Hey, my people! Gather around because we need to talk. This one is deep, and it’s straight from the heart.
So, I was scrolling through my phone the other day when I stumbled on a video that left me speechless. A group of Nigerian students were reciting words, but something was off—their accents. It wasn’t Nigerian, it wasn’t even natural. It was a forced, exaggerated attempt at sounding “foreign.” I paused. I replayed. And I asked myself, “What’s happening to us?”
Our accent is more than just how we speak. It carries our history, our roots, our rhythm. It’s the voice of our grandmothers telling us folktales under the moonlight. It’s the sound of marketplace banter, the laughter in our homes, the power in our songs. It’s who we are. So why are we so quick to erase it?
Listen, I get it. We live in a world where accents sometimes come with privilege. You step into certain rooms, and suddenly, you feel like your identity isn’t “polished” enough. But here’s the truth they don’t tell us: our Nigerian, African, Black accents are powerful. They carry depth. They carry warmth. They carry legacy. The world should adjust to us, not the other way around.
Colonialism did a number on us, and even today, we still carry some of its weight. We were taught that “proper” English sounds a certain way, that success must come with a borrowed tongue. But let’s take a moment to think about the global icons we admire—Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Trevor Noah, Lupita Nyong’o, Burna Boy. Do they twist their voices to fit in? No. They stand in their truth, and the world listens. Our accent is not something to be corrected—it is something to be celebrated.
If you’ve ever softened your accent in a meeting or laughed nervously when someone asked you to “repeat that” because of how you sound, just know you’re not alone. But hey, it’s time to reclaim our voice. Speak with confidence because your words matter more than the way they sound. Correct the narrative when someone mocks an African accent—diversity in speech is beautiful. Teach the next generation that speaking well isn’t about mimicking another culture, it’s about clarity, knowledge, and self-assurance. Hype up that friend who proudly speaks with their natural accent—representation matters.
We don’t need validation from anywhere else. The world is already catching on—African music is ruling the charts, African creators are redefining beauty, and African voices are shaping global conversations. We are enough, just as we are. So, to every Nigerian, every African, every Black person reading this—own your voice. Speak like the ancestors are listening. Speak like the world is watching. Speak knowing that your accent is a melody, a story, a legacy.
What do you think, my people? How do we keep celebrating our heritage and making sure the next generation doesn’t lose their voice? Drop your thoughts in the comments. Let’s talk. Let’s connect. Let’s be proud of who we are. And if no one has told you today—you sound amazing just the way you are.
