A Country Where English
Is Nobody’s Mother Tongue

The whole country is a piano lesson

In Malaysia, English is not most people’s mother tongue to begin with. Malay is spoken in Malay homes; Cantonese, Hokkien or Mandarin in Chinese homes; Tamil in Indian homes. But when these people meet at work, at school or over a deal, the conversation often switches to English. Everyone is talking in a language that is nobody’s mother tongue. The whole country is rather like my daughter’s piano lesson.

Who lives here

Let me put numbers on it. At the end of 2025, 58.2% of citizens were Malay, 22.2% Chinese, 12.3% other Bumiputera, including the indigenous peoples of Sabah and Sarawak, and 6.5% Indian. On top of that, about a tenth of the population are foreigners.

For comparison, I put Japan alongside. Japan’s census does not ask about ethnicity, so all you can do is split by nationality. Foreign residents make up 3.4%. On a chart, it is almost a single colour. If Malaysia’s bar is a box of coloured pencils, Japan’s is one well-used pencil.

In old Kuala Lumpur, turn one corner from the street in front of the mosque and Chinese stalls are steaming under lanterns. Further on, Indian shops sell jasmine garlands. In ten minutes on foot, you feel you have visited three countries. The travel cost: one cup of coffee.

Only about 2% call English their mother tongue

So how many people have English as their mother tongue? Malaysia’s census does not, in fact, collect mother-tongue statistics. An estimate cited in research puts it at about 2%. Meanwhile, people who can communicate in English are estimated at 60 to 70%. Plenty can speak it; almost nobody calls it their own.

Japan, for the record. There are no statistics on English as a mother tongue, but it is safe to say close to zero. One estimate puts English speakers at just under 30%, but that figure rests on weak survey evidence and is only a rough guide. English is a mother tongue in neither country, yet the share who can speak it differs by roughly two to one.

A language that is nobody’s mother tongue belongs to nobody. In this country, English is shared property. Think of it as a park bench: anyone can sit on it, and nobody fusses about how you sit.

The common language changes with the scene

For the record, Malaysia’s national language is Malay. Government paperwork and much of the teaching in public schools are in Malay, and Malay will get you understood by most citizens. English gets its turn when different people mix: in city offices, business, universities, international schools, and conversations between friends of different ethnicities.

Why English stayed on

It started with the British. From their foothold in Penang in 1786, they took the ports of the Straits and went on to bring the states of the Malay Peninsula under their protection one after another. Government offices, courts and the better schools all ran in English. English was the language of getting ahead.

The British brought large numbers of workers from China for the tin mines and from India for the rubber estates. People with entirely different mother tongues ended up living on the same land. Picture three families moving into one terraced house, and chatting at the front door only in the landlord’s language.

At independence in 1957, the constitution made Malay the national language. English, however, was given ten years’ grace: it could still be used in parliament, the courts and government offices for another decade. Then, in 1967, the National Language Act settled that Malay would be used for official purposes. English stepped down as an official language. The landlord had moved out, but the language of the front-door chats stayed.

Schools changed too. In 1970, English-medium schools began switching to Malay, starting with the first year of primary school. By 1983, every subject in public schools and universities was taught in Malay. A grand change of wardrobe, thirteen years in the making.

Even so, English did not leave. In law, many statutes made before independence or up to 1967 remain in force in English. In 2003, a policy of teaching science and maths in English began, was scrapped after much debate, and came back in 2016 under a new name as the Dual Language Programme. English gets shown the door, then comes back in through another. A stubborn lodger.

Incidentally, in Sarawak on Borneo, the National Language Act is not in force and English is also valued as an official language. Even within one country, there are states where English is treated differently. This country is never simple.

In the end, it was not the law that kept English, but daily life. Talking to a colleague of another ethnicity, joking with friends, closing a deal: English, which belongs to no community, is the one that ruffles the fewest feathers. Precisely because it is nobody’s mother tongue, it could become everyone’s common language.

The English that stayed is a little different from the textbook variety. It is called Manglish, Malaysian-style English.

A quick guide to Manglish

Since we are here, let me introduce a few phrases you hear all the time. Learn them and conversations at hawker stalls get much easier.

First, “Can or not?” One all-purpose question covering “Can you?”, “Is it OK?” and “Is that all right?” The answer is “Can, can” or “Cannot.” For someone who spent three years at school learning how to form questions, it is almost annoyingly simple.

Next, “got.” “There is,” “there are,” “have” and “did” can mostly all be covered by got. “Got parking or not?” means “Is there parking?” But “Where got?” does not mean “Where is it?” It means “No way.” If you hear it while bargaining, you have usually lost.

Tense is handled by “already” at the end. “I makan already” means “I’ve eaten.” The verb does not change. And the Malay word makan, to eat, sits in the middle of an English sentence as if it had always lived there.

