‘Nakababain’
One night, when my colleagues and I were enjoying our drinks outside a café and chit-chatting and communicating in different language codes in front of Paoay Church, a Unesco World Heritage Site, a foreigner, who was a stranger in the area, interrupted and politely asked us an intriguing question: “Why don’t you speak your local language?”
Little did he know we are faculty members in the languages and literature departments at a local state university. He asked us why we could speak fluently and why Filipinos could understand and communicate well in English.
We explained that when the Americans colonized the Philippines, they educated us, and we adopted English as our second language. He also knew that our education system has similarities with the West and that the medium of instruction is their language.
He asked more questions.
Interested in featuring traditional and alternative medicine, culture, and lifestyle of Filipinos—specifically indigenous groups—the White Guy, a newbie vlogger, wanted to learn more about the Philippines. And here we were not showing the importance of our identity.
He even apologized on behalf of the Whites for causing chaos in the past, if ever they destroyed our culture and language, after hearing how Americans at the start of the 21st century have influenced us in a lot of ways in our culture and society.
As someone who took an Ilokano language course in college, hearing such cases, especially those who want to become effective English speakers or teach their children to speak fluently, is not uncommon for me. But when the White guy asked us that intriguing question, it hurt me differently and made me reflect on many things.
Many Ilokano parents today exert all their resources to educate their children to make English, rather than our local language, their mother tongue. One of its manifestations is how parents want their children to watch English cartoons and educational programs rather than those produced locally. Their reason? For the child to adopt the foreign language.
What’s worse is that the education sector has removed mother tongue subjects in elementary. Although they will incorporate this in their instruction of other subjects, learning the language of an area will further educate students about their identity and culture.
After hearing that question from a foreigner, I remember what our Ilokano language professor in college told those who forget their identity—that it’s “nakababain” (shameful). It’s nakababain for people trying to put masks on their faces and speak a language that does not originate from them.
And that time, I felt ashamed in front of a native English speaker.
However, we cannot blame people, as English is the lingua franca worldwide. Many Filipinos, especially Ilokanos, work overseas, and the importance of learning the language can help you go places.
Aside from being used as a medium of communication, spreading information, and instruction, it is also embedded in government laws, policies, and the 1987 Constitution. A manifestation that many Filipinos can read, write, and understand English.
However, communicating through the local language reflects one’s pride in their motherland. The patronage of a foreign language could gradually hinder the transmission of knowledge to the next generation of a local language.
Reports and studies show that many local languages in the country are dying because of the absence of speakers. The Philippines is known to have 187 languages, and it is so scary to see them decreasing and going extinct.
Although the Ilokano language is still alive because of the millions of speakers, it is possible that in the future, many of us will forget about transmitting our mother tongue to the next generation.
His question not only probed us about our communication but also could mean: Why can’t we love and be proud of our identity, culture, and heritage? Different countries have colonized us, but here we are, still letting them dominate us.
That unexpected question from a foreigner has helped me become more aware of the importance of our mother tongue. To treasure and make our identity alive by being proud of our language. But isn’t it ironic that I wrote this essay in English?
Edmar delos Santos, 22, is a young college instructor at a local state university in Ilocos Norte.
