Are We Ashamed Of Our Culture ?

I don’t think most Nigerians consciously hate their culture; many of us proudly wear Ankara, dance to Afrobeats, and celebrate our heritage online. Yet I can’t shake the impression that, beneath that pride, something more silent is happening. We are slowly abandoning parts of our culture. Not because we intend to, but because we’ve stopped noticing their value.

When does cultural evolution become cultural erosion?

This question has been on my mind for a long time. It seems simple at first, but the more I think about it, the more complex it feels. I’m not asking this because I think culture should stay the same. Every civilization in history has evolved. Languages, music, fashion, and food all change. Traditions conform to new realities. Evolution is natural. But erosion is natural too, and the difficulty lies in knowing when one quietly becomes the other.

I have been thinking about this mostly in the Nigerian context, particularly as a Yoruba person. My concern is neither born out of nostalgia nor an obsession with preserving the past exactly as it was. It is also not a rejection of modernity or globalization. Rather, it comes from observing what feels like a gradual disappearance of the things that once made us distinctly ourselves.

I also wonder if enough people are noticing this. Are you asleep or are you paying attention? HELLO??

Evolution is not the enemy

Before going further, I want to make something clear. I am not arguing against cultural evolution. Some of the most beautiful aspects of Nigerian culture today exist because our culture has evolved. Afrobeats blends indigenous rhythms with hip-hop, R&B, dancehall, and electronic music, yet it remains unmistakably Nigerian. Designers have reinvented aso-oke and Ankara, making traditional fabrics relevant to younger generations without stripping them of their identity.

Our cuisine continues to evolve through new techniques, presentations, and ingredients while remaining rooted in familiar tastes. Language itself evolves. We move between English, Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Pidgin, and a plethora of local expressions in a single conversation. This multilingual reality is part of who we are today.

None of these examples suggests a dying culture. If anything, they demonstrate a living one. Evolution allows culture to survive changing times. If evolution is healthy, what exactly is erosion? I’ll explain. It’s the difference between adding and replacing. Evolution adds; erosion replaces. A culture evolves when it develops new expressions while still preserving its foundations. A culture begins to erode when each generation inherits less than the one before it. That difference may sound subtle, but I do not think it is.

Consider language.

If a Yoruba family speaks Yoruba at home while their children also become fluent in English, that’s evolution. The children gain another language without losing their own.

However, if those children grow up unable to speak Yoruba at all, and then raise children who cannot even understand it, the process feels less like evolution and more like erosion. In such cases, something has not simply changed; it has quietly disappeared. This concern extends beyond language. The same question can be asked about names.

What’s in a name?

Oh! This triggered this entire piece of writing. The names many Nigerian parents give their children today concern me. Increasingly, it is common to meet Yoruba children whose first names are entirely Western, while their surnames may be the only remaining indication of their heritage. To be clear, this is not about policing people’s choices; parents have every right to name their children whatever they wish.

Given this context, the deeper question is: Why are these choices becoming so common? Why does a Yoruba family now feel more comfortable naming their child “Eliana” rather than “Adeola”?

Why does “Michael” often feel more natural than “Oluwatobiloba”? Why are indigenous names optional while foreign ones feel essential? You could argue that this is simply a matter of preference. But preferences do not emerge in a vacuum. Our preferences are shaped by history, education, religion, media, economics, prestige, and centuries of colonial influence.

If enough people unconsciously associate indigenous names with “local” while associating foreign names with sophistication or opportunity, then what appears to be individual preference may actually reflect something much deeper. Not necessarily shame, but perhaps inherited assumptions or deeply ingrained conditioning.

The language we no longer speak

Names concern me; language concerns me even more. Language is more than a communication tool. It is a way of seeing the world. Every language contains proverbs, humour, philosophy, concepts, and emotional expressions that simply cannot be translated perfectly. When a language disappears from everyday life, it takes entire ways of thinking with it. Across Nigeria today, many young people cannot comfortably speak the language of their parents. Some understand it but cannot respond.

Others know only greetings. Some know nothing at all. Ironically, many are completely fluent in English. Again, this is not an argument against English. English is valuable. It connects us to education, business, science, and the wider world. The problem arises only when English replaces rather than complements indigenous languages.

