02/02/2025
Horrifying: Dark side of Okite rituals where youths get buried alive to acquire wealth
In a chilling pursuit of quick wealth, fame, and supernatural power, some youths, particularly in the South-East, are embracing a deadly practice known as Okite rituals. This macabre rite, which shockingly requires participants to be buried alive in a harrowing bid to “conquer hell,” is believed to unlock untold riches and dominance. But instead of prosperity, many are paying the ultimate price with death and mental illness. In this report, CHIJIOKE IREMEKA exposes the grim consequences of this disturbing ritual, its deadly allure, and the rising casualties
[Note: This is a long but educative read, if you can't read it, silently skip, don't inform us - MUN]
*****“If a Okeite renewal ritual is missed, the consequences are dire—ranging from insanity to death, either for the practitioner or their loved ones. Once you dispose of Okite after acquiring it, you are doomed to a life of destitution, struggling to survive from hand to mouth, ultimately dying in poverty,” he warned.
James Ubeh is one of three ambitious individuals, who, lured by the irresistible allure of rapid wealth, ventured into the heart of darkness—daring to negotiate with death itself.
In their desperate quest for riches, they turned to the perilous and forbidden path of Okite ritualism, hoping to bend fate to their will. Under the ominous direction of the chief priest, they dug shallow graves and were buried alive for an hour—an unholy rite believed to summon fortune from the depths of the unknown.
But fate, as cruel as ever, had other plans. One of them ran out of luck and perished in the process, his life claimed by the very forces they had sought to manipulate.
The remaining two, undeterred, pressed on with the final rituals, only to discover that their hopes had been built on nothing but illusion and deceit.
For Ubeh, life after the ritual became a slow descent into despair. Instead of the promised wealth and power, he found himself ensnared in cocoons of misfortune.
Haunted by the spectre of his choices, he wandered in search of redemption, seeking deliverance from pastors who could help him reclaim his sanity and soul.
With a trembling voice and a heavy heart, he recounted his ordeal to Saturday PUNCH.
“Approximately five years ago, I made a decision that could have cost me my life if not for God. I come from a family of five—three sisters, my elder brother, and myself.
“I used to manage a small stall at Balogun Market, Lagos Island, but my aspirations pushed me to yearn for something greater. I am from Anambra State, and though my brother is wealthy, he never cared for me.
“He flaunted his riches, and most people, upon hearing my story, wouldn’t believe that I have a very rich brother working with Chevron. The intimidation was overwhelming. While I barely had enough to eat, my brother lived in abundance and built houses. This didn’t sit right with me, and I suspected something wasn’t right.”
The 27-year-old gradually grew distant from his brother, convinced that his wealth was tied to dark powers.
Fearful that his own life might be in danger, he decided to seek protection and, more importantly, to secure wealth for himself through any means necessary.
“My mind was made up. I searched for a powerful native doctor, “ he said. “After several inquiries, I found one in Ojo-Nibe, Kogi State, and travelled to meet him. We discussed my fears extensively, and he reassured me, setting a date for the rituals.”
On the fateful day, Ubeh discovered he was not alone. Two others had also come seeking fortune, but tragically, only two of them would leave the shrine alive.
He recounted, “When I first met the native doctor, he gave me a list of items to bring—some I provided, others I had to pay for, including a black ram and a wooden casket. He never told me what the casket was meant for—until that night.
“The rituals lasted two days. On the first day, after enduring painful incisions and consuming strange concoctions, we were instructed to dig three shallow graves—our own graves.
“The priest announced that we would be buried alive for one hour, explaining that it is a test of endurance meant to symbolise a struggle with the earth and an emergence with newfound strength.
“He said we would wrestle with the earth and emerge strong. We were taken to a forest in the morning to dig our graves and finished around 3pm. We were told to rest until the time for the final rituals. At exactly 1am, we were marched back into the dark forest. It was eerily silent, except for the occasional distant cry of a bird.
“By 2am, the priest’s servants placed the caskets into the graves, and we were ordered to enter them—naked. The chief priest himself sealed the caskets, while his servants covered us with sand.”
