This paper captures Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan in the act of their language education policies as they commit to using specific media of instruction within the context of their society, history and politics [1].

It provides a comparative overview of the current language policy context and examines the nature of policy change it has engendered in the school systems of the three multilingual East African countries [2-3]. Policy change simply means a deliberate and sustained exercise to achieve “incremental shifts in existing structures, or new and innovative policies” [4].

Against the backdrop of colonial reign and oppressive self-rule, Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan have on purpose opted to enact and enforce certain laws, regulations and practices to “achieve a planned change in the language use” of their respective political constituencies [3]. This act constitutes what linguists and educationists term as “language planning”. Such an endeavour could only be based on the constitutive platform of a robust language policy which is a “program of action on the role or status of a language in a given community” [5]. This study delves into that entire maze historically to procure prospect in understanding the evolution of the current language use in education; and, perhaps, its “practices and approaches that [may] have been found to be ineffective or unfeasible” over the years [6].

The format for this exposition is three-pronged: a few introductory notes and a statement of methods of study; a sweeping review of relevant literature; and an examination of where Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan stand in relation to their reasoned use of language of instruction across primary and secondary schools.

This paper draws on the strength of multilingual education models embedded in the ideology of cultural pluralism to examine the language development trajectories of Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan [7]. Cultural pluralism is an ideology that “seeks to maintain and develop each linguistic and cultural heritage within the nation-state” [8].

This ideological casing is quite suitable for the study because it recognises three crucial tenets: that all languages possess ingenious and boundless facility to grow and satisfy the communicative requirements of its speech community or a nation- state for that matter; that language policy decisions in multilingual societies stem from a need to address communication problems; and that most African countries paradoxically grapple with the issue of language planning because of their multilingualism [1,5].

The cultural pluralist focus of the study will pan out under the tinge of policy change as a theoretical model. It is hoped this sequence of ideological basis and theoretical framework will help illustrate the country cases considered herein [4]. Needless to say, the comparative perspective accounts for the use of country case studies in this paper to investigate the range of influences on language education policies and practices in Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan [9] (Figure 1).

Figure 1: Maps of Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan in East Africa

Thus, the study seeks to realise the following three objectives from an angle that affords juxtaposition of country experiences [10]:

• Outline the major milestones in the development of language policy in Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan

• Determine the features that have characterised the reasoned use of language of instruction in the three countries

• Underline the successes and failures of language policy decisions across the spectrum of general education in Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan

The three countries studied as cases herein are all former British colonies; but beyond that are quite a set of peculiarities in terms of state formation. They sit on a continuum with Tanzania featuring an ideologically steeped, socialist nation on one end; and South Sudan bringing to the table a late edition of a Pan-Africanist nation-state on the other extreme. In between, Kenya comes across as a democratic capitalist fortress in the region. 

It is not only in their state formation enterprise that they exhibit variations. Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan are also linguistically diverse, brimming with idiosyncrasies that make for an interesting study of multilingualism.

For instance, the Republic of Kenya has over 60 tribes and three broad indigenous linguistic groupings of which the Bantu account for 66%, the Nilotes 31% and the Cushites claw back a share of 3% [10]. Kenya is by far the richest among the three and its GDP accounts for over 37% of the total GDP of the East African Community, a regional trade bloc with six economies worth over US$147.5 billion. With a population of over 43.1 million, Kenya’s adult literacy rate is at 72.2%; and it stands to reason as Kenya spends about 5% of its GDP on education [11]. The school model is 8-4-4 where primary education of eight years has since 2003 been free and compulsory [12]. Over 56% of Kenyans, however, are still living below the dreadful poverty line of US$1.25 [13]. 

The United Republic of Tanzania is another mosaic of over 120 tribes with a heritage that is 99% African and 1 % Arab, Asian and European. The Bantu language group accounts for 95% of the African heritage of the country, particularly in mainland Tanzania where the capital city, Dodoma, is located [14]. 

The country declared its independence from British colonial rule in 1961 and in 1964 Tanganyika and Zanzibar fused together to form Tanzania as we know it today. It has over 47.7 million people 80% of whom are engaged in agriculture which accounts for more than 25% of Tanzania’s GDP and 85% of its export earnings. Its GDP growth has been steady and impressive. For example, between 2009 and 2014, it had had an annual growth rate of 6-7%; and as of 2014 the share of the country’s population living in urban areas is 30.9%. (The country’s commercial city of Dar es Salaam accounts for the majority of urban dwellers [14]). But poverty remains a visible reality with over 67% of the population below the poverty line between 2007 and 2011. Tanzania provides compulsory primary education which lasts for 7 years, followed by attendance of secondary schools for 6 years translated into grades 8-13. Post-secondary education usually runs for 3 years with the exception of engineering and medicine which last for 4 and 5 years respectively.  Its education share of GDP is 6.2%; and the rate for adult literacy is 67.8% [14-15,11].

The Republic of South Sudan is now accustomed to the designation of the world’s youngest nation seven years into its independence from Sudan in 2011. However, the transition into statehood has been anything but easy. With a roster of civil war for the last five years, oil-rich South Sudan is engaged in a protracted transition from conflict [17]. The country’s GDP per capita in 2015 was estimated at a measly $266 against an impressive $2, 126 way back in 2011 when South Sudan was declared an independent republic [18]. It spends roughly 1.8% of its GDP on education, diminishing prospects for a sustained recovery for its 64 tribes and a population estimated to be between 8.3 and 12.3 million [11,16]. 

This is soberly worrying as only 27% of South Sudan’s adults (aged 15 and above) are literate; and the rate of urbanization is a petty 19% [18].  Primary education is free and compulsory and runs from P1 through P8. Thereafter, secondary education ensues for 4 years (S1-S4); and culminates into tertiary education which is of 4 years duration for liberal arts, 5 years for natural sciences and engineering, and 6 years for medicine [16].

