Adolphos Opara: 'Nigerians are too tolerant. We need real change.' Photograph: Tuoyo Omagba  Born in Nigeria in 1981, Adolphus Opara originally worked as a graphic designer for the small but influential Nimbus studio and art gallery in Lagos, a hub for local artists and photographers. "I bought a film camera in early 2005, but I threw it away after a month because the pictures I took were so terrible," he says, laughing. The following year, armed with a digital camera (a Fuji Finepix S3Pro) bought from his friend, the acclaimed Nigerian documentary photographer George Osodi, Opara travelled by road to Senegal and back, "shooting all the way, totally trigger crazy". Looking at the photographs on his return, he realised then that he had a love for photography but "no real understanding of what a series was or how to create one". That came soon afterwards with a project called Rugball, which captured in impressionistic black and white a bunch of young Nigerians on a beach in Lagos playing the rough-and-tumble hybrid game that merges the rules of rugby, basketball, soccer and even wrestling.  Opara describes himself as "first and foremost a storyteller". The stories he tells with his camera have, he says, deepened and widened since he began taking photographs in 2005. "I never plan anything. I follow my instincts and often my projects start off as quite small, intimate explorations that grow into something more. By the end, there is always a bigger story underneath about Nigeria or Africa, about the forces that shape us either from within or from the outside." His most well-known series to date is the grandly titled Emissaries of an Iconic Religion, painterly portraits of the chief priests and diviners of the traditional Yorùbá religion, which was shown as part of a group show, Contested Terrains, at Tate Modern last year. The exhibition focused on "artists working in Africa who explore and subvert narratives about the past and present".  The project began, Opara says, "from a conversation with a friend who was a traditional Christian and, like many Christians, thought that Yorùbá was a bad religion like voodoo. I began to think about how quickly we can leave our beliefs and culture behind us. I visited shrines all around the country and, as people came to trust me, they began to tell their stories. It is a story about Africa's past but also about Africa today."  One of Opara's ongoing projects is called Shrinking Shores. "It is about where I live, Lagos, and how it has been affected by climate change and oil spills. There are 30 abandoned shipwrecks on our shores and all tell a tale of destruction, of villages destroyed, people displaced."  When asked if he is weary of how Africa is portrayed by photographers from outside the continent, Opara is diplomatic. "As someone who trained and works as a journalist, I can see why people go where there is disaster and war, but there is another Africa, many other Africas."  Is he optimistic for the future of his country? "Well, Nigerians are naturally optimistic, but we can never agree on anything. It is out strength and our weakness. It takes us too long to say, 'This is enough.' There are people who have been in power too long. In a way, we are too tolerant. We need real change. It does not just happen, it needs action to make it happen."  Daniel Naude A young South African.
Former graphic designer Adolphus Opara has developed a passion for storytelling through images of 'the other Africas', writes Sean O'Hagan