ON THE BRINK OF EXTINCTION: THE FADING IDENTITY OF BASSA HERITAGE
“Language, any language, has a dual character: it is both a means of communication and a carrier of culture.” - Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o
Culture is the soul of a people. It is the invisible string that binds generations together, defining identity, values, and a shared sense of belonging. Sadly, the Bassa people are at the brink of cultural extinction, as centuries-old traditions, names, language, and heritage fade away before our very eyes. From the way we marry to how we name our children and speak in our homes, the reality is clear—we are gradually discarding the pillars of our heritage.
In the past, paying the bride price in Bassa communities was more than a formality; it was a sacred rite symbolizing unity between families and a celebration of culture. Today, such practices are rushed or replaced with watered-down versions that barely resemble the rich traditions our forebears cherished. Naming ceremonies that once echoed the beauty and meanings of Bassa names are now quickly glossed over in favor of borrowed identities.
It is not uncommon to find a Bassa couple naming their child David Samson or Fatima Adamu —names that carry no trace of our lineage or history. Why? Has our language lost its beauty? Have our names lost their depth? In the pursuit of modernity and religious expression, we have forgotten that our names carry stories, meaning, and a heritage that deserves preservation.
The religious names we hold in such high regard are simply names from other languages, just like ours. Names like John, Samson, David, Solomon, Rebecca, Grace, Naomi, Adamu, Mohammed, Abdullahi, Abdulsalam, Fatima, Amina, and Rakiyat originate from English and Arabic languages, respectively. While we embrace these names, we must also recognize the value and richness of our indigenous identities.
Our native names—such as Guma, Nyizo, Zhiya, Tukura, Ndane, Webiye, and Wananje—carry profound meanings rooted in heritage, experiences, nature, and deep cultural philosophies. These names are not just labels; they are stories, legacies, and reflections of who we are. Unfortunately, many of us have been conditioned to see foreign names as superior, forgetting that our names are equally, if not more, significant.
Reclaiming pride in our native names is not a rejection of others, but a celebration of self—an affirmation that our culture, language, and identity matter. Let us honor our names, speak them with pride, and teach future generations to see the beauty and meaning within their own roots.
What’s even more disheartening is the silent death of Bassa traditional music. Once upon a time, our villages would echo with the sounds of songs from people like Late Peter Gagba, Late David Wezhe, Late Dukwo Tukura Yewu, Late Dumanga Sokwo, Late Kapeni Thomas Shekye, Late David Olubo, Late La'twu Jere, Late Dekina. Their songs were not just songs—they were stories, prayers, warnings, and celebrations. Today, gospel songs dominate the soundscape, and while spiritual upliftment is not wrong, the total abandonment of traditional tunes in favor of civilization-inspired lyrics speaks volumes about the neglect of our roots.
Language, a critical vessel of culture, is now facing rapid decline. In many Bassa homes, English and Hausa have become the dominant languages—even when both parents are Bassa. Children grow up without the ability to speak or understand their mother tongue, and as a result, they miss out on proverbs, folktales, and wisdom passed down through generations.
The truth is, we are all contributors to this extinction. Our silence, our choices, our disregard for heritage are all nails in the coffin of the Bassa identity. We cannot continue to celebrate foreign names while abandoning our own. We cannot keep praising the songs of others while forgetting the rhythms of our ancestors.
It’s time to ask ourselves some hard questions: Why is a Bassa name no longer seen as beautiful or spiritual? Why must a child be named after a Western or Islamic identity to be considered “civilized” or “holy”? The erosion of our traditions is not just an external attack—it is self-inflicted.
To preserve the Bassa heritage, we must first acknowledge its worth. Let us restore our naming culture. Let us speak our language boldly in our homes. Let us revive our traditional songs, dances, and ceremonies. Let us teach our children not just to bear Bassa names, but to live them.
If we do not act now, our descendants may one day search for their roots and find only echoes—faint and fading.
We are a people on the brink of traditional extinction. But we can also be the generation that revives the Bassa soul.
Preserve it. Speak it. Sing it. Name it. Live it.
© Ambitious-Nyizo S.D
2025
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2025-08-10 19:24:21