Nigerian children need books that reflect their identity — Vivian Uwakwe

For Nigerian author and illustrator, Vivian Uwakwe, the journey into children’s book publishing was not a carefully mapped career path. It was an unexpected return to a gift she had almost abandoned. Raised in an unconventional home, Vivian grew up under the influence of a father, Peter Uwakwe, who was both an artist (who specialised in textile design) and storyteller. His studio became part of her childhood world, exposing her to drawing, writing, and creativity from an early age.

Ironically, the same father who nurtured her artistic abilities discouraged her from pursuing art professionally. Having experienced the financial challenges of working as an artist, he wanted his children to choose careers he believed would provide greater financial security.

She studied science in secondary school, earned a degree in Estate Management from the University of Nigeria, ventured into banking, obtained a master’s degree in the United Kingdom, and later moved into consulting. Yet, despite years away from art, the creative instinct remained.

It took an encounter with a six-year-old child who could barely write the alphabet to bring that dormant talent back to life. Concerned about the child’s learning difficulties, Uwakwe began creating customised learning materials. What started as help for one child eventually evolved into Yanga Toons Ltd, a children’s publishing brand producing illustrated stories and activity books rooted in African culture and designed to meet international standards.

In this interview, Uwakwe speaks about her unusual journey from science and banking to publishing, her father’s influence, the importance of African representation in children’s literature, her experiences visiting schools, and the legacy she hopes to leave for Nigerian children.

Beyond teaching children to read, what life lessons do you believe well-written children’s stories can teach about empathy, honesty, courage, responsibility and consequences?

A well-written children’s story can teach values more effectively than spanking, scolding or punishment because children internalise lessons through stories. A picture book may contain only about 1,000 words, but the combination of simple text and illustrations allows children to digest the story gradually. They read a page, pause, think about what they have seen, and then move to the next.

That process makes children reflect on the choices characters make and the consequences that follow. For instance, in “How The Lizard Lost Its Hair”, the lizard is obsessed with maintaining his beautiful afro and begins hurting others in the process. A child reading the story may laugh at the illustrations, but beneath that laughter is a lesson about selfishness, obsession, and the consequences of pursuing something at the expense of others. The next time that child wants something badly but realises getting it could hurt a sibling or friend, the story may come back to mind; that is the power of literature.

Sometimes, instead of constantly scolding or punishing a child over a particular behaviour, a parent or guardian can find a good book that addresses the issue. The child reads, reflects, and reaches a conclusion for himself or herself. It takes some of the pressure off the adult while giving the child a healthy sense of responsibility.

With declining reading culture and the growing influence of smartphones and social media, how can children’s authors and illustrators make books sufficiently engaging to compete for children’s attention?

A child’s attention is becoming one of the rarest commodities, and authors must understand what children are already consuming digitally. Today’s children are exposed to beautifully illustrated characters, high-quality animation, and sophisticated visual storytelling on their screens. So, what makes us think a poorly illustrated book, printed on inferior paper, filled with unedited language, will compete for their attention? It will not. Authors and illustrators must raise their standards.

We cannot continue producing books that children read only because a school has prescribed them. My question whenever I create a book is: “Will this book stand proudly beside its peers on any bookshelf in the world?” If the answer is yes, then I know I have done my job.

The same question should guide every Nigerian children’s author and illustrator. If your book were placed beside international titles in the same category, would a child look at it twice? Would the cover attract the child? Would the illustrations hold the child’s attention? If the answer is no, we have more work to do.

You regularly visit schools to inspire creativity and reading. What have these encounters taught you about children, and have they changed the way you create?

One of the most striking things I have discovered is that children are capable of far more than adults often imagine. In almost every school I visit, I meet children who have already written stories or even entire books. Some are not yet 10 years old. It happens in private schools, public schools, churches and among children from different backgrounds. I am always pleasantly surprised.

I also see how quickly children’s love for learning comes alive during book readings. Even children who are usually quiet or withdrawn become engaged. They ask questions, challenge the characters’ decisions, and sometimes suggest completely different directions for the story. They don’t just listen; they continue the story in their minds.

A child may ask, “Why didn’t the lizard do this?” or “Why couldn’t the spider do that?” Those questions reveal imagination at work. I encourage them to write those ideas down. Another thing that makes me happy is how often children ask when the next book will be released. When a child finishes one book and wants the next, that is a powerful affirmation that the story has connected with them.

If parents, teachers and policymakers truly understood the role of quality children’s literature in shaping the next generation, what changes would you like to see in Nigeria’s education system and publishing industry?

I would like author visits to become a regular part of school activities, preferably every term. Parents and teachers should invite local children’s authors to speak to pupils, read with them, and share their creative journeys. Organisations such as the Association of Children’s Book Authors and Illustrators of Nigeria (ACAIN) have many talented authors who can participate.

