Nigerians who crave the title of “leopard killer”

At the age of 60, Nigerian businessman and medical professional Ken Okorafor has fulfilled his childhood dream and earned the coveted title of ‘Leopard Killer’.

Jubilant crowds gathered as he was inducted into the prestigious all-male Igbu society in his hometown of Oguta in southeastern Nigeria.

In ancient times, killing a leopard was not just an act of bravery, but also a ritual feat that ensured social prestige.

To become a “leopard killer”, known as “ogbuagu” in the Igbo language, a person had to present a leopard that he had hunted and killed himself to the local king. Its meat was then divided among 25 villages around Oguta.

Over time, the practice evolved and people no longer had to hunt the leopard themselves.

My mother remembers the leopard carcass lying in their living room in 1955 when her father won the title. It was obtained for him by a professional hunter.

She remembers eating leopard meat twice in the past: “It tastes wild and a little salty.”

Conservation concerns ended the use of leopards as they became scarce in the region. The last known sacrifice of a leopard occurred in 1987.

Once widespread throughout Nigeria, leopards are now only found in a few national parks where they are protected.

Today, the financial equivalent – a substantial but undisclosed sum – is distributed among the heads of families in 25 villages, maintaining the community spirit of the tradition.

“In Oguta, when you join this society, you get respect and join them in most decisions in the town,” said Mr Okoroafor, who lived in the US for decades but returned to his roots to become Ogbuagu.

“It appealed to me. It’s something I’ve been hoping to join since I was a kid.”

The first recorded instance of money being used as a substitute dates back to 1942, when a man named Mberekpe Ojirika caught a leopard for a ceremony, but then its mother died.

Tradition dictated that Ojirika had to mourn for six months and could not continue the ritual. When he later tried to find another leopard, he was unsuccessful.

Realizing the difficulty, his relative, Eze Igwe – the traditional king of Oguta – allowed him to pay four shillings instead of giving the leopard.

“From then on, you had a choice whether to use the money or the leopard,” said 52-year-old Victor Oniche, the current secretary of the Igbuu society and Ojirika’s grandson.

“When I was making my own in 2012, someone suggested I bring a live leopard from northern Nigeria. They had one to sell me. But I couldn’t imagine an endangered animal being killed,” said Mr Aniche, a mechanical engineer and Cambridge University graduate.

But today, the path to becoming an Ogbuagu is still rigorous and involves three difficult stages.

The Igbuu community, which has about 75 current members, is as old as Oguta itself, tracing its roots back more than four centuries to the founding of the city by migrants from the ancient Benin Kingdom.

Despite their ethnic classification as Igbo, the Oguta people retain a distinctive identity. Their dialect, customs and traditions distinguish them from the local population and the diaspora population, which according to various sources is about 200,000 people.

Many who wish to become Ogbuagu choose to hold ceremonies during the Christmas holiday season, which allows families and diasporas to come together, often drawing large crowds.

On December 21, Zubi Ndupu, a petrophysicist working in Nigeria’s oil sector, began his first stage of becoming a “leopard killer” known as “Igbu Agu” – as the hunt resumes.

The day started at 09:00 when the Ogbuagu gathered in a big tent at Mr. Ndupu’s house. They greeted each other with the clanking of golden swords and exchanged pleasantries.

Although Eze Igwe does not attend public events, he sent his representative to join the ceremony.

The Ogbuagu sat in the order of the hierarchy which was determined by the date they became full members.

Women were not allowed to touch Ogbuagu, come to the meeting or participate in the ceremony, but I watched closely.

The Ogbuagu feasted on traditional dishes such as goat meat and pepper soup, nsala soup – made from catfish – pounded yams and palm wine.

During the ceremony, Mr Ndupu was called forward by the secretary, a palm branch was tied to his wrist, insignia was drawn on his arm with chalk and he received a brand new golden sword engraved with his name.

He then moved around the assembly, saluting each Ogbuagu and rapping his sword four times on their sword.

In the afternoon, after the feast, Mr. Ndupa was taken in a procession from his home. The Leopard Killers followed in a pecking order, with the newest instigator, Mr Ndupu, at the back of the line.

The group headed to Eze Igwe’s palace where they presented the king with money for the leopard.

The second stage known as “Iga Aji” is a spiritual segment held privately at the initiate’s home with members of the Igbuu society in attendance.

During this phase, the initiate is presented with a red sash, symbolizing royalty, along with sacred beads and feathers.

