In the Mirror
Introduction: A Mirror to Ourselves
In 2009, the late Pat Nebo—an acclaimed set designer in Nigeria’s entertainment industry—offered a quiet but incisive observation in an interview:
“We have not actually matured to look inwards at the glamour in our culture.”
Fifteen years later, his words feel more like a challenge than a critique. Nebo wasn’t just talking about art direction—he was indicting a national posture toward beauty, identity, and memory. His statement frames a broader cultural malaise: one in which aesthetic depth, historical reverence, and thoughtful design have been swapped out for generic utility and noise.
A Culture of Substitution
We’ve seen this trend unfold across every layer of public life. From cars designed with no character, to buildings erected without architectural soul, to civil projects that lack foresight or finesse, the signs are everywhere. Even Abuja—our so-called planned capital—reflects a missed opportunity for inspired, contextual design.
The issue goes deeper than physical objects or spaces. It's about values. We’ve normalized mediocrity not just in execution, but in intention.
And at the heart of this erosion is our collective perception of art—or the lack thereof.
On Art and Cultural Memory
What does it mean when a society has no foundational appreciation of art? When a culture’s only connection to its creative heritage lies in distant museum exhibitions or forgotten curriculum modules?
This isn’t merely an academic problem—it’s a philosophical one. A people who don’t see themselves in their past will struggle to project themselves into the future.
The young Nigerian today may glance at Benin bronzes or Nok sculptures with brief awe but no emotional continuity. What of the stories, the symbols, the spirit behind these works? Where are their echoes in our homes, religious centers, or digital spaces? Where are the reminders of our ancestors' imagination?
We can’t outsource cultural education to a handful of museum trips or textbook mentions. Nor can we pretend that simply living among urban backdrops is enough to forge identity.
Are We Building with Meaning?
We must ask:
Are we building communities around ideas, reflection, and conscious choice?
Are we curating shared values through folk tales, philosophy, or artistic engagement?
Or are we trapped in an endless loop of inherited dysfunction, patched together by forced coexistence?
A younger generation has begun to challenge this legacy. Their search for meaning is reshaping the question of “community.” This is where a philosophical pivot can occur: toward self-definition, toward building from memory, not away from it.
As the saying goes, “No matter how tall our grandfather was, we all have our growing to do.”
The Void and the Possibility
The absence of cultural presence in daily life is staggering. Artifacts have become myth—cool but irrelevant. It’s hard to blame a teenager for being indifferent when there are no visible, tangible ties to the stories we claim to revere.
Where are the curated everyday crafts? Where are the ubiquitous expressions of design, music, material, or form that inspired centuries of creativity?
If culture is invisible, it becomes inaudible. And if inaudible, it becomes irrelevant.
New Archives, New Portals
Yet, all is not lost. Platforms like Archivi.ng and YungNollywood are restoring curiosity and offering portals into periods we risk forgetting. They function as both archive and artifact—reviving past aesthetics while documenting present sensibilities.
Other contemporary efforts, like the Naira Life and Zikoko stories, portray intimate snapshots of how Nigerians live, spend, hustle, and reflect. They bring the philosophical question home: How do ordinary life choices shape cultural continuity?
The best of these stories are not nostalgic—they are instructive. They remind us that behind every style, recipe, or idiom lost to time, there was once a reason, a person, and a place.
The Big Question
So—when do we begin to truly look inward? To stop borrowing frameworks of glamour, meaning, and success from elsewhere, and rediscover the ones embedded within us?
The question isn’t simply: What about us?
It’s: What will we remember? What will we preserve? What will we pass on?
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