Kenya stuck with English but failed to master its use

English, I will allow, is not our mother tongue. It was imposed on us by the ruling class of a colonising European nation — the Anglo-Saxons. But it was for very good practical reasons that, at independence, we freely chose that language as the means by which to continue communicating nationwide, especially at the level of “high thought” and work.

Like the Tanzanians, we could, of course, have latched onto Kiswahili (or any other language). At that time, Kiswahili was perhaps better able than any European language to catalyse such of our objective national aspirations as ethnic integration, economic production, social services and political equilibrium.

But we didn’t. And, under Britain’s colonial tutelage — in all such vital governance, production and intellectual areas as agriculture, art, education (in general), legislation, technology and worship — English had climbed way above Kiswahili and all other world languages — as mankind’s instrument of communication par excellence.

For nationalistic sentiments that were quite understandable at that time, Tanzania chose Kiswahili — at one point even seeming to neglect English altogether in all its tuition and other superstructural activities.

But our neighbouring country has been paying a back-breaking price for it ever since then — especially in all international councils. The wiser thing would have been to lay greater stress on Kiswahili than the colonial classroom had done but without necessarily downgrading English. Yet Kenya’s choice — which was the opposite — was probably even more unenlightened. We laid less and less emphasis on Kiswahili in preference for English.

Yet, simultaneously, our standard of English teaching took a nosedive. The consequence is that, among our school and even university products since independence, our national grip on English has become looser and looser until our media — radio, television, newspapers, etc. — often use English words in barely literate ways.

Take the following blurb which I culled from The Standard on Sunday (October 19): “We want to the see the enure management pave way for elections and subsequent split from the society”. The editor found the statement so enlightening (intellectually) — so empowering (ethically) — that he even shaded to highlight it. Indeed, practically each of those words is English. “ENURE” is the only exception.

Though I have lived for so long in the linguistic environment of English, I have never heard of an “enure management”, especially in the context of “...elections and subsequent split from the society...” — a context which, in Kenya, can land you in the abyss across the Mediterranean.

But mightn’t “enure” be construed as an alternative spelling (and pronunciation) of the verb to inure, which means to become accustomed to or to harden (into a habit).

However, in the way that our editor has strung the above words together, what can they possibly mean? Perhaps the writer, the sub-editor and what we used to call “stone editor” were misled by analogising the situation with the verb to enquire, which, alternatively, is pronounced inquire and spelt accordingly. The analogy is inviting. But be careful: For I have never seen “indure” (as an alternative to endure).

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