There are between 27 and 40 different ethnic groups in the West African nation of Guinea-Bissau, with the largest groups being the Fulani, Balanta, Mandinga, Pepel and Manjak people. Some of the smaller, but significant, groups include the Felupe, Bijagós and Mancanha ethnicities; each has their own distinct languages, with some language groups having closer relations with one another (for example the Pepel, Manjak and Mancanha languages) than others. The language for inter-ethnic communication and lingua franca of the West African state is Portuguese-based creole (Kriol).
Having emerged during the transatlantic slave trade, Kriol was spoken by approximately 44% of the population, according to the first census after independence in 1979. By the turn of the millennium, it was spoken by over half of the population. In the 2009 census, this number was estimated at around 90%. Portuguese on the other hand was only spoken by 11% of Bissau-Guineans in 1979 and 27% in 2009. The language is typically picked up as a third or even fourth tongue.
During the colonial period, Portuguese was promoted as the national language of every state that fell under the Portuguese nation; it was considered the cultural binder between these countries and the language of rational thought. Speaking Portuguese “correctly” was a way of institutionalising the difference between the assimilated citizens of the metropole and the natives, to whom services like education and healthcare were not provided. As a former Portuguese colony, as with the other former colonies of Portugal, Guinea-Bissau’s official language is Portuguese – though, curiously enough, it was never explicitly qualified as such in the constitution. It is, formally, the language of instruction in schools and the language of national and international political fora.
Kriol, despite its prevalence and de facto use in national political arenas and educational settings, was never institutionalised. Kriol is also the language of “Guineendadi”, Guinean national identity. As such, it has always played an important role since the beginning of the decolonisation process in promoting national coherence and solidarity. Given its significance as intangible cultural heritage, it certainly, then, ought to be valued in tandem with Portuguese, whose role has been to give the country access to international arenas.
Remembering the Pindjiguiti Massacre of Guinea-Bissau
In Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s Decolonising the Mind, he discusses the use of African versus European languages in the production of literary works and the exclusion of those who produced work in the former. He speaks of growing up hearing parables in his mother tongue, Gikuyu, and beginning his formal education in Gikuyu. Four years later, that language was changed to English when a state of emergency was declared in Kenya in 1952. All the other languages that had thus far been used in instruction were subsequently made inferior, and speaking any of them on school premises was punishable.
A UNICEF report studying the effect of language of instruction in the learning outcomes of students in East and Southern Africa found: “[…] the language of instruction is unfit to serve as a medium for learning. Children, especially those in early grades of primary school, are fluent in their mother tongues but not in the international language that is being used overwhelmingly in the classroom.”
"With such widespread use and with the evidence on how it facilitates citizenship and education, it should follow then that Kriol should be formally adopted alongside Portuguese as the language of education, culture, and policy. "
In the 1980s, experimental bilingual Kriol-Portuguese schools were established to encourage and improve students’ attainment. In the immediate post-independence, Kriol had already spread across the country and was often a second mother tongue for many in the post-independence generation. It also facilitated teaching for many educators who did not have proficiency in Portuguese. The programme was discontinued in 1997, and schooling was reverted to Portuguese only curricula, although evidence suggested that children who were taught in the bilingual system, beginning with Kriol that represented their daily home realities more closely, had better attainment in school subjects.
In practice, Kriol, alongside Guinea-Bissau’s other languages, are used widely by both students and teachers, varying according to the majority ethnic population of the school, instead of Portuguese. The use of Portuguese only rather than as a complement to other national languages in educational material is a shock to a population that rarely has contact with it. Students navigating their courses and completing national examinations in an entirely foreign language has contributed to limited student engagement and grade failures.
Similarly, public representatives speak in Kriol to appeal largely to the masses and make public debate accessible. The constitution and the laws of the country are not, however, written in Kriol. No governmental decrees are encoded in Kriol either. Of course, deeply tied to the accessibility of the constitution and other important documents is the question of literacy. In a country where only 45% of adults can read, accessibility is stunted already at that level. Still, what are the consequences of providing no translations to law and policy in a context where Portuguese is so sparsely spoken? UNESCO finds comprehensive language policies that are relevant to local and national language situations and allow for multilingualism would help in reinforcing normative instruments like conventions and laws. For example, the Declaration of Human Rights has been translated to Kriol. Furthermore, during the sanitary crisis of the past two years, public health announcements have been largely written in Kriol, to match the community radio programmes, be widely used as a source of information, and to aid in the uptake of knowledge on one’s inalienable rights and on sanitary measures.
With such widespread use and with the evidence on how it facilitates citizenship and education, it should follow then that Kriol should be formally adopted alongside Portuguese as the language of education, culture, and policy. However, in the absence of a language policy, political will, and financial investment to address issues like the standardisation of orthography, as well as the quality of educational policy and system,Krioll will not be given the “recognition it is owed”, as the pillar of Guineendadi, in the words of former Secretary of State of Culture, António Spencer Embaló.
Embaló concludes that he sees no disadvantage in having more than one official language. Indeed, today, and because of Portugal’s colonial trajectory, Portuguese is an essential tool for access to international arenas - being spoken in Africa, Europe and South America. The issue lies in valuing and prioritising the local language(s) to the extent international languages have been. The process of institutionalisation will be a slow one and requires a long term vision that no single government mandate can address. The benefits, though, of the institutionalisation of Kriol for education, the practice of citizenship and national cohesion, are undeniable.