IGBO LANGUAGE IS THE GREATEST GIFT MY GRANDMOTHER EVER GAVE ME

By Ijeamaka Okonkwo

“English outside, Igbo inside.” 

The bold sign greeted everyone who entered the Okonkwo home.

My family welcomed visitors’ gasps, puzzled faces, and genuine laughs. 

I grew up in a multi-family home made of bricks and full of love. My mother, a nurse, and my father, a journalist, were drawn to the quieter side of “The City That Never Sleeps.” My immigrant parents came to the United States from Nigeria, raised my younger brother Ogonna and I in New York state, and provided us with unconditional support and the strong foundation we needed as African children in the diaspora.

My parents

“...the beautiful collision of two languages, of two worlds.”

Young Ijeamaka, me, born in 2003 and raised in Queens, New York, took it upon herself to type this quote, print it on a sheet of paper and frame it on the stairwell wall by the front door. If you knew her, you’d know that she wouldn’t do anything like this without announcing how important it was for people to abide by her law or “iwu” as she said in Igbo. Little did I know how significant that sheet of paper was in representing my cultural pride and symbolizing the beautiful collision of two languages, of two worlds.

Igbo in my blood

The Igbo language is the predominant native language of the Igbo people, a mighty ethnic group in Nigeria. Being that my family has an active Igbo community around us in New York, it was never a secret that Igbo was in my blood. My Igbo culture was in the food I ate, the clothes I wore, and the respectful traditional practices passed down to me such as greeting every elder outside of my family as “Aunty” or “Uncle.” The Igbos are patrilineal, so I specifically belong to the people of my father’s rural Igboland town in Anambra State located in southeastern Nigeria— the Nnobi people. 

“She finds it hilarious when I snap my fingers and shout ‘Tufiakwa!’ or ‘God forbid!’”

“Ibu onye Nnobi,” which means “You are a Nnobi person” in Igbo, was a phrase etched into the crevices of my mind. My father made sure I learned it and my entire family made sure I didn’t forget it.

But what could I, young Ijeamaka, do with this new sense of belonging?

How did I navigate my cultural identity?

What did Igbo mean to me?

My eternal gratitude to my grandmother

My mother’s mom, often referred to as the dear “Mama Ogidi,” traveled all the way from Ogidi, her town in Anambra State, to America when I was eight months old. She came to America for the first time solely to help my Igbo immigrant parents take care of me, their first child. This postpartum care is a traditional Igbo custom known as “omugwo” and typically involves a mother-in-law helping a new mother and her child. An omugwo usually lasts three months, but funnily enough Mama’s lasted about sixteen years with visits to Nigeria in between. Mama returned to Nigeria permanently in 2020 and is currently going from one omugwo to another for her other grandchildren. This was the ultimate “ije” or “journey” of love, and one that I would be eternally grateful to her for. 

Young Ijeamaka couldn’t have imagined a better best friend than Mama. I will never forget how loud my infectious laughs echoed when we played tag together in our garden full of vibrant tomatoes and greens. Mama planted the vegetables with care and I watered them delicately.

Me watering plants in our garden

Mama and I shared many late nights in our room reviewing the alphabet while Barney played in the background on the television. The small size of the room we shared and its compact nature was not bothersome to us at all. In fact, it felt like we were in our own little world and for that reason our moments in the room were much more comforting and heartfelt. My taste buds continue to ache for the delicious jollof rice she often made for me. Mama’s savory and sticky jollof rice has a light orange color and features an abundance of sweet onions. As Mama’s personal jollof rice connoisseur, I can say that there is nothing like her jollof rice and it truly cannot be replicated.

Jollof rice I cooked this summer inspired by Mama’s recipe

“It also took years of practicing, overcoming pronunciation difficulties, reading Igbo books, and repeating after Mama for me to get a hold of the language.”

