African children are not short on imagination, but they are short on reading stories that reflect their own world.
Today, many of the books children encounter from a young age are beautifully illustrated imports, stories about snowflakes, gingerbread characters, and faraway lands. These are not inherently bad. In fact, exposure to global cultures is valuable. But when children only consume stories set outside their own realities, the result is not cultural expansion; it is cultural displacement.
What makes this even more troubling is that African children stories do exist and in growing numbers. Among many, writers like Mabel Segun (My Father’s Daughter) and Ifeoma Onyefulu (A is for Africa) have long portrayed African life with warmth and authenticity. Atinuke, best known for Anna Hibiscus, brings everyday African experiences to life for young readers. We have authors like Olubunmi Aboderin-Talabi (Tobi Learns to Swim), Basirat Razaq-Shuaib (I Am Not Naughty – I Really Really Mean It!), Meshack Asare (Sosu’s Call), Portia Dery (Grandma’s List), and Refiloe Moahloli (Yes Yanga!) who are carrying this legacy forward. Voices like Stacey Fru and Elieshi Lema continue to enrich the growing landscape of African children’s literature.
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These books are beautifully written and illustrated, and they are deeply rooted in culture, language, characterisation, and imagination that speak directly to African children. Yet with this richness, they remain on the margins of the very spaces where they should be most present.
This is not a failure of creativity. It is a failure of access.
Despite the growing number of African children’s books, many schools and bookshops still hesitate to stock them unless the author is already well-known. In my experience as a publisher of books written by children, I have approached schools and bookshops and offered these titles. Some institutions have embraced the opportunity to diversify their shelves. But many others have declined, sometimes citing lack of interest from buyers. There is often an assumption that parents and teachers will not see the value in these books.
And they may be right, but only partly. Many adults across Nigeria actually grew up reading African stories. Early classics like An African Night’s Entertainment, The Drummer Boy, and Chike and the River filled their childhoods, providing entertainment and teaching values through familiar settings and culturally rooted narratives. But somewhere along the way, those stories lost their place on the shelves. In the face of glossy, globally marketed Western titles, African stories have become less visible, less promoted, and in some cases, nearly forgotten.
So when today’s parents or teachers look for books, they often reach for the ones they see most. These are often foreign titles with polished covers and mainstream appeal. But that is precisely why we must reclaim space for our own stories. Not because others have no value, but because ours are disappearing from the very places they should feel most at home.
If every school library in Nigeria stocked just ten locally authored children’s books per term, we could reach millions of readers in a year with our own stories.
There is hope in the growing number of young people who are now writing their own stories. These are books about friendship, kindness, family, and tradition. Some are already published. But without meaningful support from schools, libraries, and education ministries, these voices will remain in the shadows.
“Not because others have no value, but because ours are disappearing from the very places they should feel most at home.”
We often say we want to promote literacy. Yet we continue to starve it of relevance.
It is not enough to keep handing children books that teach them to imagine everywhere but here. And what we need is not just more African stories. We need to build demand for them. That means stocking school libraries, encouraging parents, training teachers, and celebrating local stories with the same respect we give imported ones.
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African children are being written about. But they are not always being read by the very children those stories are meant for. The books exist. What is missing is access.
Our children deserve to see themselves in the books they read. Not as distant characters they never encounter, but as central figures whose cultures, languages, and landscapes are not only worth writing about but also worth making available and accessible to them.
Adeola Eze is a writer, educator, researcher, and publisher dedicated to literacy, education, and the transformative power of communication. She is the co-founder of Jordan Hill Creative Writing & Reading Workshop, Jordan Hill Publishing, and Learning Unleashed Magazine.
