Nothing but the best is good enough for Africa, a saying that echoes like a battle cry across the ancestral plains and valleys of Africa. Not a whisper, not a whimper, but a thundering declaration originally thundered by the venerated James Emman Kwegyir Aggrey, a man whose name may have faded in many modern tongues but whose vision burns ever brighter in the hearts of those who still believe in the sacred worth of this continent. His words were not a slogan; they were prophecy. They were not only aspirational; they were an indictment of mediocrity and a call to greatness. Dr. Aggrey rose like a dawn-star in 1919, when colonial boots pushed heavily on African soil and African souls, when blackness was treated with contempt, he spoke with the certainty of one who has seen the mountaintop. And now, over a century later, I borrow his words not as a relic of history, but as a manifesto for our time. 

Speaking of Africa evokes both grief and awe. It is to speak of kingdoms engraved in gold and manuscripts written in Timbuktu long before Gutenberg touched a press. It is to remember the bronze of Benin, the pyramids of Giza, and the rainforests that whispered secrets into the ears of the earliest men. However, it is also necessary to discuss scars—of slave ships, colonial chains, voice theft, and the murder of dreams. And, through it all, Africa has endured, not because of charity, but because of the unwavering determination to live, rise, and speak back to the world. This is why Aggrey's words are important: because they remind us that Africa was never meant for pity, but for excellence. And that we must now demand excellence rather than sympathy.

But how do we define “the best” for a continent so often misrepresented, so brutally misunderstood? The best is not merely the imported suit or the foreign accent. It is not the borrowed flag or the adopted god. The best is the reclamation of dignity. It is the education that teaches a child not to flee their identity but to embrace it with fierce joy. It is leadership that serves, not steals. It is art that reflects our truth, not imitates another’s. The best is hospitals where mothers do not die giving life, and classrooms where children are not punished for dreaming in their mother tongues. It is roads that lead someplace, laws that mean something, and justice that does not sell itself to the highest bidder. The best is not a gift we wait for; it is a standard we set and refuse to lower— even if the world expects less from us.

This belief—that Africa deserves and must demand the best—is not arrogance; it is restoration. It represents our spiritual rebirth from the long exile of self-doubt. For far too long, the narrative of Africa has been written in foreign ink and printed in cities far removed from the heat of our sun and the beat of our drums. We were either the helpless orphan or the dangerous savage. But we are neither. We are people of thought and tenderness. We are scientists and visionaries. We are farmers whose hands have fed empires and mothers whose backs have carried generations. We are not a footnote in civilization's story; rather, we are its very preface. And if we do not remind the world of this truth, it will persist in forgetting.

I write this not as an outsider looking in, but as one born of African soil — whose first cry was carried by the Harmattan wind. I write as an advocate, yes, but more so as a witness. I have seen our greatness, not in the pages of a textbook, but in the resilience of a market woman who wakes before dawn to trade groundnuts under a rising sun. I have seen it in the child who carves a toy car from scrap metal and drives it with pride through a dusty street. I have seen it in the old man who sings folklore under a tree, preserving history with the cadence of his voice. These are not accidents of beauty. These are echoes of excellence — reminders that Africa is not waiting to be discovered, she is waiting to be honored.

Yet, I must admit, we have sometimes betrayed ourselves. In our pursuit of foreign validation, we've adopted second-rate systems and third-hand dreams. We have conflated modernity with mimicry, and progress with pretense. We build glass towers while our schools deteriorate. We honour foreign dignitaries while ignoring our local heroes. We wear imported confidence while shedding ancestral pride. This is not the best Aggrey envisioned. This is not the best Africa deserves. The danger is not that the world expects too much from us—it is that we have begun to expect too little from ourselves.

Let us therefore become dangerous once more—dangerous to the narrative that says we are incapable, that excellence is a foreign export. Let us use our pens to write truth with clarity and fire. Let our voices rise not in mimicry, but in authenticity. Let our legislatures echo with logic and sincerity. Let our economies be driven by creativity and not just by consumption. Let our universities not just copy, but invent. And let our children grow up believing that their dreams are not deferred, not diluted, but destined to thrive here, on this soli, under this sun, among these people. Anything less than the best is not only an insult—it is a betrayal.

I return again to Aggrey, whose voice is like a wind sweeping through time: Nothing but the best is good enough for Africa. He did not say it with despair. He said it with defiance and devotion. It was not a lament, but a promise. A promise to the continent and to her children — that we would rise, not someday, but now. That we would not beg at the table of civilization, but build our own banquet. That we would not wear shame like a shroud, but wear history like a crown. He believed it. I believe it. And I ask you, dear reader, to believe it too.

This is not a homily. It is a sacred obligation. It is the voice of an ancestor, of a prophet, of a visionary who saw Africa as a place of promise rather than poverty. And as the continent's inheritors, we must make good of that vision. We must refuse the seduction of mediocrity and declare war on the internal and external systems that limit us. This is our charge: to demand the best of ourselves and each other, not because we are trying to impress the world, but because we owe it to those who came before us and those who will come after us. Africa, our Africa, deserves nothing less.