Arab parents living in the West struggle with teaching their children Arabic. I brought up my children in 1990s Britain. Passing my mother tongue on to them was an uphill battle. Sadly, this problem is now also affecting many children living on the Arabian Peninsula, where some are growing up fluent in English but struggling in Arabic reading skills. It should not be so. A bilingual child – enriched by both languages and both cultures - should be an aspiration, realistically achieved.
My children’s first words were in Arabic. But as soon as nursery started, the child entered a non-Arab world. They picked up English from the nursery staff. They picked it up from television and the playground, friends and neighbours. English became the language of schoolwork and the street. English started to overtake Arabic. Gradually it became the dominant language.
As a parent, I found myself swimming against the tide. Other Arab parents did a better job than me. These parents insisted that the child speak to them only in Arabic. This had its drawbacks. Over time, the conversations between parent and child did not develop in their complexity. With limited, weak Arabic the child could only talk to their parents about simple matters. Intricate discussions and difficult questions had to be avoided.
The reason I decided to speak to my children in English was to avoid this fate. I chose closeness to the child and the importance of passing on mature values and world views. I wanted to listen to their concerns and growing pains. They could talk to me about these things only in English. And so, in a way, the Arabic was sacrificed.
Arab families living in GCC countries are in a privileged position. Here they can bring up their children fluent in both languages. However, if English is the language of school and mall, the enthusiasm among parents to promote Arabic language skills will wane.
Parents want the best for their children. They want them to graduate with the best results. They want them to enrol in top universities and eventually secure good jobs. For this, English is essential. Arabic, in many cases, is not.
It does not have to be this way. I consider myself bilingual. Even though I write my novels in English, Arabic is essential to me. I read Arabic every day, I speak to my mother in Arabic. For my latest novel, set in the late 19th century, I was dependent on archival sources that were in Arabic and unavailable in translation.
Many of my generation were able to carry two languages, both strong and well developed. This is not the case among many young people today. In recent years, efforts have been made to enhance the teaching of Arabic in schools. Modern, colourful teaching tools are being used. Arabic is made to be as relatable as English.
These efforts are to be welcomed. I remember my own struggles with Arabic grammar at school in the 1970s. I remember how, as a 12-year-old, I had to study the particularly dismal autobiography The Days by Taha Hussein. Reading about abject poverty and the cruel deprivations of a blind child in an Egyptian village, should not have been part of a middle school syllabus. So, it is wonderful that young children now are learning Arabic in appealing and less austere ways.
But where are parents going to put their greatest effort? If Arabic is desirable and English is necessary, then English will dominate. If Arabic is the language of tradition, while English is the language of food on the table, more effort will be put on the latter. If grades in English determine the future of a child, while Arabic is a voluntary extra, it is no surprise which language will be the priority. If English is cosmopolitan and Arabic is deemed old-fashioned, the status-seekers will gravitate towards English.
Raising the overall status of Arabic language would have an indirect but profound effect. Private schools throughout the GCC should make Arabic compulsory for all students, regardless of nationality. Universities should demand Arabic language skills as a prerequisite to enrolment. Employers should demand a basic knowledge of Arabic and a CV in Arabic. This would create a ripple effect. If Arabic proficiency is necessary, then people will seek the relevant certificates. They would be compelled to take on the challenge. They would be willing to invest effort, money and time on learning Arabic.
Arabic language skills should be rewarded with better employment prospects. Learning Arabic would then be a necessity rather than a duty or an enhancement.
A week before International Literacy Day, Sharjah ruler Sheikh Dr Sultan bin Muhammed Al Qasimi inaugurated, in Milan, a centre focusing on Arabic culture and heritage. This is a significant event, and this new Arab Cultural Institute reminded me of the British Council and the Goethe Institute of my childhood in Khartoum. These were exciting cultural hubs which gave local people a taste of European culture and languages. They provided films and talks but there were also rigorous language lessons with tests and diplomas.
Such Arabic institutes would facilitate the study of the language in the West. It would raise the status of Arabic and make it an appealing world language. It might not be an obvious link, but I believe such an initiative will ultimately boost Arabic inside the UAE. Indirectly, it would encourage Arab families to invest in teaching their children the language. Perhaps these institutes could also help Arab families living in the diaspora.
My children, now adults, reproach me for not having persevered in teaching them Arabic, for not having been strict enough. My excuse to them is that I was a struggling immigrant, in the 1990s before even the internet. I had little access to materials, and I was overwhelmed by the culture shock of my new life in Britain. Families bringing up their children in the UAE do not have these excuses. Instead, they are in the ideal place to raise bilingual children confident and enriched by both Arabic and English.
