“When the moon is full, the drums will speak;
When the truth is sung, the wise will seek.
A song may end, but not its soul;
In the heart of time, it leaves a hole.
For words once strung on strings of lore,
Can shake a throne, or heal a sore.”
As a bard, Ọyịma did not merely reflect society’s view of romance; he refined it. His own life – grounded in the values of fidelity, empathy, communal wisdom, and emotional honesty – shone through his music. He lived what he sang: that love is not a performance but a practice; not a possession, but a partnership; not a conquest, but a covenant. Across all these, we see a bard not merely serenading love, but interrogating it – stripping it of illusion and anchoring it in empathy, emotion, and experience. Life Ọyima became the emotional archivist of Ezikeọba, chronicling how love, in its joys and betrayals, shapes human destiny. And so, Life Ọyịma stands immortal not just as a singer of songs, but as a custodian of emotional intelligence, a lyrical priest of affection in a world where love often loses its way. Through Ọjịlè, he sang us back to ourselves – reminding us that in love, as in life, it is not eloquence that matters most, but essence.
But Ọyịma was not just a lover’s laureate. Beyond romantic themes, the bard dug deep into the communal wellspring of traditional wisdom. If Igbo philosophy is a tree, then its roots lie deep in proverbs, its trunk in folktales, and its fruit in song. Life Ọyịma drew from that sacred tree – plucking melodies rich in moral caution, social reflection, and ancestral wisdom. As a village philosopher, he leverage the songs to transform melody into moral wisdom. His folk songs -Ngalanga, Abere, Uzuza Aroke, and Kaparaba Sekurene – form a quartet of insight, revealing the ethical architecture of Ezikeọba and Igbo thought. With this quartet, Oyima returned to the cradle of Ezikeọba lore, dusting off ancient proverbs and reanimating folk tales with musical breath. These were not nursery rhymes. They were philosophical templates, encoded in fable and enacted in everyday life.
In “Ngalanga”, Ọyịma returns to folktale’s oldest lesson: wit often wins where strength fails, warning that brains must accompany biceps. The song stages the eternal duel between Tortoise (Mbekwu) and Lion (Ọdụm) – not merely animals, but symbols. Lion stands for brute force, Tortoise for strategic wisdom. It is David versus Goliath, told with rhythm and Igbo logic. Here, the sly tortoise takes on the mighty lion. But this wasn’t mere fable; it was a parable of resistance – that in a world tilted to the powerful, cunning can level the field. Ọyịma reminded Ezikeoba youth that brain often trumps brawn, and that strategy is a weapon of the small. “Ngalanga” is Ọyịma’s ode to cunning over brute force. The sly tortoise outwits the mighty lion – a parable that upholds Igbo valorisation of wit over might, wisdom over warfare. It reminds us that in life, survival often belongs not to the strongest, but the most strategic.
This theme resonates deeply with Igbo philosophy which prizes amamihe (wisdom) over ike (power). The Igbo man is taught not just to fight, but to think before fighting, to speak with reason, to act with foresight. Ọyịma re-inventes this ancestral ethic, reminding us that it is not always the loudest roar that wins, but the cleverest whisper. In a world where might increasingly masquerades as right, Ngalanga is a gentle protest – a folkloric parable about the survival of the thoughtful. In a world obsessed with force, it is often the guile that survives; in the jungle of life, it is not always the roar that wins, but the ruse. Through the rhythms of Ngalanga, Ọyịma interrogates society’s glorification of brawn and brutal dominance. He reminds us that wisdom may wear rags, but it builds empires; that those dismissed as lowly may possess the maps out of labyrinths. It is a song of resistance, a paean to the oppressed, a coded call to the downtrodden: “Your strength is not in your size, but in your strategy.” From Ezikeọba to the broader Igbo world, the message is clear: he who lacks strength must not lack sense.
In “Abere”, Life warned against pride and choosiness wrapped in beauty. Here, the bard moved away from metaphors and moral hints into a full-blown tragic parable – the haunting story of a beautiful spinster; whose pride became her prison. Abere, named and known for her dazzling looks, stood tall at the summit of desirability. Suitors came – noble, noble-born, accomplished, kind – but she turned them away, one by one, blinded by her own self-admiration and an illusory quest for the perfect man, or rather the most handsome man on earth! Yet in life, as in nature, time waits for no beauty. When her youth began to fade, a mysterious suitor came – charming, articulate, otherworldly. Abere fell. She chose, albeit too late, too carelessly. But alas, she had chosen a spirit in disguise, a phantom who led her not to matrimony but into mystic oblivion. She married not a man, but a malevolence in human form – and was consumed by the very thing she thought was her reward. Here, Ọyịma unpacked the peril of pride, the trap of perfectionism, and how choices, once delayed or driven by vanity, can court destruction.
