Walking the streets of Addis Ababa, one can hear many different languages being spoken.
One of these is English, which might at first seem curious, given the fact that Ethiopia was never controlled by England as many other African countries (who also often use European languages in education) were; the use of English, then, is not a relic of colonialism. Furthermore, post-primary education is carried out entirely in English, which is, despite its prestige and widespread status, a foreign language to Ethiopians.
Many academic journals feature articles on the subject of the use of English in Ethiopian schools, and their writers are sometimes very opinionated. What they are not, though, is in agreement: while some support the use of English and urge Ethiopians to improve their methods of teaching it, others contend that the exclusive use of English after primary education is a threat to Ethiopian identity and supports outdated prejudices about the supposed inferiority of African languages.
Ethiopia is a country blessed with a dizzying amount of linguistic diversity; of the more than seventy ethnic groups that reside within the territory of Ethiopia, many have their own languages. Addis Ababa is, in many ways, a microcosm of the country itself, as most languages are represented within the city's population. In such a situation, it has understandably been important to any governing individual or body to work out a language policy that works for everyone (or at least for as many people as possible). Each regime's attitude towards language is telling of its political goals.
In the days of the Empire, Amharic was used for all official purposes, as well as for education and in almost all media. During the Italians' brief stay in Ethiopia, they encouraged the use of local languages as part of a "divide and rule" strategy. Amharic gained more ground after that, with the National Academy of the Amharic Language being founded in 1972. The Socialist government again encouraged local populations to use their own languages in non-formal education and launched literacy programs in fifteen ethnicity languages. (This does not seem to have worked very well in practice, though, as the teachers were all Amharic-speakers; in the end, children in non-Amharic speaking areas just ended up being exposed to more Amharic than they would otherwise have been.) The current policy of vernacular primary education and all-English instruction thereafter gives a nod to ethnicity languages (mother tongues), but also stresses the importance of English as an international language.
There are many reasons to support such a system. English is commonly seen as a gateway to the rest of the world, opening up access to better jobs and opportunities to travel. Additionally, speaking good English carries with it a sense of social prestige, however one chooses to use that.
On the level of the state, there are also reasons why one might want Ethiopia to speak English... or, on the other hand, why Amharic might be better. Mastery of what is arguably todays most important international language could improve business prospects and help the country to be more economically competitive on a global level. In the end, though, it might depend on just what path one wants the nation to take.
Haile Selassie's promotion of Amharic as a national language was, at least partly, undertaken in promotion of unity and strengthening of national identity. Protection of this identity is in fact one argument often put forward by opponents of the use of English, who see the importance of English in Ethiopia as a threat to African identity and an echo of the colonialism that, at least in Ethiopia, never actually was. The use of children's mother tongues in schools, on the other hand, could be the best way to promote a positive image of Ethiopian culture and better self-esteem, as well as making parents better able to be involved in the school life of their children and helping schools be more integral parts of their communities.
In any case, at the end of the day the fact remains that English is a foreign language for almost all Ethiopians, and it is extremely difficult to master a foreign language without a significant amount of out-of-class exposure. The amount of opportunities that students have to really work on their English outside of school hours might have a lot to do with socioeconomic class. Zelalem Adugna, the Principal of the Primary Division at Hill Side School, says that the students of private schools, who often come from middle- or upper-class families, often seem to end up more proficient in English than their government-school counterparts, due to factors such as their superior access to English-language books, practice materials, and the Internet, which lets them practice their language skills outside of class. He is quick to note that this does not mean that government-school students are shut out from higher education or unable to master English (on the contrary, he believes that any student has the potential to reach academic excellence through hard work), but it does mean that some students will have to work significantly harder if they want to succeed at university, where all lectures will be given in English.
Yaya Elema, who teaches adult English classes, agrees about the importance of outside practice, and says that this is also a problem for adult learners. Some of his students mention wanting to improve English to travel abroad or to help younger siblings who are studying the language, but many also refer to the need to find work.
Job interviews also often are conducted in English. Zelalem mentions that even first-cycle primary school teachers at his school are interviewed in English, despite the fact that faculty meetings and all of the classes that they teach will be in Amharic. English is used (with Amharic) among faculty primarily for reporting purposes. He says that there is certainly no idea among students or faculty that Amharic is in any way worse than English, though; overall, the use of English is simply practical. "If it were possible [to give all classes in Amharic]," he says, "I think that would be good... .But it is not like that."
There are several reasons why mother-tongue education might not always be feasible; it is a simple fact that educational materials in some ethnicity languages are very scarce or not available at all. The choice before many rural educators, then, might be between a decent education in a foreign language or an inadequate one in the name of ethnic identity. Fortunately for Addis Ababa, this is not nearly as much of a problem in the city as it can be in other regions. (For example, in the SNNPR one would need textbooks and teachers in 56 local ethnicity languages; this challenge likely contributes to the fact that all-English education begins early there, in the second cycle of primary school.)
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It is traditional in Ethiopia for some topics to be discussed in English, probably due to the fact that many teachers used to come from Britain and the United States; for this reason, although Amharic terms for relevant ideas might exist, they are not necessarily widely known. For this reason, although Amharic, like any other language, is perfectly capable of expressing any thought, many shy away from its use in, for example, scientific contexts.
The issue is one of choice, and it depends on what people want to get out of their education. Back in 1953, UNESCO recommended "on educational grounds... that the use of the mother tongue be extended to as late a stage in education as possible." Has globalization changed the situation? If so, is the country dealing with it in a way that really promotes its best interests? For Ethiopia, how late is it «possible" to use Ethiopian languages in education while still achieving the goals of students, parents, teachers, and the country as a whole?
Ed.'s Note: The writer is on an internship at The Reporter.
