Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Her name alone conjures images of incisive intellect, eloquent prose, and a fearless commitment to truth. Her address at the Humblot Forum on the contentious issue of returning African art artefacts to their homelands was yet another masterclass in persuasive discourse.

What struck me most, as it always does with Chimamanda, was her ability to convey profound disagreement without resorting to antagonism. It’s a powerful reminder that the strength of an argument lies not in its aggression, but in its intellectual superiority, delivered with candour and meticulous research. You can watch a part of her powerful address to the Germans here

My deep admiration for her began years ago with her 2009 TED Talk, “The Danger of a Single Story“. This “chocolate coloured, kinky hair lady,” as she playfully describes herself, possesses an unparalleled oratory power, dissecting flawed narratives and illuminating compelling alternative perspectives with remarkable clarity.

Her speech on returning stolen arts echoed that same courage – the courage to speak truth to power. Imagine the scene: the German president, esteemed dignitaries, and there stands Adichie, looking them squarely in the eye, articulating the inherent injustice of holding onto artefacts plundered from African soil. This resonated deeply with a personal experience. In the cool April air, my wife and I embarked on a journey to Berlin, specifically to visit the famed Museuminsel, the “Museum Island,” and within its sprawling halls, the Neues Museum. The primary draw being the iconic bust of Nefertiti, the sole known head, a breathtaking masterpiece of ancient Egyptian artistry.

The journey, however, underscored the very inequity Adichie so eloquently highlighted. As Africans, even with the means to travel, the process was fraught with hurdles. The visa application, a bureaucratic gauntlet that, for many Africans, feels like a judgment of worthiness by a foreign power. The cost of flights, the expense of hotels, the daily taxi rides through a foreign city – all significant financial burdens, amplified by the stark devaluation of many African currencies against the Euro. And then, the Neues Museum itself, with its undeniably exorbitant entrance fees. As we stood before Nefertiti, bathed in the museum’s carefully curated light, I had a profound sense of awe mingled with quiet indignation. Here stood a treasure of African origin, admired by throngs of visitors, many of whom, I couldn’t help but notice, were Europeans who could likely access this cultural heritage with relative ease, a casual afternoon excursion. Meanwhile, their counterparts in Africa are left to perhaps a grainy image in a history book, a distant whisper of the wondrous creations of their ancestors.

Chimamanda’s powerful call is part of a growing chorus of African voices demanding a reckoning with the past. Decades before her compelling address, prominent figures like the late Chief MKO Abiola also championed the cause of African awakening regarding historical injustices. While Abiola’s focus was broader, encompassing the demand for reparations from European nations for the centuries of enslavement and the systematic pillaging of the continent’s resources, the underlying principle is the same: an assertion of African dignity and a demand for a more equitable future rooted in an honest appraisal of the past. Though the specific remedies differed – Abiola’s emphasis on financial recompense versus Adichie’s pointed request for the return of cultural heritage – both emanate from a shared consciousness of historical wrong and a desire for a more just global order. These calls signify a profound awakening of African minds to the enduring impact of their recent history and a collective determination to forge a better path forward.

While Adichie rightly dismisses the question of “where really should African arts reside?” as inherently flawed, I believe it does open a crucial avenue for a more nuanced conversation. Her stance, advocating unequivocally for return, represents a powerful and morally sound position rooted in the principle of respecting ownership. Yet, another perspective, often supported by historical evidence, warrants consideration. This viewpoint suggests that returning these delicate and historically significant pieces to certain contexts in Africa, without robust infrastructure and safeguards, could expose them to the risks of looting, illicit sale, or simply inadequate preservation, potentially leading to their loss for future generations – African and global alike.

The dilapidated state of some prominent African museums, like the National Museum in Lagos and parts of the Benin Museum, are often cited as stark realities supporting this concern. To dismiss these examples entirely would be to live in a “fool’s paradise,” as I initially mused. The fate of historically significant objects within Africa, from the car of assassinated Murtala Mohammed to the “dry, dusty, dirty, and beggarly” Kwame Nkrumah’s museum so vividly described by Femi Akomolafe, offers sobering reminders of the challenges.

