Igbo Father & Son Clash Over Legacy: I Refuse to Leave This World Empty—Our Name Must Live On

A heartfelt conversation unfolds between an Igbo father and his son, a successful medical doctor abroad. The son, detached from Nigeria’s cultural and physical landscape, urges his father to sell off ancestral properties, citing peace of mind, family priorities, and a life built elsewhere. But the father, rooted in tradition, sees the land not as mere property but as sacred inheritance—footsteps of ancestors, a symbol of identity, continuity, and pride.
As the son walks away from the legacy, the father makes a solemn vow: he will not let his name vanish. Whether through adoption, surrogacy, or marriage, he will ensure that someone carries the spirit, the name, and the story forward. It’s not just about land—it’s about belonging, memory, and refusing to fade into silence.

What those properties mean to you?

But I am not interested in keeping them.

I don't have anything to do with Nigeria.

I don't know the language, I don't know the people.

That place is not home for me.

I don't belong there.

Connect.

What did I hear you say?

That you don't have anything to do with the properties I gave you in Nigeria?

Can you repeat what you just told me?

As a medical doctor, I'm doing well financially and I've come to realise that I don't necessarily need to invest in properties in Nigeria to secure my future.

I value my time in Peace of Mind more.

Between my demanding work schedule and the need to be present for my wife and daughter.

I can't justify the time or energy it would take to manage properties, especially ones I can't even locate or personally oversee in Nigeria.

My focus is on what truly matters, my family, my well-being and financial decisions that align with the life I actually want to live.

Dad, God forbid, but if you pass, I won't even have any reason to visit Nigeria, let alone recognise these properties.

That's why I advise you should sell the properties now while you're still strong.

Use the money to take care of yourself.

Or, if you prefer, give it to the uncles or someone back home who will actually use it.

In traditional Igbo society, a son is not just a child, he is a continuation.

Secondly, it's not just about the value of the land, the house, or the titles attached to them.

These things may hold material worth, but what truly matters.

The real inheritance is something deeper.

It's the pride that comes from knowing where you come from, the roots that ground you.

The story behind the property, the sacrifices made to build and keep it, the family values that have been passed down along with it.

Each property, whether big or small, carries with it a sense of identity, of belonging.

It represents continuity because some of them were entrusted to me and now I entrust them to you, not just to possess but to honour, to carry forward, so that future generations will also have something to stand on.

Not just physically, but spiritually and culturally.

My son, please look at me, look into my eyes.

I'm not just speaking to you as your father.

I'm speaking as a man whose time is almost done.

That land in the village, it is not just property.

It is your grandfathers footsteps.

And his father's before him.

It is where I first knew what it meant to be a man.

That compound carries our name, our blood, our spirit.

If you turn away from it, our name ends with me.

The people will say I had no one to carry on after me.

Is that what you want them to say?

That your father lived, struggled, sacrificed and then vanished like he was never here?

It's not about what people would say.

It's about what is right for me.

It's about what is right for my own family.

Dad, you've done your part.

You have lived your life, now enjoy the rest of your life.

You don't need to carry this expectation any longer, my son.

Reconsider.

Please reconsider.

Not for me alone, but for those who came before us.

And for those who will come after.

Dad, I'm sorry, but my decision is final.

I don't want to make any promises now that I might go back on later.

I'd rather be honest with you up front.

I'm not interested in those properties.

I will have to go and sleep now.

I'll be performing a bypass surgery on a patient tomorrow morning.

I need some time to rest and focus on the surgery.

Goodnight Dad.

So this is how I've lived, struggled, achieve, flourished, and now I'm about to leave this world as though I never existed.

No.

I will not let it end this way.

The titles, the honours, the money.

They mean nothing now.

Not if I leave behind silence, emptiness.

No, I won't end like this.

I will return to Nigeria and I will find a way to have a child, A child that will bear and carry this name forward long after I am gone.

A child that will inherit not just land or property, but identity.

It is about continuity, whatever it takes.

Adoption, surrogacy, marriage.

I don't care.

I refuse to leave this world empty.

I refuse to leave this world empty.

I will not vanish like a Papa.