Onwuatuegwu was a man feared by both the living and the dead—or so his kinsmen believed. Standing over seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that revealed little of his emotions, his mere presence commanded respect.
A renowned native doctor and herbalist, he had four wives and twelve children. He ensured that every one of them, both male and female, received a formal education. At the same time, as a custodian of his people’s traditions, he made sure they all underwent the customary initiation rites of their land, especially the boys.
Yet one thing distinguished Onwuatuegwu from many others. He never forced his children to become traditionalists. Instead, he gave each of them the freedom to choose their own faith. His only instruction was simple: never abandon the values, morals, and cultural heritage of your people.
As a result, his household became a reflection of diversity. Among his children were Christians, Muslims, traditional worshippers, and even a few who belonged to no particular faith.
Then one day, tragedy struck.
News spread across the village that the priest had been kidnapped while returning from a church vigil. Panic and sorrow gripped the community. The congregation immediately began another vigil, fasting and praying for the safe return of the priest and the other captives.
Ordinarily, Onwuatuegwu might have remained uninvolved. But this time, one of the kidnapped worshippers was his own son, Obumneme—known in church as Peter.
The entire village was thrown into mourning. While many wept, a few secretly took comfort in the fact that Peter was among the captives. They believed that Onwuatuegwu would stop at nothing to rescue his son—and, by extension, everyone else.
Soon, the war gong echoed across the village.
Kpom… tikpo… kpom… kpom… tikpom…
Able-bodied men gathered in the village square to discuss how to rescue the priest and the rest of the congregation.
One man, Akuebue, suggested they should simply continue praying at the vigil.
Before he could finish, Ikeonu interrupted.
“Aku, please keep quiet if you have nothing meaningful to say. Wasn’t it during a vigil that they were taken?”
As the arguments continued, Onwuatuegwu slowly rose to his feet.
“I need ten men,” he said calmly. “Ten brave men who will follow me into the forest alongside the security operatives.”
More than ten men volunteered, but only ten were chosen.
Onwuatuegwu disappeared briefly into his shrine. When he returned, he brought out ten pieces of cooked yam and handed one to each man. They ate without asking questions.
In the next moment, they found themselves deep inside the forest, confronting the kidnappers. Together, they overpowered the enemies, rescued every captive, and returned home in triumph.
The village erupted in celebration. Songs filled the air as people danced and hailed Onwuatuegwu as a hero.
Just as he joined in the celebration, dancing with joy…
His wife shook him awake.
He opened his eyes, looked around, sighed deeply, and whispered,
“So… it was all a dream?”
Disturbed by the vision, he entered his Ulo Afa to seek its meaning.
There, the gods revealed the message behind the dream:
Religion should never make us forget that we are brothers. Rather than divide us, it should unite us.
They further warned him to ensure that the villagers and the entire community learned to respect and protect one another, regardless of their different beliefs.
For to the enemy, they were not Christians, Muslims, or traditional worshippers.
They were simply one people.
Onye nwere nti, ya nuru.
I remain your friend and brother,
Maazi Onuora Obodoechi.
Pen it down. 