Photo by zhendong wang on Unsplash

Our mother language is much more than a system of communication. It shapes our identity and our points of view. It cultivates our emotional ties to our culture and our community. It holds the history of humanity’s connections as well as the future of humanity’s resilience.

For those very reasons, the world observes International Mother Language Day each year on February 21, celebrating the importance of protecting and promoting linguistic diversity and multilingualism.

To mark the occasion, we asked the Global Voices community — quite the multilingual bunch! — to answer a simple prompt: What does your mother language mean to you? The responses we received were intimate and honest, ranging from highlighting the beauty of the language in question to detailing personal and political struggles related to its usage.

‘Grounding me in a sense of belonging’

Rami Alhames is the Arabic translation manager for the Global Voices Lingua project. He called the Arabic language “the heartbeat of my identity”:

It carries the echoes of my ancestors, the warmth of family gatherings, and the richness of my culture. Through its poetic verses and intricate calligraphy, I feel a deep connection to my heritage…It shapes my thoughts, dreams, and expressions, grounding me in a sense of belonging. Every word feels like a bridge to my roots, a reminder of who I am and where I come from.

For translator Ghaydaa Alnakhal, Arabic as a mother tongue is a point of pride:

Arabic language is a treasure that everyone likes to discover. It's the language of the Holy Quran; every single word has a meaningful connotation. I'm proud of my mother language, as wherever I meet foreign people they ask me to teach them some Arabic words.

Writer and translator Elisa Marvena said she has come to appreciate her native language of Spanish in new ways, thanks to the experience of living outside of her country of origin:

Living in Germany, my mother tongue has also become the entry point to many friendships, a space where I feel safe, comfortable, and most “myself.” It led me to fully understand, intimately, why foreign communities anywhere in the world tend to stay close and spontaneously build what some negatively call “ghettos.”

Furthermore, Elisa said, passing on Spanish to her trilingual toddler will ensure that he stays connected to his maternal extended family. The same is true for another important language in her son’s life: Arabic, which is what her son’s father speaks.

Elmira Lyapina, who is a writer and translator for Global Voices, similarly described her mother tongue of Tatar as a tool for forging bonds with other people:

As part of the Turkic language family, Tatar gives me a sense of home when speaking with older generations of Turkish or Azerbaijani communities. Sharing similar names for cultural and historical concepts, as well as traditional dishes, it connects me more deeply with Central Asian culture. It also gives me a sense of relatedness to Arabic and Persian cultures, due to the borrowings from or through these languages.

And translator Tchahenewa Israel, whose mother tongue is Tupuri, explained how the language anchors him:

Ma langue est l'identité par laquelle je m'identifie et je me reconnais dans la société.

My language is the identity by which I identify myself and recognize myself in society.

‘I will make my language sovereign’

Malagasy may be the official language of Madagascar, but the economic pressure to favor globally dominant languages instead is strong. Liva Andriamanantena, a translator for the Malagasy language team at Global Voices Lingua, recognizes the risk that this poses for her mother tongue:

The Malagasy language faces a major problem because many Malagasy citizens do not know how to write it correctly and moreover in schools, the French language is used much more in educational programs. As a translator, I strive to revitalize this rare and precious language because I hope it will one day become one of the most sought-after languages ​​in the field of translation.

Miora Stéphanie Radifera, one of the translation managers for the Malagasy language team, spoke about how Malagasy is like “a piece of home I carry with me, no matter where I go”:

And though I love learning other languages, none could replace it — it’s unique, beautiful, and an inseparable part of me. As we say in Malagasy, “Andrianiko ny teniko, ny an'ny hafa koa feheziko!” (I will make my language sovereign; as for the languages of others, I will master them and make them mine as well).

Malagasy is among the most active language communities at Global Voices, the result of the collective passion that the team of contributors feel for their mother tongue. Imanoela Fifaliana, an editor and translator for the Malagasy language team, put that passion on display in her response:

My greatest wish is to share this beauty with others, to see more people discover the richness of our language and culture, so that it can continue to thrive for generations to come. Tiako ny teniko! (I love my language)

And Raveloaritiana Mamisoa Isabelle, a translator, summed up the connection she feels to Malagasy in brief: “My mother language is my identity, my life, a bridge to my culture and heritage.”

Unjust realities, complicated relationships

As much as a language can be a source of beauty, it can also be employed for ugly ends. Throughout history and still today, people in power have sought to erase native languages and replace them with their own in order to weaken cultural connections, sever community bonds and cause conflict, all to subjugate peoples and steal their labor and resources.

Writer Candice K. Stewart’s mother tongue is Jamaican Patois. She talked about her personal experience with this weaponization of language as a legacy of British colonialism:

I can remember being corrected and scolded as a child the second I uttered any bit of Patwa. In the moment, the real effects were not noticed. However, many years later, it is evident. Many of us have to figuratively fight for our lives to speak Patwa, write it, and understand the varied sounds. This is all thanks to what we were brainwashed to believe — that to speak Patwa and communicate with it is indicative of being primitive and uneducated. I am forever grateful for local linguists and champions of Patwa who continue to push Patwa.

