THE Federal Government’s most recent warning on the health risks associated with the use of skin-lightening products is a reminder that the ugly practice persists despite decades of official and societal moral censure. Addressing a regional awareness-raising workshop in Libreville, the Gabonese capital, the Minister of State for Health and Social Welfare, Dr Iziaq Salako, citing a World Health Organization (WHO) report, disclosed that Nigeria has the highest usage rates of skin-lightening products globally. Dr. Salako also cited a Nigeria Opinion Institute (NOI) survey which found that 64 percent of Nigerians believe skin bleaching is highly prevalent.
This belief is supported by visual experience, as a close observer of the situation hardly needs to consult any survey to see that a large number of Nigerian women—and, in some cases, men—continue to use various bleaching products. All anyone has to do is attend any social occasion (a birthday celebration, a wedding, a naming ceremony, it does not matter) where, on a good day, various hues of skin color are on display, made possible by the plethora of skin ‘medications’ that have flooded the Nigerian market. Since the practice is not exactly new, and has endured in spite of numerous attempts to eradicate it (eat your hearts out Ayinla Omowura and Fela Anikulapo Kuti), it begs the question of why it has managed to survive, to the point in fact of managing to shed the opprobrium that used to attach to it.
One explanation is the persistent association of light skin with beauty, whereby the more fair-complexioned a woman is, the more attractive and, ipso facto, the more likely to gain admission into the rarefied circles of high society. By the same token, a darker-skinned woman is adjudged to be unattractive. The pressure to ‘make it’ and to be ‘attractive,’ at least judging by this perverse social standard, is a major reason why the practice endures. The fact that the practice is not limited to Nigeria—prevailing social norms in India for example come to mind—does nothing to lessen its inherent ugliness.
Furthermore, it is worth underscoring that, for all its apparent disapproval of the practice, at best, the Nigerian society itself has always spoken from both sides of its mouth on the matter. Accordingly, for every Fela and Omowura seething with disgust and deprecation, there is a Kollington Ayinla (Tura ni e lo. Gloss: Use Tura soap) and Salawa Abeni (Bo b’oju be b’ora ko b’awo je, meaning “Bleaching the face and the body doesn’t damage your skin”) actively encouraging people to bleach away. That people, especially young people, will find this contradictory messaging disorienting is to be expected.
We support the recent initiative by the Federal Government. Apart from being an admission of cultural inferiority, at bottom a concession of beauty to ‘whiteness,’ the use of skin-lightening products comes with considerable health hazards. Because these products contain harmful substances like mercury, hydroquinone and steroids, they predispose users to skin damage, organ toxicity, and even in some cases, cancer. Since the root of the problem is obviously psychological, government at all levels, non-state institutions, especially religious and community leaders, and educational institutions must collaborate in challenging and changing the existing narrative around beauty. ‘Black is beautiful’ is not just a convenient political slogan. It is a matter of fact.
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