My first encounter was aboard an Ethiopian Airlines flight from Washington Dulles to Addis Ababa. I’m still not sure why I chose it. Perhaps I reached for something that looked vaguely familiar. Or perhaps I was momentarily distracted by the flight attendant, a Tigrayan beauty, the sort that once turned a high-profile Nigerian politician to moonlight as a masseur at 35,000 feet. Whatever the reason, I cannot, in good conscience, blame my dislike for it on the taste alone.

As a Nigerian, I understand better than most that food is often an acquired experience. Many of our cherished delicacies would bewilder outsiders. Take ogiri, for instance, a condiment whose distinctive aroma comes from oil bean seeds preserved till rotten at its core. To someone unfamiliar with it, the smell could be pungent. To us, it is culinary gold.

My issue with couscous has always been something else entirely. It looks like Jollof rice but tastes nothing like it. Every spoonful leaves me with the strange feeling that I have been tricked. It resembles, in my admittedly whimsical opinion, a form of culinary deception.

Only later did I learn that couscous is both a staple and a cultural symbol across the Maghreb, especially in Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. Made from tiny granules of semolina that are rolled and steamed into tiny granules, it is far more than just food; it is a shared tradition that binds the region together.

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Perhaps it is mere superstition on my part, but I cannot shake the feeling that couscous has become a metaphor for my understanding of North Africa’s complicated relationship with the rest of the continent.

From a distance, North Africa appears unquestionably African. On closer inspection, however, its political orientation, cultural identity and strategic priorities have often looked elsewhere. The continent is acknowledged when convenient, but seldom embraced as a genuine community of equals.

That may sound harsh. It is nevertheless a perception shared by many people south of the Sahara, and it deserves an honest discussion rather than sentimental slogans about African unity.

For most of my life, I have believed deeply in the idea of Africa. Not because we all share the same complexion, language or customs. We clearly do not, but because history placed us within the same geographic destiny. Colonial powers partitioned the continent with little regard for existing civilizations or identities. Whether by accident or design, we inherited a common map. The sensible response is to make the best of that inheritance through solidarity, cooperation and mutual respect. The problem however, is that solidarity cannot be a one-way street.

Increasingly, many sub-Saharan Africans are asking whether North African governments and societies genuinely see themselves as part of the same African project or whether Africa is simply an identity invoked whenever it is politically advantageous.

Across sub-Saharan Africa, there has been widespread and justified outrage over xenophobic violence in South Africa. Africans have repeatedly condemned attacks on foreign nationals and demanded that Pretoria protect migrants regardless of their nationality. The moral principle is sound: Africans should not brutalize fellow Africans simply because they crossed a border in search of opportunity. Yet that same moral outrage seems noticeably muted when similar abuses occur north of the Sahara.

Human rights organisations have documented the mistreatment of migrants from sub-Saharan Africa in several North African countries. Reports have described arbitrary arrests, forced expulsions, racial discrimination and physical abuse, particularly against migrants attempting to reach Europe through Morocco or Libya. The horrifying images that emerged from Libya’s slave markets shocked the world, revealing migrants being bought and sold in what amounted to modern-day slavery. Mauritania continues to struggle with the legacy of hereditary slavery, despite legal prohibitions, with many Haratins still facing severe forms of discrimination and exploitation.

These are not internet rumours. They have been documented by respected international organizations and journalists. None of this means that North African states have no right to enforce their immigration laws. Every sovereign nation has that authority. Nigeria enforces immigration laws. Ghana does. Kenya does. The United States certainly does. The issue is not border enforcement. This is a matter of human dignity.

There is a profound difference between deporting an undocumented migrant and degrading that person’s humanity. The disturbing videos and eyewitness accounts that have emerged over the years are troubling not simply because migrants were arrested, but because many appeared to be treated as though they possessed no intrinsic worth. That should concern every African.

To be fair, responsibility does not rest solely with North African governments.

