The day my daughter asked me to stop speaking Yoruba in public

Last year, my daughter Tolu was 14. We were at Tesco in Peckham, doing the weekly shop. I was on the phone with my sister back in Ibadan, speaking Yoruba naturally, laughing about something our cousin did. Tolu tugged my sleeve. Hard. She whispered, 'Mum, can you speak English? People are looking.'

I ended the call and just stared at her. Not angry. Just... hurt. In that moment, I saw the future she was choosing. A future where being Nigerian was embarrassing. Where our language was something to hide.

When we got home, I sat her down. I told her about my grandmother who spoke no English at all. About how I learned to read by candlelight in Ibadan. About the 14 family members I helped bring to this country so she could have choices. I said, 'Tolu, the fact that you can walk into Tesco and nobody looks at you twice is because people like me refused to be ashamed.'

She cried. Said she was sorry. Said the other kids at school make fun of 'weird languages.' I held her and said, 'My dear, let them laugh. Your Yoruba is your superpower. One day you will understand.'

Now she asks me to teach her proverbs. Small small. God is faithful.