Sovereignty is more than a political or economic state—it's a cultural and intellectual reclamation. For Africans, the quest for true sovereignty cannot be separated from the languages we speak. Colonial languages like English, French, and Portuguese have become entrenched in our systems of governance, education, and everyday communication. But what does it mean to be African when we are still tethered to these legacies?

On Decolonising the Mind

Language is more than a communication tool; it is a vessel of identity, values, and traditions. It shapes our conception of ourselves, which influences our self-worth and how we believe others perceive us. Through language, we not only form a sense of individual and communal identity but also develop an understanding of our place in the world and the perceptions others hold of us. Concerningly, in many African societies, colonial languages are perceived as proxies for intelligence, worth or power, driving many to distance ourselves from our native tongues.

"The black man’s first action is a reaction, since he is assessed with regard to his degree of assimilation" [Fanon 1952], is a statement that speaks to how we measure our value often by how closely we conform to Western standards and norms, rather than by our own cultural roots. We are consistently judged not on our own terms, but by how well we can mimic those imposed by others. Frantz Fanon's call for a "decolonisation of the mind" emphasises the need to reject the internalised Eurocentric values and reclaim our own cultural and intellectual traditions. This process requires more than an understanding of colonial history; it demands a return to the lived experiences and cultural legacies of our ancestors. Simply critiquing our colonial past is not enough.

The colonial legacy permeates African societies through language, education, media, and social norms, subtly promoting Eurocentric ideologies. Knowledge of colonialism's impact is essential, but it doesn't reconnect us with the tangible heritage needed to reclaim our identities. To decolonise narratives is to challenge the legitimacy of colonial histories and rewrite them from the perspective of the colonised, engaging with pre-colonial histories and traditions, and reviving indigenous practices marginalised or banned under colonial rule.

On Internalised Inferiority

Ngugi wa Thiong'o's recollection of the oppressive measures used to enforce English over indigenous languages like Gikuyu illustrates how deeply colonialism sought to erase native identities. Children were punished for speaking their mother tongues, internalising a sense of shame that was not just about breaking a rule but about being inherently flawed. Achievements in colonial languages were praised, while indigenous languages were suppressed, reinforcing a hierarchy that equated value with closeness to colonial norms. This indoctrination was not just about language but about shaping how individuals perceived themselves and their worth.

Frantz Fanon’s observation that “the black man wants to be white, and the white man is desperately trying to achieve the rank of man” encapsulates the tragic cycle of identity shaped by colonial ideologies. The imperialist mindset posits whiteness as the pinnacle of human achievement, leading many to internalise the belief that proximity to whiteness equates to true humanity. This results in a relentless pursuit of validation through colonial standards, reinforcing the narrative that human value is measured by these skewed benchmarks. This mindset fosters a sense of inadequacy, alienation, and division among Africans, obscuring the inherent worth and dignity that exists independently of imposed standards.

On Reclaiming Sovereignty Through Language

The 1962 Makerere Conference of African Writers of English Expression highlights the tension between using colonial languages for global integration and the erasure of local identities. This conference was attended by notable figures such as Chinua Achebe [Nigeria], Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o [Kenya], and Rajat Neogy [Uganda]. While it validated and united African writers, it also faced criticism for excluding those who wrote in indigenous languages, reinforcing the dominance of European linguistic frameworks. Critics argued that defining African literature through colonial languages was a contradiction, pointing out the need for African literature to be authentically represented in African languages. This challenges the uncritical acceptance of colonial languages as the default mediums for African expression. 

Reclaiming sovereignty requires more than a superficial engagement with our cultural past; it demands a radical shift in how we view our languages and ourselves. It calls for an uncolonial approach that goes beyond critiquing imperialism to actively reclaiming and celebrating the richness of our own cultures. Sovereignty is not just about rejecting external control but about embracing the full spectrum of our identity, including the languages that express our unique worldview.

Though I recognise language as a vessel of culture and history, I too embody the complexities of this struggle by writing in English while advocating for our common cause. The true threat to oppressive systems is the awakening of the masses, whose collective consciousness could dismantle entrenched power. A writer who inspires revolutionary unity and hope in native languages becomes a subversive force. Thus, the struggle is not only about reclaiming language but also having the courage to use it as a tool for liberation.