After receiving his red belt, Mr. Okoroafor left, greeting his relatives who had gathered in tents outside. They celebrated him with shouts of “Ogbuagu!” how they indulged and drank.

The final stage, “Ipu Afia Agu”, is a grand celebration that marks the full membership of the initiate. The celebration begins at the home of the initiate’s mother, and then moves to his own residence.

This is the most expensive stage, often involving livestock, fish tanks and cases of liquor to entertain hundreds of guests.

After a recent gathering at his mother’s house, Pascal Oki Adizua, a 60-year-old car salesman from Maryland in the US, paraded through town with a symbolic fake leopard skin held high.

Accompanied by Ogbuagu, women’s chants and vibrant music, his new status was celebrated with dancing, singing and feasting shared by all.

Mr Adizua completed his first phase in 2023 but decided to wait until December last year to complete the second and third phases so that his daughters – two doctors and a nurse – could attend.

“All my children have finished school. The last boy is the only one in university. Many of my friends came from the US,” said Mr Adizua, who has lived abroad for 21 years.

Both Mr. Adizua and Mr. Okoroafor, who completed the second and third phases in December, can now enjoy the unparalleled prestige that comes with Igbuu membership.

The ‘Leopard Killers’ are known by the name ‘Ogbuagu’ across Igboland – and beyond.

In Ogut, only they can stand and greet the king without bowing. Their presence commands respect at all events, for example, at weddings, where they take pride of place.

Ceremonial beads worn on the right wrist distinguish the Ogbuagu, symbolizing their status. At traditional events, they must wear specific clothing.

“The name ‘Ogbuagu’ is a praiseworthy name,” Mr Aniche explains. “If you can go into the forest and track down and kill a leopard, you are a warrior.”

Leadership in Igbuu follows a strict hierarchy where seniority is based on how long one has been a member, not age. The member with the longest tenure holds the highest management position. The current leader is Emmanuel Udom, who is now in his 80s.

In addition to the president who oversees the affairs and meetings of the group, Igbuu members nominate and elect officers to manage day-to-day activities and administration. Mr. Aniche has served as secretary for the past four years.

“We have participants from their mid-40s to their 90s,” Mr Aniche said.

Some notable Ogbuagu include the late Chukwudifu Oputa, one of the most respected judges of the Supreme Court of Nigeria; Alban Uzoma Nwapa, a Swedish-Nigerian musician better known by his stage name Dr. Alban, and the late Gogo Nwakuche, a successful entrepreneur and husband of the late noted writer, Flora Nwapa.

Igbuu society is very selective. Applicants must own property, have verifiable income, be married or engaged, and maintain an impeccable record.

Descendants of slaves, known as “ohu”, are not allowed to join. These are people whose ancestors were possessed by others, either through war or purchase – remnants of a social order that some now seek to abolish.

“We are now saying that it is time to end this disgusting, outdated, useless system so that we can be one,” said Odueni Nduka, a former Igbuu secretary who is also the king’s spokesman.

“When you go to America, some of our sons are married to black American women, even some Ogbuagu. These black Americans are products of the same system, so what’s the problem at home?”

He explained that the traditional process of abolishing the ohu system has already begun, with consultations taking place between families that once owned slaves. This is expected to lead to the introduction of traditional rituals that officially recognize them as free from ohu status.

“Once that is done, Igbuu will call a meeting and start receiving them,” Mr Nduka said.

Despite its prestige, some criticize Igbuu, arguing that it only benefits the egos of its members.

Every ceremony I’ve attended has had at least one person in the crowd talking about how the thousands of dollars spent on city development or scholarship funding could be better used.

But Mr. Aniche disagrees: “Igbu is not a society you come to achieve; this is the society you come to because you have already achieved.

“Ogbuagu brought more development to Oguta than others. They are the largest employers of labour.’

Mr Aniche also noted that money spent on feasts and other requirements of the ceremony goes back into the local economy.

Today, Igbuu society is worldwide, with almost half of its members living in the diaspora. However, whether in Europe or the US, Ogut men remain deeply connected to their roots.

“I come back about three times every year because I like the traditions of Ogut,” said Mr Adizua. “With all the stress in the diaspora, I like coming home to relax.”

For Mr. Okoroafor, the journey from a youngster dreaming of leopard hunting to a respected Ogbuagu was worth the wait.

“Oguta is a beautiful city with many people who have excelled in various fields,” he said, his voice filled with pride.

“The last time I was home was in 2016, but now that I am Ogbuagu, I will come home more regularly.”

Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani is a Nigerian freelance journalist and novelist based in Abuja and London.