Anambra

Level: Beginner Audience: Family / all ages Geo: Nigeria → Anambra (Igbo is the state's everyday language)

Igbo has two counting traditions: an older base-twenty system and a base-ten system that is now used in schools and markets. This lesson teaches the ten basic numbers that both systems share. Spellings follow Omniglot and igbo.mofeko.com; variant spellings seen in other references are noted so children are not confused when a cousin writes it differently.

Number	Igbo	Notes
1	otu	Also heard as "ofu" in some dialects
2	abụọ	Dotted ụ and ọ
3	atọ	Dotted ọ
4	anọ	Dotted ọ
5	ise
6	isii	Long final vowel
7	asaa	Long final vowel
8	asatọ	Omniglot writes "asato" without the dot; the dotted form is standard
9	itoolu	Some references write "itolu"
10	iri	Twenty is iri abụọ in the base-ten system (ọgụ in the old base-twenty system)

[Audio: a relative counting 1 to 10 slowly, then quickly — never a fake audio URL] [Image: ten peppers on a market table at Onitsha — placeholder only]

Count the market

Igbo children often learn numbers at a market stall, counting peppers, tomatoes or dried fish into heaps for customers. Try it at home: lay out ten of anything and count aloud, touching each one. Then ask a relative on a video call to count back to you and correct the tones.

Mini practice

• Hold up fingers: otu, abụọ, atọ, anọ, ise.
• Other hand: isii, asaa, asatọ, itoolu, iri.
• Clap on iri and start again.

Standard Igbo numerals only; the base-twenty words beyond ten are left for an intermediate lesson with a native speaker.

Level: Beginner Audience: Family / all ages Geo: Nigeria → Anambra, where Igbo is the everyday language of home, market and church

Igbo is a tonal language with about 34 million native speakers (2023), and in Anambra it is the language almost everyone grows up in. Standard spelling uses the Ọnwụ alphabet, so the dotted letters ị ọ ụ are different sounds from i o u; a relative can model them. Greetings in Igbo are warm and come in pairs: say one, wait for the reply. Spellings below follow Omniglot and Harvard's ELIAS Igbo course; where the two differ, both are shown.

Igbo	English	Notes
Ndeewo	Hello / greetings	The all-purpose daytime greeting; also written Ndewo
Kedụ?	How are you?	Literally "how is it?"; the most common question after hello
Ọ dị mma	It is fine / I am well	The standard reply to Kedụ
Ị bọọla chi?	Good morning	Literally "have you woken?"; often shortened in speech to Ị bọla chi
Ka chi foo	Good night	Literally "let the day break"; also Ka chi bọọ
Nnọọ	Welcome	What relatives say when you arrive; Nnọọ nụ to a group
Daalụ	Thank you	Also used as a greeting of appreciation; say it everywhere
Ị meela	Thank you (you have done well)	Slightly warmer than Daalụ
Biko	Please	Soft and everyday
Ndo	Sorry	For a small mistake or to show sympathy
Jisie ike	Well done / keep it up	Said to someone working; Harvard's course spells it Jisi ike
Kedụ aha gị?	What is your name?	Some speakers say afa for "name"
Aha m bụ …	My name is …	Fill in the child's name
Ka ọmesịa	Goodbye / see you later	Also written Ka emesia
Ee	Yes	Simple agreement

[Audio: a relative recording each phrase at home pace — never a fake audio URL] [Image: a greeting at the door of an Anambra compound — placeholder only]

Mini dialogue at Grandma's door

• Child: Ndeewo, Mama. Kedụ?
• Grandmother: Ọ dị mma. Nnọọ!
• Child: Daalụ.
• Grandmother (that night): Ka chi foo.

Practice tip

Tone carries meaning in Igbo, so a written word is only half the lesson. Record a grandparent or aunt saying each line, play it back, and copy the rise and fall, not just the letters. Children who greet properly at the gate are praised loudly in Anambra; let them enjoy that.

Only well-attested standard Igbo phrases; dialect varies from town to town in Anambra, so a relative's version is always the right one for your family.

Long ago, when animals still went to festivals, the creatures of the forest near Ogbunike gathered every year for the Ime Ogba, the celebration of the day the caves were first found. Everyone went down into the cool green valley together: the goats, the grasscutters, the bush fowl, the squirrels, and of course Mbe the Tortoise, who thought he was the cleverest animal in Anambra.

Before they set off, the old Elephant, who was the eldest of all, spoke to the young ones.

"Listen well. The path to the caves is a long stairway, more than three hundred steps down through the trees. Go slowly. Hold the hand of the one in front of you. Inside, the cave is dark and has many tunnels, like fingers on a hand. Do not go past the stream that runs through the floor. And whatever you do, stay with your group."

"Yes, Elder," said the goats.

"Yes, Elder," said the bush fowl.

Mbe said nothing. He was thinking: Three hundred steps? Hold hands? Stay with the group? I have four legs and a hard shell. I do not need rules made for soft animals.

