In the traditional Igbo society, few institutions carry as much weight and controversy as the Umu Ada. These are the women born into a lineage, daughters of the soil who, even after marriage, retain a special and powerful connection to their father's house. They are revered, feared, respected, and sometimes—depending on who you ask—avoided. Because Umu Ada are not just any women; they are a force.
I still remember the day the Umu Ada came to my grandpa’s compound in the village—dressed in coordinated wrappers, armed with songs, stern faces, and an air of unquestionable authority. My grandpa had passed, and a disagreement had broken out over burial rites. They were quick to cut off anyone that offers a suggestion, and proceeding to enforce decisions that to me, felt outdated and complicated—refusing certain people entry to the compound, demanding rituals that cost a ridiculous amount of money.
Known for their deep involvement in family affairs, they are the ones who show up when matters get too sensitive for external intervention. Land disputes, burial rights, family misconduct, spiritual cleansing—these are all within their jurisdiction. When the Umu Ada gather, adorned in matching wrappers and a commanding presence, everyone listens. Or at least, everyone is expected to.
But here's the catch: while the Umu Ada system has deep cultural roots and undeniable relevance, not everyone resonates with their methods. Personally, I’ve found it hard to connect with the typical Umu Ada energy—an energy often marked by stubbornness, unshakable pride, and a strict, almost authoritarian approach to tradition.
To be fair, their strictness is born from a sense of duty. Umu Ada see themselves as the moral backbone of the family, upholding customs that have held communities together for generations. They view compromise as weakness, and flexibility as a threat to tradition. Their pride, too, is generational—anchored in the idea that being a daughter of the land comes with rights and responsibilities that supersede marital status or age. But in this pride, they can be unyielding.
I’ve seen instances where their intervention solved real problems, but also moments where their presence created panic rather than peace. They can be quick to shut down opposing views, especially when those views come from younger generations or those who proffer a glaringly better decision against age-old customs 😏.
And yet, it’s hard not to admire their strength. These women command attention in a culture that often sidelines female voices. They are organized, deeply bonded by sisterhood, and fiercely loyal to their heritage. But admiration doesn’t always translate to alignment. I respect their place in Igbo tradition, but I don't always agree with how they exercise that power.
Maybe the challenge lies in finding a balance—honoring the wisdom and purpose of Umu Ada, while also allowing space for growth, change, and softer voices.
Because while tradition is important, so is evolution. And sometimes, being a proud daughter of the land might also mean chilling out in your sunglasses with a cold glass of juice and learning to listen as much as you lead.