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I think that a person’s language is their sense of identity. I think that a person’s language is the source to remind them of where they come from so if you can imagine how it feels for me now to know that I no longer speak my native tongue as well as I used to. I came to the U.S. from Nigeria in 2004. The language that I once spoke effortlessly is called Efik. When I was younger I was very good at switching between English and Efik. I remember numerous occasions when I spoke to my mother on the phone and would easily switch to English when I was going to speak to my friends. I remember having to translate what someone was saying from English to Efik to my mother whenever someone was speaking too fast for her to understand.

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After spending a long time in the U.S. my ability to switch so well between both English and Efik became limited. I no longer find it as easy to make the switch and even if I tried to I always find myself thinking very long and hard before coming up with the proper translation. My many assimilation experiences was the reason for this. One experience that always stands out to me is one that involved my bicycle, something I begged my father to buy me after seeing many American children riding theirs. I remember riding it around the neighborhood and seeing other kids doing the same. As I was making my way across a corner of the street a boy not far behind me rode his bike in front of mine as a way to get my attention. He looked back at me as he was still riding his bicycle and asked me what kind of bicycle I had. I answered him only to receive a weird look from him. He stopped riding and waited for me to approach him and asked me the question again. He looked at my bicycle and suddenly laughed at me and corrected me because I apparently said the name of my bicycle wrong.

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It was my curiosity that took ahold of me after that. I stood there curious as the boy pedaled away wondering why he thought I said the name of my bicycle wrong when I was positive I said it correctly. It’s interesting to me how curious I was about that moment because till today I cannot remember the name of that bicycle, but what I do remember is going home and telling my mother about what happened to me which she quickly brushed away like it was nothing for me to worry about. What I do remember is watching so many American movies and trying to pronounce as many words as I possibly could “properly”. What I do remember is standing in front of the mirror pronouncing words after words after words “properly” while completely blind to the fact that I was losing grip of my native tongue. While completely blind to the fact that whenever my parents spoke to me in Efik, I answered back in English…properly.