In this final section, GODFREY GEORGE states that the once-honored ancestral messengers and guardians of sacred tradition, known as masquerades, are gradually transforming into instruments of fear, violence, and disorder. He expresses the sorrow of many, pointing out that what was once a symbol of spiritual harmony now frequently hides chaos, attacks women, disturbs communities, and results in deaths.
InIn 2018, what was meant to be a joyous celebration of ancestral respect in Umutogume village, located in Oguta LGA of Imo State, became a scene of terror.
On that day, a performer called Udebube, from the nearby Abatu village, fell down and passed away during a show. According to residents, this was not a coincidence.
Soon after, rumors of "juju" began circulating throughout the village. Some thought the mask had been defeated by supernatural powers called forth by the host masquerade group. Two days later, retribution came.
A group of well-equipped individuals, reportedly part of the late person's ceremonial group, attacked Umutogume using AK-47 rifles and machetes.
Amidst the chaos that ensued, two locals were killed by gunfire. Others, such as an 80-year-old grandmother and a camera operator, were found injured on the roads.
The offspring of the 80-year-old, Onyeka Chije, perished immediately. The bones in his mother's leg were broken.
A conventional cultural display had escalated into conflict.
Masquerade festivals, which were once revered as rituals honoring ancestral spirits, have lost their sacredness in various regions of southeastern Nigeria. What was once a representation of spiritual identity and community pride has, in recent years, transformed into a means for revenge, fear, and open criminal activity.
In numerous Igbo communities, the masquerade group (referred to as mmanwu) operates as a male-only secret society.
As people grow older, they gain access to initiation, and the secrecy of the brotherhood once upheld a strict moral code. However, in contemporary times, the masquerade parades have, in certain areas, been taken over by rowdy young people who use the cover of masks to engage in bullying and fear tactics.
In Nsukka, located in Enugu State, the infamous Oriokpa masquerade group became well-known in 2024 after its members violently whipped a nurse, forcing her into a roadside ditch.
Her sole wrongdoing? Strolling through the town square on a day when the masquerades had taken over the public area.
The event caused such a strong reaction that the entire Oriokpa cult was put on hold indefinitely by the Nsukka Town Federated Union, which consists of kings, elders, and youth leaders.
However, these suspensions are uncommon. In the nearby town of Okija, located in Anambra State, mask dancers have turned into a regular threat.
A widow from one of the villages remembered how young men dressed in complete traditional costumes invaded her house, claiming she had come back late from the market. They took her animals, mainly goats and chickens, and killed them in the village square for a shared celebration.
No elders stepped in. No apologies were given. She was informed that her only wrongdoing was breaking the arbitrary costume rule.
What connects these events is not merely the decline of cultural etiquette; it is the violation of what the disguises were intended to symbolize.
A cultural anthropologist from Nnamdi Azikiwe University in Awka, Anambra State, Dr. Ejike Oguejiofor, once stated, “The masquerade is not just a costume; it represents a container of memory, acting as a bridge between the tangible and the unseen. When it is used as a tool for coercion or violence, it is not only the person beneath the mask who is tainted, but the entire community.”
Before colonial rule, masks in Igboland, Yorubaland, and certain areas of the Niger Delta played a key role in legal matters, ethical teaching, and festivities.
They emerged during celebrations, mourning events, or significant life transitions, not to cause terror but to serve as a reminder. Their appearance inspired reverence, not dread. The whips they carried held symbolic meaning, not meant for breaking bones.
Currently, due to weakened traditional institutions and declining community values, these safeguards are disappearing.
Substance misuse, fanatical groups, and aggressive male behavior now appear in traditional attire, concealed by elaborately carved wooden masks.
And when the masquerade results in death, as it did in Umutogume, there is no legal system inside the cult, and no compensation for those who have lost loved ones.
In certain situations, such as in Anambra, the state has been forced to take direct action, announcing that unauthorized masqueraders are wanted, revealing them publicly, and even detaining those who manage them.
