By Prof. Chiwuike Uba
In many African communities of old, the sanctity of marriage was not just a moral ideal, it was a spiritual edifice, a sacred covenant upheld by tradition, custom, and the ancestral spirits. Today, that edifice is crumbling, brick by brick, under the weight of modernity, imported liberal values, and the careless desecration of what was once revered.
What is most unfortunate—and indeed troubling—is that the honour once associated with married women is vanishing, and vanishing fast. Not long ago, there was an aura around a married woman, a shield of dignity that not only commanded respect but instilled fear in any man who dared cross the line. Today, even the most reserved and dignified wife is not spared the shame of unsolicited attention from randy men who approach her like a market product. When men begin to treat consecrated women like commodities, society has already forgotten that the palm frond is not used to sweep the shrine.
As a man raised in the village by elders who held fast to ancestral truths, I learned early that a wife is not just a partner. She is a Temple. And her husband is the Chief Priest—the only man permitted to offer sacrifices at that altar. The implication is clear: no other man must touch what is consecrated. This is not jealousy; it is spirituality. It is order. And it is life-saving. When strangers dare to enter a temple meant for the Chief Priest alone, they invite stories that touch—stories that end in shame, disgrace, or even death. After all, the man who touches the python without being called by the oracle will not live to tell the tale.
In many parts of Africa, particularly in my own neck of the woods, there are rituals a woman must perform if she has defiled her marriage bed, especially if she wishes to continue preparing meals for her husband or sharing the same bed with him. Failure to do so does not just result in spiritual pollution—it can lead to the man’s death. These are not folk tales; these are lived realities, whispered in the ears of young girls during pre-marriage counseling, and enforced by mothers and matrons alike. When a woman conceals such a breach and still enters her husband’s kitchen, the cooking pot does not forget the taste of poison.
In those days, it was not only men who enforced moral order—elderly women and mothers-in-law stood as fierce sentinels at the gate of matrimonial honour. A mother-in-law could smell dishonour like smoke in the wind. Her silence alone was warning enough. The kitchen, too, was more than a place of cooking. It was a sacred chamber where a wife transferred life-force into the food her husband and children ate. To defile the kitchen after defiling the bed was to serve death in a clay pot. The hearth, like the bed, was consecrated.
The man, on the other hand, is culturally and and maybe, biblically permitted to marry more than one wife, and to keep concubines. This is not a license for recklessness, but a recognition of male leadership, lineage expansion, and divine hierarchy. A man’s love may be shared through covenant, but a woman’s covenant must remain sealed to one. This distinction, though unpopular among modern commentators, is deeply rooted in traditional and biblical understanding. The lion does not mate in public, and neither should we trivialize what is sacred under the pretense of equality.
Yet even men are not given a free rein. In traditional Igbo and Yoruba societies, for instance, any man who dared to sleep with another man’s wife could face severe punishments. Some were banished. Some paid heavy reparations. Others were forced to perform rituals in public. Not even royalty was spared. In one ancient tale from Nri, a titled man who committed adultery with another man’s wife lost his title, his fortune, and his mind—proof that even the gods have boundaries. It is not every pot that is meant to be opened; some were sealed by the gods.
Marriage, in the traditional sense, was no casual affair. The bride was clothed in white, bathed in herbs, adorned with red camwood and coral beads, and handed over like sacred pottery to a man deemed ready to keep and honour her. She was blessed not just by her parents, but by the spirits of the land. Before she entered her husband’s home, she was warned in private: “Keep yourself clean. If you taste another man, do not cook for your husband unless you want to send him to his grave.” These were not empty words—they were laws backed by spirit. Indeed, in our culture, the shrine may be silent, but its eyes do not blink.
Let no man deceive himself—to lust after a married woman is not only immoral but spiritually fatal. It is a possession, a demonic craving that must be flogged out if necessary. Even if it requires community intervention, public disgrace, or deliverance with koboko (whip), so be it. It is better to be shamed than to be buried prematurely under curses invoked by a broken covenant. And truly, he who enters another man’s farm without permission must be ready to explain to the gods.
Many men who have crossed into forbidden temples have lived to tell bitter tales—some never lived to speak again. They lost their jobs, their sanity, their favour in life, and their very breath. There are things the eyes should not look at. There are women that should not entertain a second glance. That restless spirit of curiosity, must know its limits. Not everything a man sees is for a man to touch or talk about.
Let me tell you of Ejikeme, a young man in Enugu Ezike, a community in Nsukka, who secretly slept with the wife of a revered elder. One week after, he began to bark like a dog. They took him to prophets and herbalists—none could help. When he finally confessed, the elder demanded that he crawl from one end of the market square to the other, naked and crying. He did. But three days later, he was found dead under the ọjị tree. They say the land took him back. These are not coincidences—they are consequences. You may laugh at the shrine today, but the same shrine may hold your soul tomorrow.
Today, the digital world has opened the gates of indiscretion. Married women post photos half-clothed on social media platforms. Men who should tremble before another man’s altar now slide into inboxes without fear or shame. Technology has removed the physical gatekeeper—the elder, the neighbour, the priest—and replaced him with Wi-Fi and WhatsApp. The idea that being married protects a woman from attention is now laughable. Men pursue married women with pride. Women entertain them with boldness. Marriages suffer, homes collapse, children wander in confusion.
Even the decent ones—the quiet, the modest, the God-fearing—are no longer spared. They suffer the same embarrassment as those who parade themselves. Why? Because society no longer separates the sacred from the profane. The lines have been blurred. The honour once wrapped around a married woman like a sacred cloth has been stripped off, leaving her exposed to eyes that should never look. This is not only a moral crisis—it is a spiritual emergency. The cooking fire that burns the husband will roast the children too.
And it is not only the women who must reclaim their honour. Men must rise in their priesthood roles—not only by protecting the boundaries of their homes but also by modelling respect, transparency, and discipline. A man who fails to honour his own altar cannot ask the gods to punish another who defiles it. Leadership begins with self-restraint. A true Chief Priest keeps his sacrifices clean before expecting fire from the heavens.
It is time for a moral awakening. For families to return to the ancient paths, to teach our sons to respect the sacred and our daughters to guard their temples. Let us remind men that not every woman is available, and some carry spiritual fire that burns without smoke. Let women reclaim the pride of loyalty, not as weakness but as royalty. Let communities rebuke with love but punish with firmness. Let elders speak again. Let tradition guide again. Let the gods be feared again.
May the gods grant us eyes that fear the sacred, tongues that speak truth, and hearts that keep their covenants. May no man enter a temple not assigned to him. May no woman forget the fire she carries. And may marriages in our land be altars of honour, not playgrounds of shame. Because some stories must not be told. And some lines must never be crossed. God is with us!