“Grammar alone does not define a language.” —Dr. Declan Onwudiwe
When Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka recently described the Igbo language as “tortuous,” particularly compared with the perceived musicality of Yorùbá, he reignited a conversation that extends far beyond linguistics. The issue is not whether Professor Soyinka has the right to express his view. His immense contributions to African literature and intellectual life are undeniable. The more important question is whether such a characterization accurately captures the nature of the Igbo language and the broader implications of such descriptions. I respectfully disagree.
My disagreement is not rooted in ethnic sentiment, and this should not become another Igbo-Yorùbá dispute. Both languages represent sophisticated civilizations, rich literary traditions, and remarkable intellectual achievements. The question is whether “tortuous” is an appropriate description of Igbo. I believe it is not.
A language can be complex without being confusing. It can be intricate without being inefficient. What seems difficult to someone outside a linguistic tradition may be entirely logical to those who understand its internal structure.
Consider tone. Like Yorùbá, Igbo is a tonal language. Tone is not merely an aesthetic feature that makes speech sound pleasant or musical. It carries meaning. Tone variations can distinguish words, grammatical functions, and shades of meaning that might otherwise be identical. Far from creating confusion, tonal systems efficiently encode information in speech.
The same principle applies to Igbo word formation. The language uses systematic combinations of roots and grammatical elements to express action, direction, relationships, repetition, time, and nuance. What may initially seem elaborate often follows established patterns that become intuitive for fluent speakers. Complexity, in this sense, is not evidence of disorder; it is evidence of structure.
Yet grammar alone does not define a language.
A language is also a repository of a people’s philosophy, memory, worldview, and social values. This reality is evident in the richness of Igbo proverbial discourse. Chinua Achebe famously observed that proverbs are “the palm oil with which words are eaten.” That memorable phrase warrants closer attention. Proverbs are not decorative additions to speech. They condense history, moral reasoning, practical wisdom, humor, and collective experience into forms that can be transmitted across generations.
Consider the proverb: Onye ajụjụ anaghị efu ụzọ (“One who asks questions does not lose the way”). In a single sentence, it affirms intellectual humility, values inquiry over arrogance, and promotes learning through engagement with others. In another context, ideas that might require lengthy exposition are conveyed with elegance and precision.
What some perceive as indirectness may actually be semantic density.
This discussion also invites broader reflection on how African languages have been evaluated historically. For generations, colonial and postcolonial institutions privileged European languages while relegating indigenous African languages to domestic and informal settings. Across the continent, children often learned that social mobility, formal education, and professional advancement depended on mastery of English, French, or Portuguese, while their ancestral languages were treated as secondary.
The consequences of that legacy remain visible today.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o has persuasively argued that language carries culture, memory, and identity. Once a people regard their own language as unsuitable for scholarship, governance, technology, or intellectual life, the challenge is no longer merely linguistic. It becomes a question of cultural continuity and self-understanding.
This is why public descriptions of languages matter.
Prominent intellectuals wield considerable symbolic influence. When an indigenous language is repeatedly labeled awkward, primitive, cumbersome, or unnecessarily difficult, younger generations may internalize those judgments. Conversely, when a language is treated as worthy of scholarship, innovation, and public use, communities are more likely to invest in its preservation and development.
The sociologist Pierre Bourdieu described this phenomenon as symbolic power: the authority to define what is legitimate, valuable, or prestigious. From that perspective, describing one language as musical and another as tortuous goes beyond personal preference. Such language can influence perceptions of cultural worth, whether intentionally or not.
The most constructive response, however, is not outrage. It is action.
Those concerned about the future of Igbo should ask themselves difficult questions. Do we consistently speak the language to our children? Do they speak it among themselves? Are scholars producing rigorous research in Igbo studies? Are universities investing in its development? Are communities creating Igbo-language books, films, podcasts, dictionaries, digital archives, educational software, and artificial intelligence resources? Are schools in Igboland treating the language as essential rather than optional?
A language cannot be preserved by indignation alone. It survives because people use it.
This should never become a campaign against Yorùbá or any other Nigerian language. Yorùbá has magnificent literary, philosophical, religious, and artistic traditions. So does Igbo. So do Hausa and the hundreds of other indigenous languages that together constitute Nigeria’s cultural inheritance.
Africa does not need another hierarchy of languages in which one must be diminished so another can flourish. What we need instead is a confident intellectual tradition that evaluates languages by their communicative effectiveness, internal coherence, cultural depth, and historical significance. Difference should not be mistaken for deficiency.
Professor Soyinka’s remark therefore presents an opportunity. It invites Igbo scholars, educators, writers, parents, community leaders, and young people to reflect seriously on what the language means and on what must be done to secure its future.
Speak it. Teach it. Study it. Write it. Digitize it. Publish it. Pass it on.
For many Igbo people, the word “tortuous” did not arrive in a historical vacuum. It was heard against a backdrop of decades in which Igbo identity, culture, political aspirations, and language have often been misunderstood, stereotyped, questioned, or diminished. Whether intended or not, such descriptions inevitably resonate with that larger historical memory.
Yet the ultimate measure of a language is not how outsiders describe it. It is whether its speakers value it enough to keep it alive.
Every language sings to those who understand its music. The challenge before the Igbo people is not merely to object when others misunderstand their language. It is to ensure that future generations inherit it, cherish it, and continue to find wisdom, beauty, and meaning in its words.
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■ Ihekwoaba Declan Onwudiwe, Ph.D., of the School of Public Affairs, Texas Southern University, is a Professor and Director, Africa Institute for Strategic Security Studies (AISSS). He is also on the EDITORIAL BOARD of the WAP