He recalled that before the burial, the priest had smeared their bodies with native chalk, chanted incantations, doused them with a fiery local drink, and tied strips of red and white cloths around their waists—an alleged act of fortification.
The experience, he said, was terrifying. He had urinated on himself, feeling as though he had died twice and returned. It was the most horrifying moment of his life.
Though he was fortunate to emerge alive, one of them did not survive. The servants carried the body away in silence.
After they were revived, they were forced to drink another bitter concoction and made to sit on round stones. Then, they were bathed in the blood of a black ram—the final ritual before being given yam porridge cooked with local chicken.
He left the shrine filled with hope, expecting power and wealth to manifest. But nothing changed.
Perhaps he had gained some protection, but the riches he desperately sought never came.
The realisation that everything he had endured had been for nothing shattered him completely. Ubeh lost himself, and wandered the streets, muttering incoherent words, his mind consumed by regret.
For months, he teetered on the brink of madness, drifting from one place of worship to another in search of deliverance.
He clung to the hope that a pastor’s prayers would restore his sanity and free him from the torment that had gripped his soul.
But disappointment followed him at every turn. He came to believe there was no genuine Okite ritual for quick wealth.
Most of those who claimed to practise it, he said, were merely empowered to commit crimes—robbery, fraud, kidnapping, and worse—under the guise of spiritual fortification.
Ubeh told our correspondent that five years later, the wealth he sought never materialised.
“I abandoned my business and now merely learning to become a party DJ. You can imagine someone who was a shop owner at Balogun Market, now reduced to struggling for survival,” he said with a tinge of regret in his voice.
As for the other survivor, he had no idea what had become of him. According to him, they only met at the shrine, and that was the last time he saw him.
Looking back, he lamented that the journey had not been worth it. He had gone through hell for nothing.
“I regret leaving apprenticeship for Okite”
Ubeh was not the only one who tried to bend fate to his will and suffered for it.
Gabriel Oduji, another disillusioned youth, also fell into the trap of Okite and regretted it deeply.
At just 22 years old, Oduji had been an apprentice at the bustling Onitsha Main Market, diligently learning a trade. But the lure of quick riches proved too strong.
Seduced by countless social media claims that Okite rituals could guarantee wealth within months, he abandoned his apprenticeship, convinced he had found a shortcut to financial freedom.
What he believed was the key to his breakthrough quickly unravelled into a harrowing nightmare.
Like many before him, Oduji journeyed to Idemili (Anambra) in search of Alusi Ogwu, a renowned native doctor said to hold the secrets of boundless wealth.
Alongside others, he received charms and was assured that fortune was just a ritual away. But it was all an illusion.
A year later, regret gnaws at him.
His voice heavy with disillusionment, he admitted that rather than prosperity, he had sunk deeper into hardship. Not a single sign of wealth had materialised—instead, he was struggling more than ever.
The promises that once fuelled his hope had crumbled, leaving him in a state far worse than before.
He reflected on the peers he had left behind in apprenticeship—young men who now had tangible skills and promising futures. Meanwhile, he had spent his time and money chasing shadows.
“I feel left behind,” he lamented. “While others are moving forward, I remain stagnant. I put my trust in something that turned out to be nothing but an illusion. The money I spent, the time I wasted—it was all for nothing.”
Oduji had believed Okite would be his answered prayer, but instead, it had left him questioning everything.
He had sought control over his destiny, only to find himself more powerless than ever.
Double Jeopardy
Drowning in frustration, Oduji sought solace in drugs, desperate to numb the crushing weight of failure and disappointment. The reality of his losses—financial and otherwise—was too much to bear.
“I spent over N500,000 on this Okite madness,” he admitted, his voice laced with regret.
But the high feeling of the drugs was fleeting. Each time the effect wore off, the despair returned—heavier, more suffocating.
“The drugs offered a temporary escape, a brief moment of peace,” he reflected. “But deep down, I knew they were only making things worse. Instead of solving my problems, they became yet another struggle.”
For this young man, what began as a pursuit of wealth had spiralled into a vicious cycle of regret, self-destruction, and an overwhelming sense of loss.
