From a childhood rooted in values to a lifelong journey of integrity and cultural diplomacy, Ngozi John-Uyah, who recently retired as Director Special Duties, at the National Gallery of Art, shares how truth, service, and heritage shaped her voice in public leadership—and why culture, not oil, may be Nigeria’s greatest untapped wealth.
Could you take us back to your childhood and your entire journey so far?
Okay, let me start by introducing myself. My name is Ngozi John-Uyah, the first daughter of a middle-class family. I was born in Kano. My father was a public servant, so he frequently relocated to various parts of Nigeria. Before I turned 2, we moved to Lagos,, and I spent the majority of my life there.
My mum was a nurse, but sadly, she passed on when I was 8 years old. I went to Holy Child College in Lagos. It’s a Catholic school. From there, I did my A-Levels at what is now Federal Polytechnic Oko. Then I went to the University of Jos and served in Kaduna. So it’s like I’ve been around the country quite a bit.
I moved back to Lagos after my service, got married, and stayed in Lagos for a while. I moved to Abuja in 2000 because of a job. I worked with the National Gallery of Art. I just recently retired two weeks ago at the age of 60. We moved to Abuja in 2000 because the agency’s headquarters had to be located here in Abuja. I worked in the National Gallery of Art and went through quite a bit. It was an interesting journey with a few challenges, but all in all, it was a well-rounded career.
Growing up in your time, what was the societal expectation that helped shape or challenge your life?
That’s kind of a tough question for me to answer because I come from a very sheltered home. The school I went to also helped shape who I am today. Like I said, I come from a middle-class public service family. By the time my mom died, it was just us and our dad.
People often say, “You’re resilient, you’re honest, you’re someone with integrity.” All of that came from nurture rather than nature. My dad would always say, “There’s no such thing as a small lie. A lie is a lie.” He didn’t believe in what people call “white lies” — to him, a lie was a lie. I attended a school that offered a holistic education. The motto of my school was: Actions, not words. We were taught that even if no one is watching you, your conscience is there to judge you. You should always strive to be your best at all times.
So, when you talk about society, I was shielded from the larger society to some extent. But in the micro-environment, the values I got — morally and educationally — helped me survive and thrive later in life. I remember the first time I saw an adult tell a lie. It was shocking to me. I just stared like I’d seen a monster.
Even though I was shielded from broader society, at home we had people — domestic workers — who lived with us. My dad would say, “You treat everybody as a human being first, regardless of their position or station in life.” He always reminded us that nobody chooses where they are born. If we all had the choice, some of us wouldn’t choose to be born in this country — we’d choose to be born into billionaire families or somewhere else. These values shaped the woman I am today.
What would you say about Nigeria of your youth compared to Nigeria of today?
Nigeria of my youth? Things were certainly not as terrible as they are now. Things were much easier. Life was much easier. For a middle-class family, though I think the middle class has more or less been eroded now because of inflation—I remember the first time I went to London, tickets were N877. Middle-class families could afford to go on summer holidays with their families without having to be corrupt.
Going to school, like I told you, University of Jos, living in Lagos, my flight ticket was N90. I used to get an allowance of N300 a month, which included money for water because my dad would say, “Don’t drink tap water,” since I could easily get tummy bugs. People would say that was quite some money, and truly, you wouldn’t even finish spending it before the next month’s allowance came.
But these days, people are struggling, is it on the N70,000 minimum wage that a family can pay their rent or put food on the table when a bag of rice costs more than the minimum wage itself? A crate of eggs is unbelievably expensive. Before, it was easy to eat, “An egg a day,” and families could give their children eggs, no matter their economic status.
Now, people just scrape things together. Children grow up without getting the right nutrients. In those days, we could have a day out once a week, then we lived in Apapa and would go to Apapa Club, On Sunday, we’d have a nice lunch at the Federal Palace Hotel. But these days, how easy is it for people to take their children even to Domino’s or KFC?
Again, back then, we had parks where people could play. Now, everything is built up—concrete cities everywhere. Children are growing up without those little niceties of life. For a child to have a rounded formation, there has to be a balance between worklife, school, home, and spirituality. Parents today have to hustle extra, and children hardly even see their parents during the week. They end up raising themselves.
