As a child growing up in Igbanke, a small town within the former Midwestern region of Nigeria, I was raised with the narrative that we were of Bini descent. The elders spoke of our migration from Benin, recounting stories of how we came to settle in Igbanke, carrying with us the rich heritage of the Bini people. We spoke Ika, a dialect that was said to connect us to our Bini ancestry. For many years, I accepted this identity. I embraced the stories of old, because they were the only ones I knew, passed down from generation to generation.

But as I grew older, I began to question this narrative. Not out of rebellion, but out of curiosity and confusion. My personal experiences, coupled with the world around me, presented a different picture of who we are as Igbanke people. While the elders continued to insist that we were Bini, I started noticing that our language, customs, and even the way we lived our everyday lives bore more resemblance to the Igbo people of the eastern part of Nigeria than to the Bini. It was not just a casual observation; it was a realization that grew stronger with time.

Our delicacies, for instance, are identical to those found in Igbo communities. The foods we prepare and enjoy, “ofeonugbu” (bitter leaf soup), “akpu” (cassava fufu), and “nkwobi” (spicy cow foot), are staples in Igbo culture. I would visit friends in Igbo-speaking areas, and the meals served at their tables were the same as those I had grown up with. Even the way we dressed mirrored the Igbo fashion sense. Our traditional attire, the “isiagu” (lion head print) worn by men, the intricately woven “gele” (headwraps) and “iro” (wrappers) worn by women, are signature elements of Igbo cultural dress.

But it was not just about food or fashion. It was deeper than that. Our customs and traditions, our “omenala,” seemed to align more closely with those practiced in Igbo communities than with the Bini. Beyond the foregoing cultural semblances, there was an undeniable connection, a bond that transcended geography and history.

Yet, despite these similarities, we have always been told that we are Bini. The argument was simple: our forefathers migrated from Benin, and therefore, we are their descendants. But I could not help but feel that this explanation, though historically relevant, was incomplete. It was as if our identity had been shaped by an external narrative that did not fully capture who we are.

This internal conflict has intensified in recent times, particularly with the growing agitation for the creation of Anioma state. The call for Anioma state has reignited debates about the identity of various communities within the region, including Igbanke. Some argue that we belong to the Anioma region, which is predominantly Aniocha-speaking, a dialect that is easily understood by Igbo-speaking people, while others hold on to the belief that we are Bini by origin and should remain affiliated with Edo State.

This agitation has caused a stir in Igbanke. It has prompted a re-examination of our history, our identity, and where we truly belong. But even in the midst of this debate, there is still no consensus. The elders remain steadfast in their belief that we are Bini, while a growing number of younger people, myself included, feel a stronger connection to the Igbo people.

As I reflect on my own personal journey, I realize that my sense of identity has always leaned toward the Igbo culture. While the stories of our migration from Benin are part of our history, they do not define the totality of who we are. Over the years, I have come to understand that identity is not solely determined by where we come from, but by the culture and values we live by.

I remember several trips to the eastern part of Nigeria, specifically Owerri, Enugu and Onitsha by virtue of profession as Journalist, and each time I embarked on a journey to any of these cities, I usually felt a profound sense of belonging. The language spoken around me was the same dialect we spoke at home, the customs practiced were the ones I had known since childhood, and the people welcomed me as one of their own. It was an experience, for the umpteenth times that left a lasting impression on me. The impression, no doubt, remains what I usually felt throughout my working days at the Lagos Liaison Office of Anambra Motor Manufacturing Company (ANAMMCO) where I worked for more than a decade before transiting my skills to the media sector of the economy.

Assignments to these places made me question why we, as Igbanke people, have been so adamant about clinging to the Bini identity. Perhaps it is out of respect for our ancestors, or perhaps it is because we fear losing our unique history. But identity is fluid, and sometimes it evolves with time. As the world changes, so too do the ways in which we define ourselves.

I have come to a point in my life where I can no longer ignore the truth of who I am. While I respect the Bini heritage that has been passed down to us, I cannot deny the strong cultural and spiritual connection I feel to the Igbo people. From our language to our customs, everything points to the fact that we are more closely aligned with the Igbo culture than with the Bini. This is not a rejection of my history, but rather an acknowledgment of the reality of my present.

The question of identity is not just about where we come from, but about where we feel we belong. And I, for one, feel that I belong with the Igbo people. I have asked the elders time and time again to tell me who we are, but their answers have only deepened my confusion. They cling to the past, while I look toward the future.

If my people refuse to tell me who I am, then I must decide for myself. And I have. I am Igbo, not by migration or historical decree, but by the culture I live, the language I speak, and the spirit that moves within me.

In the end, the search for identity is a deeply personal journey. It is not about rejecting one narrative in favor of another, but about finding the truth of who we are. For me, that truth is clear. I am Igbo, and I am proud to be so.

The debates over the creation of Anioma state and the identity of the Igbanke people will continue, but I have found my own answer. My heritage may be tied to the Bini people, but my heart and soul belong to the Igbo culture. And in that, I have found peace.