If like me, you’re a Nigerian who was born in the 90s, you might remember Tales by moonlight and Nkan nbe. These were spellbinding television programmes on local TV and radio at the time, which told stories of African folktales and mythology, always blended with a moral message. Other African countries likely had similar programs that worked to engage people with their own heritage while also entertaining and educating. The big question now is… where are these programs now?
Oriire was born out of a simple, uneasy truth. Too much of our heritage is slipping away. For generations, Africans relied on memory. Elders told tales under firewood in the moonlight, and storytellers narrated in marketplaces. But memory is fragile. This last century alone has seen languages disappear, and myths which were once the backbone of a people’s worldview reduced to fragments. What survives often does so by chance and not by care.
I created Oriire because I refuse to let chance decide what future generations will know about us.
History is important and essential to remember, as the people who refuse to learn from it are doomed to repeat it. Mythology is just as important. It’s never just a story; a people’s myths are the reflection of their fears, their moral reasoning, their environmental reality, and their cosmology. To preserve myth is to preserve how a people understood themselves.
Thus, the lines between mythology and history are blurred. A hundred years, a thousand years, and ten thousand years down the line, who can say with certainty that mythology is not also history?
I firmly believe that digital archiving is an act of cultural self-determination. When stories are documented and made accessible, they travel. They reach diasporans who long for connection and young people who have been taught that mythology belongs to the Greeks, the Norse, or the Celts, while ours should be treated as folklore.
Why should our mythology be viewed as decorative, unserious, or peripheral? It is deserving of as much gravitas, fame, and acknowledgment as any other. We must know and understand ourselves. Our stories are deserving of being told and remembered. Oriire was created to ensure that these stories reach enthusiasts, researchers, creators, storytellers, and children who deserve to inherit them.
Some traditions are harmful, some are beautiful, and many are complicated. But all deserve to be understood in context. You cannot learn from a past that you have ignored or simplified.
Take one example, the Yoruba myth of Obatala. In many narratives, Obatala is tasked with shaping humanity from clay. At a crucial moment, he becomes drunk on palm wine, which causes his hands to shake and the moulds to falter. From this accident come humans with disabilities. When he sobers, he vows never to drink again and becomes the patron deity of people who are born different.
Like many myths, this story provides divine explanations for the mystery of creation. However, it also reveals a lot about Yoruba ethical reasoning. Rather than hide imperfection, the story confronts it directly and grants dignity and guardianship to those whom many ancient societies marginalized. It suggests responsibility and, rather than assign shame, it offers care, protection, and a worldview where difference is a part of the cosmic order.
This is the kind of nuance African mythology consistently carries. Our myths are philosophical frameworks, ethical debates and sociocultural records. And yes, they are also cautionary tales, historical echoes, and spiritual blueprints. Oriire exists so that these layers are not lost.
African cultures have never been static. They travelled as we did, across continents and oceans. This explains why Nigerian akara resembles Brazilian acarajé, oríkì reflects in diaspora praise poetry and ancestral memory persists even after displacement. My continued hope is that Oriire remains a home for that continuity. We will gather what remains and document what future generations should remember.
Please support us as we do and be a part of our effort to preserve and document African mythology.