When children meet an author, they begin to understand that the books they read were created by real people living among them. It changes their perception. They begin to see that reading and writing are not foreign concepts; books can be cool, and they too can become authors. I also want schools to demand better standards in the books they adopt. The selection of children’s books should not rest on the decision of one person. There should be proper review panels involving teachers, parents and other relevant experts to assess the quality, age-appropriateness, language, illustrations and educational value of books before they are introduced into classrooms. Policymakers also have an important role to play. In many developed countries, children’s literature is treated as a national cultural asset. Governments and arts councils provide grants, prizes and other forms of support for children’s authors and illustrators. Nigeria needs to develop similar dedicated funding opportunities.

Even when there are literary prizes, children’s literature is often not properly categorised by age. A book for a toddler should not be judged in the same category as a book written for a 17-year-old. Children’s literature requires age-appropriate categories because children’s developmental stages are different. There is also a serious funding gap. I am an independent publisher. Every book I produce is funded from my own resources, from writing and illustration to editing, software, printing, marketing, and distribution. I also fund my school visits. 

That is a heavy burden for any independent children’s author, and it explains why many people publish one book and stop. For me, however, this is a vocation. I try to release a book every year, and I am already working on my fourth.

What role can corporate organisations play in supporting children’s literature and ensuring that more Nigerian children have access to quality books?

Corporate organisations can make a tremendous difference through their corporate social responsibility programmes. I am grateful to Leadway Assurance for its Pages to Places initiative. Through the programme, more than 100 copies of my books were purchased and distributed, and I was also supported to visit schools in Port Harcourt. We need more organisations to do this. There is a huge gap between children in private schools, whose parents can often afford to buy books, and children in public schools who may be equally eager to read but cannot afford them.

That disparity breaks my heart. I have visited schools where children were so excited about the stories, but I could only give out a limited number of copies because I also funded my publishing independently. This is where corporate Nigeria can intervene. Banks with children’s accounts can sponsor financial literacy books. Energy and oil companies can commission stories about environmental conservation. Construction companies can produce books that introduce children to engineering and how infrastructure is built. Conservation organisations can support books about endangered animals and biodiversity. Healthcare companies, hospitals and dental practices can sponsor books that teach children about hygiene, nutrition and healthy living; the possibilities are endless.

Instead of simply donating money for a single event, organisations can engage local children’s authors to create quality books around issues relevant to their businesses, publish them and distribute them to Nigerian children. 

That approach supports literacy, preserves local storytelling, creates opportunities for Nigerian authors and gives children access to books that reflect their realities. Ultimately, if we want Nigerian children to become confident readers, writers and creators, we must invest in the literature available to them. Our children deserve books that do not merely teach them to read, but also teach them to dream, create, question and believe that their own stories matter.

You grew up with an artist and storyteller for a father, yet he discouraged you from pursuing art professionally. How did those early experiences eventually shape your decision to become an author, illustrator and storyteller?

I grew up in an unconventional home. My father was essentially a stay-at-home dad because of the nature of his work. He worked from home, so I had greater access to him than many children have today. My mother often tells the story of how much I loved art. As a toddler, whenever I suddenly became quiet, she knew not to be anxious because she would certainly find me in my father’s studio. I was constantly surrounded by drawing, storytelling, and creativity.

Interestingly, my father, who nurtured my artistic abilities, was also the person who discouraged me from pursuing art professionally. He told me plainly that he had not found financial fulfilment in his work and did not want his children to experience the same difficulties. So, I listened. I studied science in secondary school, went on to study management at university, entered banking, obtained my master’s degree in the UK and later moved into consulting. But I discovered something along the way: no matter how long I stayed away from pen and paper, whenever I returned to it, it felt as though I was simply continuing from where I stopped. My artistic skills never became rusty. My father was also an excellent writer and storyteller. He critiqued our writing and pushed us to make it better. Those skills remained with me. Even while consulting, I signed up on Freelancer.com in 2013 and eventually became a five-star freelance writer.

So, although my career had taken me away from art, the creative abilities were always there. Then, in my early forties, I fostered a six-year-old child who could barely write the alphabet. I was shocked. I started working with the teachers and realised that the available textbooks were not really designed to address the specific challenge the child had. I decided to create customised learning materials.

That was when everything came together: the writing, illustration, storytelling and my understanding of learning. Later, after receiving a $1,000 scholarship and training from accomplished children’s publishing experts April Cox and Bobby Heyman, I realised I could bring all these skills together professionally, not just for one child, but for children around the world.

You have built Yanga Toons around African stories and cultural identity while deliberately pursuing international standards. What challenges have you faced?