The Dinka, Nuer, Zande and Bari constitute the four largest linguistic groups and account for 65 % of the population of South Sudan. The overall 10 largest linguistic groups make up about 80% of the population, conversely speaking, indicating an array of minority linguistic groups [18]. These three countries collectively have over 103 million people broken down into an upward of 245 tribes.  It is for sure a palatable linguistic cocktail of immense value for multilingual education studies. There is quite a sizeable corpus of literature relating to the topic of this study. It is now right and proper to turn to it with zest.

Review of Related Literature

The review of relevant literature is divided into three important sections: language policy and multilingualism, mother tongue-based education and summary.

Language Policy and Multilingualism

The construct of a “nation-state” took shape in the early 19^th century and with it came the idea of language policy and planning. The link between the two was in the catchphrase of “one language, one nation” [1]. This has ushered in fundamental changes in polities, social policies, industries and technologies [4].

Ngonyani [15] contends that a typical language policy would tackle the text and context of language use in society. This would normally take the form of authoritatively deciding on how each language should stand and what it should perform in a given myriad of languages; agreeing on the scope of dialects and required standards for grammar and vocabulary; and deciding on the manner of acquiring languages [15]. But as Oluoch [19] notes with aptness, “the social and political history of a nation defines how attitudes towards a language develop.” 

For example, as Bamgbose [20] recount, the most crucial factor in the development of language educational policies in Africa has been the bequest of colonial rule. Thus, one obvious manifestation of this legacy is the simple fact that “the colonial policy of confining African languages as medium of instruction (MoI) to the lower levels of primary education has persisted” [20]. The new nation-states that became independent in the aftermath of World War II had fitfully opted for a bilingual or multilingual dispensation or simply gyrated back to their colonial outfit of languages. This is particularly true in Africa and Asia [1].

Language policy, thus, is “an effort by someone with or claiming authority to change the language practice of someone else” [3]. Schiffman [5] adds texture by noting that language policy encompasses the whole spectrum of government legislation, action and other means to officially decide how languages are to be employed in public life. This could be official, educational or just general. Educationally, the medium of instruction is the designation of language use in school settings to transact the curriculum (Therefore, “the language medium policy refers to the policy related to the medium of instruction in school”) [6]. That is, “a common language of instruction provides a framework for a way to talk about instruction” [21]. There are four main causes for a language policy to emerge. First, the language practices of a nation-state play a major role in shaping its policy. 

This is what linguists refer to as the sociolinguistic ecology factor. Second, every nation-state has its language ideology which contains a set of beliefs about its national identity as seen through the prism of language. Third, there is this general pull towards using “international” languages such as English, French, Spanish, etc. This factor is known as globalisation. Fourth, nation-states often find themselves compelled to change their language policies given the heightened advocacy for the rights of indigenous communities or that of other linguistic minorities as may accrue from migration. These four factors determine to a great extent how a nation-state would carve out its language policy [1].

A fitting definition of language planning is as such “the organised pursuit of solutions to language problems” as described by Bamgbose [22]. There is a debate among researchers and sociolinguists that nation-states and linguists have been responsible for designating languages as national, official, native or mother tongue with the express purpose of directing and controlling their peoples’ expectations as to linguistic behaviour [1]. 

In the global context, multilingualism seems to have had quite a big say in language policy and practice. “Multilingual education typically refers to first-language-first education, that is, schooling which begins in the mother tongue and transitions to additional languages” [8]. UNESCO put forward a position paper (It was titled “Education in a Multilingual World” [1]). to this end in 2003.True to this assertion, today over 200 nations across the globe use two or more official languages [1]. Africa is the most multilingual with an array of 2, 086 languages in a world with over 6, 600. The case for Africa’s unparalleled linguistic diversity is firm with Lesotho and Swaziland speaking two languages; Rwanda and Burundi having three; and Tanzania, Cameroon and Nigeria racketing up 120, 286 and 450 languages respectively [8].

De Swaan’s taxonomy places at the top what he terms as the “central languages”. These are global languages that are predominantly used in politics, media, education, and law. They are usually national or official languages in their prime designation [1]. At the bottom sit the world’s “peripheral languages”, a set of tiny languages spoken by about 10% of the global village but accounting for 98% of the world’s languages. The peripheral languages are often without scripts and depend on oral transmission than written documentation. The catch in this classification is that speakers of peripheral languages tend to acquire the over 100 central languages as second languages. This interconnectedness is the essence of the global language system, according to Singh et al. [1]. Indeed, “being able to read and write in two languages confers numerous intellectual, cultural, economic and social benefits” [23].

In the order of things under the global system, it is English that is the most privileged of all central languages. It is now the second or third language of many nation-states, particularly featuring in those ones with “linguistic minorities and indigenous communities” [1]. For example, although Pakistan’s national language is Urdu, English occupies the enviable position of the official language in which the Constitution of the country is written [24]. South Africa has a highly diverse language policy that designates 11 languages as official in the whole country. However, English remains the most dominant of all languages, finding its way amicably into South Africa’s lingua franca arena and being spoken across the country as the language of politics, business and media [3]. 

So, English alternates easily as a second, foreign or target language (“A second language is a language spoken in addition to one’s native language; the first foreign language one learns. A foreign language means a language that is not one’s mother tongue. A foreign language is a language that does not have the status of a national or official language. Target language is a foreign language which is aimed to learn or acquire” [25]). As Kirkpatrick [26] remarks, “today, English’s primary role is to act as the lingua franca among multilinguals for whom English is an additional language. It has been estimated that there are some 800 million of these speakers of English in Asia alone.” In Africa, 26 countries consider English as one of their official languages (Figure 2). Three African countries-Rwanda, Burundi and Gabon are dropping French for English; while the continent’s newest nation, South Sudan, has declared itself English-speaking. Moreover, the projection is that by 2050 almost 50% of the global population will attain proficiency in English [27]!

