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…Where young men behead own parents to prove their loyalty
…Rape aged women, marry school girls without consent or bride price
….As fetish rituals, human sacrifices thrive
In the heart of South-Eastern Nigeria, where commerce and communal living once met, lies Orsu Local Government Area, now a desolate and skeletal remnant of its former self.
What began as a whisper of unrest in 2020 has spiraled into a four-year nightmare, orchestrated by suspected members of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) and its militant wing, the Eastern Security Network (ESN).
Once celebrated as Imo State’s beacon of peace and prosperity, Orsu today is a theater of unspeakable atrocities, its streets silent, its homes abandoned, and its people haunted by the specter of terror.
From Prosperity to Perdition
Before the descent into chaos, Orsu thrived as a cradle of Igbo enterprise. Its ancient “Eke Ututu” market, a sprawling centre of commerce dating back over a century, drew traders from as far as Burkina Faso and Ghana. Artisans sold intricately woven baskets, blacksmiths forged tools praised across West Africa, and farmers traded palm oil and plantains in a bustling economy that rivaled urban centers.
“Eke Ututu wasn’t just a market, it was our identity,” said Engineer Kerian Irobi, Secretary of Orsu LGA Youth Forum. “It put us on the map.”
By 2020, Orsu’s industrial revolution was almost in full swing. Hotels, factories, and poultry farms dotted the landscape. Locals proudly dubbed it “Little Lagos” for its self-sustaining economy. But beneath this veneer of progress, a horrible storm was brewing.
The Grand Deception
IPOB and ESN infiltrated Orsu under the guise of liberation. Capitalizing on longstanding Igbo grievances over marginalization, they weaponized fear. Through Radio Biafra broadcasts, they spun tales of an imminent invasion by herdsmen poised to Islamize the region.
“They warned that our rainforests would be razed for cattle grazing,” recalled Comrade Victor Obielor, Orsu Youth Coordinator. “Our people believed they were patriots defending our land.”
The truth was far darker. By mid-2020, during COVID-19 lockdowns, ESN operatives had already entrenched themselves in Orsu’s forests. Disguised as vigilantes, they mapped villages, recruited disillusioned youths, and stockpiled weapons.
“We saw armed men but thought they were security operatives,” said Chisom Nnajiofor, Orsu Youth Imo Coordinator. “By the time we realized their intent, it was too late.”
The Reign of Terror
On December 24, 2020, ESN unveiled its brutality. A police checkpoint at Amannachi became a bloodbath, with seven killed, including a charismatic local leader. This marked the start of a campaign that would eclipse even Thomas Hobbes’ bleakest visions of human nature.
Ritualized Violence: At the time, promotion within ESN ranks required grotesque acts. Sons were ordered to behead fathers branded “saboteurs.”
In 2022, a man named Matador was mutilated alive—his genitals severed and filmed—for allegedly aiding soldiers.
Sexual Slavery: Teenage girls became spoils of war. One student, weeks from her final exams, was kidnapped by commander “Odumodu,” held in a forest camp, and bore his child. Nine others suffered similar fates, forced into “marriages” without consent or bride price.
Economic Strangulation: ESN imposed a tax regime worse than colonial rule. Poor traders were perpetually ripped off with some forced to surrender up to 70% of profit; families abroad were extorted with threat of arson. Refusal meant that homes built years ago would be reduced to ashes.
Traditional institutions collapsed. Monarchs fled as warlords like Uwam (Obinna Nwanekezi), an Orsu native, seized power.
“They settled land disputes at gunpoint,” Obielor said. “If you weren’t ESN, you lost everything.”
The Death of Eke Ututu: Erasing a Legacy
The market’s destruction literally symbolized Orsu’s cultural erasure. Once a vibrant arena where craftsmen sold hoes to Cameroonian traders and elders bartered over palm wine, Eke Ututu was reduced to a ghostly shell.
ESN enforced sit-at-home orders for months, strangling commerce. By 2023, they burned its stalls, using the ruins as a base.
“Our ancestors protected Eke Ututu even through the Civil War,” Irobi lamented. “IPOB burnt it down in peacetime.” The economic fallout was catastrophic: blacksmiths, basket weavers, and farmers all plunged into poverty.
One craftsman, his livelihood destroyed, died of a heart attack days after the market’s annihilation.
The fight-back
By 2022, Orsu youths, backed by the Imo State government and the coalition Ọdịmma Orsu (“For the good of Orsu”), launched a counteroffensive. Vigilantes with the advantage of local Intel and with limited firearms, joined forces with security operatives to dismantle ESN camps. The fight was brutal. “The hoodlums published our photos online, calling for our deaths,” Nnajiofor said.
Governor Hope Uzodimma faced early setbacks, his efforts sabotaged by propaganda painting security operations as “genocide.” Yet persistence paid off: key ESN commanders were neutralized, though Uwam and others like him remain at large in the dense cover of the “Mother Valley.”
*Rebuilding from the rubbles:*
Orsu’s survivors plead for more than military aid. “We need roads, schools, and jobs, fast,” urged Obielor. The Orsu-Nnewi highway, a potholed relic, isolates the region. Reconstruction of Eke Ututu and looted health centers is critical to restoring faith in governance.
Psychologically, the scars run deep. Families grieve sons lost to ESN’s indoctrination. “They were told they’d be heroes,” said a tearful mother whose child joined the militants. “Now he’s either dead or a monster.”
Call to Vigilance in Igboland
Orsu’s tragedy is a cautionary tale. “If our local prosperity couldn’t save us, then no one is immune to this kind of calamaity,” Nnajiofor warned. The Youth Forum urges:
1. Vet Vigilantes: Community guards must be locals vetted by police.
2. Reject Outsider “Security”: No non-state actors should patrol forests.
3. Counter Propaganda: Educate diaspora Igbo on ESN’s true agenda.
As Orsu tentatively emerges from darkness, its people cling to a fragile hope. “We were once envied,” Obielor mused, staring at his family’s looted palm oil mill. “Now we ask: How did freedom fighters become our executioners?”
The world watches and wonders if Igboland will learn from the lessons of the Orsu tragedy.
