From O Maduagwu.
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izunna...@yahoo.com
Sep 27, 2025, 5:36:43 AMSep 27
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Oguta Ameshi from Pentecost to Babel: A Cautionary Reflection
By Mazi Olisaemeka Umar Maduagwu Jr.
There was a time when the ancient town of Oguta Ameshi shimmered like a lamp upon a hill, its blue lake mirroring a people bound by dignity, honor, and community spirit. In the seventies and eighties, one could stroll through the town square and sense an uncommon atmosphere of oneness. Elders gathered beneath the ancient Orji tree, debating projects that would uplift all. Our elites, many fresh from universities, public service and overseas, returned home on weekends or periodically not with briefcases of arrogance but with sleeves rolled up, ready to dig trenches for community water schemes or raise funds for schools and roads.
I still remember how women in their colorful wrappers sang work songs by the river, their voices rising in harmony as men ferried sand for communal building. Then, Oguta lived out the scripture: “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4). It was Pentecost indeed, many tongues, one spirit, united for the common good.
In those days, the Igbu society (Ogbuagu), the Oriri Nzere, and the Oshiji titles were sacred. A man who bore them walked with the quiet authority of character, not the loud swagger of wealth. They were reserved for men whose names opened doors, whose hands were clean, and whose livelihoods were visible to all. When the Ogbuagu drums thundered in the eighties, children ran to watch because they knew a true son of honor was being crowned. It was a moment the community could boast: “Here is one of ours, tested and trusted.” The words of Proverbs 22:1 rang true: “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.”
But today, the scene has changed. Walk through the same square and the air feels heavy with discord. Our once sacred institutions have become tools in the hands of those who neither understand nor respect their weight. Titles are now traded and paraded by miscreants, charlatans, and men of unverifiable wealth. Instead of inspiring the next generation, they confuse them. Instead of community pride, we have communal shame. What once bound us together is now unraveling before our eyes. Babel has replaced Pentecost.
And as if this moral decay were not enough, a darker shadow now looms, kidnapping has crept into our once peaceful town. Our streets, once safe for moonlight plays and evening strolls, now carry whispers of fear. But there is no smoke without fire. Our youths, energetic yet idle, roam without meaningful sources of livelihood. Unlike in the days of our fathers, when industries were built and scholarships awarded to indigent children, today’s youths are abandoned to the cruel hands of poverty and frustration.
I speak not from hearsay but from heritage. My own father built an industry that still stands today despite the odds, and he gave scholarships to hundreds who have since metamorphosed into thousands of beneficiaries across generations. That was foresight. That was leadership. That was the true essence of title and honor. But what do we build today? Mansions without meaning, titles without testimony, and fleeting luxuries that die with their owners. No factories, no enduring legacies, no lifelines for our irate youths,, only a contest of vanity.
This is why kidnapping and other negative vices finds fertile ground. When leaders fail to plant seeds of hope, weeds of crime will sprout. When elders neglect to train the youths in industry and dignity, those youths will learn mischief in the shadows. Scripture warns us: “Because the sentence against an evil deed is not executed speedily, the heart of the children of man is fully set to do evil” (Ecclesiastes 8:11). We cannot ignore this any longer. Security must be taken seriously, for a community that loses its peace loses its soul.
The recent clamor about abolishing the Ohu caste system should have been a Pentecost, a unifying fire. When I first heard the news, my heart leapt with joy. But as events unfolded, I saw not sincerity but Babel, not unity but confusion. A cabal, driven by self-interest, sought to up their stakes and reap benefits cloaked in tradition. Instead of humanity, ambition; instead of empathy, manipulation. If the intent were genuine, we would see intermarriages, lived testimonies of oneness. But instead, we see a scramble for the Ogbuagu stool. This is not reconciliation but reinvention for profit.
Look across the seas to the United Kingdom. There, traditions endure with order. Not every man can be a lord, no matter how much he twists and turns. The Bible itself affirms: “The poor you will always have with you” (Matthew 26:11). “All fingers are not equal.” These are not calls to injustice, but reminders that order, humility, and fairness are divine. When man overturns them for selfish ends, confusion is inevitable.
My call is not to disparage but to awaken. Oguta must not allow selfish ambition to erode the dignity our forebears built. We are a people of pride, of culture, of conscience. Let us not sacrifice Pentecost at the altar of Babel. Let us return to truth, sincerity, and the fear of God. “Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1).
Oguta is too beautiful to be squandered. Too historic to be trivialized. Too divine to be left to the whims and caprice of greed. Let us return to Pentecost, to unity, truth, industry, and the selfless spirit of our fathers. Only then will our titles regain their honor, our culture its sanctity, our youths their purpose, and our people their pride.
Mazi Olisa Maduagwu Jr.
Writes from Abuja,
Nigeria.
26/09/2025
+2348028254009
Sent from my iPhone
By Mazi Olisaemeka Umar Maduagwu Jr.