Ọyịma does not merely tell a ghost story. He holds a philosophical lens to a timeless social problem – the tyranny of choice and the mirage of perfection. In Abere, he interrogates how beauty can become both blessing and burden, how ego, dressed in elegance, can dance a woman into her doom. But deeper still, he warns society: that in a culture obsessed with outward appearance, we may be setting up our daughters for delusion, disillusionment, and even destruction. Through this song, Ọyịma affirms the ancient Igbo adage: “Agbacha oso a guo mile” – after the race, we count the miles. For some, the count comes too late. In Abere’s tragedy, we see Ọyịma not just as a bard, but a prophet of consequence – one who sings not only of events, but of errors that echo through time.
In this lyrical parable, “Abere” becomes both needle and metaphor – slender, sharp, yet elusive when sought too fastidiously. Ọyịma interrogates the peril of perfectionism: what happens when one keeps searching for the Golden Fleece and overlooks the wool that would have warmed the soul? In his idiomatic cadence, he warns that those who delay too long in picking a spouse may find that the market has closed, the options grown lean, and the years unforgiving. His message is wrapped not in panic, but in prudence: “Too much sieving may waste the flour.” Thus, Ọyịma elevates marital choice to a philosophical act – a balancing of ideals and realities, a weighing of hearts more than hips, and a test of wisdom beyond mere attraction. He sings not just to guide, but to awaken: “Choose with eyes open, but love with your soul full.”
In the lyrical parable of “Ụzụza Aroke,” the legendary bard of Ezikeọba, Life Ọyịma, weaves a profound morality tale wrapped in folklore and philosophy. Eze, a polygamist, sets a powerful charm beneath the Ụzụza Aroke tree to ward off witches. He warns his wives never to dump refuse there. But one wife’s daughter, unaware of the warning, does so and is lifted into the tree by mystical forces. Her mother pleads – and because the girl acted in innocence, she is spared and rewarded. But the envious co-wife, seeking similar fortune, deliberately commands her own daughter to replicate the act. This time, the result is horrific — the girl is killed, and her body parts rain down from the tree.
Here, Life Ọyịma does not just tell a story; he interrogates law, morality, and intent. It is a layered commentary on ignorance, envy, divine justice, and the dual standards of guilt and innocence in human affairs. This is where Life Ọyịma strikes his moral crescendo. He does not moralize. He does not condemn. Instead, he allows Ezikeọba proverbial lore to sing through the story: “Amag ama ang egbu nwa eene.” (Ignorance or innocence does not kill a person.) This is a radical inversion of Western legal jurisprudence, where the maxim stands firm and cold: “Ignorantia legis non excusat” – Ignorance of the law is no excuse. In Western law, intent is often secondary; what matters is that the law was broken. Whether out of ignorance or intention, culpability is assigned, penalties enforced. But in Ezikeọba traditional wisdom, motive matters, and moral innocence is seen as a shield. A child, unaware of the law, is not a criminal but a victim of omission. And yet, this same worldview does not indulge willful recklessness. In a powerful counterpoint, the elders say: “Amag ama ang egbu nwa eene, ma ne magọ jeere ekle chi n’ọnụ.” (Yes, ignorance doesn’t kill, but whoever knowingly embarks on a dangerous journey should blame his chi – his personal god or destiny.) Thus, Ezikeọba cosmology affirms two parallel truths: Innocence invites mercy. Intentional disobedience invites judgment. The daughter of the first wife acted without knowledge. Her innocence saved her. The daughter of the envious wife knew – and died. This juxtaposition of consequence elevates “Ụzụza Aroke” from mere folklore to judicial philosophy, where justice is not blind, but discerning. It listens, weighs intent, and reacts proportionately. At its core, the song is a grave warning against envy – that slow poison of the soul. Envy, Ọyịma teaches, does not hurt the envied; it kills the envious, often by the very hand it extends for harm. The woman consumed by jealousy loses not her rival, but her own child. Her greed for parity becomes her portal to grief.
