The Iroko Historical Society began as an act of preservation—and an act of love. This project was born not out of ambition, but from a sense of responsibility. I hold deep respect for the knowledge that has shaped my life, and even deeper caution around how that knowledge is handled. This work isn’t about ownership. It’s about continuity.

As I walked this path, I witnessed the quiet power of ancestral knowledge: stories told in twilight, healing passed hand to hand, rituals performed without spectacle. As I’ve gathered these fragments—photographs, names, prayers, plant knowledge—I’ve felt the weight of responsibility more than pride.

I worry, often, that collecting or organizing sacred materials might look like ownership—or worse, self-promotion. That is not the intention. The work of the Iroko Historical Society is not about me, or any one voice. It is about continuity. About making sure these stories, teachings, and memories are not lost to time, neglect, or institutional silence.

Whenever possible, we return materials to their communities of origin. We publish selectively, and always with permission. And we welcome accountability.