However, Adichie’s analogy of the “wrapa” – the personal garment – hits at a fundamental truth. My neighbour’s inability to maintain his car is no justification for me to seize it. The historical wrongs of colonial plunder demand rectification. The focus should unequivocally be on righting these past injustices.

But the path forward requires pragmatism alongside principle. Perhaps the optimal solution lies not in a complete and immediate repatriation without support, but in a collaborative approach. Imagine a scenario where, alongside the return of these invaluable artefacts, world-renowned institutions like the Neues Museum, the Louvre, and the British Museum are actively encouraged and supported to establish and operate state-of-the-art museums on African soil. These partnerships could provide the necessary expertise, funding, and infrastructure to ensure the long-term preservation and accessibility of these treasures, not just for Africans, but for the entire world. This balanced perspective acknowledges the moral imperative of return while addressing legitimate concerns about long-term care. It envisions a future where these artistic treasures are both in their rightful home and preserved to the highest international standards for the enrichment and enjoyment of all. While Egypt and Rwanda offer encouraging examples of well-managed museums, relying solely on all African governments to shoulder this immense responsibility immediately might, regrettably, lead to unintended consequences.

On the matter of history, I find myself gently diverging from Adichie’s perspective. While I deeply respect her intellect, I believe history has always been, and will likely remain, a narrative shaped by the teller. My great-grandfather’s tales of his elephant-hunting prowess, imbued with magical invisibility, were his truth, his way of elevating his status. The elephants, unable to pen their own version, remained silent. Nations, like individuals, often craft narratives that highlight their triumphs and downplay their transgressions. It is not inherently in Germany’s interest to dwell solely on the darker chapters of its past, just as it is human nature for any collective to present its best self.

However, Adichie is undeniably correct that those who suffered the injustices have a profound duty to tell their stories, to keep the memory of past evils alive. To expect the perpetrators to solely drive this narrative of accountability is perhaps unrealistic. This is where the collective responsibility lies – for Africans to write, to converse, to ensure the multifaceted truths of our history are heard and understood. Adichie’s powerful voice in this arena is commendable, enhancing her already significant stature as an advocate for African rights.

My only counsel, echoing my earlier thought, would be for Chimamanda to wield her considerable global influence with utmost care. The potency of a message is inextricably linked to the perceived integrity and consistency of the messenger. Her letter regarding the Nigerian elections, while undoubtedly driven by deeply held convictions, drew criticism from some quarters, including Mr. Yemi Oke, who viewed it as “seditious” and “extraterritorial ethnocentric politicking.”

Not a few watching the YouTube video now would have swirling thoughts listening to her powerful plea. Could there have been a flicker of confusion? Was this not the same voice that later urged the US President to disregard the democratic will of the Nigerian electorate? If we do not consistently honour the sovereignty and rights of African nations to manage their internal affairs, on what moral ground do we advocate for the return of their cultural heritage?

Nigeria needs voices like Chimamanda’s – sharp, articulate, and unafraid to challenge the status quo. And undoubtedly, her connection to her homeland remains vital. The recent apology by Minister Olatunbosun Tijani is a reminder that even the most brilliant minds must navigate the complexities of cultural and political landscapes with sensitivity.

Ultimately, the quest for the return of African art artefacts is not a simple one. It demands a delicate balance between acknowledging historical injustices and ensuring the long-term preservation and accessibility of these treasures for all humanity. Chimamanda has ignited a crucial conversation, and it is now up to all stakeholders to engage in it with both passion and pragmatism, striving for a solution that honours the past while safeguarding the future of these invaluable pieces of human history. My own experience in Berlin, standing before the majestic Nefertiti, only amplified the urgency and complexity of this vital debate, a debate that echoes the earlier calls for justice from giants like MKO Abiola. We need to remember that the journey towards a better future requires a deep understanding and reckoning with the burdens of our shared past.