When personal, cultural and political histories collide, the term “mother language” can become tricky to unpack. Associate editor Ameya Nagarajan commented that she wasn’t sure how to respond to the prompt:

Is it your mother's language? And her mother's language? Then it's Gujarati, which I do not speak at all and cannot understand. But what people mean, in India, is the “family” language which is usually your father's language. Then it's Tamil, which I speak more or less okay, mainly because I've grabbed every opportunity as an adult to do it and get better. I can barely read or write. Is it the language you think and dream in? That you grew up speaking? That your parents and grandparents spoke to you when you were a child? Then it's English.

Ngo Ngimbous Fidèle Juliette, the French translation manager, spoke of her relationship to the Bassa language and how she does her best with the skills she has:

Le bassa représente mes origines. Cette langue a bercé mon enfance. Malheureusement, bien que codifiée, je n'ai pas eu la chance d'apprendre à la lire ni à l'écrire. Je le fais en tâtonnant.

Bassa language represents my origins. This language cradled me in childhood. Unfortunately, although it is codified, I did not have the chance to learn to read or write it. I do it by trial and error.

And Arzu Geybullayeva, writer and editor who covers South Caucasus and Turkey, drew a distinction between the ideas of “origins” and “roots” as it relates to her mother tongues of Azerbaijani and Russian:

I think, in the grand picture, it is the only thing that connects me to my origins. I would refrain from using the word roots because I have come to learn that roots can be planted elsewhere and hence, I don't see it as a connection to the roots but more to my country of origin. It remains the language which sometimes has the best word to explain a situation or a state or an emotion.

Unique words and idioms

Each language is a universe unto itself, with unique vocabulary and creative turns of phrase that aren’t easily translated. Iryna Tiper, the Ukrainian translation manager, talked about the melody, nuances and richness of the Ukrainian language:

One of my favorite words is затишок (zatyshok), meaning a cozy, warm place — it perfectly reflects the sense of home and belonging that Ukrainian gives me.

Writer Prudence Nyamishana said her mother tongue of Rukiga connects her to her ancestors:

Some of the phrases and proverbs in Rukiga reveal how generations passed on wisdom and traditions. My favourite proverb is “Nyantahurira akambukira omu bwato bwibumba” — he who doesn't heed a warning will eventually try to cross a sea in a clay boat.

Sanjib Chaudhary, a writer and Nepali translation manager, described how his native language of Eastern Tharu has been shaped by the environments where the Tharu people have lived:

I think and dream in my mother language… Tharus have lived in the southern plains of Nepal for thousands of years and they have unique relation with the forests, wild animals and nature which reflects in the language, unique words, phrases and idioms.

And writer Abhinash Das offered up a preferred word in Assamese, one of the official languages of India:

I feel so good and happy expressing and communicating in my mother language… I am sharing one of my favourite Assamese words: “ভালপোৱা” which means “love” in English.

‘The only one I speak from the heart’

Our mother tongue is fundamental to how we relate to ourselves and others, be they near or far. This is true for Francophone sub-Saharan Africa editor Jean Sovon whose language of origin is Ewé:

Ma langue maternelle représente une richesse immatérielle que je partage en commun avec les membres de ma communauté ou ethnie. Je suis fier de parler cette langue et de voir d'autres personnes s'y intéresser.

My mother tongue represents an intangible wealth I share with the members of my community or my ethnic group. I am proud to speak this language, and to see other people interested in it.

Ioana Dobre, the Romanian translation manager, said that Romanian “connects me with my childhood, family, first friends and it represents a big part of who I am,” while
Gabriela García Calderón Orbe, the Spanish translation manager, put her relationship with Spanish succinctly: “It's how I communicate with everybody else and how I acquire knowledge.”

For Marisa Petricca, the Italian translation manager, her mother tongue provides a special bond to the arts:

The Italian language can also be considered a universal language: every musician can understand even two or three words in Italian, finding them on the pentagram, like allegro, maestoso, etc. The Italian language identity often embodies disciplines like humanities, music, poetry, literature, and art that our ancestors made. And for me, these are the most important values of my language, actually.

She also pointed out the connection it gives her to speakers of other Romance languages, something that translator Ursu Ilona-Alexandra also highlighted about her mother tongue of Romanian, adding: “My mother language means both the origin and originality to me.”

The condition of our mother language being intertwined with our very identity was a common one across the responses we received from the Global Voices community. Perhaps translator Maria Dabija summed it up perfectly when she said:

Ma langue maternelle est la seule que je parle avec le cœur.

My mother tongue is the only one I speak from the heart.