The announcement by the Nigerièn military government that it had officially replaced French with Hausa as its national language set off celebrations across the country and ignited debates about cultural and linguistic independence on many Pan-African platforms. This was more than a policy change. It was a declaration of independence, a symbolic severing of colonial chains that had lingered for over six decades. It also signalled the extent Niger was willing to go to end the cultural dominance by France that has plagued most of African States, even after gaining political independence.
Niger’s relationship with the French language has always been fraught with. Since gaining independence in 1960, the country had retained French as its official language, a relic of colonial rule that persisted in government, education, and elite circles, creating two distinct publics in the country divided by their cultural allegiances. For most Nigerièns, French remained a distant, exclusionary force, spoken fluently by only 13% of the population while Hausa, Zarma-Songhay, and Fulfulde thrived in homes and marketplaces, a reality that has persisted across many African states.
Hausa, in particular, has long been a unifying force in West Africa. With over 86 million speakers stretching from Niger into Nigeria, Ghana, and beyond, it carries the cadence of trade, tradition, and daily life. For the Nigerièn junta, which seized power in 2023, elevating Hausa was not just practical, it was poetic justice, a way to reclaim a voice that colonialism had tried to silence.
The decision was the result of a fierce, years-long backlash against French influence in the Sahel. Since ousting President Mohamed Bazoum in 2023, Niger’s military leaders have continued to strip down French influences in the country in reaction to the French government’s rejection of its legitimacy. It expelled French troops, stripped colonial names from streets, and abandoned the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie (OIF), joining Mali and Burkina Faso in a regional revolt against neocolonialism.
When delegates gathered in Niamey for a national dialogue in February, the question was not whether to replace French, but how. Hausa, spoken by the majority, was the obvious choice; a language of the people, not the elite. And in a shrewd geopolitical pivot, English was named a working language, a bridge to the wider world beyond France’s shadow.
The announcement was met with a mix of reactions. Across Africa, many cheered. For many, this was a long-overdue correction, a step toward a future where African languages were no longer sidelined and a major shift. But not everyone was convinced. Some pundits have questioned whether Hausa’s dominance would marginalise speakers of Niger’s other recognised languages, like Zarma-Songhay and Fulfulde. Some have voiced discomfort, reflecting the ethnic tensions that Hausa sometimes stirs in neighbouring countries and wondering how Niger will communicate with the world.
Beyond spoken language, another question that has been asked is what script style would be adopted for Hausa. The answer lies in a centuries-old duality. Hausa has two scripts, Ajami, an Arabic-based system rooted in Islamic scholarship, and Boko, a Latin-based alphabet imposed during colonialism.
The choice was not just about what was practical. It was also steeped in politics. Ajami carries the weight of history, a script tightly woven into religious texts and poetry. On the other hand, Boko, despite its colonial origins, is widely used as the script in modern education, digital communication, and government documents. In the end, pragmatism may prevail and boko would likely become the script that the government adopts, though Ajami would remain the preference for religious instruction in mosques, and in cultural spaces, preserving the old tradition.
Niger’s decision sends a powerful message to the rest of Africa. For decades, colonial languages have dominated classrooms and government offices, while indigenous tongues were relegated to folklore, forcing most people to compete in linguistic and cultural spaces for which they were mentally unprepared, a situation the famous writer, Ngugi Wa Thiong’o, once described as “a man who decides to cut off one leg to compete in a race.” Now, a nation has dared to flip the script. The challenges are real. “Language is more than words. it is power, identity, and access,” a linguist explains.
A major task ahead is how Niger navigates the delicate balance of unifying under Hausa without alienating its linguistic minorities. It must train teachers, rewrite textbooks, and reassure foreign investors that English will remain an important tool for communication to keep doors open to investments.
For now, at least, the world is listening. In the streets of Niamey and in many West African homes, people are beginning to question what it means to speak in their own vvoics. Niger has given one answer.