Figure 2: Contexts Where Risks Associated with Teaching in Languages Unfamiliar to Children are Increasingly Severe

Mother Tongue-based Education

But it is not all lost to English. Ferguson [28] confirms that instructing learners in their local or home language holds the key to improving the quality and amount of teacher-pupil interaction, facilitating home-school transition, and enhancing educational performance through the element of familiarity to learners. He is adamant that “there is evidence from Tanzania, and Zambia that educational progress can be impeded by English medium instruction, or that skills in English may be insufficiently developed for that language to serve as an effective educational medium” [28].

In the words of Chumbow [8], “mother tongue bilingual education means developing the first language and adding a second language in the best possible manner to ensure the successful learning of the second.” Hutchison [23] states that a longer duration of bilingual education coupled with a concerted effort to transact content learning in mother tongue, plus a corresponding introduction of teaching in a second language (L2) offer the young more cumulative benefits.

UNESCO did a series of worldwide surveys on classroom teaching and established beyond any doubt that minority and indigenous languages were dropped for either the old colonial languages or new dominant ones in the nation-states. UNESCO, therefore, called for the use of mother tongues to provide equality of access to schooling for all children. It made a declaration to that end in 1953, considering it a violation of a child’s right to discourage the young from building up their mother tongues [1]. 

Pinnock and Vijayakumar [29] concur with UNESCO and point out that research evidence is conclusive that “whether or not a child is taught in their first language, or mother tongue, often has a strong effect on whether or not a child attends school, particularly in rural areas...The language used to deliver the school curriculum pulls down the educational performance of many of those who do not use it at home.” The verdict is even more solemn than the above.  Evidence shows that exclusion of communities from education on the grounds of their lack of understanding the language of instruction does contribute to political instability and conflict. That instability is due to countries with high linguistic diversity resorting to using one “national” or “international” language for educating their young. Statistically, 54 million children who are out of school come from countries that are considered as “highly linguistically fractionalised.” That is a figure of about 72% of global rates for children out of school. Moreover, these countries have 58% of children who are eligible for primary education in terms of entry age [29] (Figure 3).

Figure 3: A Simplified Current LoI Model in Tanzania

Africa does sound a familiar spot for this evidential harshness. Following their independence, Ghana, Zambia and Kenya, for example, chose English as their medium of instruction from the first grade despite the use of mother tongues in the early grades during colonial rule at the hands of Britain. They chose to drop the practice of instructing the young in vernacular languages. 

“Because many African countries lack a common indigenous language to serve as the national language and MoI, European colonial languages such as English, French and Portuguese have been used to foster postcolonial multiethnic unity” [15]. Pinnock and Vijayakumar [29] counsel that this discrepancy could be solved by providing a minimum of 6 years of mother tongue education while gradually introducing additional languages early.

Summary

In sum, the three countries studied in this paper might need to embrace multilingualism with greater profundity, if anything else. It is clear that Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan have in common a large proportion of population without access to education in their rural areas (Kenya, Tanzania  and  South Sudan) who may be linguistically fractionalised (Kenya and South Sudan) and highly fragile (South Sudan). 

This being the case, according to the review of literature herein, there could be “likelihood of educational failure for many, and little chance of achieving skills targets in international languages” [29]. Local language remains a key to effective learning. That is what research teaches us about medium of instruction.

As the main section of the study, discussion here centres on the nature of policy change in relation to the language policy and planning of Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan. The study divides the language development history of these countries into three phases: pre-independence, post-independence and the advent of globalisation. This is depicted through three policy models of bilingual/multilingual education to capture the context and nuance of the reasoned use of language.

Transitional Policy Model of Bilingual Education

This policy model sees language (s) as a denomination that is in transition. It is an ideal model for illustrating colonial or pre-independence language policy and planning in Africa; and will be used as such in this sub-section.

Its basic argument is that local or home languages pose a threat to a nation-state’s “unity” and as such, all those languages should be “mainstreamed” in a way to achieve the political aim of a homogenous nation-state and a national culture. The linguistic aim of the model, then, is to use local languages to “translate and transmit mainstream curriculum content.” The role of the mother tongue is to act passively as a conveyor belt for the hegemony of European languages. Thus, bilingualism in the school system is meant to be subtractive. And as is obvious, the target of this policy model is indigenous communities or individuals found in rural parts of a nation-state [7].

Applying this model to the context of pre-independent Kenya, British colonial language policy catered for a handful of Kenyans to learn English. The Beecher Report suggested that 20 local languages should be used in primary schools. The implicit aim was to create a bridge to English as the hegemonic language [30]. Indeed, and Drogheba Commission followed closely on the heels of Beecher Report and recommended that English should feature in lower primary school and be delivered alongside the respective mother tongue in a given constituency or catchment. The Report and Commission also recommended that English exclusively be taught from upper primary through university [31]. English has since come to play a significant part in Kenya’s education system both as a subject and as the medium of instruction [32].

Thus, language policy decisions pre-dating Kenya’s independence strongly favoured mother tongues as conveyor belts. Kioko explains that Christian missionaries played the role of proponents in this case because of their belief that the spread of the gospel would be better served if the scriptures were transmitted to locals in their indigenous languages. This was evident in the 1909 United Missionary Conference held in Kenya to deliberate on harmonising the use of English, Kiswahili and mother tongues in the mission field. The agreement was that mother tongues should be taught in the earliest three grades of primary school; Kiswahili should come in during middle primary, specifically in two grades; and English should bring up the rear and be taught in the remaining grades. Thus, English’s hegemonic rise was facilitated and safeguarded by the smokescreen of subtractive bilingualism. Noteworthy, this conference took place long before the British colonial power assumed control of Kenya in 1920.

