A Case Study of Ethiopia, South Africa, and Nigeria

I have often secretly wondered, or fantasised if I am to be more accurate, what might happen to my home country of Ethiopia if all the provinces (drawn on ethnic lines) seceded. The Republic of Oromia would be next to the Republic of Amahara; perhaps the Southern Nations would be called the United Southern Nations, and so on.

This is, of course, considered treasonous and blasphemous. "Ethiopia is a nation steeped in history, with a proud and ancient identity!" shout all the brochures tucked into the back of the seats in Ethiopian Airlines planes. But beneath that veneer of pride, there is a harsh truth: the borders drawn on our maps, much like those across Africa, are lines of power and control, inherited from colonial regimes, often forced upon unwilling populations.

Sure, the particular borders of Ethiopia were not inherited by thoughtless white colonial settlers, as is the case with a lot of Africa (indicated by the presence of many straight-line borders). Ethiopian borders were drawn and redrawn by the conquests of previous Ethiopian emperors. However, borders drawn by a black conquerer rather than a white conquerer are not any less problematic. The bottom line is: they don’t represent unity.

More often than not, the African borders of today represent deeply seated mistrust, ethnic divisions, and, of course, centuries of intergenerational trauma rolled up into a national identity that only reflects a chosen few. Perhaps it's time, in Ethiopia and beyond, we reflected reality in our borders, rather than forcing our borders to conform to our imaginations of what it means to be from a certain country.

Here's my hot take on (African) borders and nationhood.

Look away now if you've already caught big feelings from the introduction.

The Inherited Burden of Borders

Africa’s borders were officially carved up during the Berlin Conference of 1884–1885. This was a feat of human cooperation. European powers came together to amicably decide where and how to plunder, exploit and enslave Africans. But the thoughtfulness of their "sharing" of Africa between themselves did not extend to the land and the peoples they were divvying up.

Borders on continental Africa were drawn with little regard for ethnic, linguistic, or cultural realities on the ground. You can see this in the many harsh straight lines, particularly prominent in the top half of Africa. (Incidentally, this reminds me of the straight lines in US state borders, too. The straight border seems to be a hallmark of European colonialism).

Take Nigeria, for instance. The British colonial borders lumped together over 250 distinct ethnic groups, many of which had historical rivalries or very different ways of life. But suddenly, the Hausa-Fulani, Yoruba, and Igbo peoples were told to identify as this artificially created "Nigeria", a name coined by a British journalist in the 19th century, no less. Of course, this then led to the bloody Biafran civil war. Although this ultimately did not result in the independent Igbo state of Biafra, the war exposed the deep ethnic tensions in the region. (I highly recommend the novel Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie as a painless way to learn a little about this).

South Africa, where I grew up, still grapples with managing 11 official languages and violence between the dominant tribes of the Zulus and Xhosas. And Rwanda’s history speaks to the tragic consequences of forced coexistence between groups harbouring historical animosities, albeit manufactured by the Belgians.

These divisions are not merely inconveniences - they are deep wounds on the national psyche. And more than that, they come from inherited borders. Ones that were carelessly drawn by people who considered Africans as less-than-people. These borders need to be questioned rather than taken as fact. These identities need to be open to the light of the realities on the ground. Do the Khoisan of the Kalahari consider themselves South African, Namibian, and Botswanan? And what of the Somali people who live in the province of Somali, located in Ethiopia?

The Psychology of Forced Unity

There is a natural tendency for humans to group themselves into distinct identities, seeking safety and community in their immediate cultural surroundings. When a state demands the erasure or suppression of these distinct identities in favour of an artificial national identity, it is often a recipe for conflict. We see this all over the world in places like Kashmir and Kurdistan (or, rather, in places that should arguably be countries but are not).

In fact, the three biggest wars today (Ukraine, Palestine, and Sudan) are the result of ethnic tensions and borders. One group thinks they have the right to rule over another group of people because of (religious beliefs/ historical claims/ I have more weapons than you), and boom, the birth of centuries of intergenerational trauma.

Wars, especially civil wars in Africa and the Middle East, are so common that they no longer consistently make headlines. And is it any wonder? Previously colonised nations are forced into unnatural, inorganic groupings, held together not by shared identity, but by brute force, economic interest, and, at times, foreign influence. In the case of Palestine, we are witnessing, in real-time, colonisation in the 21st century, which bears the hallmarks of 'classic colonisation' - European settlers, unnatural borders, and ongoing conflict.

Nations like Ethiopia and Nigeria have federalised and decentralised to account for vast regional differences. It is a means of keeping the country together while allowing the different provinces a certain degree of autonomy. But inevitably, the power struggles between the central government and the regional powers come to a head (as with the Amhara region recently in Ethiopia).

