Walking is one of the most basic human activities, something we do without thinking—yet it tells a powerful story. Across the world, how people walk has always reflected their relationship with their culture, environment, and community values. In many indigenous societies, walking was more than getting from point A to B—it was deeply woven into daily rituals, social behavior, and even spiritual practices.
In pre-colonial times, movement patterns were naturally shaped by terrain. Whether across desert sands, dense forests, mountains, or savannas, people developed unique walking styles that suited the land they lived on. These walking styles weren’t random—they reflected centuries of adaptation. They included upright postures, gentle gaits, rhythmic strides, and even sacred rituals where walking played a ceremonial role.
When colonization occurred, this quiet yet profound connection between body and land was interrupted. Colonizers didn’t just bring new technologies, religions, and governments—they imposed new standards of appearance, movement, and discipline. The effects (How Colonization Changed the Way We Walk) were subtle but far-reaching: people began to change the way they walked, stood, and moved. Over generations, this shift influenced how they related to themselves, their community, and their cultural identity.
Today, we still carry the physical imprint of colonial influence—in our posture, our footwear, and our everyday movement—often without realizing it.
Indigenous Walking Styles Before Colonization
Before colonization, indigenous people across continents had walking patterns that aligned with nature’s rhythm. In many cultures, walking was not just mechanical—it was intentional, aware, and connected to the earth beneath their feet.
Take the Maasai of East Africa, for instance. Known for their dignified, upright walk and remarkable endurance, they developed this style from living as semi-nomadic pastoralists. Their ability to walk long distances—often barefoot or in minimal sandals—helped them move freely across the savannah without strain or injury. Their posture was not forced; it was the natural result of a lifestyle grounded in movement and balance.
Similarly, among Native American tribes like the Lakota or Apache, moccasins were crafted with soft, flexible materials that allowed the feet to feel the ground. Walking wasn’t hurried—it was silent, attentive, and precise, especially important for hunters or those performing sacred ceremonies.
In the Andes of South America, people walked steep mountain paths daily, often with bare or sandaled feet. Their movement was naturally adapted to elevation and terrain, with short, grounded steps and relaxed posture.
In many Asian communities as well, especially in rural Southeast Asia, walking barefoot through rice fields or forests allowed for a deep sense of bodily awareness. Movement was less about performance and more about harmony with one’s surroundings.
What united these walking styles was the relationship between the foot, the body, and the land. There was no rush to conform to a single “proper” way of walking. Instead, people walked how they needed to—for survival, for spirituality, for connection.
This rich diversity in movement was not random. It was rooted in generations of lived experience, developed over centuries in balance with the environment.
Colonial Influence on Body and Posture
With the arrival of colonial powers came a dramatic shift—not only in governance but in the day-to-day lives of indigenous populations. One of the most overlooked areas of change was in how people carried themselves.
Colonial authorities often viewed indigenous postures and walking styles as inferior, unrefined, or even “uncivilized.” To correct this, they began introducing European standards of movement in schools, churches, and the military. Children were taught to walk “properly” in a way that mimicked the posture and behavior of European elites. This often meant upright spines, rigid arms, a forward gaze, and controlled steps.
In colonial India, British education included training on etiquette, grooming, and even how to walk “like a gentleman.” Posture and deportment became signs of being “civilized”—those who conformed were considered more educated or trustworthy. Those who retained their traditional walking patterns were often mocked or punished.
This wasn’t just about aesthetics. It was a way to assert control over the colonized body. Movement became part of a larger system of assimilation—an effort to reshape how people thought, felt, and expressed themselves.
In many African colonies, similar rules were enforced. Missionary schools taught students to carry themselves in ways that distanced them from their own culture. Soldiers and civil servants were required to march, stand, and behave according to Western codes, even if those codes conflicted with their natural ways of moving.
Over time, these imposed standards began to take root. People learned to walk in ways that felt foreign—tight, disciplined, disconnected from the environment. And this change wasn’t just physical—it created a sense of internal dissonance, especially for those torn between honoring their roots and fitting into a system that rewarded compliance.
The Role of Footwear in Cultural Erasure
Footwear may seem like a small detail in the broader story of colonization, but it played a surprisingly powerful role in shaping identity, enforcing class divisions, and erasing indigenous traditions.
In many pre-colonial societies, people walked barefoot or wore footwear designed with local knowledge and materials—shoes that allowed the foot to move freely and stay connected to the earth. For instance, in West Africa, artisans crafted leather sandals that were functional, beautifully designed, and reflective of cultural identity. In the Americas, moccasins were often made by hand, passed down between generations, and adapted for different climates and landscapes.
When European colonizers arrived, however, Western shoes—such as boots, stiff leather shoes, and formal dress shoes—were introduced as symbols of “civilization,” progress, and superiority. These shoes were more than just fashion items—they became tools of social control and assimilation.
Indigenous people were often encouraged—or required—to wear these shoes in order to be accepted into schools, workplaces, or religious institutions. Going barefoot, once normal and culturally accepted, was now labeled as “primitive” or “poor.” Traditional shoes were gradually pushed aside in favor of styles that mirrored European dress codes.
