The Death of African Cultures in the Hands of Westernization, and Now Algorithms

African tradition and culture, specifically called Isese in the Yoruba region, is mostly encompassing our religion and our total way of life. It includes how we passed down our folklores, stories, entertainments, beliefs, standards, fashion and everything that makes us who we are without ink and paper.

Our culture was one that relied heavily, better put, solely on oral tradition. While it was the only means available for us, it was never a sign of backwardness. In fact, it was a sign of depth. Oral tradition carried life in ways ink and paper could not. Stories were not just words — they were living experiences. They came alive in the voice of the elder, in the gestures of the narrator, in the chorus of children shouting responses, in the drumbeats that gave rhythm to the tale. Storytelling was not passive; it was communal.

Every tale was layered: a moral lesson, a historical record, and an entertainment all at once. Proverbs wrapped wisdom in brevity, riddles sharpened the mind, and myths connected the living to the ancestors. Through oral tradition, a child did not just learn about bravery, kindness, or greed — they felt it, laughed about it, feared it, and remembered it.

This was how our identities were shaped. We didn’t need a written textbook to know who we were; our culture and our people told us, again and again, in stories that never died as long as they were spoken.

The First Blow to African Tradition

But as Christianity and Western education spread deeper, the space for these stories began to shrink. What was once central to childhood — gathering under the moonlight, listening to elders recount folklores, riddles, and proverbs — was gradually pushed aside. The arrival of the white man did not only bring religion; it brought a new way of measuring what was considered “knowledge” and “civilization.”

Oral tradition, once the heartbeat of our culture, was branded as inferior — too fragile, too “unreliable” compared to the written word. Folktales that carried history and morality were dismissed as superstition. Proverbs that sharpened wisdom were ignored for memorized Bible verses. The classroom became the new fire circle, and the textbooks, written in English or French, became the new storytellers.

This wasn’t just a shift in education; it was a shift in identity. Generations were taught to look down on their own heritage, to view the wisdom of their ancestors as backward, while embracing foreign stories as enlightened truth. And with that, the decline of oral tradition became inevitable.

While most Africans are just waking up to the realization of what’s been taken away from them, and some not yet, comes the internet, and then the algorithm.

Algorithm With the Final Blow

The same way missionaries once replaced our stories with theirs, algorithms now decide which stories are worth hearing and which are buried. But unlike the missionaries, algorithms don’t come preaching openly. They work quietly, invisibly, feeding us tales not chosen by elders or communities, but by machines trained to chase attention and profit.

On TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram, our cultural stories rarely stand a chance. They are too “slow,” too “ordinary,” not flashy enough to compete with the flood of fast, random content the algorithms push. What rises to the top is not necessarily what nourishes us, but what keeps us scrolling.

The danger isn’t just distraction — it’s disconnection. As people spend more hours consuming algorithm-fed content, less time is left for real storytelling, for shared memory, for face-to-face connection. The fire circle has been replaced by the endless feed, and with it, the sense of community that stories once built is quietly eroding.

The danger is subtle, but real: if we do not act, our stories; and the cultural identity they carry; may vanish twice over.