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“Adolescence” on Netflix Explains Why We Need Storytelling Now More Than Ever
There’s a new limited series on Netflix called Adolescence, and it’s already stirring up significant conversations, not just on screen but in the UK parliament. The show dives deep into something most societies, including Nigeria, often ignore, which is the intense absence of accurate role models for young men. It doesn’t pamper the truth or give motivational speeches. It tells it as it is.
At the request of the show’s creator, Stephen Graham, one parliamentarian even moved a motion for Adolescence to be screened in schools. That move opened up a hot debate in the House of Commons. But what stood out most was the reaction of Kemi Badenoch, the newly elected head of the Tory party. Incidentally, she is a former Nigerian emigrant. She dismissed the series as “a work of fiction,” as if fiction somehow disqualifies a story from carrying truth or provoking change.
That statement alone says a lot. Because the truth is, fiction is storytelling. Storytelling has always been one of the most powerful ways to shape culture, shift mindsets, and stir people to action.
Look at Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. It’s a novel. Fiction. But it tells the real and heavy story of the Biafran War, touching on colonialism, political betrayal, and national trauma. It was so impactful that it got adopted into school literature curricula, both in Nigeria and abroad, including WAEC here at home. Perhaps more importantly, the Hollywood film adaptation made it more accessible, especially to younger audiences. For many, a moving picture is more compelling and more memorable than written text. That’s what people like Badenoch seem to forget. Stories, whether factual or fictional, can reach places that statistics and policies never touch.
Now, let’s bring this home. Just this past week, “Yahoo” was trending on Nigerian X, formerly Twitter. And not because people were dragging it. No, it was being celebrated. Young Nigerians were openly glamorising online fraud. Skits, memes, and even full-blown threads were hyping the “benefits” of scamming. It was all jokes and lifestyle envy. The fast money, the cars, the trips, the drip. Nobody’s talking about the shame it brings. Or the trauma of being caught. Or how it slowly erodes the values of a whole generation.
This is what happens when a society leaves a vacuum. If you don’t give young people healthy identities and strong stories to hold on to, they will create their narratives. They will follow whoever looks like they have “figured it out.” Even if that person is selling fake lives, internet fraud, or violence. That’s why Adolescence is important. That’s why storytelling is not just entertainment. It is therapy. It is education. It is soft power.
Imagine if we had our own Adolescence here in Nigeria. A raw, thoughtful story about a boy in Maiduguri who says no to radicalisation. Or a hustler in Mushin who decides to chase fashion design instead of Yahoo. Or a girl from Benue who escapes being trafficked and becomes a community leader. These are not just stories, they are possibilities. And we need to put them in schools. In churches. On buses. In cinemas. At NYSC camps. Anywhere young people gather.
Government agencies, NGOs, private creatives, schools, influencers- everybody has a role. If we don’t tell better stories, the streets and timelines will continue telling the ones we don’t want. Our ancestors passed on values through tales by moonlight. We sang them into music, danced them into masquerade festivals, new yam festivals and Ojude Oba. That instinct is still there. But now we need to scale it. Record it. Film it. Stream it.
Because at the end of the day, stories can be weapons, yes. But they can also be healing. Nigeria needs both right now.
