A Visit to the National Museum, Asaba: Reflections on Cultural Heritage, Collective Memory and the Preservation of Anioma Identity

 A Visit to the National Museum, Asaba: Reflections on Cultural Heritage, Collective Memory and the Preservation of Anioma Identity

By Emeka Esogbue

On Thursday, October 29, 2026, I visited the National Museum, Asaba, where I took a tour of the available collections and explored the various historical and cultural artefacts on display. It was, without doubt, a beautiful and intellectually stimulating experience. However, one observation that became increasingly apparent as I moved through the exhibition spaces was the relatively limited number of indigenous artefacts deposited in the museum.

This observation raised an important question about our collective attitude towards cultural heritage preservation, particularly among the Anioma people. It appears that many of us have yet to fully appreciate the significance of preserving our ancestral material culture in designated heritage institutions for the benefit of present and future generations. Museums are not merely repositories of old objects; they are institutions of collective memory, cultural continuity and historical consciousness. They provide tangible connections between contemporary communities and their ancestral past.

Out of curiosity, I asked my tour guide how the museum had acquired some of the artefacts in its collection. I was informed that a number of them had been donated by their original owners. This revelation reinforced my understanding that the preservation of indigenous heritage is not solely the responsibility of government institutions. It also requires the active participation of individuals, families, traditional institutions and communities that possess objects of historical and cultural significance.

One of the particularly striking discoveries for me was the collection of Dane guns, reportedly associated with the ancient Ekumeku fighters who resisted British colonial expansion during the Ekumeku Movement (1883–1914), in the context of the activities of the British Royal Niger Company and subsequent colonial incursions. Upon further enquiry, I learnt that these firearms had been donated by families from Issele-Uku.

This was especially commendable. I sincerely appreciate our Issele-Uku brothers and sisters for recognising the historical significance of these objects and making them available for public preservation. Their gesture represents an important contribution to the documentation of Anioma resistance history and the preservation of our material heritage. Such acts of cultural stewardship deserve recognition and emulation across Anioma communities.

Another section of the museum caught my attention. It appeared to have been designated for the display of enlarged photographs of contemporary traditional rulers. However, apart from a few framed photographs of former traditional rulers, I observed that there were virtually no photographs representing the current traditional institutions across Anioma.

I could not help but wonder what it would actually cost for our serving traditional rulers to provide their official portraits for display in the National Museum, Asaba. Beyond the aesthetic value of such photographs, they would constitute an important visual record of traditional authority, indigenous governance and the historical succession of leadership within our communities. Future generations deserve to know not only the rulers of the past but also those who occupied these revered positions in their own time.

I also noticed a framed genealogical chart of the Asagba of Asaba's family lineage. Naturally, this attracted my curiosity. I moved closer to examine the genealogical record, only to be informed that it was not an updated version. This left me wondering why such an important instrument of historical documentation and ancestral continuity had not been brought up to date. Genealogies are indispensable to the reconstruction of family histories, the understanding of succession systems and the preservation of indigenous social structures. They should therefore be treated as living historical records rather than static displays.

One of the broader contradictions that this visit brought to my consciousness is the apparent inconsistency in our attitude towards indigenous cultural heritage. We are often quick to lament the historical appropriation, confiscation and removal of African artefacts by European colonial powers, yet we sometimes demonstrate very little commitment to preserving the cultural objects that remain within our own communities.

There is a troubling irony here: objects of African origin often become subjects of fascination and historical significance when displayed in European museums, particularly when their narratives are presented through the lens of colonial encounters. Yet, when similar objects are found within our own communities, they are frequently dismissed, neglected or regarded as insignificant.

Perhaps the problem is not necessarily the absence of valuable cultural objects, but the erosion of cultural consciousness that should inform how we perceive, interpret and preserve them. We cannot consistently demand the restitution of African heritage from foreign institutions while simultaneously neglecting the responsibility of safeguarding what remains in our possession.

As we were preparing to leave, one of the guests in my company raised a rather provocative but important question. He wondered why some Christian families, who consider certain ancestral artefacts repulsive or incompatible with their religious convictions, would not simply donate such objects to the museum instead of inviting pastors to destroy them through acts of public burning called "family liberation."

That question stayed with me. It introduced another dimension to the conversation about cultural preservation: the intersection of religious identity, indigenous belief systems and the contemporary reinterpretation of ancestral heritage.

People are certainly entitled to their religious convictions. However, the preservation of an object does not necessarily require adherence to the religious or spiritual worldview that once informed its use. An artefact can cease to function as a religious object and still retain immense anthropological, archaeological, artistic and historical significance. What one generation considers spiritually objectionable may remain an invaluable source of historical knowledge for generations yet unborn.

That was a question I did not immediately respond to, but it certainly deserves deeper reflection.

Anyway, as I signed out, I made sure to formally register my thoughts in the museum's visitors' register. My visit had been enriching, thought-provoking and, in many respects, revealing. However, I left with the conviction that the National Museum, Asaba, requires greater publicity, institutional support and community participation to realise its full potential as a centre for the preservation and interpretation of Anioma cultural heritage.

Our traditional rulers, families, community leaders, historians, cultural associations and other custodians of indigenous knowledge must begin to see the museum as a collective heritage institution rather than merely a government establishment.

We must understand that cultural preservation is an intergenerational responsibility. The objects we preserve today become the historical evidence through which tomorrow's generations will reconstruct their identity, understand their ancestors and appreciate the experiences that shaped their communities.

A people who fail to preserve the material evidence of their past risk leaving future generations with memories that cannot be sufficiently substantiated by history.

The National Museum, Asaba, is therefore more than a building housing old objects. It is a potential sanctuary of Anioma historical consciousness. It deserves our attention, our contributions and, above all, our collective commitment.