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A Mother's Love in Her Mother Tongue

French isn't the only language of love

By C.R. HughesPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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Me and my mom circa 2004.

“If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his own language, that goes to his heart.”

‒Nelson Mandela

When I was a kid, I read the book Ender's Game and I remember loving it. But now as an adult, I only remember one scene from that book vividly. In it, the main character, Ender, was speaking with his friend, Alai, and when they hugged, Alai whispered the word "salaam" to him. I remember the intimacy that was contained in that word. A word that was foreign to me but was even more foreign to Ender in his world where people only ever spoke "Standard" (English). But somehow, without even knowing what it meant, Ender knew that Alai sharing this word with him was special and something he held close to his heart. I experienced a moment like that recently when my mother told me she loved me.

My mom has said she loves me all twenty-three years of my life. She says it every time we get off the phone with one another, every time I leave her and my dad's house, and randomly when I'm near her. I've heard those three words from her lips more times than I can count. But recently she said it differently.

"Na lia."

The words sounded melodic coming out of her mouth. Words that I had never heard before but contained the familiarity of my mother's affection in them.

"Na lia."

The words were spoken in Vai, my mother's native language. My mom was born and raised in Liberia, a small country on the west coast of Africa, but she rarely speaks her tribal language. Occasionally I used to hear her using the rich language with my grandfather when he was still alive, but it always remained a mystery to me. Something that only came with a bond that my mother and her father shared, I thought.

Growing up, my mom taught me many things. She taught me the importance of always learning because she was always picking up new skills (like baking, sewing, drawing, fixing things) and would always bring me home books she found at garage sales and thrift stores. She taught me and my three older sisters the importance of being independent and never letting our lives be dictated by a man, by always acting as our dad's equal. She taught me the value of hard work and loving what you do by maintaining a job as a hairdresser at a nursing home for most of my childhood and always having a smile on her face when she worked. But despite teaching me so many things, Vai was not one of the lessons she taught me as a child.

Me and my mom circa 1998.

For one thing, over the years it became harder for my mom to speak her native language because for a long time, she had no one to practice it with. In 1980, at the age of twenty-four, she left Liberia during a coup d'etat after her father was arrested as a political prisoner (though he was innocent). Since then, Liberia has seen a nearly two decade long civil war and many of the people and places my mom once knew are no longer around. It wasn't until her sister and father joined her in the U.S. during the 90s that she finally was able to start practicing the language again.

According to Wikipedia, only about 120,000 people worldwide speak Vai. With Liberia being a country made up of over sixteen tribal languages and Vai being one of the minority languages spoken, even in mostly Liberian spaces, Vai is not common. And in both Liberia and the U.S., my mom found that it was just easier and more practical for her to speak English.

Thankfully though, my mom is still around and another lesson she always taught me was that it might be hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but it's not impossible.

My mom and nephew circa 2019.

So after twenty-two years, my mother began teaching me the language that she had grown up with. Months later, her and I have both fumbled through words and phrases to express gratitude, to beckon someone, to give condolences and show concern, but the easiest now is always "na lia."

As an adult, I felt that my mom had taught me just about everything I needed to know in life. But now as I build upon my Vai vocabulary, I recognize how important it is to be connected to the language of my people that is becoming less and less known. My mom always taught me to be proud of my heritage, but carrying on the language is a big part of carrying on the legacy.

Vai is the language of my ancestors. My ancestors who trekked from the Mali Empire and settled on the west coast of Africa some 500 years ago. My ancestors who became skilled seamstresses and carpenters. My ancestors who developed one of the only African language writing systems that wasn't based on the Latin or Arabic script. My ancestors who were amazing storytellers and people of great pride.

Vai is the language of my mother. My mother who has always shown me what love is. My mother who has always allowed me to be vulnerable while reminding me of my strength. My mother who has taught me that in life, I don't have to be perfect, I just have to be progressing.

Now I only want for my mother to share her love for me in Vai. And one day, I might share that same love with children of my own. And I hope that they'll feel my mother's heartbeat in it, just as much as they feel mine.

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If you enjoyed this, feel free to leave a like and/or tip and check out some of my other stories. Also, follow me on Instagram @c.r.hughes

Thanks for reading!

-Chanté

parents
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About the Creator

C.R. Hughes

I write things sometimes. Tips are always appreciated.

https://crhughes.carrd.co/

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