Nigerian culture is rich, diverse, and deeply rooted in history. From the colourful fabrics of the Yoruba, the intricate beads of the Igbo, to the majestic dances of the Hausa, our traditions tell stories of identity, community, and pride. But today, a worrying trend is taking hold—our sacred culture is turning into mere costume, worn for show rather than lived with respect.
At festivals, parties, and even online, it’s common to see traditional attires used as fancy dress, stripped of their true meaning. What was once a symbol of heritage and history now risks becoming a fashion gimmick, a shallow nod to identity without understanding. But who owns these traditions? Who decides how they should be respected and shared?
Ownership of culture is complex. It belongs to the communities that created and nurtured it over centuries. Yet, in a globalised world, Nigerian traditions are shared widely, sometimes without proper context. Tourists, celebrities, and even younger Nigerians sometimes adopt cultural symbols as mere accessories—without recognising their significance. This risks diluting our heritage and, worse, offending the very people who keep these traditions alive.
The issue isn’t about keeping culture locked away or out of reach. Sharing culture is a way of celebrating Nigeria’s beauty and diversity. But it requires care and education. We must ask: Are we honouring our traditions or reducing them to costumes for convenience and spectacle?
Take the traditional Aso Oke fabric, for example. It is not just cloth; it is a symbol of Yoruba history, status, and ceremony. When worn casually or as a costume, its story is lost, and its value diminished. Similarly, sacred symbols and dances hold meanings that go beyond their appearance.
Nigerians should reclaim ownership of their culture by teaching its significance to younger generations. Schools, families, and media have a role in this. Cultural festivals must be more than just colourful displays—they should educate and deepen respect.
We also need to speak out when culture is misused or mocked. Cultural appropriation is not just about who wears what—it is about power, respect, and identity. Nigerian culture deserves to be celebrated properly, not turned into a costume for convenience.
In the end, culture is alive because of respect. When that respect fades, so does the culture itself. So let’s wear our traditions with pride—and with understanding. Let’s remember that behind every bead, fabric, and dance is a story worth honouring.
Who owns Nigerian traditions? We all do, but only if we treat them as more than costumes to be worn. They are the soul of our nation, and it is our duty to keep that soul alive.
