Book Review of The Village Priest by Remmy Nweke @NDSF 2025

On Thursday, June 19, 2025, I had the honour of reviewing The Village Priest by Remmy Nweke—a powerful narrative that weaves together history, tradition, resistance, reconciliation, and innovation, set within the verdant hills of Ilimefo, a village nestled in the heart of Igboland, where “the air was alive with the whispers of ancestors and the rhythms of tradition.”

At the heart of this story is Ogboo AniEze, the revered traditional chief priest of Ilimefo. His life is “dedicated to the preservation and celebration of Ilimefo’s customs and traditions.” The book opens with a clear and symbolic statement of context: “The village and its people, their traditional practices and strong cultural heritage at the crossroads!” This sets the tone for what is not just a fictional tale but a textured documentation of a people’s encounter with time and change.

Ilimefo is introduced to us as a place where “tradition was woven into the very fabric of life,” with festivals like Onwu-ano linked to agricultural cycles and the rhythms of the earth. The rituals, we learn, are not arbitrary. They are “intricately woven” into the identity and continuity of the people. Ogboo AniEze does not merely perform these rituals—he embodies them. “His eyes, clouded with the wisdom of age, seemed to hold the secrets of the past,” and his voice “could calm the most troubled of minds.”

We are told, in great detail, about the structure and discipline of his priesthood: lieutenants from six villages, each with precise roles. Some “raise a cup of water,” others “kill the offerings,” while others “prepare the offerings when cooked.” The sacred rhythm of Ilimefo is grounded in Igbo cosmology, with rituals observed “every Eke market day,” that is, every five days.

As a young boy, Ogboo AniEze apprenticed under his grandfather, “a renowned traditional priest.” His education was both spiritual and practical—“the sacred languages,” “traditional healing practices,” and also “farming, hunting, and craftsmanship.” Through sacred journeys to forests, rivers, and mountains, “a deep connection to the natural world and the spirits that inhabited it” was forged.

One of the cultural pillars explored in the book is masquerading—a practice that carries symbolic, spiritual, and social weight. The masks “represent ancestral spirits, mythological creatures, and symbolic figures.” During festivals, “masked performers danced and sang,” their performances serving both as entertainment and as “social commentary, addressing issues and concerns.”

Yet, as the wind of change began to blow, Ogboo AniEze “encountered modernizing influences such as Christianity and western education,” which “challenged his traditionalist views.” Criticism followed—some said his values were “outdated and restrictive,” accusing him of “lack of adaptability,” and being “disconnected from the modern reality.” But for Ogboo, his visions, his ancestral worship, and his connection to “sacred journeys” remained a steadfast compass.

The villagers, meanwhile, expected him to do more than perform rituals. They expected him to provide “spiritual guidance, interpreting the will of the gods and ancestors,” “offering counseling and mediation,” and even guidance on agriculture and healing. He became “a respected and beloved figure,” not because he resisted change, but because he “found creative ways to balance the two.”

But change came fast and hard with the arrival of GSM—“a strange and mysterious piece of technology.” Introduced by “a group of outsiders, including a Catholic priest, Fada Ekie,” mobile phones arrived in Ilimefo, bringing with them “a stir among the villagers.” At first, the villagers were “fascinated and intimidated,” unsure how to engage with “small and sleek” devices that brought “the hum of signals and the chatter of voices.”

This is where the book truly grapples with its core tension. For Ogboo AniEze, GSM was both opportunity and threat. It “distracted them from their traditional practices” and “threatened to erode the cultural heritage of Ilimefo.” And when his own son, Okorie, embraced the technology, seeing “economic prospects” and “new possibilities,” the crisis became deeply personal.

Ogboo AniEze was “torn between his love and pride for his son and his concern for the impact of the technology.” He feared GSM would “lead to the erosion of the village’s cultural heritage” and cause a “brain drain” as young people “leave the village in search of better opportunities.” He also feared “isolation from the community” and began to “question his own faith and the traditions he had sworn to uphold.”

This led to the turning point. In the hills, he embarked on “dry fasting for a whole four market days.” He returned from that solitary experience with “a new found understanding.” He saw that GSM, though disruptive, “also offered opportunities for growth, development, and connection with the wider world.” He reconciled with Okorie. He apologized to the villagers. He even welcomed the presence of Fada Ekie, the Catholic priest.

What follows is a new era of harmony, where “tradition and modernity coexisted in balance.” Ogboo AniEze began to use mobile phones to “coordinate traditional ceremonies and rituals,” to “document the village’s traditions,” and to “connect with villagers in the diaspora.” The GSM technology, initially feared, became “a powerful tool for preserving the village’s cultural heritage.”

Through collaboration with Fada Ekie, Ilimefo experiences what the book calls a “fusion of traditions”—traditional prayers “incorporated into Catholic ceremonies,” Catholic teachings “infused with indigenous spiritual practices,” and “ancestor veneration blended with the tradition of honoring saints.” The result is “a new spiritual identity,” where “community healing practices” are made stronger through cooperation, and where “interfaith collaboration” becomes a working model for other communities.

Even as GSM introduced new social behaviours—such as Facebook Live streaming of village festivals, or parishioners charging phones during Mass—there is no ridicule or mockery. Instead, Remmy Nweke allows the reader to witness cultural evolution with empathy and respect.

In the Epilogue, we find Ogboo AniEze and Fada Ekie standing together, “looking out at the vibrant scene.” Their story is one of convergence, of two paths that once seemed to diverge, now blending into one shared future. As “the village erupted in joyous cheers,” they “clasped hands,” symbolizing a unity forged through respect, dialogue, and vision.

Let me end where the book ends—on a note of blessing and pride. At the close of the novel, as the village celebrates this new era, Ogboo AniEze declares it “Oyibo Day” and rolls out the drums—not to erase his past, but to embrace a future that includes both Okorie’s device and his own divination, both digital and divine.

The Village Priest is a careful work of cultural documentation, offering not just a story but a chronicle—a record of transition that many rural and even urban African communities continue to live through. It teaches us, without preaching, that true innovation is not in abandoning our roots, but in strengthening them with new tools.

Thank you.