13/04/2025
The Power of Our Tongue: A Story on the Importance of Speaking Lorma
In the green hills of Lofa County, nestled between the lush forests and winding rivers, sat the village of Yeala. It was a place where tradition lived in the heartbeat of the people, and wisdom was passed from one tongue to another—not through books or phones, but through the spoken word in the Lorma language.
Old Ma Yassah, the village storyteller, sat every evening under the palava hut surrounded by children and youth. Her voice, seasoned with years of memory, painted pictures of how their ancestors crossed rivers, built farms, and fought to defend their land. She spoke only in Lorma. Her stories carried lessons of unity, respect, and bravery—values that had kept Yeala strong for generations.
But over the years, something began to change.
In nearby towns, children started favoring English or even foreign slang. Parents began speaking to their children in broken English, thinking it made them sound more educated. In schools, Lorma was seen as backward. Young people laughed when someone spoke it in public. Some even felt ashamed to be identified with the language of their ancestors.
One day, a visitor from Monrovia came to Yeala. She was a university researcher studying traditional medicine. She wanted to speak with the elders who still knew the ancient herbs and healing chants, most of which were taught in Lorma. But when she gathered the young people to help translate, none of them could understand the elders clearly.
The researcher was disappointed. “If you lose your language, you lose your knowledge,” she said. “The world is hungry for the wisdom stored in your culture, but you’re forgetting the key to unlock it.”
That moment sparked something in the heart of a young man named Finda. Raised in Yeala, he had always ignored Lorma, preferring to speak only English. But now he saw what was at stake—not just words, but identity. That night, he sat under the palava hut and listened to Ma Yassah’s stories for the first time with new ears. He started asking questions, learning proverbs, and even teaching others in school how to speak.
Soon, a movement began. Young people started Lorma speaking clubs. Schools introduced local language classes. Radio stations began airing short Lorma segments. People felt proud again to say “Mu ke wa ne Lorma”—I speak Lorma.
Finda eventually became a teacher and cultural ambassador, telling students everywhere that speaking Lorma wasn’t a sign of backwardness, but a badge of wisdom, culture, and pride.
Because when we speak our local language, we don’t just talk—we connect. We remember. We preserve. We empower.
And in the hills of Lofa, the tongue of the people rose again—not in whispers, but in bold, beautiful Lorma.