Tanzania was initially a German colony in 1893 when government schools first appeared. But Britain took over in 1914 when World War I started and set up a new school system [14]. There were three main groupings of schools: English, African and Asian.  African schools used Kiswahili as the medium of instruction in classes 1-5, while English was taught as a subject starting in class 3. English was then progressively used as the medium of instruction from class 6 onwards [30]. 

In South Sudan, pre-independence language policy would mean a consideration of the country as part of the then Sudan which was under British colonial rule from 1898 to 1956. The British entrusted Christian missionaries active in southern Sudan with the task of educating the locals. English was the official language in this region of Sudan [30]. Historical sources cite 1902 as the year in which English was first introduced [33]. 

Arabic language was kept at bay although it was the national language in the rest of the country, particularly the northern part. The British colonial administrators instead decided to use 6 mother tongues in southern Sudan in primary schools [30]. This was the outcome of the Rajaf Conference during which it was agreed missionary education should make use of local languages. Given the nature of South Sudan’s languages existing in fraternal groups and within close geographic vicinity, the Conference selected Dinka, Shilluk and Nuer from the Nilo-Saharan language group; Bari and Otuho from the Sudanic group; and Zande from the Bantu group [34]. Thus, the assimilation of local languages into the mainstream English school system took shape in Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan. The famed homogeneity of the British colonial nation-state necessitated this “transition”; hence, subtractive bilingualism [7].

Maintenance and Development Model of Bilingual Education

The second policy model up on the list is maintenance and development of languages. In East Africa, the period characterising this model could be placed between 1960 and 1985 or thereabouts. This language policy model best suits the post-independence dispensation of Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan because it argues for a regime of maintaining and developing national languages. To be exact, it contends that “indigenous languages and cultures are a legacy to be preserved” [7].

The political aim of the model matches with that of nation-building in post-independence countries in Africa, which is, namely, redefining the nation-state through according legal recognition to indigenous communities that pre-date the colonial era. Thus, in this model, mother tongues or home languages assume a central role as subjects as well as media of instruction. It is additive bilingualism that is the order of the day [7].

Kenya’s maintenance and development of its language portfolio got off to a start when the Education Commission Report pronounced the general populace of the country would want to see English as the medium of instruction right from grade 1 in primary school. This came in the wake of a survey to identify language use needs of Kenyans. Generally, the Report established that Kenyans wanted a trilingual system whereby maternal languages would serve the purpose of verbal communication in rural Kenya; English and Kiswahili would be used for education from lower primary through university; and Kiswahili would adorn the need for national and regional unity [30-31]. 

Known also as the Ominde Commission, it assigned to Kiswahili a non-examinable status, discouraging school leaders and learners from taking Kiswahili seriously. More than a decade later, the Gachathi Report called for English to be the medium of instruction from grade 4 in primary school up to the university level; and designated Kiswahili as a critical school subject for primary and secondary education (Table 1). The Report reintroduced catchment languages whereby the indigenous language of each region of Kenya would serve as MoI in early primary school (grades 1-3) pertaining to the linguistic homogeneity of the region in question; thus, the label “catchment languages.” But most of the recommendations were shelved [30-31]. 

Table 1: Likely Effects and Costs of Providing Schooling in a Language not used by Children in Daily Life

Pinnock and Vijayakumar [29]

The Mackay Report was the most serious step to maintaining and developing national languages. True to this spirit, the Report designated Kiswahili as an examinable compulsory school subject in primary and secondary schools (The Mackay Commission also maintained English as the LoI and counselled that maternal languages be implemented in lower grades of primary education [31]). To that end, it tasked the Kenya Institute of Education (KIE) to get ready the necessary school materials for 22 of Kenya’s languages. Unfortunately, then only a few maternal languages were in use. This policy change caused an uproar when “primary school pupils end[ed] up using languages which (were) neither their mother tongues, nor the language of their immediate ‘catchment areas’” [30].

The linguistic setup in Kenya is triglossic with English at the helm as the official language, Kiswahili in the middle as a co-official language in status in addition to being the lingua franca; and mother tongue at the bottom [31].

Tanzania comes across as the East African country with the most incredibly packed language policy decisions in the span of the 25 years or so following independence. In 1964 Asian schools ceased in Tanzania. The medium of instruction in English schools was expectedly English and Kiswahili was taught from class 3. By contrast, Kiswahili was the medium of instruction in African schools covering classes 1-5; and English replaced it in classes 7-8. Kiswahili became standardised increasingly in all these. It developed in terms of grammar, dictionary and literature [30,15]. 

The government maintained the colonial-era setup of the curriculum and its medium of instruction between 1961 and 1966. Kiswahili was the LoI in the first 5 years of primary school; and English assumed pre-eminence from class 6 onwards [35]. Tanzania became a socialist state in 1967 and nationalised all its schools. The government issued an Education Circular in 1967 that declared Kiswahili as the sole medium of instruction in primary school. This was to come into effect by 1972-74 [30,35]. 

This language policy has been in place since 1967 just like the structure of Tanzania’s education system. The first instance was part of the 1st Five-Year Development Plan. The 2nd Five-Year Development Plan followed in 1969 and included a provision for Kiswahili to take up the place of English in secondary school as well and eventually in higher education. But this policy was not carried out. Although Kiswahili’s standardisation was satisfactory for lower levels such as primary education, it was not ready for use at the tertiary level. 

In 1982 a Presidential Commission on Education laid bare the finding that Tanzanian students were neither proficient in English nor in Kiswahili. The Commission, therefore, recommended an overhaul whereby Kiswahili would be the medium of instruction for all levels in the educational structure by 1985 and reaching the universities in 1992. This publicised report was disapproved by the government and English has continued to be the medium of instruction in secondary and higher education [15].

