The colonizer still lives in Nigeria through me

‘My life has been shaped by systems far from my cultural heritage.’

Originally published on Global Voices

I know the exact village in Nigeria where my father was born, but nothing about it feels like home. I don’t speak the local language, I dislike the taste of traditional food, and whenever I visit, I feel more like a stranger than someone descended from that land. Although I live in the capital city, just three hours away, I haven’t visited the village in years, and I do everything I can to avoid going. 

The root of disconnection

My father, born in 1960, the year Nigeria gained independence from Britain, is a product of colonialism, both religiously and culturally. He changed his Nigerian name to a Hebrew name when he got christened, was educated in colonial institutions — molded by their values and deeply invested in their ideals of success. He was among the fortunate few who left his remote village to pursue an education, which transformed his life, granted him a career, financial security, and an unwavering belief in the superiority of Western knowledge systems. He passed this belief on to me, his first child, by enrolling me in the best international schools he could afford.

I vividly recall attending one of the most prestigious elementary schools in my hometown — a Catholic institution founded by an Italian nun, Sister Semira Carrozzo. I even learned some Italian there, although over two decades later, I barely remember a word. However, I can probably recite the Jamaican national anthem better than many Jamaicans — a result of attending a high school founded by a Jamaican woman, where I was required to memorize every line of it. Without traveling to the United States, I spent four years studying international relations at an American-style University in Africa, taking courses on globalization and world politics.

At home, rather than impart his native tongue, my father prioritized a steady subscription to satellite television, believing that exposure to foreign programming would offer both education and entertainment, thus deepening my immersion in external worldviews at the expense of my own.

While I’m grateful for the education I received, I cannot ignore how far removed it was from my cultural roots.

This focus on foreign education has sparked concerns among Nigerian scholars. Benneth Uzoechi, a professor of education, warns that adopting foreign curricula does not foster cultural identity among Nigerian students. 

Yet, foreign education is highly sought after by Nigerians. Many affluent Nigerian families enroll their children in British, American, or IB international schools. Some elite British boarding schools now have campuses in Nigeria to meet the demand. The number of Nigerian students getting study visas to the UK soared from 6,798 in 2019 to 59,053 in 2022 — a 76.9 percent increase. 

Research indicates that a rising proportion of young Nigerians no longer speak their Indigenous languages fluently, particularly among urban and educated groups. Surveys show that only about 27–30 percent of youth aged 5–18 understand or speak their mother tongue well, compared to nearly 90 percent of older generations. 

An epiphany 

Despite being born and raised in Nigeria, when I introduce myself, I’m often asked by fellow Nigerians where I’m “really” from. I understand why: I have no traditional Nigerian name or an accent that can be traced to a particular tribe. My life has been shaped by systems far from my cultural heritage.

It wasn’t until I attended the Global Voices Summit in Nepal, in a session where participants were asked to translate a poem into their mother tongues, that I had a moment of reckoning. I found that task incredibly difficult as I realized I speak and write English better than any other language. In a room filled with brilliant thinkers from around the world, many proudly embracing their linguistic roots, I confronted how colonized my mind had become. 

Notwithstanding,  I am not alone. Some Africans like me, brought up on the continent, are somewhat disconnected from their heritage as new generations of native speakers of English in Africa emerge. 

Decolonization 

Although the colonizers have formally left our shores, their influence lives within. 

Contrary to the popular narrative that the British governed Nigeria solely through indirect rule, the reality was far more complex. While indirect rule using local chiefs and traditional structures to enforce colonial policies was prominent in the north and parts of the southwest, many areas, especially in the southeast and minority regions, experienced direct colonial administration. In these communities where centralized authority was weak or nonexistent, the British imposed warrant chiefs and colonial officers, bypassing traditional governance entirely. This direct rule often led to deeper cultural disruptions, revealing that the colonial experience in Nigeria was far from uniform.

To date, European languages remain dominant in government, education, and business across former colonies in Africa: English in Nigeria, French in Senegal, and Portuguese in Angola, with Indigenous languages being marginalized in formal settings. Post-independence, many Africans continue to identify more with Western norms in education, names, food, and logic — often at the expense of cultural pride and continuity. 

From the music I listen to, the books I read, and the food I consume, I am now consciously dismantling the residual effects of colonial ideologies, values, and systems that shape my identity. While I may never be fully free, I am more awake. With self-awareness, I am actively unlearning the internalized belief that foreign equals superior.