Am I less Ghanaian because I can’t speak Twi? Reflections on language and identity
- Study Twi Team
- Jul 25
- 4 min read
For the first 19 years of my life I grew up in Australia, very far from Ghana where I am from through my dad’s lineage. My first language was English and I mainly heard Akan Twi or Fante, spoken when my dad was on the phone to a friend or family member. Growing up, I didn’t speak it at all really - apart from a few words and phrases here and there.
As a teenager, I went to school with many bilingual kids, including one of my closest friends who went to Turkish school on the weekends. I spent a lot of time with her and her family during those days and I felt like I was absorbed into a completely different world - the Turkish soap dramas and the vibrant conversations in Turkish over delicious sujuk, eggs, simit, and fresh herbs. Even though we weren’t in Turkey, in a way, we were. I understood how language instantly connects you to home, to a community, and ultimately with yourself. Identity.
My consistent but very brief exposure to the Akan Twi language over time means I can’t express my thoughts and feelings fluently. Neither can I understand most of what is being said around me or to me. It’s frustrating. While English proficiency brings a level of freedom, so does fluency in the language of your roots. The Akan language is so rich in metaphors and symbolism, that learning the literal meanings for phrases has opened me up to a whole new way of thinking and communicating.
But does that mean if you can’t speak Twi or the language of your roots, then you are disconnected from your identity?
My first time visiting Ghana, I was around 19. Landing at Kotoka International Airport for the first time and being embraced by the sounds, sights, and smells that are uniquely Ghanaian, gave me an instant connection to Ghana as one of my homes. “Wow”, I remember thinking, “I really have a whole other home I belong to”.
The primary reason for my visit was to meet my Grandma for the first time. My Ghanaian Grandparents - my other set of Grandparents are English and Irish by blood - were from the Central Region of Ghana. My Grandma was living in her compound at the time and she was not expecting to meet us (my family were there too). It was a surprise! It’s one of my favourite memories.
She greeted us with one of the few English phrases she knew, “How are you?” We then spoke through family translators who communicated her surprise and happiness. While of course, I wish I could have communicated to her in our language, the affection and love between a Grandma and her Granddaughter was there. Language or no language.
I’ve written a bit on identity in a published anthology. In that piece, I reflect on encounters I had before visiting Ghana for the first time:
“My name is Adjoa.” That is how conversations would start with fellow Ghanaians. Adjoa means Monday-born. The person would then assume that I had been to Ghana and I would tell them no. I could see disappointment.
“But you speak the language?”
“No.”
“Okay, but you understand Twi?”
“No.” Everything then became invalid, and before I knew it, I had answered no numerous times.
So, returning to my question - if you can’t speak the language of your roots, does that mean you are disconnected from your identity?
In my opinion no. You can still have a strong sense of who you are and where you come from without advanced language proficiency. There are many reasons why a person may not speak a language fluently. Some, quite painful.
For a time, encounters like the one I narrate above, made me feel like I was less Ghanaian. But what does it mean to be fully Ghanaian anyway? Being born there? Growing up there for 19 years? Speaking Akan Twi fluently? Yes. Yes. And yes. All this can be true. But not everyone’s connection to place looks the same. My Grandma didn’t see me as less her Grandchild because I was born in Australia, grew up there for 19 years, couldn’t speak Akan, and am called by some, “obroni”.
But I can’t escape the truth that language is important. Though, to me, it’s less about proving yourself worthy, and more about helping you form a deeper connection with yourself and expanding your worldview. The way time, space, feelings, and life itself are experienced, understood, and imagined is very much determined by language. And so, this is why I wanted to learn Akan. I knew more than just a skill, it would gift me a new perspective on life and way of communicating.
So, with this desire to learn and speak Twi, I was scrolling on social media and found Study Twi.
I noticed their content made learning Twi as simple as possible - fun little quizzes and practical tips. I loved how their content was relatable and acknowledged the unique challenges learners face when building their proficiency from scratch. I had the opportunity to take 1 on 1 lessons with Ama, one of the founders of Study Twi, and she empowered me to start expressing my feelings and emotions in sentences from the very first lesson. I am excited to continue on my Twi learning journey with Study Twi.
I see learning Akan Twi not as the prerequisite to building a strong identity but as a way to deepen my understanding of a people and place I love so much. I invite you to join me on the journey as Study Twi has. You can find me @adjoaainghana.
Medaase paa 🤎.
Written by Adjoa Assan (@adjoaainghana), Travel, Culture and Lifestyle Content Creator as well as a Public Speaker.
It was a pleasure writing this piece for the Study Twi blog, thank you Study Twi team. Very grateful for this meaningful opportunity that is sparking great conversations with my friends and communities 🤎🌱.