Let us imagine that the year is 2070. In this future, no one understands the meaning of their names, and there are no native speakers left of our once-revered languages. All has been overshadowed by the global demand to learn English, the dominant language of the Western world. Now, let us take a step back in time, to the early years in our region, long before the arrival of missionaries and colonization. What languages were spoken widely then? Have we paused to reflect on how, as colonization crept in, it was not only our borders and resources that were taken, but also something far more intimate, our languages? Unlike land and resources, which were exploited for profit, our languages and culture were stripped away and made to appear inferior to the English language. This quiet erosion has left a lasting impact, one that continues to shape our identity today.
I often think about the future and the bleak reality it may hold for many African indigenous languages. From a young age, we are taught in schools that the more fluent we sound in English, the more educated we appear. As a result, many children today are raised by parents who do not speak their native languages to them. In just a few years, these children will grow into adults, and a new generation will emerge, one unable to speak or even understand simple sentences in their mother tongue.
As a child, that fate almost became mine. It was not entirely my parents’ fault; they made conscious efforts to speak Idoma to my siblings and me. Rather, it was the influence of society. We laughed at and mocked our peers who struggled to form sentences in English because they were more comfortable speaking their native languages. We ridiculed their accents and made them feel ashamed. But we have forgotten something important: an accent is not a mark of shame. It is a reflection of our roots, of where we come from, and the culture that shaped us.
Today, we admire a French speaker who speaks English with a distinct accent. Even among native English speakers, there are variations, Irish accents, British accents, Scottish accents; each one is celebrated as part of their identity. This reminds us that language leaves an imprint on us, revealing our origins. If we are truly proud of where we come from, then in this age of globalization, where effective communication in English is often necessary, we should speak without fear or timidity. Our accents should not diminish us; they should distinguish us. If an Irish man or woman can speak English with pride in their unique accent, then speaking English with a Yoruba, Igbo, or Tiv influence is not something to hide. It is a badge of honor.
As we look toward the year 2070, I hope we do not become a generation that shames its people into silence, into abandoning their languages and, ultimately, their identity. Language extinction is not just the loss of words; it is the loss of culture, heritage, and history. Our indigenous African languages are our goldmine. They carry the fullness of our traditions, our values, and our worldview. Without language, it becomes increasingly difficult to teach a child the norms and essence of their people. Language is the one identity we can carry with us anywhere in the world. It lives on our tongues, in our stories, and in our everyday expressions. It is how we preserve who we are. And so, as the world continues to evolve, I hope we do not allow our tongues to bend solely toward foreign languages while abandoning our own. Instead, may we hold on to them, speak them boldly, and pass them on, so that in 2070, our languages are not relics of the past, but living voices of our present.