As South Africa celebrates 30 years of democracy, a new challenge surfaces: younger generations losing touch with their home languages. A mix of personal stories and expert opinions show the profound impact on cultural identity for the people affected.
“Akasazi isiZulu [He doesn’t know isiZulu].” That’s often the first thing people say when they ask why I am so quiet. And although there’s a kernel of truth to that, the shame it brings me is overwhelming.
When I go to family gatherings in Welkom, Free State, I feel disconnected from my family. The house is filled with chatter and joyous laughs as my family members connect with one another in Sesotho, a language I have lost the ability to speak fluently. I find myself as a spectator, sitting back and enjoying the moment, but not being able to connect with them in the language. While I try to brush it off, my heart sinks deep into my stomach as I struggle with shame.
When I visit my family in Durban the shame continues to linger. I sit with my uncles and brothers who are conversing in isiZulu and making jokes, some of which I cannot understand. I keep quiet and try to laugh at everything that they are laughing at, hoping that they will not call me out on it. When I am called out, I simply have no response, as if to say that I cannot explain my inability to speak my home language fluently.
As I now live in Johannesburg, I am tainted with these experiences that have brought shame to me my entire life. I can’t help but wonder how many more people have gone through the same experiences. How many more people have lost touch with their home languages and have had their sense of belonging affected? And, most importantly, how has this affected my understanding of culture and my relationship with it?
Language loss and learning
This disconnection is not a unique experience: many South Africans born after 1994 have lost touch with their mother tongue. The end of apartheid regime in 1994 signaled the beginning of a new South Africa by recognising 11 official languages in what has always been a multilingual country. However, although these diverse languages were recognised, with efforts made to promote their use, many young people have strayed from speaking or understanding their mother tongues, either fluently or at all.
Since 1994 there have been high levels of urbanisation, particularly in the city of Johannesburg – the economic hub of the country, in which English is used as the lingua franca in all sectors of the public. This has made English the key to success in this city, translating into economic and family pressures to master the language. Ironically, only 9.2% of households in Gauteng use English as a first language, a vast difference to the 23% that speak isiZulu.
Parents play a significant role in determining which language their child speaks or in which they receive an education. Studies have shown that parents strongly insist on their children learning and receiving education in English because of its economic benefits. Iin some cases, parents go to the extent of speaking English with their children at home so that they can learn the language more efficiently. A preference for English leads many people to neglect their home languages, which has dire implications for one’s sense of self and identity.
Cultural identity
Language is more than just a means through which people communicate, but it is also an indicator of one’s culture and “record of ethnicity”. These are the words of Dr Soyiso Khetoa, a social linguist, who is also the head of the African Languages Department at the University of the Witwatersrand. Khetoa explains, “Language influences perception… therefore, it influences our worldview… and how we interact with the world. So, eventually, the language you speak influences the person you become.”
As a person that identifies as Zulu, I find some truth in that statement. Coming from a traditional Zulu family, I have respect and admiration for my language and culture and knowing my roots gives me a source of pride. However, not being able to speak isiZulu fluently has prevented me from learning valuable information from my elders who can speak only isiZulu, or in other cases, prevents me from participating in customs that require me to speak the language. This leaves me feeling somewhat alienated from my culture and who I truly am.
To illustrate this point, I’ll return to a day on which my father and I performed a ritual of burning incense, an act to communicate with our ancestors. We did this shortly after I changed my surname to my dad’s family name a few years ago to reintroduce myself to the ancestors. After my father had sung our praises, he asked me to also share a few words in what was a bittersweet moment. On one hand, I was able to participate in a unique tradition, however, I felt limited as I could not fully say what I needed to say in isiZulu.
Thato Gololo, a 26-year-old student journalist from a Tswana family, has experienced cultural dissonance too. When Gololo was two years old, his family moved to Bedfordview, with a demographic largely comprising white, English-speaking individuals. Before this, as a toddler, Gololo would frequently speak Setswana but, as he interacted with people from his environment, he would later begin to speak only English. His father insisted to the rest of his family that they continue speaking English with Gololo so that he would not be confused. In the process, he lost touch with his home language and, with it, his cultural roots.
“It’s a very clear pathway, when you think about it. I don’t know my home languages, so I don’t put myself in the spaces with very traditional black people that speak [the language],” Gololo says. “Because I don’t put myself in those spaces, I don’t know the practices. So, I don’t know the practices, therefore, I’m disconnected from it.”
However, Gololo is not fully aware of Tswana customs also because of his pastor parents adopting Christianity over traditional Tswana customs, reducing his exposure to the latter. “My mom hates slaughtered meat, for example. If she’s at an event she will refuse to let you slaughter an animal,” he says. “Because of that I didn’t eat slaughtered meat for a while, because two people I really trust are my parents. If my parents did the thing, I did the thing. If my parents don’t do the thing, I don’t do the thing.”
