The Nigerians who yearn for the title ‘Leopard Slayer’

At the age of 60, Nigerian businessman and healthcare professional Ken Okoroafor achieved his childhood dream of obtaining the revered title of “Leopard Slayer”.

Jubilant crowds thronged as he was inducted into the prestigious and male-only Igbuu Society in his hometown of Oguta, in south-eastern Nigeria.

In ancient times, slaying a leopard was not just an act of bravery but a ritualistic feat that conferred societal prestige.

To become a “Leopard Slayer”, known as an “Ogbuagu” in the Igbo language, a man had to present a leopard – hunted and killed by himself – to the local king. Its meat was then shared amongst 25 villages around Oguta.

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

My mother recalls the carcass of a leopard lying in their living room back in 1955 when her father took the title. It had been captured for him by a professional hunter.

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

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

Once widespread across Nigeria, leopards now tend to be only found in a few national parks, where they are protected.

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

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

“That attracted me. It’s something I’ve been hoping to join since I was a little boy.”

The first recorded use of money as a substitute goes back to 1942 when a man named Mberekpe Ojirika caught a leopard for the ceremony, but then his mother passed away.

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

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

“From that time, you now had a choice to use money or a leopard,” said 52-year-old Victor Aniche, the current secretary of the Igbuu Society, and a grandson of Ojirika.

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

But today the path to becoming an Ogbuagu is still rigorous, involving three elaborate stages.

The Igbuu Society – of which there are around 75 current members – is as old as Oguta itself, tracing its roots back over four centuries to the town’s founding by migrants from the ancient Benin Kingdom.

Despite their ethnic Igbo classification, the people of Oguta maintain a distinct identity. Their dialect, customs and traditions set them apart with a local and diaspora population estimated by various sources to be close to 200,000.

Many of those wanting to become an Ogbuagu choose to go through their ceremonies during the festive Christmas season, allowing families and diaspora communities to come together, often drawing large crowds.

On 21 December, Zubby Ndupu, a petrophysicist who works in Nigeria’s oil sector, began his first stage to becoming a “Leopard Slayer”, known as “Igbu Agu” – when the hunt is re-enacted.

The day started at 09:00, with the Ogbuagu gathering in a large tent at Mr Ndupu’s home. They greeted each other with the clinking of their gold-coloured swords and exchanged pleasantries.

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

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

Women were not allowed to touch the Ogbuagu, enter the gathering or participate in the ceremony, but I watched from nearby.

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

During the ceremony, Mr Ndupu was called forward by the secretary: a palm frond was tied to his wrist, chalk marks were drawn on his hand, and he was given a brand-new gold-coloured sword engraved with his name.

He then moved around the gathering, greeting each Ogbuagu and clinking his sword against theirs four times.

In the afternoon, after the feasting, Mr Ndupu was led in a procession from his home. The “Leopard Slayers” walked in hierarchical order, with the newest initiate, Mr Ndupu, positioned at the end of the line.

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

The second stage, known as “Iga Aji”, is a spiritual segment conducted 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, symbolising royalty, along with sacred beads and feathers.

After receiving his red sash, Mr Okoroafor went around greeting his kinsfolk, who had gathered in tents outside. They celebrated him with cheers of “Ogbuagu!” as they feasted and drank.

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

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

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

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

Mr Adizua had completed his first stage in 2023 but chose to wait until this last December to complete the second and third stages so his daughters – two doctors and a nurse – could attend.

“My children are all done with school. The last boy is the only one in university. A lot 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 their second and third stages in December, can now savour the unmatched prestige that comes with Igbuu membership.

“Leopard Slayers” are addressed by their title “Ogbuagu” throughout Igboland – and beyond.

In Oguta, they alone may stand and greet the king without bowing. Their presence commands respect at all events like weddings where they are given seats of honour.

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

“The title ‘Ogbuagu’ is a name of praise,” explains Mr Aniche. “If you can go into the forest, stalk 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 longest-serving member holds the highest leadership position. The current leader is Emmanuel Udom, now in his early 80s.

In addition to the president, who oversees the group’s affairs and meetings, Igbuu members nominate and elect officials to handle the daily operations and administration. Mr Aniche has served as secretary for the past four years.

“We have members in their mid-40s all the way to their 90s,” said Mr Aniche.

Some prominent Ogbuagu include the late Chukwudifu Oputa, one of Nigeria’s most respected Supreme Court judges; 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 renowned novelist Flora Nwapa.

The Igbuu Society is highly selective. Applicants must own property, have a verifiable income, be married or have been married, and maintain an unblemished reputation.

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

“We are saying now that it is time for this obnoxious, outdated, useless system to be done away with, so that we can be one,” said Oduenyi Nduka, a former secretary of Igbuu who is also the king’s spokesperson.

“If you go to America, some of our sons are married to black Americans, even some Ogbuagu. Those black Americans are products of the same system, so what is 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 enactment of traditional rituals that will officially declare them free of the ohu status.

“Once that is done, the Igbuu will call a meeting and begin to accept them,” Mr Nduka said.

Despite its prestige, some criticise the Igbuu, claiming it benefits only the ego of its members.

At every ceremony I attended, there was at least one person in the crowd murmuring about how the thousands of dollars spent could be better used for developing the town or funding scholarships.

But Mr Aniche disagrees: “Igbuu is not a society where you come to achieve; it is a society you come to because you have already achieved.

“The Ogbuagu have brought more development to Oguta than others. They are the biggest employers of labour.”

Mr Aniche also pointed out that the money spent on feasting and other ceremony requirements circulates back into the local economy.

Today, the Igbuu Society’s membership spans the globe, with nearly half of its members residing in the diaspora. Yet, whether in Europe or the US, Oguta men remain deeply connected to their roots.

“I come back about three times every year because I love the tradition of Oguta,” said Mr Adizua. “With all the stress in the diaspora, I like to come home to unwind.”

For Mr Okoroafor, the journey from a young boy dreaming of the leopard hunt to an esteemed Ogbuagu was well worth the wait.

“Oguta is a beautiful town that has a lot of people who excelled in different areas,” he said, his voice filled with pride.

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

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