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The Power and Politics of Native Sign Language in Nigeria

June 5, 2025

It’s about the most wonderful thing to happen to me in my Deaf experience – sign language, a visual language expressed through physical movements instead of spoken words. Sign language relies largely on visible cues from hands, eyes, and facial expressions to communicate.

Looking back now, I am still intrigued by how I initially loathed and avoided the very instrument that would become my strongest tool for navigating the labyrinth of deafness. I spent much of my lived experience of deafness among hearing, non-signing people. Depending solely on lipreading to bridge the communication gap (a task that took huge tolls on my emotional and physical frame), embracing sign language was a long, slow process. However, since gaining a handle on it, my appreciation for the language has grown so great that I now take pride in exploring its dynamics and nuances.

I remember the night I sat listening to and conversing effortlessly in signed language with an elderly Deaf couple in their home. Suddenly, a trance-like wave of flashback washed over me. It was a deep realization and heightened sense of appreciation that just a few years ago (prior to knowing sign language), I couldn’t have engaged in such free-flowing communication. Over time, I have become an ardent admirer, observer, student, and critic of sign language and its central place in Deaf space.

I am not alone.

Within Deaf space, it is very common to meet Deaf people whose experiences and views around sign language mirror mine. For these mostly post-lingual Deaf folks (who became deaf after acquiring an appreciable level of language and who grew up in non-signing settings), learning sign language was the number-one game changer and leveler toward rehabilitation.

Bukola Fakunle, an outspoken feminist and Deaf rights advocate, says, “I discovered my bold side after learning sign language.”

Odunlami Ogundare, a close friend, admits, “After I learned sign language, my self-esteem got a boost.”

However, beyond functionality, there are many interesting dynamics to the general concept of sign language in Deaf space. In this piece, I spotlight the dynamics of native sign languages.

Distinct, Varied, and Valid

Like spoken languages, sign language comes in wide variations. There have been arguments for standardization that would establish a “common sign” for a concept to promote uniformity and reduce variations of sign language across Deaf groups. Proponents of standardized sign language emphasize that it brings elements of formality, structure, and sophistication. But the World Federation of the Deaf opposes efforts to standardize sign languages, emphasizing that under Article 21 of the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD), sign languages must be recognized and promoted in the diverse forms used by Deaf communities, not reduced to a single sign per concept.

Between 138 and 300 sign languages are used in the world today. Many of these are native sign languages – the natural, Indigenous sign languages used by Deaf groups in a particular country or region. It is an integral part of Deaf culture and identity. These local variants of sign language are characterized by natural gestures and somewhat limited vocabulary fine-tuned through interactions with native signers. Nigeria has a proliferation of largely undocumented native sign languages. Prominent among these are the Yoruba Sign Language (YSL), common in the southwest; the Hausa Sign Language (HSL), originating from the Deaf communities in the north; the Igbo Sign language (ISL), popular in the southeastern region; and a random set of Community Sign Systems particular to clusters of Deaf folks in each of the regions. Each of these native variants is culturally rooted and organically developed to meet local communication needs of Deaf folks in the demographic.

Vincent Tochukwu, a Deaf educator and content creator who fluently combines various native sign languages, says, “Natural gestures are formed by instincts. When I am hungry, I simply place the palm of my right hand on my abdomen. If I am thirsty, I would tighten my hand into a fist and bring it to my lips.”

There are some interesting qualities about local variants that motivate my focus in this piece. First, they qualify as the most organic versions of sign language that maintain the bonds of connection within Deaf communities in Nigeria, especially among the prelingually Deaf (before acquiring language) and less educated members, who are often left at the margins. Furthermore, these local variants give these less privileged members of the community more latitude in self-expression and access. In my experience as a Deaf educator, I notice that learners assimilate better with the native signs. Then there’s the aesthetic and inventive sides to local sign languages that can’t be waved off. One time, I consciously used a much better animated and dramatized local sign for the concept of “staying aloof” in a conversation dominated by standard signing, and a sign language interpreter took an instant liking, commending it for its ingenuity.

Unfortunately, with all their immense possibilities, native sign language variants have not received the kind of recognition and intellectual inquiry they deserve. But this, as findings show, isn’t a uniquely Nigerian situation. It permeates Deaf communities across the globe.

Experience, however, shows that while native sign language might be great at facilitating simple connection, it is considerably limited for complex communication, especially outside Deaf spaces. “I simply shut into my shell in an environment where my language is not understood,” says Mayowa Adesiyan, who mastered native signing while growing up with other Deaf kids in a popular boarding school for the Deaf.

As Abubakar Mumbu, disability advocate and co-founder of Tech Inclusion for the Deaf Initiative (TIDI) laments, “Using native sign language outside educated Deaf spaces is hard, even harder in the larger community. People stare and laugh. They think we are fighting or joking. Sometimes, sign language interpreters don’t understand our signs because they were trained in Sign Exact English, SEE [ manually coded system that presents English language in visual-gestural form] or American Sign Language (ASL), not in our native variant.”

While American (ASL), British (BSL), Sign Exact English (SEE), and International Sign (IS) sign languages have some level of standardization and are more popular choices in formal settings, there’s increasing emphasis on the value of local variations (most used by less formally educated Deaf folks) across Deaf spaces in Nigeria. Deaf individuals who use native sign language report feeling more connected to their community and more confident in their ability to express themselves. These local variations are often far removed from rigid rules of formality and grammar that characterize standardized signs. However, this doesn’t mean they cannot, or should not, be used alongside the more standardized versions in formal settings.

The sheer ingenuity, spontaneity, and fluidity that users bring into local sign languages have continued to pique my interest despite a lack of resources going toward researching native variants in Nigeria. Douglas Izu, a recent university graduate completing Nigeria’s one-year National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) program and a Deaf advocate, echoes my sentiments: “I wish more researches are being done about it so people can learn for themselves. I wish linguists would find interest in exploring that area.”

