THE BLOOD OF EFIK![]()
Something is dying among us…
And we pretend not to hear its last breath.
It is not a person.
It is not a building.
It is not a kingdom made of stones.
It is something deeper.
Something invisible…
Yet powerful enough to tell a child who they are.
It is the voice of our ancestors.
The songs of our mothers.
The wisdom hidden in our proverbs.
The language that carried our dreams before the world taught us new names.
Something is dying…
And we call it civilization.
We call it exposure.
We call it the price of moving forward.
But I ask…
When did moving forward mean walking away from ourselves?
When did being educated mean forgetting the language of our first lessons?
When did being accepted by the world require rejecting the very soil that gave us roots?
Because a tree that cuts itself away from its roots does not become free…
It becomes forgotten.
And I fear…
I fear not for the strength of Efik.
For Efik has survived storms.
Efik has crossed waters.
Efik has carried stories through generations.
I fear for the children who may inherit the name…
But never know the meaning.
Children who will wear the beauty of our culture…
But never understand the blood behind it.
Children who will celebrate the colours…
But never hear the voices that chose those colours.
Because culture is not decoration.
Culture is memory.
Culture is identity.
Culture is the heartbeat of a people.
And the heartbeat of Efik must not stop.
Listen closely…
Can you hear it?
The drums are not just making music.
They are calling us home.
The songs are not just melodies.
They are the voices of those who came before us.
The stories are not just stories.
They are footprints leading us back to ourselves.
We are standing on the shoulders of people who refused to disappear.
People who carried their names with pride.
People who opened their doors to the world but never surrendered their identity.
People who knew that hospitality was a gift,
but heritage was a responsibility.
So why are we abandoning what they fought to preserve?
Why are we allowing our own treasures to become strange to us?
Why are we becoming foreigners in the land of our ancestors?
No…
This cannot be our ending.
Not while an Efik child still breathes.
Not while an Efik mother still sings.
Not while an Efik elder still remembers.
Because somewhere inside every Efik son and daughter…
There is a flame.
A flame carried from generations we never met.
A flame protected by hands we never held.
A flame waiting for us to protect it.
So today, I make a promise.
I will not allow my language to become a whisper.
I will not allow my history to become a rumor.
I will not allow my culture to become a relic behind glass.
I will speak.
I will learn.
I will teach.
I will preserve.
Because I am not carrying culture…
I am carrying a kingdom of memories.
I am carrying the laughter of ancestors.
I am carrying the prayers of mothers.
I am carrying the footsteps of warriors.
I am carrying the blood of Efik.
And this blood…
This sacred blood…
Does not forget.
This blood remembers the rivers that raised us.
This blood remembers the hands that built before us.
This blood remembers the names carved into time.
So let the world hear us.
Let the young remember.
Let the forgotten rise.
Let every Efik child know:
You are not empty.
You are not without history.
You are not without a story.
You come from a people whose existence is a testimony.
You come from a people whose roots run deeper than time.
You come from a people whose blood carries a song.
And that song says…
We are Efik.
We have always been here.
And we are not disappearing.
— Esther Bassey Etim (ObongAwan II)
#estherbasseyetim#Efikculture#CultureAndTradition#efikheritage#obongawanii














