I’m re-learning my mother tongue

In February 2024, I wrote an op-ed for The Campus titled ‘I’m forgetting my mother tongue.’ Within one day of publishing, I was contacted by over 30 students who grew up and live outside of the regions where their mother tongue is spoken. Together, we mourned the loss of our linguistic heritage. Last November, my maternal grandfather passed away. He was the first Oshwal justice in Kenyan history. When I sat down to write part of his obituary, I realized I had never asked him about his life. Everything I knew about him was from older members of my family. It was then when I recognized the necessity of my situation. I believe globalization is increasing the growth of multi-cultural communities, and it is allowing people to examine a world with more equity and equality. But it should not come at the expense of cultural sovereignty. It is up to the individual to make sure their culture is not forgotten. 

Kenya’s Indian population has been decreasing by around 1.8% yearly since 1970. With just around 85,000 Kenyans of Indian origin remaining in Kenya today, we are at risk of losing the histories and stories of a community which numbered over 600,000 in the 1960s, and one which was instrumental in the nation-building of one of Africa’s most populous countries. 

I was very lucky to benefit directly from a form of globalization: a change in British immigration law. In 2002, Kenyan Asians were given the right to claim full British citizenship. However, this change in law, while an affirmation of the historic role the British state had in the protection of the Kenyan Asians, also resulted in a continued exodus out of Kenya. Many young people, including myself, chose to use our passports and leave Kenya in search of better economic opportunities. This continued exodus has been at the heart of the loss of cultural sovereignty. 

I have to preface this by saying that Kenyan Asians are not at risk of losing their culture from external forces. In fact, we are one of the most privileged demographics in Africa, with many of us having access to both the Kenyan and British economies. Many people are not so fortunate and are losing access to their heritage and culture as a result of violent imperialism. Instead, Kenyan Asians are at risk of losing our culture as a result of our own apathy towards history. 

As more and more people migrate and settle in countries outside of their own, it is up to individuals to record their histories. This requires the individual to commit time, effort and in many cases even finances. However, I believe we are at a race against time. Broader political movements are calling for the silencing of history. Whether that is through deportation, changing textbooks, or vilifying people who challenge accepted narratives of history, it is up to the individual to record their family’s and community’s stories.

This does not require large academic projects, or vast academic resources. For many people, it can be a conversation with their grandparents or parents, one that can then be shared with children, nieces, nephews and more. What about language? I struggle with Gujarati, and find it very difficult to authentically engage with my grandparents. However, there are other ways to engage with cultural history, even without linguistic fluency: Through photos, letters and other memorabilia. It is important we act in earnest and begin to digitize our heritage before it is lost. 

Looking at my wider community of Kenyan Asians, I notice a trend of tapping into our culture when it is convenient. Many Kenyan Asians proudly wear a bracelet with the Kenyan flag on their wrist, yet they cannot tell you about the East African Indian National Congress, nor the role their community played in the Kenyan independence movement of 1950. We know more about the American Civil War and the Spanish Inquisition than the stories of people in our own households. 

Globalization presents many benefits to the future of humanity. It allows us to examine our problems together. Cultures and communities can share solutions and discuss equitable ways to proceed. However, we risk losing these benefits if we forget our cultural heritage. It is that very heritage which allows diverse communities to thrive as each individual participant brings their own identity to the fold. Forgetting our history risks bringing us back to the drawing board, where no one can draw on past experiences to look forward. I still haven't learnt Gujarati fluently. I likely never will. But I spent my summer talking to Kenyan Asians who are fluent in English, and asking them about our history. I hope to never stop.