South Sudan is a recent case. As intimated earlier, much of its maintenance and development model of language policy can only be looked at through Sudan. Arabic and English were the media of instruction when Sudan became independent in 1956. But it was Arabic that had more prestige as a “national” language [33]. However, the military staged the country’s first coup and President Abboud came to power; and his stint lasted about six years (1958-64). He embarked on a hostile policy towards the people of southern Sudan who were perceived as anti-national and culturally out of touch with the mainstream Sudanese way of life. President Abboud quickly introduced his infamous dual religious-linguistic policy of Arabization and Islamization of Southerners. Arabic gradually dislodged English as the medium of instruction as of 1965 [30].

A lull in the intensity of the Arabization project came when the Addis Ababa Peace Agreement was signed. It accorded Southerners semi-autonomous powers. Hence, the language policy changed back into one of bilingualism involving English and local languages without any prejudice to Arabic as a national language. This effectively lasted for 10 years or so [30,33]. 

The Agreement was abrogated and civil war broke out again in 1984 for the third time in the country. The drive to Arabize southern Sudan resumed in earnest later in 1989 when the National Islamic Front (NIF) came to power in a bloodless coup. It is this political contestation of language policy in South Sudan’s history that perhaps explains better subsequent attempts to transition, maintain  and  develop, and enrich the country’s new-found sense of Pan-Africanism and cultural pluralism. As Ohiri [33] sums it up, “South Sudan has experienced inconsistent policies with regard to the medium of instruction.”

Enrichment Model of Bilingual Education

The characteristic period for this model in East Africa would roughly be between 1985 and now as an ongoing process of enriching language policies. The enrichment model of bilingual education rests on cultural pluralism and internationalism.  Its basic view is that local languages and cultures constitute prime political resources for realising unity in diversity [7].

Its political aim is to nurture a nation-state that is multilingual and multicultural; a multi -nation that regards additive bilingualism/multilingualism as a rights-based state enterprise. The role of mother tongue is to promote cultural sensitivity and critical awareness of languages at large and different speech communities in their own right. This attribute of sensitivity and celebrating diversity gives credence to the advent of globalisation as the third phase through which language policies in East Africa are passing at present. 

Kenya’s enrichment of its language portfolio rests on its 1976 policy which requires that each region of the country instructs the young at primary schools for the first three years in a mother tongue that is homogenous as per the communal reality of each region. Where linguistic diversity is quite sizable in a given community (probably, urban communes), Kiswahili and English will be used in the place of the mother tongue [30].

In the pursuit of the enrichment policy model, Kenya’s 2010 Constitution (Chapter 2, Article 7) reminds Kenyans of the place of Kiswahili as a national language; uplifting it to a co-official status with English. Kenya has further reaffirmed in its 2012 White Paper the prime place of mother tongue in lower grades of primary education in rural areas. The 2014 Education Sector Plan underscored the same reaffirmation. These policy decisions arise from the considered position that the use of home language in early stages of school life does equip the young with the essential literacy skills they will need to learn in other subjects. However, a great many rural schools in Kenya are known not to use mother tongue as their medium of instruction in spite of the policy [19].

Kenya’s dilemma is real and vexed. “Education policy which prioritises mother tongue instruction within a strategy to improve quality and access, and which offers both first and second language opportunities is strongly in the political and economic interests of countries with high levels of linguistic diversity” [29]. Kenya is one such country. Seeking to enrich its mother tongue portfolio seems easier said than done. Kenya still grapples with issues around “the place and development of the local indigenous languages; the need and means to strengthen Kiswahili as it is the national language; and concerns about the usefulness of the English language, its effective teaching and/or its falling standards” [32].

It might seem Kenya’s mother tongue jigsaw puzzle is hard to crack.  But experience from elsewhere in the world says otherwise. Papua New Guinea, for example, is a monstrous example of success in harnessing the multiplicity of languages in a country. For the record, Papua New Guinea is the world’s most diverse country in linguistic numerical value. It has 820 current languages, spoken by a population of just 5.4 million [37].  As Kenya might make a case about its rural areas being too difficult to penetrate with mother tongue-based education, Papua New Guinea would prove Kenya wrong. 85% of the 5.4 million people live in rural areas and thrive on subsistence-based mode of life that covers farming, gathering and hunting. This is a country that is also financially constrained in many respects. These are the same conditions that could easily dissuade a multilingual country from pursuing any meaningful enrichment of home languages. But Papua New Guinea has defied all the odds and has been able to “successfully introduced initial formal education in more than 430 languages” [37]. 

That is almost the total number of Nigeria’s languages! Kenya’s struggles with executing its national policy with regard to mother tongue instruction has more to do with the nature of its language planning than anything else. As Bamgbose [22] would argue, it boils down to the established division between status planning and corpus planning in language policy. Status planning is what Kenya has been doing all along. That is, Kenya has time and again allocated its set of languages to different public domains such as the official arena, educational field, business, media and so forth. Now, that is status planning. 

But assigning value to mother tongue as MoI in early primary (status planning) is not a magic formula in and of itself. It can only be achieved if and when resources are mobilised appropriately and adequately to cater for the expansion. This is called corpus planning. It has to do with activities such as “the production of grammars  and  dictionaries, the design of orthographies, the choice of script, spelling reforms, the production of primers and readers, etc” [22].

Something is definitely not right with the manner Kenya is practising its multilingualism. Very often situations like that of Kenya demands one straightforward recipe for success. That recipe is “a print-rich, literate environment in which the child has frequent opportunities to read” [23]. Somebody has not done their corpus planning well, in short. Without a dedicated corpus planning, language development becomes merely “a convenient excuse” [20].

As Hutchison laments the anecdote, it is “ironic that those that don’t have multilingualism want it, and those that do, have challenges in managing it in the education system.” 

Tanzania too is open to scrutiny, if not criticism outright. The government of Tanzania in 1987 agreed to a debacle of maintaining English as the medium of instruction in secondary education in return for a support project for English language teachers aided by Britain [30]. It was interesting that the very “teacher support” to enhance effective English teaching in secondary schools of Tanzania was counterproductive in principle because it was hurried. “Hurrying young non-English speaking into reading in English without ensuring adequate preparation is counterproductive”, notes Hutchison [23]. 