Gololo has had to learn along the way about his culture, whereas his family already knew and stayed true to their customs. “When my brother got married, he did all of the very cultural things. He didn’t go on one knee to propose, he did the Tswana thing of ‘Hey, I’m going to send a letter to your household being “this is my intention”.’ My family seems to be aware, but personally I’m not.”
Ultimately, Gololo’s reduced exposure to the culture also affected his ability to speak the language. “Because I didn’t get immersed into the culture, because I didn’t speak the language, it’s a direct correlation. I don’t know this stuff. I feel very disconnected,” he says.
English and cultural shift
A common thread among young people who don’t know their mother tongue is a strong preference for English. The language was originally foreign in South Africa, being introduced by the British settlers who resided in the Cape Colony in the 1790s. It eventually became recognised as an official language in 1910 and it has evolved from being a language of liberation during the apartheid struggle to being the lingua franca that connects every community within South Africa.
A generational shift has also occurred as younger generations are not as inclined to using their home languages as a tool, unlike previous generations. Historically, indigenous languages were always prioritised to pass down knowledge and information to each generation. In addition, indigenous languages are seen as keys to understanding the essence of each culture. However, more scholars and students do not see the benefits of studying further in their indigenous languages.
Bela Bill and education
The issue of language in education has always been contentious in South Africa. This dates to the 1976 Soweto protests, when students protested the government’s decision to make Afrikaans a compulsory medium of instruction in black schools through the Afrikaans Medium Decree of 1974. The post-apartheid era has seen progressive changes in the use of language in education: the 1996 Constitution and the Language in Education Policy state that every learner has the basic right of education in any of their home languages. Although that may be the case on paper, many black learners have had to attend public schools in which English and Afrikaans are still mediums of instruction.
The introduction of the Basic Education Law Amendment (Bela) Bill could help to make a significant difference. The Bela Bill, signed into law in September 2024, is a modification of the 1996 Schools Act, which granted the school governing bodies the authority to decide a school’s language policy. The Bela Bill’s language policy states that schools are allowed to choose and enable their own languages of instruction, but that the department of education has the final word.
The bill has faced strong opposition, particularly from the Democratic Alliance (DA) party and the Afrikaans community, who believe that the bill poses a threat to the right to education in one’s mother tongue. The Pan South African Language Board, an establishment that focuses on creating conditions that develop the use of the official languages, commends the Bela Bill, viewing it as a “progressive step towards promoting the equitable use of all official languages and elevating the status of previously marginalised languages”.
Khetoa sees the bill’s positive potential. He says it “seeks to promote or redress linguistic inequalities in the country, in that now it would give formerly marginalised languages an opportunity to be advanced to a certain level where students or learners will be able to take up education in their language”.
The Bela Bill is an opportunity to give more learners a chance to connect with their cultural roots as they are given the opportunity to learn in their native languages.
Staying connected to home languages
“Monareng, Letsoalo la mmatau, tebele la mahasoa, legadima la manyokenyokela go phala le banna go phema. Kgomo motho, mmamafase fofale manonng, Mapokgole tebele.”
These are the clan names that Freddy Letsoalo and his family are greeted with as a sign of honour and respect. “In most cases it is during traditional events, most recently in June during the return of young men from initiation school. Our folk greet each other with each other’s clan names to honour the ancestors who we believe live in us,” Letsoalo says.
Letsoalo is a fourth-year theatre and performance student at the University of the Witwatersrand who grew up in Tzaneen, Limpopo. He grew up speaking Sepedi and Xitsonga and has managed to maintain fluency in his home languages, even using them to write stories and plays.
Letsoalo values the importance that language has for tradition, saying that it’s an important way to learn more about your culture. “For me, personally, it’s from communicating with elders to learn and connect with the culture. Mind you, the mother tongue is in most cases the only language the elders speak, so it is the only medium to connect or learn about the culture.
Lesoalo explains the part of his culture he can remain connected to the most through language. “[It is] the ancestral ceremonies where we pay homage to and thanksgiving to our ancestors through what is known as ‘Go Phasa/Ku phahla’. In this process we call the ancestors and the language used in this ritual is the mother tongue. Knowing the language gives a sense of belonging in the practice and I get to participate in the process.”
The future
The future for language and culture in South Africa is not bleak. Although there are numerous young people who can’t speak their mother tongue, there are still millions of young people who take pride in their languages and their culture, particularly in the arts and culture sector. The Bela Bill is a step in the right direction to help to ensure that more young people are able to receive education in their mother tongues.
Although the language issue has embarrassed me personally, I strive to use the pain as motivation. I am now motivated to learn more about my language and culture so I can help to ensure the preservation of my overall culture. A story that once caused me immense shame now empowers me to lead as an example and prove that I can eventually overcome this obstacle as I strive for a better future.
FEATURED IMAGE: An individual struggling to read a book in his home language, IsiZulu. Photo: Siyanda Mthethwa.
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