“Looking back on everything, I realise now that the answer was never in external forces or shortcuts. Success comes from hard work, determination, and resilience. I regret ever taking this path.”
Dark world of Okite rituals unveiled
The Okite ritual is a charm, allegedly prepared using various animals, including dogs, elephants, and monkeys. In some cases, human body parts are also said to be involved.
Among Igbo communities, the ritual goes by different names depending on the region. In Ayamelum, it is referred to as Oruru, meaning a luck charm, while others call it Awele, signifying good fortune.
Among the youth, it has acquired a more sinister moniker—Yahoo Plus—a term now associated with cyber fraud, combined with diabolical fortification.
A research fellow at the Department of Religion and Human Relations, Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, Anambra State, Emmanuel Nnatuanya, explained that Yahoo Plus originated from the term Yahoo Yahoo, which was initially linked to internet fraudsters who relied solely on cyber scams.
“When people became more aware of internet fraud schemes, young boys began turning to native doctors for charms that would enable them to hypnotise and manipulate their victims. With the involvement of native doctors, Yahoo Yahoo evolved into Yahoo Plus,” he explained.
He further clarified that Okite is believed to be a powerful charm that summons unlimited wealth, but it comes at a steep price.
“There is Okite and also Nne-ite, both potent native concoctions. Currently, many young people, desperate for wealth, turn to these rituals, believing they will accelerate their fortunes.
“Many Igbo youths now believe that when Okite is prepared by a skilled native doctor, it can fast-track their achievements and make success instantaneous. This is why so many young men, impatient with the idea of gradual progress, seek it.”
But the dangers are seldom disclosed upfront, Nnatuanya said with a wry expression.
“Okite may accelerate riches, but it also accelerates destruction—self-ruin, death, pain, anguish, and despair. This is the truth that native doctors never tell their desperate clients.
“Okite can render a man impotent. It can demand human blood in the long run. It can even drive people to madness.”
Shackled by Okite
Benjamin Udemba was hoodwinked into becoming an Okite worshipper and became bound by its rituals and obligations.
Once a thriving tiler, he sought a shortcut to wealth. In his desperation, he sold his family land to fund a trip abroad, hoping to strike gold.
Instead, he found himself back at square one, shackled by the very charm he had embraced.
Today, Okite holds him in a state of bo***ge, one that, he admits, requires a superior force to break free from.
Recalling his ordeal, he said, “I work as a tiler, and I often overheard people discussing Okite—how it offers protection and creates opportunities. But what truly captivated me was the claim that Okite could help someone secure a travel visa.
“I had always dreamed of travelling abroad to break the cycle of poverty in my family. Unlike other children, I never had the privilege of completing school. I managed to enrol in secondary school but couldn’t finish. I desperately wanted to change my family’s story.
“So, when I heard that Okite could make my dream a reality, I expressed interest in the rituals, unaware that I was setting myself up for disaster. I followed some men to a native doctor in Anambra East for Afa and Okite rituals. But before that, I had already sold my land.”
“When we arrived, the Eze Dibia demanded N250,000 from each of us, along with a few ritual items. There were two of us: I sought the charm to facilitate my journey abroad, while the other man was after quick wealth through cyber fraud.”
Following the rituals, Benjamin returned home that same day and continued his tiling work until he finally travelled to Brazil. However, the reality awaiting him was starkly different from his expectations.
“I stayed in a hotel for nearly three weeks, lost and confused. I had no idea where to begin. Eventually, I met a fellow Nigerian who had also come to hustle, but even he couldn’t help me. I spent months there, but nothing worked out. In the end, I had to return home before my visa expired. It was a business visa that an agent had secured for me, but it didn’t guarantee success. Since then, life has been a struggle,” he lamented.
When asked if he regretted his actions, he sighed deeply and said, “I was deceived by my friends and colleagues. They spoke with such confidence as if they knew it all. I trusted them, but they led me astray.
“I abandoned my tiling job for this, and now, I am trapped. Many people who know my story refuse to give me work because I brought my Okite pot home. I should have left it at the shrine and served it from there. Now, I have to ring a bell for it, pour libation, and remain tied to it. I can’t travel far anymore—wherever I go, I must return within six months to renew the rituals.
