OLIIH: A FADING TASTE OF OGBONA’S CULTURAL HERITAGE
Dr John Odior Anaweokhai
Oliih and Ekor remain among the cherished delicacies of the Ogbona people. Yet, sadly, their once-prized place in our culture appears to be diminishing with each passing day. As modern lifestyles increasingly replace traditional practices, there is a real danger that some of the knowledge, skills and traditions associated with these delicacies may eventually disappear.
The name Ekor, also known in some places as Aghidi, is not exclusive to Ogbona. Indeed, the name appears to resonate with other Nigerian languages and cultures, although the precise historical relationship would require further linguistic and ethnographic research. Ekor itself has acquired something of a national character, as variations of this delicacy are found in many parts of Nigeria.
Oliih, however, occupies a somewhat different place in the Ogbona culinary tradition. From the accounts and memories of older people, its preparation and consumption have been particularly associated with Ogbona. The North Ibie people, for instance, were also known to sell a similar delicacy around the old market square, close to the front of the Obeakemhe compound. Such shared culinary traditions remind us of the cultural exchanges that have long existed among neighbouring communities.
It is important to clarify that Oliih is not honey. Honey is naturally produced by bees, whereas Oliih is a traditional food product processed from the fruit of a particular tree. Its production requires considerable effort, patience and indigenous knowledge. The finished product is naturally dark, thick and richly flavoured—pure, undiluted and remarkably tasty.
The tree from which the fruit is obtained is itself remarkable. It is exceptionally strong and was familiar to generations of Ogbona children and adults who went into the bush to gather firewood. Its young, fresh stem can be climbed without easily breaking, making it relatively dependable for those who ventured up it. The mature wood, when dried, burns fiercely as firewood, while its embers and charcoal are known for retaining heat for a long time.
The raw seeds are relatively small and covered by a thick outer layer. Between this outer covering and the hard seed lies the dark substance from which Oliih is produced. This material is extracted, subjected to fermentation and subsequently cooked until it develops into the characteristic thick, dark, syrup-like delicacy.
There is, however, another childhood memory associated with these seeds. In their unprocessed form, we would pick the ripe, dark seeds that had fallen beneath the tree, peel off the outer covering and pop them straight into our mouths. Boy! Despite the temporary dark stains they left on our teeth, we enjoyed every bit of them. It was one of those simple pleasures of childhood that required neither money nor elaborate preparation—just the generosity of the bush and the curiosity of children.
The finished Oliih has a distinctive and deeply satisfying taste. When seasoned with pieces of dried pepper, its flavour becomes even more pronounced and appetising. Traditionally, it is especially enjoyable when eaten together with Ekor, although Oliih can also be savoured on its own—sometimes simply by licking it from the fingers.
It was more delicious when eaten with another special pearl-like fruit called uda
But Oliih is more than a delicacy. It is a repository of indigenous knowledge. Embedded in its production are traditional methods of harvesting, processing, fermentation, cooking and preservation that were passed from one generation to another. In that sense, the decline of Oliih is not merely the disappearance of a food item; it represents the possible loss of a small but significant part of Ogbona’s cultural memory.
Unfortunately, Oliih has become increasingly difficult to find. The labour involved in producing it, the declining interest among younger generations and changing patterns of food consumption may all be contributing to its gradual disappearance. If the people who still possess the knowledge of its production are not encouraged to document and transmit it, future generations may know Oliih only by name—or perhaps not know it at all.
This therefore calls for more than nostalgia. The production of Oliih should be documented, taught, and deliberately preserved as part of Ogbona’s cultural heritage. Older people who possess the knowledge should be encouraged to share the process with younger generations. The raw materials, traditional methods and cultural significance should be recorded, while interested members of the community could explore ways of preserving and even commercially developing the product without destroying its traditional character.
The earlier this priceless delicacy is documented, preserved and revived, the better for our people and our culture.
Oliih is not merely something we eat. It is a taste of where we come from. And when a people lose the tastes, stories and practices that connect them to their past, they lose pieces of themselves.
