The conversation surrounding contemporary African literature has long been shadowed by the “colonisation of language,” a concern powerfully articulated by the late Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. Ngũgĩ’s unwavering commitment to writing in his mother tongue, despite facing significant professional setbacks, underscored the precarious position of indigenous languages in the literary world. With his passing, the urgency to preserve and promote these languages intensifies.
For Yoruba literature, stalwarts like D.O. Fagunwa and Kola Akinlade seemed to represent a bygone era, with many contemporary writers gravitating towards English. However, a new generation is emerging, bravely and passionately creating new Yoruba literature for modern audiences. Among these torchbearers are Yusuf Àlàbí Balógun (also known as Àrẹ̀mọ Gemini) and Toyosi Fashola. Their work offers a much-needed ray of hope, actively reviving the conversation around indigenous language literature.
Roots of Expression: Early Influences and the Call to Yoruba
For Yusuf Àlàbí Balógun, the journey to writing in Yoruba was deeply ingrained in his upbringing. He describes a home where Yoruba was the primary language, a stark contrast to the prevalent colonial re-education that emphasised English as the yardstick for intelligence. His father, an Ifa devotee, fostered an environment where Yoruba was not just spoken but appreciated beyond mere communication.
This early immersion was further amplified by his exposure to classic Yoruba movies and prime TV shows like Koto Aye and Nkanbe, where he was captivated by “the ingenuity and flowery language”, particularly the masterful use of proverbs and idioms by actors. He elaborates, “How easy it was for these actors, these screen gods, as I will call them, to say certain things in layman’s language and beautiful ways using proverbs and idioms”. Even as a child, while others might have been scared by the themes of witchcraft in Koto Aye, he was drawn to the language itself, stating, “I didn’t even care about the stories back then. I didn’t care about the stories being great or the storylines being shallow. I was just after the language”. His introversion also played a role, as writing became his primary means of expressing thoughts. Naturally, these thoughts were often in Yoruba due to his deep connection with Yoruba films and music. He recalls already reading D.O. Fagunwa’s book Igbo Olodumare and others by the time he was in primary three or four. He recalls, “I was basically born on that. I’m one of those people who, to date, can read a complete non-tonalised Yoruba book without making any mistakes, because most of the earliest Yoruba books were not tonalized. But because I replayed them in my head as conversations, I could replay them as movie dialogues. He adds, “I never feel that elated when I write in English, but when I write in Yoruba, it’s always a different feeling”.
Toyosi Fashola’s earliest experiences with Yoruba as a literary language began in secondary school, where she wrote poems and plays in Yorùbá language. Her choice to create in Yoruba became a necessity due to the dwindling number of writers in the language, as it “comes easily to me, kind of became a necessity”. She also notes that some stories naturally come to her in Yoruba, citing her debut book ÀBẸ̀NÍ as an example, which is written in Yorùbá as a message for all Yorùbá people to not allow the language to become a thing of the past. “It is essentially a letter to all to come together for the progress of the Yorùbá people,” she said.
Both writers highlight the unique expressive capabilities of Yoruba. Toyosi Fashola emphasises, “There are so many proverbs, idioms, concepts and other uses of language that cannot be properly expressed in English without losing meaning or context”. Yusuf Àlàbí Balógun echoes this, stating that every language has its own nuances and etymology, making perfect translations impossible. He adamantly refuses to subtitle his poetry videos for this reason, believing that “in the process of translation we forget that every language has its own nuances, and because every language has its own nuances and its etymology, what you can always find are words that are closest in meaning and not words that are accurate translations”. He offers compelling examples, explaining that when you want to say God in Yoruba, “people will say God is Olorun. But God is not Olorun, when you break it down, because Orun means Heaven. So when you say Olorun, you are saying the owner of heaven, it does not necessarily translate to God outrightly”. He also challenges the common mistranslation of “Esu” as “Satan” and “Sango” as “God of Thunder,” arguing, “Orisha is not even God”. Instead, “the reason we call them Orisha is not because they were supernatural beings. No, it is because they were regular beings like us that did exceptionally supernatural things, exceptionally unbelievable things”. He asserts that certain words, like “akara,” should simply be left untranslated, asking, “Akara is not a cake, so why are we calling it that? Akara is a different snack, so why can’t we just call it akara?”.
The Craft’s Reception and Challenges Faced
The reception for Yoruba literature, while good, still has room for improvement. Toyosi Fashola notes that “Many people have reached out to me for translations and audio books as they cannot read Yorùbá”. She acknowledges, “Writing in an indigenous language already limits the numbers of people that can access what’s written”.
