I was thrilled when I got nominated for a three-week training conference for young African journalists in Cairo, Egypt.
Pharaoh’s Egypt. Mo Salah’s country. Land of the Great Pyramids and temples carved in stone. My heart danced not just at the thought of standing in the shadows of ancient wonders, but at the promise of expanding my worldview as a storyteller rooted in the continent.
I was excited to learn. To soak in new knowledge that would sharpen my craft and deepen the quality of my reporting on Africa. I was excited to travel – a brief escape from the everyday grind and a chance to increase my air miles. But most importantly, I looked forward to meeting fellow journalists from across the continent – to spark friendships, share ideas, and perhaps collaborate on stories often overlooked by the global media.
Before the trip, I already had a dozen story ideas buzzing in my notebook. I imagined what it would feel like to brainstorm with someone from Algeria or Malawi or Kenya – connecting dots between Dakar and Dar es Salaam through storytelling.
You see, conventional wisdom has not been kind to Africa.
The dominant global narrative still paints a tired picture of the continent: a canvas of poverty, corruption, conflict, and dependence. The headlines rarely show Africa’s resilience or brilliance. Rarely do we hear of the African countries driving innovation, engineering climate solutions, or reshaping global markets.
But that’s the Africa I see.
Botswana now cuts and polishes its own gem diamonds, keeping more value at home. Rwanda is assembling smartphones under the Mara Phones brand, proudly marked Made in Africa. Kenya revolutionised mobile finance through M-Pesa. Ghana uses drones to deliver blood and medical supplies – the first country to do it at national scale. Nigeria’s Paystack, a homegrown fintech company, caught global attention when it was acquired by Stripe for over $200 million. South Africa hosted a BRICS summit. Morocco built the world’s largest concentrated solar power plant. Egypt expanded the Suez Canal in just a year, doubling its capacity.
There is no shortage of African excellence. But like a Ghanaian proverb says, “Until the lion learns to write, every story will glorify the hunter.“
Africa’s stories have too often been told from outside – filtered through foreign eyes. That’s why I went to Cairo with a clear mission: to write our stories. Together.
At the training, it was heartwarming to meet fellow journalists from the North, South, East, West, and Central Africa. We were bound by ink, truth, and the love of our continent. The sessions were intense. The conversations rich. The cultural exchanges – music, jokes, accents – brought colour to our days. Despite the 3,700 kilometers between Accra and Cairo, I felt at home.
Then came that moment.
The one that unsettled many of us.
A quiet shift. A subtle discomfort.
We had been grouped to work on a mock assignment: creating a checklist for journalists covering conflict zones. We chose a North African colleague (not Egyptian) to present on our behalf. During his presentation, the lecturer prompted him to expand on a point, and that’s when it began:
“That Black African girl…” he said, gesturing to a colleague.
The first time, we blinked. Maybe it was a slip. A poor choice of words.
Then it came again.
“The Black girl,” he repeated. “That Black African girl.“
Not once. Not twice.
It was jarring. In a room of Africans – Black, white, Arab, mixed – he chose to single out a colleague, repeatedly, by race.
Our lunch discussions turned fiery. What did he mean? Why was it necessary? Would he have said “that white African girl?” And was this how we saw each other?
We were there to build bridges. But old walls stood tall.
His words, though perhaps not intended to harm, pulled back the curtain on an uncomfortable truth: that the ghosts of colonialism and racial superiority still linger, even among us – the young ones who should be leading the charge for unity.
We often speak of racism as something exported from the West. But what happens when it’s whispered within the borders of Africa? When Africans look at each other and still see divisions carved by skin tone?
The history is long and tangled.
In South Africa, apartheid left a wound that still aches. In Namibia, Zimbabwe, and Kenya, colonial systems created hierarchies that pitted race against race – and sometimes, Africans against one another. In many countries, white or Arab Africans still hold disproportionate access to wealth, land, and opportunity. And in some spaces, Black Africans still feel “othered” – even on their own continent.
This is not to cast blame on any one region or group. But it is to confront a painful reality: that the African dream of unity is often disrupted not by language or policy – but by perception.
It is one thing to fight for Africa’s global image. It is another to look within and ask: Do we truly see one another as equals?
Because if we don’t… who will?
In Cairo, I met brilliant minds. I also faced a difficult truth. The path to African solidarity is not only about economic integration or shared infrastructure – it is about learning to dismantle the silent prejudices we carry. The ones passed down. The ones we deny. The ones we don’t talk about in public.
So I will return home with my mission perhaps intact, but with new questions in tow:
Can we truly tell the African story together if we still see each other through the eyes of difference?
Will the lion ever write its story…if it doesn’t first learn to read its own reflection?
Emmanuel Dzivenu is a broadcast journalist with The Multimedia Group Limited, with a strong focus on development communication, climate reporting, and impactful storytelling. His work spans television, radio, and digital platforms, where he produces in-depth documentaries, special reports, and feature stories that spotlight underreported communities and national issues.
Emmanuel is also an experienced producer and showrunner, having led high-impact youth dialogues, street debates, and multi-platform campaigns that shape public discourse. His storytelling approach is grounded in strong research, community engagement, and visual depth, making his work both relatable and policy-relevant.
For inquiries or collaborations, contact Emmanuel Dzivenu at emmanuel.dzivenu@myjoyonline.com.
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