From mud walls to glass towers, Nigerian architecture tells the story of a nation constantly reinventing itself.
Walk through an old Nigerian village and you’ll notice how homes once breathed warmth. Thick mud walls that stayed cool even under the harsh sun, palm-frond roofs swaying gently in the wind, courtyards alive with the chatter of extended families.
When I think about my childhood in Lagos, I think of visiting friends in homes that seemed larger than life. High ceilings that stretched into the sky, cool terrazzo floors beneath my feet, and wide windows that let sunlight pour in. Those houses carried a quiet generosity, as if the walls themselves whispered, “You’re welcome here.” These weren’t just structures; they were living reflections of culture, climate, and community.
Today, a lot has changed. Nigerian cities are filled with compact flats, boxed apartments, and towers that feel far from warm.
Building before the colonials came
Long before cement and glass, Nigerian homes were built with raw materials, such as mud, wood, and thatch. Each region developed its own unique approach to shaping space.
In the east, the Igbos built family compounds out of mud and bamboo, with steep thatched roofs that shed heavy rains. At the centre of every family home was the obi, a gathering hall for family and guests. No matter how modest or grand, the obi gave the household its heart.
The carvings and paintings on Igbo houses often depict deities, ancestors, and scenes from daily life. These artistic expressions bridge the physical and spiritual worlds, allowing the Igbo people to connect with their ancestors and the divine.
In the west, Yoruba architecture was rooted in history, values and beliefs. The family compound, known as Agbo Ile and headed by the Baale (the family head), is one of the most important components of traditional Yoruba architecture. This open courtyard is a space where family members gather to converse, eat, and carry out daily activities. The layout of the courtyard also mirrored family hierarchy, making architecture both practical and symbolic.
In the North, Hausa builders crafted sturdy homes from sun-dried bricks (tubali), finished with intricate plasterwork and geometric designs. The head of the household traditionally commissioned these decorations to convey a message that could signal religious, social and economic class.
With Islam shaping their culture, houses often separated men’s and women’s quarters, showing how faith influenced floor plans. These designs weren’t random. They were responsive to climate: mud kept interiors cool, palm fronds or thatch roofs managed heavy rainfall, and courtyards encouraged ventilation.
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The era of foreign influence
Colonialism shifted the skyline. In government-reserved areas (GRAs), the British introduced houses with wide verandahs, cement walls, and corrugated iron roofs. They designed them not for Nigerian families or the climate, but to recreate English country homes abroad.
However, not all outside influences felt imposed. When freed Yoruba slaves returned from Brazil in the 19th century, they brought with them Afro-Brazilian styles: colourful facades, terracotta tiles, carved wooden balconies, and multi-storey homes. These designs blended African craftsmanship with European detailing, giving places like Lagos and Abeokuta a distinctive flair that still survives today.
Modern Nigeria: Towers, mansions, and the search for identity
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Today, modern Nigerian architecture, especially in major cities, often feels like it’s lost what makes it authentically Nigerian. Everywhere you look, there are towers, gated estates, and high-rise apartments. They appear impressive, but many of them feel soulless — nothing like the traditional compounds, courtyards, and carved facades that once carried our stories. These new buildings rarely reflect our culture and our traditions. They do not reflect our knowledge of architecture or even the simple wisdom of building for our own climate and for our future.
This change started with colonialism, which influenced our sense of identity in design. However, this situation continues to worsen due to developers who prioritise profit over people. They build houses carelessly, with cheap materials, and too often, heartbreaking news follows when a building collapses. They also squeeze rooms into tiny boxes with barely enough windows for light or air, yet landlords charge rents so exorbitant that the average Nigerian cannot afford them.
Looking at modern estates, I start to wonder, are these really homes, or just containers? Our metropolitan cities may look like other modern cities, but in the process, we’ve lost the warmth and character that once made Nigerian spaces feel like home.
Looking ahead: designs that feel like us
Although uncommon, tradition hasn’t vanished. In Igbo land, no matter how big a mansion grows, there is always room for an obi. While Yoruba families may live in smaller houses, the idea of the large courtyard still shows up even in shared living areas. Though people in the North add modern plaster and finishes, mud-brick homes remain in rural areas.
There is also a growing movement for Afro-modernism, championed by architects like Seun Oduwole and Demas Nwoko. It reimagines modern design while staying rooted in Nigerian realities using local materials, shading devices, natural airflow, and cultural motifs. Afro-modernism suggests that the future of Nigerian architecture doesn’t have to copy the West; it can innovate from within.
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The story of Nigerian architecture is one of resilience and reinvention from the mud walls of old villages to today’s cement, steel and glass buildings. However, finding our uniqueness lies in blending both worlds. That is, borrowing what works globally but rooting it in our culture and climate. Imagine skyscrapers inspired by tubali patterns, eco-friendly estates with courtyards for community life, and homes that breathe naturally instead of depending on machines.
Because architecture, at its best, isn’t just about walls or roofs, it’s about belonging. And no matter how much Nigeria changes, our spaces should always feel like home.
Read more: Folakemi Oloye is building a legacy through interior design