Yet, the tragedy extends beyond these individual instances. What is unfolding is not merely a problem of discipline, but a problem of significance.
If the masquerade no longer represents the essence of the forebears but instead serves as a substitute for contemporary aggression, what remains of the mask?
This case should be considered criminal, not cultural," states Emeka Ijeoma, a legal expert and writer of Tradition and the Rule of Law in Contemporary Nigeria. "You cannot put on a mask and assert immunity for murder. Culture ceases where someone else's life starts.
From holy ceremonies to urban performances
From the Egungun celebrations of the Yoruba people to the Okonko and Ekpe groups of the Igbo and Cross River areas, masks once served as holy bridges between the earthly and the divine.
They had significant influences on leadership, ethics, leisure, and the maintenance of societal standards.
Nevertheless, the revered enigma is now being attacked, questioned by contemporary times, political interference, and alarming instances of criminal misconduct.
Era pre-kolonial: Perantara suci dan arsitek masyarakat
In traditional Nigerian communities before colonization, masks were not considered theatrical performances or mere entertainment.
They played a vital role in community life, representing the spirits of ancestors, gods, or universal powers. It was believed that when men put on the mask, they stopped being human.
According to Wole Soyinka in Myth, Literature and the African World (1976), masquerades represent a "metaphysical art form" that bridges time, enabling communication between the living and the deceased.
In The Elements of Igbo Traditional Culture (1984), Professor Nwoga states, 'There was always a clear hierarchy.' 'A young person could not just put on a mask and carry out revenge by claiming it was in the name of ancestors. This behavior would result in both spiritual and social repercussions.'
Currently, these checks have become weaker. Masks are now used without supervision. Activities take place in uncontrolled areas such as streets, markets, and church entrances. What started as festivities has turned into confrontations, leading to innocent people being beaten, robbed, or, in Okoye's case, killed.
The loss of significance is heartbreaking," states Professor Catherine Acholonu, whose research on native African spirituality documented how masking functioned as both amusement and moral teaching. "When masquerades turn into instruments for resolving personal conflicts, we are not witnessing tradition; we are seeing its shadow.
Within the Yoruba culture, the Egungun costume played a significant role in honoring deceased relatives.
The masquerade was more than a performer; it served as a carrier of ancestral strength, functioning as a judge, seer, and source of amusement.
Its arrival signified a significant seasonal celebration and offered ethical direction to those still alive.
In areas where Igbo is spoken, groups such as the Okonkwo and Mmanwu served as religious, political, and legal institutions.
As noted by anthropologist Victor Uchendu in The Igbo of Southeast Nigeria (1965), the Mmanwu was responsible for administering penalties, settling disputes, and conducting ceremonial transitions.
These communities were exclusive, very secretive, and centered around men, maintaining a type of conventional law enforcement.
In the South-South region, especially among the Efik and Ibibio peoples, the Ekpe (or Leopard) society functioned as both a ceremonial mask tradition and a significant political organization.
As noted by historian Eyo Okon Akak in "Efik History and Culture" (1982), the Ekpe was responsible for managing land rights, collecting taxes, and overseeing social advancement.
The masquerade represented the highest power within the group, typically emerging during celebrations, mourning ceremonies, and rites of passage.
Era of Colonization: Oppression and Resistance
The coming of British colonialism in the late 1800s interfered with traditional systems, such as mask-related customs.
Christian missionaries labeled them as "pagan" or "evil," urging followers to stop celebrating ancient festivals.
The colonial administration, concerned about the political influence held by secret groups, prohibited or limited mask performances in various regions.
However, masquerades remained strong. As literary critic Isidore Okpewho outlines in African Oral Literature (1992), this phenomenon is referred to as "cultural camouflage," where communities transformed masquerade traditions into folk theater or cultural performances to escape oppression.