Mama’s sincere prayers and passionate Igbo hymns tickled my ears and brought me unimaginable comfort as I nodded off to sleep each night. It did not surprise Mama to hear me rehearse the lyrics of her favorite praise and worship song “Akanchawa” by Princess Njideka Okeke. I spent my young years observing Mama— really observing her. Her bright smile, forgiving heart, welcoming touch, and playful spirit are incredibly special to me. I listened to her. Her voice soothes you in the same way a bird’s early morning song can. I mimicked her. Her occasional mannerism of puckering her lips to point at something has now become one of my mannerisms. She finds it hilarious when I snap my fingers and shout “Tufiakwa!” or “God forbid!” with the same strong attitude she does. More importantly, I learned from her. I learned how to love, care, and feel deeply.

Mama and I in New York

Mama only speaks Igbo

“Obulu na Ijeamaka asuro Igbo, anachia’m Ogidi.” 

This arresting and unforgettable quote translates to “If Ijeamaka doesn’t speak Igbo, I will go back to Ogidi.” 

Mama often announced this to my parents and other loved ones as I got older and began to speak. Mama was serious and meant what she said with every ounce of her being. My experiences with Mama were even more special and unique because Mama only speaks Igbo. She came to America without knowing a lick of English. Now, her presence was contingent upon me learning Igbo fluently. The stakes suddenly became high. Igbo, all at once, became the only thing that destroyed the communication barrier between me and my best friend, my grandmother. It was now the only bridge that could connect us.

Mama, my mom, my brother and I

It takes true understanding to know Mama did not mean any harm in what she said. Instead, she meant that communicating with me and preserving our culture was that important to her. Even while she said this, Mama did not break a sweat. After all, she is my teacher, or “onye nkuzi”, led by genuine faith in God, her skills, and in her grandchildren speaking Igbo with her one day. 

“I remember that the word “akpa” or “bag” in English was one of the hardest words for me to say.” 

Mama says that I first picked up Igbo naturally by observing her body language, paying attention to her tone, and following commands. When Mama would spread her arms in front of me and say “bia eba” or “come here” I knew to approach her and give her a hug. When she’d say, “bia rie nri” or “come eat” after the inviting smell of her freshly fried plantain permeated our home, I would know it was time to eat. Since I knew that “rie nri” meant “to eat,” I was able to gather that “i choro?” means “do you want?” when Mama said “i choro iri nri?” with a questioning tone. I advanced in Igbo by making associations similar to these overtime. That is how I was able to learn more complex sentences, develop my comprehension skills, and eventually speak Igbo fluently.

I should note that Mama’s recipes were not limited to cooking jollof rice and other edible delights. Her recipe for creating meaningful relationships with her children required the key ingredients of “ndidi” meaning patience and “ifunanya” meaning love. This recipe made learning how to speak Igbo fluently a smooth and memorable experience. It also took years of practicing, overcoming pronunciation difficulties, reading Igbo books, and repeating after Mama for me to get a hold of the language. 

“Today, I wear Igbo with pride and encourage the young Igbo community in the diaspora to see the importance of keeping our language alive.”

I remember that the word “akpa” or “bag” in English was one of the hardest words for me to say. In my experience, the “kp” letter was the one letter in the Igbo alphabet I had the most difficulty pronouncing. This frustrated me because nailing this one pronunciation detail could help distinguish a novice from a veteran. When Mama attended Igbo conventions, parties, church services, and weddings with me and our family, I would often be her designated “akpa” guardian who protected her purse as she fled from the table and danced the night away on the dance floor. Mama would bust all the dance moves she could and return to the table as she fanned herself with the pamphlet from the event. Afterwards, she would find the young Ijeamaka that was once too shy to dance and ask, “Nne, kedu ebe akpa’m di?” which means “Where is my bag, dear?” I often hesitated to say “Nee akpa gi” meaning “Here is your bag,” so instead I would hand it to her without saying a word. The thing about Mama is that she never judged me for this challenge I faced. Here and there she’d let out a giggle followed by a friendly, playful tease. But at the end of the day, Mama always reassured me, corrected my mistakes, and helped me practice the word’s pronunciation—as a real “onye nkuzi” would. 

