There is a certain ache that comes with opening your mouth and realising the words you need, the ones that once felt like home, no longer sit on your tongue. You search your memory for phrases, idioms, proverbs your grandparents and parents once used so freely, and all you find are fragments. A few words here and there. Enough to smile in recognition, but not enough to fully belong.

This is the reality for many young Africans today, myself included. We grew up hearing our mother tongues spoken around us, yet somewhere between classrooms, television, social standards and the lure of “better English,” we lost fluency. Slowly, our native languages became background noise. Something we understood, but rarely spoke. Something we honoured in theory but ignored in practice. And the truth is, this loss comes with consequences, one more than we are willing to admit.

The Normalisation of “Better English” – I remember there was a thing while I was in high school where you had to pay a sum of #50 as punishment whenever your name was recorded for speaking your native language. “Do not speak vernacular!” our teachers would snap, as though English was the mark of intelligence, while Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, or any indigenous language was a sign of backwardness.

At home, the story wasn’t too different. Parents, with the best intentions, urged us to prioritise English. “You need it to compete in the world,” they said. And they weren’t wrong. English did open doors: exams, scholarships, global opportunities. But along the way, we internalised something harmful: that English was superior, and our mother tongues were secondary, even disposable.

Many of us became fluent in English but tongue-tied in our native languages. We could sprinkle a greeting, respond to proverbs halfway, or sing along to a local song, but real fluency? It slipped through our fingers.

What We Lose in Translation – Language is more than words. It carries memory, identity, and culture. When we lose our mother tongue, we lose access to a whole library of meaning.

1. We lose connection to our elders
I sometimes think of older folks who can only communicate in their local language. They would tell stories in a rhythm that only made sense in their language, proverbs layered with humor, wisdom, and warnings. Many struggle to respond fluently and this always leaves us feeling like there is a wall between us. This wall belongs to an entire generation that can no longer hold deep conversations with its roots.

2. We lose cultural nuances
English is efficient, but it is not always expressive. Some emotions, humor, or reverence cannot be fully captured in it. When you translate “Àgbàlagbà kì í wọjà kí orí òmọdé ó wó” to “an elder cannot be in the market while a child’s head hangs crooked,” the power of the proverb is diluted. The poetry is lost.

3. We lose identity
Languages carry worldviews. To think in Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Kiswahili, Shona, or Twi is to think differently, to carry history, pride, and rhythm that cannot be imported. Without it, identity feels incomplete.

I often think about how much easier it is for me to write an article in English than to hold a thirty-minute conversation in Yoruba without code-switching. And it stings a little especially in recent times, because I know that this was preventable.

There are times when our tongue betrays us. At gatherings, someone asks a simple question in Yoruba, and we stumble for words, switching mid-sentence to English. The elders nod politely, but we can feel their disappointment. They don’t need to say it: we have lost something important.

And in that silence, we realise we are not alone. So many of us have been raised to succeed in the world but lose a part of home in the process.

What We Can Do About It – The good news? It is not too late. Languages can be relearned, reclaimed, and revived. Here’s how:

• Start speaking, even if you stumble because perfection isn’t the goal; connection is. Every small effort counts.
• Consume media in your language, listen to indigenous music, watch films, read books in your native tongue.
• Learn from elders. Ask grandparents and parents to teach you songs, proverbs, and phrases. Record them if possible.
• Teach the next generation even if you’re still learning, pass what you know to your siblings, children, or friends. Keep the chain alive.
• Celebrate bilingual pride. Speaking English and your mother tongue should not be mutually exclusive. They can coexist beautifully.
  

Why It Matters – When we forget our mother tongues, we don’t just lose words, we lose worlds. We lose stories that shaped our people, wisdom embedded in proverbs, and intimacy with our roots. But when we reclaim them, even slowly, we stitch ourselves back into the fabric of our culture. We make sure that our children inherit more than names, they inherit a living, breathing language.

We often think fluency in English makes us “global.” But true pride comes from standing anywhere in the world and speaking a language that carries the soul of your people.

If you, like me, sometimes struggle to fully express yourself in your mother tongue, know this: it’s not too late. Every effort to relearn is an act of resistance, an act of reclamation, and an act of love because language is not just communication. It is belonging, memory and identity. And when we forget our mother tongues, we forget ourselves.