When I was growing up, you’d come home from school, and your parents would go through your homework with you. But today, by the time parents get home, they’re exhausted from trying to provide at least two meals a day. There’s no time to sit down and talk with their children. These are the things I see these days, and I feel sorry for the children.
However, the generation after us—my children’s generation and those after them—are quite creative. Many of them are making it without resorting to crime. You’ll find many of them become techpreneurs, socialpreneurs and they can do things and stand out on their own. One would hope that other children, who might otherwise look up to people trying to get rich quickly, would see that it’s possible to succeed without being corrupt.
What could have caused this major shift? Because our generation, born into what used to be a better system, is the one now facing the worst of it.
I think it’s the mismanagement of the gifts God gave us. In our time, we had what you call the groundnut pyramids. Agriculture was thriving—we had a diversified economy before the discovery of oil. Then came oil, which seemed like easy money. Agriculture required work and patience to yield results. But oil brought quick wealth.
That shift to dependence on oil—and corruption, yes, we must return to that word—just changed everything. People stopped thinking “Nigeria first” and started putting themselves first.
And by the time the world started shifting away from the black gold, it became difficult for us to go back, again the insecurity, and that also came from the end justifies the means, where we started celebrating people with money to throw around, without actually questioning the source of their wealth or questioning it. So I think those are the things that have made it a bit difficult. And then there’s this issue of citizens not having national pride, we’ve lost character.
If we had all of that, we would pull through. Some nations have gone through it. Malaysia, for instance, went through it and came out tall. There are always times when you have the dips, and then there are highs. But if you follow a particular trajectory, it’s easier to overcome, balance out, and then start to climb up again from there.
You have pushed for change severally. What was it like challenging norms in the public sector and cultural space?
You know, the one thing in life that is constant is change, but it’s the one thing that people fight, especially when you’re pushing for positive change or trying to ensure things are done right. It’s never easy.
You meet a lot of brick walls. You get called names — they call you Margaret Thatcher, Madame Due Process, and so on. But the thing is, once you know what you’re doing is right, and your conscience speak into you, and then you have the rules backing you up — having traveled a bit and seen how things work — you begin to see how culture brings in more money than the black gold, even more than oil, if it’s well harnessed and properly placed.
That was the push — that’s what gave me the drive to continue. And the fact that one thing I’ve been taught is: when you keep quiet, evil thrives. It doesn’t matter whether it’s me or someone I know. Once I see that someone is not being treated fairly — and without justice, there can be no peace or growth — we have to do right by everyone. That’s what makes the workspace thrive and helps a nation grow.
Among your roles at the National Gallery of Art — as a PR, communicator, protocol expert, curator, and so on — which has been the most fulfilling for you?
Essentially, like you said, I am a communicator, a PR and protocol expert. Those jobs bring joy. Then you move into cultural and art administration, curating — it’s almost like being in the PR space. You’re managing projects. Let me put it that way.
All of these roles — is there any particular one? I would say I’m not someone who enjoys sitting behind a desk. I enjoyed each one of them at each given point in time. They all gave me satisfaction, and each one prepared me for the next. So I’d say all of them were satisfying.
But if I had to pick, I’d say my penultimate position was particularly significant. At each point in time, I’ve always been sent to open up a space. For example, when the National Gallery was created, I set up the Public Relations Unit, then the Protocol Unit, and later headed the FCT office, the other ones they were antecedents to follow. The one that truly challenged me most was being sent to head the Documentation Department of the agency, which challenged me a little bit because there was nothing for me to follow. There were no precedents or templates, so we built it from scratch. We had all the artifacts, all the works of art, but no proper documentation. It’s like having a body without a heart. One thing I’ve always loved is mentoring and impacting lives—teaching and growing together, and seeing the people I met in the department, I told them, “We’re going to grow together.” So setting up that department was deeply satisfying for me.
How do you see the role of culture and art in shaping national identity and unity?
Culture is the totality of a people’s way of life, and art is life—it is an integral part of culture. The artist is both a visionary and a historian. Before anything is created, it must first be visualized, imagined. Take, for instance, a company like Boeing; they likely have in-house artists who visualize and sketch out designs before anything is built.
