I reflect on living as a pro-Black citizen of Nigeria — through my culture, identity, lifestyle and the small choices that shape how we must see ourselves.
Dear Nigerians, let me start here: this is personal. I love Nigeria deeply; I critique and I question it often, but I love this country.
Since my frontal lobe fully developed, I have come to realise that there are significant moments that have occurred that make me pause. When I witness someone praising a product simply because it is imported, or when an accent changes depending on who is in the room. Times when people treat a Nigerian or Black brand as a second option before trying it. When our own cultural output is dismissed as unserious and unsubstantial. These moments are everyday, and they reveal something deeper about how we see ourselves.
Nigeria is a Black nation by population and location. But being Black and being pro-Black are not synonymous. To be pro-Black is not only about slogans or pride. It is about what we celebrate, validate, undermine, and what we instinctively give hierarchy to and believe is “better.” Are we, Nigerians, culturally pro-Black in how we think, consume, and speak about our own culture?
If we are honest with ourselves, many of us are still negotiating with what it means to be pro-Black while living in Nigeria. Let’s unpack it.
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The prestige of “foreign”
There is a particular tone people use when they say, “It’s imported.” It carries prestige, assurance, and implies superiority.
We trust skincare more if it is Korean or French.
Fiercely, we admire fashion more if it debuts in London.
We attach sophistication to American or British accents.
Yet, people do not give Nigeria the cultural relevance and recognition it deserves; many achievements made within the country are considered small.
Afrobeats has evolved from a regional sound into a global force, influencing mainstream Western music and filling arenas worldwide. Nollywood is widely regarded as the second-largest film industry globally by volume, producing thousands of films annually and contributing significantly to the national economy. Nigerian productions are streamed globally. Our actors, directors, and writers are shaping continental storytelling.
The world consumes Nigerian culture with enthusiasm. The question is whether we consume it with the same pride. Being pro-Black would mean we no longer treat Nigerian excellence as surprising or validate it only after it has reached a global scale.
And yes, let’s talk about Nollywood
There is something else I have noticed — and I say this with care. When someone tells me, almost casually, that they do not watch Nollywood because they “prefer foreign films,” it unsettles me. Not because preference is wrong or taste can’t differ. But because the dismissal often feels reflexive and immediate. Their rejection isn’t about quality — it’s about perception in which they view Nollywood films.
Nollywood has evolved significantly over the past decade. Production quality has improved, storylines have expanded, and cinematography has become refined enough to match global standards. Streaming platforms now invest in Nigerian originals because there is an extensive audience for them. Yet some critiques remain stuck in an outdated portrayal of the industry.
To disengage entirely from our own cultural production is not simply a matter of taste. It reinforces the idea that our stories are inherently less than. My love for Nollywood isn’t blind loyalty. It’s a participation in cultural development. Supporting local industries does not mean suspending criticism. It means participating in growth rather than defaulting to rejection.
Read also: Old Nollywood portrayed women through stereotypes that rarely reflected the realities of womanhood
Romanticising everywhere but home
We aestheticise Paris, romanticise New York, and idealise London. But Nigeria contains its own grandeur — landscapes, environments and events that are worthy of romanticism.
Ojude Oba celebration in full regalia, horses adorned and families dressed in coordinated aso-oke.
A Northern durbar procession moving to a dignified rhythm underneath the sun.
The sacred grove of Osun-Osogbo during festival season, draped in white and devotion.
Calabar Carnival in full colour and choreography.
Even the Lagos Fashion Week is fast becoming one of the most influential fashion platforms in the world.
These are not side notes to global culture. They are complete worlds layered with history, symbolism and continuity. And yet, we often speak about our country as though it lacks beauty.
A pro-Black cultural mindset would not ignore Nigeria’s challenges. It would simply refuse to reduce the country to them. To romanticise home is not naïveté. It is reclamation and balance.
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Beauty standards and internalised preference
Nigeria remains one of the largest markets for skin-lightening products globally. Studies by the BBC reveal that across Nigeria, 77% of women have used bleaching products at some point in their lives. These patterns are rarely accidental. They are shaped by long-standing ideas about what looks polished, romantic, corporate, or “put together.” The conversation goes beyond complexion.
Our anti-Blackness appears in small descriptions — when we describe our hair as “difficult.” When dark skin is praised with a qualifier, certain facial features are softened to appear more refined. It also appears in the aesthetics we normalise for our most visible occasions — weddings, formal events, and even on red carpets.