At shop fronts you also hear: “Makan here or tapau?” (Eat here or take away?) Makan is Malay, tapau is Cantonese, the rest is English. Three languages living together in four words. A miniature portrait of the country in one sentence.

And the crowning touch: the little words at the end. The same “OK” becomes “OK lah” (fine), “OK lor” (well, fine, I suppose) or “OK meh?” (are you sure?). One word at the end changes the emotional temperature.

Does this look familiar? It is the same mechanism as Japanese sentence-ending particles like ne, yo and ka. Drop the subject. Keep tense loose. Put the feeling at the end. Manglish has a skeleton close to Asian languages. For Japanese speakers, it may even be more familiar than textbook English. A conclusion that might make a Japanese school English teacher faint, admittedly.

Are there other countries like this?

Is this unusual? Look around and it is less rare than you might think. In Zambia, English is the sole official language and the language of education and business, yet only about 2% speak it as a first language. In Namibia, English is the sole official language, yet only 3.4% speak it at home.

Next door, Singapore is heading the other way. People whose most-spoken home language is English rose from 32.3% in 2010 to 48.3% in 2020. English is turning from everyone’s common language into the language of the home. As someone who lived there for many years, I find that a little wistful.

So a country where English is nobody’s mother tongue is not, in itself, rare. What is rare is the combination: in Asia, about seven hours’ flight from Japan, relatively safe and easy to live in, and home to the large language worlds of Malay, Chinese and Tamil living side by side. I cannot think of another country that ticks every box.

Where does Japan’s English stand?

While we are at it, a look at Japan’s English. In the 2025 English Proficiency Index by EF, a Swiss language-education company, comparing 123 countries and regions where English is not a native language, Malaysia scored 581 and ranked 24th, first in Asia. Japan scored 446 and ranked 96th, in the lowest of five bands, “very low”.

In Japan’s defence: in the first survey in 2011, Japan ranked 14th. But only 40 countries took part then. Each time more countries joined, Japan’s seat shifted a little further back. Like shuffling along to make room for latecomers at the cinema.

Singapore, by the way, vanished from the table in 2025, reclassified as a country where English is a native language. It backs up the earlier point that English is becoming the language of the home there. A graduation from the league table.

Japanese people learn English as a subject in which you must not make mistakes. Malaysians use it as a tool for getting understood. One is marking by deduction, the other marking by addition. Same English, different marking scheme, and a different way of opening your mouth.

Japanese people study English for years, from junior high to university. The vocabulary and grammar are in their heads. What is missing is not knowledge but chances to use it. Lots of time learning English, little time speaking in it. Malaysia offers that speaking time almost every day.

Just right for Japanese people

Speaking English here brings a curious sense of relief. For the other person, too, English is a second or third language. You are almost never rattled off at speed or laughed at for your pronunciation. Everyone uses gentle English that is meant to be understood.

My English is like a secret house sauce: a base of Japanese English, topped up with the air of Hong Kong, then left to mature in Singapore. Even this quirky English gets through in Malaysia. Not only does it get through; now and then I am complimented. Out of politeness, presumably.

And no need to worry about American or British English. There are native speakers at international schools and around town too. You can get used to gentle English while still meeting the real thing. When Japanese people learn English as a second or third language and set out to learn something in English, few countries offer a lower threshold.

A few pitfalls

Writing only the good parts might get me told off again, so here are the pitfalls.

First, Manglish becomes a habit. Get too used to “Can or not?” and an English exam after you return to Japan may give you a little trouble.

Second, you can live in English alone. Because English works, you can easily miss the chance to learn Malay. Take it from me: my Malay has stalled at greetings, thank-yous and prices.

A business view

Given my line of work, here are three lessons.

First, the main players in world English are people for whom it is not a mother tongue. Most people who speak English, like Malaysians, use it as a second language or later. That is usually who you face at work, too.

Second, being understood is worth more than sounding native. In a multinational meeting, slow, clear English is more welcome than fast, fluent English.

Third, Malaysia makes a training ground for working in Asia. Get used to English in many accents here, and you can speak up without hesitation in Singapore, Hong Kong or India.

My Fair Gaspard

In the film My Fair Lady, Eliza, a flower girl with a broad Cockney accent, is drilled in upper-class pronunciation by the phonetics professor Henry Higgins. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.” That famous practice line.

In Malaysia, nobody asks for that. The rain here stays mainly in the late afternoon, as a tropical downpour. An umbrella matters far more than pronunciation practice. If your accent is a bit off, nobody minds. All they care about is whether you got through.

Professor Higgins spent months fixing Eliza’s pronunciation. In Malaysia, two lines, “Can or not?” “Can, can,” settle the matter the same day. If the professor found out, he would either rewrite his textbook or take to his bed.

So I go on living in perfect broken English. Professor Higgins would faint, but the man at the hawker stall understands me just fine. “Can or not?” “Can, can.”