The Tree as a Heritage: On Archiving the Unwavering Heart of a Community

Obu Nanka
Photo credit: Dr. Ikenna Ezeasor

It began with a request that felt more like a summons: to archive a tree. Not just any tree, but an ancestral Iroko, a living library whose roots were tangled deep in the memory of a people. My first instinct was to seek the proper channels. I reached out to Dr Ijeoma Onyejekwe of the National Museum of Unity, Enugu, inquiring about the formal processes for preserving an endangered natural and cultural relic. The paperwork, the classifications, all the necessary scaffolding.

But with that roadmap secured, a more profound question emerged: How do we give this tree a life beyond its physical form? How do we let its story breathe beyond the boundaries of the community that venerates it? This is where the mission deepened. While my colleagues at Afrochives Studio committed to documenting its formidable presence on film, capturing the play of light on its ancient bark, the solemn space beneath its canopy, I felt called to do something else. I would listen, and I would tell its story.

And here is the first, humbling lesson such a tree teaches you: do not assume the village surrounding it is its host. It is, very often, the other way round.

Let me tell you about Obu Nanka.

Estimated to be 350 years old, this legendary Osisị Orji (Iroko tree) is not merely located in Nanka; it is a pillar of its history. No one truly knows if the tree hosts the community or the community hosts the tree. What is certain is that Obu has witnessed more moons and suns than any living human or animal. It has silently observed community wars, heard the first cries of births and the last sighs of deaths. It has watched the landscape and culture shift like sand, while its own seven branches remained, perpetually reaching for the sun. At its roots, generations of Nanka people have knelt, imploring this ancient witness to draw from its vast memory—from its time as a sapling in a different world—and bless them, connecting their chi to its enduring strength.

Located in Umuezigwe, Umudala Ward 1, Orumba North, Anambra State (GPS: 6.0518980, 7.0700498), Obu’s story is woven into the very survival of the town. Legend recounts a time of war when Nanka sought to eliminate the village of Umudala but repeatedly failed. The people noticed a sign: despite the conflict, none of the tree's seven branches, each representing one of the seven villages, Umudala included, had broken or fallen. The unity of the tree mirrored an unbreakable truth. An oracle was consulted. The chief priest posed a question: “If you remove the heart of a living being, will it survive?” The answer was clear: it would not. “Umudala,” the priest revealed, “is the heart of Nanka.” To harm it would be to ensure the town’s downfall, a truth already evident in Obu's steadfast, skyward-reaching branches.

The magnificent Iroko, with its seven branches representing Nanka’s seven villages, became the ultimate symbol of this unity. It was more than a symbol; it was a utility of survival. It is said the tree stored rains from centuries past within its rings, making it a perfect alcove for summoning rain—a trapped river in rings of wood that freed its people in times of drought.

So revered is Obu that its very physique became an oracle. Its branches were the Afa (oracle) that spoke to the masses. When one broke, the people knew Obu had seen into the future and was prophesying into the present.

In Obu, the people of Nanka have preserved their heritage and collective memory. To cut it down would be to rip out their heart. And so, with Obu standing unwavering through centuries, seasons, and generations, the people who might not use the word “conservation”, have found a sacred bark upon which to etch their origins.

This is what we seek to archive: not just a tree, but a steadfast heartbeat. A rooted, breathing chronicle. This is our act of witness, so that even as winds change, the story of Obu Nanka continues to breathe.