I was very proud of how well both my kids spoke Urdu. Until I moved to Canada.

At first, I barely noticed the shift. It was subtle and so gradual that it almost escaped me. One moment, they were speaking in rich, full Urdu sentences, and the next, they were thinking, even dreaming, in English. It felt natural, inevitable, even.

But over time, my concern and discomfort started to grow. They weren’t just switching languages; they were forgetting Urdu altogether. Basic words started slipping away. They didn’t understand me the same way anymore, and that’s when it hit me: they weren’t just learning a new language; they were losing one that felt like home.

I knew I had to change course and bring Urdu back into focus, for the sake of their roots, and mine. For you see, language is more than just words. It’s a vessel, a keeper of stories, identity, and connection. Across generations, language is how we remember who we are. Indigenous and minority languages around the world carry entire histories, values, and ways of seeing the world, and yet we often take our own for granted, despite research showing the benefits of teaching our mother tongue to kids.

According to a study published in the Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, bilingual children often outperform monolingual peers in working memory and perform better in conflict-resolution tasks. In Hong Kong, a longitudinal study tracking over 4,500 students found that those taught in their mother tongue outperformed peers instructed in English in all subjects, including science, history, and geography.

With the recent world events, particularly the crisis in Gaza, I felt an even deeper sense of possessiveness towards the language I spoke. With growing discord in the outside world, I felt a strong desire to grasp onto the one thing my great-grandparents, and even those before them, had passed down to me. I realised it was all the more important to fiercely protect my own legacy – our identity was now our resistance.

From conveying our values and morals to shared humour and deep emotions, language serves as an invisible museum or archive of our culture’s values, poetry, stories and traditions.

After careful deliberation and speaking to diaspora moms around me, I realised the task may not be as difficult as it initially seemed, especially if we choose to prioritise it.

For starters, all mothers agree that there is no right age to get started, but the sooner we begin, the better. Younger children can grasp multiple languages simultaneously, which helps enhance their overall ability to understand and perceive the world.

When children speak their mother tongue, it allows them a way to show greater empathy and respect for elders. Even partial fluency makes kids feel like part of something bigger, such as bonding with peers in school who come from similar backgrounds, understanding religious sermons, having conversations and a natural connection with grandparents and extended family, and enjoying cultural events like weddings and concerts.

As Halima, mother of five, said, “If my kids lose their language, they will lose the sense of where they came from.” Halima is a Nigerian-Canadian mom, and her kids fluently speak Swahili, despite having lived in an English-speaking country for many years. According to Halima, she was quite strict about it because she wanted to make sure her children were close with their grandmother, who only knew Swahili.

The struggle to prioritise teaching your mother tongue is very real for today’s parents. Between Quran classes, weekend schools, sports, extracurriculars, and the hundred other commitments modern families juggle, it can quickly feel overwhelming. That’s why it becomes even more important to pause, figure out your priorities and what you’d like to achieve.

For some parents, being able to speak and understand the language is enough. Others may want their children to read and write fluently. Reflect on what matters most, what fits your lifestyle, and your child’s willingness. When you’re clear on your goals, it becomes easier to make intentional choices that support them.

Staying consistent isn’t always easy; life throws its share of curveballs, and discipline can slip. That’s when it helps to lean on a little external support. For families with busy schedules, structured learning can be a great idea to keep children connected to their mother tongue. In some countries, like Sweden, weekend home-language classes are offered for expat families. And no matter where you are, excellent online resources and trained teachers are just a click away, ready to help parents navigate this meaningful, sometimes tricky journey.

According to Masooma, founder of Kids Bolo, an online Urdu learning platform for diaspora kids, parents need to remember that every child learns differently. Since many of our kids weren’t born or raised in our homeland, our native language often becomes their second language, and we need to approach it that way. Masooma shared a golden formula for building language confidence: exposure + practice = comfort in the language.

If a child is only exposed to the language through music, shows, or relatives but never gets to use it, they may struggle to speak it. On the flip side, if we urge them to speak without offering daily natural exposure, they might find it frustrating. It’s the combination that really makes a difference.

This is why many diaspora moms suggest regular trips back home, which offer a complete immersive experience to the children, making them more comfortable with their mother tongue. If time and money allow, visits back home can prove to be extremely beneficial for easing the new generation into the language.

But exposure doesn’t always have to be expensive (read ‘tickets to home country’). Making language a part of your daily routine is an excellent way to make the kids comfortable with it. Playing music, watching shows, and including it in everyday life without turning it into a chore works very well for most families.

Majida, a Pakistani-Canadian mom of Pukhtoon origin, shared the social benefits of learning multiple languages. “I feel my kids have become more confident in their interaction with others,” she comments. “They can communicate freely with friends and family, they look forward to travelling back home, and they enjoy listening to Pushto music and watching Urdu dramas with me. It really is a wonderful feeling.”

It is also important to note that certain concepts and words in indigenous languages have no equivalent in English. Teaching these to our children not only enriches their lived experiences but also helps carry on family and cultural traditions. Words like ‘umul’ (Somali) or ‘zaccha’ (Urdu) refer to a postpartum mom, and carry within themselves the intense care and love she deserves, something missing from the English language and thus Western tradition.

Noora, an Iraqi mom, highlights the uniqueness of her language and the colour it adds to conversations. Noora has older kids who use words like ‘naʿīman’ (Arabic), which is often said to someone who has just bathed, shaved, or put on new clothes, wishing them comfort and freshness in their new state. It’s basically the Middle Eastern equivalent of saying ‘Looking fresh!’ but with a prayer attached. Such words have no equivalent in the English language, making them distinct and special to those who speak it.

Similarly, Majida introduced me to the word ‘Pukhtoonwali’ in Pushto, which roughly translates to a deep sense of community and brotherhood. However, she notes that no word can do justice to the notion of ‘Pukhtoonwali’, an unspoken community bond that runs so deep that only those who have lived through it can understand.

Majida is also a mom to both neurodivergent and neurotypical kids, and she emphasises the importance of making sure your teaching methods are varied based on the child’s needs. She continues to speak to her daughter, who is on the spectrum, in Pushto, even if she responds in English, because she knows it’s essential for her brain development.

Despite all your efforts, your child might still respond in English, and for many parents, this can be the most challenging part. It’s a common frustration, but this is also where consistency matters most. Most expat moms share the same top tip: even if your kids respond in English, keep speaking to them in your mother tongue. They will absorb a lot of the words and gain an understanding of how to string phrases together.

Most importantly, we should remember that this is not a race or a competition. Their accents might sound funny, and they will make a million mistakes, but it’s essential we don’t belittle their efforts and keep encouraging them gently. Focus on building the connection and making the language feel warm and fun before going into grammar and diction.

And with all this perspective, I feel it is my duty to guard my mother tongue, the living thread that ties me to generations before me. It carries their voices, their worlds, their love. And now, it rests in my hands. My turn to protect it. My turn to pass it on, whole and alive, to the ones who come after me. After months of consistent efforts, I now see my girls’ eyes light up with understanding as we watch an Urdu drama together, and more often than not, they turn to me with a question in the language that holds my roots and my heart. In those moments, hope rises quietly within me. It brings a smile to my face, reminding me that all is not lost; our words, our stories and our legacy may finally find its way forward, even if it’s not in the most perfect manner.

Rabia Abdullah

The Language of Belonging: Why Passing Down Your Mother Tongue Matters