And what we see as a response to those power struggles from central governments is often a repeat of colonial mechanisms of control: where the central government attempts to enforce loyalty to a capital that feels remote to many of its peripheral regions.

- Enter stage left, Civil Wars -

The High Cost of Civil War and Trauma

Civil wars are a symptom of these larger dynamics, often sparked by inter-tribal disputes over resources, power, and recognition. But the cost of civil war goes far beyond the immediate devastation. In Ethiopia’s case, the conflict in Tigray has cost thousands of lives and displaced millions, but its most lasting impact may be the deepening distrust between ethnic groups. This is not just an emotional or moral cost—mistrust is an economic burden. National mistrust, when embedded within a population, can destabilise governments, deter foreign investment, and redirect precious resources toward military spending and conflict management instead of infrastructure, education, or health care.

Psychologically, this mistrust has generational consequences. Children growing up in conflict zones often internalise the divisions they witness, and these divisions perpetuate themselves as they enter adulthood. The trauma of war is passed down, even when the wars themselves have ended (reference: The State of Israel). This is known as intergenerational trauma, where the psychological wounds of one generation are transmitted to the next, manifesting as anxiety, depression, distrust of government, or a sense of collective hopelessness.

I know from growing up in South Africa that, despite apartheid ending some 30 years ago and a Truth and Reconciliation Commission tour that helped to process some of the deeper wounds (a brilliant initiative by Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu), the racism and division between the different races is well and truly still alive. It often feels like black, white, coloured, and Indian people live parallel lives in the same country, experiencing a common South African identity only during big sporting events.

Why Smaller Nations Might Be Stronger

It is here that I find myself returning to that secret fantasy—what if Ethiopia’s provinces seceded? What if Nigeria were to split along its most natural ethnic and religious lines? What if South Africa’s vast cultural diversity were allowed to govern itself more locally? Many would fear that this would lead to Balkanization, a proliferation of small, weak states incapable of standing on their own. And I see their case, but I also see the possibility of the opposite.

Smaller states, if crafted with care, could reflect the natural sociological realities of their populations. They could govern more effectively, allocate resources more equitably, and provide services tailored to their specific populations. In-group/out-group dynamics could be less pronounced because the “nation” would better reflect the true identity of its people. Furthermore, national borders would no longer need to be guarded with such fervour, because local governance would provide a sense of ownership and belonging.

The European Union offers an example of how decentralisation doesn’t have to mean disunity. The EU is composed of 27 member states, many of which are far smaller than the average African country. And yet, these nations maintain sovereignty while cooperating on trade, security, and other matters of mutual interest. A similar model could work in Africa—one in which smaller nations, based on ethnic or cultural coherence, collaborate in larger federations that respect local autonomy while pursuing shared goals.

Reimagining Borders for a Better Future

Many will argue that the cost of breaking up large nations would be too high, that new borders would create new conflicts, and that nationalism could spiral out of control. But I would argue that the cost of maintaining artificial unity is already too high. The resources spent on military campaigns to quell separatist movements, the human cost of civil wars, and the psychological toll of living under a state that does not reflect your identity are too great a burden to bear. They're holding us back during a time of technological leaps that we can't afford to miss out on.

In truth, the idea of smaller states is not about division—it’s about healing. The forced unity of multi-ethnic nations has left too many people scarred, too many resources wasted, and too many lives lost. Smaller states could allow for more focused, more humane governance that reflects the true identity of its people. They could foster peace by eliminating the need for one group to dominate another.

The Biggest Hole in My Argument

One thing that makes me absolutely nervous about this scenario?

(Because I'm not a pie-in-the-sky type of person).

It's where we are now. It's the practicalities of such a discussion when there is no trust within nations, let alone with our neighbouring countries.

Healing of traumas, and discussions around reality, identity, and the future, can only be had in safe spaces. Otherwise, every nation that plans to secede will do so through violence, thus perpetuating mistrust and generational trauma (see the case of South Sudan).

So, actually, what we really need is our own, more thoughtful, Berlin Conference. A feat of cooperation between nations and peoples, to carefully and thoughtfully redraw the national borders imposed by our former white overlords. With guarantees of security and peace. With Truth and Reconciliation commissions...

...which brings me squarely back, once more, to my fantasies around Ethiopia breaking up into its constituent parts, while perhaps retaining the label of "Greater Ethiopia" in the same way the EU currently works.

Rather than a failure of unity, it might be the beginning of a new kind—unity based on respect, cooperation, and a true understanding of our complex identities.