One thing many parents fail to understand is that self-identity matters deeply to our children. This is especially true for children growing up in immigrant families, and perhaps even more so for those whose parents are originally from countries that are often perceived as poorer or less developed than the one they now call home.
Several studies have shown that immigrant children who develop strong and positive connections to their cultural identities tend to have higher self-esteem, greater life satisfaction, better academic engagement, and greater resilience in the face of discrimination and stereotypes. This simply means that children need to appreciate and embrace their roots. They need to know where they come from and feel proud of it. Language, stories, traditions, and, if possible, visits back home can all play an important role in building that sense of belonging. There is something powerful about the confidence children gain when they understand their roots.
We are Igbo from Nigeria and live in Norway. My husband and I speak Igbo, English, and Norwegian, in that order of fluency. For our children, however, the order is different: Norwegian, Igbo, and then English. We run an Igbo household, so the first language our children learn is Igbo. However once they start kindergarten, most of their daily interactions happen in Norwegian, and naturally it becomes their strongest language. This happens because their Igbo is limited to conversations within the family, and the short phone conversations with extended family members. It is during our visits to Nigeria that their Igbo receives its biggest boost.
I still remember the excitement on my first child's face at the Lagos airport when he realized everyone who attended to us pronounced his name exactly as it was meant to be pronounced. He loved it. This was his first visit to Nigeria since leaving as an eighteen-month-old. He was thrilled that everyone looked like him and that he blended in effortlessly.
My husband and I try to spend at least one month in Nigeria with the children every two years During those visits, they experience many sides of the country, both beautiful and challenging. We do not romanticize Nigeria. At the same time, we are careful not to expose them to harm. Our children know they cannot drink tap water in Nigeria the way they do in Norway. They know we use bottled water for drinking and brushing our teeth. They know we visit the local health center for recommended vaccinations before every trip to Nigeria. They know that diseases such as malaria and typhoid are endemic in Nigeria.
At the same time, they have learned that many of the stories they hear about Nigeria are not necessarily false, but are often exaggerated. They have learned that what brings joy to children in Norway is not the universal standard for children's happiness. The first time we returned to Nigeria as a family, my eldest son complained the day after we arrived at his father's family compound in the village. There were no toys, and the television was hardly ever switched on. He asked his father whether that was what his childhood had been like. When his father answered yes, my son declared, "Your childhood must have been very boring."
Within a week, he had completely changed his mind. The compound was full of cousins. They spent their days running around, making up games, laughing, and were covered in dust and dirt by evening. They barely remembered the TV or toys. By the end of the holiday, they were not looking forward to returning to Norway.
The same thing happened during our last visit. I believe my children have an appropriately balanced view of our country of origin. Once, one of them told us that a teacher had explained that malaria was so contagious and dangerous that any child who contracted it would be lucky to survive. Another time, a concerned classmate warned him, after learning about our travel plans, that Nigeria was unsafe for children because kidnappings happened everywhere, even in schools. Then there are the familiar assumptions that people lack food and drinking water. While some of these challenges are real, they represent only a part of the full story. My children now understand that arguably every Nigerian experiences malaria at some point in their lives and that effective treatment exists. They understand that people work, raise families, celebrate milestones, and carry on with their everyday routines despite the inherent challenges.
They know that while some communities in Nigeria face serious security challenges, many others are safe and vibrant vibrant places where people go about their daily lives. They know that Nigeria is rich in culture and tradition. They know their uncles in Nigeria who own larger houses and drive far bigger cars than we do in Norway.
Of course, they also see the frustrations.
They have experienced the avoidable stress when navigating airports and domestic flights. They have watched us struggle with electricity supply. They know that we are selective about what and where we eat because of food safety concerns. They have sat through Lagos traffic and observed driving patterns that left them in shock.
They know all of that.
But they know the beautiful parts too.
In fact, during our most recent trip to Nigeria, my eldest child asked if we could buy traditional Igbo outfits for his friends back in Norway. That request meant a lot to me. It showed that he was not merely aware of his heritage. He was proud of it and willing to share a piece of it with his friends.
My children know that Nigeria is part of who they are. I hope they grow up embracing both its strengths and its flaws. That they love it without needing to pretend it is perfect. And perhaps most importantly, that they know that if Norway ever stops feeling like home, Nigeria will always be home.
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