Mother Tongue as a Medium of Teaching: An Intellectual Development Model for Cultural Self Emancipation

A few days ago, Ghana’s Education Minister, Hon. Haruna Iddrisu, took a bold step by instructing the Ghana Education Service (GES) to strictly enforce the use of mother-tongue instruction in all schools, especially at the basic education level. The news made waves across the continent.

Many people on social media welcomed the idea, calling it a brave attempt to mentally decolonise Africans. Both at home and abroad, Africans applauded the policy framework, expressing hope for its replication across the continent and believing that it marks the beginning of a new dawn.

Skeptics, however, raised concerns about how ready the system is for such a change, questioning its sustainability and pointing to possible logistical and technical difficulties. Others worried about Ghana’s numerous indigenous languages, fearing that the diversity might lead to confusion.

As for me, I was not surprised by the announcement itself, but rather by the number of Africans who saw this policy as something new. I could not help but feel a mix of frustration and disappointment at how little we know about our own history of colonialism and the many movements for black emancipation that took root both in Africa and across the Americas.

When I read the story on DW Africa’s Facebook page, I immediately thought of sharing it with my colleagues in the Unimak Alumni WhatsApp forum. But before I could log in, the group had already dived deep into the discussion.

Lately, that alumni group has become my first stop for thoughtful and spirited debates on current issues. I find the members to be intellectually sharp and often very critical in analysing any subject. Skeptics in the group raised several questions, but one that struck me most was this: *"How will teachers teach chemistry, biology, physics, or interpret law in a local language?"*

While that question may sound technical, it also exposes the extent of cultural subjugation and alienation we have suffered over the years. We have become so dependent on foreign frameworks that we can hardly imagine creating life-saving innovations or developing local solutions without resorting to English. In simple terms, we have lost the ability to think and build within our own linguistic environment. This mindset alone shows the urgent need to reshape our intellectual path away from the westernised educational culture toward a more culturally grounded model.

Of course, every policy framework must be guided by evidence. The most effective way to approach such reform is to study similar initiatives undertaken by other nations, looking closely at both their achievements and challenges.

Sadly, as I mentioned earlier, we often fail to draw from our own history of self-emancipation movements that shaped Africa’s journey toward modern development. Since we agree that policy, just like development itself, must follow a clear road map, I have decided to write this piece as a series to make it easier to read. It is no secret that many of us Africans are not fond of reading lengthy works, no matter how relevant they may be.

In this first part, I will focus on examples of similar language-based reforms undertaken long before now in parts of Africa and other regions of the world. Because this piece is about Africa, I will begin with African case studies.

Case 1 ~ The Ujamaa Philosophy: Beyond Cooperative Economics, a Model for Cultural Self Emancipation

How many of us truly know about President Julius Nyerere? If you are unfamiliar with this remarkable man and his compatriots who fought tirelessly to free our region from colonial domination, then you are hardly in a position to debate the importance of using the mother tongue as a medium of instruction in African schools.

If the Swahili language today can boast of more than two hundred million first and second-language speakers and stands as Africa’s most spoken and internationally recognised language, it is largely because of Nyerere’s reform policy when Tanzania, then the union of Tanganyika and Zanzibar, gained independence in December 1961.

Nyerere took the bold step of declaring Swahili not only as the language of instruction in primary and secondary schools but also as the official language of public administration.

Tanzania did not simply rush into replacing English with Swahili. It had a plan, and that plan began with the establishment of Uchunguzi wa Kiswahili (TUKI), translated as the Institute of Swahili Research, in 1964, a year before Tanganyika and Zanzibar merged to form the modern United Republic of Tanzania. This institution was charged with developing and promoting Swahili as a tool for national unity in a country with over one hundred and twenty local languages, most of them Bantu dialects.

*Positive Outcomes of the Policy*

1. In July 2004, the African Union adopted Swahili as one of its official languages to promote continental unity.

2. Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka had long advocated for Swahili to serve as a transcontinental African language.

3. Freedom fighters in Tanzania, Kenya, and Uganda used Swahili as a common medium of communication, fostering unity of purpose and a shared vision across ethnic and linguistic lines.

