MY THOUGHTS ON SOUTH AFRICA’S CONSTITUTIONAL COURT

Wait, why on earth did I wear a white wig that made me look like a fetish priest just to get licensed? I remember walking down an aisle that felt like we were being cleansed of our individualities and bestowed a whiteness that we had to have. These were my thoughts when we were discussing the extent of wisdom and specificity that went into the South African Constitutional Court building. The building was centered around dismantling the remains of the apartheid regime and establishing something new. It was streamlined to their culture and echoed that they were ready to start afresh.

In Nigeria, anyone who wants to get licensed to practice law must purchase a white wig and a black gown. Additionally, they must wear it on the day of call by the Nigerian Body of Benchers. Although this practice dates to the 17th century in England, it started towards the end of the British colonization in Nigeria when she decided to adopt the legal system of Britain, and by extension, all the paraphernalia that came with it. The English had their reasons for wearing wigs and it ranged from being a tool to measure meritocracy to hiding baldness. The black gown on the other hand was supposedly worn to show the solemnity of the legal profession.

This is so severely enforced that no lawyer has the right of audience in any superior court of records unless the lawyer is “properly robed.” It implies that you must array yourself in a voluptuous gown and put on your head an awful grey/white wig. Meanwhile, in some commonwealth countries like Canada, South Africa, India, Pakistan, and Kenya, the judges and attorneys don’t wear wigs. Even in the United Kingdom, there are a lot of reforms going on like wearing wigs only in criminal courts. Another sad thing is that Nigeria has one of the

warmest climates in the world. If lawyers must be robed, shouldn’t the court consider a piece of fabric and design that reflects the peculiarities of the weather?

Unlike the South African court building, the Nigerian robe requirement is a symbol of stagnancy, redundancy, and lack of sagacity. Jeff Radebe, the minister of public works in South Africa was right when he said that “[t]he design … has the potential to express a new architecture which is rooted in the South African landscape, both physically and culturally ... more likely to succeed in revealing African trends than a self-conscious application of traditional stylistic elements or borrowing from European or historical building precedents.” Even the court’s invitation to the public was for the world to visit and explore the history of South Africa's political transition.

Unfortunately, while many licensed attorneys in Nigeria are contesting to scrap this practice away, one of the major dreams of most aspiring lawyers is to wear it, mainly for prestige with little or no concern for its significance. There is only so much that can happen within a short time, but if I have learned anything from South Africa’s Constitutional court building, it is that real change begins with abolishing unproductive hand-downs, understanding peculiarities, and building a system that respects that.