In many school assemblies across Nigeria and the wider continent, the first lesson of the day

isn't English or Mathematics, it is the regulation of the African body. School authorities pace the

stage, reminding students that “professionalism” means uniformity. For girls, this often means

hair must be strictly braided in school sanctioned patterns or, in many cases, shaved off

completely to avoid being a “distraction” to studies and for the boys their haircut must be either

very low to the point of no hair or no hair at all. At sixteen, you might see this as just school

rules, but in reality, they are a masterclass in self erasure, where we were taught that to be

“educated” is to look, speak and act as little like ourselves as possible.

This institutional grooming isn't accidental, it is the lingering software of the Colonial system that

still views African identity as something to be managed rather than celebrated. No where is this

more evident than in our “official languages”, which continues to act as a linguistic glass ceiling

for millions. This isn't just about bureaucracy, it starts in the classroom. In many regions, the

transition from a mother tongue to a colonial medium happens as early as age six. The school

becomes a place of translation rather than transformation. We aren't just losing words, we are

losing the specific indigenous philosophies and local knowledge embedded within them.

In schools and corporate offices across Nigeria and the continent, the African body is often

treated as a problem that needs to be solved. We see this in the 4C afro hair and locs are

frequently labeled as “untidy” or “irresponsible” unless it is cropped short or chemically

straightened to mimic western textures. This mindset creates a fractured identity, a life lived

behind a mask, where our heritage is a costume we are allowed to wear on weekends.

Despite decades of being told that our natural selves are “informal or unprofessional” a vibrant

rebellion is currently taking place. This is the era of the great unlearning, from the streets of

Lagos to global digital platforms, we see a defiant reclamation of identity. Young Africans are

proudly wearing their locs in the corporate boardroom, mixing traditional Ankara with high

fashion street wear, and forcing the world to sing along to lyrics in yoruba, zulu and pidgin. This

is more than a trend, it is a political act. By refusing to tone down their heritage to fit the western

mold, they are forcibly redefining “professionalism” and “excellence” on their own terms.