The greatest tragedy begins much farther south. Corrupt governments across sub-Saharan Africa have systematically destroyed economic opportunity, weakened institutions and stolen the future of their own citizens. Millions of young Africans embark on dangerous migration routes because their leaders have failed them. The Mediterranean has become a cemetery because too many African governments have become indifferent to human suffering.

If Nigeria, Sudan, Eritrea, Mali or other countries provided security, jobs and functioning institutions, far fewer young people would entrust their lives to smugglers. That reality cannot be ignored. Yet acknowledging one injustice does not excuse another.

Another aspect of this conversation concerns identity itself. North African countries understandably possess complex identities shaped by Arab, Amazigh, Mediterranean and African influences. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Identity is not a zero-sum proposition. The concern arises when African identity becomes largely transactional.

During international sporting competitions, continental organizations and media outlets often celebrate North African victories as triumphs for Africa. African solidarity is loudly proclaimed.

Yet many sub-Saharan Africans wonder whether that solidarity is reciprocated in everyday life, in migration policy, in racial attitudes, in diplomacy and in public discourse. Brotherhood that appears only during football tournaments is not brotherhood. It is branding.

The late Muammar Gaddafi further illustrates the need to distinguish rhetoric from reality. Many admirers portray him as one of Africa’s greatest Pan-Africanists. They point to his advocacy for African unity, his calls for a continental currency and his financial support for the African Union. There is some truth in that narrative. But there is another side.

Gaddafi’s interventions in Liberia, Sierra Leone and elsewhere were hardly exercises in selfless Pan-African idealism. Having being treated like a pariah by countries of the Arab league, he was basically looking for a different sphere of influence and decided where best more than Africa. His government armed and financed rebel movements that prolonged devastating civil wars and cost countless African lives.

Those interventions often served his imperial ambitions far more than the pretext for Africa’s collective interests.

That is not the Pan-Africanism envisioned by Kwame Nkrumah, Nnamdi Azikiwe, Julius Nyerere or Patrice Lumumba. Their vision rested upon liberation, equality and shared development. It did not involve exporting instability to weaker neighbours.

Sub-Saharan Africa must therefore approach its relationship with North Africa with maturity rather than illusion.

Maturity requires neither hostility nor naïveté. North African countries are important economic partners. They possess advanced industries, strategic ports, growing manufacturing sectors and valuable diplomatic influence. Cooperation is beneficial and necessary. But cooperation must rest upon realism.

Sub-Saharan Africa should stop assuming that geography automatically creates solidarity. Relationships between states are ultimately governed by interests. When they diverge, sub-Saharan Africa must defend its own priorities without guilt or apology. Pan-Africanism should not become an excuse for ignoring unequal relationships or remaining silent in the face of discrimination.

African unity cannot survive as a slogan recited at summits while migrants are abused at borders. It cannot flourish if one part of the continent demands solidarity but withholds empathy. Nor can it succeed if sub-Saharan Africans continue to romanticize relationships that are not always reciprocal.

Perhaps that is why I remain unconvinced by couscous. It resembles rice, but it is not rice. Likewise, some relationships resemble brotherhood until circumstances reveal otherwise. The lesson is not that North Africa is the enemy. It is not. The lesson is that genuine partnership must be measured not by speeches, flags or continental geography but by consistent mutual respect.

Sub-Saharan Africa should engage North Africa as equal partners, not imagined siblings bound by sentimental narratives. Friendship should certainly be welcomed wherever it is genuine. Cooperation should be expanded wherever interests converge. But trust, like respect, should be earned rather than assumed.

That is not cynicism. It is simply the beginning of a more honest conversation about what Pan-Africanism ought to mean in the twenty-first century.

And yes, I found myself unable to cheer for either Morocco or Argentina during the just-concluded World Cup. It was my own small act of rebellion against the way both countries have treated folks who look like me.

Osmund Agbo is a medical doctor and author. His works include Black Grit, White Knuckles: The Philosophy of Black Renaissance and the novel The Velvet Court: Courtesan Chronicles. His most recent publications, Pray, Let the Shaman Die and Ma’am, I Do Not Come to You for Love, have just been released.