This seems to be the issue with Tanzania’s language policy in its enrichment model. It may look oversimplified. But as Yahl (2018) argues, the education system in Tanzania almost destines the young to a life of disappointment as they experience changeover from primary to secondary education where the medium of instruction is English. 90% of Tanzanians speak Kiswahili in addition to at least a local language (Kiswahili is a mother tongue to 15 % of Tanzania’s population [15]), whereas, English is spoken by just 15% of the population [15]. The question that begs an answer is why Tanzanians would need to learn English if the language is only set aside for higher education and business? Why could not the country easily opt for a consistent language policy that sees Kiswahili not only celebrated as a national language or Tanzania’s lingua franca but essentially transacted as the medium of instruction at all school levels [14]?

Tibategeza has an answer. He thinks the government’s insistence on English as the medium of instruction for post-primary schooling is grounded in the perceived power and prestige of the European language in today’s world. Brock-Utne et al. [38] affirm that English offers facility in trade and power, particularly in the current climate of regional trade pacts and the growing influence of the World Trade organisation (W.T.O.) which champions removal of barriers to trade. Kirkpatrick [26] asserts that “in addition to the usual motivations for governments to promote the teaching and learning of English, such as the need to be able to participate successfully in globalisation, modernisation and the dissemination of knowledge, the privileged position of English as the sole working language” is guaranteed (Figure 4). 

Figure 4: Factors Affecting Implementation

Thus, from the enrichment model of language policy, it is only logical that the government should pursue such a line. The contention, however, persists that the bilingual education in Tanzania remains subtractive and negative in terms of affecting learners. Owu-Ewie and Eshun [5] state that secondary schools of Tanzania still have to use Kiswahili to complement transaction in English, speaking volumes about the limited usefulness of the latter. Moreover, studies have confirmed that English is proving ineffective to teaching and learning in secondary education of the country (“There is abundant evidence that the use of English as a medium of instruction in African schools impedes learning where students’ English language ability is low [39-40]). [5]. 

Scholars like Tibategeza see a need for a fair model to save the country’s bilingualism and bi-literacy. For others like Ngonyani [15], the language problem is symptomatic of the larger crisis of a neglected education system in Tanzania, and Kiswahili has become the scapegoat for declining standards of education.”

Alas, the 1995 Education Training Policy requires that English be taught in primary school from day one to allow the young to build up the repertoire of skills required to undertake secondary education or secure jobs after primary education is over. The language profile is one where on average a Tanzanian speaks a home language, picks up Kiswahili in primary school and ends up learning in English throughout secondary school and university. This profile signifies that English has the upper hand; it is a denial that learning could happen in Kiswahili at advanced levels; and it shows that the government is opposed to acknowledging the social reality of its language policy [15]. 

Yahl (?) ascribes this posture by the government to an undisclosed elite pact meant to keep ordinary people in rural Tanzania from social mobility and access to power positions in government, education and business. Tibategeza includes a similar line about elite closure which is “a social mobilisation strategy by which people in power establish and maintain their powers and privileges.” A typical illustration of this is given by contradictions in the government’s Education Training Policy (Kiswahili is a compulsory subject up to O level in secondary school, according to the National Education  and  Training Policy. The Cultural Policy reaffirms Kiswahili as a national language but falls short of elevating its legal status to that of an official language).  and Cultural Policy (For example, the government of Tanzania recognises all local languages as important in its Cultural Policy of 1997; but in practice, these local languages are all excluded in the country’s mass media). Firstly, the government has recognised the use of English as the medium of instruction in private primary schools while insisting that its language choice for primary education is “exclusively” Kiswahili. 

Secondly, the government has gone out of its way to make available in English primary school syllabi that should in essence be taught in Kiswahili as per policy. Thirdly, the government has since 2000 been administering Primary School-Leaving Examinations (PSLE) in English as well. Thus, the government has contradicted itself by running two language streams of primary schooling while maintaining English as the “exclusive” medium of instruction in secondary school.

This looks just like the unforeseen elitist outcomes of Pakistan’s language policy which designates three parallel streams of education. The first is English medium and it is exclusively for the cream of society (upper and upper-middle classes) to educate their children. The second stream uses Urdu as its medium and it represents the platform for educating the children of lower-middle and working classes. The third is called Deeni Madarsas, a stream that caters for Pakistan’s poor and religiously devout masses [24]. 

The elitist argument of Yahl receives further support from Pinnock  and  Vijayakumar [29] who argue that it is practically easy to right the wrong of inappropriateness in language use. Tanzania could still do a lot to alter the state of affairs in its contested language policy. According to them, “comparatively speaking, inappropriate language of instruction is relatively easy to remove from the cocktail of poor-quality teaching, poor school infrastructure, poverty and poor health facing many children in developing and middle-income countries” [29]. 

So, if the government’s position is not elitist in principle, why would not Tanzania do the same for its secondary school medium of instruction what its 1995 Education Amendment Act has done by allowing English to become a co-equal with Kiswahili as MoI in primary school [35]? To borrow Matsinhe’s [41] allusion, “it would be a pity if language, the only effective tool used to articulate all that inspired and informed the birth of (the United Republic of Tanzania) were to become the main barrier to the aspirations of the vast majority of (its) citizens.”

Proponents would argue that nothing is virtually wrong with the language policy adopted by Tanzania. It is most likely that the problem lies elsewhere in the value chain than in “principle” in as far as the benefits of bilingual education are concerned. “Given the widely recognised advantages of bilingualism, failure of students means there is something wrong with the way it is being practised and not with the principle” [23]. This does sound plausible if we are to consider Yahl’s [14] claim that many of Tanzania’s teachers who teach English as a subject at the primary level are simply not versed in the language. He adds that many learners who lag behind do not have access to remedial classes in English.  This denies learners a meaningful foundation for a successful switch of MoI in secondary school. 

