Is Artificial Intelligence (AI) here to put humans out of work? Much research and, quite frankly, the current job market all point in that direction. From writers and designers to customer service reps and even DJs, we’ve all watched industries quietly reshape around machines that don’t eat, don’t sleep, and don’t need a raise.

 This isn’t a new fear. Since the early 2000s, films like "I Robot" have warned us of futures where humans lose control of their creations, stories where machines decide who’s useful and who’s obsolete. But the real question remains: is AI here to replace us? Or is it just reflecting what we’ve chosen to ignore about ourselves?

AI is just a tool, and like any tool, its power depends on who’s using it and for what purpose. In the right hands, AI is a cultural preserver. It can act as a digital griot, archiving oral history, translating endangered languages, and helping indigenous sounds reach the next generation.

Take the Masakhane project, for example, a grassroots initiative building machine translation tools for African languages. Or look at how Google Arts & Culture has digitised thousands of African artworks, preserving them in high resolution for future generations.

There are even experiments with using AI to replicate traditional instruments, so that young producers in Lagos or Nairobi can access centuries-old sounds with a click.

AI can hold memory. But it depends on what we feed it. The danger, though, is that in the wrong hands, AI becomes a digital coloniser, erasing instead of preserving.

Algorithms trained mostly on Western data may not understand African dialects, spiritual symbols, or values. Facial recognition tools have been shown to misidentify Black faces more often than white ones. Text-generating bots may reinforce stereotypes because they weren’t trained to recognise nuance or context in African narratives.

That’s when AI feels like a nuclear weapon. One aimed not with malice, but indifference and sometimes, that’s just as harmful. In this context, the ancestors aren’t just our elders who’ve passed on. They’re also those among us: family, mentors and colleagues who are sceptical of AI. Those who ask the tough questions. Those who pause before downloading ChatGPT or Midjourney or letting an algorithm write their next CV. And truthfully, we can’t blame them. Their hesitation isn’t ignorance. It’s memory. It’s the echo of exploitation. The fear that new tools might mean new ways of being left behind.

They’re not wrong to be cautious. But if we are not involved, our stories might be written for us or worse, not at all. Change is the only constant. And in this war between man and machine, the ones who refuse to adapt may become ghosts in the machine, not because they’re irrelevant, but because they were shut out.

So let’s build the bridge. Let’s make sure AI is trained on folktales, not just PDFs. On proverbs, not just protocols. On rhythm and Ubuntu, not just numbers and logic.

Imagine an AI built to assist in conflict resolution, not based on Western legal logic, but drawing wisdom from Ifá divination, Xhosa ancestral consultation, or Tiv clan arbitration models. One that doesn't just process data but interprets it through spiritual, communal, and emotional lenses. That’s not science fiction, it’s what happens when tradition and technology meet with intention. Because if we’re not in the room, we don’t get to decide what the algorithm remembers or forgets.

AI doesn’t have to erase us. But it will evolve with or without us. The onus rests on us to be certain it carries our voice, memory, and future. So, to the sceptics, the new “ancestors”, you’re not wrong to question this new wave. But perhaps, instead of standing against the algorithm, let's teach it who we are.