To only speak English is to live in darkness in your own land

'The limits of my language," the celebrated Austrian-British philosopher and mathematician, Ludwig Wittgenstein, once remarked, "means the limits of my world."

Nelson Mandela also chimed in on the subject. "If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart."

It's worth pausing a little and reflecting on these words. They are profound.

Faced by the challenge of deciding which of our many tongues to recognise, the wise men at Codesa - the Convention for a Democratic South Africa - declared that the country would have 11 official languages. It was a decision, typical of the times, designed to please everybody.

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But it was a cop-out. It effectively ensured that English and Afrikaans would continue to rule the roost. Black people could finally sit at the top table, but they had to leave their languages at the door.

African languages deserve their place in the sun. They cannot forever be hidden away like ugly cousins. But this is not simply about neglected languages. Understanding one another's languages can help bridge divides and assuage fears and suspicions. It's a shame we haven't tried it.

There's a strong belief that promoting African languages may revive tribal sentiments and that proficiency in English alone is adequate to get by, because it's an international language. That may be so, but the reality is that millions speak African languages; they cannot simply be wished away.

"Who is the Tolstoy of the Zulus?" asked cantankerous writer Saul Bellow. "Or the Proust of the Papuans? I'd be glad to read him."

Such sentiments abound. But language is not just about books or superior knowledge. It's often about getting on - connecting - with our fellow human beings. And Bellow didn't live in a country where the majority didn't speak English or weren't able to learn it even if they wanted to.

German or French will always come in handy when you go skiing in the Alps. But you spend most of your time here, at home, and it's only common sense that you're able to communicate with your compatriots on a very human level.

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You can't even begin to appreciate the full extent of the realities and complexities of your country unless you can understand the cacophony of voices and tongues swirling around you, including the chitchat that's not even directed at you.

I remember my frustration the first time I visited a country whose language I didn't speak. I wanted to follow the chatter of ordinary people; what they were laughing or sad about. But it was just gibberish. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life in that sort of darkness.

I'm often intrigued by people who pounce on you at dinner parties, asking all sorts of questions about what's happening in the country, as if they've just flown in from Mars. They're South Africans born and bred, but they have the feeling they're missing something. And they're right. They don't understand the language spoken on the dance floor. To be unilingual in today's South Africa is to be socially and politically retarded. It's a handicap.

This anomaly skews the national discourse. A significant part of the population doesn't fully understand what's happening, but the poor are often alienated from the political process. They tend to feel they're either not heard or their pain is not adequately articulated in the halls of power. Hence the violent protests.

Only those who speak English participate in power - and benefit from it. Those who can't, the majority, are mere spectators. The haves and have-nots are therefore determined, not by the colour of one's skin as in the past, but by the ability to use the English language.

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Some of those who daily analyse the ins and outs of our society can hardly speak an African language. How can they evaluate events in South Africa when they cannot understand, first hand, what the majority are saying? It's like interpreting German society to the Germans when you can't speak or understand German. A bit of an exaggeration, but you get the drift.

There can be no excuse for those living, say, in KwaZulu-Natal - be they black, white or Indian - not to be able to converse in Zulu. The same goes for Xhosa in the Cape and Sotho in the Free State. These languages are so overwhelmingly popular in those provinces that it will take little effort to learn them. What's lacking is the will or desire to do so.

We should do away with the charade of 11 official languages, but let them be part of the fabric of those provinces where they predominate. And of course they should be part of every school curriculum.

Learning another language will not only broaden your understanding of the world around you, but, as Mandela says, it will tug at the heartstrings, making possible that connection which is so crucial to reconciliation and nation building. If anything can unite us, language will.