Nigerian architect and designer, Tosin Oshinowo, believes that, now more than ever, the growing awareness of the climate crisis makes it imperative for architects to rethink building practices: ‘The next generation of practitioners will likely be better equipped than mine, as sustainability is now a fundamental part of their training and practice. With the right encouragement, we can expect to see meaningful change.’
First Draft is our interview column, featuring authors and other prominent figures on books, reading, and writing.
Our questions are italicized.
What books or kinds of books did you read growing up?
As a child growing up in Nigeria, I read a lot, like most Nigerian children. Enid Blyton’s The Famous Five series was a favourite; the books were full of adventure and excitement. Another book that captivated me was The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. What fascinated me the most was how, without any visual references, I had to rely entirely on my imagination to construct this mysterious garden and understand the experience of a sick child observing another. It felt magical, an opportunity to create a world in my mind, which was both thrilling and formative. Looking back, I see how this freedom to visualize and interpret space played a crucial role in shaping the creative thinker I am today, especially as an architect. Another book that deeply influenced me was C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, the first book in The Chronicles of Narnia series. The idea of stepping through a wardrobe into a parallel world, where time operated differently, was incredibly compelling. This concept of transcending the immediate reality of time and space left a lasting impression on me.
I was drawn to books that centred on fantasy and adventure—stories that allowed me to explore alternate worlds and stretch my imagination beyond my surroundings. Whether it was The Secret Garden, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, or Blyton’s magical tales, these books nurtured my ability to think spatially and creatively. They provided an early foundation for how I perceive and engage with space today, influencing the kind of practitioner I have become.
What’s the last thing you read that changed your mind about something?
The book that fundamentally shaped my perspective is Scarcity: A History from the Origins of Capitalism to the Climate Crisis by Carl Wennerlind and Fredrik Albritton Jonsson. It has been instrumental in transforming my views on consumerism, my understanding of the climate crisis, and my perception of progress. More than any other, this book has laid the foundation for how I engage with modernity. Its insights have been truly mind-shifting. While curating the Sharjah Triennial, scarcity played a crucial role in solidifying my value system and shaping the exhibition’s final direction. Even today, I continue to mentally reference its lessons as a guiding framework in my approach to these issues.
In your earliest days as an architect, what books or kinds of books were foundational to your practice?
I really enjoyed The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs. She was an urban thinker, and her work profoundly shaped my understanding of how, as architects, we influence people through space. This book made me realize that no matter the order or behaviour we expect from people, if the built environment does not facilitate it, that order cannot be sustained. Take Nigeria’s airports, for example—where the heat is overwhelming, the lighting inadequate, and the spaces poorly organized. Without designated areas for people to stand or move efficiently, chaos naturally ensues. In contrast, when travellers arrive in Europe, where spaces are intentionally designed for structure and ease, their behaviour shifts accordingly. For me, Jacobs’s insights reinforced that architecture and urban planning play a crucial role in shaping social behaviour; expecting people to navigate disorderly spaces in an orderly manner is unrealistic. This book was invaluable to me as a young designer, helping me grasp the profound relationship between space and human behaviour.
Another book that had a significant impact on me early on was Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison by Michel Foucault. His analysis of power structures, particularly within prisons, revealed how space can be a tool for control. The concept of surveillance—where architectural design itself enforces discipline—was particularly thought-provoking. The panopticon, for instance, demonstrates how spatial organization influences human psychology, creating an environment of self-regulation. Both books left a lasting impression on me because they highlight, in different ways, the power of architecture to shape social behaviour, whether in cities or institutions.
We must rethink architecture, not just in terms of design, but also in how we live, build, and develop materials that are suited to our environment.
What inspired you to pursue a career in architecture and design?
David Olusoga’s Black and British was an enlightening book that deepened my understanding of how Nigerian history is intricately connected to British history through colonialism. Rather than focusing solely on Nigeria or the experience of Blackness in isolation, the book frames slavery and imperialism within a broader global context, illustrating how these historical forces shaped our shared past. What stood out to me was how the book provided clarity on the far-reaching impacts of colonialism—helping me grasp not just its direct consequences, but also its lingering effects on our present reality. It offered a nuanced perspective, highlighting a specific yet crucial part of this vast history. Reading it wasn’t about feeling anger; rather, it gave me a clearer understanding of why we are where we are today. And sometimes, that kind of clarity, removing ignorance and bridging historical gaps, is invaluable. It allows for more informed decisions and a deeper, more meaningful engagement with history and contexts. Another book that deepened my understanding of Nigeria’s history, specifically, is What Britain Did to Nigeria by Max Siollun.
You are the founder and director of Oshinowo Studio, an architectural, urban and interior design practice based in Lagos, Nigeria. What has been the most exciting project you’ve worked on so far?
All my projects are exciting, but perhaps the most humbling, impactful, and spiritually fulfilling was the Ngarannam project in northeastern Nigeria. What made it so meaningful was not just the work itself, but who it was for. Engaging directly with the community deepened my sense of connection and purpose. Completing the project was incredibly fulfilling, knowing that the care, love, and dedication poured into it would create ripple effects far beyond what I could fully grasp. It reinforced my belief in the profession as a service—one that has the power to add real value to people’s lives. This project, in particular, is one I’m deeply proud of.