When I was growing up, many schools forbade students from speaking their native languages. They called these languages “vernacular,” as though they represented something inferior. Now I wonder what message that sent. If children repeatedly hear that their own language belongs outside classrooms, outside professionalism, outside prestige, should we really be surprised when they eventually abandon it?

Can modern culture save traditional culture?

Some people might argue that Nigerian culture is not disappearing, but rather evolving and gaining prominence through its integration with modern global trends.

Afrobeats is now topping charts worldwide. Nollywood is one of the largest film industries. Nigerian fashion is getting noticed internationally. Online, content creators share our food, humour, and daily life. Does this mean our culture is thriving? maybe.

Still, we should ask how much of our culture is left after we adapt it for a global audience.

Global audience preferences significantly influence creative direction and production. For example, many Nollywood films now use more English dialogue and storylines that appeal to international viewers, sometimes at the expense of local languages and cultural details.

My copy of Children of Blood and Bone. Its journey from a Yoruba-inspired fantasy novel to a major Hollywood adaptation raises a broader question: what happens when culture enters the global marketplace?

The Hollywood adaptation of the novel “The Children of Blood and Bone” is an interesting example. Early reactions indicate widespread concern about modifying or simplifying Yoruba cultural elements to appeal to a broader audience. This adaptation prompts the question of whether the core aspects of Yoruba culture depicted in the original text will endure the transition to Hollywood or be diluted for broader accessibility.

Similarly, Afrobeats artists often blend Western styles such as hip-hop and pop with traditional music. There is nothing wrong with this, but it does create an interesting tension.

At what point does cultural export become cultural dilution? Can culture remain authentic while constantly adapting to international tastes? I genuinely don’t know.

Identity is inherited

I find myself returning to the same idea. Culture usually does not disappear because people turn away from it all at once. Instead, it often fades as each generation begins to value other things a bit more.

Culture is not inherited automatically. Every generation must deliberately pass something forward. Stories, Language, Names, Songs, Values, Customs, Ways of seeing the world. If every generation hands down a little less than the last, there will eventually be a generation with almost nothing left to inherit.

That possibility concerns me. Not because I believe everything from the past deserves preservation. Many traditions deserve to disappear. Cultures evolve precisely because societies grow morally and intellectually. Practices that are unjust, oppressive, or harmful should absolutely be questioned. Preserving culture should never mean preserving injustice, but discarding harmful traditions does not require abandoning everything else.

We can reject harmful practices while preserving beautiful ones. Those are not mutually exclusive.

Perhaps this isn’t really about culture

The more I reflect, the more I think this conversation is actually about identity. Every human being wants to know where they come from. Identity provides continuity; it tells us that we belong to something larger than ourselves. Globalization has made the world remarkably interconnected, one of humanity’s greatest achievements. But in becoming global citizens, we should be careful not to become culturally homeless.

There is no contradiction between embracing the world and remaining rooted in where we come from. The Japanese continue speaking Japanese. The Chinese continue giving Chinese names.

Many cultures successfully balance global participation with strong cultural continuity; perhaps, Nigeria can too. But that will not happen accidentally.

The question I leave with you

I do not claim to have answers. In fact, I suspect there are thoughtful arguments against many of the points I have raised, and I’d genuinely love to hear them. Some might argue that culture has always changed this way; others might argue that identity is no longer tied to language or names.

Others might believe that new forms of Nigerian identity are growing online through music, digital communities, fashion, and shared experiences. They may feel these are just as authentic as the older traditions.

I find these arguments convincing. That’s why I wrote this. Not to say Nigerian culture is disappearing, not to romanticize the past, and not to judge parents for the names they choose. I just want to ask questions that I think deserve more attention.

The question is not whether culture will evolve. It always will.

The real question is this:

If culture evolves by building on what came before, but erodes when it replaces the old, how much can we lose before it’s no longer evolution?

Culture rarely disappears in dramatic moments. It fades quietly. One forgotten word, one abandoned tradition, one untranslated story at a time.

When my grandchildren look back at our family photographs, what will they inherit besides our faces? And perhaps an even more important question:

What parts of our culture do we believe every generation has a responsibility to pass on?

Because if each generation inherits a little less than the one before it, what will remain a hundred years from now?