"We’re All Trying to Hold on to a Language That Isn’t Around Us"

Journalist and storyteller Sagal Hussein Omar.

I want to be very clear: I am not writing from a place of mastery. I am writing from inside the mess.

I am a Somali mother in the diaspora, raising children in a society where Somali is almost invisible. It’s not spoken on the street, at school, or in my workplace. It exists only in our home, and keeping it alive there is not small work.

Motherhood Humbling All Plans

Before having kids, I thought I had it figured out: bedtime stories in Somali, fluid conversations, cultural fluency.

Then reality hit. Work, school, social environments, and exhaustion meant Somali often became functional: “Come here,” “Get that,” “Stop.” And that’s when the guilt starts creeping in, because you’re Somali. And people expect more.

The Structural Truth

Here’s a hard truth: language thrives on repetition, visibility, and necessity. In cities like London or Djibouti, children encounter Somali regularly. In North America, Scandinavia, or the Netherlands, the communities are smaller, fragmented, and less visible.

Effort alone cannot replace environment. Parents are not failing; they are working against gravity.

Radical Choices and Reality

Some parents move back to Somalia. Others send their children to summer camps or hire 1-on-1 teachers. Some do all of the above. These decisions are responses to reality, not indictments of those who can’t do the same.

Even then, it’s complicated. It’s exhausting. And it keeps us awake at night.

This Is Not a Comparison Game

Comparing outcomes - “Reer Djibouti are fluent,” “Reer UK hold Somali better”, is dangerous without context. Structural differences, community density, and daily exposure make a world of difference. Recognizing that is honesty, not excuse.

A Shame-Free Space

Walaalo Studio, exists to reflect what many of us are living: the guilt, the small victories, the structural barriers. No perfection. No performance. Just honesty.

We are parents in many places, trying to hold on to a language that is not all around us. And that effort, in itself, matters.

Even when it feels incomplete. Especially then.