Designing The Invisible Environment

If you close your eyes during a great animated film, the sound alone should still tell you where you are. You should feel the space, sense the emotion and recognize the culture. Yet, in many African animated projects today, while visuals receive most of the attention, sound often feels like an afterthought but in African storytelling, sound has never been secondary. It has always been the heartbeat of the story, used to cue emotion, identity and time. Before Africa ever had a written script, there was the talking drum, the ululation of women at ceremonies, the rhythm of pestle against mortar, everyday sounds carrying ancestral meaning. These sounds were not decoration; they were communication, a language of feeling and memory. So how does that translate into animation today? A great story without sound feels empty. Sound is the heartbeat of cinema, but in animation where everything is “created,” it is the breath of life itself. Academy Award–winning sound designer Walter Murch once said, “Sound is half the experience of a movie.” Think about it: when Simba roars in The Lion King, it’s not just the visual power that moves you, it’s the thunder in his voice. It tells you everything the picture alone cannot.

Every African culture has an identifiable sound DNA, a tonal memory that tells you where you are even before you see it. The gentle thumb of an mbira evokes Zimbabwe. The deep bass of the djembe recalls West Africa. The sharp cry of ululation instantly transports you to a celebration. These elements help to locate the audience emotionally and culturally. Christy Heyob, an animation writer, describes sound as “half the story,” adding that “it sculpts emotions, builds worlds, and shapes the way we experience movement.” She is right. Sound in animation isn’t just heard, it’s felt. It builds invisible architecture that define the story world.

Many people think good sound design means just using great music, but that’s only part of the story. Music gives emotion, yes, but foley which is  the recreated sounds of movement, space and life, gives reality. It’s the quiet scuff of sandals on red earth, the clatter of beads as a queen turns her head, the rustle of leaves before a spirit appears. These are not background noises; they are the invisible actors that make the audience believe in the world you have built. Without foley, even the best score feels detached but there is another layer that breathes even more truth into animated storytelling, dialogue. The voices we hear define how we feel about a story’s world. The tone and accent of a voice tell us immediately where a character comes from, what they believe and how they belong in the story’s universe. When a Yoruba queen speaks, her vowels should carry the weight of her heritage. Authentic voices are not just about casting; they are about cultural honesty. Using voices that sound true to the culture the story is built around, grounds the audience in place and time. It builds trust. A misplaced accent or emotionless delivery can break the illusion completely.

When music stirs emotion, foley gives texture and authentic voices breathe life into characters, the soundscape becomes whole. It stops being background design and becomes storytelling itself. Certainly, it’s important to understand that sound design isn’t about loudness or spectacle, it’s about meaning. So perhaps the question for every animator and storyteller now is simple: Can your audience hear where your story comes from?