For me, global competitiveness begins with standards. Unfortunately, we still have a problem with standards in many areas of Nigerian publishing. Walk into a bookstore or stationery shop and compare locally produced children’s books with many imported ones. You will often notice differences in the quality of paper, interior design, illustrations, and covers. The reason is simple, countries such as China and India print for the global market. Their publishers have had to develop systems that meet international expectations.

I grew up in a home where standards were non-negotiable. My parents taught us that whatever we chose to do, we had to do it well. Living in the UK for seven years also reinforced that lesson. So, when I entered children’s publishing, I knew I could not compromise. At Yanga Toons, we are deliberate about the people we work with, from conceptualisation and writing to editing and printing. People sometimes assume that our books are printed outside Nigeria and brought back, but we print locally. We work with carefully selected printers in Diobu, Port Harcourt.

Over the years, I have built relationships with printers who understand that when our work comes to them, they have to give it their best. We also take editing seriously; no publication leaves us without being reviewed by an editor. We have our in-house editor, Sophia Will-Ibim, Amanda Okowa in the UK, and other experienced international editors who scrutinise our work. A children’s book deserves a second pair of eyes, and preferably an expert second pair of eyes. Our philosophy is also simple: we are not publishing only for Nigerian children. We are creating books that a child anywhere in the world can pick up, read, understand, and enjoy.

How do you preserve African heritage without allowing your books to become confined to the label of “African folktales”?

It begins with understanding that an African story does not have to look old-fashioned. When we published The Tortoise Story in 2023, I researched available African folktales and noticed that many had either limited illustrations or were written in language that was too dense for children. I wanted something different, my books must have strong visuals and accessible language. So, even if a child outside Africa is not told that a story is African, the child should still be able to pick it up, understand it, and enjoy it.

“How The Tortoise Broke Its Shell” is an African folktale, but it is retold in contemporary language. “How The Lizard Lost Its Hair” is different. It is not an existing African folktale; I created the story using the template and flavour of an African folktale. Our recently released story, “Why The Spider Lives In A Web”, similarly draws from African folklore but presents it with fresh language and brighter illustrations. Some of our forthcoming titles are not folktales at all. That is how we preserve our heritage without being confined by it. The story can originate in Africa and still be globally relevant.

What impact do you hope your books will have on children’s development, creativity and sense of identity?

My journey has certainly grown beyond publishing books, and some of the impact I hoped for is already happening. First, I want Nigerian and African children to understand that they come from a rich heritage and should be proud of it. When I visit schools and conduct book readings, I see children become excited about stories that reflect them. Parents also send me photographs of their children holding my books, sometimes even in their pyjamas.

My books are making parents nostalgic for their own childhoods. Families are bonding over the books. That tells me something important: children are beginning to see being Nigerian and African as something to celebrate. I also want children to understand that they can write their own stories. Something remarkable happens during my school visits. Children start writing. I receive feedback from parents, teachers and relatives about children who have suddenly become interested in writing. Some parents have even paid me to review manuscripts their children have written. The average Nigerian child has probably never met a children’s book author.

When I ask children to name Nigerian authors, they may mention Chimamanda Adichie, but beyond one or two names, many struggle. It is even more striking when I ask them what an illustrator does. Many have never thought about who created the pictures in the books they read. I want to be living proof that it is possible. A child can look at me and realise: Somebody who lives among us, eats the food we eat, and grew up in an environment like ours can write and illustrate books. That can create an important “aha” moment. Many African children grow up reading books dominated by foreign characters, names and settings.

What impact can that have on their sense of identity?

When the books a child reads at home and in school are dominated by foreign characters, names, settings, and cultural references, the child can begin to feel that his or her own culture is inadequate. That is why representation matters. I was fortunate to grow up in a home where we were taught to value our culture. We spoke our language and participated in cultural and community activities. We understood that speaking English did not make someone superior to us. Unfortunately, many Nigerian children do not have that reinforcement. If you lose your identity, you lose something fundamental about yourself. Some people go through life searching for their identity without ever finding it.

When a child’s heritage is represented in a book, the child receives a powerful message: I am important. My story is valuable, people like me belong in books. That is why representation is not merely about putting an African name or face on a page. It is about helping a child understand that his or her culture, environment and experiences are worthy of being documented and celebrated. We have all the tools we need today to create inclusive literature. There is no reason why our children should not see themselves reflected in the books they read.

Beyond publishing books, what legacy do you ultimately want to leave behind?

I see my work as a vocation, not simply a business. When I am gone, I want the books to continue generating royalties that can support vulnerable children. I want the work to outlive me and continue serving children in the future. I also want my work to challenge other Nigerian children’s authors and publishers to raise their standards.

If an author sees our books and says, “It can be done

better,” that would make me happy. I want them to go back to their drawing boards, redesign their books, improve their illustrations and strengthen their editing.