Uzoart’s “An Owambe Exhibition” in Lagos: Culture, Controversy, and Homecoming

Uzo Njoku, better known in the art world as Uzoarts, is a Nigerian-born, US-based painter, designer, and cultural voice whose work has quickly moved from the margins to international recognition. Born in Lagos in 1996, she moved to the United States at the age of seven, where she eventually studied Studio Art at the University of Virginia. From there, she began to shape a career that blends painting with pattern-making, wearable art, and collaborations with global design companies. For many who follow her journey, Uzo represents a new kind of artist, one whose work is not limited to the gallery wall but spills into everyday life through clothing, products, and digital platforms.

Uzo Njoku, Uzoart

This year, Uzo is preparing for what may be the most ambitious project of her career, a solo exhibition in Lagos titled An Owambe Exhibition by Uzo Njoku. Scheduled to open on November 22 and run until December 19, 2025, the show is not just another entry in her portfolio but a homecoming. The very word owambe carries powerful cultural weight in Nigeria, especially among the Yoruba people. It refers to the lavish parties that are as much a performance of identity and tradition as they are social gatherings. To name her exhibition after such a concept immediately signals that this is not just an art show, but a cultural statement, an invitation to experience Nigerian identity through her lens.

For Uzo, the exhibition is deeply personal. She has explained that it was partly inspired by her Black American patrons, many of whom are eager to travel to Nigeria for the first time just to see her work. This makes An Owambe Exhibition not only a return to her birthplace but also a cultural bridge between Nigerians and the African diaspora. In her view, it is an opportunity for dialogue, a chance for diasporans to encounter Nigerian culture firsthand and for Nigerians to see their traditions reflected in fresh, global contexts.

Uzoart standing with her artwork

Her art has always leaned toward themes that highlight Black identity in vibrant and celebratory tones. Over the years, her paintings have explored African spirituality, vintage Nollywood film imagery, female beauty standards, and the nuances of intergenerational conflict. Her figures often radiate joy, defiance, and vibrancy, creating worlds where Black life is not burdened with stereotypes of suffering but instead uplifted as full, beautiful, and worth celebrating. It is this unique voice that she intends to bring back home to Lagos.

Yet the announcement of An Owambe Exhibition has not been without controversy. On social media, where Uzo enjoys an engaged following, reactions to the exhibition have been split. Many supporters have praised her decision, seeing it as a major milestone for Nigerian art. They argue that Lagos, a city already positioning itself as a hub for contemporary African creativity, will benefit from the international attention her work attracts. In this view, Uzo’s return is something of a cultural renaissance moment, one where local audiences and global visitors can come together to engage with Nigerian art and identity.

But there has also been strong criticism, particularly concerning her choice of title. To some Yoruba voices online, the word owambe is not just a casual description of a party, it is a deeply cultural marker tied to Yoruba identity and tradition. They worry that an artist who has lived most of her life abroad may unintentionally misrepresent or commercialize what the term truly means.

Some critics have gone as far as to accuse her of trying to “ridicule” Yoruba culture, framing the show as a cultural misstep. Calls have even been made on X for the Lagos State Government to intervene and stop the event, underscoring just how sensitive cultural ownership can be in Nigeria. Much of the criticism has centered not just on the idea of using the word at all, but even on how it was spelled.

One of the unexpected sparks fueling the controversy has come from something as simple as spelling. Uzo titled her show An Owambe Exhibition, using the version of the word that most Nigerians and even the wider world recognize. However, some Yoruba cultural enthusiasts online quickly pointed out that the “correct” spelling should actually be Òwànbé, with both tonal marks and the letter n in place of m. They argued that using Owambe instead of Òwànbé dilutes the authenticity of the term, and that leaving out the accents further strips the word of its proper Yoruba identity.

But in practice, the spelling “Owambe” has been in common use for decades. It is the version most people write in songs, party invitations, Nollywood scripts, newspapers, and even online banter. From Lagos weekend parties to Afrobeats lyrics, Nigerians themselves rarely use the accented or “n” spelling in everyday life. In fact, many of the very critics online had previously used “Owambe” casually in their own posts, which shows just how deeply it has become part of Nigerian English and pop culture.

This disagreement reveals a deeper tension between cultural purism and cultural evolution. On one hand, language guardians want to protect the richness of Yoruba orthography, which carries not just sounds but meanings and heritage. On the other hand, everyday Nigerians and especially the diaspora have embraced the simplified “Owambe” spelling that is easier to type, easier to pronounce for non-Yoruba speakers, and more recognizable internationally. For Uzo, who has spent much of her life in the diaspora, it makes sense that she would lean into the familiar, popular form rather than the purist version.

Another point of debate around Uzoart’s work came earlier this year when she released a fabric print that some people online said looked like Yoruba adire. Critics argued she should have credited adire as the source, while Uzoart explained that her design process was different and closer to batik-style prints used in ankara. That exchange, much like the Owambe spelling debate, shows how sensitive cultural ownership can be and how easily art can spark conversations about identity and tradition.