When we talk about national identity, we must ask: Who are we as a people? What do we eat? What are our values? What can we proudly point to and say, “This is our culture, our pride”?
Nigerian art and culture take it anywhere, it stands out globally. Art helps children and future generations see and understand our identity. It also allows us to preserve and promote that identity. Nigeria has many ethnic groups, each with unique traditions. For instance, in Oyo state or the Southwest, I’m talking about art as a broad definition, when you see Aso-Oke fabric you know where it comes from. In Abia State, there’s Akwete, and from Aniocha, Akwacha. These are all hand-woven materials unique to their regions. The way we dress, the food we eat—all of it tells a story.
Visual art plays a critical role in preserving these cultural elements. For example, if someone mentions Pochuk, you know they’re from Tiv speaking part of Benue State. If they talk about Okoho, white soup, Oha or ewedu, you immediately associate those with a particular regions and people. These elements of our culture have been exported around the world. You know part of our art, the way we dress, you notice that when you have interracial marriages now, this is now talking about our national identity, you see the cepacians deciding to wear Baba-riga and rapper and do the Nigerian dance.
Look at how Nigerian wedding styles have gained global popularity. Art captures these cultural moments, preserving them for posterity.
Despite this richness in culture, why do we still experience disunity in Nigeria?
Disunity is man-made. It all started with politics. All these started in the last three decades. You know, a single broomstick can be bent, broken, and thrown away, but when you bundle them together, they’re unbreakable. I remember growing up, we had Muslim friends from Kwara, Kogi—and we celebrated together, during Eid, we would go to their homes to eat and celebrate with them, and during Christmas or Easter, they came to ours. We lived in harmony.
I read something the other day, somebody telling Davido, you are fraternizing too much with the Igbos, they will soon use you and dump you.” I am very glad the young man is detribalized, and he said, “I’m Igbo by blood.” So if all of us could understand the fact that we are one, and those things they use to divide us should be the ones that bind us because there is unity in diversity. What people see as our strength is what they worked on as our weakness and use it to divide us, you tell people that Muslim don’t like Christians they want to kill them and you tell the Christians same thing… if we respect each other religion, tribe, custom, etc. if we could go back where we use to have mutual respect for our culture, our religion…. If you remember during the #EndSARS protests, young men demonstrated that when it is time for Muslims to pray, Christians will guide them, and the same thing happens when it is time for Christians to pray. What was missing? That issue of no politics.
Unfortunately, our politics has corrupted that unity. We see politicians fight dirty in public, going at each other’s throats. Unfortunately for us, the lay people, when they finish fighting in front of the cameras, they settle behind closed doors, their children intermarry, and they live harmoniously. It’s the masses who suffer the consequences of these divisions.
If only those in the top echelon of society and the ruling class could preach peace and model unity, Nigeria would be a much greater country.
As an alumna of the US State Department’s International Visitor Leadership Program (IVLP), how did that experience shape your approach to leadership and cultural diplomacy?
It is a life-changing experience. The International Visitor Leadership Program,, which is the flagship program of the U.S Department of State, exposed me to people within my cultural and professional space from across the world. One thing we often overlook in Nigeria is volunteerism, but the IVLP and other US government exchange programs help you appreciate the importance of volunteering, service, mentorship, and the responsibility to give back to society.
So, you find that those of us who have participated in the IVLP International Visitor Leadership Program, often return as agents of positive change in our communities and the country at large.
What role do you believe international collaboration can play in the development of Nigeria’s creative industry?
Nigeria’s creative industry is quite dynamic and very rich. Unfortunately, the main challenges it faces are a lack of support, structure, and finance.
The talent and products are there, but what they need are grants and infrastructure. The creative economy is one of the fastest-growing economies. I think majorly the structure, if the government and international community can provide the right structure and financial support, especially for those who are not yet established but are up-and-coming, they would do exceptionally well.
You embody strength, intellect, and elegance. In your view, who is the modern Nigerian woman meant to be, and how can she balance tradition and innovation?
