English stands as one of the most widely spoken languages globally, weaving itself into the fabric of education systems, governmental affairs, and international commerce. Out of the planet’s 7.8 billion people, approximately 1.35 billion communicate in English, though the vast majority are not native speakers. For many, English functions as a second language, learned alongside their indigenous tongues, offering their children the chance to grow up bilingual.
Language acquisition largely depends on consistent exposure. Children absorb the languages they hear most frequently. In countries like Nigeria, it’s becoming increasingly common for younger generations to lose fluency in their ancestral languages, even as their grandparents remain fluent. This shift often stems from parents’ well-meaning decisions to prioritize English at home, viewing it as a gateway to upward mobility and a smoother path in a world heavily influenced by Western culture. While English undoubtedly opens many doors, it can simultaneously close others, often unnoticed.
There is a well-known principle in linguistics that the foundation of a second language is deeply connected to the first. The idea goes that if a concept doesn’t exist in your native language, it might be difficult to fully grasp or even recognize it. However, since cultures differ, some ideas present in English-speaking societies may not have direct equivalents in other languages. Consequently, when children lose their mother tongue, they forfeit more than vocabulary-they lose a vital framework for interpreting subtle meanings and cultural nuances.
This raises a critical question for parents in non-Western regions, particularly across Africa: should children be raised primarily in English or in their indigenous languages?
On one side, English represents opportunity. It offers access to global networks, education, and economic survival in an interconnected world. Without proficiency in English, children might face significant disadvantages in job markets, higher education, and even healthcare settings where English dominates communication. On the flip side, fully abandoning native languages risks perpetuating a colonial legacy, where the colonizer’s tongue overshadows and diminishes local identities.
Language is the cornerstone of cultural identity. It is often the first and most personal way individuals connect with their heritage. For example, a Yoruba speaker living abroad might not be immediately recognized by appearance alone, but the moment they speak their native language, they are instantly identified by their community. Language bridges generational gaps and carries embedded wisdom through proverbs, idioms, and stories that often resist translation. Consider the challenge of conveying the Yoruba proverb “Igi gogoro ma gunmi loju” in English without losing its essence.
Children can indeed become fluent in both their mother tongue and English, but this requires purposeful effort. The brain is capable of managing multiple languages simultaneously, with dominance shaped by the environment and exposure. Practically, this might involve speaking a local language like Hausa or Ibibio at home, while English remains the medium of instruction at school. Parents might encourage their children to greet elders, recite prayers, or narrate folk tales in their native language, even as they compose essays in English.
In the grand scheme, globalization ensures that children will inevitably encounter English or other global languages. This reality is nearly unavoidable. However, striking a balance is essential. While I await the experience of raising my own child to share a definitive approach, I firmly believe that fluency in one’s native language preserves a vital link to history and identity. Losing that connection means losing a part of oneself.
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