The artwork that drew comparisons with traditional adire fabric.

In many ways, this spelling debate has become symbolic of the larger questions raised by the exhibition itself. Who gets to decide how culture is represented, those who guard its original form, or those who live it in new and changing ways?

Uzo, for her part, has not been drawn into long online arguments. She has acknowledged the skepticism but has made it clear that she intends to go ahead with her vision. In one of her posts, she remarked that many Nigerians believe an exhibition of this kind “can’t work in Nigeria,” but she insisted that she would let her hands and her art speak for her. It is a position that reflects both quiet confidence and determination, she would rather channel her energy into creation than into online battles.

What makes this unfolding story fascinating is not just the art itself but what it reveals about Nigeria today. Lagos is a cosmopolitan city where multiple ethnic identities coexist and influence one another, but at the same time, the question of who gets to define and use certain cultural symbols remains sensitive. The word owambe has, over the years, grown beyond Yoruba spaces to become part of broader Nigerian pop culture, showing up in music, fashion, and even global references. Still, its roots are undeniably Yoruba, and it is this tension between cultural ownership and cultural exchange that lies at the heart of the debate around Uzo’s exhibition.

For her supporters, this is exactly why the show matters. They argue that by bringing diasporans to Lagos and reintroducing Nigerian cultural concepts through her art, Uzo is creating opportunities for dialogue rather than erasure. They point out that art, by its very nature, thrives on borrowing, reinterpretation, and bold reimaginings. From this perspective, An Owambe Exhibition is not an attempt to diminish Yoruba culture but to spotlight it, expanding its meaning in global conversations.

The stakes are high. If the exhibition succeeds, it could mark a turning point for Uzo and for Nigerian contemporary art, proving that Lagos is not only a place where art is created but also where global audiences are willing to come and engage. It could also open doors for other Nigerian artists in the diaspora who want to reconnect with their roots. On the other hand, if the backlash continues to grow and overshadows the art itself, the show could be remembered less for its creative ambition and more for the cultural controversy it stirred.

Beyond the immediate debate, Uzo’s story also speaks to the broader challenges faced by diasporan artists. Many live in the tension between two worlds rooted in Nigerian culture but shaped by foreign experiences. Their art often tries to reconcile these dual identities, sometimes in ways that inspire celebration, and other times in ways that spark resistance. In Uzo’s case, the very fact that the exhibition has already sparked such heated discussion before opening suggests that her work is touching on something essential about how Nigerians today think about culture, ownership, and identity.

As November draws closer, anticipation will only grow. Supporters and critics alike will be watching closely to see what exactly Uzo unveils. Will it be a dazzling celebration of Nigerian culture that silences critics, or will it fuel more debates about cultural boundaries? Regardless of the outcome, one thing is certain, An Owambe Exhibition has already established itself as one of the most talked-about cultural events of the year. It is a reminder that art is never created in isolation; it always enters the world in conversation with people, traditions, and politics.

When the doors finally open in Lagos, the exhibition will not just be a gallery show. It will be a test of how far Nigerian society is willing to embrace reinterpretations of its cultural heritage, and how ready it is to allow art to become a space of both celebration and debate. For Uzo Njoku, it will be the culmination of years of work, a homecoming, and perhaps the boldest step yet in her artistic journey.

Some of Uzoart’s work

Read More: Adire Fabric: The Timeless Yoruba Art of Tie-Dye and Cultural Expression

Q & A on Uzoart and the Owambe Debate

Q: Who is Uzo Njoku?

A: Uzo Njoku, also known as Uzoart, is a Nigerian-born, US-based painter and designer. She creates colorful paintings, fashion designs, and patterns that celebrate Black identity and culture.

Q: Where was Uzo Njoku born?

A: She was born in Lagos, Nigeria, in 1996.

Q: Where did Uzoart grow up?

A: She moved to the United States when she was seven years old and later studied Studio Art at the University of Virginia.

Q: Why is Uzo Njoku coming to Lagos this November?

A: She is hosting her first major solo exhibition in Lagos called An Owambe Exhibition by Uzo Njoku. It will run from November 22 to December 19, 2025.

Q: What does Owambe mean?

A: Owambe (sometimes written Òwànbé) is a Yoruba word for big, lively parties filled with music, food, dance, and colorful dressing.

Q: Why did people criticize Uzoart’s spelling of Owambe?

A: Some critics said she should have written it as Òwànbé, with tone marks and the letter “n,” instead of Owambe. They felt the Yoruba spelling should be kept correct.

Q: Is Owambe a wrong spelling?

A: No. Owambe is the form most Nigerians use every day in songs, Nollywood movies, and party invitations. While Òwànbé is the original Yoruba spelling, Owambe has become the popular and widely accepted version.

Q: Why does this debate matter?

A: It highlights a bigger cultural issue, whether to keep traditional spellings or to accept modern, global-friendly versions. Uzoart’s exhibition sits right in the middle of this conversation.