From Black Panther to Black Lives Matter, I’ve felt a new sense of identity and pride, that I will pass on to my children

Growing up, I envied those who understood their mother’s native language. Speaking it was admirable, but the very act of comprehension was a beautiful thing to witness. From afar it seemed like a love language, something intimate and secretive spoken between families – it suggested a bond, a closeness that seemed impenetrable.

As a child, it didn’t necessarily bother me that I was unable to understand my family’s mother tongue (my parents are Nigerian, and the language they used in our household was robustly and loudly Yoruba). I was too busy navigating all the complexities of being an adolescent to really notice that my parents actively chose to only speak English to their five children. It’s also fair to say that when I was growing up in the late 1980s and early 90s, I had no friends of a similar background to me – most were from the Caribbean. Certainly, Africa wasn’t deemed a cool destination, so that part of myself was mostly folded away.