LI PEICHUN: Art of belonging: Why I am learning Swahili

If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his own language, that goes to his heart.”

This iconic quote from Nelson Mandela has resonated across countries—and though I didn’t set out with this mantra when I began learning Kiswahili after arriving in Nairobi in 2021, it now feels etched into my journey—a compass guiding me toward belonging.

Why bother learning a local language when English sufficed? For me, the answer was simple: there’s magic in connecting with Kenyans on their own terms.

Speaking Swahili, I believed, would let me walk with them, not apart. As deputy chief of China Media Group Africa, formal classes weren’t an option.

Instead, I turned to online tutorials and a patchwork of teachers: Kenyan drivers, colleagues, hotel staff and Tanzanian friends in Beijing and Dar es Salaam.

I pored over sarufi (grammar) to construct sentences correctly—no small feat for a language with structures worlds apart from English or my native Chinese.

Take the phrase “four big cars of mine,” which becomes “magari makubwa manne yangu”—a far cry from the simplicity of “my one big car” (gari kubwa moja langu).

Such nuances can bewilder even the most determined learner. Yet I persisted. Swahili seeped into my daily life: chatting with residents, reading news to expand my vocabulary and weaving the language into my journalism.

Gradually, progress emerged. Beyond basic greetings and restaurant orders, I had the honour of co-hosting the celebrations of the 60th anniversary of China-Kenya diplomatic ties, blending Swahili, English and Chinese.

During an exclusive interview in Kigali, I posed my final question to President Paul Kagame in Swahili—a small triumph that underscored how far I’d tried.

Last year, after moderating a CMG workshop in both English and Swahili, Erastus Mwencha, former African Union deputy chairperson, asked pointedly: “Bwana Li, why learn our language?” When I quipped, “For fun,” he shook his head. “More than fun. It’s respect for our culture.” His words struck me. He was right. My journey wasn’t just about language—it was a bridge to Kenya’s soul.

This nation, with its 47 tribes, pulses with traditions: the Nyumba Kumi system fostering community safety (reminiscent of China’s neighbourhood committees), siku ya kupanda miti (tree-planting day, which I initially misheard as “tree-climbing day”) and the ingenious Luhya concoction omsherekha — a smoky brew from burned bean stems that tenderises tough meats.

Each discovery wove me deeper into Kenya’s cultural tapestry. The rewards have been profound. From Nairobi to Dar, from Bujumbura to Maputo, Swahili speakers greet me not as a foreigner but as a friend. This acceptance fuels my resolve to keep learning—not just Swahili, but snippets of Gikuyu, Kiluhya and Dholuo — to better grasp how Kenyans build lives, communities and a nation.

Mandela’s adage endures, but here’s what he didn’t say: to speak to the heart, you must first let the heart speak to you.

Kenya taught me that belonging isn’t claimed—it’s earned, syllable by syllable, in the messy alchemy of mispronunciations and shared meals. Today, when elders clasp my hands and murmur, “Umejifunza vizuri” (You’ve learned well), I hear the unspoken: You’ve come home.

The writer is the deputy chief of China Media Group Africa