“African Time” Is Not the Flex We Think It Is

I hate being late. I really do.

If an invitation says an event starts at 5pm, I expect it to start at 5pm or 10 or 15 minutes later. Not 6pm. Not 7pm. And certainly not at a time that seems to depend on when the host feels ready.

Yet, somewhere along the way, we have normalised the idea that when an event is organised by Africans, the stated start time is more of a suggestion than a commitment. We call it "African time", laugh about it, make allowances for it and sometimes even use it as a reason not to take the advertised time seriously. But why do we think this is a good thing? Those who know me will understand why my dislike of what we call “African time” is no secret. It is something I have challenged for years, and I genuinely struggle to understand why we continue to accept it as though it is an inevitable part of who we are.

Imagine the hundreds and thousands of people who take an invitation at face value. You arrange your day, make the necessary plans, travel to the venue and arrive on time because that is what you were asked to do. You walk into a hall where the organisers have not yet arrived, the tables are still being arranged, or preparations are very much in progress. You sit and wait. And wait some more. Meanwhile, the event advertised to start at 5pm eventually gets going at 7pm.

What exactly are we asking people to accept here? That their time matters less than ours? That the effort they made to arrive on time is somehow irrelevant because they should have known better? I know events can be unpredictable. Delays happen, venues present challenges, speakers run late and circumstances can get in the way, so I am not suggesting that every event will run perfectly to the minute. I am talking about the expectation that people should anticipate a significant delay simply because of who is organising the event or the cultural label attached to it.

Here is the part I struggle with most. When we have a doctor's appointment or a flight to catch, we make an effort to be on time. We plan our journey, account for traffic and allow ourselves enough time because we understand the consequences of being late. So why does that same urgency disappear when we are attending or organising an event? People may have taken time off work, arranged childcare, paid for transport or reorganised other commitments to attend. Some may have travelled a considerable distance. Others might have fitted the event into an already demanding day because they value the work being done or want to support the people organising it. Their time matters too.

When organisations repeatedly advertise one start time but begin much later, they risk losing the trust of the very people they want to engage. People start arriving late themselves because they expect everyone else to do the same. Those who turn up on time begin to wonder why they bothered making the effort and make a note never to attend again. There is another reason I think this matters, and it goes beyond the inconvenience of waiting around in a hall. African people and communities already face stereotypes and assumptions. We know how quickly individual experiences can be generalised to an entire group, and how easily people are judged against expectations that have little to do with who they are or what they are capable of.

So when we repeatedly excuse lateness as “African time”, what message are we reinforcing? We might intend it as an affectionate joke among ourselves and not think twice about saying it. But the label travels. People outside our circles hear it, repeat it and may use it to confirm assumptions about African people being disorganised, unreliable or unprofessional. That does not mean every person who arrives late is responsible for racism, or that we should organise our lives around avoiding other people's prejudices. The stereotypes are not ours to carry, and others remain responsible for their own assumptions. But we should be honest about the part we can control: our actions, our standards and the expectations we set for one another.

We cannot spend time challenging unfair stereotypes while casually reinforcing behaviours that can be used to support them. Questioning a practice within our own spaces is not a rejection of our culture, it is recognising that we can value our identities and traditions while still asking whether certain habits serve us well.

Photo by Ace Maxwell

For me, punctuality is a form of consideration. It shows that you respect the commitment someone else has made to be there. If an event is advertised to start at 5pm, the expectation should be that it starts then and if there is a genuine reason for a delay, communicate it. If you need time to set up, plan the advertised start time around that preparation. If guests should arrive at 5pm for a 6pm programme, say so clearly. It requires planning, communication and a willingness to take responsibility. We cannot ask for better from institutions, businesses and wider society while being unwilling to ask for better from ourselves. And doing better can also be done without losing who we are and our culture.

I am not interested in policing every minute of someone's day - my concern is with the way “African time” has become an accepted explanation for repeated lateness, rather than a habit we can question and change. Our actions shape people's experiences, influence whether they trust us with their time again and contribute to the impressions they form about the spaces we create.