There are times when we are not merely writing to share a thought—but to reclaim something of ourselves. As a writer, a reader, and a student of both life and language, I have come to realise that some of the most profound truths we seek are not found in borrowed phrases, but in the act of naming things for ourselves.
One such moment came to me while helping someone define culture for an assignment. Ironically, I had never asked myself what culture truly meant to me. So I stopped. I thought. And then I wrote this:
“Culture can be defined as the shared beliefs, norms, and values among a group of individuals, often classified by class, race, or orientation. It serves as a distinguishing structure that shapes and reflects people’s unique identities through their practices, societal exposure, and lived experiences.” — Oluwalana, G. (2025)
What struck me wasn’t just the content, but the need to define culture from a position that reflects our experience—the experience of people whose histories have been rewritten or erased, whose languages were silenced, whose stories were replaced by “civilising” narratives.
This is where Third World Literature becomes critical. These are not merely stories from the so-called “developing world”—they are the counter-narratives to colonialism, capitalism, cultural erasure, and historical injustice. They are acts of resistance, survival, and identity-making. In this tradition, culture is not ornamental. It is the soil in which literature grows. It is what gives meaning to the struggle to write, to speak, to exist.
When Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o insists that African writers must reclaim their languages, or when Aime Césaire fuses poetry with anti-colonial rage, or when Arundhati Roy blends fiction with fierce activism, they are all demonstrating the same truth: culture is not passive. It is political.
This is where Literature and Society converge. Literature does not exist in a vacuum; it is both shaped by and shapes the social conditions of its time. In postcolonial societies, it becomes a tool for decolonisation. In oppressed communities, it becomes a voice for the voiceless. In cultures that have been demonised, it becomes a mirror to reclaim humanity.
So when we define culture on our own terms, we are not simply adding to the dictionary—we are rewriting the terms of engagement.
