Dear Nigeria, It Is Time We Unlearned What We Were Taught About Dark Skin
The belief that lighter skin is more beautiful, more valuable, more worthy of love and opportunity did not emerge from nowhere. It was taught systematically, persistently, and over a very long time. It was taught through colonialism, which built entire social hierarchies around proximity to whiteness.
Dear Nigeria,
We need to talk.
Not about the bleaching creams, though we will get there. Not about the celebrities whose skin tones shift between appearances, or the music videos that seem to have forgotten that dark skin exists, or the aunties who tell little girls to stay out of the sun. We need to talk about something deeper than all of that. We need to talk about what we were taught. And we need to talk about what it is going to take to unlearn it.
We did not arrive here by accident
The belief that lighter skin is more beautiful, more valuable, more worthy of love and opportunity did not emerge from nowhere. It was taught systematically, persistently, and over a very long time. It was taught through colonialism, which built entire social hierarchies around proximity to whiteness. It was taught through the beauty industry, which flooded our markets with products that told us our natural skin was a problem. It was taught through our media, which showed us, film after film and video after video, that the woman who gets chosen, celebrated, and desired looks a particular way, and that way is not dark.It was taught in our homes. By mothers who meant well. By grandmothers who wanted us to be chosen. By fathers who made careless comparisons. By siblings who teased. By teachers who complimented the lighter child and overlooked the darker one. By churches and mosques where lightness was unconsciously associated with purity. By playgrounds where "blackie" was an insult nobody thought to challenge. We absorbed all of it, and then we passed it on.
Unlearning is not the same as forgetting
Here is what unlearning is not. It is not pretending the messages were never there. It is not performing self-love on social media while the internalised beliefs remain untouched underneath. It is not simply deciding, one morning, that you love your dark skin and expecting the decades of messaging to dissolve overnight. Unlearning is slower and harder than that. It is the ongoing, sometimes uncomfortable work of examining what you believe about skin tone and asking where that belief came from, who it serves, and whether you want to keep carrying it.It means noticing when you reach for a lightening product and asking yourself honestly: what am I trying to fix, and why do I believe it needs fixing? It means noticing when you compliment a child on being "fair" and asking yourself what message that sends to the darker child standing beside her. It means noticing when you laugh at a colourism joke and choosing not to. It means sitting with the discomfort of realising that you have internalised ideas that have caused harm to yourself, and possibly to others and deciding to do something about it anyway.
This is not about blame
Let me be clear: this letter is not about blame. The grandmother who favoured her lighter-skinned grandchildren was not a villain. She was a product of a system that taught her that preference was reasonable. The mother who applied lightening cream to her baby did not hate her child. She loved her in the only way the culture around her had taught her to show it. Blame keeps us stuck but accountability moves us forward. Accountability means saying: I understand where these beliefs came from. I understand why they took root. And I am choosing, today, to no longer pass them on.
What unlearning looks like in practice
Unlearning colourism is not a single moment. It is a practice you return to, again and again, in small daily choices. It looks like changing the language you use around children. Instead of "you are so fair and pretty," try "you are so bright and kind." Beauty compliments tied to skin tone teach children that their value lives in their complexion. Beauty compliments tied to character teach them that their value lives in who they are. It looks like interrogating your media consumption. When a film, video, or advertisement consistently erases dark skin, notice it, name it and refuse to normalise it.It looks like having honest conversations in your family. Not accusatory ones, but open, curious ones. What did we teach each other about skin tone? Where did those ideas come from? What do we want to teach the next generation? It looks like supporting dark-skinned children, your own, your nieces and nephews, your students, the children in your community with the specific, deliberate warmth that the culture around them may not always offer. And it looks like extending grace to yourself. You did not choose to be taught what you were taught. But you can choose what you do with it now.
Why The Shade Initiative exists
The Shade Initiative was founded on the belief that change is possible, but only when we are willing to do the honest, sometimes uncomfortable work of examining what we believe and why. We exist to create spaces for that work. Spaces where Nigerians can talk honestly about colourism, not with shame or judgment, but with the kind of rigorous, compassionate curiosity that real change requires. We exist because the next generation of Nigerian children deserves to grow up in a society that does not teach them that their skin is a problem.We exist because unlearning, though hard, is possible. And because the world on the other side of it—a world where skin tone does not determine dignity, opportunity, or belonging is worth working toward. Nigeria, we have been taught a great deal about dark skin. Not all of it was true and not all of it needs to follow us into the future.It is time to unlearn.