“They taught us, subtly and loudly, that what was theirs was better and that what was ours was primitive.”
I can’t go a day without diving into some piece of history, reading about it, quoting it, or just sharing a random fact I stumbled upon. You could even call me a history buff, and I wouldn’t argue. History, to me, is not just about dates, battles, or inventions like they taught us in school. It’s bigger. It’s alive. It’s the stories that shape who we are, the hidden lessons that show us parts of ourselves and our world we never realized were there. And I can’t keep that to myself, so I’m bringing it here, making it part of our Social Roll Call space. So, welcome to Lesson One. Let’s uncover the truths that have always been there, quietly waiting for us to see them.
Colonisation, a word we all know, but one we rarely pause to understand in full. We think of it as something that happened long ago, a story of our forefathers’ struggles, something we inherited from history. But colonisation was far more than land or resources being taken. I have to give it to the colonisers: they understood that true power didn’t come from guns and armies alone. Real control comes from reshaping how people think about themselves. By understanding this, they developed tools of subjugation that were multifaceted but deeply intertwined, encompassing military force, economic exploitation, political manipulation, and cultural control. And it is this last tool, cultural control, that remains the most subtle and dangerous. Through it, they influenced what we valued, what we considered intelligent or beautiful, and what we believed about our own worth. They taught us, subtly and loudly, that what was theirs was better and that what was ours was primitive. Even decades later, these tools are still at work, quietly shaping the way we see ourselves, our culture, and each other.
Under cultural tools, we are introduced to the cultural bomb, a concept birthed by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. In his book Decolonising the Mind, Ngũgĩ writes, “The biggest weapon wielded and daily unleashed by imperialism… is the cultural bomb. Its effect is to annihilate a people’s belief in their names, in their languages, in their environment, in their heritage… and ultimately in themselves.” The cultural bomb is the violence of imperialism, where we, the colonised, begin to see ourselves and our beliefs as inferior. And it’s not just in history; it is deeply rooted in today’s world in many ways. I have caught myself countless times judging people by their accents. I have praised those who speak English fluently, even when most of the time they cannot speak their native language. Haven’t you also? We have been trained to think English, or anything Western, is better than our own things. We have been programmed to believe foreign ways are smarter and more valuable. That, right there, is the cultural bomb at work: subtle, silent, but extremely powerful.
We’ve all heard the famous quote: “He who holds the pen writes history.” And that is exactly what happened: they wrote our stories the way they wanted. They wrote of Africa as the “dark continent” that needed saving, and they made sure that narrative stuck. In his works, Wole Soyinka describes this as the tyranny of borrowed words. He explains how colonisation made Africans doubt their own words, their own expressions, and even their wisdom. Language became a tool of control, convincing us that anything foreign was better than what we already had. Language carries the knowledge and identity of cultures, passed down through generations via oral narration. But the cultural bomb trained us to see these as less valuable, backward ways of life, while glorifying foreign ways of thinking, speaking, and acting. We see it every day: someone mispronounces an English or French word, and people tease them. At school, if you speak in your mother tongue, you are punished or made to wear a “sack,” showing the humiliation tied to our heritage. Even our names are affected; they must sound aesthetic or “acceptable,” because African names are considered ghetto. It has gotten to the point where some kids have only English names and no African names at all. These are the small, quiet actions that show the cultural bomb still thriving, shaping how we judge ourselves and others.
The cultural bomb didn’t just attack our languages and names; it also made us doubt our own abilities and achievements. For centuries, Africa was thriving. We had some of the oldest libraries in the world, cities far more advanced than many in the West, and monumental architecture like the pyramids scattered across the continent, not just in Egypt. Yet the narrative of Africa as a land of huts and “uncivilised people” took hold, erasing our accomplishments before the colonisers ever arrived. Did you know that the Kisii performed successful head surgeries, known as Omobari Omotwe, long before colonial influence? The Maasai practiced bone-setting that saved countless lives. And then there’s the story of Waing’a. When I was young, I used to hear a catchy Kikuyu gospel song: Ndahunyũkíte ngiuma kwa Waing'a, which translates to “I was ashy or peeled after coming from Waing'a’s place.” At the time, I didn’t know the full meaning and story behind the song. Waing'a was a renowned traditional medicine man (Mundu Mugo) from Tumutumu in Nyeri, Kenya. He was particularly famous since he treated what was widely known as muhare, a severe skin condition (believed by some to be scabies or a related rash, and potentially smallpox, introduced by colonialists). He treated it using ash from burnt herbs, a method that was effective but harsh on the body. The missionaries, on the other hand, used new medicines and oils to treat muhare, and soon Waing’a’s methods were dismissed. The missionaries discouraged his practices and associated his name with the devil, a new concept to the community since the devil didn’t exist, to promote their own religion and medical methods. Waing’a was turned into a figure of fear; his traditional medicines were also dismissed as witchcraft. The song itself became a celebration of people leaving Waing’a’s healing for the new Western medicine, simultaneously tarnishing his knowledge and methods. A current example is how we mock the Maasai who sell their herbs in vibuyus. This is exactly what the cultural bomb does: it convinces people to reject their own heritage, to see their culture, knowledge, and abilities as inferior, while elevating foreign ways as the only correct path. It didn’t just erase traditions; it rewired the way we saw ourselves and our potential.
So, today’s takeaway is this: the cultural bomb is not just history; it’s alive in the way we think, speak, and judge ourselves and others. It has made us doubt our own languages, our knowledge, and even our achievements, while glorifying foreign ways as better or superior. Understanding and recognising it is the first step to undoing it. And just like any teacher, my lessons come with assignments, but don’t worry, mine aren’t heavy. Think of it as a small challenge: wear your hair out proudly, start speaking and learning in your mother tongue, or simply celebrate the little things that connect you to your culture. These small steps are powerful ways to reclaim yourself.
See you in the next lesson.😉
“The damage that colonialism has done to Africa is not just in taking land or resources, but in making us question our own worth, our own stories, our own ways of being.” — Chinua Achebe
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