4. Tanzania now records one of the highest literacy rates in sub-Saharan Africa, surpassing eighty percent.

5. Swahili has become a true lingua franca that bridges regional, class, and ethnic boundaries in East Africa.

6. The language became an instrument of liberation and integration for the region.

7. Education became more culturally relevant and conceptually meaningful to native speakers.

*Challenges of the Swahili Model*

1. Despite Swahili’s importance, English still dominates higher education and remains the language of prestige in many East African societies. This has created a hierarchy where English sits at the top while Swahili and other indigenous languages remain below.

2. Because English continues to serve as the language of instruction in universities and higher institutions, transitioning entirely to Swahili has been difficult for many Tanzanian students and for learners from other regions seeking to study in Swahili.

What We Can Learn from the Experience of Tanzania

~ We do not have to speak a common language to be united, it only requires a common aspiration, and we can naturally accept a common language from a pool of diverse tongues;

~ Development begins with cultural and intellectual emancipation;

~ Education should emphasise concept over fluency;

~ It takes visionary leadership to unite a people against a common enemy;

~ If the idea cannot be explained in your language, then it’s ideology and not education; and most importantly,

~ From within us resides what ties us together, and by our minds the colonialists have tied a rope of subjugation through language to limit our growth.

The second part of this series will throw more light on somewhat similar case scenarios in Africa (the like of Ethiopia especially) and the world over to enhance a framework for a policy initiative embedded in both SD Goal 4 (Ensure inclusive and equitable quality education and promote lifelong learning opportunities for all) and the AU Agenda 2063 (Africa's Blueprint and master plan for transforming Africa into the global powerhouse of the future).

©Amadu Wurie Jalloh 

26/10/25

*English Language: The Lingering Chain of Colonialism*

The West African Senior School Certificate Examination (WASSCE) results are out again this year. As always, some students are jubilating, while many more are in tears. The reasons for their cries are not as you might imagine. This single certificate decides who moves on to university and who must wait another year, or more, for that chance.

In secondary schools, students graduate from three main streams: Arts, Science, and Commercial. To qualify for university, one must have at least five credits, including English Language and any other four subjects. These other subjects may vary depending on the student’s chosen field, but one rule remains firm across all disciplines: no credit in English, no university entry.

Unsurprisingly, most of the heartbreak comes from students who fail to get that one English credit. Many of us, myself included, have had to sit the exam more than once just to secure it. I remember several classmates who dropped out completely after repeated failures. Some had strong results in other subjects, mathematics, economics, or history, but still couldn’t make it to university because they lacked a credit in English.

A few chose to enroll in technical or vocational schools, not necessarily out of passion, but because they had no other choice. Others kept rewriting the exams until they gave up, either due to financial constraints or family discouragement. In some cases, especially for girls, parents saw it as a waste of money to keep paying for the same exam, one already marred by corruption and malpractice.

Critics have long argued that WASSCE has lost much of its credibility. Leaked papers, bribed officials, and “special rooms” for cheating are now open secrets. Yet, the punishment almost always falls on students—results seized, grades cancelled, or even police cases opened against them. In the end, English Language becomes not a measure of brilliance, but a wall that blocks opportunity.

My concern is not so much the credibility of the exams, but rather the emphasis placed on English as the deciding factor for university entry. To me, this is a clear continuation of colonial control, only dressed in academic robes. It is a denial of our right to education, rooted in a system built to value foreign standards above local realities.

A 2021 National Achievement Survey and a 2022 Foundational Learning Study by the Ministry of Education (as cited by UNICEF, February 2024) found that children from tribal and rural backgrounds in India perform worse in school compared to their urban peers. One major reason was language. Many of these pupils are taught and tested in English—a language neither they nor their parents fully understand. The result is predictable: poor comprehension, low performance, and high dropout rates.

This is a story many of us know too well. We spent years struggling with English grammar instead of learning actual content. While children in England, China, or Japan were mastering science and technology in their native languages, we were busy trying to memorize tenses and idioms. The system taught us to pass exams, not to understand concepts. It trained us to sound educated, not to solve problems. We became imitators of Western models rather than innovators of our own.

The importance of learning in one’s mother tongue cannot be overemphasized. Denying Sierra Leoneans access to university because they failed English not only contradicts Sustainable Development Goal 4 (which calls for inclusive and equitable education) but also sustains cultural imperialism and postcolonial subjugation.

