

As part of our 2025 MBA Study Abroad trip, we got a chance to visit the city of Segovia, on our way from our wine tasting (and exploration) trip at Bodega Severino Sanz.
Segovia stands in the heart of Spain, its ancient streets weaving a story of grandeur, conflict, resilience, and reinvention. Walking through its medieval walls, under the shadow of the Roman aqueduct and the towering Alcázar, I couldn’t help but reflect on how history is not just something we inherit — it shapes the very foundations of how power, identity, and economies are structured today.
As an international relations professional, my lens naturally blends the economic, social, political, and cultural forces that shape nations and global systems. My training as an economist, demographer, entrepreneur, and newly marketing researcher, has always pushed me to question data, trends, and the stories they tell — and just as importantly, the stories they erase. My work as an innovator and entrepreneur forces me to think ahead: How do we rewrite these narratives to build new systems, new economies, and new pathways for prosperity — especially for Africa?
Segovia’s history is a case study in the four Cs of colonization — a framework that applies far beyond Spain and deep into the African continent.
Walking through Segovia, I felt what I can only describe as standing in the crosswinds of history. This small Castilian city, perched on a rocky hilltop in central Spain, is far more than a postcard-perfect tourist destination — it’s a living museum of empire, power, and cultural conquest.
Segovia’s origins trace back to Roman times, when the Romans expanded their empire into Hispania, bringing infrastructure, governance systems, and the iconic Roman Aqueduct — still standing today as a symbol of both Roman engineering brilliance and imperial ambition. The aqueduct was more than a water channel; it was an architectural flex, a reminder to the indigenous Celtiberian tribes of who was in charge.
Following the collapse of the Roman Empire, Segovia — like much of the Iberian Peninsula — became part of Al-Andalus, under Moorish rule. This era introduced Islamic architecture, scientific advancements, and cultural fusion, blending Arab, Berber, and local Castilian influences into a unique cultural tapestry. But, as history often shows, multiculturalism in times of empire is rarely stable.
In the 11th century, Segovia was reclaimed by Christian forces during the Reconquista — the centuries-long campaign by Christian kingdoms to drive Muslim rulers from Spain. The Reconquista wasn’t just about territorial control — it was a campaign to impose religious and cultural uniformity. Jews and Muslims were expelled, forcibly converted, or killed, and the Catholic Church cemented itself as the dominant spiritual and political force.
This is the legacy that gave us Segovia’s cathedral, a soaring Gothic masterpiece that looms over the city like a symbol of victory — or depending on your perspective, of erasure.
Segovia’s relevance doesn’t end with internal struggles. The Catholic Monarchs, Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon, held court here. This royal duo not only completed the Reconquista but financed Christopher Columbus’ voyage to the Americas, launching the Spanish Empire’s colonial domination of the New World.
Segovia, therefore, is more than a historical city — it’s a nerve center for understanding the mindset and mechanisms of Western imperialism, exported first to the Americas and then, indirectly, to Africa through the 4 Cs of Colonization: Christianity, Commerce, Civilization, and Conquest.
Segovia, like much of Spain, bears the fingerprints of conquest after conquest — from the Romans to the Visigoths to the Moors and finally the Christian reconquest. Each wave of conquest didn’t just seize land; it reshaped culture, language, and economic systems. Conquest isn’t just about war — it’s about replacing one narrative with another, erasing what existed, and installing new systems of control.
This hit particularly close to home when reflecting on Africa’s own history of colonial conquest — where indigenous governance systems, economic structures, and social hierarchies were systematically dismantled in favor of European models designed to extract, exploit, and control.
Segovia’s prosperity wasn’t built in isolation — it was fueled by trade routes, commercial networks, and economic systems that connected Europe, Africa, and the Americas. This wasn’t simple economic exchange; it was a precursor to the global capitalist system we know today — one rooted in exploitation and unequal trade, where colonies provided raw materials and imperial centers reaped the profits.
As an economist, I can’t ignore how this global system, birthed from conquest and solidified through commerce, still shapes Africa’s economic reality today — commodity dependence, unequal trade agreements, and a financial architecture designed to keep the Global South subordinate to the Global North.
The religious conversion of Spain under the Catholic Monarchs wasn’t simply a spiritual campaign — it was a political and economic tool. Islam, Judaism, and other faiths were systematically suppressed to build a monolithic religious identity that justified colonial expansion under the guise of “saving souls.”
This religious element is deeply personal for me. As a demographer who spent years working on population and family planning programs, including with the Gates Foundation, I’ve had to unlearn and rethink much of the population narrative I was trained to uphold. Many of these global programs were driven by Western fears of African “overpopulation,” echoing the same colonial logic — controlling populations to ensure easier governance and resource extraction. The story was never just about health; it was about power, economics, and control.
Once land, commerce, and belief systems were seized, the final C — control — was cemented through administrative systems, legal frameworks, and cultural hegemony. Spain’s administrative systems became the blueprint for many colonial models exported across Latin America and Africa. Even today, we see echoes of this control in how global governance bodies, trade organizations, and even development agencies interact with African nations.
As an entrepreneur and innovator, I constantly think about what it means to break this cycle. How do we build African-led platforms, businesses, and ecosystems that can truly thrive — not as extensions of Western systems, but as bold, independent expressions of African creativity, culture, and commerce? Kwathu Kollective and the broader creative economy movement I’m building is part of that response — reclaiming narrative, technology, and economics on our terms.
As I stood in Segovia, I couldn’t help but draw lines between these historical patterns and the present-day realities I navigate as a business development professional, future Xbox strategist, and ecosystem builder. Whether it’s working with Microsoft to analyze new market expansions, helping African entrepreneurs access global markets through Kwathu Kollective, or critically engaging with the population narratives I was once trained to uphold, the past and present are inseparable.
Segovia’s beauty is undeniable — but so is the weight of its history. The aqueduct stands as a symbol of engineering brilliance, but also of the labor and systems that sustained an empire. The Alcázar is stunning, but its towers once symbolized control over vast territories. This tension between beauty and brutality is one that every African leader, innovator, and thinker must grapple with — how do we admire the ingenuity while refusing to inherit the systems that sustained it?
My time in Segovia is a reminder that understanding history isn’t about guilt or blame — it’s about clarity. Clarity in how systems were built, who benefited, who lost — and most importantly, how we choose to move forward.
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As I prepare to take on new challenges in the US (Global / Tech) Industries, dive deeper into digital economies through Kwathu Kollective, and continue shaping African narratives through The Lessons Conversation, I carry Segovia with me. Its history is both a warning and an invitation — a warning of what happens when power goes unchecked, and an invitation to reimagine what global prosperity could look like if we build new systems rooted in equity, dignity, and innovation.
From Segovia with care,
Ntha