The Nigerian woman is all the qualities that you have elucidated, a Nigerian woman is strong, resilient, she pushes, combined and able to manage a home and work balance. A Nigerian woman I will point not to one of those women who you normally see as one of those who have made it, I will look to a woman who is hawking maybe tomatoes, I will point to a petty trader, you see her with a baby at her back, she has her whares on her head, she’s probably pregnant, she’s striving to go and heck out a living, that’s for me the symbol of resilient woman, then you come to infusing the balance between tradition and innovation, one woman who standout for me is Ibukun Awosika, I was listening to her talking to an audience and she was talking about how her journey of the last 30-31 years, you see her going from family life to the boardroom to innovation and she reach the top of her career and she one woman who you will look to and say if I had to leave my life again, probably would look for been somebody like her, she has always had her business running and has grown her business while also doing charity and missionary work. So she’s somebody who has balanced the traditional view of women and innovation.
What were those moments that helped you discover your direction and passion?
I would say I’m what you call an accidental public servant. After my youth service, thou my school was among those that had some delays, because of the Sap riot, so my school was part of the schools that didn’t go for youth service when every other person was going. We finished in November, while others had completed theirs in August, and so the jobs have already been taken; the bank jobs that people wanted had already been taken.
I had a bank job offer waiting for me in February, I sat down and I’m like I can’t sit at home between December and February; I’m not someone who likes to sit idle. A friend told me that an advertising firm was hiring for a client service executive position, so I went for the interview.
My first boss looked at me and said, “I don’t want someone who just left school.” But she added, “There’s something about the way you carry yourself, your composure, expressions, and the way you answer questions, I am going to give you a chance.” That was how I entered public relations. I did my NYSC in 1988 and in December 1989 I started working with her, Myoganny Limited, it was a public Relation and Advertising firm, and by the time the National Gallery was set up in 1993, I was invited to establish the public relations unit—and the rest, as they say, is history.
You know I told you I had a bank job waiting for me to start in February of 1990, but I was already excited about what I was doing in PR, and people thought I was crazy for turning the bank job down. But that was the beginning of my career in public relations.
How do you balance family and work? And what message would you have for younger women who are just starting as a mother?
Yes, I am a mother. I have four daughters. Three of them are graduates now—two are engineers. My first daughter is in tech, the second is a mechanical engineer, and the third is a systems engineer. The last one, who is still in school, is studying in the medical field.
One thing I would say is that no one should suffer for the other. You can balance both family and work. But if I had to choose it would be my children, my family.
I was blessed, and that’s one of the reasons why, when another bank job came looking for me four or five years after I had moved to the National Gallery, I turned it down. I was in Lagos, and I made that decision intentionally. Staying in the civil service was deliberate for me because it gave me time to pour into my children.
When the second offer came in 1998, I had two children, one was three years old, the other was just over a year. And if you’ve ever lived in Lagos, you’d understand the traffic situation. You need to leave home by 5 a.m. to get to work on the Island from the Mainland before 8 a.m. Then you get close to work and come home late. You’re leaving when the children are still sleeping and returning when they’ve already slept.
Over the weekend, you’re busy at the market preparing food for the week. You barely have time with your children. So, I sat back and asked myself, “What do I want?” My father poured so much into us, creating a strong family foundation. It used to sound strange to me when I saw siblings querying, so when that offer came, I declined. I couldn’t let my children miss out, because between the ages of zero and ten, a child’s character is formed. That’s the advice I’d give to any woman starting: ensure that the values are instilled in them, understand that children are like open books, blank sheets of paper. Whatever you want your child to be, write it in on that plain sheet
And like the Bible says, “Train up a child in the way they should go, and when they are old, they will not depart from it.” Whoever nurtures a child during that phase influences their core values. If you leave your children in the care of housemaids, the children will adopt their values.
For me, the choice was between a career, which is to the advancement and financial gain, and my children will suffer, or nurture my children, and I chose to stay in public service, not because it’s a place to lazy around—far from it. There were days I stayed in the office till 10 p.m. working on projects. But public service gave me flexibility: we resumed at 7:30 and closed by 3:30, giving me the rest of the day to be with my children.
