Now it is all over; it is a perfect time for us to reflect. Recently, someone in your life has almost certainly posed you with a question about December in Nigeria and referred to it as ‘Dirty December.’ It happened to me multiple times over the last three months. I quickly corrected them—”Actually, I call my experience Dignified December.” I know I am in the minority, and I don’t know if I will win them over, yet my point is to make such individuals in my generation pause and ponder.
For too long, mainly Millennials and Gen Z have allowed the term ‘Dirty December’ to stand as the brand name for the festive Christmas season in Nigeria. A phrase that started as a light-hearted (and lazy) description of holiday celebrations has taken on a life of its own, shaping how the world sees us and how we are starting to redefine ourselves.
Even more frustrating is that most do not even bother to spell it properly—’Detty December’ has somehow become the default spelling, as if we are determined to infantilise our collective sense of sophistication and presentation.
The most recent waves of December visitors to Nigeria include nationals living in the diaspora, their foreign friends who are curious to experience the magic they’ve heard so much about, and reacquainting Nigerians seeking to strengthen their connection to the country. Many in these groups could be forgiven for a simplified understanding of December in Lagos as a party epicentre—even a sin city.
Nigeria over the Christmas period is more than a month-long party. December, for us, has long been a time of faith, family, culture, and national pride.
A friend in the U.S. recently reminded me that, for decades, returning home at Christmas was about reuniting with family and friends—the parties were merely a bonus. Today, the parties are taking centre stage, while the true essence of reconnecting with loved ones in a sacred season is increasingly pushed to the margins of the story.
In a country where any national positive is cherished, those with deeper ties to this tradition must put in equal (or more) work to preserve the original narrative.
It is time to retire the frivolous term and embrace a more fitting narrative. Here are five reasons we must permanently delete the term ‘Dirty December’:
1. The reason for the season is Christ.
Above all, December is a sacred month for Christians, marking the season of Christmas—a time to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. It is a period that calls believers to reflection, gratitude, and the embrace of Christ’s example of love and generosity.
We have uniquely shaped Christmas in Nigeria, much like we have enriched multiple words in the Oxford English Dictionary with Nigerian influence. We have made the holiday both sacred and distinctly our own—unmistakable from the traditional Western white Christmas.
Many faiths have holy months that are treated as sacred. In Nigeria alone, there is no other faith or religious community that would accept a sacred holiday or holy month being framed in a way that disrespects its core values. So why have we allowed such a “dirty” term to gain traction when December holds deep spiritual meaning for tens of millions of Nigerian Christians? We do not see Indians marketing Diwali month as “dirty” because the alliteration is convenient or using any term that month, which would diminish its significance.
While December embraces diverse celebrations, Christmas should not be overshadowed. Its integrity and reverence must be preserved, and Christians must be intentional about where they spend their money, which events they support, and which content they share or even watch on TikTok or Instagram. Personally, I skipped over any content with the hashtag (“DettyDecember”) and didn’t spend money on any event also labelled so unimaginatively. We must ensure the reason for Christmas remains central in the narrative.
2. Nigeria’s cultural exceptionalism deserves better branding.
Globally, Nigerian culture is in a period of exceptionalism. Millennials are possibly the first generation of Nigerians to witness our culture become a global currency—and enjoy the dividends of our cultural popularity firsthand. We are cool everywhere we go as adults, in a way we did not necessarily experience earlier in life. From Afrobeats and Nollywood on Netflix to Egusi soup sampling on YouTube, our positive exports have sparked worldwide engagement. They are conversation starters worldwide. Whether on YouTube, TikTok, or in everyday interactions, we have grown accustomed to seeing foreigners embrace Nigerian culture with curiosity and admiration. If we continue to uphold this excellence, Gen Z and Gen Alpha will grow up knowing only a trendy, globally celebrated version of Nigerian culture.
Why then should Nigeria settle for low-energy branding, especially during the time of the year when we have the world’s largest spotlight on our homeland?
As the world transitioned from 2022 into 2023, CNN’s New Year’s Eve special tracked the countdown across the globe, as it does every year. Sydney welcomed the new year first, followed by Dubai, then London—each celebrating with dazzling fireworks and grand festivities. Then came Nigeria’s rare and special window to a global audience, and the CNN correspondent based in Lagos announced to the entire universe, “…We even have something in Nigeria called Dirty December.” That was our moment; that was our message. We must never condone this again. Instead, we should build a December brand equally monumental to our rising cultural image.
For years, Nigerians have been in wrestling matches with negative associations—fraud, cybercrime, corruption, trafficking, and countless other offenses. Now, we have a tourism phenomenon that has captured global attention. We are essentially capturing lightning in a bottle—why go on to tarnish that bottle with a name that does not serve us? A nation rebranding itself must do so in its entirety, down to its language and associations.
