Have you ever seen a woman so captivating that every passerby stops to admire her beauty? That’s precisely the kind of awe Ojude Oba inspires. It is not just a festival—it’s a sensory overload. A day when the streets of Ijebu Ode transform into a runway of heritage, colour, and elegance. The celebration commands attention. It drapes the city in fabrics of royalty, decorates horses like nobility, and fills the air with the rhythmic sounds of the talking drum. On that day, Africa doesn’t just walk—it glides.

For a long time, Ojude Oba was simply a cherished cultural tradition of the Ijebu people. But then came a viral video by Nigerian documentarian Niyi Fagbemi. That single visual moment pierced the global bubble and thrust the festival into the spotlight. It wasn’t just Nigerians who watched with pride—Africans everywhere saw their culture celebrated, exalted, and respected. For many, it offered a much-needed counter-image to the tired, single-story portrayal of Africa as nothing but slums, poverty, and despair.

But what happens when we swing the pendulum too far in the other direction?

A Celebration of Culture or a Mask of Denial?

There’s no denying the power of storytelling. Cultural festivals like Ojude Oba, the Durbar Festival in Kano, and the Osun-Osogbo celebration are deeply rooted in history, community, and pride. They are not mere spectacles—they are living heritage. And yes, they deserve global recognition.

However, as storytellers—whether photographers, filmmakers, or journalists—we must ask ourselves: Are we painting a complete picture of Africa, or are we simply offering a more glamorous distortion?

When students from Nigeria arrived at the University of Southern Denmark in Odense for a media exchange programme, the viral Ojude Oba video served as a showpiece of cultural beauty. Eyes widened. Misconceptions crumbled. “Africa is not a country?” “So, Africa isn’t all slums?” The students proudly shared the footage again in Aarhus at the Danish School of Media and Journalism. But that moment of pride was followed by a haunting question from one of the professors:

“When African media, in a bid to fight back against the unbalanced global portrayal of the continent, shares only beautiful pictures and festivals, isn’t that also unbalanced?”

That question lingered. It wasn’t just a critique. It was a mirror. And what it revealed was unsettling.

The Double-Edged Sword of Selective Storytelling

In trying to correct a skewed narrative, have African storytellers—intentionally or not—started creating another one-sided portrayal? One where beauty is amplified, and struggle is conveniently cropped out of the frame?

Take a scroll through social media during Ojude Oba. Captions like “Africa is the most beautiful place on Earth” accompany images of people adorned in regal aso-oke, glittering accessories, and masterfully braided hair. But where are those same people at 7 p.m. when there’s no electricity in their Ikorodu flats? Where is the glamour when floodwaters rise in Ajegunle or children study by candlelight in Makoko?

The truth is: poverty does not vanish because a photograph looks rich. And no amount of elegance can fully erase economic hardship. The camera may capture one truth, but it often leaves the others behind.

Africa Is Not a Fantasy—It Is a Reality with Layers

This is not to dismiss the value of pride, heritage, or beauty. Festivals like Ojude Oba are not lies—they are legacies. But they are only one piece of a much larger, more complex story. Africa is not good or bad. It is good and bad. And embracing that duality is not defeat—it is authenticity.

The Nigerian ancestors who birthed Ojude Oba didn’t need external validation. They didn’t need viral videos or social media applause to carry out their traditions. Their strength lay in their organisation, their unity, and their resolve. Without any colonial blueprint, they formed communal systems that still function to this day. This truth alone is a rebuttal to the centuries-old narrative that Africa needed saving.

But we must not ignore that many African systems—political, social, and infrastructural—have crumbled under the weight of corruption, mismanagement, and inherited dysfunction. Our streets may glow on festival days, but our hospitals, schools, and housing often tell a different story.

The Role of the African Storyteller: More Than Festival Photographers

The danger of the single story, as Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has famously described, lies not in its falsehood—but in its incompleteness. The same applies in reverse. A continent known for its suffering is as misrepresented as one shown only in celebration.

Documentary photographers, videographers, and journalists have a duty beyond aesthetics. We are not content creators for fantasy. We are record-keepers of truth. We must capture the splendour of Ojude Oba—but also the reality of Lagos floods, dilapidated schools in Benue, or healthcare crises in Zamfara.

It is easy to get swept up in the allure of positive representation, especially when it makes global audiences do a double-take. But romanticising Africa through selective images is just as harmful as demonising it through poverty porn. Both rob the continent of its full humanity.

What We Must Choose: The Whole Truth

The African media of the future must be many things: factual, courageous, balanced, and yes—constructive. Ulrik Haagerup, founder of the Constructive Institute, put it best in Constructive News:

“Constructive journalism has nothing to do with spreading misinformation that would ignore the tragedy of human suffering, nor is it about a naive optimism blind to the scandal of evil.”

It’s about nuance. It’s about telling stories that not only shine a light—but also cast a shadow where necessary. It’s about showing that a nation can simultaneously dance in aso-oke and struggle with inflation. That its people can wear gold bangles and lack access to clean water. That we can celebrate and criticise—without contradiction.

Conclusion: A New Lens for Africa

Our ancestors will keep showing up to Ojude Oba. They will ride adorned horses and beat the talking drums whether cameras roll or not. But as members of the new generation, we must document this legacy with reverence and realism. We must record the joy and the injustice. The pride and the pain.

Africa does not need propaganda. It needs perspective. It doesn’t need fantasy. It needs fidelity to the whole truth.

And as storytellers, we will not be naïve festival photographers. We will be narrators of the full African story—its light and its shadow. Because only in that honesty lies our power to inform, to connect, and to inspire real change.