and the talking drum went silent.

So, we dance to the tune of our oppressors.

Bishop Ajayi Crowder, now renowned in modern times as the translator of the Hebrew Bible into the indigenous Yoruba language of his home country, sits with a problem. His hand pauses, and his pen hovers over a blank page. He searches the corners of his mind for a word to replace another—one that has no definition in his language, something that has never been written, or spoken, or heard, neither by his ancestors nor the people of his time. Then, coming to a conclusion, he writes down the word “Eshu”, which he translates to “Devil.”

However, one would come to find that Eshu, a god of ancient Yoruba mythology, has nothing to do with the devil of the Bible; and I believe this set a precedent. Soon enough, a pattern emerges and we begin to neglect African cultures, beliefs, and spirituality in pursuit of eurocentrism.

You sit in a hairdresser’s shop as she parts your hair with full disparagement, lamenting how the natural texture is “too tacky” and emphasizing the need for it to be relaxed so it can be silky and straight like that of the white women in magazines. You’re viewed as a savage or a menace to society simply for growing locs on your head. People call you a prostitute for wearing waist beads, a disgrace for having tattoos. You struggle to learn your local language—“English sounds better; it’s simpler and easier to understand than my mother’s tongue.”

I’m aware that this is an all-around African experience. However, I’ll be citing instances based on what I’ve seen and faced. And since I reside in West Africa, my view might be a bit narrow. There is no doubt, however, that our struggle against colonial rule has been lost, and the shackles of slavery and control are now being orchestrated by none other than Africans themselves.

We have allowed European beliefs—and dare I say, Christian values—to dictate our way of life and erase generations of culture. It has gotten to the point where African spirituality is seen as demonic, and as I highlighted above, things that were once natural to us, things that united us as a people, are now observed as wayward practices. We forget that we are all like Eshu—we are victims. Victims of a system that wants to control and take from us, a system that turns us against ourselves and wants nothing but our damnation, so that their bellies may be full. And we facilitate it, blind to see that we’ve sunk into a form of mental slavery.

Beauty standards of the past are viewed with scorn; embracing your culture is seen as rebellious. We don’t even stop to ask. We do not pause to wonder why we see things this way. The white man tells us it’s evil, and of course, the white man can’t lie.

And so the talking drums go silent, their echoes lost in the wind—echoes that once beat tales of resistance, of opposition to those who forcefully took our lands. It’s tunes are lost as the people have failed to recognize it. Just as they now fail to recognize who they once were.