Afrilition: How Jason Arday exposes racism’s cannibal game

Afrilition racism is not just a word; it is a mirror held up to the world’s oldest trick. In his essay, Adéwálé Àjàdí takes us on a journey through the Yoruba concept of ìlara to reveal how racism masquerades as admiration, only to devour what it claims to love. This is the cannibal game—where the desire for African essence is dressed in the robes of respect, only to strip away dignity in the end.

Jason Arday, through his work, becomes a guide in this exploration. He helps us see that racism is not always the loud, violent act we expect. Sometimes, it is the quiet, insidious hunger for what belongs to others—a hunger that consumes without remorse. Àjàdí’s essay is a call to recognize this game for what it is and to resist its pull.

Afrilition racism: The Yoruba wisdom that unmasks the lie

Afrilition racism finds its roots in the Yoruba phrase ìlara ko gbo ògùn. This proverb teaches that ìlara—the deep, almost obsessive desire for someone’s essence—does not respond to medicine or cure. It is not a sickness that can be treated; it is a hunger that must be fed. In the context of racism, this hunger is the craving for African culture, intellect, and creativity, not for the sake of equality, but for the sake of consumption.

Àjàdí argues that racism is not just about hate. It is about possession. The racist does not simply reject the African; they desire the African in a way that erases their humanity. They want the rhythm of the talking drum, the wisdom of the elder, the beauty of the Ankara fabric—but only as trophies to display, not as living, breathing contributions to the world. This is the cannibal game: taking what you claim to admire, only to discard the person from whom it came.

In Nigeria, Ghana, and across Africa, we see this play out daily. Foreign brands adopt our Nollywood aesthetics, our Afrobeats rhythms, and our Swahili proverbs, but they rarely credit the source. They package our culture as their own innovation, leaving the creators unpaid and unrecognized. This is Afrilition racism in action—admiring the essence while consuming the essence.

Jason Arday and the academic cannibalism of Black thought

Jason Arday, a scholar whose work challenges the boundaries of race and education, becomes a key figure in Àjàdí’s exploration. Arday’s research often highlights how Black scholars and thinkers are sidelined in global academia, their ideas repackaged by others who receive the accolades. This is the academic version of the cannibal game—where Black thought is devoured, stripped of its origins, and regurgitated as something new.

In the UK, where Arday has made significant contributions, the story is familiar. Black British scholars are often invited to speak on panels about race, only to find their insights attributed to white colleagues in the next day’s headlines. Their research is cited, but their names are forgotten. This is Afrilition racism at work: the desire for Black knowledge, followed by the erasure of the Black mind that produced it.

Àjàdí’s essay forces us to ask: when will the world stop consuming African and Black thought without reciprocity? When will admiration translate into partnership, not possession? Arday’s work is a reminder that the cannibal game is not a relic of the past; it is alive in the lecture halls, boardrooms, and cultural institutions of today.

The cannibal game in pop culture: Who gets to eat the African story?

Afrilition racism thrives in pop culture, where African stories are endlessly repackaged for global consumption. From Hollywood’s Black Panther to the global domination of Afrobeats, African narratives are mined for their appeal, then rebranded for audiences who are not African. The original creators? Often left on the sidelines, their contributions reduced to footnotes in someone else’s success story.

Take the case of Burna Boy, whose music has taken the world by storm. His albums top global charts, but how often do we hear about the Nigerian producers, the Benin Republic sound engineers, or the Lagos-based choreographers who made his success possible? Their labor is consumed in the name of global stardom, but their names are rarely mentioned. This is the cannibal game in full swing—admiring the product while ignoring the hands that made it.

In South Africa, the debate over who owns the story of apartheid is another example. White South African writers and filmmakers have produced countless works on the subject, often winning international awards. Yet, the voices of Black South Africans who lived through it are frequently sidelined. Their stories are told, but their authority is questioned. This is Afrilition racism: the desire for the African narrative, followed by the refusal to cede control over it.

Àjàdí’s essay challenges us to confront this dynamic. If we truly admire African culture, we must ask ourselves: are we consuming it, or are we contributing to it? Are we listening to African voices, or are we waiting for someone else to translate their wisdom for us?