There was a time when the ancient town of Oguta Ameshi shimmered like a lamp upon a hill, its blue lake mirroring a people bound by dignity, honor, and community spirit. In the seventies and eighties, one could stroll through the town square and sense an uncommon atmosphere of oneness. Elders gathered beneath the ancient Orji tree, debating projects that would uplift all. Our elites, many fresh from universities, public service and overseas, returned home on weekends or periodically not with briefcases of arrogance but with sleeves rolled up, ready to dig trenches for community water schemes or raise funds for schools and roads.
I still remember how women in their colorful wrappers sang work songs by the river, their voices rising in harmony as men ferried sand for communal building. Then, Oguta lived out the scripture: “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4). It was Pentecost indeed, many tongues, one spirit, united for the common good.
In those days, the Igbu society (Ogbuagu), the Oriri Nzere, and the Oshiji titles were sacred. A man who bore them walked with the quiet authority of character, not the loud swagger of wealth. They were reserved for men whose names opened doors, whose hands were clean, and whose livelihoods were visible to all. When the Ogbuagu drums thundered in the eighties, children ran to watch because they knew a true son of honor was being crowned. It was a moment the community could boast: “Here is one of ours, tested and trusted.” The words of Proverbs 22:1 rang true: “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.”
But today, the scene has changed. Walk through the same square and the air feels heavy with discord. Our once sacred institutions have become tools in the hands of those who neither understand nor respect their weight. Titles are now traded and paraded by miscreants, charlatans, and men of unverifiable wealth. Instead of inspiring the next generation, they confuse them. Instead of community pride, we have communal shame. What once bound us together is now unraveling before our eyes. Babel has replaced Pentecost.
And as if this moral decay were not enough, a darker shadow now looms, kidnapping has crept into our once peaceful town. Our streets, once safe for moonlight plays and evening strolls, now carry whispers of fear. But there is no smoke without fire. Our youths, energetic yet idle, roam without meaningful sources of livelihood. Unlike in the days of our fathers, when industries were built and scholarships awarded to indigent children, today’s youths are abandoned to the cruel hands of poverty and frustration.
I speak not from hearsay but from heritage. My own father built an industry that still stands today despite the odds, and he gave scholarships to hundreds who have since metamorphosed into thousands of beneficiaries across generations. That was foresight. That was leadership. That was the true essence of title and honor. But what do we build today? Mansions without meaning, titles without testimony, and fleeting luxuries that die with their owners. No factories, no enduring legacies, no lifelines for our irate youths,, only a contest of vanity.
This is why kidnapping and other negative vices finds fertile ground. When leaders fail to plant seeds of hope, weeds of crime will sprout. When elders neglect to train the youths in industry and dignity, those youths will learn mischief in the shadows. Scripture warns us: “Because the sentence against an evil deed is not executed speedily, the heart of the children of man is fully set to do evil” (Ecclesiastes 8:11). We cannot ignore this any longer. Security must be taken seriously, for a community that loses its peace loses its soul.
The recent clamor about abolishing the Ohu caste system should have been a Pentecost, a unifying fire. When I first heard the news, my heart leapt with joy. But as events unfolded, I saw not sincerity but Babel, not unity but confusion. A cabal, driven by self-interest, sought to up their stakes and reap benefits cloaked in tradition. Instead of humanity, ambition; instead of empathy, manipulation. If the intent were genuine, we would see intermarriages, lived testimonies of oneness. But instead, we see a scramble for the Ogbuagu stool. This is not reconciliation but reinvention for profit.
Look across the seas to the United Kingdom. There, traditions endure with order. Not every man can be a lord, no matter how much he twists and turns. The Bible itself affirms: “The poor you will always have with you” (Matthew 26:11). “All fingers are not equal.” These are not calls to injustice, but reminders that order, humility, and fairness are divine. When man overturns them for selfish ends, confusion is inevitable.
My call is not to disparage but to awaken. Oguta must not allow selfish ambition to erode the dignity our forebears built. We are a people of pride, of culture, of conscience. Let us not sacrifice Pentecost at the altar of Babel. Let us return to truth, sincerity, and the fear of God. “Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1).
Oguta is too beautiful to be squandered. Too historic to be trivialized. Too divine to be left to the whims and caprice of greed. Let us return to Pentecost, to unity, truth, industry, and the selfless spirit of our fathers. Only then will our titles regain their honor, our culture its sanctity, our youths their purpose, and our people their pride.
Mazi Olisa Maduagwu Jr.
Writes from Abuja,
Nigeria.
26/09/2025
+2348028254009
Sent from my iPhone
Amaechi Nwakuche
Sep 27, 2025, 6:05:12 AMSep 27
to og...@googlegroups.com, oguta...@googlegroups.com
Awesome! Good to know that our Oguta has erudition amongst her minds.
This write up aligns with my stand!
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