A Native Tongue

Most people come from households where a language other than the predominantly used international languages such as French or English is considered native. This fact is easy to miss since the rise of the internet and the expansion of the global village which brought about the need to communicate with as many people as possible. Although French is considered the language of international law, English has quickly taken over as that of international business. English culture- mainly American through Hollywood and other entertainment influences- threaten other cultures to the point where certain countries such as France and some Arabic countries establish laws to limit its influence within their borders. While the need for universal understanding is a logical one, is one to satisfy it by giving up the native language? Are we to die murmuring words in a different language from the one we used to utter our first as babes? When does one find use for a native tongue fast on the trail of the dinosaurs?
My native language is Kinyarwanda. I learned to read kinyarwanda primarily from the bible and the newspaper, and, because of that, I grew up speaking a form of kinyarwanda that was deep, flowery, and ancient even at the time I was learning it. I was fascinated to be able to read and understand words few people in my house other than my grandparents could understand. My being beamed as I read scripture to audiences and they marveled at how I could read so well at a young age. I didn't know it then, but I had started on a path towards language appreciation...a path that would lead me to this exact point in time.
I, however, failed to see the turns and detours fate would dress my path with. My beloved language slowly eroded away by flight through different lands strewn with other languages one had to learn in order to survive. Along the way, English supplanted all other languages and established its supremacy hold on me. I loved the language, its writers, and its ease of use. I read voraciously, covering the classics and the contemporary. I read magazines and books about lands a thousand miles away and my mind was transported through time and space to experience what I was reading for myself. The more familiar I became with English, the more I unconsciously relinquished my Kinyarwanda until one day I picked a Kinyarwanda bible and I spent more time scratching my head for meaning than in actual reading. This was the beginning.
Time moved on, as time only can, and I attended high school and university where Kinyarwanda wasn't only impossible but also unhelpful. English dominated and soon even contact with people who speak Kinyarwanda was few and far between. By the time I finished school, I could speak kinyarwanda only as long as it littered my English like potholes on a Beverly Hills road. I considered it as one of my many languages I can understand but not speak. Then it all changed when I moved to Atlanta.
Contact was reestablished with Kinyarwanda speakers and soon it had blossomed. I have many people to thank for helping me revive my use of the native tongue, but prime among them is Job Muhumuza. Little by little, as I lived with his family during my first months in Atlanta, he coaxed kinyarwanda words out of me and I began to realize how beautiful a language it was. My first book or play I write in Kinyarwanda will be dedicated to this loving father and his family...to whom I owe much.
As of now, I'm still trying to relearn it enough to be able to write a quality work completely in it. I have begun to write my status messages on Facebook in Kinyarwanda and I'm happy to see others doing the same. In diaspora, it's easy to forget one's past, one's journeys, and one's beginnings, but I believe that without the past as a strong foundation, it's only a matter of time before our house of cards comes tumbling down. Besides, I have begun to see the beauty of my native tongue that I used to see when I was young.
Kinyarwanda is a thousand times as poetic as English. Everyday usage is garnished with proverbs and idioms that excite imagination and thrill the senses. As you listen to a skilled orator, you are left wondering how a mind can come up with such arrangement of words, and the only thing you can do is applaud and hope to remember a few things to help build up your own abilities. This is why I hope to one day be able to capture the beauty of Kinyarwanda in my own literary works for others to admire. Until then, however, I will continue to learn from others and online resources such as this website.  I hope you, too, can can focus on your native tongue and appreciate what makes it beautiful beautiful.

The Issue of Language

Much has been proposed about language by writers in exile and two classes, represented by two well-known writers, have formed around these propositions. On one hand, you have Ngugi wa Thiong'o who advocates writing in one's native language and having your work, then, translated to other language. On the other hand, you have Chinua Achebe who represents the class of writers who find it acceptable to write in the language of their former colonial masters even if they might harbor some misgivings about the colonists' deeds. Both of these stalwarts of African literature have valid points and comparing their views is like the proverbial apples and oranges comparison.
Starting with Ngugi, it is imperative to provide literary works to your own people who cannot read colonial languages such as French, English, Spanish, or Portuguese. To him, this was as important as writing and he started writing in his native Kikuyu. This did not stop his work from being translated, but looking at him and trying to emulate him might be dangerous for an aspiring writer.
Ngugi, when he decided to make the radical move, was already a well-respected writer who made a name for himself as a writer, editor, and professor in his native Kenya. He already had a following and a relationship with a publisher who was willing to promote his personal stance as a publicity and marketing ploy. To a new writer, especially one in exile, you might find that your traditional language market is insignificant and repelling to the publisher.
This is something a writer can do after he/she has tackled the larger market and wants to build a fan base among the smaller market of just his/her own people.
Chinua argues that a writer is to find a middle ground in his use of language as a medium for his story-telling. Not only is this more viable to an unestablished writer, but it is also easier for the readers as they don't have to scramble or wait for a translated work.
I would love to be able to put to use the vast vocabulary and wealth of my native Kinyarwanda, but I'm unable to write much in it. I used to enjoy reading Kinyarwanda newspapers and books, but now I only become frustrated as that ability has slowly eroded with the passing years in exile. Writing in it is out of the question for me, but I hope to be able to have some of my work translated into it in the future. For now, I hope to reach more people through English, which is not the language of Rwanda's colonizers, and show them an opening into my people's lives, customs, and traditions.
However, I know that if I was to be be fluent in Kinyarwanda there is absolutely no doubt that I would write in it. I have a memory of its beauty as I read it growing up, and until I can replicate that feeling, I will wait to put my work in it, hoping to safeguard its integrity from a butchery I would subject it to in my current state.

Sakabaka: What's in a name

Today, the third issue of Exile Calling has been released and, in addition to the other works included in there, there is the announcement that I have chosen "Sakabaka" as my nom de plume. Traditionally, we Rwandans have carried only one name, but the Belgian colonizers forced people to adapt "Christian" or "civilized" first names to be baptized. Our names, however, always had meaning.
My last name, MUTABAZI, was inherited from my father, who received it from his parents for a purpose. The story goes as such: My grandparents' firstborn was a girl, followed by a boy. The third was a girl, and the girls teased the boy and he felt overpowered. When my grandmother was pregnant for the forth time, my uncle (the second born) went to the hospital carrying flowers for the sibling he hoped was a boy. Unfortunately for him, the child was a girl and it's only fair to say he was crushed, but he, nonetheless, gave his newest sister the flowers.
From then on, he prayed for a boy. A few years later, my father was born and my uncle named him Samuel, "Asked of God." My grandparents, however, called him Mutabazi "savior or helper" because he had come to save his brother from the girls.
Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, I was born in a society where people take their fathers' last names. I love my name and it means a lot, both to me and in meaning: Edouard "Guardian" Samuilovich "Son of the one asked of God" Mutabazi "Savior". So, I'm a guardian savior who is the son of the one asked of God. I wouldn't call it bad.
But, I want a name that I feel represents me. Sakabaka is a raptor bird found in Rwanda. We feared it as children growing up, but we were always amazed to see it soaring in the skies above, relaxed and, seemingly, exuding  confidence. Sakabaka, folklore has it, also knows everything. You ask it whatever you want and it will give you an answer. I don't claim to have all the answers, but I have many that I haven't been asked yet. I would love to point out that, although we do have them in Rwanda, this was not picked because it is our clan or lineage totem.
There's much I still need to learn about my culture and I hope to be able to compose works in Kinyarwanda soon, or, at least, have mine translated. I would love my people to read my work. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my work and the messages it carries.

***I have come to find out that the proper English name of sakabaka is "black kite."