From ìlara to action: How to break the cannibal cycle

Afrilition racism will not end with words alone. It requires action—both from those who benefit from the cannibal game and from those who are its victims. Àjàdí’s essay is not just a critique; it is a call to dismantle the systems that allow this game to continue.

The first step is recognition. We must acknowledge that racism is not always overt. It can be subtle, dressed in the language of admiration or allyship. It can be the foreign investor who profits from African resources while paying local workers a pittance. It can be the academic who cites African research without crediting the African scholar. Recognition is the beginning of resistance.

The second step is reciprocity. If we admire African culture, we must support African creators. Buy from African businesses. Cite African scholars. Amplify African voices. This is not charity; it is justice. It is the refusal to participate in the cannibal game.</p

The third step is redistribution. Wealth, credit, and opportunity must flow back to the communities that produce culture, knowledge, and art. This means fair wages for African workers, equitable partnerships for African businesses, and genuine collaboration in global projects. Redistribution is the antithesis of the cannibal game.

Àjàdí’s essay reminds us that ìlara is not a curse to be endured, but a challenge to be overcome. We can choose to feed the hunger for African essence in ways that honor, rather than consume. We can choose to admire without erasing. We can choose to love without taking.

Case studies: Afrilition racism in action across Africa

The fashion industry: Who wears the Ankara?

Ankara fabric is a symbol of African identity, worn with pride from Lagos to Nairobi. Yet, in global fashion weeks, we see European designers reimagining Ankara in ways that erase its origins. They call it “tribal print” or “ethnic fabric,” stripping it of its cultural significance. The African designers who pioneered Ankara’s modern revival? Often invisible in the conversation.

This is Afrilition racism in the fashion world. The admiration for the fabric is real, but the admiration for the people who made it is absent. The cannibal game is dressed in haute couture, but its teeth are still sharp.

The music industry: Afrobeats or stolen beats?

Afrobeats has become a global phenomenon, with artists like Wizkid and Davido headlining international festivals. Yet, the genre’s origins in Ghanaian highlife and Nigerian juju music are often glossed over. The global narrative credits Western producers for “discovering” Afrobeats, as if the rhythms of Lagos and Accra were waiting to be found.

This is the cannibal game in music. The beats are admired, but the hands that created them are forgotten. The global success of Afrobeats is celebrated, but the African musicians who made it possible are sidelined in the storytelling.

The film industry: Nollywood’s global hunger

Nollywood is the second-largest film industry in the world, producing thousands of movies a year. Yet, when global streaming platforms like Netflix acquire Nollywood films, they often rebrand them as “African content” without crediting the Nigerian directors, producers, and actors who made them. The films are consumed, but the creators are invisible.</p

This is Afrilition racism in cinema. The stories are admired, but the storytellers are erased. The cannibal game is dressed in the language of inclusion, but its menu is still one-sided.

The role of education in feeding or fighting the cannibal game

Education is both a battleground and a tool in the fight against Afrilition racism. Schools and universities shape how we see the world, and they can either reinforce the cannibal game or dismantle it. Àjàdí’s essay highlights the need for curricula that center African knowledge, not as an add-on, but as the foundation of global learning.

In Nigeria, the debate over the national curriculum often centers on how much Western history is included. But what about the history of African civilizations, the contributions of African scientists, or the philosophies of African thinkers? When African knowledge is treated as supplementary, we feed the cannibal game. We tell students that African thought is interesting, but not essential.

In South Africa, the #RhodesMustFall movement was a rejection of the cannibal game in education. Students demanded that the symbols of colonialism be removed from campuses, not because they hated history, but because they refused to be fed a diet of erasure. This is the power of education: it can either feed the cannibal or starve it.

Àjàdí’s work calls for a new approach to learning—one that treats African knowledge as central, not secondary. It calls for textbooks that cite African scholars, syllabi that explore African innovations, and classrooms that honor African languages. This is how we break the cycle of consumption without credit.

What does justice look like in the fight against Afrilition racism?

Afrilition racism will not be defeated by outrage alone. It requires structural change—policies, practices, and attitudes that refuse to participate in the cannibal game. Justice looks like fair wages for African workers, equitable partnerships for African businesses, and genuine credit for African creators. It looks like reparations for historical theft, not as charity, but as restitution.

