03/01/2025
DIMGBA
(The Fall of the Lone Warrior)
Sometimes, it is better to appear capable and present yourself boldly before those who could help change your life but refuse to. This is not a popular philosophy, as many believe that when a man looks too accomplished, his helpers may assume he has no need and turn away. As the Igbo saying goes, "Nganga bute uzo, odida esochie ya"—pride goes before a fall.
But there are moments when life forces you to rewrite the narrative, to make those who wish you ill watch as you eat your squirrel meat with the grace of a man feasting on a cow. It’s not foolishness; it’s changing the narrative.
Dimgba Apafo was a legend in Amaodara, a village that basked in the glory of his strength. Known as Azueruala—the undefeated champion—Dimgba was a man of simple tastes despite his towering reputation. Women sang his praises in the streets, and children imitated his wrestling moves, their laughter echoing like the melodies of a distant flute.
For decades, no village dared challenge Amaodara to a wrestling contest. Dimgba was their shield, their pride. Yet, behind the cheers and admiration, there was a growing unease—an unspoken fear. The children of Amaodara harbored a silent grievance: Dimgba, though their protector, had failed them.
Why would anyone be unhappy with a champion who had kept their village safe for years? The truth lay in Dimgba’s refusal to share his secrets. He trained no one, taught no one, and stood alone as the village’s sole symbol of strength. Attempts to address this were met with violence. Everyone remembered the fate of Okoronta, who once dared to suggest that Dimgba train others. The man was beaten so badly he bore the scars for life.
So, the villagers swallowed their frustration and waited—for what, they did not know.
One fateful Afor market day, the town crier brought news that shook Amaodara to its core: the wrestling championship of Inyishi Kingdom would no longer be a one-man contest. Each kindred was to send three wrestlers to represent them.
The announcement was met with despair. The streets fell silent, children abandoned their games, and the air grew heavy with hopelessness. Only one man burned with rage—Dimgba himself.
“Why would the king make such a decision without consulting me?” he fumed. “Who can match my strength? Who dares to conspire against me?”
That night, Dimgba tossed and turned, haunted by the possibility of losing his title. Worse still, he feared for Amaodara’s children, who would be at the mercy of rival villages if he failed.
When the long-anticipated day arrived, the village square of Inyishi was packed with spectators. For 15 years, the youth of Amaodara had proudly carried Dimgba on their shoulders to the arena. But this time was different. The three chosen wrestlers walked in silence, their heads bowed. Even the chants of the famed praise singer, Otimkpu Okparaefu, fell flat, a shadow of their former glory.
When the competition began, it became painfully clear that times had changed. Dimgba fought like a lion, his strength unmatched, but his two teammates were no match for the trained wrestlers of Amaeke. Within minutes, they were defeated, leaving Dimgba alone against three opponents.
Dimgba fought valiantly, deploying every trick he knew. The crowd watched in awe as he singlehandedly held his ground. But wrestling, like life, is not a solo endeavor. The saying goes, “Azubuike-ogu”—your backmen are your strength in battle.
One by one, the Amaeke wrestlers overpowered him, forcing his back to the ground. In their victory, they showed no mercy, stuffing sand into his mouth as the crowd erupted in a mix of shock and triumph.
As Dimgba lay in the dust, defeated and humiliated, the truth hit him like a thunderbolt: his failure wasn’t just his loss—it was Amaodara’s. By refusing to train others, he had set his village up for failure. His brothers, Otunne and Nkugbukamsi, had deceived him, convincing him to hoard his skills to maintain his dominance.
Now, the once-great champion understood the wisdom of the old saying, “Gwudu gwudu bu ugwu Eze”—solidarity is the value of kingship.
Dimgba’s reign was over, but his story would live on as a cautionary tale.
He who has ears, let him hear.
Happy New Year!
