At the age of 60, Nigerian businessman and healthcare professional Ken Okoroafor has achieved his childhood dream and earned the coveted title of “Leopard Killer”.
Jubilant crowds gathered as he was inducted into the prestigious and all-male Igbu society in his hometown of Oguta, in southeastern Nigeria.
In ancient times, killing a leopard was not only an act of bravery, but a ritual feat that conferred social prestige.
To become a “Leopard Killer”, known as “Ogbuagu” in the Igbo language, a man had to give a leopard – which he himself had hunted and killed – to the local king. His meat was then distributed in 25 villages around Oguta.
Over time, the practice developed and people no longer had to hunt the leopard themselves.
My mother recalls a leopard carcass lying in their living room in 1955 when her father took over the title. He was caught by a professional hunter.
She remembers eating leopard meat twice in the past: “It tastes wild and a little salty.”
Conservation concerns then halted the use of leopards as they became rare in the region. The last known sacrifice of a leopard took place in 1987.
Once widespread throughout Nigeria, leopards can now only be found in a few national parks, where they are protected.
Today, the financial equivalent – a significant but undisclosed sum – is distributed among the heads of families in 25 villages, maintaining the communal spirit of the tradition.
“In Oguta when you join this society, you get respect and join them in most decisions in the town,” said Mr. Okoroafor, who lived in the US for decades but returned to his roots and became Ogbuagu.
“It appealed to 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 dates back to 1942 when a man named Mberekpe Ojirika captured a leopard for a ceremony, but then his mother passed away.
Tradition dictated that Ojirika must mourn for six months and could not continue with the ritual. When he later tried to find another leopard, he failed.
Realizing the difficulty, his cousin, Eze Igwe – the traditional king of Oguta – allowed him to pay four shillings instead of securing the leopard.
“From that time, you now had the choice to use money or leopard,” said 52-year-old Victor Aniche, the current secretary of the Igbuu Society and grandson of Ojirika.
“When I made my own in 2012, someone offered to bring me a live leopard from northern Nigeria. They had one to sell me. But I couldn’t imagine an endangered animal being killed,” said Mr Aniche, a mechanical engineer and Alumni of the University Cambridge.
But today, the path to becoming an Ogbuagu is still rigorous and involves three elaborate stages.
The Igbuu society – which currently has about 75 members – is as old as Oguta itself, tracing its roots back more than four centuries to the founding of the city by migrants from the ancient kingdom of Benin.
Despite their ethnic classification as Igbo, the Oguta people have retained a distinct identity. Their dialect, customs and traditions set them apart from the local population and the diaspora population, which according to various sources is estimated to be close to 200,000.
Many of those who wish to become Ogbuagu choose to go through their ceremonies during the festive Christmas season, allowing diaspora families and communities to come together, often attracting large crowds.
On December 21, Zubby Ndupu, a petrophysicist working in Nigeria’s oil sector, began his first phase of becoming a “leopard killer”, known as “Igbu Agu” – when the hunt plays out again.
The day started at 09:00, with the gathering of Ogbuagua in a big tent at Mr. Ndupu’s home. They greeted each other with the clanking of their gold-colored swords and exchanged pleasantries.
Although Eze Igwe does not attend public events, he sent a representative to join the ceremony.
Ogbuagu sat in hierarchical order, determined by the date they became full members.
Women were not allowed to touch Ogbuaga, enter the gathering or participate in the ceremony, but I watched from close range.
Ogbuagu were feasted on traditional dishes such as goat meat soup, peppers, nsala soup – made from catfish – ground yams and palm wine.
During the ceremony, the secretary called Mr. Ndupu forward: palm fronds were tied around his wrist, markings were drawn on his arm with chalk, and he was given a brand new gold-colored sword engraved with his name.
He then moved around the crowd, saluting each Ogbuagua and clinking his sword against theirs four times.
In the afternoon, after the feast, Mr. Ndupu was led in a procession from his home. The “leopard killers” walked in a hierarchical order, with the most recent initiate, Mr. Ndupu, placed at the end of the line.
The group proceeded to Eze Igwe’s palace, where they presented the king with leopard money.
The second stage, known as “Iga Aji”, is a spiritual segment conducted privately in the home of the initiate – with members of the Igbuu Society present.