In Kenya, the debate over land ownership is a microcosm of this struggle. Indigenous communities are fighting to reclaim land stolen during colonialism, not just for economic reasons, but for cultural survival. This is justice: the refusal to let the cannibal game continue unchecked.

In Ghana, the return of looted artifacts from European museums is another form of justice. These artifacts were taken under the guise of admiration—the “civilizing mission” of colonialism. But admiration without reciprocity is theft. Their return is a step toward dismantling the cannibal game.

Àjàdí’s essay is a reminder that justice is not a destination; it is a daily practice. It is choosing to support African businesses over foreign corporations. It is citing African scholars in your research. It is paying African artists for their work. It is refusing to consume without contributing.

Can the cannibal game ever end?

The question of whether the cannibal game can end is not just theoretical; it is practical. It depends on whether we, as Africans and global citizens, are willing to confront the systems that allow it to thrive. Àjàdí’s essay does not offer easy answers, but it does offer a challenge: to recognize the game for what it is and to play a different game in response.

The cannibal game thrives on silence. It thrives on the assumption that African labor, African thought, and African culture are resources to be exploited, not partners to be respected. But silence is not an option. The first step to ending the game is to name it—to call Afrilition racism what it is: a hunger that must be fed, but never satisfied.

Ending the cannibal game also requires solidarity. It requires Africans across the continent and the diaspora to stand together, not just in moments of outrage, but in everyday actions. It requires allies to listen, to learn, and to act—not out of guilt, but out of a commitment to justice.

Àjàdí’s essay is a call to action. It is a reminder that the cannibal game is not inevitable. It is a choice—and we can choose differently.

FAQ: Understanding Afrilition racism and the cannibal game

What does Afrilition mean in the context of racism?

Afrilition, as coined by Adéwálé Àjàdí, refers to the act of admiring African culture, intellect, or creativity to the point of consuming it without giving credit or reciprocity. It is a form of racism that masquerades as admiration but ultimately strips away the dignity and humanity of the African source.

How does the cannibal game manifest in global pop culture?

The cannibal game appears in pop culture when African music, fashion, and film are repackaged for global audiences without crediting the African creators. For example, Afrobeats artists gain global fame, but the Nigerian producers and sound engineers who made their success possible are often ignored. This is Afrilition racism in action.

Why is the Yoruba concept of ìlara important in this discussion?

The Yoruba proverb ìlara ko gbo ògùn—meaning “desire for someone’s essence does not respond to medicine”—captures the insatiable hunger at the heart of racism. Àjàdí uses this concept to explain why racism cannot be cured by superficial changes; it requires a fundamental shift in how we value African contributions.

What can Africans do to resist Afrilition racism?

Afrilition racism can be resisted by supporting African businesses, citing African scholars in research, amplifying African voices in media, and demanding fair credit and compensation for African labor. It also requires Africans to refuse to participate in systems that exploit their culture without reciprocity.

How can global allies help fight Afrilition racism?

Global allies can fight Afrilition racism by listening to African voices, crediting African creators, paying fair prices for African goods and services, and advocating for policies that support African industries. Solidarity, not pity, is the key to dismantling the cannibal game.

Is Afrilition racism the same as cultural appropriation?

Afrilition racism is a form of cultural appropriation, but it goes deeper. While cultural appropriation often involves taking elements of a culture without understanding its significance, Afrilition racism specifically refers to the desire for African essence that leads to its consumption without reciprocity. It is not just about borrowing; it is about erasing the source.

Conclusion: The choice to feed or starve the cannibal

Afrilition racism is not a relic of the past; it is a living, breathing force that shapes how the world engages with African culture, intellect, and creativity. Adéwálé Àjàdí’s essay, through the lens of Jason Arday’s work and the Yoruba concept of ìlara, exposes the cannibal game for what it is: a hunger that consumes without cure.

The choice we face is simple: Will we continue to feed the cannibal, or will we starve it? Will we admire African essence in ways that honor its source, or will we consume it without remorse? The answer lies in our actions—not just our words.

Àjàdí’s essay is a challenge to all of us: to recognize the game, to resist its pull, and to build a world where admiration does not mean erasure. It is a call to end the cannibal game once and for all.