Adamson [2] adds, too, that a great many of learners in Tanzania are receiving instruction in a language in which they lack confidence. This in turn degrades their chances of attaining effective learning outcomes and useful school experiences. “ As long as students spend five years in primary schools learning English with the same unqualified and unmotivated teachers, and with no books or supplementary materials, English proficiency will not improve” [15].   It would also mean little is done to exploit the unique connectedness of Kiswahili with English and Arabic in terms of the origins of Tanzania’s lingua franca. “Although Kiswahili is Bantu in structure and origin, its vocabulary draws on a variety of sources including Arabic and English” [14].

Thus, the challenge is essentially one of both choice and poise. The status accorded English and Kiswahili has to do with the prerogatives of administration, communication and education in the official sphere. The question of attribution should take note of the fact that status planning is only organic. Just like across the border in Kenya, provisions must follow designations to bring language choice to life! After all, “the language of instruction is by no means the only cause of poor-quality education” [2]. The real pestering of issues has to do with corpus planning. Tibategeza confirms this when he says that the challenge includes the “education cost of language development, the role of minority languages and the place of multilingualism in the overall language policy” of the United Republic of Tanzania.

South Sudan’s task might seem a walk in the park compared to Tanzania’s. But that is just as misleading as any comparative case could be. In fact, South Sudan’s new driving license for nation-statehood does not make sitting behind the bilingual wheels any easy. The country’s National Curriculum Framework provides for a new pedagogic dispensation in school. It uses English as the medium of instruction from P4 all the way to university. The Framework also supports the General Education Act (2012) which stipulates that South Sudanese children must be instructed in their mother tongues in the first three years of primary school (P1-P3). Starting in P4, these mother tongues will then be taught as a subject under the collective heading of “languages” [18].

That is a tall order already. It is proving a daunting task to implement the new curriculum, particularly in the northern states of the country where Arabic is the most predominant second language against the backdrop of an acute need for teachers proficient in English. “It will take years for a critical mass of English-speaking teachers to achieve a level of proficiency sufficient for teaching, and many more before the education system begins to produce fluent English-speaking secondary graduates” [18]. A World Bank report concluded in a 2010 student assessment of schools mainly located in urban areas that learners were grossly underperforming in both mathematics and English [42].

But it is not only the fortunes of English language teaching and learning that are at stakes here. Even for the anticipated use of national languages in primary school, the glass is half empty. Literacy materials are only available in a rudimentary form for 34 of the country’s 64 languages. Just about 33% of schools use the mother tongue as their medium of instruction for P1-P3 [42]. More needs to be done by way of reviewing and upgrading the orthographies to line up with the dictates of the new curriculum. The Ministry of General Education  and  Instruction (MoGEI) intends to initially develop a minimum of 32 or 50% of South Sudan’s national languages in the next decade. The selection criteria favour local languages that have larger speech communities and ready written scripts. (Many sections of South Sudan’s population are bilingual/multilingual and tend to speak languages of their geographic cluster [18]). “Other issues associated with teaching language include inadequate teacher training capacity in national languages, the high cost of producing multiple-language learning materials and the lack of a budget” [18]. Once again, corpus planning rears its beautiful head.

Noteworthy, this flurry of activity came as a result of the 2005 Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) by virtue of which South Sudan became independent in 2011. During the transition to secession (and, therefore, independence, 2005-2011), both Arabic and English were official languages in Sudan. On July 9^th 2011 English survived the relegation test and became the country’s only official language [34]. In 2010 English dominated the landscape of instructional language in South Sudan at the rate of 61% in P1-P3 and over 85% in P4-P8 [42].

In 2012, barely a year after independence, the British Council rushed in a vital assistance to the language development enterprise of South Sudan when it organised the Juba Language-in-Education Conference, featuring presentations by prominent education and language scholars pulled from across the world to counsel policy-makers in the host country [43]. A commendable historic initiative as it was, the Conference was a tacit blessing of South Sudan’s choice of English as its official language.

The General Education Strategy (2012-2017) came out as the first leg of official operationalisation of the government’s policies on education. But it was more of a political statement than a clear set of directives and modalities on implementing the provisions on language use. The Ministry too has had to make an allowance for Arabic to prevail for a while as the language of instruction where large numbers of returnees or refugees attend school, particularly from P4 to P8 as well as in secondary school [42].

The language development enterprise in South Sudan is practically driven by non-state actors from across the world. Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL), Institute for Regional Languages (IRL) set up a joint piece of literacy work on Sudanese local languages in 1978. SIL particularly turned out a print content of 180 titles for 17 languages (including English and Arabic) in the span of a decade. SIL South Sudan is now working hand in hand with the MoGEI in training teachers and producing materials for 7 languages. ACROSS is another actor running a mother tongue-based reading project in Bari and Dinka. Others include Winrock International  and  FHI360, EDC and IBIS [42].

While the transitional and developmental phases in the language policies of Kenya and Tanzania date back to early 1960s through 1980s against the backdrop of colonial domination, South Sudan grapples with the unorthodox task of launching a language policy that is both transitional in terms of breaking free from the hegemonic grip of Arabic against the oppressive history of old Sudan; and developmental in terms of scrambling to assign value to its home languages and develop them. That makes South Sudan a unique case of fast-tracked policy change; and that brings along the challenge of focus. If we add onto this task the imperative to further enrich local languages as Kenya and Tanzania are currently pursuing in their language policies, South Sudan will hardly have time to catch its breath. 