You were the curator of the 2023 Sharjah Architecture Triennial titled ‘The Beauty of Impermanence: An Architecture of Adaptability.’ What, from your experience, is the greatest task a curator has?
The greatest task of a curator is to craft a compelling, thought-provoking narrative—one that not only captivates participants but also leaves a lasting impact on exhibition visitors, ultimately adding value to their experience. It is not enough for an exhibition to be exciting; it should prompt reflection. Will visitors leave with a deeper understanding of themselves and their role in society? A curator’s role is essential in fostering these moments of introspection, ensuring that the exhibition contributes positively to the world beyond its immediate audience.
Curation, in many ways, is a selfless act. It involves creating an environment that enables other professionals to share their work, particularly in architecture—a field where dedicated architectural curators are rare. Typically, exhibitions in architecture are curated by historians or practicing architects who are also engaged in producing spaces. Providing a platform for practitioners to showcase their work is no simple task; it requires a clear vision and a generous mindset. This kind of work is both challenging and deeply rewarding, as it facilitates meaningful dialogue and creative exchange.
How did curating this Triennial shape your own approach to architecture and design?
I believe it fundamentally shifted my value system—the reading, the conversations with participants, and the entire process of evolution all influenced how I think about my purpose and its connection to the climate crisis.
One of the challenges of being a practitioner is that it is easy to get caught up in daily struggles and lose sight of the bigger picture—the broader impact our work has on the urban environment, the climate, and the planet. Creating space for retrospective reflection is both important and invaluable in maintaining this awareness. I have always been mindful and conscious of the work we do as practitioners, but now, that awareness carries an added depth and intensity.
What’s a common misconception people have about African architecture?
I would reframe your question to ask: What are the misconceptions that Africans themselves have about what African architecture should be? One of the biggest challenges is our tendency to look outward for validation rather than inward for solutions. Our architectural industry is still largely structured around a client-architect model, unlike in the global North, where limited land availability has shifted the focus toward apartment living rather than private home construction.
In many parts of the continent, we still prioritize private homes or low-density estates, often developed with a singular, top-down approach. However, the real issue is that our expectations are often misaligned with our environment. We design with a heavy reliance on air conditioning, attempting to replicate a Western lifestyle that is ill-suited to our climate. We use materials that are not appropriate for our conditions and have yet to develop more contextually relevant alternatives. This disconnect works both ways: architects continue to supply what the market demands, while the market itself seeks solutions that are neither sustainable nor realistic for our context. There needs to be a fundamental shift in how we approach architecture, one that is rooted in the specific needs, as well as the climate and cultural realities of the continent. Speaking specifically for West Africa, which I understand best, this transformation is essential to creating architecture that is truly suited to our environment.
I hope that Africa realizes we don’t need to follow Europe’s model of development. It is time to stop looking to our former colonizers as the standard for progress. Instead, I hope Africa becomes more inward-focused, reflective, and appreciative of our own resources.
What excites you about how architecture is evolving?
I believe there is a growing awareness of the climate crisis, making it imperative for us to rethink how we build. The next generation of practitioners will likely be better equipped than mine, as sustainability is now a fundamental part of their training and practice. With the right encouragement, we can expect to see meaningful change. We must rethink architecture, not just in terms of design, but also in how we live, build, and develop materials that are suited to our environment. In Africa, we are still in the early stages of this shift, but it is exciting to see more practitioners, including ourselves, beginning to explore new approaches to sustainable architecture.
Which three African architects currently practicing today should we all be paying attention to?
I would recommend paying attention to practices like ours and Studio Contra doing fascinating work in exploring materiality, which I find very exciting.
What three books by African authors should be on everyone’s bookshelf?
My three picks would be Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of the Yellow Sun, Tomi Adeyemi’s Children of Blood and Bone and Chibundu Onuzo’s Welcome to Lagos.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
I’m very interested in the climate crisis.
Curation, in many ways, is a selfless act. It involves creating an environment that enables other professionals to share their work, particularly in architecture—a field where dedicated architectural curators are rare.
What are you currently working on?
I’m doing really interesting research on the diversity and intensity of self-organizing markets in the city of Lagos. I am also currently a 2025 Loeb Fellow at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design.
And what conversation would you like to start or further in your next project?
The markets in Lagos.
Question from Mpho Matsipa: What future do you imagine for Africa and how do we get there?
I hope that Africa realizes we don’t need to follow Europe’s model of development. It is time to stop looking to our former colonizers as the standard for progress. Instead, I hope Africa becomes more inward-focused, reflective, and appreciative of our own resources, taking greater control over what we have. We should move away from the system of exploitation, where others come to extract our resources for short-term gain. Instead, we need to clearly understand our value to ourselves and strive to find solutions that are tailored to our unique context. For example, why are we investing in excessive air conditioning when we are blessed with such a favourable climate? Why not use this natural advantage to our benefit? The underlying issue is that our value system is flawed. We need to reflect on this and create a value system that prioritizes our own progress, rather than constantly referencing what others have done.
Bonus: Please suggest a question for a future author’s First Draft.
What could we do, on the African continent, to live differently?
Who should we interview next?
Nifemi Bello⎈
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