There is a question that haunts me often—one that echoes louder every time I see another policy copied from the West, another imported curriculum, another leader parroting foreign ideologies while ignoring their people.
The question is this: When will our continent be what it can be? Too often, Africa is painted as a place of lack—low development, low opportunity, low worth. We are told we have no leadership, no innovation, no talent. These narratives have been fed to us so consistently that we risk internalising them. But I refuse to. Yes, the challenges are real. Corruption exists. Fragile systems persist. I live the daily realities of broken infrastructure, underfunded schools, and education systems that feel disconnected from who we are. But I also see the other side: The brilliance of African youth, the wealth of our land, the resilience in our communities, the power in our languages and traditions.
Africa is not a blank canvas waiting for Western brushstrokes. It is a story—rich, layered, and ongoing. So why are we still so eager to imitate the West? Across the continent, our institutions mirror colonial structures. Our development models often follow paths designed elsewhere. In our classrooms, African children learn European history in foreign languages while being distanced from their own roots. We are chasing a dream that isn’t ours—one we were told to want. And in that pursuit, we risk losing ourselves.
This, to me, is the most dangerous legacy of colonisation: The colonisation of the mind. Kenyan author Ngugi wa Thiong’o spoke powerfully about this—the way colonialism survived through education, language, and mental framing long after the physical occupation ended.
Even after independence, we kept many of the systems, languages, and definitions of progress imposed on us. We were told that success speaks English or French, wears suits, and measures growth in GDP. No one told us success could also look like a Kiswahili-speaking entrepreneur in Nairobi or a farmer using indigenous knowledge to conserve land in Ghana.
And yet, while we scramble to look West, the West (and East) are turning their eyes to Africa.
Foreign governments and corporations are investing heavily—not out of goodwill, but because they understand Africa’s value. The continent holds 60 per cent of the world’s uncultivated arable land, immense mineral wealth, and the youngest population globally. Our culture, music, and fashion are already shaping global trends. So the question is not whether Africa has value. The real question is: Why haven’t we claimed it for ourselves?
Encouragingly, change is brewing. Across the continent, a quiet revolution is underway.
I see young people creating solutions for African problems—designing apps in Kiswahili, reviving indigenous languages, documenting untold histories. I see artists resisting Western archetypes, educators adapting their teaching to local realities, farmers turning back to traditional methods that respect the land. It is not yet widespread—but it is happening. The fire is lit. It just needs to be fed.
If we are to answer the question—When will Africa be what it can be?—we must stop waiting for permission. We must stop measuring our success by someone else’s yardstick. And we must stop assuming that the West holds all the answers.
Africa does not need to become like the West. Africa needs to become like Africa—fully, unapologetically, and beautifully.
Ms Miriti is a writer and education advocate passionate about decolonising African thought