This tale, told with rhythms of Ọjịlè, and embellished with wit, wisdom, and melody, carries forward the legal-philosophical heritage of Ezikeọba. In a world where courts dismiss intent and systems overlook motive, Ọyịma’s folk wisdom offers a refreshingly humane perspective – where law and life intersect, not in statutes, but in stories. And perhaps that is the ultimate power of the bardic tradition. It teaches not through coercion but through conscience. It does not dictate – it illuminates. It leaves the listener wiser, not because of a decree, but because of a dilemma resolved within the soul. With “Ụzụza Aroke”, Life Ọyịma wrote no law, but he laid down a moral code. In his death, the tree of his wisdom still stands – firm, tall, unshaken.
Then came “Kaparaba Sẹkurẹnẹ”, where humour met hard truth. With unfiltered hilarity and biting wisdom, Ọyịma offers a song that is both comedy and caution. Kaparaba Sẹkurẹnẹ is a musical theatre, where Ikenejeọgu, a carefree bachelor, meets his fate in the arms of marriage. Once a swaggering ladies’ man, marriage becomes his crucible of reform, shaving his ego, tightening his recklessness, and dragging him through the furnace of reality. The straying bachelor is pulled into marriage and forced to mature. It is the tale of a gallivanting bachelor who, after years of unbridled freedom, meets his match in marriage. The song, wrapped in humour, carried an ageless moral: that marriage is the ultimate disciplinarian – a crucible of compromise, maturity, and unexpected growth. That marriage is not a punishment, but a process – a refining fire, a teacher of temperance, and a sculptor of ego. What the cane of the village elders could not correct, the curfews of marital duty and the gaze of a discerning wife achieved effortlessly. Ikenejeọgu’s new wife succeeds in luring him away from his unquenchable thirst for wrestling in the village arena to engaging him in a romantic wrestling bout in their matrimonial bed (bed gymnastics), from thence they begin to procreate until they had not one, not two, not three but many children!
Ọyịma laughed with us, but he was teaching: that marriage is the University of Life, a disciplinarian that files down the edges of waywardness with the rough stone of responsibility. This song reflects a core Igbo belief: freedom without responsibility leads to folly. Life Ọyịma shows that marriage, far from being a cage, is a crucible; it burns away childishness and forges character. In this song, Life Ọyịma does not demonize the bachelor’s wild years. He laughs with him, not at him. But he also lovingly reveals the limits of libertinism, pointing to the deeper joys of maturity, stability, and sacrificial love. Through satire, he unfolds the truth that while bachelorhood may feel like a festival, it is often a flight from becoming.
Marriage, he argues with melody, instils wisdom in the frivolous, rhythm in the reckless, and meaning in the mundane. It brings a man down from the abstract heights of fantasy and seats him at the table of shared burdens and quiet joys. In Ikenejeogu’s transformation, we witness a rite of passage – from boyhood to manhood, from impulse to intention, from swagger to stewardship. Thus, “Kaparaba Sekurene” is more than comic relief; it is Ọyịma’s lyrical epistle on how life eventually leads every man to a moment where he must trade his roaming for roots, his pleasure for purpose, and his ego for empathy. And it is in that crucible – the marital chamber, not the village wrestling arena – that the most enduring virtues of manhood are forged. What Ọyịma sings here is no less than this truth: Marriage is not just romance; it is an academy of character. It breaks and remakes, disciplines and deepens. His listeners laugh, but they leave thoughtful, knowing full well that, in Ezikeọba, marriage is the mirror of manhood and the anvil of wisdom.
Together, these four songs form a philosophical compass – pointing toward Igbo ideals of wisdom, moderation, empathy, and self-discipline. Through them, Life Ọyịma becomes not merely a singer, but a griot of moral memory, a vessel through which Ezikeọba oral philosophy found lyrical flesh. They show Ọyịma as not just a bard but a folk philosopher – distilling Igbo metaphysics, morality, and social pedagogy into palatable performances, a philosopher with a flute, a moralist with a melody. He filtered Igbo cosmology, values, and ethics into verses that dance yet direct, amuse yet admonish. He reminded us, through music, that the true measure of life is not in status or strength, but in how wisely we speak, love, choose, envy, and endure. His was the pedagogy of the palm-wine parlour, of fire-side tales that carry truth in jest.
.Agbedo is a professor of Linguistics, University of Nigeria Nsukka, Fellow of Netherlands Institute for Advanced Study, and Public Affairs Analyst