Although part of their original spiritual nature was weakened, masquerades adjusted to new colonial conditions by withdrawing from political roles and focusing on performance aspects.
Era after colonialism: Performance, politics, and blasphemy
Following Nigeria's independence in 1960, a cultural awakening led to the resurgence of traditional celebrations, such as mask dances.
State governments, particularly in the eastern and western areas, started supporting cultural groups and events to boost tourism and foster a sense of cultural pride.
Nevertheless, the post-colonial era also saw the commercialization of masks.
Once-holy ceremonies transformed into theatrical displays for visiting officials or travelers. The mask stopped serving as a carrier of divine power and started to look like a performer in costume.
As Professor Nwando Achebe notes in The Female King of Colonial Nigeria (2011), "tradition turned into a display" under the influences of modern nation-building and globalization.
In recent years, especially in city areas, mask festivals have been affected by violence and lawbreaking.
Reports of impostors demanding money, harassing females, or fighting over territories have surfaced throughout Nigeria. This change has resulted in a crisis of cultural identity.
As sociologist Akpan Eyo mentioned in a 2020 article featured in the Nigerian Journal of Cultural Studies, “masquerade celebrations have lost their ethical direction and are now being utilized as instruments of violence and societal pressure.”
Significance of culture versus ongoing importance
Nevertheless, the traditions of masquerade remain significant in terms of culture, beauty, and spirituality.
In remote areas, the coming of a masquerade is particularly a breathtaking event. The outfits, typically detailed, vibrant, and handcrafted, represent living expressions of artistry and tradition.
Masquerade festivals continue to act as venues for passing down traditional knowledge between generations.
As recognized by UNESCO, the Gelede masquerade of the Yoruba is considered an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, with these celebrations "transmitting moral values, social responsibility, and shared history."
In the core region of the Igbo people, events such as the Ijele in Anambra or the Odo in Nsukka still draw large numbers of attendees and spectators.
The Ijele, typically exceeding 15 feet in height, is regarded as the ruler of all masks and holds great reverence.
Its intricate movements and meaningful gestures help bring clans together and resolve conflicts.
Discrimination based on gender, mistreatment of women
Underneath the ceremonial dances, sculpted masks, and spiritual symbols is a disturbing trend: the exclusion, sidelining, and, more recently, the targeting of women.
Disguise in Nigeria is a cultural and spiritual practice connected to honoring ancestors. It is mainly observed by the Igbo, Yoruba, and Ibibio communities, among others.
However, despite its profound communal and spiritual importance, it has also, throughout history, supported patriarchal systems that suppress women and, in certain instances, put them at risk.
As stated by Professor Uche Nwosu, a historian from the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, in the Journal of African Cultural Studies (2021), “Masquerade groups were hidden male-only organizations established to uphold societal norms, provide entertainment, and enforce ethical standards. Women were deliberately kept out as a means of sustaining male authority within both religious and political domains.”
Ugwueze states, "For example, in Igbo culture, the masquerade or mmanwu is regarded as the spirit of ancestors. Involvement is limited to men who have undergone initiation into particular age groups or secret societies. Women are not only prohibited from taking part but also from witnessing certain masquerades."
In certain communities, the penalties for breaking rules were once very harsh, including public punishment or being excluded from society.
In Yoruba customs, performances such as the Egungun are also primarily led by men. While certain positions, like those of drummers and vocalists, might include women, the core spiritual and performance aspects are solely reserved for males.
In her 2019 article featured in African Traditional Religions and Power Dynamics, Professor Oyewumi Adebayo states that the exclusion of women stems from the idea that they are too spiritually unclean to interact with ancestral spirits.
However, in recent years, this exclusion has evolved into something more sinister. There is a recorded increase in violent acts committed by masqueraders towards women. From rape to beating, sexual harassment to public humiliation, women have increasingly become victims of mistreatment during masquerade celebrations.
A women's rights activist, Mercy Yohan-Davidson, views this as an indication of current lawlessness and past gender inequality.