By the time they returned from school, I was already home. I could walk them through their homework, listen to them talk about their day, and truly bond with them. It’s important to make your children your friends, so you’re the first person they turn to, not someone else who might give harmful advice.
That said, you must still pay attention to your job. Don’t let one area suffer for the other. I’ve heard people say, “Oh, it’s because of my child,” and I say, your child is a blessing, not a curse. Don’t use your child as an excuse for indolence. Both aspects of life deserve your best.
And for those in leadership positions, show empathy to those who work under you. When your staff are emotionally balanced, they will give you more in return.
What do you think is holding women back from greater visibility in spaces like politics, art, and leadership? And how do you think these barriers can be dismantled?
Women need to grab the space—they shouldn’t wait to be given it. No one will hand it to you just like that. If you have something to offer, step up. I truly believe that when a woman sets her mind to do something, she’ll do it exceptionally well. The problem is that women are often not given the chance in certain spaces. That’s why we hear people talk about “breaking the glass ceiling.” You must challenge it.
I remember when my daughter was studying mechanical engineering at the University of Lagos. During workshops, people would tell her she was too fragile, suggesting she switch to petroleum engineering instead. But she stood on her ground, this was what she wanted to do. That’s the mindset we need. Women shouldn’t believe that certain roles or positions are reserved for men.
I’m not saying you need to fight or argue, but if you bring value, people will naturally turn towards you. You must feed yourself, build yourself up, educate yourself, work on your personal growth, and strive to be better each day. Don’t compete with anyone else; your only competition should be the version of yourself from yesterday. Read, research, and always aim to do your best. When you do that, people will eventually have no choice but to let you step into the space.
If we sit back waiting for opportunities to be handed to us, we’ll never truly get there. Another challenge is that politics, particularly in Nigeria, is money-driven. Most women don’t have the kind of resources needed to compete with their male counterparts. That’s a serious barrier.
At 60, reflecting on your retirement from public service, what legacy do you hope to leave for future generations?
The legacy I want to leave behind is one of the values I hold dear to my heart – standing for what is right, even if I am standing alone. No matter the space you find yourself in, strive to be the best at what you do. Let your work speak for you. Most of the opportunities I’ve received didn’t come through lobbying —they came because I did my work diligently, and people took notice. The commendations and referrals came naturally.
Again, your competition should be yourself. Work to be better than you were yesterday. Stand for what is right and just. And lastly, mentor others. As you rise, lift others so they can step into the spaces you’ve vacated. That’s how we build sustainable change.
After retirement, what’s next for you, Ma? Is there a personal dream, project, or passion you’re excited to pursue?
One major thing I planned—and still hope—to do after retirement is to develop my work in the space of elderly care. In Nigeria, you find that many people, especially from the civil service, don’t last long after they retire.
One thing I truly hope I’ll have the strength and opportunity to do is advocate for a policy change. When people retire, you often hear them saying they don’t receive their gratuity or pension immediately. Their salary is cut off once they retire, and then for the next one or two years, they receive nothing. What are they expected to live on?
Secondly, that time, many are already managing conditions like diabetes, hypertension, arthritis or one ailment of the other and need money for medication. How are they supposed to afford it? How do they feed? Their children are also struggling—because really, our children are not our pension.
In other countries, someone who is 65 doesn’t pay for transportation or medical care. They receive a fixed amount from social insurance every month. But here, people that age are left to struggle. Even the few old people’s homes we have are in poor condition.
Honestly, I had hoped retirement would give me time to relax. But even though it’s only been two weeks, I’ve already received so many requests— “come do this for us,” “come do that for us.” So, I’m still trying to settle into retirement.
But one passion I’m committed to is development work in elderly care. In countries like Korea and China, they have dedicated days or weeks to honor and spend time with their parents and grandparents. Their elderly tend to live longer.
When you draw from those positive examples, you see how much difference policy and care can make. I hope that one day our government will provide public transportation for the elderly, free medical care, and even recreational activities. In Korea, for instance, every Thursday, seniors go to the opera, and it’s almost free. Those kinds of outings help keep them alive and active.
That’s something I’d love to work on, and I pray I find the time to do it.
