I once made a blunder about our venerable elder, Philip Ochieng. I was actually thanking him for a generous article he had written about the prospects of Kiswahili as our national and regional language. My mistake was my assumption that Ochieng was probably not as emotionally involved with Kiswahili as I was.
I realised my error recently when I remembered that Ochieng had actually lived and worked in Dar es Salaam as a media executive for the better part of three years. Now, I know my Dar, and especially the Swahili (and romantic) side of it. There was no way a man of Ochieng’s linguistic acumen and sensibility could be enveloped in the uniquely Kiswahili waves of that “Haven of Peace” without being profoundly affected by it.
Obviously, Mzee Ochieng and I had trodden almost the same Tanzanian Kiswahili path, although he had had a firmer tread on it from his Kenyan background. He might not have been as enamoured or enraptured by the Kimrima/Kizaramo flavours of Dar Kiswahili as I was. He certainly did not shout about it as loudly as I did, and still do.
But then, Mzee is an infinitely more level-headed and restrained man than I. In any case, he does not tell us about falling head over heels in love, literally, in Dar, as I did and I have confessed to you and the whole world. Even so (hata hivyo ), Ochieng, the linguistic maestro, must have been affected (athiriwa ) if not infected (athirika), like me, by his Dar Kiswahili experience. Do you see the nuances of our language?
The contrast between Mzee Ochieng’s common sense appreciation of the value and importance of Kiswahili and my own unqualified enthusiasm for it struck me recently when a debate arose among us devotees, and mostly teachers, of the lugha (language). The debate started when one of the most respected Linguistics scholars in the English-speaking world, Professor David Crystal, described Kiswahili as a “killer language”.
The obviously emotional term “killer language” is not original to Prof Crystal. It is traced to Ann Pakir of Singapore University, who coined it to suggest languages, in multilingual situations, which threaten to eclipse their competitors in the society and maybe eventually wipe out their use altogether. English is often cited as a “killer language” all over the world where it has been introduced. Is this valid for Kenya, for example?
Come to Kiswahili, many of us would only respond with a gasp and wide open eyes, followed by a hushed “kumbe ” (well, well)! Kenya and Uganda, are de facto multilingual societies. We have our home languages, or “mother tongues” and then we have our supra-ethnic or official and national languages, Kiswahili and English. If both Kiswahili and English are identified by some linguists as “killer languages”, which threaten our other languages, what does this mean and imply for our language policies?
My friends and I agreed that we should share our views and concerns with a wider audience, like you and other readers of this column. As you realise, this is not a matter of idle, hypothetical speculation. It is a matter crucial practical utility practically every moment of our waking lives.
Our conversation, on social media, has not been one cogent and coherent discourse but rather, as these chats tend to be, ad hoc responses and exchanges. A major question that arose in my mind was, if both English and Kiswahili were to be regarded as “killer languages” which of them would “kill” the other, before “killing” the home languages? Kiswahili in Kenya and English in Uganda, would you say?
Anyway, back to Kiswahili, our conversation generated widely differing opinions, some of which had never occurred to me. Several contributors said that they thought that Kiswahili was, far from being a “killer” and swallower of other languages, itself an “endangered species” that needed tender care and aggressive protection. This, I suppose, is the prevalent sentiment among most of us “lovers” of Kiswahili.
A related but utterly surprising approach to the dangers facing Kiswahili is the hypothesis, developed into a PhD thesis, that Kiswahili is endangered largely by itself. Dr Karanja, a Kenyan scholar, argues that “the first casualty of Kiswahili is its dialects. Virtually all are on their deathbeds, courtesy of Scholarly and “Standard” Kiswahili.” This leaves me “kinywa wazi” (open-mouthed), as the Waswahili would say.
On a more practical plane, however, another scholar, based at the TATAKI (the Institute of Kiswahili Studies) of my beloved alma mater, UDSM, proposes that competition between Kiswahili and other languages is a natural and inevitable process. If we want it as a medium of communication, we have to give it the support and encouragement it needs to fulfil its role, even if this means favouring it over its competitors.
This is the insight that I need to bring to my "mtanziko " (dilemma) in my ardent promotion of Kiswahili, especially in a place like Uganda. I love my own home language, Luganda, and I write and publish in it. I intend to continue doing so, as long as I have the energy and alertness required for literary production.
Indeed, I am an enthusiastic supporter of the multilingual approach to our language policies and pedagogies. I salute writers who consistently publish in our home languages, led by my dear Mwalimu Ngugi wa Thiong’o and followed by my colleagues, like Prof Egara Kabaji and the indefatigable Jane Obuchi, who recently unleashed upon us a translation of Things Fall Apart in Ekegusii. Let the languages healthily compete as our society evolves.
But realistically, I know the incontestable value of Kiswahili as a vehicle of our regional communication and unity. It has a huge advantage in competition with our home languages, but that is a fact of life and language. Language is a social tool and its use changes as the society changes.
No language should threaten another. But the most competitive language is that which best meets the needs of a society at any given time.
