Nsukka, Nigeria — Since early childhood, Chidi Nwaohia’s life has swung like a pendulum between two spiritual paths: Christianity and African traditional religion.
His life was always marked by mystery, says the 59-year-old who was raised a devout nondenominational Christian in Amachi Nsulu, near Aba in southeast Nigeria.
Before he had turned a year old, he strayed overnight and went missing. “I was found the next morning in the same trench they searched the previous day,” he said.
Three days later, he had a sudden fit and fell gravely ill. His parents took him to a hospital, but when his condition did not improve, they approached a traditional healer for answers. The dibia (priest and medicine man) attributed his illness to the gods, saying it was a sign of Nwaohia’s inescapable destiny to lead his people in the ancient traditions of the Igbo people.
“The dibia said I was the reincarnation of my grandfather,” Nwaohia said. “His return to the earth as a powerful traditional priest was foretold [before he died].”
Such doctrine is not uncommon in cultures and spiritual practices across West Africa. But Nwaohia’s mother, due to her deep Christian faith, received the prophecy with doubt and kept it from her son.
When Nwaohia turned 17 in 1983, he was baptised. But on the day of the baptism, he had an accident. “While riding my motorbike home with the man who baptised me, I suddenly veered into the bush and sustained fleshly injuries, but my co-rider was unscathed,” he said, later coming to the conclusion that it was a sign he was on the wrong path.
But back then, Nwaohia was still ignorant of the prophecy, so at age 18, he became a Bible teacher at a church in his hometown.
After another road accident – a car crash in 1987 – left him with a limp and leg injuries he said would not heal despite years of hospital care, he took a friend’s advice and went to a medicine man for help. The wounds, the dibia told him, were signs that Nwaohia’s calling to the priesthood in the African traditional faith was due.
Nwaohia, then 23, told his mother what the dibia said. She finally revealed the prophecy she received about him many years ago. Although she was hesitant about it, he felt his path was now clearer, and gradually, he accepted his new spiritual role.
“People who identify and follow their true path will thrive, while those who stray will face difficulties until they find their way back,” said Nwaohia, who claims his leg injury healed on its own after he embraced his calling.
He was officially ordained a dibia in 1993, in an elaborate ceremony that included prayers, rituals of purification and vision, as well as frenzied dances, drumming and initiations. Other spiritualists offered Igbo prayers to Chukwu (the supreme being), Ndi Ichie (the ancestors), and the gods and spirits that control the physical and spiritual worlds, asking for acceptance, guidance, protection and blessings.
Christianity is the number one religion in Nigeria, a country of more than 200 million people. But in the years since Nwaohia changed his spiritual path, a growing number of young people have been moving away from monotheistic faiths towards Indigenous African beliefs, according to religious leaders and observers Al Jazeera spoke to.
There is a dearth of data and research on the issue, observers said, but they started noticing the trend in the early 2000s. Many attribute it to growing apathy towards Christianity, but some say pastors focusing on material wealth over spiritual wellbeing – something contrary to the Bible’s teachings – leads people to consider alternative religious options.
Coexistence or irreconcilable differences?
Christianity was first brought to Nigeria by Portuguese traders and slavers in the 15th century. However, the faith was restricted to the coastal areas of the country where they were based. It remained so until the arrival of British colonialists in the 19th century. The Christian faith then spread to various parts of Nigeria through the efforts of missionaries and some emancipated slaves.
But before the introduction of Christianity and other monotheistic faiths like Islam, Nigerians had a religious belief system focused on deep connections with the ancestors, the physical and spiritual worlds, and community-specific deities.
Today, many converts leaving Christianity face opposition at home. Nwaohia’s mother, for one, was initially unhappy about his decision to become a dibia, seeing his conversion as an affront to her beliefs.
Families of converts also fear the social stigma associated with traditional beliefs. Many communities view ancestors, divination and other spiritual rites with mistrust. Worshippers can face severe discrimination, with beliefs branded “pagan”, “demonic” or “witchcraft”. This reflects colonial missionaries’ influence, which portrayed Indigenous faith as archaic and spiritually perilous, observers say.
However, for adherents of African traditional religion, both beliefs often coexist.
Some people attend church on Sundays while seeking advice from a dibia at other times, all the while participating in both Christian and traditional rituals like naming ceremonies or funerals.