The hurdles with language and association are evident in the psyche of how we interpret our attractions and exports. Take AfroNation—a festival widely celebrated as a summer showcase of African music and culture. Despite the organisers’ best intentions, its interpretation has drifted far from African nationhood. Instead, it has come to embody a hedonistic retreat across the sun-drenched shores of the Southern Iberian Peninsula, Miami, and Mexico. With the exception of the Ghanaian edition, none of the “AfroNation” events are located in African nations. There is merely African music serving as the background mood sound for myriad orgies, which overshadows its cultural intentions. Interpretation and implementation matter as much as intention.
Read also: Little cheer as cost-of-living crisis dampens Christmas
3. We are more than a party culture.
December in Nigeria has never been just about claustrophobic nightclubs and concerts that start so late that the actual event date effectively shifts from the advertised one to the next day. Yes, we party, but we also gather as families, travel home, attend traditional weddings, touch in with aunts and uncles, catch up with friends, spend time with our cousins at country clubs, and worship in crossover services and at home.
It is a time of reconnection, a season everyone is reminded of where in the world they feel the most loved, the most historically known, and their spiritual battery is recharged back to 100 percent. A pilgrimage of belonging. The modern December narrative, however, has become one of excess—excessive nightlife, spending, drinking, hookups, and indulgence. Don’t take my word for it.
In January 2025, upon returning to the USA and Europe, many in the diaspora, realising the extent of their overindulgence while in Nigeria, initiated credit card chargebacks for expenses they claimed were “unauthorised” in Nigeria. This practice is detrimental to Nigerian merchants, who will bear the financial burden of these acts of chargeback dishonesty. After grappling with decades of negative perceptions in both the physical and cyber realms, Nigerians cannot allow our premier tourist attraction to transition from being cherished to tainted by overindulgence.
The West has given us valuable lessons, including in technological innovation and artistic expression, but not everything that happens in the West needs to be imported wholesale. Particularly, Yob culture, excessive drinking, “getting smashed” from one party to the next, and debauchery are not what we want to import or export, and not the lifestyle of the everyday Nigerian. (Many of whom look on, presumably uninspired by the misuse of privilege by those living abroad). We should be inspired by the West where it excels, but not enslaved by its worst tendencies.
The goal should be to create a December that feels distinctly Nigerian, one that highlights our deep sense of community, spirituality, and resilience. The world is watching, particularly via TikTok, and how we shape our festive culture today will define our global image.
There is nothing wrong with an annual moderation of nightlife and indulgence, but it cannot be the dominant story of Nigeria in December. We must remind ourselves that our traditions are deeper. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie indelibly warns, a single story is dangerous. December is many things to many people, and our storytelling must reflect that richness.
4. Other nations have positively iconic festivals—Why not Nigeria?
Ghana, Brazil, and Japan have all successfully leveraged their cultural moments to create positive global recognition. In 2019, Ghana’s Year of Return (as juxtaposed with 1619) positioned the country as a prime destination for African Americans reconnecting with their roots.
Each year, the annual February Carnivals in Brazil and Trinidad, along with the annual March and April cherry blossom festivals in Japan and South Korea, draw millions in celebration of heritage, beauty, and tradition. Yes, there may be a risqué dimension—but risqué is not the “single story” one will find on social media.
Nigeria has the potential to create something truly iconic. Imagine a December festival that will eventually build up to the scale of Festac ’77—reborn as an annual cultural showcase celebrating music, art, theatre, fashion, sports, and faith-based gatherings. Each year, it could be named accordingly: December Festival of Arts and Culture 2025 (December Festac ‘25, December Festac ‘26), and so on. Or maybe just “Festac ‘25,” and let’s leave reference to ‘December’ out of it; subject matter is the focus—not just its timing.
A globally recognised event, where an opening prayer led by a pastor sets the tone, reminding us that Christmas is about Christ, family, and love. A festival organised with the precision and grandeur of an Olympic opening ceremony, bringing Nigeria’s December into the global spotlight for all the right reasons. A dignified, well-structured affair where our most celebrated dignitaries, artists, and foreign celebrity guests converge for the opening (and closing) ceremony in a true cultural celebration. People who could not make it home physically can join on YouTube.
This vision should extend beyond Lagos, with a coordinated lineup of events across multiple cities. One Nigerian city should be dedicated to a film festival launching the Nollywood blockbusters of the season (presumably with one produced by Funke Akindele), serving as a preview for cinema enthusiasts before the movie(s) spills into cinemas around Christmas to contend or break records. In the East of Nigeria, a masquerade parade. And so on. Festac 2025 will need better traffic management, improved accommodation options, and strategic flight pricing. Special incentives for global airlines—especially those that don’t typically fly into Nigeria or that have limited themselves to Lagos—could ensure accessibility and affordability. This is a festival that will reflect our heritage, attract the world, and cement Nigeria’s place as a premier cultural destination each December.
