Did you know that African typography has a rich, yet often overlooked, history? It’s time to shine a spotlight on the Nigerian graphic designers who are redefining African expression in the world of type. While many might assume type design is a Western-dominated field, Nigeria’s visual culture has quietly nurtured its own typographic identity for decades. Long before digital tools took over, the streets of Nigeria were alive with hand-painted shop signs, bustling market boards, colorful danfo buses, and vibrant film posters—all showcasing unique letterforms that mirrored local dialects and everyday life. These vernacular designs, often crafted by self-taught artists, laid the foundation for a distinctly Nigerian typographic style, rooted in improvisation and storytelling. But here’s where it gets controversial: despite their cultural significance, these indigenous letterforms were largely undervalued, gradually overshadowed by imported Western styles that threatened to erase their identity.
However, a new wave of Nigerian designers is reclaiming this heritage, blending digital innovation with traditional sensibilities. These creators are experimenting with indigenous scripts to craft fonts inspired by street typography, redefining what Nigerian type can look like—and the world is taking notice. But this is the part most people miss: this movement isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about preserving cultural identity in a globalized design landscape.
Take Chisaokwu Joboson (https://www.instagram.com/jobosonchisa/?hl=en), for example. He’s acutely aware of the challenges type designers face in Lagos and across Africa—limited infrastructure, lack of formal programs, and a small community that can feel isolating. Yet, he’s passionately advocating for building a supportive network so future designers don’t have to start from scratch. Chisaokwu’s own journey into type design was fueled by a desire for inclusion. Frustrated by the dominance of Western typography that didn’t fully represent African brands, he decided to create something authentic. His work, like the Mekanikal Display font, is a bold fusion of industrial design and African vernacular, inspired by local workshop aesthetics and supporting African languages.
Chisaokwu’s projects, including Ụdị Foundry (https://www.instagram.com/udifoundry/), Studio Ansa, and Type Afrika, are more than just design ventures—they’re cultural movements. Ụdị Foundry creates typefaces rooted in African expression but designed for a global audience, while Type Afrika fosters a community of creatives sharing knowledge and shaping the next generation of designers. His upcoming projects, Gidigbo and Afro Sans, promise to further push boundaries, drawing inspiration from Yoruba wrestling and Afrocentric design principles.
Seyi Olusanya (https://www.instagram.com/ogbeniseyi/?hl=en) takes a dual approach to type design: as a tool for learning about Africa’s rich history and as a means to contribute to its visual vernacular. He challenges designers to move beyond stereotypical African tropes and incorporate genuinely African types into their work. His most notable project, Danfo, is a 2018 font inspired by the vinyl lettering on Lagos’s iconic public buses. Tac, another collaboration with Google Fonts, draws from the wordmark of Festac ’77. Through Afrotype (https://www.afrotype.com/tac), Seyi is building a catalog of typefaces that celebrate African history, culture, and environment.
Then there’s David James Udoh (https://www.instagram.com/davidjamesudoh/), whose journey into type design began with a passion for graphic design and a dream. His curiosity led him to brand design, where he constantly experimented with typography. Inspired by the lack of certain typefaces, he shifted his focus to creating his own. His process is deeply meditative, involving endless refinement and attention to detail. David’s Funky Waka font, inspired by hand-painted transit signs in Lagos and Mombasa, captures the spontaneity and energy of local visual culture. His archive, Caveat Emptor (https://www.caveatemptorarchive.com/), documents Nigeria’s vernacular design culture, highlighting the creativity that thrives outside formal training.
But here’s the question: As African typography gains global recognition, how can we ensure it remains authentic and representative of its roots? Is there a risk of cultural appropriation as these designs enter mainstream conversations? Let’s discuss—share your thoughts in the comments below. This isn’t just about fonts; it’s about preserving and celebrating a cultural legacy. What do you think?
