By Mazi Uche Ohia
As states like Imo State – created in 1976 – clock 50 years this year, another round of celebrations is holding, barely weeks after the exhaustion of Christmas 2025. Predictably, one food item dominates every menu, every banquet, every canopy, every gathering, and every plate: rice.
From Christmas and Easter to weddings and funerals, naming ceremonies, child dedications, house warmings, chieftaincy titles, thanksgiving services, and even meetings that were supposed to be “small and private,” rice has become the undisputed chairman of the Igbo dining table. No event is considered complete without it. Some people will forgive absence of the celebrant, but not absence of rice.
Yet, here is a truth that may shock many young Igbos: rice was not always popular like this. Not long ago, rice was a rare, exotic delicacy – served mainly on Christmas Day, and sometimes Easter, depending on how prosperous the family was that year. On ordinary days, rice did not even greet the kitchen.
The real landlords of the traditional Igbo kitchen were yam and cassava – stern, dependable staples that fed generations without drama. Yam stood tall and proud, eaten alone with dignity. Cassava endured famine, war, and hardship in silence. Neither demanded chicken accompaniment nor tomato stew apology.
Rice began its Igbo journey modestly. First, it was a Christmas-only visitor. Then it graduated to special occasions. Later, it became a Sunday Sunday food. Finally, like a guest who came “just to greet” and refused to leave, it became a daily staple, cooked in a hundred ways and sold by every mama put from Owerri to Onitsha, Aba to Abakaliki, Awka to Enugu.
Today, rice is eaten morning, afternoon, and night – sometimes with stew, sometimes with sauce, sometimes with nothing but hope.
Let us be clear: rice is not native to Igboland. It is an immigrant. A visitor. An expatriate that overstayed its visa and applied for permanent residency.
Rice originated in Asia, particularly China, about 9,000 years ago. Two main species exist: Oryza sativa (Asian rice) and Oryza glaberrima (African rice). Neither played a central role in traditional Igbo agriculture.
Rice entered Igboland through traders, missionaries, and colonial administrators in the 19th century. Early Igbo migrants who worked in emerging urban centres between 1900 and 1930 returned home with rice as a status item. To serve rice then was to announce quietly: “We are no longer suffering.”
Rice received a decisive boost during the Nigerian Civil War (1967–1970), when it featured prominently as relief food. Hunger does not ask whether food is indigenous or foreign. From emergency ration, rice slowly settled into everyday life.
By the 1950s – 1970s, rice was still expensive and largely imported. It appeared mainly on Sundays and festive days, usually accompanied by stew and at least one overworked piece of chicken to prove seriousness.
Serving rice on Sunday became a symbol of modernity and success. It meant father’s salary had not delayed or that the family hustle was yielding fruit. It meant after church, children would not complain. It meant the family was “trying.”
Then came urbanisation. City life had little patience for pounding yam or squeezing cassava. Rice was fast. Rice was convenient. Rice did not require collective suffering or family meeting.
Government policies – from the Green Revolution of the 1970s to import liberalisation – further entrenched rice. Local production expanded, especially in Ebonyi State (Ikwo, Abakaliki, Izzi), turning the area into the rice belt of the Southeast. Rice farming also gained ground in parts of Imo (Arondizuogu, Ehime Mbano), Anambra, and Abia States.
In typical Igbo enterprise, once rice showed promise, it was embraced with full entrepreneurial zeal.
As imports from Thailand and India increased and local production expanded, rice became cheaper and more accessible. It soon replaced yam and cassava in many homes – not because it was superior, but because it was easier. Why wrestle with mortar and pestle when one pot of rice can settle everybody?
Rice also conquered social events. Weddings surrendered to jollof rice and fried rice. School feeding programmes adopted it. Birthdays and funerals followed suit. Even meetings where “no food” was announced somehow ended with rice.
Rice became so common that people now complain if it appears too often – a strange fate for a food that once appeared only once a year.
Despite its everyday status, rice still carries emotional weight. Many Igbos associate it with celebration and togetherness. The smell of rice cooking on Sunday morning still triggers childhood memories.
In Ebonyi State, rice farming has become identity, pride, and heritage. Yet many young people have no idea that rice was once a rare luxury. They eat it daily, complain when it finishes, and demand chicken with confidence – as if chicken grew inside rice.
And so today, rice sits confidently at the head of the Igbo dining table like a guest who came “just for Christmas” and never returned home. Yam, the original landlord, now waits patiently for New Yam festivals, while cassava – once the backbone of survival – has been pushed to supporting roles as garri, fufu, and abacha.
Rice has taken over politely but firmly. First, it asked for permission. Then it asked for space. Now it gives instructions. It insists on chicken. It demands stew or ofe akwu. It refuses to be eaten alone. Yam never behaved like this. Yam stood alone – confident, sufficient, and unashamed. Cassava endured everything without protest.
History will record that yam did not fall through war or famine but through convenience and peer pressure. Rice did not defeat yam: it simply arrived faster and stayed longer. Yet the Igbo stomach still knows the truth: rice excites, but yam and cassava sustain. Rice is the party guest, yam and cassava are family.
As we celebrate rice, let us remember that it was once a visitor – welcomed warmly, fed generously, and allowed to stay… perhaps a little too long. But there is a lesson for the younger generation who want rice 24/7: if rice can overtake and make it to the top, you can make it too.
This is not funny but if you must laugh, laugh responsibly.
(Mazi Uche Ohia, Ph.D, lawyer, farmer, cultural advocate, public intellectual and former Commissioner for Tourism, Culture & Creative Arts, Imo State, writes from Arondizuogu.)
