31/01/2026
Chiemerie Favour wrote👇👇👇👇👇
For a few weeks now, I’ve been living in a house dominated mostly by Edo and Yoruba people, and there’s something I couldn’t ignore no matter how hard I tried.
A quiet, cruel hatred to the Igbos
Not loud.
Not violent.
But sharp enough to cut.
We Igbos have a way about us.
The moment we see one another, something lights up.
Our faces soften.
Our shoulders drop.
Joy slips in effortlessly.
And before you know it, the language follows natural, warm, unapologetic.
We vibe.
We laugh loudly.
We exist fully.
That joy is innocent
That joy is home.
But somehow, that joy offends.
I noticed the frowns whenever Igbo language filled the air, the he eye rolls.
One day in the hostel, someone said, Igbo people should mind how they speak their language that It’s looking somehow.
Another time, I overheard, Why can’t they speak English? It’s not classy at all.
I stood there, confused.
How?
Hausa people speak Hausa—no complaints.
Yoruba people speak Yoruba—no problem.
Edo people roll their heavy, bold pidgin—nobody blinks.
But the moment Igbo flows freely, it becomes a problem.
Why?
Nigeria, wetin Igbo people do una?
Is it our confidence?
Our unity?
The way we find each other in strange lands and build family out of nothing?
Maybe it scares them the way we refuse to shrink, refuse to forget ourselves, refuse to blend into silence.
But here’s the truth, language is not noise, it is identity.
And anyone threatened by your identity is already fighting a battle within themselves.
So I choose not to dim my light.
Not to mute my tongue.
Not to apologize for belonging.
Because pride in who you are is not arrogance—it is survival.
Let them frown.
Let them whisper.
Let them misunderstand.
As long as I speak my language, I remember who I am.
And anyone who knows who they are can never truly be silenced.
Be proud.
Be rooted.
Be unapologetically you.
The world doesn’t need less of us it needs us exactly as we are.
I'm Chukwuemerie 💕
I'm a proud Igbo girl 💗💗
Me too, I am a pride and proud igbo man.