The adherents of traditional faith interviewed by Al Jazeera say all religious divinity is captured in their pantheon, including the Christian God. As a result, many blend Christian and Indigenous practices.
This approach to religion has become attractive in a society where religious zealotry has caused division and violence, including conflict between Christians and Muslims.
Echezona Obiagbaosogu, 49, a former Catholic priest who now practises both Christian and traditional faiths, recounted the story of a man who remained both a devoted Christian and a rainmaker, even serving on the parish council until his death. However, despite such examples of harmonious coexistence, he noted that some zealous preachers say the faiths are incompatible.
The search for personal conviction is inspiring a return to the kind of faith many Africans link to their roots. Obiagbaosogu, at one point in his journey as a priest, found himself questioning whether his spiritual path was truly in sync with his inner convictions.
“I felt that maybe my personal relationship with God needed something more from me,” he said, without elaborating on what he felt was missing. After seven years of internal struggle and finding no relief in Christianity, he embraced traditional religion in 2022, his 16th year as a priest.
He had also faced similar challenges in the seminary where he studied, leading him to start a society for African culture with his colleagues to explore African religious concepts or practices and their place in Christianity.
Obiagbaosogu believes both traditional and Christian religious practices offer different perspectives on understanding the supernatural.
“Humans crown realities and create concepts, and we become slaves to the concepts we create. Nothing happens when you decide to recuse yourself from the concepts,” he said.
‘Easy money’
Beyond the spiritual aspects, some say flawed perceptions and the search for easy wealth have also contributed to the growing trend of young people moving from Christianity to African traditional religion.
Many young people embrace traditional beliefs thinking it will lead to wealth, some clergy say, due to the belief that alignment with the deities and spirits can grant blessings, financial breakthroughs or supernatural aid in personal and economic endeavours.
“They are very interested in money, and the African traditional religion offers them an easy way to make some,” said Anthony Oluba, a Catholic priest.
But some argue that it is in fact Christian churches’ emphasis on material wealth that has caused them to want to leave the religion.
Kingsley Akunwafor, 31, a tailor and former Catholic, said the commercialisation of some Christian churches and their preference for wealthy individuals undermines religious credibility and has led to growing apathy towards Christianity.
Clerics demand offerings for miracles and blessings, distracting the Christian church from core responsibilities, including the spiritual welfare of members, said Akunwafor, who requested a pseudonym as he now practises traditional beliefs in secret.
Some clergy are also accused of wanting to make money off the church for personal gain.
Joel Ugwoke, an Anglican priest, told Al Jazeera he knows a businessman who lost confidence in the institution after he sold a Pentecostal pastor a power generator for the church. The pastor asked the businessman to inflate the price on invoices to the church so that he could pocket the difference without arousing suspicion.
Chinedu Oshaba, 37, another former Catholic, embraced traditional faith more than a decade ago after witnessing the Church prioritising money over empathy.
A devoted member was denied a church burial because of unpaid levies. With no one to settle her debt, another church of a different denomination eventually conducted her funeral. “They stripped her of her membership, throwing away all her years of dedication,” Oshaba said.
Many orthodox churches collect monthly or annual levies from members, including to feed priests and bishops, maintain church buildings, and help bury members. However, in Indigenous faith, burial rites are granted to all members regardless of financial status. Oshaba sees this as an advantage over Christian churches, where the bereaved are charged for funeral services, including fees for officiating clerics and church facilities.
Some Christian clerics have observed the trend of more people seemingly moving towards African spirituality. There are ongoing reforms and conversations across diverse denominations on how to appeal to worshippers, religious leaders said.
Oluba’s Catholic congregation, for instance, appeals to people by providing support with agriculture, through training opportunities and grants, while Anglican priest Ugwoke says he is careful about his approach to church doctrine and how he teaches it.
“I practise what I preach because they [the congregation] focus more on me than what I preach,” Ugwoke told Al Jazeera.
‘Christianity may be dislodged’
Christianity through colonialism became prominent in Nigeria in the 20th century, quickly being introduced in schools in the southern part of the country. The spread was sometimes marked by violence, which killed people and displaced the Indigenous peoples who survived.
