Dear Spacetravellers,
When we think about “worldbuilding,” our minds often jump to maps, star charts, or resource spreadsheets. But some of the most intricate worlds humans have ever imagined didn’t begin on paper at all—they lived in oral traditions. Many African cosmologies were never written down until outsiders arrived, yet they contained creation stories, metaphysics, political systems, ecological rules, and interdimensional beings that would put entire sci-fi franchises to shame.
This matters for speculative fiction because these traditions demonstrate that worldbuilding doesn’t require scientific scaffolding to feel internally coherent. It needs world logic—a framework for how reality behaves and why.
Take the Dogon people of Mali. Their cosmology includes multiple planes of existence, amphibious star-born entities, and a cosmic system tied to Sirius. Yet what makes the Dogon universe compelling isn’t the “aliens,” but the rules: how beings travel, how knowledge is transmitted, what obligations humans owe to cosmic visitors. Replace divination with telemetry and you’d have a fully functional space opera.
Across the continent, oral traditions treat the environment as a conscious participant rather than a backdrop. Forests negotiate. Rivers remember. Mountains hide agreements between ancestors and gods. This dynamic ecology provides a blueprint for designing alien biomes that feel alive without needing to mimic Earth biology.
Imagine Falrus, a fictional exoplanet, not as a mineral sphere waiting to be colonized, but as a relational ecosystem. Weather might be driven not by physics alone but by ancient treaties between atmospheric spirits. Traveling between regions could require learning the stories embedded in the land—stories that operate as both myth and map.
Another secret weapon of oral cosmologies is scale. They collapse the cosmic and the intimate. A dispute between two village elders could ripple into the heavens; the birth of a child might renew a star. For science fiction, this unlocks narrative elasticity—letting personal arcs matter on galactic timelines without needing a Death Star-sized intervention.
For worldbuilders, the takeaway is profound:
A believable alien world doesn’t have to be realistic. It has to be narratively integrated.
African folkloric cosmologies show us that meaning systems—carried by memory, story, song, and ritual—can encode as much “world data” as any encyclopedia.
So if Falrus is to feel alien yet human, don’t start with orbital mechanics. Start with who tells its stories, how its landscapes speak, and what cosmic responsibilities its inhabitants believe they uphold. The rest—technology, biology, starships—will orbit naturally.
For more on Planet Falrus and african folktales, do check out Storyplanet below:
Wishing you warm friendship and don't forget to check out my fellow authors below:
All my love,
Joanna