There was a time in Nigeria when evenings weren’t for scrolling through Instagram or binge watching Netflix. They were sacred. Reserved. Set apart for something magical.
Storytelling.
Back in the 1990s and early 2000s, before smartphones, Wi-Fi, and cable TV invaded every living room, children across Nigeria would gather under the moonlight, in front of their compounds, or beneath the shade of an old tree. It didn’t matter if you were in a bustling town in Enugu or a quiet village in Ondo. If the moon was out, stories were in!
Our grandparents, the real MVPs of that era, would take center stage. With nothing but a wooden stool and a voice full of experience, they transported us into worlds where the tortoise wasn’t just slow but slick, clever, and constantly in trouble. We knew every twist of his tricks. We laughed at his mischief and cheered when karma caught up with him.
These weren’t just bedtime tales. They were Nigerian values in motion, packaged in metaphors, proverbs, and local wisdom. Through these stories, we learned respect, patience, kindness, and wit. We knew what happened to those who were greedy (Tortoise once ate all the food at the sky feast, remember?) and the importance of humility.
I even remember back then after a story, our granny asked a question I got it right then she promised me two meats (hahaha)…
But fast forward to today, who’s still telling those stories?
From Lagos to Kaduna, from Owerri to Ilorin, our evenings have changed. Storytime has been replaced by Netflix’s “Are You Still Watching?” Grannies now know about Big Brother Naija and Zee world. And the very trees we used to sit under? They’ve either been cut down or now serve as Wi-Fi hotspots.
Even the once-popular NTA show Tales by Moonlight is now just a nostalgic memory. A reminder that Nigeria once taught values through folklore, not just textbooks.
Is this change bad? Not entirely. But something precious has been lost.
You see, those tales under the moonlight weren’t just fun. They were cultural threads weaving generations together. They were a form of oral tradition. Africa’s age-old way of preserving history and identity. In them, we saw reflections of our tribes, our challenges, our resilience.
So maybe, just maybe, it’s time to bring them back.
Not necessarily under a tree (we understand the mosquitoes), but around dinner tables. I can remember my dad telling I and my sisters these tales, not under the tree outside but in our very own living room in Abuja. I remember the morals I gained from a story he titled “Omo gbon ju Baà (a child wiser than his father)” and the laughter I had while listening to another story on a different day, titled “Kalala 1 & Kalala 2”. This was around 2011, which only emphasizes that the art and joy from it never goes old.
Podcasts, YouTube channels, even WhatsApp broadcasts can be used to tell these stories. Let’s modernize the method without losing the message. There is a program titled “Once Upon a Time” which airs on Africa Magic Family that my little cousin watches all the time. The program features a woman around her mid or late twenties sitting down on a stool, surrounded by little children listening to her Nigerian stories about a Nigerian kingdom. My little cousin is 11 and still watches it, in fact she records the entire season and is always excited whenever there is a new episode. This is to let you know that the newly Nigerian children although born into a digitalized world still would cherish their traditional way of living and would gladly sit to hear these stories. Because “no matter how advanced we get, stories will always be how Nigerians pass on wisdom, laughter, and truth.”
So tonight, if NEPA does its usual magic and takes light, don’t just groan. Step outside, gather your siblings, or your own kids and begin with those immortal words:
“Once upon a time, in a faraway Nigerian village…”
And let the moonlight do the rest.
Written by: Boy Mirah.
Co-written by: Goodness Felix-Adebayo
