11/11/2026
YORUBA WOMEN DYERS WITH THEIR DYE POTS, OSOGBO, 1898.
Look at this picture very well. It is not a new picture. It is not a colour picture. It is old. Brown. Faded. Sepia. 1898. That is 128 years ago. Before Nigeria. Before independence. Before Instagram. Before phones.
Three women. Sitting on bare ground. In front of a thatched hut. Wooden fence behind them. Palm trees. Open yard. Dust.
And in front of them ,big pots. Big clay pots. Round. Heavy. Pots for dye. Pots for indigo. Pots for colour. Pots for art. Pots for business. Pots for survival.
The woman on the left is sitting, her chin on her hand, thinking, watching. The woman in the middle is sitting tall, proud, looking far away. The woman on the right is sitting with her legs crossed, calm, patient.
They are not smiling for the camera. They are not posing. They are working. They are Yoruba women dyers. In Osogbo. In 1898.
And this picture is a treasure. Because this picture proves what the world tried to make us forget: African women have always been businesswomen. African women have always been artists. African women have always been scientists. African women have always been the backbone of Africa.
Those pots are not for cooking soup. Those pots are for making Adire.
Adire. Say it with pride: A-DI-RE.
Adire means "tied and dyed" in Yoruba. It is one of the oldest, most beautiful, most famous cloths in Africa. Even today, in 2026, people in Lagos, in London, in New York, in Paris, are wearing Adire. Celebrities wear Adire. Brides wear Adire. Fashion houses copy Adire.
But Adire did not start in a fashion house in Paris. Adire started here. In Osogbo. In Abeokuta. In Ibadan. In the hands of women like these three women in 1898.
Inside those big clay pots is indigo. Indigo is a plant. A green leaf. But when you ferment it, when you soak it, when you mix it with ash, with potash, with patience , it turns deep blue. Dark blue. Blue-black. The colour of the night sky. The colour of the Osun River. The colour of royalty.
The process is not easy. It is chemistry. It is science. It is art.
First, the women grow the indigo plant. Or they buy it from farmers. Then they pound the leaves. Then they put them in the pots. Then they add water. Then they add wood ash. Then they leave it to ferment for days, for weeks. The pot must be kept warm. The pot must be stirred. The pot must be watched, like a baby.
Then they take white cotton cloth. They tie it. They fold it. They stitch it. They wax it. They make patterns , circles, lines, flowers, animals, proverbs, stories. Every pattern has a meaning. Every knot is a message.
Then they dip the cloth into the indigo pot. They dip it, they bring it out, it is green. Then the air touches it, and it turns blue. Magic. They dip it again, it becomes darker. They dip it again, it becomes darker still. Until it is the deep blue they want.
Then they untie it. And the places where they tied it remain white. The places where they did not tie it become blue. And a beautiful pattern appears like the sky, like the river, like a dream.
That is Adire. That is what these women were making in 1898, with their bare hands, with clay pots, with no machines, with no electricity, with no chemicals from China.
They were scientists. They were chemists. They were artists. They were entrepreneurs. And they were women.
Osogbo is in present-day Osun State, in South-West Nigeria. Osogbo is the home of Osun, the Yoruba goddess of the river, of beauty, of fertility, of love. The Osun River flows through Osogbo. The Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove is there today, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, where people from all over the world come to worship, to pray, to see the art.
In 1898, Osogbo was not a big city. It was a town. A Yoruba town. A town of farmers, traders, weavers, dyers, blacksmiths, carvers. And women were at the centre of the economy.
In Yoruba land, the market was run by women. The Iyaloja , the Mother of the Market was the most powerful woman in the town. More powerful than many chiefs. She controlled prices. She controlled trade. She controlled who could sell and who could not.
And the dyers were among the richest, most respected women in the town. Because Adire was not just for Osogbo. Adire was traded all over Yorubaland, all over Nigeria, all over West Africa. Traders came from Kano, from Accra, from Dahomey, from Brazil , yes, from Brazil, because Yoruba people taken to Brazil during slavery took Adire with them to buy Adire.
These three women in the picture were not pôōr. They were not helpless. They were businesswomen. They had capital. They had pots. They had cloth. They had workers. They had customers. They had money.
But the colonial photographer who took this picture in 1898 did not see businesswomen. He saw "natives." He saw "primitive women with pots." He thought he was documenting a dying culture that would soon be replaced by British factories, British cloth, British civilisation.
He was wrong. 128 years later, Adire is still alive. British factories are dèåd. British cloth is dèåd. But Adire is alive. Because these women built something that could not be kyled.
We must tell the truth. After 1898, the British came with their machine-made cloth from Manchester. Cheàp cloth. White cloth. Printed cloth. They flooded Yoruba markets with it. They tried to k!l Adire. They said, "Why are you wasting time tying and dyeing? Buy our cloth. It is chèàper. It is better."
And many people bought it. And many dyers súffèrêd. Many dye pots dried up. Many women lost their businesses.
But they did not give up. The women adapted. They started using imported cotton. They started making new patterns. They started using cassava paste instead of wax. They created Adire Oniko and Adire Alabere , new styles. They survived.
