01/02/2026
Ok..Ebonyi state is not igbo and we have refused to be... Before you crvcify me, calm down, hear and see my reasons and the evidence..........
My brothers and sisters
Before there was an “Igbo,”.......there was Ezza
There was Nkanu.
There was Okuzzu.
There was Mbaise
There was awka
There were clans before coalitions.
Lineages before labels.
Bl00d before banners.
For most of our history, identity was not shouted across regions.
It was whispered within bloodlines.
Men did not say, “I am Igbo.”
They said, “I am Ezza.”
“I am Nkanu .”
“I am Awka.”
“I am of this soil, this stream, this lineage.”
There was no Igbo king.
No Igbo capital.
No Igbo throne.
Only independent nations, each sovereign in its customs, each jealous of its land, each accountable only to its ancestors.
The so-called Igbo nation did not rise from antiquity.
It was assembled in offices.
Coined in missionary primers.
Standardised in colonial files.
An umbrella, not an altar.
A convenience, not a covenant.
And under this umbrella, something d∆ngerous grew.
To be called “f∆ke.”
To be treated as border bl00d.
To be counted when numbers were needed and discarded when dignity was demanded.
To watch jvstice lose its blindness.
To see t0rture choose its victims by origin.
To see pvnishment search for surnames and mercy recognise only brothers.
And
Then came the wound that history still pretends not to see.
In Abakaliki, in the middle of June 2002, there lived a quiet, successful timber merchant named Chief Linus Ede — an Ezza man, an Ebonyi son, a man who did not seek p0wer and did not contest ambition.
Two men from Anambra had fought b!tterly for c0ntrol of the timber market.
One clung to a throne he had held for years.
The other was desperate to unseat him.
When their riv∆lry thr€atened to d€str0y the union, both were disqualified.
And the traders, seeking peace, turned to a man without malice.
Not for p0litics.
For calm.
For stability.
Linus Ede.
However
One co