Kedu otu anyị si ruo ebe a? (How did we get here?).
Before writing this, I was working on Canva, the online design tool I’ve been using since 2018 to create content for Okwu ID. I was fiddling with a post I had almost finished, trying to decide whether to post it on the main Instagram feed or just share it in the story.
After minutes of back and forth, I had accepted I was overthinking the post, but I couldn’t help but keep stressing about how it might be received.
The worst thing is, I knew that I was wasting time, especially considering all the other tasks still waiting for me. People to respond to. Messages I was still waiting on. Emails I hadn’t opened. And that familiar feeling of being overwhelmed crept in.
And somewhere in that moment, I found myself asking “how did I get here again?” lol. It’s literally been eight years. How the heck did this even happen?
I snapped out of it and realised I needed a space to express myself, somewhere I could speak plainly and unpack this experience. A space to talk about the lessons we’ve learned, the things we’ve uncovered about the culture and detail what it takes to run something like this. The highs. The lows. And all the quiet bits in between.
So, allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Chinye, and I’m the founder of this platform 👋🏾
Ironically, here I am finally adding my voice to Okwu ID, a platform rooted in hearing the voices of the Igbo diaspora.
So how did it start?
Believe it or not, Okwu ID started as an idea for a few pilot episodes on YouTube. Something small and focused to document the kinds of conversations I didn’t see happening at the time.
The spark really came from the time I spent living abroad. I left the UK in my late teens. My first year at university had been so depressing, I couldn’t see the point of staying; so I chose to continue my studies overseas and gain some work experience at the same time.
I travelled to a few countries in Europe, and those experiences shifted how I saw myself and the world. It was this that showed me, in undeniable ways, just how differently people live and think.
A contrast in cultural memory (Europe vs Africa)
Unexpectedly, out of all the places I visited, Denmark left the deepest impression. I think it was because I encountered a kind of cultural confidence I had never seen before. I had a part-time job at an international school, and on my first day, the Danish headteacher made an odd comment after hearing I was British.
He said, ‘You know Denmark conquered Britain, right?’ I was surprised and replied, ‘Really?’ He nodded and said, ‘Yes. The Vikings conquered Britain.’ He wasn’t aggressive, he said it with pride and a hint of smugness. I was shocked because it was such an odd thing to mention after meeting someone. It stayed with me though.
Over time, I realised the Danes openly celebrate their history, even the violent or less admirable parts. They accept their ancestors as they were. There is not the same kind of judgement or shame that many Africans carry when talking about our past.
From my understanding, there are some similarities between our ancestors and the Vikings, such as pagan beliefs and pre-modern ways of life, however, we often view our own history through a harsher, more dismissive lens.
As Igbo people, we are quick to distance ourselves from the way our ancestors saw and understood the world. We are quicker to label our past as primitive, evil or savage, using the same language that colonisers gave us. Yet the Vikings, who arguably had more reprehensible customs, are revered as part of Denmark’s national identity. That contrast has stayed with me. It opened my mind to the importance of cultural branding and framing. Because in a parallel universe, if the Danes had been mentally conquered in the same way Nigerians were, they too might look at their history and ancestors with the same kind of shame and negativity.
The importance of cultural framing and branding
Around this time, I had a few pen pals. I know – it’s not something you find most people doing, but I really enjoyed getting letters. It was first introduced to me in secondary school by one of my teachers, and while I was in Denmark, I picked it back up. One pen pal, Nozomi, who was from Japan, sent me a wooden fan painted gold. It was a small gesture, but the way it was packaged and decorated made it feel priceless. I remember staring at it for a long time, completely taken by the beauty and care behind it.
I thought to myself, “I wish people could see Igbo culture like this.” Beautiful. Thoughtful. Intentional.
These experiences, and many others, made me reflect on my own culture in contrast to the ones I was encountering.
I used to ask myself why I’ve always felt this steady appreciation for my culture, even with all the different cultural experiences I’ve had. It’s not about pride exactly. It’s more like a quiet confidence, a sense that I know and value where I’m from.
When I think about it, I have to thank my parents. One thing they got right was introducing us to our culture early. My dad is from Arochukwu, and our family used to attend regular community meetings. I remember dressing up for performances, learning traditional dances, and wearing cultural clothes. All of that laid the foundation for a quiet but firm sense of pride and security in my identity from a young age.
So even as I explored other cultures and admired what made them beautiful, I didn’t feel the need to replace my own. In fact, I wanted others to see what I saw. I wanted people to understand that my culture was beautiful too.
But when I went online searching for a reflection of that beauty, I couldn’t find it. What I saw online was mostly grainy footage, poorly produced content, and opinion pieces that were full of inaccuracies. It didn’t feel like something I could show others with pride. In fact, it was often embarrassing.
So I started doing what I could.
Putting it out there
I started drawing. I posted my work. After I returned to the UK, I felt compelled to start a conversation. I had been inspired by the rise of Black-led discussion platforms like BKChat and The Grapevine. I designed a simple poster and posted it to the Instagram page I had been building. My brother helped by reposting it on Twitter. I didn’t think anyone would respond. But they did.
And that’s how Okwu ID began. Not with a masterplan, just a quiet need and the courage to try.
Eight years later
Looking back, I often cringe at the early art work and all my amateur mistakes. I’ve realised that perhaps the next generation would view this effort similar to how I viewed the uncles and their grainy videos.
One thing I know for certain is that I never thought I’d still be doing this. It was only ever supposed to be two or three pilot episodes on YouTube. If I’m being honest, part of me does feel the weight of what could have been. I sometimes think about the things I might have achieved if I had been more focused on myself. Sometimes that thought brings resentment.
But when I weigh that against the happiness I feel in what we’ve built, that feeling becomes smaller. We’ve created a space that has lasted eight years. We’ve been present. We’ve made room for conversation, for learning, for celebrating culture, connecting people, and for creating community.
At times, it has felt like we’ve gone unacknowledged. Not unnoticed, but not fully recognised either. Sometimes people see what we do, take from it, and move on without giving credit or even showing appreciation. That can be disheartening. But we are reassured by knowing the work has had an impact. We can see it in the numbers and in the people we meet. And at the end of the day, we’re not perfect either.
It has also been financially draining. I’ve spent a lot of my own money keeping this going. At this point, it’s likely tens of thousands. It has affected my personal and financial progress. But still, here we are.
So what now ?
I know I can’t keep making these sacrifices forever, so I try to check in with myself regularly and be honest about whether it still makes sense to keep going. I also check in with the team to make sure we’re still aligned and willing to keep showing up, even with all the challenges that come with it.
From where I stand, there’s still a little more to do. I believe we still serve a purpose, especially when it comes to having the courage to try new things and create space learning aspects of the culture that often go unheard.
The platform is in a better place in many ways, even though finances are still tricky. We’ve always tried to keep things accessible, and we’re genuinely grateful for the people who’ve supported us along the way. Some have been unbelievably kind and loyal.
So this space, Okwu BTS, is for me for the time being. And for anyone curious enough to read it. A place to share reflections, ideas, and the small, unspoken lessons that usually stay internal.
Thank you for being here.