"Today, masquerading is no longer purely spiritual. It has been taken over by idle, unemployed young people who use the mask to gain unlimited power. And as the tradition already excludes women, they end up being the most vulnerable to violence," she stated.
What sustains this exclusion and mistreatment of women? The explanation stems from a combination of cultural reverence and systemic oversight.
However, achieving gender equality in masquerading is still a far-off objective. A few female masquerades can be found, like the Ekpo and Egbabonelimi in certain areas of Edo State, but they are uncommon and typically representational.
Excluding women from these sacred practices goes beyond cultural norms," states Yohan-Davidson. "It's related to power, control, and the fear of challenging the male hierarchy. Without structural changes, masquerade traditions will remain a means of gender-based oppression.
As Nigeria grapples with issues of modernity, identity, and gender fairness, it must also face the shadows hidden behind the masks. Cultural preservation should never be achieved at the expense of women's security, respect, and equal involvement.
As Joy, a 16-year-old girl from Uyo, powerfully stated: “If this is tradition, perhaps tradition must evolve.”
Improper use of disguises in Igboland concerns local authorities
In various communities across the Southeast, senior citizens, rulers, and community officials are showing increasing worry about the improper use of masquerades, a revered cultural practice that is now more often linked with aggression, coercion, and disorder.
Prohibiting might not be the solution
An anxious senior, Benson Okonkwo, stated that the situation has become so critical that it necessitates a meeting of key parties to gather village leaders and tackle the issue.
As per his statement, after a collective decision is made, it is anticipated that the Igwe-in-Council in the relevant regions will be informed, and any village whose mask-wearer violates the new regulations should encounter significant penalties.
"We must not keep our hands crossed as young men use disguise as a justification for wrongdoing," he stated.
"Arrest them as if they are criminals," says an elder from Abia.
In Isiala Ngwa South LGA, located in Abia State, Chief Gideon Onyendi spoke clearly: individuals disguised as masquerades who intimidate or harm others should be considered criminals.
He stated, in a recent publication, that although disguising oneself is a part of cultural heritage, employing threats, coercion, or physical harm to extort money from pedestrians is not acceptable.
"If you wish to donate money to a masquerade, it must be done willingly. Violence is a criminal act and must be dealt with appropriately," he emphasized.
The Imo community establishes the direction for change.
In Umuneke-Nna, Ugiri, Isiala Mbano, Imo State, Eze Jude Onyenagbaru stated that his community identified the increasing misuse of the masquerade tradition at an early stage and implemented measures.
"At the beginning, we completely stopped disguising ourselves due to the violence linked to it. However, following conversations with the young people, we decided on a peaceful transformation," he mentioned in a report.
Now, masquerades take place only twice a year—during the New Yam Festival and the Christmas season—and are governed by established guidelines.
Registration and oversight in Enugu
Senior Odoja Ossai from the Amufie community in Enugu State mentioned that his people have implemented a numbering system for all traditional dancers.
This facilitates the easy detection of defaulters. The community has also prohibited masquerades from carrying whips or weapons.
Direct prohibition would disturb the spirits," he stated. "Instead, we have established a monitoring committee to maintain order.
Culture vs. Confusion
Retired Professor Damian Opata from Nsukka highlighted a key difference between "masquerade" and "masking." He noted that the term "masquerade" is frequently used incorrectly, leading to misunderstandings, particularly among those not familiar with the tradition.
Opata pointed out that in conventional environments, organizations such as Omaba and Oriokpa fulfilled ethical and moral functions.
He mentioned that, for example, Oriokpa in Lejja does not focus on outsiders, children, or married women. Rather, it functions as a social reflection, ridiculing men who linger at night or women seen as improper.
Opata attributed the decrease in these values to Christianity, modernity, and cultism.
