By Edoziuno Chukwunonso
“Onye a na-agba egbe anaghi ama na agha e nwere n’ala ya”—he who is being shot at does not forget there is war in his land.
Ndi be anyi, anyị akpọrọ ọnụ taa, n’ihi na ofufe ebiela.
The ikoro sounds low in mourning, for a mighty Iroko has fallen—Chief Mike Ejeagha, the custodian of our oral truth, the griot of our times, the sage who clothed proverbs with melody, has journeyed beyond the hills of the living, in the stillness of Friday night, June 6, 2025.
He came to us in the year 1930, in a time when stories were told by moonlight, when elders walked slowly but their tongues moved mountains. And through his gifted lips, our people heard the voice of the ancestors—wrapped in music, coated in parable, sharpened by truth.
Mike Ejeagha did not just sing; he taught. He did not just entertain; he warned.
In his song, “Gwo gwo gwo ngwo,” he told us of the tortoise—the cunning one—who lured his friend, the noble elephant, under the guise of ceremony, only to bind him in shame and offer him to the king as a gift.
What treachery! What betrayal!
But we knew, dear father, that you were not only telling us a tale of animals,
You were telling us a tale of a people betrayed.
You reminded us of 1967 to 1970, when the Igbo-Biafra nation, proud and wounded, stood up for survival, only to be ensnared by the very hands that once called us brothers.
Nigeria—the tortoise—called us to the table of unity,
Spoke of “One Nigeria” with sweetened tongues,
But in the shadows, tied the rope around our necks.
They called it a civil war;
We called it a genocide.
They called us rebels;
We were only children of the rising sun, asking to live.
And like the elephant in your song,
We were dragged—bloodied, starved, maligned—
To the gates of death as a “gift” to preserve the fraudulent union.
And you, our dear Ejeagha, used music to remember,
Used proverb to pierce our memory,
Used riddles to expose the lies they dressed as truth.
Oh, Onye-ka-Mike-Ejeagha!
You gave us the idioms of survival.
You sang not just with a voice, but with vision.
You reminded us that when the sky refuses rain, the earth listens more closely to the cry of the dying crops.
Today, we cry.
Not just for the loss of a man, but for the silence of a memory.
You were our mirror and our messenger,
And now the strings of your guitar rest, but the message plays on.
We will tell our children that once, a man walked among us who poured the wine of wisdom into the cup of music,
Who kept the flame of Igbo heritage burning when many chose the easy path of forgetting.
We will not forget.
As you journey to join the ancestors, carry our lament.
Tell Ojukwu that betrayal still stinks the land.
Tell Nzeogwu that the lies they fed the world are yet to rot.
Tell all who fell in the genocide that their bones still cry justice.
Chief Mike Ejeagha,
Ka ọ dị.
We bid you farewell with heavy hearts, but wiser minds.
Your voice may be silent, but your truth lives in us.
Rest well, Ozu n’akụ na ụba.
Rest well, Ọja afọ Igbo,
Rest well, onye nkuzi n’abụ na ilu.
“Egbe belu, ugo belu… ma onye si ibe ya ebela, nku kwaa ya”—let the eagle perch, let the kite perch, but if one says the other should not perch, let its wings break.You perched, and you let us perch.
Now fly home, Eagle of Igbo wisdom.
Fly home.
Edoziuno Chukwunonso Emmanuel
Spokesperson, IBN & IPINS