For example, during the colonial period in Nigeria and Ghana, schoolchildren were required to wear imported leather shoes as part of their uniforms. Owning and wearing these shoes became a mark of education and prestige, even if the shoes were poorly suited for the local climate and uncomfortable to wear.
This shift had multiple consequences. First, it disrupted traditional craftsmanship. Local shoemakers and leatherworkers lost their cultural relevance and income as European footwear flooded local markets. Second, it changed how people moved. The new shoes were stiff and restrictive, altering natural gait and posture.
Perhaps most importantly, the loss of traditional footwear meant a loss of connection to the land and to one’s roots. Shoes no longer reflected the environment or the wearer’s identity. Instead, they signified compliance with a colonial standard—one that distanced people from their heritage.
Infrastructure and Environmental Changes to Walking
Another subtle but lasting impact of colonization was the transformation of physical landscapes—and, in turn, the way people walked. When colonizers began building new cities, ports, and road systems, they weren’t just changing architecture—they were changing movement itself.
Before colonization, communities lived in close contact with their natural surroundings. People walked barefoot on sand, grass, or soft earth. Their gait and posture developed around these surfaces—balanced, adaptive, and gentle on the joints. Traditional footwear was made with flexibility in mind, designed to complement rather than constrain natural movement.
But colonization introduced new urban infrastructures: concrete roads, paved walkways, railway stations, administrative buildings, and military compounds. These spaces were designed for Western-style footwear and movement. Walking on hard surfaces required stiffer shoes with thick soles, and this in turn began to change how people moved.
In places like Nairobi, Lagos, and Calcutta, the rise of colonial urban centers created a sharp contrast between old and new. People who once moved freely across soft ground were now navigating rigid, unnatural paths that demanded a different walking rhythm—one that felt less connected to nature and more aligned with the mechanical pace of city life.
The architecture also influenced posture. In tall government buildings or churches with high ceilings and rows of pews, people began to adopt more upright, formal postures—mimicking the physical behavior of colonial officials. Walking in a straight line, standing still for long periods, or moving through narrow hallways all affected bodily habits that were previously shaped by open, outdoor living.
Even the pace of walking changed. Urban life introduced schedules, clocks, and timetables—new pressures that led to hurried, stressed movement. Over time, this created a shift from grounded, mindful walking to hurried, disconnected movement.
What’s important to understand is that these changes weren’t simply byproducts of modernization. They were part of a systemic reshaping of indigenous life—altering how people moved through space, both physically and psychologically.
Post-Colonial Identity and the Colonized Body
Even though colonial rule has ended in many parts of the world, its influence lingers quietly in our bodies. The way people walk, carry themselves, and even perceive their own movements is often still shaped by standards imposed during colonial times—standards that many have come to accept without question.
In many post-colonial societies, walking with a rigid posture, wearing stiff dress shoes, and adopting Western body language is still seen as “professional,” “polished,” or “successful.” This is especially true in formal settings—offices, schools, banks, and religious institutions—where local or indigenous styles of movement may be deemed inappropriate or unrefined.
This pressure to conform is rooted in what scholars often call the colonized body—a term that describes how colonialism didn’t just take land and resources, but also rewired how people use and perceive their own bodies. Colonized bodies were trained to mimic their oppressors—not just in language or dress, but in how they moved through space.
For example, in some African countries, young professionals may feel uncomfortable walking barefoot even in rural areas, fearing judgment or the assumption that they are poor or uneducated. In Southeast Asia, traditional sitting and walking postures are slowly being replaced by Western-style upright walking and formal seating etiquette—even in households that once followed traditional practices.
What makes this issue more complex is that these shifts are often passed down unconsciously. Many people no longer remember the original walking styles of their ancestors. Instead, they inherit behaviors that have been shaped by generations of colonial influence—from how they walk to how they hold their heads in public.
This isn’t just a physical issue—it’s a psychological and cultural one. When a person is disconnected from their natural movement, they can begin to feel disconnected from their identity. The loss is subtle, but real: a sense that something about their body—how it moves, how it feels—is not truly their own.
Understanding this can be a powerful first step. It opens the door to asking deeper questions: Is the way I move shaped by my culture or someone else’s? Do my feet walk the way my ancestors walked—or the way they were told to walk?
Reclaiming Indigenous Movement and Footwear
Fortunately, around the world, people are beginning to reclaim the ways their ancestors walked—not just metaphorically, but quite literally.
This movement toward reclaiming traditional gait, posture, and footwear is growing in strength. It includes indigenous communities reviving shoemaking traditions, health advocates promoting barefoot walking, and cultural educators teaching posture and movement based on ancestral wisdom.
In the southwestern United States, for instance, Native American moccasin-making workshops are seeing a resurgence. Elders and artisans are teaching younger generations how to craft these shoes—not only as wearable items but as symbols of pride and resilience. Wearing moccasins has become a way to feel rooted in one’s culture while rejecting imposed standards of fashion and movement.