Then, in the 1960s, after independence, Adire came back. Then, in the 1970s, during the oil boom, Adire became fashion. Then, in the 2000s, Adire became global fashion. And today, in 2026, Adire is worn by Beyoncé, by Rihanna, by Tiwa Savage, by Burna Boy, by fashion designers in Lagos and London.
The granddaughters of these three women in Osogbo are now selling Adire on Instagram, on TikTok, on Etsy, for $200, for $500, for $1000. The pots have become factories. The hands have become brands. But the art is the same. The indigo is the same. The spirit is the same.
That is the power of Yoruba women. You can try to kyl their business, but you cannot kyl their creativity. You can try to replace their cloth, but you cannot replace their hands.
WHAT DOES THIS PICTURE TEACH US AS AFRICANS?
1. Our grandmothers were not backward. They were brilliant.
When you look at this picture, do not pity these women. Do not say, "Oh, look at poor African women in 1898, sitting on the ground, with no shoes, with no chairs." That is the colonial way of looking.
Look with African eyes. These women are sitting on the ground because the ground is their office. Their pots are their factory. Their hands are their machines. Their knowledge is their university degree. They did not go to Oxford. They did not go to Harvard. But they knew chemistry. They knew botany. They knew art. They knew business. They knew trade.
They were not backward. The photographer was backward, because he could not see their brilliance.
Teach your children: Your grandmother was not a village woman with no education. Your grandmother was a scientist, an artist, a businesswoman. She just did not have a certificate.
2. Women have always been the backbone of Africa.
In 1898, it was women dyers. Today, it is women traders in Balogun Market, in Onitsha Market, in Kumasi Market, in Kariakoo Market. Women who wake up at 4am, who carry goods on their heads, who feed their families, who pay school fees, who build houses, who sponsor their husbands.
Africa runs on women's labour. Africa runs on women's hands. Africa runs on women's pots. If women stop working in Africa for one day, Africa will stop.
So when we talk about empowering women, we are not talking about giving women something they never had. Women have always had power. We are talking about recognising the power they already have. About respecting the power they already have. About not insúltíñg the women who feed us.
3. Our culture is our economy.
Adire is not just culture. Adire is möñēy. Adire is jobs. Adire is exports. Adire is tourism.
If Osogbo can make Adire in 1898 with clay pots, Osogbo can make billíöns from Adire in 2026 with branding, with marketing, with e-commerce. If we package our culture well, our culture will feed us.
We do not need to abandon our culture to become rich. Our culture IS our wéälth. Our indigo is our gold. Our weaving is our oil. Our art is our diamond.
Do not let anyone tell you that to be modern, you must wear only foreign clothes, eat only foreign food, speak only foreign language. To be modern is to take your grandmother's Adire and sell it to the world.
4. We must document our own history.
This picture was taken by a colonial photographer in 1898. He took it to show Europeans how "primitive" Africans were. But today, we are using the same picture to show how brilliant Africans were. We are reclaiming it. We are reframing it.
That is what we must do with all our history. We must tell our own story. We must not let others tell our story for us. Because when others tell our story, they will make us look poor, look helpless, look backward. When we tell our own story, we will make us look powerful, look brilliant, look beautiful — as we are.
LOOK AT THE THREE WOMEN ONE LAST TIME.
The woman on the left, chin on hand, thinking. She is thinking about her next pattern. She is thinking about her customers. She is thinking about her children. She is thinking, "Will my children continue this work? Will they remember Adire?"
The woman in the middle, sitting tall, looking far. She is the leader. She is the Iyaloja of dyers. She is proud. She is saying, "I am a Yoruba woman. I am a dyer. I am not ashamed of my work. My work is my pride."
The woman on the right, legs crossed, calm. She is patient. She knows the dye takes time. She knows you cannot rush indigo. She knows good things take time.
They are sitting on bare ground. But they are sitting on gold. They are sitting on history. They are sitting on a legacy that will live for 128 years and more.
They did not know that in 2026, a young African would look at their picture on WhatsApp and write about them. They did not know that their pots would become a symbol. They did not know that their Adire would become global fashion.
But they knew one thing: "We will work. We will dye. We will create. We will feed our families. We will keep our culture alive."
And they did. And we are here because they did.
So today, if you are a woman doing business whether you are selling Adire, selling groundnut, selling hair, selling food, selling clothes , know this: You are continuing the work of these three women in Osogbo in 1898. You are not small. You are not ordinary. You are a descendant of dyers. You are a descendant of queens. You are a descendant of scientists and artists.
And if you are a man, respect the women who dye, who trade, who labour, who create. Because without them, there is no Africa.
Shârè this if you have ever worn Adire. Tag a Yoruba woman, an Osogbo woman, a dyer, a trader, a businesswoman, and tell her: "You are the granddaughter of these women. You are brilliant." Tag a child and tell them: "Look, this is your history. Your grandmothers were not poor. They were powerful." Let the world know: Yoruba women dyers with their dye pots, Osogbo, 1898 ,they were not primitive. They were pioneers.
Offu Aya Ebirigor
#1898