5. December must be charitable.
The greatest expectation people have of your privilege is to see its use in service of others. The Nigerian Diaspora is privileged, and for everyday Nigerians, I wonder what they see us doing with it. What is festivity among the privileged without generosity? December should not just be about moving from one nightclub to another. Every Nigerian should dedicate at least one day during December to giving back. Whether through feeding programs, donations to orphanages, or participating in community service, charity should be part of our December experience. The narrative must shift.
We must not just showcase our party culture on social media; we must also highlight acts of service. We do have a lot to clean up in the country! And many everyday people make new friends. Imagine making it a tradition to involve foreign guests in acts of giving, allowing them to experience Nigerian hospitality beyond club tables and bottle service. A December of service and substance is a December worth celebrating and remembering.
A personal perspective
By the special grace of God, December 2024 marked my 10th annual trip to Nigeria during the festive month of December. (In 2015, after my cousin’s wedding in early December, I left Lagos just before Christmas started).
Since 2016, I have been blessed to return annually, marking my ninth consecutive Christmas and New Year in Lagos. I’ve witnessed the season evolve—some years dominated by bachelor crowds, others by weddings, and others by young families keen to give their foreign-based children early exposure to their Nigerian identity; a spate of new venues emerge each December, attractions trend one year and are forgotten the next; representation of accents shifts and rotates from the USA, UK, and Europe; an escalating number of hours spent in traffic for a potentially 15-minute journey; resident Nigerians increasingly escaping abroad over December to avoid the stated traffic; and an ever-intensifying social media coverage to amplify the spectacle.
For context, I was born and raised in Lagos, splitting my primary and secondary school years between both Lagos and London. While studying at university in London, I returned home for December in 2005 and 2006, and after graduating, I made the same journey in December 2009 and 2011 and stayed till January the following years. These visits placed me in Nigeria during some of the most defining moments that occurred during the Christmas period: the aftermath of the Sosoliso plane crash; the banking sector shake-up led by Charles Soludo when bank executives scrambled to meet the 31 December deadline to increase their minimum asset capitalization from NGN2 billion to NGN 25 billion; the very first The Experience concert hosted by House on the Rock; the attempted underwear bombing by Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab; the anxiety and political uncertainty surrounding President Yar’Adua’s absence and illness; and notably, the sensational “Occupy Nigeria” protests, following the Goodluck Jonathan administration’s subsidy reduction policy.
Said another way, over the past 20 years, I have experienced December in Nigeria—in multiple contours, colours, and states of complexity. Each moment, whether filled with joy or marked by tragedy, has etched itself into history. Yet, through it all, Nigerians stood together, bound by resilience and an unshakeable spirit of community. Uncles and aunts reassured our parents that all would be well, and vice versa. Pastors reminded us that we would persevere and that God would watch over Nigeria and her people during those Christmas seasons. With this perspective, it is impossible to reduce the notion of Nigerian Christmas time to mere indulgence when it has also been a season of collective reflection, unity, and renewal.
Indulgence, of course, is understandable—after a long and exhausting year, everyone deserves a break. But that relief can still be dignified. Many of us have experienced everything from intimate family gatherings to the electric atmosphere of Wizkid and Burna Boy concerts to solemn church services to the pulsating Lagos nightlife. Both the city and village editions each December have been a tapestry woven with nostalgia, celebration, and meaning. I have spent Christmas in other countries, yet nowhere else carries the distinct energy of Nigeria’s end-of-year season, whether in Lagos or Ilesha or Onitsha.
And yet, over the years, I have seen the narrative of December in Lagos shift—and not entirely for the better. What was once a season of balance, where revelry coexisted with reflection, has increasingly tilted toward excess. A dignified December is still possible, but only if we choose to reclaim it.
There is a leadership void in Nigeria—across too many fields, including in curating, packaging, and exporting our culture. Instead, we are perfecting yet another form of self-sabotage—one that the outside world quickly recognises and exploits, much like the inflated aviation fares to Nigeria. While our exorbitant airport taxes play a role, it’s also a failure of strategy—something Air Peace exposed in 2024 by strategically lowering prices and proving that low(er) cost travel from Lagos to Nigeria is possible.
Frankly, I don’t care whether the term ‘Detty December’ originated in Ghana, Nigeria, or the underworld itself—it needs to end. It is time to retire ‘Dirty December’ and embrace a new vision—one that reflects the best of Nigeria. A December of faith, family, culture, tourism, and generosity. A December where we present ourselves with dignity, where we welcome the world with pride. A December that tells the right story. A December that is truly ours.
Daniel Akinmade Emejulu is a Nigerian citizen and believes language is a superpower. In 2020, he wrote a four-part article for Business Insider about the October 2020 protests, deliberately avoiding any mention of the term “#EndSARS” throughout his write up.
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