On a lighter note, South Sudan’s National General Education Policy (2017-2027) adds a splendid point of according prime place to Arabic, French and Kiswahili as foreign languages that the country would do well to retain and attain with a view to enhancing its regional clout and strategic balancing.  The Policy particularly notes that “the Ministry will ensure that Arabic, French and Kiswahili are taught in schools from P5 to S2 (Primary 5 Secondary 2) as foreign languages and that those students who have keen interest in languages are encouraged to continue studying those foreign languages in S3  and  S4” [44]. 

It is hard, however, to see the logic of rushing the country to hold acquaintance with Kiswahili on grounds that it speaks to the spirit of the East African Community. The fact remains that Kiswahili has no immediate appeal to the people of South Sudan because it is Arabic that occupies their daily life as the country’s lingua franca. The Judiciary of South Sudan still officiates in Arabic in a larger measure despite English being the official language. Juba Arabic, an indigenised version of Standard Arabic, is a huge part of the cultural capital of South Sudanese; and offers flair and nuance that Kiswahili will find hard to rival, leave alone outclass. As Calderbank [45] waxes lyrical, “the diglossic nature of the Arabic situation is also clear in church: the liturgy of the mass is in Standard Arabic and the sermon in Juba Arabic.” It would make sense if somebody could first explain and prove the East African Community is helpful before jumping the gun about Kiswahili’s fortunes in South Sudan’s school system.

Having the proverbial fingers in all the pies could prove detrimental to the policy direction of language use in the country. The best counsel for pragmatism is to understand that there is no policy model that is a “one-stop shop” for all the above imperatives. Perhaps, focusing on developing and enriching its home languages will bring South Sudan closer to its policy reform objective than an outright crusade in all directions with little sagacity.

Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan have gone through three phases of language development and in the process exhibited a shifting mix of all the three models of language policy change discussed in detail above.

On the whole, the line between the promise of language development and its delivery is a fine one for Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan. While status planning could be a politically correct ploy to secure power base by the mere granting of status to an indigenous language, it is only corpus planning that is “linguistically correct” for the three countries in this study. 

This remains a worldwide challenge as demonstrated by other multilingual regions such as Latin America where 111 of its 557 living languages spoken in 21 countries are on the brink of extinction [7]. India is waging its own multilingual crusade in a country of some 1, 635 mother tongues and 122 languages with an upward of 10, 000 speakers [46].

Policy Change Analysis

In this summary section, I provide the theoretical approaches Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan may have reflected in their nature of language policy change and implementation [4].

It is obvious both Kenya and Tanzania have long embarked on bilingual education driven by Kiswahili and English in an uneasy duality that has stood the test of time. The nature of policy change in their regard is path dependence, meaning their current trajectories have long been established by the initial conditions of colonial language policy as well as the conjuncture of independence. This is demonstrated in the incremental changes Kenya and Tanzania have since made by using commissions, policy frameworks, white papers and circulars to essentially protect their existing models of language policy [36,4]. “Path dependence means that once a country or region has started down on a track, the costs of reversal are very high public policies and formal institutions are usually designed to be difficult to change so past decisions encourage policy continuity” [4]. As Bamgbose [20] aptly reinforces, “policy maintenance is a direct consequence of an inheritance situation defined as the way the colonial experience continues to shape and define post-colonial practices.”

It is the punctuated equilibrium theoretical approach that defines South Sudan’s nature of policy change. The country has changed its language policy as a result of the external event of independence that has disrupted the political setup of South Sudan. This punctuation of equilibrium, so to speak, accounts for why the government has sought a new venue (“Policy venues are the institutional locations where authoritative decisions are made concerning a given issue” [4].) to adapt to its new institutional constraints as a nation-state [4]. South Sudan is more likely to embrace policy diffusion from Kenya, Tanzania and the entire neighbouring region in an attempt to borrow innovations based on geographical clustering and commonality and diversity. The newest country needs “a close and successful model” [4].

These two theoretical approaches (path dependence and punctuated equilibrium) have triggered a typology of either an incremental process of change (as is the case with Kenya and Tanzania), or an abrupt process of change (as is the case with South Sudan) [4].

According to this typology, Kenya and Tanzania would derive reproduction by adaptation as the continuity of their incremental change process in language policy. The two countries have progressively reproduced by adaptation through initially changing the setting of policy instruments (from a colony to an independent republic); and then changing the instruments used to achieve policy goals (from commissions to constitutions) (Figure 5). 

Figure 5: Type of Language of Instruction Used by Schools, by Grade, Primary, 2015 (%)

As for South Sudan, there was discontinuity when it broke away from Sudan. The resulting change was a breakdown of its language policy; which has subsequently triggered replacement of the institutional setup of language planning (Table 2). This is a major policy reform because it has shifted the paradigm from Sudan as an old institutional framework which promoted Arabic as the official language to South Sudan with its own policy image and means as a new nation [4].

Table 2: Typology of Results and Processes

Adopted from Cerna [4]

The instrumentalist school of language planning justifies its choice of English on pragmatic grounds as being crucial for a country’s economic and strategic fortunes. By contrast, the sociolinguist school gives credence to the prevailing sociocultural setup of languages and encourages a shifting experimentation with early or late introduction of foreign or national languages; determines scale of home language exposure and roots for diverse pedagogies to improve multilingualism [47]. 

The choices countries make often are “more informed by political, economic and ideological considerations than strictly educational ones, and are deeply controversial with issues of feasibility, popular aspiration, cultural identities, globalisation and development” [28].

This study has theoretically outlined the milestones, features and challenges of the reasoned use of language of instruction in the three multilingual East African countries. Kenya, Tanzania and South Sudan would do well to assign high priority to their regions where an official or national language may not obtain in daily life, and where learning outcomes are compromised because language of instruction is not wholeheartedly considered as integral to defining quality education. 

Developing a mother tongue-based multilingual education remains the only viable reasoned use of language. The struggle over choice of language broadly represents an attempt to control the production and legitimation of knowledge. It is, therefore, imperative that the “education system should validate and maintain the linguistic and cultural ties of the child with the home community” [23].

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