We often treat sleek wig frontals as the standard of glamour — the safest definition of elegance. Meanwhile, people sometimes frame natural textures as alternative or expressive, rather than simply formal. Believe me, there is nothing inherently wrong with wigs. Choice is valid. Styling is personal. But when one look is consistently positioned as more sophisticated, it establishes hierarchy. Our coils, locs, and kinks are not unfinished versions of something else, and we should embrace them.
A pro-Black Nigeria would widen what we consider refined, more natural hair in bridal portraits without commentary. The normalisation of textured styles in corporate spaces without explanation. More dark skins photographed without adjustment. Not as a statement, not “beautiful for a dark girl,” not “bold for choosing natural hair.” These should just be normalised.
Read also: It’s time to dismantle the beauty standards we never asked for
The language we’re slowly losing
Nigeria is home to more than 500 languages. Yet, in many urban homes, English is dominant — sometimes exclusively so. Many of us understand our mother tongue but hesitate to speak it fluently in formal settings. Some of us even feel embarrassed when we do.
I remember being in a private secondary school and getting punished for speaking Yoruba to a classmate. Not for being disruptive or breaking rules, but for speaking my language. At the time, it felt normal. In hindsight, it is revealing.
When we constantly frame our indigenous languagesas “local” while speaking a certain level of the English language is perceived as “elite,” we internalise hierarchy early — sometimes before we know we are doing so.
I’d like to see a pro-Black Nigeria where Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Efik, Tiv and other indigenous languages become aspirational, not provincial. Nigerians, irrespective of social status, use indigenous captions online as confidently as South Africans do — which I love even though I don’t understand them. Also, we should celebrate traditional names instead of abbreviating them for convenience or perceived sophistication.
If our language fades, something more than vocabulary disappears. It is our identity — softened, then slowly forgotten.
The way we speak about ourselves
Nigerian digital spaces can be vibrant, intelligent and innovative, but they can also be very unforgiving.
Tribal stereotypes circulate easily. Gender hostility trends quickly. And we critique ourselves with an unforgiving intensity. Self-examination is healthy. Self-contempt is not.
A culture that constantly diminishes itself cannot simultaneously demand global respect. To be pro-Black is to disagree without dehumanising and critique without erasing dignity.
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Supporting our own without cynicism
There’s a common joke: “Don’t trust Nigerian brands.” But here’s the thing — Nigeria has one of the largest entrepreneurial populations in Africa. Small and medium enterprises account for nearly half of Nigeria’s GDP and employ the majority of the workforce. Yet there is a contradiction in how we define and treat our businesses and their creators, and this is mostly evident in our definition of what luxury is.
Many Nigerians still chase international designer labels as shorthand for status. They continue to consider European fashion houses the final stamp of arrival. Meanwhile, the global market is increasingly turning its gaze toward African craftsmanship — toward our textiles, tailoring, beadwork and construction.
At the recent 15 Percent Pledge Gala, a number of high-profile guests wore Nigerian designers — not as a novelty but as luxury.
That detail matters because while international audiences are recognising Nigerian excellence in fashion, some local consumers still approach homegrown brands with hesitation and disdain — questioning quality before experiencing it, assuming inadequacy before engagement.
Of course, accountability is essential, standards matter, and craft must evolve. But ecosystems do not mature through suspicion alone. They mature through participation, patronage, visibility and reinvestment.
Choosing Nigerian should not be framed as charity or blind loyalty. It is not about lowering standards; it is about recognising value where it already exists and helping it scale.
Read also: What every Black family should know when speaking to their loved ones about race dynamics
So what does being pro-black really come down to?
Being pro-Black in Nigeria is not about rejecting the world and every other race. It is about refusing to see ourselves as inherently secondary. It’s the choices we make every day.
It looks like:
Watching Nollywood and black films without irony.
Seeking and wearing Nigerian designers without waiting for Western validation.
Sharing posts that reflect a beautiful Nigeria.
Teaching our children indigenous languages.
Complimenting dark skin without hesitation.
Correcting tribal prejudice.
Investing in Black-owned brands.
Approaching conversations about Nigeria and Black people with grace and care.
It means describing Nigerian and African meals with the language they deserve, rather than reducing eba or fufu to “unleavened dough.”
Being pro-Black is not anti-West; it is anti-inferiority. It is not performative. It is steady self-belief. Nigeria does not lack creativity, influence or global reach. What we are still refining is confidence, the kind that does not need permission. And perhaps being more pro-Black begins there. With the decision to see and choose ourselves clearly, because we are overdue for the opportunity to choose ourselves, our community and our culture first every time.
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