By Shedrack Onitsha
When the Delta State Government recently introduced its new dress code for civil and public servants, many people initially welcomed it as a move to restore order and professionalism in the workplace. After all, nobody disputes that government offices should maintain a sense of decency and professionalism. But as the fine print of the policy emerged, the applause quickly turned to confusion, disappointment, and outrage. At the heart of the controversy lies a troubling question: why should African attires, our beloved Ankara, senator suits, agbada, wrappers, and blouses be classified as inappropriate for the office?
This is not just a dress code; it is a statement of value. By restricting traditional attire to Fridays and privileging Western-style suits and dresses from Monday to Thursday, the Delta government is telling its workers that African fabrics are inferior to European ones. The subtext is clear: modernity equals Western dressing, while African attires belong only to “casual Fridays.”
This is an insult not only to our culture but to our history of resilience. For decades, Nigerians have fought to assert their identity against the colonial legacy that demonised everything indigenous. From music to literature, food to fashion, there has been a conscious movement to reclaim our pride. Yet here comes a government, in the year 2025, reinforcing the same colonial stereotype that European suits are the true symbols of professionalism.
The irony is that Nigeria has not only embraced African attire in the past but has also elevated it to national policy. During President Olusegun Obasanjo’s era, civil servants were encouraged to wear local fabrics, sparking a boom in the textile and tailoring industries. Under President Goodluck Jonathan, Ankara Fridays became a national trend, further cementing local fabrics as official wear.
Global figures have followed suit. Dr. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, current Director-General of the World Trade Organisation, is rarely seen without her trademark Ankara or George attire. She has addressed the world’s most powerful leaders, not in Western suits, but in African prints—and the world applauds her. If Ankara is fit for Geneva and Washington, why should it suddenly be unfit for Asaba or Ughelli?
The implications of Delta’s policy go beyond symbolism; they strike at the heart of local economic empowerment. The state government itself has invested resources in training fashion designers, tailors, and textile entrepreneurs. These are young men and women who depend on the patronage of civil servants and the larger population to survive. By mandating Western dress codes four out of five working days, the government has effectively shrunk their market.
Instead of buying locally made Ankara suits or blouses, civil servants will now feel compelled to purchase imported suits, gowns, and ties. This means more dollars leaving the country, more pressure on the naira, and more jobs created for fashion houses in Turkey, Italy, and the United States. The policy is, in effect, a subsidy for foreign fashion industries, funded by the sweat of Deltan workers.
The policy is particularly discriminatory against women. While men are at least permitted to wear traditional attire on Fridays, women are restricted from wearing Ankara skirts, blouses, or even trousers made from local fabrics for most of the week. This narrow interpretation of “professional” attire excludes the creativity and elegance with which African women have styled Ankara into corporate-appropriate fashion.
Consider the countless women professionals across Africa who wear Ankara pencil skirts with blazers, smart Ankara gowns, or two-piece Ankara suits to work. These are not casual clothes; they are bold, stylish, and dignified. To dismiss them as unfit is to reduce African women’s fashion choices to caricatures and to impose Western aesthetics as the gold standard.
Every culture that thrives does so by embedding itself in everyday life. By restricting African attire to Fridays, Delta’s government inadvertently relegates our culture to the margins. It becomes a side dish, a weekend flavour, not the main course of identity. Over time, this creates a psychological hierarchy: Western dressing becomes the uniform of seriousness and authority, while African wear becomes a novelty item. This is how cultures die—not with loud bans but with subtle restrictions that make them less visible, less relevant, and less respected.
The irony is that around the world, nations are leaning into their cultural symbols as instruments of pride and soft power. In India, civil servants freely wear saris and kurtas in government offices. In Japan, kimonos are celebrated in official functions. In the Middle East, traditional attire is not only acceptable but often mandatory in the public service. These countries project their culture as a source of strength, not something to be hidden in the closet until Friday.
Why then is Delta State adopting the opposite model, one that diminishes its people’s identity while amplifying foreign norms?
The only explanation is what scholars call the “colonial mentality”—a deep-seated belief, often subconscious, that Western ways are superior. It is the same mentality that makes some parents punish their children for speaking their native language while praising them for speaking English with a foreign accent. It is the same mindset that makes leaders abandon local policies for Western blueprints, even when those blueprints fail to address local realities.
By codifying this mentality into law, the Oborevwori government has done more harm than good. It has projected an inferiority complex as state policy.
It is not too late to reverse this mistake. Delta State can adopt a dress code that balances decency with cultural pride. The goal should not be to ban African attire but to set standards for what constitutes “professional” dressing, whether in Ankara, suits, or native wear. A well-tailored senator or a smart Ankara gown is no less professional than a pinstripe suit.
In fact, encouraging civil servants to wear local fabrics throughout the week could create jobs, strengthen the naira, and promote Delta’s fashion entrepreneurs. It would align with national campaigns like “Buy Nigeria” and project Delta as a forward-looking state proud of its heritage.
A government that knows its worth does not denigrate its culture to elevate another’s. Delta’s dress code, as it stands, is a betrayal of our heritage, a burden on our economy, and a victory for colonial hangovers. The time to change course is now. Our culture deserves a seat at the table, not just on Fridays, but every day.
Shedrack Onitsha, Mnipr, Media and Public Relations Consultant, writes from Ughelli, Delta State