Functional and Aesthetic

Steady exposure to various groups and settings within the Nigerian Deaf space helped me grow a deeper appreciation of the functionality, aesthetics, and validity of local Nigerian sign languages. I realized that they are more organic, expressive, and have their roots in lived experience. It took an open mind to get there.

Post-lingual Deaf folks like me who entered Deaf space with a passable education and a good grasp on other languages often have a hard time embracing the vast possibilities of local sign languages. Because we mostly start off with learning the more sophisticated sign language versions like SEE and ASL, we tend to hold a condescending view of local sign languages as “pidgin.” Mumbu pushes back against that notion: “I wish people in Nigeria saw native sign language as a language of intelligence and culture. Too often, they think less educated Deaf people who use them are ‘less than.’ But if you sit with a native signer, you will see their mind – the way they tell stories, their deep understanding of human behavior, their spiritual and cultural expressions.”

He argues that local sign language isn’t pidgin: “It is full, powerful, and I wish we will continue using it without any form of discrimination within our very own community.”

Mumbu is right.

I’ve made a number of discoveries. For example, more educated Deaf folks tend to bring grammatical rules and syntax of English or other spoken languages into sign language. In doing so, the flow, fluency, and sometimes context of what they are trying to communicate get mixed up, leading to confusion and misinformation. In contrast, the less educated Deafies can easily delve right into the heart of communication with native sign language because there are no constraints by rules of syntax. Sadly, despite this apparent advantage, some members of the community still gauge the intelligence of native signers by this lack of sophistication with syntax, placing them at the lower rungs of a type of caste system. This imbalance needs to be corrected. Instead of dismissing native signs as lesser forms, we must engage with them as parallel expressions – complementary, not conflicting. In the final analysis, we need to acknowledge that language, like identity, is never a one-size-fits-all.

The more I have observed local sign languages and how they are used, the stronger my conviction that these natural languages (despite their limitations) are full and functional on their own. To validate these observations, I asked members of the community to share their own experiences and perspectives about native sign language – how they learned it, how freeing and functional they find it, what challenges they encountered, and more.

Shared Experiences

Izu says:

“I learned native sign language while enrolled in a school for the Deaf. It isn’t something one can learn online. One learns it through deep immersion in the adolescent Deaf community.”

Throwing light on how the use of native sign language has given him greater freedom of expression, he adds: “It makes communication quite easy for me, helps me express ideas and concepts seamlessly. There are expressions the body illustrates more accurately than through writing [or speaking]. One sign can mean five different things. … Not only the mouth is informative. The hands can be too. It is empowering.”

Tochukwu shares his experience:

“It helps me to some extent. It is the way people who have not learnt sign language can understand. Like pidgin, natural sign language is common and easy to understand. It eliminates communication barriers. I use it to communicate with Deaf illiterates and hearing people who have not learnt sign language. It helps me in markets where I use it to negotiate prices with traders. I also use it with bus conductors and keke [commercial tricycle] drivers. It is quick and saves time.”

But not everyone uses or understands native sign language. So barriers do pop up, and this happens not just outside Deaf communities but also within. For Tochukwu, native sign language’s lack of structure, its ambiguity, and limited vocabulary constitute downsides: “Native sign language is often ridiculed by people, as it does get awkward and embarrassing. For instance, signing ‘woman’ by placing both hands on the chest, with the index fingers pointing out and moving in up-down motions, indicating a woman’s breasts. It also breeds misunderstanding because of its limitation for expressing emotions. There is much you want to talk about, but [your listeners] do not get the full message.”

Izu says challenges surface when the recipient doesn’t understand what he’s saying, expects him to follow standards, and looks down on his language.“[At such times] I’m burdened to break down what I’m trying to say to the recipient and adapting is difficult,” he says.

Mumbu’s experience is full and picturesque: “My first encounter with sign language was a mix of confusion and relief. When I was hearing, I used to have a Deaf neighbor whose communication I found strange – and sometimes funny. Then I became deaf. I struggled a lot at the beginning. Just like I didn’t understand my Deaf neighbor, people around me didn’t understand me. I didn’t even understand myself. But when I finally connected with my native sign language [Hausa sign language, a regional variant common in northern Nigeria where Mumbu grew up], used mostly by Deaf folks considered uneducated, it felt like a door opened. I could breathe. I could laugh. I could be me.”

Not In a Classroom

“Learning native sign language wasn’t through a classroom. I observed these mostly uneducated Deaf folks sign during meetings and hangouts,” says Mumbu. “The way they signed – it was more creative, more real, more connected to our culture. Native sign language helps me say things I can’t say in English or voice, and that’s true about many Deaf people. It’s emotion – not just hands moving. For example, when I’m angry, happy, tired, or in love, I don’t have to search for the right grammar. The signs are already there in my body.”

Of course, even proponents of native sign variants still acknowledge the benefits of standardizing (to some extent) sign language as having undeniably enhanced access, education, and global connection within and across Deaf communities. However, it is worth remembering that there’s no wisdom in sacrificing grassroots cohesion and originality for standardization. Furthermore, signed communication doesn’t necessarily need trappings of formality to maintain its power. Local variants – with their organic, expressive, and lived experience roots – offer more than just information; they are the primal life of the communities that shaped them and should be acknowledged as such.

Alexander Ogheneruemu is a Deaf writer, special educator, and disability advocate. A team member with the Voice for the Deaf Foundation (VDF), a Deaf-centric non-profit, his works are driven by a passion for changes that lead to better conditions for disabled and marginalized people.

Editing assistance by Lauren Salemo and Jody Santos