Something is happening across continents — from the hills of Igalaland to the valleys of America, from the dusty paths of Osun to the incense-filled temples of India. A spiritual U-turn is taking place. The youth are returning to the gods their fathers forsook. They are walking away from the pews, pulpit, and prayer houses — some in quiet rebellion, others in loud desperation. In Igalaland, churches no longer hold them; ancestral shrines now do. They want power. They want answers. They want money. They want something that works. “What has religion done for us?” they ask. Some do not wait for an answer. They run — to the hills, to the rivers, to the ancient things. The Holy Bible is on the shelf; the oracle is on the floor. Some even mix it all — a little Jesus, a little juju, and a touch of Instagram or facebook.
In Igbo land, the tide is no different. The gospel was preached. The mosques were built. Revivals were held. But now, a strange breeze is blowing. The same youths who once shouted “Holy Ghost fire!” at crusades now burn incense before carved images. Some kneel before ancestral stones, others bathe with spiritual soaps in rivers they once called “idolatrous.” It is not just rebellion — it is reaction. Reaction to joblessness. To betrayal. To unanswered prayers. Many feel that both Jesus and Mohammed have failed them. So they return to Ala, Amadioha, and Ogwugwu — not always from belief, but from fatigue.
But the land is crying. Because this return is not pure. This is not the worship of our forefathers who offered kola nuts and lived by truth. No. What we now see is laced with darkness. These native doctors — many of them — are not the priests of the land. They are initiates of secret covens, modern occultists in traditional clothing. They smile, but they slaughter. They promise wealth, but trade destinies. They offer rings, but steal futures.
It is heartbreaking. Too many youths are dying mysteriously. Some don’t wake up after wealth rituals. Others walk naked on the road days after returning from “consultations.” I recently saw a video of a young man on Facebook. He said he would not live past forty. He had visited a place for money, and they gave him wealth but placed an expiry date on his life. He smiled as he spoke. He said it was worth it. That is the face of this movement. That is the tragedy.
The hunger is real — but the bread is poisoned. The river may quench thirst, but it drowns many. What our youths call “ancestral spirituality” is often a well with no bottom, a fire that doesn’t warm, only burns. Some of these youths are unknowingly laying their destinies on altars built with blood. Some are dedicating themselves to forces that cannot be reversed. Others are submitting to covenants they will never fully understand. The smiling face of the Atama Ebo or Dibia hides the fangs of spiritual slavery. Many are walking into cages disguised as freedom.
And yet, the church is quiet. The mosque is silent. The fathers are tired. The mothers are confused. Society is watching — and the devil is recruiting.
A generation that should be healing the land is now haunting it. They were meant to be Daniels in Babylon. Instead, they are drinking the wine of Babylon. They were born to speak like Isaiah. Instead, they now chant like Balaam. The Igala proverb says, “If the dog forgets the hunter’s whistle, it will become food for the wild.” Our youths are forgetting the whistle — the call of truth, the path of light.
But what makes this even more painful is the fact that even some of our own spiritual leaders — the very ones who should be shepherding the flock — are abandoning the fight. Reverend Fathers have resigned, some even taking up ancestral worship themselves. How can we, as a community, expect our youth to stay on the right path when their very leaders are turning to what they once condemned? The likes of Dr. Abel Damina and others, who has twisted the Bible upside down and reshaped it to suit his personal agenda, have caused further confusion. He has led many astray with a distorted gospel, one that no longer aligns with the teachings that our fathers of faith used to lay the foundation for the church in Africa. This twisting of Scripture for retaliation is leaving our youth vulnerable to the destructive forces of falsehood.
But Jesus is real. His power is still greater. His truth is still the only way. The Holy Bible has not lost its power. The light of Christ can still break through the darkness — if only we would stop entertaining and start enlightening. If only we would stop performing rituals and start sharing the truth.
We need fathers again. We need mothers again. Not just biological, but spiritual. Voices like Apostle Ayo Babalola, TB Joshua Juanita and Baba Abiye and even Juanita Bynum, who once cried, “You cannot be spiritual and be a stranger to truth.” The youth are listening — but who is speaking?
Let us go back to our roots — not to worship the trees, but to plant new seeds. Let us enter the forest — not to bow to stones, but to raise altars of righteousness. Let us drink from the river — not to invoke spirits, but to refresh our tired souls in truth.
The Igala proverb says, “A tree does not fall without a sound; when a soul is dying, it gives signs.” Our youth are signaling. Dying. Groaning. But they can rise again.
It is time to return to the God who does not trade in blood, but offers it. Who does not demand your soul for riches, but gave His own for your rescue. His name is not forgotten. His voice is not gone. The rain can still fall. And when it does, the fire of deception will be quenched.
Let the altars be rebuilt — not of clay and blood, but of truth and love that Jesus offers as the light of the world. Give your heart to Jesus today!
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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