Minimum age regulation brings back order in Obosi
In Obosi, located in Anambra State, the traditional leader, Igwe Iweka III, implemented a significant change by increasing the minimum age for those who can participate in masquerade events.
Currently, only males who are 40 years old or older are permitted to wear the mask. Christopher Oyimadu, a community leader, stated that this change has helped reduce young people's misconduct and has restored the masquerade tradition to its proper place as an esteemed cultural performance.
"This method has contributed to maintaining our culture and bringing structure back to the practice," he stated.
Reviving the Sacred
A researcher in theatre at Lagos State University, Dr. Tunji Azeez, has extensively explored Yoruba masked performances, especially the Egungun.
In his essay "Masquerade Theatre and the Contemporary Nigerian Space" (2018), he cautions that what was once a serious, sacred representation of community values and ancestral dignity has been "lowered in value and used for entertainment, political activism, and criminal concealment."
As per Azeez, the resurgence should start with rigorous cultural oversight by indigenous guardians: “Only trained elders and selected families ought to manage mask ceremonies. The community needs to dismiss commercialized versions that misrepresent their intent.”
In the same way, Dr. Egodi Uchendu, a professor of History and Gender Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, highlights that Igbo mask traditions like Mmanwu were historically connected to ethical teaching, societal control, and the administration of justice.
In her 2021 paper titled 'Masquerade and Social Regulation in Precolonial Igbo Society,' she wrote, 'Mmanwu was more than just a dance; it resolved conflicts, corrected misbehavior, and instilled fear to prevent misconduct.'
As per Uchendu, regaining that role requires supporting local histories and narratives that clarify the beginnings and spiritual guidelines associated with every mask.
"When children understand that the masquerade represents the ancestors and is not just a person in a costume, we start to reshape cultural awareness," she states.
This cultural awareness is frequently absent in post-colonial cityscapes, where traditional disguises have turned mostly into performances.
According to Professor Ebiegberi Joe Alagoa, a renowned historian and the founder of the Niger Delta Cultural Centre, as mentioned in his 1999 publication “Tradition and Change in African Civilisations,” the masquerade traditions of the South-South region, including the Owu, Nwaotam, and Okorosha, were closely tied to the ritual calendar, symbolizing seasonal transitions, social advancement, and maintaining harmony.
"Masquerades in Kalabari, Nembe, and Ijaw communities were both feared and respected. Interfering with them was seen as a violation of divine laws," he stated.
Alagoa pointed out that, at present, the rituals have lost their connection to their spiritual foundations.
As he sees it, the costumes are still present, but their significance has been weakened.
He emphasized that restoring the genuine essence of disguise requires a comprehensive strategy.
A social observer, Dr. Ikechukwu Ugwueze, stated that communities should initially inform the youth about the origin tales, spiritual guidelines, and moral obligations associated with their local mask traditions.
Notable literary figures such as Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka have frequently explored these themes. In Things Fall Apart, Achebe illustrates how the egwugwu represents justice and a connection to the ancestors. In Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horseman, the mask holds more significance than just a symbol; it embodies the divine. When the sacred is reduced to the mundane, societal structure breaks down.
Second, police departments need to start differentiating between authentic cultural customs and illegal activities that are disguised as traditions.
We can no longer accept a situation in which masked groups assault female vendors in markets or extort unlawful fees in urban areas.
State governments ought to grant cultural operation permits, and any group discovered misusing mask-related privileges should face legal consequences.
Ugwueze, a senior lecturer at the University of Nigeria in Nsukka, Enugu State, stated:
Cultural festivals, which have increasingly become financial centers for fake costume processions, should revert to their genuine roots.
Instead of offering prize money for the most intense performance, honors should be awarded to communities that preserve sacred traditions, maintain clean aesthetics, and carry forward the narrative legacy of the mask.
The National Council for Arts and Culture has a part to play in this matter. They should collaborate with local guardians to establish uniform masquerade traditions and incorporate cultural education into school syllabuses.
Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (Syndigate.info).
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