Area, declared in unequivocal terms that the Anioma are Igbos—and that denying it is not only dishonest but also harmful to cultural continuity.
Speaking in a candid community dialogue held at the Obio Royal Court over the weekend, Omu Onyebuchi voiced deep frustration over what she described as the “selective amnesia” and “cultural hypocrisy” often exhibited by her kinsmen. Her emotionally charged message resonated with both cultural historians and grassroots observers who have long noted the evolving complexities of Igbo identity in post-civil war Nigeria.
“If I go to Lagos or Kano and introduce myself as Onyebuchi,” she said, “what would I immediately be addressed as? The Yorùbá would call me ‘ọmọ Igbo’ and the Hausa would call me ‘nyammiri’. How then is it that I’m from somewhere else?”
The Anioma people—comprising several communities in the Delta North Senatorial District, including Aniocha, Oshimili, Ika, and Ndokwa—occupy a unique cultural space. They speak dialects that are mutually intelligible with central Igbo, share core cultural practices such as traditional titles, masquerade festivals, and naming systems, yet often resist being fully described as “Igbo.”
This identity friction is rooted in history, specifically the scars of the Nigerian Civil War (1967–1970). Many Anioma towns were deeply affected by the Biafran conflict. Anioma soldiers fought alongside Biafra, and some communities in the region were brutalized by federal forces, a bitter irony given that the state they now belong to—Delta—remained aligned with the Nigerian government.
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Omu Onyebuchi acknowledged this trauma in her remarks:
“The civil war was one of the worst things to have happened to our people. The confusion, the killings, the betrayal, and the destruction left psychological wounds. After the war, people began to run from the Igbo label, as if it was cursed. But are we not still called Igbo when we go abroad?”
The monarch’s criticism wasn’t only about the past—it was about what she sees as an enduring hypocrisy in the present. She decried the fact that Anioma people often embrace Igbo identity abroad, especially in diasporic communities, where they benefit from unity, language, and social networks—but quickly discard that same identity when they return to Nigeria.
“Outside Anioma, our people claim Igbo benefits and even lead Igbo unions abroad,” Omu said, “but once they come here, they lie through their teeth and deny their identity.”
In the UK, US, Germany, and Canada, for instance, leaders of Igbo cultural organizations are frequently drawn from Anioma communities. These include powerful businesspeople, scholars, and clergy who represent Anioma interests under the wider Igbo umbrella.
However, Omu Onyebuchi laments that at home, particularly in Delta State politics, the same individuals often declare that “we are not Igbo,” choosing instead to identify as “Western Niger” or “Delta Ibo,” a phrase designed to water down their ethnic affiliation.
This dual posture, she argues, is a betrayal of truth, tradition, and ancestry.
“Name, language, tradition, spirituality,” the Omu emphasized, “are indelible.”
She explained that regardless of one’s self-denial, the sociolinguistic and spiritual roots of the Anioma people are unmistakably Igbo. From the worship of deities like Ani and Ogwugwu, to the celebration of new yam festivals and traditional marriage customs, Anioma communities mirror core Igbo patterns.
“Even if you choose to call yourself something else, your ancestors, your dialect, your masquerades, and your way of life will betray your denial.”
Cultural historians agree. Prof. Chinonye Uzoka, a lecturer in African Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, said in an interview that the Anioma identity question has less to do with actual heritage and more to do with politics and post-war psychology.
“Anioma people are culturally and linguistically Igbo,” he said. “But after the war, there was a clear attempt by successive governments and some elites in Delta to distance Anioma from the rest of Igboland, in order to gain political mileage.”
Observers have noted that Anioma elites have often found themselves navigating difficult political terrain. Being politically associated with core Igbo nationalism has sometimes made them targets of suspicion or marginalization within Delta State, where ethnic politics pits Urhobo, Isoko, Itsekiri, Ijaw, and other blocs against one another.
Former Delta State Governor Emmanuel Uduaghan once said in a political rally that “Delta is not part of Biafra,” a statement widely seen as distancing the state from the larger Igbo cause.
In recent years, however, some Anioma leaders have been reasserting their Igbo identity more boldly. Prominent among them is former Governor Ifeanyi Okowa, who in 2022 told a delegation that “Anioma is the Igbo of Delta.”
Yet, as Omu Onyebuchi notes, such declarations often remain superficial, contradicted by a refusal to align culturally and politically with mainstream Igbo causes such as Ohanaeze Ndigbo, the Southeast Development Commission, or the push for a Nigerian president of Igbo extraction.
In Anioma today, identity remains a contested space—especially among young people.
Some embrace the Igbo identity fully, participating in cultural festivals, learning the language more deeply, and even supporting movements like IPOB (Indigenous People of Biafra), while others reject it entirely, preferring a neutral Delta identity.
Chibuzo Onwuli, a 25-year-old student from Asaba, said in an interview, “My name is Chibuzo, my language is Igbo, but I don’t think I’m part of the East. I’m from Delta. The East does not recognize us unless it’s convenient.”
Others disagree. Ngozi Nwokolo, a trader in Ogwashi-Uku, said, “We are Igbo. We must stop deceiving ourselves. If we are not Igbo, why are our names Ngozi, Chinedu, Ifeoma? Why do we worship Ani? Why do we break kolanut the same way?”
Omu Onyebuchi’s declaration is part of a broader cultural reckoning. As more Anioma youths travel, study abroad, or engage online with pan-Igbo spaces, the debate over identity is no longer reserved for scholars and elders.
Activists and traditional leaders alike are calling for a reawakening—an acceptance of history and a restoration of cultural pride.
Omu Onyebuchi believes this reawakening must begin at the grassroots:
“We must teach our children the truth. We must restore our language in schools. We must tell the real story of Anioma’s role in Igbo history—not a diluted version written to please politicians.”
HRH Omu Onyebuchi Okonkwo’s message is clear: Anioma cannot continue to exist in a liminal space, caught between denial and acceptance, claiming Igbo benefits abroad while disowning Igbo roots at home.
Her words ring like a call to cultural courage—a challenge to embrace an identity shaped not by fear or politics, but by ancestry and truth.
As Nigeria grapples with questions of national cohesion, regional autonomy, and ethnic pride, the Anioma question—“Are we Igbo or not?”—continues to echo across the land. And perhaps, through bold voices like that of Omu Onyebuchi, the answer may finally begin to resound with clarity.