Research has consistently shown that children who learn in their first language perform better in comprehension and application. English should not be the key that unlocks education. It should be a bridge for communication, not a barrier to opportunity.

Let me be clear: I am not against English, nor do I oppose multilingual education. In fact, I strongly support it. But English should not determine who gets into university. Students have different strengths. The purpose of education should not be to create an elite class fluent in foreign speech, but to nurture thinkers, creators, and problem-solvers who can use knowledge to build society.

Instead of overemphasizing English, universities should focus on core subject areas relevant to each discipline. Science students should be assessed based on mathematics and science performance. Commercial students should be judged by their understanding of economics and business. Arts students should be evaluated for their grasp of history, literature, and civic knowledge.

Are we to deny all these capable students a university education simply because they struggle with English? Will English fix our economy or create jobs for our youth?

Na!

We must stop treating technical and vocational education as a dumping ground for those who “fail” English. We must stop equating fluency with intelligence. Education should not exclude—it should empower. It is time we begin to teach and learn in the languages that reflect who we are. Only then will we truly break the lingering chain of colonialism that still binds our minds, decades after political independence.

©Amadu Wurie Jalloh 

19/10/25

*Developing Sierra Leone from Within, Not Between: The Genuine Role of the Sierra Leonean Diaspora in Nation-Building*

According to data from the World Bank and Knoema, Sierra Leone received an estimated USD 293 million in personal remittances in 2023. This represents approximately 4.6 percent of the country’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP), which stood at about USD 6.41 billion in the same year (World Bank, GDP (current US$), 2023; Knoema, Remittances to Sierra Leone, 2023).

When compared with the Annual Public Accounts for the Financial Year 2023 (Ministry of Finance, Sierra Leone), which projected domestic revenue at NLe 9.35 billion—equivalent to 14 percent of GDP—it becomes evident that remittances play a significant role in sustaining household incomes and supporting the emergence of middle-income families across the country.

Furthermore, if domestic revenue is treated as the baseline (100 percent) of GDP, then remittances would amount to roughly 28.6 percent of this benchmark. Put differently, remittances are equivalent to nearly one-third of total domestic revenue, illustrating their macroeconomic significance.

When assessed against Foreign Direct Investment (FDI) inflows for the same period, the relevance of remittance inflows becomes even clearer. According to the World Bank, Sierra Leone’s FDI net inflows in 2023 totaled USD 241 million (Foreign Direct Investment, Net Inflows (BoP, current US$), 2023), representing approximately 3.8 percent of GDP, almost a full percentage point lower than personal remittances.

These three sources of financial inflows--domestic revenue, FDI, and remittances--each play a distinct role in Sierra Leone’s economic development. A clear understanding of their nature and objectives is crucial for formulating evidence-based policy interventions.

*Characterizing Key Financial Inflows*

1. Domestic Revenue (Public Source):

Derived primarily from taxation, licenses, royalties, duties, fees, and returns from state-owned enterprises. It constitutes the core of fiscal sovereignty. However, its performance is often constrained by bureaucratic inefficiencies, weak administrative capacity, and systemic corruption.

2. Foreign Direct Investment (Private Source):

Comprises long-term capital investments from foreign nationals, corporations, or institutions. It frequently involves technology transfer and sector-specific projects. Although FDI contributes to productivity and employment, it remains market-driven and volatile, and often results in capital flight through profit repatriation.

3. Personal Remittances (Private Source):

Represent direct, person-to-person financial transfers from citizens abroad. They are typically stable, counter-cyclical, and consumption-driven, providing household-level resilience but contributing only modestly to institutional or industrial expansion due to their fragmented and small-scale nature.

*From Consumption to Production: Rethinking Remittance Utilization*

Given their scale and stability, the policy challenge is to transform remittances from purely social transfers into productive investments. This involves developing mechanisms that channel a portion of diaspora remittances into local industries, agro-processing, renewable energy, construction, and micro-enterprise financing.

Remittances already surpass FDI in annual inflows, demonstrating a reliable source of private capital that could be leveraged for structured development financing. The key question therefore becomes:

How can Sierra Leoneans abroad earn sustainable returns on their remittances while simultaneously strengthening local economic capacity?

