The recent remarks by Kenyan President William Ruto suggesting that Kenyans speak better English than Nigerians have sparked widespread criticism across Nigeria, with many people describing the statement as unnecessary, arrogant, and rooted in a Eurocentric colonial mindset.
For many Nigerians, the issue goes far beyond English pronunciation or accent. The real concern is the dangerous belief that speaking the colonial master’s language more fluently somehow makes one more civilized, intelligent, or superior. Critics argue that this mentality is exactly the kind of colonial thinking Africa should have buried long ago.
Across social media, intellectual circles, and public conversations, Nigerians responded by insisting that English is not the true identity of African people. English is a foreign administrative language inherited from British colonial rule, but the real soul of Nigeria exists in indigenous languages such as Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, and hundreds of other native languages spoken across the country.
Popular media personality and social critic Adeola Fayehun gave one of the strongest cultural responses, saying:
“I am Yoruba. Yoruba is my language. I speak Yoruba, I teach my children Yoruba, and I am a proud Yoruba—not English.”
Her words quickly resonated with many Nigerians because they reflected a deep truth about African identity: language is not just communication—it is ancestry, spirituality, memory, and belonging. To many, being proud of English over Yoruba, Igbo, or Hausa is like abandoning one’s own roots for colonial approval.
Nigerian cultural theorist and researcher Adeyinka Olaiya also criticized the Kenyan president’s remarks, calling on African leaders to celebrate indigenous languages rather than compete over colonial accents.
He stated:
“The Kenyan president should be proud of Swahili and other local languages of Kenya, not the language of your colonial masters who invaded your land.”
According to him, the pride of Africa should be found in languages like Swahili, Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Gikuyu, Zulu, and countless others—not in sounding closer to London. He argued that true decolonization must include language, because colonial domination did not only take land, but also tried to erase identity.
Another powerful response came from Facebook user Joash Ishaya, who questioned the practical value of this supposed “good English” being celebrated by the Kenyan president.
He wrote: “And what is the economic gain of that good English to Kenyans, seeing that Nigerian media, movies, and writers dominate everything in Africa and are more well known overseas than Kenya? This man should be focusing on good governance, but here he is deeply immersed in colonial myopia. If good English is the development Kenya is achieving under this man, then he is a disgrace to Africa. Let him find out why great Kenyan writers like Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o refused to write their literary pieces in English.”
This statement struck a nerve because it shifted the conversation from language pride to governance and leadership. Many Nigerians asked: of what use is “better English” if citizens are still struggling with inflation, unemployment, insecurity, and poor governance? They argued that presidents should be measured by policies, development, and public welfare—not by who sounds more British.
Another social media user, Babatunde Ayinde Okoya, added his own political reaction, writing:”Kenya’s president is suffering and smiling. Nigeria’s president applies wisdom to save us from embezzlement.”
Though controversial, the statement reflected how the debate had moved beyond language into larger questions of political leadership and national direction.
Some scholars also joined the conversation. A Nigerian linguist, Professor Ajayi, reportedly laughed at the remarks and described the Kenyan president as “ean in black color,” suggesting that such thinking reflects mental colonization rather than African confidence.
According to him, the obsession with sounding European is one of the greatest intellectual problems facing post-colonial Africa. He argued that many African elites still seek validation through Western approval instead of strengthening African systems, languages, and knowledge structures.
Critics also reminded the public that Nigeria has produced some of the most globally respected literary voices in Africa, including Wole Soyinka, Africa’s first Nobel Laureate in Literature, Chinua Achebe, whose work transformed African storytelling, and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, whose voice continues to shape global conversations on Africa, feminism, and identity.
Their global success proves that Nigerians do not need lectures on English from anyone. Mastery of language is not measured by accent, but by thought, expression, and cultural power.
Ironically, one of Kenya’s greatest intellectuals, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, spent much of his life rejecting English as the primary language of African literature. He deliberately chose to write in Gikuyu and openly argued that Africans must decolonize their minds by reclaiming their native languages.
This makes the entire controversy even more symbolic: while some political leaders compete over colonial English, Africa’s greatest thinkers are urging Africans to return to themselves.
For many Nigerians, the final answer is clear and uncompromising: Africa is not measured by English. Africa is measured by dignity, cultural pride, economic strength, intellectual independence, and the courage to preserve indigenous identity.
Yoruba is not inferior to English. Igbo is not inferior to English. Hausa is not inferior to English. Swahili is not inferior to English. These languages are not local limitations, they are civilizational treasures. To be African is not to sound British. To be African is to know who you are.