In parts of sub-Saharan Africa, young designers are bringing back traditional sandal styles made from local leather, raffia, or recycled materials. These are not just eco-friendly alternatives—they are cultural statements, reconnecting wearers with generations of functional, region-specific design.
The barefoot movement has also gained momentum, supported by research showing that walking barefoot or in minimalist shoes can improve posture, reduce injuries, and strengthen the feet. What’s fascinating is that many of these so-called “new” practices are simply rediscoveries of how indigenous communities moved for centuries—without injury, without artificial support, and in tune with their environment.
And then there’s the emotional and spiritual aspect of this movement. In many traditions, walking barefoot on the earth is considered grounding—a way to reconnect with nature, ancestors, and one’s place in the world. Reviving this act becomes a form of healing, especially for those whose cultural practices were suppressed or shamed during colonial rule.
This reclamation is not about rejecting modern life, but about creating a balance. It’s about choosing footwear and movement that honor both the body and cultural heritage, instead of blindly following standards inherited from colonizers.
As one community leader in Guatemala shared during a barefoot walking circle:
“Our feet remember. Even if our minds have forgotten, our steps still carry the rhythm of the old ways. We just need to listen.”
Healing Through Our Steps
Colonizers understood that controlling the body was a powerful way to control the mind. By replacing indigenous walking styles with Western standards, they stripped people not only of their cultural identities but also of their sense of bodily autonomy. What was once natural—barefoot walking, relaxed postures, regionally crafted shoes—became seen as backward, unclean, or improper.
But this story doesn’t have to end in loss. Across continents, people are beginning to reclaim the way they walk, reconnecting with movement as an expression of cultural pride, wellness, and freedom. Whether it’s through barefoot walking, the revival of traditional footwear, or simply becoming more conscious of how posture has been shaped by history, there’s a growing effort to heal from the inside out.
So, if you’ve ever felt disconnected from your body—or curious about how cultural history lives in your physical habits—this is your invitation to pause. Feel the ground beneath your feet. Ask where your movement comes from. You might find that your body has been waiting to remember.
Because walking is more than a way to move—it’s a quiet declaration of who you are and where you come from.
✅ Key Takeaways: How Colonization Changed the Way We Walk
- Walking styles were once deeply cultural—shaped by terrain, lifestyle, and spiritual traditions across indigenous societies.
- Colonization altered natural movement, introducing Western ideas of posture, body discipline, and appropriate gait through schools, churches, and the military.
- Footwear played a symbolic and practical role in enforcing assimilation, replacing locally made, flexible shoes with imported leather shoes seen as “civilized.”
- Urban infrastructure and colonial city planning changed the physical environment, forcing people to adjust their gait to harder surfaces and faster lifestyles.
- Post-colonial societies still carry these physical imprints, often unaware of how deeply colonial standards affect body language and daily movement.
- Reclaiming traditional movement and footwear is a growing global effort—combining cultural revival, physical wellness, and personal empowerment.
❓ Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)
1. How did colonization change the way people walk?
Colonization introduced European ideas of what a “proper” walk should look like—upright posture, controlled stride, and Western footwear. These standards were taught in schools, enforced in social systems, and gradually replaced natural, indigenous styles of movement that were more adaptive to local terrain and culture.
2. Why did colonizers care about how people walked?
Controlling physical behavior was a way to control identity. Colonizers used movement—like walking, standing, or sitting posture—as tools of assimilation. By changing how people carried their bodies, they subtly encouraged them to abandon their cultural roots and adopt colonial values.
3. Was traditional footwear really better for the body?
Yes. Traditional footwear—like moccasins, hand-stitched sandals, or barefoot practices—allowed for natural foot movement and adapted to local terrain. Modern research now supports the idea that minimal footwear promotes better posture, stronger foot muscles, and healthier walking mechanics.
4. What is meant by the term “colonized body”?
The “colonized body” refers to how colonial rule didn’t just affect external systems, but reshaped how people perceived and used their bodies. From walking styles to clothing, colonized individuals were trained to behave and move like their colonizers, often losing their ancestral habits in the process.
5. How can I reconnect with traditional ways of movement?
Start by becoming more aware of your own body. Notice how you walk, how your shoes feel, and how posture changes in different settings. Explore barefoot walking on natural ground if safe, support local or indigenous shoemakers, or learn about your culture’s historical movement practices. Even small steps toward intentional movement can bring a deeper sense of connection and healing.
Final Thought:
When we talk about colonization, we often focus on language, politics, or land. But colonization also left a deep, lasting mark on something even more personal: how we move through the world. The way we walk, what we wear on our feet, how we carry our bodies—these are not just individual habits. They’re often inherited stories, shaped by generations of adaptation, suppression, and survival.
You don’t have to reject modern life to reclaim your ancestral rhythm. Walking differently isn’t just about changing your pace or shoes—it’s about moving forward with awareness, pride, and purpose.
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