Diaspora communities in advanced economies are well-positioned to answer this question. In Western nations such as the United States, the private sector accounts for over 80 percent of GDP and employs the vast majority of the workforce. This contrasts sharply with Sierra Leone, where, according to the Sierra Leone Labour Market Profile 2023/2024, the private sector accounts for approximately 58 percent of employment--much of it within unregulated or informal sectors, often characterized by low productivity and underemployment.

This structural imbalance underscores the need for policy frameworks that encourage formalization and productive investment, particularly from the diaspora. Well-structured diaspora investment schemes, supported by transparent governance and risk-mitigation mechanisms, could transform remittances from short-term consumption flows into sustainable engines of growth.

Sierra Leone remains a nascent economy, endowed with natural resources, human capital, and opportunities for investment across multiple sectors. For the Sierra Leonean diaspora, engagement in local development should therefore transcend emotional or charitable gestures. It should be viewed as a strategic economic partnership that enables wealth creation, job generation, and institutional strengthening within the domestic economy.

The second part of this series will examine how Sierra Leoneans in the diaspora can pursue impactful investment opportunities within the country--independent of political ambition or affiliation.

© Amadu Wurie Jalloh 

18/10/25

Two Clock Towers in Makeni: When Impression Overrides Experience

The exact date of the construction of the East-End Police Clock Tower is not known, but it was undoubtedly built during the colonial era, originally marking the entrance point to Freetown city. Today, this historic landmark stands as a reminder of how far we have come: from a land of freed slaves, to a colony created for the establishment and propagation of Western ideologies, and finally, to a resilient people striving to prove their capacity for self-determination.

Over time, this colonial relic has become a symbol of progress and transformation for other city centres and towns in what was once known as the Protectorate. One way these communities express their desire for modernization and metropolitan transition is through the construction of clock towers-- projects often undertaken by local authorities or patriotic indigenes. This architectural heritage, coupled with streets that still bear colonial names such as Campbell Street, Savage Square, Rawdon Street, and McRobert Street, reflects how deeply colonial influence continues to shape our urban spaces and cultures.

Makeni, like many other regional cities, embodies this imitation of colonial symbolism. The city takes pride in its uniquely designed clock tower--often hailed as one of the finest in the country--even though the clock has been frozen in time for years. Interestingly, most of Makeni’s major streets and neighbourhoods are named after those in Freetown, underscoring its long-standing aspiration to mirror the capital’s urban identity.

Yet, here lies the irony: Makeni, despite these visible emblems of progress, continues to suffer from some of the most deplorable road networks in the region. Of particular concern is the road leading to the Regional Hospital in Makama. Residents have long questioned why this crucial road, used daily by pregnant women and patients seeking advanced medical care, was excluded from the road rehabilitation projects commissioned under the previous APC regime. Many still wonder when construction will finally be completed, years after it began.

What is even more baffling, however, is the recent construction of a second clock tower at the Turntable area by the current serving Mayor. From the very start, I have asked: What is the need for another clock tower when the first remains non-functional?

Supporters of the project argue that it reflects the Mayor’s dedication and hard work. But I continue to ask: Is this visionary leadership or simply performative leadership? Is development about what people see, or about what they actually experience?

Building a second clock tower while the first stands still represents a clear case of misplaced priorities. It is not a felt need, but an induced one--crafted to score political points rather than to deliver meaningful development.

Although I do not know the exact cost of the new project, one thing is certain: whatever amount was allocated could have been better invested in repairing the Makama Road that leads to the Government Hospital. Ask the current Mayor about the road, and he might tell you that the central government has been neglectful. But that explanation, to me, exposes a deeper flaw in governance and leadership as practiced in Sierra Leone.

The very idea of decentralisation becomes questionable if a city council can raise funds to build a second clock tower but cannot fix a life-threatening road. If the council can afford a monument, surely it can afford to patch a critical route to a hospital. The issue, therefore, is not about resources but about vision. Without visionary leadership acumen, even the most patriotic leader can fail to bring about genuine change.

What Makeni needs is not another clock tower, but an improved road network that ensures safe and easy access to essential facilities. Only the gullible would consider a second clock tower a priority.