 “Igbo is both a tool to destroy barriers and a bridge to connect loved ones.”

My family (parents, brother and Mama)

I wear Igbo with pride

The impact of Igbo on my life is not limited to speaking to Mama. I am now able to confidently communicate with my cousins, aunts, and uncles in Nigeria and other countries around the world. My communication with my parents and my brother, which involves both Igbo and English, enhances my skills as an Igbo interpreter —a position I held many times for Mama while she was in New York—for other people. Additionally, learning Igbo has enriched my writing and expanded my ways of thinking. I constantly find new ways to connect with the Igbo community online.

I even had the opportunity to tell Igbo proverbs or “ilu” at the 2023 Nnobi Convention in New Jersey. I presented a list of about ten proverbs in front of the hundreds of people that packed the ballroom. One of the proverbs I quoted was, “Inye nwata ihe kariri ya, o juo gi onye ka asi ya nye.” This translates to, “If you give a child something bigger than them, they will ask you who they were asked to give it to.” This proverb highlights life’s surprises that we sometimes believe we are not cut out to receive or take on. When I was offered the opportunity to present by the Nnobi Organization, I felt like I was the child in the proverb!

Me at the 2023 Nnobi Convention in New Jersey

I had four weeks to prepare my presentation for such a large audience—something I believed was the most nerve-racking thing I could ever do. With my family as my support system and practice audience, I was able to gather the courage to present and do what I now call one of the most rewarding things I have ever done. It was truly an honor to serve as an inspiration to the Igbo youth in a positive and brave light. 

“Return to your roots…”

Today, I wear Igbo with pride and encourage the young Igbo community in the diaspora to see the importance of keeping our language alive. Igbo is both a tool to destroy barriers and a bridge to connect loved ones. It is a container of generations’ wisdom and our ancestors’ valuable knowledge. It is an island full of unexplored and undiscovered minerals resourceful for humanity. It is what is left when the Igbo man is stripped of every other piece of his identity.

Me in 2024

Return to my roots…and to Mama

And so I am reminded of that sign, a testament to how much both Igbo and communicating with Mama means to me. Young Ijeamaka’s daring attempt to solve the problem she faced as a part of the diaspora. Who knew one sheet of paper could symbolize the power of language and specifically the value of Igbo? 

“I was five years old when I went to Nigeria for the first time.”

“Return to your roots” is the message hidden between the lines of the sign which hung on the wall for months until it fell off. By the time it fell off, I had already internalized the sign’s message. I no longer needed the sign, for my passion around my Igbo cultural identity is one that was born from a young age and one that I will continue to nurture. I refuse to let Mama’s “ije,” years of lessons, and efforts go to waste. 

Mama and I in Nigeria

I was five years old when I went to Nigeria for the first time. I visited my dad’s parents in Nnobi and both of my parents’ families. One of my fondest memories of my first trip to Nigeria is chasing chickens in the compound with my cousins. Unbeknownst to us, those chickens became our dinner! 

Now, when I eventually return to Nigeria, I can feel at home and navigate my town on my own. Though I have stayed closely in touch with Mama through WhatsApp for the past four years, I believe it is about time for us to reunite. As I continue to prepare to return, I look forward to learning more from our conversations, eating her jollof rice, guarding her “akpa”, and being in her sweet arms once again.

Igbo is the greatest gift my grandma gave me. 

Mama, daalu. A fụrụ m gị n'anya.

Ijeamaka Okonkwo is an undergraduate student studying psychology at St. John’s University in Queens, New York. She’s passionate about teaching Igbo, studying new languages, writing poetry, and painting.

okonkwoijeamaka@gmail.com