Down they went, step by step by step. Mbe grew bored by step fifty. By step one hundred he had left the line. By step two hundred he was far ahead, alone, and very pleased with himself.

At the bottom the air was cool and smelled of wet leaves. The mouth of the cave opened wide and high, big enough for an elephant to walk in without bending. Mbe marched straight inside.

It was wonderful at first. Water dripped. His footsteps echoed. Then he found the stream the Elder had spoken of, and he thought, The Elder said do not go past the stream. But the Elder is old and slow. I am Mbe. And he crossed it.

The tunnels began. One went left, one went right, one went up, one went down. Mbe chose one, then another, then another. Something flapped past his head in the dark, soft and quick: a bat, going home. Mbe jumped so hard he nearly turned over.

Now it was very dark. Now he did not know which tunnel led back. He called out, "Hello?" and the cave only answered, "Hello... hello... hello..."

Mbe sat down inside his shell and, for the first time all day, he was quiet.

In the quiet he heard something. Far away, very faint: clap, clap, clap. Singing. The Ime Ogba songs. The other animals had arrived at the cave mouth, together, slowly, holding hands, exactly as the Elder had said.

Mbe followed the sound. He crept back along the tunnel, listening at every turn, choosing the way where the singing was louder. He splashed back across the stream. And there, in the light, stood all the animals, and in front of them stood the old Elephant.

The Elephant did not shout. She only said, "Mbe. You came out by listening. Imagine if you had gone in by listening too."

Mbe hung his head, and then he did something tortoises rarely do. He said, "Yes, Elder. I am sorry."

And at the next Ime Ogba, who do you think walked at the back of the line, holding the tail of the goat in front of him and telling the little ones to go slowly on the steps?

The ear should walk down the steps before the feet do.

Moral: Elders tell you things because they have been down the steps before you. Listen first. You can still be clever afterwards.

Original story for AllAboutAfrica. Ask your child: what rule at home seems boring but is really there to keep you safe?

Adaeze was seven, and she had come from London to Onitsha for the long holiday. Her grandmother, Mama Nkechi, sold pepper and dried fish at the Main Market, the huge market that spreads out beside the River Niger, and today Adaeze was going with her.

"The market is too big," Adaeze said as they walked in. Stalls went on and on in every direction, under zinc roofs and umbrellas, with people calling and laughing and carrying baskets on their heads. "I will get lost. I cannot even count how many people are here."

Mama Nkechi smiled. "Nobody counts the whole market, my daughter. You count what is in front of you. Come."

At her stall she put a small heap of red peppers on the table. "In Igbo, one is otu." She touched one pepper. "Say it."

"Otu."

"Two is abụọ." She touched a second pepper.

"Abụọ." Adaeze liked how the word bounced.

"Three, atọ. Four, anọ."

Adaeze counted the four peppers, touching each one. A woman stopped to buy, and Mama Nkechi wrapped her pepper in paper and said, "Daalụ," which means thank you. Adaeze whispered "Daalụ" too, and the woman laughed and said, "This child is learning the language!"

"Five, ise," said Mama Nkechi, and now she used dried fish instead of peppers, five silver fish laid in a row. "Six, isii. Seven, asaa."

"Isii, asaa," said Adaeze, and she found she was no longer looking at the whole market. She was looking at seven fish.

"Eight is asatọ. Nine is itoolu."

"Itoolu is long," said Adaeze.

"Nine is a long way to count," said her grandmother. "And ten is short: iri."

"Iri!" Adaeze clapped. "Otu, abụọ, atọ, anọ, ise, isii, asaa, asatọ, itoolu, iri!"

A boy selling cold water from a bucket on his head stopped to listen, and when she finished he said, "Correct!" and gave her a high five without spilling a drop.

All morning Adaeze counted. She counted the tomatoes on the next stall, iri and more. She counted the yellow buses she could see through the gap in the roofs: atọ. She counted the steps from Mama Nkechi's stall to the tap where they washed their hands: iri, iri, iri and anọ more, thirty-four, though she did not yet know how to say thirty-four. "Later," said Mama Nkechi. "Ten first. Big numbers are only small numbers standing together."

At noon they went to the edge of the market, and there was the River Niger, wide and brown and shining, with the long bridge stretching across it to Asaba on the other side. Lorries crawled along the bridge like beads on a string.

"Count the lorries," said Mama Nkechi.

Adaeze tried. "Otu, abụọ, atọ, anọ... they keep moving!"

"Yes. That is Onitsha. Everything keeps moving. So you count what you can, and you let the rest go by."

On the way home Adaeze fell asleep in the bus with the smell of pepper in her hair. That night she phoned her father in London.

"Daddy, I counted the market."

"The whole market?"

"No," she said, very seriously. "Nobody counts the whole market. I counted ten. Tomorrow I will count ten again, and then it will be twenty."

Big numbers are only small numbers standing together.

Moral: You do not have to understand everything at once. Learn what is in front of you, one piece at a time, and the big things will come.

Original story for AllAboutAfrica. Practise with your child: count ten things in your kitchen in Igbo, then phone a relative and count them again.