A half-truth I unlearned recently is the idea that Western society is cold and individualistic, while Africa is warm and communal. I will use Africa loosely to speak about my ideas, but I am mostly referring to my experiences growing up in Nigeria.
I often see this narrative on social media, especially with diaspora creators, looking back fondly on the sense of togetherness back home. I believe what reads as coldness to a newcomer is often unfamiliarity. You arrive in a new country without a network, without shared history with the people around you, and the institutions that exist don’t have a face. Of course, nobody is bringing you a plate of food. People have built their own circles, as you did back home, from sharing similar spaces like school, church, etc
Communalism is not inherently African; it’s a natural ideology that exists in the consciousness of every individual regardless of culture. To presuppose that this is an African experience alone is a simplistic way of speaking about traditional social life on the continent.
Also, there is a difference between a society that depends on each other and a society that genuinely cares for people. In Nigeria, where there is no functional health system, no affordable housing, or a reliable welfare net, people cluster together out of necessity to survive. Relatives move in with relatives, neighbours call on one another because there is no ambulance to call, resources are pooled at funerals because there is no life insurance. This is survival, and it is brave in its own way. But it should not be mistaken for community spirit.
Developed countries built institutions to do what many African communities do for each other; that is the point of the government. A functioning state is itself an expression of social solidarity. When you pay taxes into a system that catches people when they fall, you are participating in a community. You simply never have to look your neighbour in the eye while doing it.
The fragment underneath our myth of togetherness shows itself most clearly in our politics. In Nigeria, ethnicity governs nearly everything, who you vote for, who you trust, who deserves to lead at the national level. We are not one people caring for each other. We are a collection of groups in uneasy proximity, each pulling toward its own.
What we are, I think, is a people who have developed extraordinary resilience in the absence of functioning systems, and then learned to call that resilience culture. It is dangerous, because it lets governments off the hook and it lets us off the hook.
If community is just what we are, naturally and inherently, then we never have to ask why a young boy was beaten to death in April 2026, at Madonna University, because he appeared “effeminate”. In 2012, four university students in Rivers State, Nigeria -Chiadika Biriye, Ugonna Obuzor, Lloyd Toku, and Tekena Elkanah – were accused of theft by a mob, stripped, beaten, and burned alive in the street. People watched and filmed. The crowd that gathered did not gather to save them. I was 17 when this happened, and I have never fully shaken it, not because mob violence is unique to Nigeria, but because it’s difficult to grasp standing around to watch four humans burned alive. In an ideal communal society, this would not have happened. But getting involved carried a personal cost, and so people looked on and away, which defies the idea of a communal society.
Care for strangers is a myth. Care when it benefits the person showing the care is the more truthful reality.
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