Swahili serves as the medium of instruction in Tanzanian primary schools. In a similar vein, Japan employs Japanese throughout its entire educational framework, China uses Chinese, and countless other nations educate their youth in their own national tongues.
Our cadre of linguistic experts has long championed the adoption of local languages as the primary vessels of learning within our schools. Time and again, they argue, extensive research has shown that students grasp academic material more effectively when it is presented in their native language.
However, I remain unconvinced that Tanzania’s approach is feasible here in Malawi—not least at present. Unlike Tanzania, where Kiswahili enjoys status as a national language, Malawi lacks an equivalent linguistic unifier. Proposals to designate Chichewa, the language most widely spoken among Malawians, as the national language have been met with vehement opposition. That debate, for now, is firmly closed.
The crux of the matter lies in the tribal associations attached to Malawi’s indigenous languages. Their very names betray their origins: Chichewa is seen as the language of the Chewa people, chiSena belongs to the Sena, and so forth. Swahili does not carry such tribal connotations; indeed, there is no Swahili tribe anywhere in East Africa to claim it.
Many hold the belief that Kamuzu Banda, as a Chewa, sought to elevate Chichewa above other languages, imposing it as the dominant language. I beg to differ. Chinyanja—which is what Chichewa was called during colonial times—was already the lingua franca of Malawi’s central and southern regions well before independence and long before Kamuzu’s tenure. When William Murray completed translating the Chinyanja Bible at Kaso Hill, Mvera, in 1923, he provided a standardised Biblical text that served not only the central region of Malawi but also much of the south, as well as parts of Southern and Northern Rhodesia. Indeed, with various dialects of Chichewa spoken in Tanzania, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Zambia, and Malawi, some linguistic experts regard it as Africa’s second most widely spoken language after Swahili.
The last time I checked, the Malawi Broadcasting Corporation featured seven local languages. Any move to localise education would, therefore, need to accommodate at least these seven tongues—which, as one can imagine, carries profound implications.
For starters, textbooks would need to be published in all seven languages. While this presents a considerable technical and financial challenge, it is, with focused effort and determination, a hurdle that could be overcome.
The thornier issue, however, lies with the deployment of teachers. These languages are deeply tied to specific regions. The only viable path forward would require teachers to remain stationed within their native linguistic zones. A Yao-speaking teacher, for instance, would be ill-placed to teach in Mzimba or Rumphi unless they mastered Chitumbuka. She/he otherwise would stay put in their Yao-speaking zone. Recent history reveals a marked opposition among Malawians to such region-based teacher assignments.
Students, too, would face difficulties. Imagine the plight of a pupil relocating due to parental job transfers—from Chikwawa to Phalombe, then on to Karonga. That child would be forced to become a polyglot simply to keep pace with their education.
Moreover, Malawi’s local languages remain underdeveloped for conveying complex academic concepts, especially at advanced levels. Often, English terms would have to be phonetically localised. Take Additional Mathematics, for instance—concepts like differentiation or integration would be near-impossible to define without resorting to borrowed words such as “difalanshiyeshoni.” Yet such transliterations, far from alleviating confusion, would likely exacerbate it for struggling students.
Consider the announcements at Kamuzu International Airport, where the public address system intones, “Will those passengers travelling to Johannesburg by flight number SA 171 proceed through International Departures?” followed by a so-called Chichewa translation: “Onse opita ku Johannesburg pa ndege, flight number SA 171 dzerani pa International Departures.” In truth, that translation is a mere 54% Chichewa; the remainder is English. This, I fear, perfectly encapsulates the predicament we shall face if we embark on the localisation of the language of instruction in our schools.
It is most regrettable that scant effort has been made to ensure speakers of our local languages adhere to proper grammatical conventions. In any civilised nation, radio broadcasting stands as the bastion where one expects to hear the standard form of the language upheld. I have been dismayed to hear the erroneous plural mifuti used over the airwaves (the plural for mfuti is mfuti). I have also heard the term “midalitso” broadcast on local radios. The correct plural of dalitso (blessing) is madalitso. If we afford such casual disregard to our local tongues, how can we in good conscience expect them to serve as vehicles for serious academic discourse?