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WHO TAUGHT US TO HATE ANCESTORS?

A photo of a man dressed in ethnic regalia beating w drum while dancing.

Today,31st October, is All Saints Eve or Halloween in Western world. It’s a day before the observance of All Saints Day (1st November), a time in the liturgical year dedicated to remembering the dead, including saints (hallows), martyrs, and all the departed.

 

Western traditions- both secular and sacred- have established rituals of observing and honouring their departed. They have several holidays dedicated to remembering them. They name their children, buildings, cities islands after them. Heck- they even ask their ancestors to intercede for them in their prayers, the way you phone a friend: “Hail Mary, full of grace, pray for us!” or “St. Francis of Assisi, bless our pets!” They’ve got it down to a sacred science.

 

But when an African like yours truly dribbles a splash of mũratina as libation to irrigate the throats of his ngomi or ancestors, its promptly labelled “ancestor worship”. When a West African dances with drums to honour ndichie (the departed in Igbo), he is said to be engaging in voodoo. Somehow, honouring our forebears is uncivilized, while Halloween costumes and prayer candles are fine, holy even.

Who tricked us that mzungu ancestors are more important than our ancestors? What makes a black African go gaga about Halloween, yet he can’t recall his grandfather who passed on several harvests ago? Who taught us to hate our ancestors-and by extension, our roots? More importantly, who taught us to hate ourselves?

 

Honouring ancestors is universal; it’s as old as humanity itself. Across the globe, cultures keep memories alive through rituals, dance, music, and storytelling. Ancestor reverence isn’t just spiritual; it’s cultural glue, binding history and identity to the present.

What doesn’t transcend all societies, though, is the sad tradition of honouring a colonizers ancestors and choosing to forget our own. The sooner Africans reclaim their ancestors and honours them, that’s when they will be truly free. The moment we, as Africans, reclaim our heritage and honour our ancestors, we reclaim a part of our soul.

I’ll leave you with a folksy truism from back home: ‘gùtirì ancestors akarange’. I can’t put this in English without the meaning getting lost in translation but I will try: all ancestors matter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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