During this phase, the initiate is presented with a red sash, symbolizing royalty, along with sacred beads and feathers.
After receiving his red belt, Mr. Okoroafor went around greeting his relatives, who had gathered in tents outside. They celebrated him by cheering “Ogbuagu!” while they feasted and drank.
The final stage, “Ipu Afia Agu”, is a great feast that marks the full membership of the initiate. 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, fish pools 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, paraded through town with a symbolic fake leopard skin held high.
Accompanied by Ogbuagua, singing by women and colorful music, his new status was celebrated with dance, song and a feast shared by all.
Mr Adizua completed his first phase in 2023 but decided to wait until last December to complete the second and third phases so his daughters – two doctors and a nurse – could attend.
“All my children have finished school. The last boy is the only one at 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 phases in December, can now enjoy the unparalleled prestige that comes with Igbuu membership.
The “Leopard Killers” are addressed by the title “Ogbuagu” across Igboland – and beyond.
In Oguta, only they can stand and greet the king without bowing. Their presence commands respect at all events such as weddings where they have places of honor.
Ceremonial beads worn on the right wrist distinguish the Ogbuaga, symbolizing their status. At traditional events, they must wear specific clothing.
“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.”
Igbu leadership follows a strict hierarchy, where seniority is based on how long one has been a member rather than age. The member with the longest tenure holds the highest management position. The current leader is Emmanuel Udom, now in his early 80s.
Along with the president, who oversees the affairs and meetings of the group, Igbuu members appoint and elect officials to run the day-to-day operations and administration. Mr. Aniche has been the secretary for the past four years.
“We have members from their mid-40s all the way up to their 90s,” said Mr. Aniche.
Some prominent Ogbuagu include the late Chukwudifu Oputa, one of Nigeria’s most distinguished Supreme Court Justices; Alban Uzoma Nwapa, a Swedish-Nigerian musician better known by the stage name Dr. Alban, and the late Gogo Nwakuche, a successful entrepreneur and husband of the late famous writer Flora Nwapa.
Igbuu society is very selective. Applicants must own property, have demonstrable income, be married or have been married, and have an unblemished reputation.
Descendants of slaves, known as “ohu”, are not allowed to join. These are people whose ancestors were owned by others, either by war or purchase – a remnant of the social order that some are now working to abolish.
“We are now saying that it is time to remove this disgusting, outdated, useless system so that we can be one,” said Oduenyi Nduka, a former Igbuu secretary who doubles as the king’s spokesman.
“If you go to America, some of our sons are married to black American women, even some Ogbuagu. Those black Americans are products of the same system, so what’s the problem at home?”
He explained that the traditional process of abolishing the ohu system has already begun, with consultations between families that once owned slaves. This is expected to lead to the enactment of traditional rituals that will officially declare them free from ohu status.
“When that is done, Igbuu will call a meeting and start accepting them,” said Mr. Nduka.
Despite his prestige, some criticize Igbua, claiming that he only preys on the egos of his members.
At every ceremony I attended, there was at least one person in the crowd muttering about how the thousands of dollars spent could be better used for city development or scholarship funding.
But Mr. Aniche disagrees: “Igbuu is not a society you come to achieve; it is a society you come to because you have already achieved.
“Ogbuaga has been brought more development by the Ogutis than others. They are the biggest employers of labour.
Mr. Aniche also noted that money spent on feasts and other requirements of the ceremony circulates back into the local economy.
Today, the membership of the Igbuu Society spans the globe, with almost half of its members living in the diaspora. Nevertheless, whether in Europe or the USA, men from Oguta remain deeply connected to their roots.
“I come back about three times a year because I love the tradition of Oguta,” said Mr. Adizu. “With all the stress in the diaspora, I like to come home to relax.”
For Mr Okoroafor, the journey from a boy dreaming of hunting leopards to the revered Ogbuagua was worth the wait.
“Oguta is a beautiful city that has a lot of people who have excelled in different fields,” he said, his voice filled with pride.
“The last time I was home was in 2016, but now that I am in Ogbuagu, I will come home more regularly.”
Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani is a freelance Nigerian journalist and novelist based in Abuja and London.
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