There is a temptation, when writing about a concept like Àṣà, to make it noble. To treat Yoruba / Nigerian thought as if it were uncomplicated wisdom waiting for the modern reader to catch up. Àṣà and the Open-Plan Office? The honest answer requires resisting that flattery. Àṣà is real philosophy. It has internal tensions. It can be misused. It still rewards close reading.
What Àṣà Actually Means
Translators usually settle on something like: Àṣà is a Yoruba word for tradition, custom, or culture — but with a particular emphasis. Unlike a Western reading of 'tradition' as fixed inheritance, àṣà names tradition as practice — the continuous, adaptive doing of what has been found to work. It includes language, ritual, food, dress, courtesy, and the unspoken protocols of community life. It is the answer to the question: what do we keep doing, even as everything changes? It is a defensible translation. But translation is the surface. Àṣà carries underneath it a set of assumptions — about what a person is, what owes what to whom, and what success even means — that the English sentence cannot deliver.
Customs are the spice of life.Yoruba
The Question This Post Is About
What Àṣà suggests about the spaces in which we are asked to work. The question is worth taking seriously, because Àṣà is one of those concepts that loses its shape when handled carelessly — and recovers it as soon as the reader is willing to slow down and listen.
Take the modern workplace as a test case. The dominant Western model treats the team as a coalition of individual contributors who happen to share a Slack channel — each evaluated alone, promoted alone, and let go alone. Àṣà starts somewhere different. It assumes that the unit of analysis is the team, that performance is co-produced, that to praise a single person without naming the people around them is a kind of category error. The implications are uncomfortable for managers trained in the Western model. Long-running traditions are audited every few years for whether they still serve their purpose.
A Second Angle
In a long marriage, Àṣà is the antidote to the modern romantic fantasy that each partner is supposed to be the other's everything. The Yoruba / Nigerian version is gentler: you are part of a wider weave, and so is your marriage, and the marriage is held in part by the people around it. Long-running traditions are audited every few years for whether they still serve their purpose.
Where the Concept Resists
There is also the question of authority. Who gets to speak for Àṣà? The traditions in which it lives are old, plural, sometimes in disagreement with each other. Anyone — including the writer of this essay — who claims a definitive reading is overreaching. The careful reader treats every restatement of Àṣà, including this one, as one voice among many.
What to Do With This
There is no certificate at the end of Àṣà. There is only the slow accumulation of choices made differently — meetings shaped differently, relationships tended differently, decisions weighed differently. The reward is not visible. The cost is real. Over time the difference becomes a kind of life.