Why I am teaching my daughter Igbo (Ibo)
Igbo, believe it or not, is a slowly declining language. I was perplexed to witness this while I was back home (Nigeria), watching my nieces and nephews shy away from speaking Igbo, and choosing to speak English instead.
For decades, while many Igbos have been particularly proud of their heritage, a lot of them, as soon as they settled in the West, resorted to teaching their children English, or other European languages, and placing Igbo on the back-burner. Some of their eyes would swell with pride as they boasted to one another about how their children spoke “perfect English” — wearing this almost as a sort of badge of honour.
Now that I no longer cringe at the sound of my “foreign name” being called incorrectly by a person of European descent — staring at my passport and trying to make sense of my unusually long name — I have become more aware of the importance of keeping the Igbo language alive.
I've watched in horror as elderly people, with the notion that they will die with the Igbo language, have looked on in disdain at a grandchild who is unable to produce a single sentence in Igbo. Not because they don't want to, but because they don't know how to.
Speaking Igbo at home
While my parents did their best to teach us Igbo while growing up, they were not persistent, unfortunately. And before we knew it, we had grown older, and I was the only child who could hold conversations in Igbo with my parents, while my siblings understood fairly little and could only string together a few phrases. Until they decided to learn it for themselves, that is.
What were only a few phrases, quickly snowballed into full-blown conversations, and I regard my siblings in awe as they understand at least 80 % of the Igbo language now. My brother is teaching his daughter Igbo as well!
Statistics
I remember languages being paired with statistics a lot while I was growing up. I would always hear things like, “By 2050, English will have infiltrated most languages on earth, and some languages will long since have evaporated.” I definitely don't want that to be the case. However, while speaking Igbo to my daughter, I have come across challenges whereby there are a vast number of things that don't really have a word in Igbo because they weren't really convenient at a point in time. Like “socks”, for example.
In a hot country, where a large part of the population was used to either wearing sandals or, if they lived in the rural parts of Nigeria, walking barefoot, socks were unheard of. Therefore, trying to compensate for words that can be considered “fairly new inventions”, can be a bit difficult. And luckily, that is where my parents come in, even though the modern-day Igbo person is used to Igbo loan words.
Speaking Igbo to my daughter
While I love to ramble on and sometimes stray from my intended topic, the real reason behind speaking Igbo to my daughter is because I want her to be able to communicate with her relatives in Nigeria when we travel there, or if we should move there.
I don't want her to endure ridicule from the older generation, having to hear speeches about how “Ọ mara sụ asụsụ ndị Ìgbò.” She can't speak Igbo. But also for her own benefit. I want to break the belief that English is a far more superior language than Igbo, or any other African language for that matter. Sure, it pays to speak English now, but there will be a time, as I've told my husband severally, where being able to speak a second language will be key.
As I navigate through the deep ocean that is the Igbo language, some words difficult, and others more innate, I continue to speak Igbo to my daughter with the hope that she will someday be more comfortable speaking it than I ever was.
These days, speaking Igbo to my daughter has become second- nature. To the point where it feels weird hearing friends or other family members communicate with her in English or Norwegian. She’s also quite the talker — and sometimes screamer. All in all, I can’t wait to hear her utter her first Igbo words. I’ll be such a proud mom!
