Nnamdi Udoka

THISDAY newspaper of 12th April 2026 has a few things to say about my practice.

Akimbo: Selena
2026

The slow death of Nigeria's Somatic vernacular is as alarming as the equally slow extinction of her oral language. We are quick to scold natives for not speaking their mother tongue enough, yet we forget another means of communication that is quickly going out of style: the authentic Nigerian/ African body language or non verbal communication.

Now we'd more readily do the "clock it" sign, fist bump, and dap each other up than do the vernacular equivalents of these gestures. Nollywood fields actors who strive so hard to westernize their tongue and their gestures so they're nothing African.

I've begun to make drawings documenting these gestures. One of them, titled "we shall see," was exhibited at the +234Art Fair fair. It shows a provoked woman, arms akimbo, preparing herself mentally for a future confrontation. Imagine my delight to find oyinkansola Gbolagun bhadmus posing arms akimbo for a picture, but giving off a non-confrontational verbal communication. One that had more to do with pride and inner warmth. She reminded me of the kerosene lamp who also poses arms akimbo. I immediately proffered a request to her to take pictures for my study, to which she gracefully agreed. This drawing is one of these studies.

This drawing was adapted from the incredible art by .n exhibited at the fair. Three Basins that hold nostalgic and sentimental value to me (and no doubt many Nigerian millennials, as they used to be our little household stores) exhibited heads that seemed trapped in memory.

I'm reminded, too, by this wondrous piece about how we've lost many of our historically valuable vessels and art pieces to the looting thieves that was the British colonial government. Like Jasmine/Badroulbadour of the Arabian tale, we've been duped of the old incomparable pieces of our heritage in exchange for trendy trinkets that have done us little good.

How have we paid for this loss?

First, the cruel British magician now has power over our story. When artifacts travel, so does the power to explain them. Western curators put them in cases with labels that lie. The world learns about Nigerian culture through foreign eyes. The tools for telling the tale, like Aladdin's lamp, are in someone else's hands.

Second, cultural amnesia. Those objects were our libraries. When they left, the stories left with them. Now, new generations try to piece together their past through fragments, often described to them by the very places that took them.

Third? The money. Nigerian treasures now fill fancy museums in London, Paris, New York, draw crowds, sell tickets, and fund research. Meanwhile, the communities they came from? Nothing.

What is more? The doubt. A crippling genie of doubt has been rubbed awake from each piece by pale colonial hands, and they've yanked violently at our self-esteem. That nagging feeling that maybe our own wasn't good enough? That we should look outward for artistic and cultural excellence instead of inward? That's the greatest harm that this loss has caused us.

We MUST get back what is ours.

n 's piece was one of my favorites of the exhibition, and I'm pleased with the thoughts it ignited in my head.

What is a woman?

Plus234 art fair
Copacetic!

Tomorrow
Lagos
Inclusivity

In the wee hours of the morning
A little man opened the door of his house
And ran barefoot the short distance to the shoemaker's brown shop.
'Make me a pair of shoes, dear man, so I can hurry off to the market.'

'What type of shoes will you be needing then?', asked the lanky shoemaker in his brown shop.

'I do not know, but hurry up and make me a pair of shoes this minute or I shall be late for the market.'

'What color of shoes will you be needing then?', asked the shoemaker as he passed a thread nearly through a needle's eye.

'You are not listening to me, Mr. Shoemaker. I want a shoe this minute as I have none to wear to the market', railed the man exasperatedly.

'What size of shoe will I be making for you then?', asked the patient showmaker as he carefully mended a torn sole.

'What I want is a shoe Sir. Can you not hear me? I have to be in the market this minute and I...'

'Yes yes, you have no shoe to wear. I heard you.'
Said the lanky shoemaker with his eyes on his threading.

'For a pair of shoes you will pay five times the usual sum, kind Sir.'

The little man's jaw dropped. Five times? That's robbery. Why would I pay five times the price of a shoe just so I can run to the market?' The man blubbered indignantly.

'Let me reiterate ', said the patient showmaker as he concentrated on the shoe in his hands.

'For a pair of shoes made so quickly as to be finished soon enough to be worn hastily to the market on this very morning, you will pay five times the sum.'

'I have no such money for a little pair of shoes. You are a dishonest man looking to dupe your customers wherever you can.'

The not-so-patient Shoemaker turned cold eyes to the little man and said:

'Shoo! Leave my shop this minute. '

The Matrimony

Ukwu ruo gi ala