DAMILOLA BAKARE argues against the overwhelming vestiges of colonialism
On October 1st, 2026, Nigeria turns 66.
Sixty-six years of owning a flag, a constitution, and a seat at the UN. Yet as a single, amalgamated British territory, Nigeria existed for only 46 years (1914–1960).
How does 46 years of colonial setup continue to outlive 66 years of self-rule?
Nigeria inherited a 46-year-old colonial system, but we have also had six and a half decades to modify it, replace it, or build something entirely different. That is the real paradox. The flag came down, but the wiring remained. The ideas, incentives and hierarchies did not leave with the British. A mindset does not leave because those who installed it left, it must be deliberately replaced, and no one did that for us in 1960.
Colonialism was not just about the District Officers and administrative boundaries, it was also about creating a hierarchy of knowledge, authority, language, culture and values. It taught people, over generations, what should be considered sophisticated and local; what was legitimate and what was informal; what was polished and what was not; what counted as knowledge and what was superstition. Those ideas did not require British officials to remain in Nigeria to survive, they were reproduced by Nigerians themselves.
That is what makes the idea of mental colonialism worth examining as Nigeria marks 66 years of independence. We see it every day in the courtroom, where lawyers still wear 17th-century British horsehair wigs and black gowns in 35-degree heat to appear learned. You see it in the civil service, where a three-piece suit in 38-degree Abuja remains the uniform of seriousness, while Kaftan or Isiagu is “casual.” Local entrepreneurs struggle to gain legitimacy in their own market, while imported brands are automatically associated with quality and prestige. The message is consistent: authority must look foreign to be real. To be fair, none of this is explained by colonialism alone, globalisation, class, economic incentives and modern media all play their part. But colonial history helped build the hierarchies through which we still assign value.
We devalue what makes us, us. Consider beauty.
Skin bleaching is widespread across Africa, with Nigeria recording some of the highest reported rates. The exact figures vary, but the pattern is undeniable.
Why does lighter skin command such a premium in a society whose overwhelming majority is Black? The answer is not colonialism alone. Colourism, class, gender expectations, advertising, and modern beauty culture all play a role, but colonialism built the framework for these to grow.
We see the same pattern in the world of work. Skilled trades are often viewed as backup plan by graduates rather than professions requiring expertise, certification, and entrepreneurship. Yes, higher pay and growth opportunities sometimes explain these preferences, but do they explain why certain forms of work are considered inherently more prestigious even when they pay less than skilled trades?
The problem is not aspiration. It is the hierarchy of aspiration.
Colonial influence did not survive through one channel, several factors; some created during colonial rule and others expanded after independence account for this phenomenon.
Colonial education was closely connected to the administrative and economic needs of the colonial system. It was built to produce clerks not creators. Overtime, the Nigerian elite learned to equate intelligence with fluency in English, not competence in solving Nigerian problems. We inherited that meanwhile; the objective of education should be to produce Nigerians capable of understanding the world and solving Nigerian problems.
Indirect rule preserved chiefs but reduced their legitimacy. They became accountable upward to the Crown, not downward to the people. At independence, we inherited that extractive architecture where a state designed to control territory and collect revenue, not to serve citizens. And that is one of the deepest questions of post-colonial Nigeria.
The 1914 amalgamation was for British balance sheets, not Nigerian cohesion. We kept the structure, changed the flag, and wondered why it still extracts rather than serves.
After Britain left, the cultural centre of gravity did not automatically return to Nigeria. American and European media, fashion, advertising became the standard. So, colonialism evolved into globalization and now, the real question is whether Nigeria will remain a consumer of global culture or become a major exporter of it.
The success of Afrobeats and Nollywood shows what is possible. Nigerian culture is already shaping global tastes, but largely through the drive of exceptional individuals rather than deliberate national strategy. Like South Korea with K-pop and K-dramas, Nigeria should create the incentives, policies, and institutions needed to export its culture at scale. Cultural influence should not depend solely on talent. It should be supported by strategy.
One, de-Lugardize Education. If the problem is partly the hierarchy through which we value knowledge, the solution cannot be to replace one hierarchy with another. Rather, we must build an education system that treats Nigerian knowledge, experience, and realities with equal seriousness.
An agriculture student should learn both global agricultural science and the realities of farming in Nigeria. An engineering student should be trained to design for the infrastructure challenges they are likely to encounter at home. A public policy student should study ideas from Britain and the United States but also be challenged to develop solutions for problems in Kano, Lagos, Bayelsa, Enugu, or Yobe.
Our universities should reward practical problem-solving. Government funding should prioritise research that addresses local challenges and produces solutions with direct social and economic impact. Education should prepare Nigerians not only to understand the world, but also to improve the country they live in.
Two, Make Nigerian-ness Profitable. Promote the use of Nigerian fabrics even in corporate settings. Rwanda did it with Made-in-Rwanda. It kills the colonial idea that “corporate” means suit and tie in 38-degree heat. Then tax bleaching creams like tobacco and use the revenue to run campaigns and sensitisation schemes that restore pride in being dark-skinned and natural-haired.
Three, Kill the Colonial Economy. The economy created in 1914 was designed to export raw materials and import finished goods. More than a century later, we still follow that model. True economic independence requires policies that promote value addition at home, creating jobs, skills, and wealth before goods leave our shores.
We must also rebrand work. Nigeria should establish national guilds for skilled trades such as welding, tailoring, and farming, with recognised certification, pensions, and professional status comparable to ICAN or the NBA. Countries such as Germany have shown that vocational excellence can be a source of prestige and national strength.
Colonialism is no longer an excuse 66 years later. But it remains an explanation for how certain hierarchies were built. We have had time to dismantle them. The question is not whether 46 still shapes us. It does. The question is what we have done with 66.
Bakare is Development Communications Expert and Founder, Full Life Creed