“When you deceive or conquer one, two, or three generations of a people, there’ll always be the descendant generations that will defy you, having known the truth by themselves and for themselves,” said Chijioke Ngobili, a historian.
Now, as social media empowers free speech, more young people are speaking up about the colonial atrocities in Nigeria. This, some observers say, is creating a threat to the dominance of Christianity.
“With young adherents of Indigenous spirituality potentially becoming future intellectuals, politicians, capitalists and policymakers, Christianity may be dislodged,” said Ngobili, who is also an adherent of traditional faith.
Some churches have reported a scarcity of young members, who are often the ones to lead music and singing during church sessions. “One church even stopped using musical instruments because its young male members left for Indigenous faith,” said Oluba, the Catholic priest.
With more young people leaving, Oluba worries about the church losing its role as a beacon of morality and conscience in society. Meanwhile, other clerics worry about the young people embracing traditional faith to use it to gain wealth and power through black magic.
However, historian Ngobili argues that dark forces are not inherent to traditional faith, but rather brought in by those with negative intentions.
“The bad ones take their vices – such as greed, desire for wealth without work, instant gratification, violence, among others – into the practice of Indigenous faiths,” he said.
The misuse of certain powerful practices and processes is what tarnishes the image of traditional faith, he said, leading to societal mistrust and reinforcing negative stereotypes.
African way of worship
At sunset on a day in January, in his hometown of Amachi Nsulu, Nwaohia gathered outdoors on the grounds of his shrine, preparing to invoke the gods.
With his index finger, he marked the outer sides of his eyes with a white kaolin before gulping a mouthful of gin from a bottle. Then, with a pinch of kola nut between his fingers, he moved slowly between the various figurines of his oracles, decorated in animal blood.
“Our ancestors eat kola. Spirits drink,” he said, sprinkling pieces of kola nut and droplets of gin.
Since converting, Nwaohia has been absorbed deeply in what he believes is the true faith that draws him closer to the spirits of his ancestry, and the goodwill of his forefathers, diligently following the rules of rituals he has learned.
The African way of worship sees prayers take place in the morning and at sunset, often accompanied by libations, with hot drinks, kola nut and kaolin. Stones, carved images and trees are considered homes for the gods, and are often used as the representation of their presence.
Then there are annual and seasonal festivals to mark the harvest seasons, as well as masquerade ceremonies. Offerings, including kola nut, yams, other food or sacrificial animals, are made at shrines to seek blessings, protection or guidance. Blood sacrifices of fowls or goats are performed to appease spirits or mark events.
But there is no written law to guide adherents into specific acts.
Worshippers believe that there is a connection between humans and natural elements like the earth, water, plants and animals, and that certain wrongdoings – including murder, adultery and injustice – are not just an offence against humans but the entirety of nature.
Instead of gathering in a common assembly, like churches, members largely spend quiet times in reflection and seeking truth and fairness in their own actions.
But for converts, this can present a challenge: a lack of mentors. For a faith based on personal meditation, without leaders who guide and give sermons in churches, new worshippers can wallow in confusion.
This, when added to the shrouded nature of certain ritualistic practices in the faith, provides a less organised structure for learning and understanding key doctrines.
Young adherents from Christian homes often bear the brunt, as there is no generational transfer of knowledge.
“When I left the church, my father set up my shrine for me and taught me everything,” said Oshaba, whose father had converted to African traditional religion before he was born. But most others do not have a guide.
In extreme cases, stigma causes family and friends to ostracise new converts. For this reason, Akunwafor says he is forced to occasionally attend the Catholic Church to avoid being sidelined by his friends and relatives.
The tailor has practised his traditional faith secretly since he converted about five years ago.
“I am very bothered by my inability to practise my faith openly because of wrong perceptions about it, but I’m hopeful that my God will give me confidence eventually,” he said.
Similarly, Obiagbaosogu did not have an easy transition. “I lost friends,” he told Al Jazeera. “My relationship with others may not have been smooth, but we are moving forward and I’m building new connections.”
However, on rare occasions, loved ones do come around. In Nwaohia’s case, although his mother was initially displeased, eventually the whole family welcomed his new life as a traditional priest.
“My God has prospered me,” Nwaohia said. “I’ve not had any reason to cry since I became a dibia.”
By Chibuike Nwachukwu,
Al Jazeera