Yusuf Àlàbí Balógun details several challenges. One significant hurdle is the limited access for Yoruba books, citing the inability to upload hard copies of his fully Yoruba book on Amazon because “Amazon thinks it wouldn’t drive revenue”. He states, “I cannot put it on Amazon as a soft copy, which does not make sense”. He also points to the enduring problem of perception, where “people still mix religion with spirituality and invariably they mix religion with culture”. This leads to the erroneous belief that everyone that speaks Yoruba language is incantating. He laments that even in 2025, indigenous languages are still often referred to as vernacular in educational constructs, which he sees as “a very big problem if the educational construct still establishes language as vernacular”.
He also shared his initial fear of performing Yoruba poems, sometimes switching back to English due to concerns about audience comprehension. He admits, “I would leave my home preparing to perform a Yoruba poem, then I’ll get to the event and I’ll become very scared that they may not understand what I am saying, and I’d switch back to an English form”. However, he has since resolved that “rather than sacrifice my art for them by translating my works, I’d stick with the original essence of the language that makes it unique”.
Envisioning the Future: Deepening Engagement
Both writers offer insights into what is needed for the future of African indigenous literature, particularly in Yoruba, and how to deepen engagement among English-frenzied modern audiences.
Toyosi Fashola believes that “Individuals need to know that it is important to be able to read and write in their own indigenous language”. She emphasises that the task of creatively embracing indigenous languages “rests on everybody’s shoulders,” starting from the family, who “should teach young children to creatively embrace their indigenous language through books, movies and other art forms”. She also highlights the need for more digital arts in Yorùbá that target young audiences.
Yusuf Àlàbí Balógun stresses that people drive the ecosystem for Yoruba literature, and a cultural awakening is necessary to shed “the colonial mentality and supremacist thoughts that whatsoever is indigenous is not beautiful, and that whatsoever is cultural is fetish”. This mental healing, he argues, will empower writers to confidently share their work “without feeling that they will be called babalawos or limited by stereotype that they will die poor since as a cultural practitioner.” He describes his work and that of other indigenous language artists in Nigeria as rebellion, hoping for a cultural emancipation, an awakening that will eventually lead to a flourishing ecosystem where issues like publishing on Amazon are no longer barriers. As he puts it, “You need to heal the mind before you can heal the physical structure”.
He advocates for a separation of religion from culture to achieve an accurate portrayal and representation of the language, stating, “We need to separate religion from culture, because there are two different entities and it is until we have done that can we have an accurate portrayal and an accurate representation of this language, and until then can we truly hold these works as a global export”. He strongly believes that people need to know their own stories and origins to progress.
Regarding strategies for engagement, Yusuf Àlàbí Balógun employs a multidisciplinary approach in his performances, stating, “I am someone who believes in multidisciplinary approaches for my works, especially my performances”. He infuses modern instruments like pianos and guitars with traditional storytelling, explaining, “I try to infuse pianos, guitars, and modern instruments in a way that constitutes modern appeal while still telling original stories”. This aims to create a balance where “Older people feel a sense of nostalgia, and new age people feel a sense of curiosity because their love of modern instruments draws them in. They are more curious to know what was left in the past”. He recounted a successful collaboration with a South African artist, William Ross, where they blended Yoruba and Afrikaans using modern instruments, demonstrating the global appeal of such innovative approaches. He maintains that if his work connects with an audience on an emotional level, even if they don’t understand the language, “my job is done as an artist, my job is done”. He challenges intrigued audiences to learn the language if they desire a deeper understanding: “If you are so intrigued with my works, if you love my work so much and you know that the rhythm connects to your soul for more, then go and learn my language”. He is confident that the cumulative effect of artists like himself, consistently producing work, will eventually shift perception and create a competitive market for indigenous language literature. He envisions a future where “Yoruba Oral language will be sold out at the O2 Arena, in poetry particularly”.
Ultimately, the future of Yoruba literature and other indigenous African languages lies in a collective effort: from families nurturing early appreciation, to creators innovating and collaborating, to a broader societal shift in perception that values and celebrates these rich linguistic and cultural treasures. The “rebellion” of writers like Yusuf Àlàbí Balógun and Toyosi Fashola is not just about preserving the past, but about actively building a vibrant, accessible, and globally recognised future for their mother tongue.
