Key Takeaways
- Moving from Nigeria to Canada required Olayinka to adjust not only to a new culture and climate but also to a different variety of English.
- Vocabulary mismatches (e.g., “plastic bag” vs. “nylon,” “boot” vs. “trunk”) caused moments of hesitation and the need for gestures or clarification.
- Nigerian colloquialisms such as “abi?” slipped into conversation, creating subtle misunderstandings even though both speakers used English.
- The constant mental translation disrupted the flow of speech, sometimes causing jokes or rhythm to be lost.
- Over time, Olayinka’s ability to understand fast‑paced Canadian English improved, to the point where he now uses earphones to block out conversations that have become crystal clear.
- The experience highlights how dialect influences social perception, trustworthiness, and identity, turning a familiar language into a source of both connection and distance.
- Olayinka reframes his migration as a crossing of dialects as much as a crossing of continents, emphasizing that belonging often hinges on mastering the locally expected way of speaking.
Struggling for the Right Word at the Lunch Counter
I was ordering lunch over the counter when I froze because I couldn’t remember how to say “plastic bags.” The English words that bubbled up were “nylon” and “poly bag,” the terms I grew up using in Nigeria. I knew the Canadian vocabulary, but it eluded me in that moment, so I gestured with my hands to show the item. The attendant kindly supplied the missing word: “Oh, plastic bags?” That brief stumble illustrated how a seemingly simple lexical gap could turn a routine interaction into a moment of needing help to be understood.
Everyday Vocabulary Mismatches Undermine Fluency
It isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes a word I use confidently simply doesn’t land for my listeners. I once said something was “in the boot” of my car, and a colleague had to help me translate it to “trunk” for others to grasp. In my mind I had spoken plain English—my first language, the language of my education, my career, and my everyday thoughts—yet the word I reached for and the word they expected were not the same. That gap forced me into the role of someone who needed clarification, even though I felt I had spoken fluently.
Food Terminology Highlights Cultural Divides
Food provides a frequent reminder of linguistic divergence. Menus often list items whose names are unfamiliar: candies and cookies become sweets and biscuits; pop or soda are referred to as soft drinks; what I call french fries are known as chips. Because of these disparities, I frequently pause mid‑sentence to translate in my head. Those pauses often cost me the joke or the rhythm that is key to what I’m trying to say, and sometimes the entire thought gets lost before it even leaves my mouth.
Nigerianisms Slip Into Conversation
When I relax, Nigerian expressions slip out unintentionally. Not long ago I asked a colleague, “You saw my email, abi?” expecting the familiar tag‑question that keeps conversation light in Lagos. She paused, a flicker of confusion crossing her face, then answered my question without asking what “abi” meant. In Nigeria the word would have been a harmless “right?”; here it created a snag, prompting me to wonder how to explain that the term is not gibberish but a functional part of my speech that facilitates rapport.
English Feels Both Familiar and Foreign
I carry these struggles with me, especially when I stand out as Black in rooms where I am the only one or one of a few. When I open my mouth to speak in English—the very tool that should connect me—I sometimes feel another layer of distance. English is mine, yet it becomes unfamiliar when I speak it, requiring constant adjustment to match the local dialect. This duality makes the language a bridge that also feels like a barrier, highlighting how identity and belonging are negotiated through speech.
Pressure During the Immigration English Test
The need for adjustment surfaced sharply during the English test required for my immigration application. I had to discuss a fabricated concert experience with an interviewer assessing my speaking skills. I sputtered a few times, feeling as though I were driving up a bumpy hill. Part of the difficulty was nerves, but most stemmed from the pressure to speak English in a non‑Nigerian way, even though I was discussing a topic I had only ever talked about colloquially at home. The test underscored how institutional evaluations can privilege a particular dialect over others.
Gradual Improvement in Comprehending Spoken English
Of course, there have been wins in the past four years. When I first started working in my office, conversations across the room sounded like muffled noise; unfamiliar intonation and pacing caused me to miss large parts. I would sit with rapt attention, straining to catch snippets. These days, however, I wear earphones to block those same conversations because they are now crystal clear, even when I am lost in something else. This progress shows that my ear is adapting to the rhythm and melody of Canadian English, allowing me to participate more fluidly.
Dialect Shapes Perception and Identity
I often reflect on research showing that dialect shapes social perception—the way we sound influences how capable or trustworthy we appear. Dialects also act as markers of identity, signalling the community we belong to. My experience confirms that acquiring the locally expected way of speaking is not merely about vocabulary; it is about aligning my vocal signature with the norms that govern how others judge me. In that sense, my migration was as much a crossing of dialects as it was a crossing of continents.
Reframing the Migration Experience
Before coming to Canada, I imagined language barriers as something visible and obvious—accent differences, missing words, or grammar errors. I did not anticipate the less visible barrier of speaking English in a way that demands continual recalibration. The phrases “nylon” versus “plastic bag,” “boot” versus “trunk,” and the subtle “abi?” serve as reminders that I already possessed the language; what I lacked was the version expected of me. Mastering that version feels like a prerequisite for belonging, and the ongoing adjustments are a testament to the nuanced work of integrating into a new linguistic landscape.