Language is more than communication—it is identity, power, and connection. For Millicent Barty, founder of Kastom Keepers of the Solomon Islands, language is the bridge between past and future, between land and sea, and between people and their spirit.
“I’m from Malaita on my mother’s side and Makira on my father’s,” Millicent shares. “From Makira, I come from Owaraha, and from Malaita, I’m Tobaitan and from Langalanga Lagoon. I speak Wala, the language of Langalanga, most fluently.”
With over 85 native languages spoken across the Solomon Islands, Millicent’s linguistic heritage is a tapestry of cultural richness. Her journey through language has been one of discovery and reconnection. “Growing up, I noticed similarities between Owaraha, Tobaitan, and Langalanga through our counting systems. It’s special—it connects me to my roots and deepens my relationship with my people and the land.”
In Melanesian culture, language is not just a tool—it is a vessel of ilu, or power. “A lot of our customs are oral traditions,” Millicent explains. “Knowing my native dialect allows me to embrace the power within me. It’s how we connect, how we share, and how we remember.”
This connection is embodied in the Langalanga concept of Halhala—the spirit of the people. Through words like tatakuna (sharing) and waludana (abundance), Millicent has come to understand the values that shape her community. “Even if we don’t speak fluently, knowing these words helps us express where we come from. It’s deeply important.”
When Millicent returns to her village, speaking Wala—even imperfectly—grounds her. “It removes hierarchy. We’re all equal when we speak the language. It invites me home and honours who I am as a child of this place.”
She’s grateful for the patience of elders who hold space for her as she blends Pidgin and Wala. “They see the effort, and that effort is a form of respect. It’s how I stay connected.”
Of all the words she cherishes, tatakuna stands out. “It means sharing, but it’s more than that. It’s about equality in any space. It’s about sharing my manogo—my heart—with yours. That’s powerful.”
From her experiences living in New York and London to her time in the village, Millicent has learned to blend worlds. “Knowing my roots, knowing my language—it’s made me more grounded. Other cultures are beautiful, but they’re not mine. My power comes from embracing who I am.”
To young people navigating a world of global influences, Millicent offers timely advice: “Trendy cultures might seem cooler, but our languages and identities are what truly resonate with our blood. Learn about your roots. Learn your language. It will make you more whole.”
Millicent closes with a powerful metaphor taught through nature: the banana tree. “The old skin protects the new shoot. It creates a space for it to grow and bear fruit. But today’s systems aren’t creating those spaces for young people. If our elders pass and we haven’t learned, what kind of fruit will we bear?”
It’s a call to action—to nurture, to preserve, and to pass on the knowledge that defines who we are.