“In my village, people avoid me. The small tiling jobs I used to get have dried up. I wish I had never gone down this road. I was scammed. These native doctors claim to have powers, but in reality, they do nothing.”
Blood rituals and the illusion of wealth
He continued, “Moreover, Okite demands continuous appeasement through the blood of animals as part of its renewal rituals, which must be performed monthly, seasonally, or annually, depending on the terms set. Beneficiaries are not allowed to skip these atonement rites.
“If a renewal ritual is missed, the consequences are dire—ranging from insanity to death, either for the practitioner or their loved ones. Once you dispose of Okite after acquiring it, you are doomed to a life of destitution, struggling to survive from hand to mouth, ultimately dying in poverty,” he warned.
Rebound of money ritual cults
An investigation by Saturday PUNCH showed that desperation for quick wealth, laziness, peer pressure, high unemployment rates, a lack of faith in hard work, and the resurgence of idolatry disguised as cultural revival have fueled the proliferation of money rituals in the South East.
The ripple effects of this phenomenon are staggering—an upsurge in cult activities, human sacrifices, drug abuse, kidnappings, and even organ trafficking.
For those lured by the promise of wealth, the consequences are often grim: the ruin of families, premature deaths of once-promising youths, misfortune, madness, and debilitating illnesses.”
Though this phenomenon is said to be widespread, it was gathered that it is more prevalent in Anambra State, prompting the Anambra State House of Assembly to take decisive action to protect lives by outlawing Okite rituals.
The House also mandated that legitimate native doctors – male and female (ezenwanyi) register with the government to eliminate those who exploit their craft to abet criminality.
Banning Okite
Data from the National Bureau of Statistics underscores the severity of criminal activities linked to ritualism.
Between May 2023 and April 2024, Nigerians paid a staggering N2.23tn in ransom to kidnappers.
The 2024 NBS Crime Experience and Security Perception Survey revealed that the South East alone accounted for N85.4bn of that amount.
Among the region’s states, Anambra suffered the highest toll, with residents paying N350.2m—a staggering 88 per cent of the over N400 million demanded by kidnappers.
A breakdown of the ransom figures across the South East states paints a grim picture: Anambra, N350.2m; Imo, N39m; Abia, N25m, Enugu, N4m and Ebonyi, N1m.
The Commissioner for Information, Anambra State, Dr Law Mefor, corroborated these findings, revealing that independent investigations into native doctors across the South East uncovered chilling evidence linking them to criminal enterprises.
He explained that some native doctors not only prepare charms for kidnappers and armed robbers but also engage in sinister practices, including human sacrifices for wealth and protection.
“These diabolical rituals have given rise to Ego Mbute, Oke-Ite, and Yahoo Plus, while also reviving idolatry, which is making an insidious comeback in Igbo socio-cultural life.”
“In light of these alarming developments, Governor Soludo, driven by a sense of duty and responsiveness, has taken a firm stand against these nefarious activities. His administration is determined to eradicate such evil practices that have no place in legitimate traditional medicine or authentic native spirituality,” Mefor stated.
The commissioner assured that those practising legitimate traditional medicine have nothing to fear, as the government’s crackdown specifically targets fake native doctors who exploit unsuspecting individuals for criminal gain.
“We acknowledge that fraudulent native doctors have infiltrated the trade, engaging in criminal activities. They must be exposed and prosecuted to sanitise the practice, combat crime, and safeguard the state,” he added.
A new law
Following extensive investigations into the devastating impact of Okite rituals on youths and the state, the Anambra State House of Assembly enacted the Anambra State Homeland Security Law, 2025, effectively banning Okite rituals and other criminally motivated esoteric practices.
Why Nigerians should say no to quick money – Spiritualist
A spiritualist known as Ezenwanyi Akuabata warned that Okite has become an enticing yet perilous trap for many young people seeking instant wealth without understanding the consequences.
“Okite bu Ajoo ogwu,” she blurted in Igbo, meaning, Okite is a dangerous charm.
“It can shorten your life, make you blind, take the lives of your loved ones, and ultimately leave you in misery,” she warned.
Maria Ude Nwachi profile
Punch
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