This project, in my view, serves more as a political monument than a developmental one, a symbol of legacy-building rather than visionary progress.

It is no secret that Makeni is now struggling to maintain its former status as one of Sierra Leone’s cleanest cities-- a title it proudly held twice under the leadership of former Mayor Sunkarie Kabba.

A genuine leader would not prioritise monuments over people’s welfare. Such a leader would channel resources into improving public health, strengthening sanitation, and rebranding Makeni as a clean, healthy, and flourishing city. Real development should enhance the experience of the people, not merely feed their impression of progress.

Development, in my perspective, must aim to improve how people live and feel--not how leaders want to be remembered.

© Amadu Wurie Jalloh 

16/10/25

The Thin Line between Identity and Integrity: How Africa's Future is in its Drowning Languages and Not in its Borrowed Tongues

This news has been making the rounds on social media for days now: Nigeria has joined other African countries, the likes of South Africa, Namibia, Tanzania, Cameroon, Mozambique, Zambia, Uganda, Kenya, and others, in adding Chinese Mandarin to their formal education curriculum as an optional international language.

While this move may appear strategic, given China’s rising political influence and dominance in the global economy, I believe that alongside such initiatives, Nigeria should also consider reintroducing Nsibidi — the indigenous pictographic and ideographic writing system once used by the Ekpe society in precolonial Nigeria. Reviving and teaching indigenous systems of knowledge can help reshape the country’s future and strengthen sovereignty in science and education.

As Africans, we must not rush into teaching our children foreign languages simply under the banner of “opening more opportunities.” More urgent and profound is the need to reclaim our identity and integrity. Yes, Mandarin may open doors, but it also strengthens China’s soft power agenda, subtly creating a future where our survival becomes tied to theirs.

When will we realize that Darwin’s words: “survival of the fittest”, are not just about biology but about ideology? We are in a battle of ideas. We once trusted the West to educate our children, and what did we get? As Phillip O.C. Umeh lamented, we produced “Ambassadors of Poverty.” Our leaders stash stolen funds in Western banks while signing selfish deals that mortgage the future of generations yet unborn.

Now, disillusioned with the West for funding conflicts in the Sahel, looting our minerals, drowning our youths in perilous migration, imposing sanctions, and closing their borders against us, we turn eastward. But will welcoming China and Russia simply open another chapter of plunder, this time of both our resources and our minds?

True development must start from within. Let us teach our indigenous languages, reinstate our lost glory, and rewrite our histories. Tell our children that Bai Bureh was not a belligerent troublemaker, but a great warrior who fought for our freedom. Equip our youths with skills and self-confidence, not with inferiority complexes that define education as the ability to speak English or any other foreign language.

The Chinese and Indians did not rise to global prominence by learning English first. They mastered science, technology, and philosophy in their own languages, building self-pride and national confidence along the way.

Policies that prioritize teaching foreign languages over indigenous knowledge risk turning education into indoctrination rather than liberation.

In Sierra Leone and Liberia, for instance, introducing the Vai script in schools and spreading it widely would not only preserve our heritage but also inspire innovation. Our languages already hold within them the science and technology our ancestors used to build the societies we inherited. The challenge is whether we have the courage to value and cultivate them.

©Amadu Wurie Jalloh

20/09/25

Möbius Strip

In the dark chambers of my past,

a part of me still calls

from the hollow silence of memory.

I hear the loud silence--

a boy of nine weeping within me,

aching to be a child

in a world painted with lies.

He longs for warmth,

but the nights were burning cold,

lit only by anger,

shadowed by loss.

What does happiness feel like?

Is it the warmth that lingers

after the lash of pain?

Does it give joy while hiding hope

in chambers of uncertainty?

Does it smell like petrichor,

when tears water the dusty road of hope?

Does it taste like the leftover potato-leaf sauce,

served in the morning to an empty stomach?

Does it sound like the womb’s first lullaby—

the primal hum that rocks a child to peace?

My nights are quiet,

yet they thunder with grief.

Even as I rest on the softness of my bed,

my heart drifts back

to the jagged stones of yesterday.

It seems…

the past is not behind me--

it breathes, whispering me into sleeplessness,

then shakes me awake

into oblivion.

©Amadu Wurie Jalloh 

02/09/25