01 The only African capital with Spanish as an official language

Spanish is not a symbolic remnant here. It is the language of administration, of primary education and of official life, and estimates of how many speak it run from seventy to eighty-five per cent of the population depending on the source. The country also has its own recognised variety, Equatoguinean Spanish, and in October 2013 the Equatoguinean Academy of the Spanish Language was created as a correspondent of the Real Academia Española.

Alongside Spanish there are two other official languages, French and Portuguese, and several recognised indigenous languages: Fang, dominant on the mainland, Bubi, native to the island of Bioko, and the creole of Annobón. A dense linguistic map for a small country.

The front of a single-storey urban market with a green and yellow sheet-metal pitched roof: above the central entrance, a large red and yellow sign reading "Mercado Central" and, on either side, several advertising boards for a drinks brand; under the canopy, stalls with crates and goods and some twenty people at middle distance, seen from behind or far off; in the foreground, a wet roadway with cars parked and moving, and at the back the wooded slope of the volcano rises, its summit hidden by a continuous band of grey cloud.
The central market. The sign is in Spanish, like almost all signage in the city; the conversation underneath it often is not.Sascha Grabow / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0·CC BY-SA 4.0

02 And yet, on the street

Pichi — Pichinglis, or simply Pichi — is an Atlantic English-lexicon creole spoken on the island of Bioko. In 2011 it counted around 6,000 native speakers and some 70,000 who use it as a second language, and studies describe it as the most widespread language in Malabo after Spanish, probably the main language of the majority of its inhabitants.

The language you will hear most in Malabo after Spanish has no official recognition, does not appear in the media and is not in the education system. It exists only spoken.

That absence explains the visitor's confusion. Everything written is in Spanish — shop signs, street plaques, forms — so on paper the city looks like a straightforwardly Spanish-speaking capital. And then you sit down at a café table and what comes over from the next table sounds nothing like Spanish at all.

A straight, wide street in the centre shot from the middle of the roadway, almost empty: on the left, a metal fence painted bright red in front of a two-storey pink house, with a circular no-entry sign in the foreground; on the right, a building under construction with its concrete frame and timber roof trusses exposed, and a grey sheet-metal hoarding; in the centre of the view, at the end of the street, a pale building with a green dome, and only two cars, one silver and parked, one blue and moving; the sky is whitish and hazy.
An avenue in the historic centre. The streets have carried Spanish names for more than a century and a half.Denis Barthel / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 3.0·CC BY-SA 3.0

03 A language that arrived with the city

Here is what makes the fact memorable. Pichi derives from Krio, the English creole of Sierra Leone, and reached the island with Krio speakers from Freetown from 1827 onwards. That date is not just any date: 1827 is exactly the year the British founded the settlement that would later become Malabo.

Put another way: the language and the city are the same age. Pichi is not a later borrowing or an imported fashion, but the language the port was settled in from day one. Spanish would arrive twenty-eight years later, in 1855, when the island passed to Spanish administration and the settlement was renamed Santa Isabel.

The order matters because it inverts what you assume. In Malabo, Spanish is not the ancient substrate on which other languages have settled: it is the layer laid over a city that was already speaking something else. And that lower layer is still working, unwritten and unrecognised, almost two centuries later.

A two-storey building painted cream yellow, with a pitched sheet-metal roof and visible cracks in the render: on the upper floor, a projecting balcony with a highly decorated parapet of white and dark balusters, and aluminium windows with curtains; on the ground floor, doors and louvred shutters in brown wood and, above them, hand-painted directly onto the wall, the words "Centro Privado Santa Ana"; in front runs a low wall in the same colour with a numbered brown metal gate, a grey electrical cabinet on the pavement and a tall street light in the middle of the frame; the nose of a parked red van shows on the left and the sky is grey and overcast.
A school in the historic quarter, its name hand-painted in Spanish. Lessons are in Spanish; what gets spoken on the way out of the door often is not.Denis Barthel / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 3.0·CC BY-SA 3.0

04 What to do with this

First, relax: you do not need to learn anything. If you speak Spanish, in Malabo you will get by with everyone, and that is a very rare circumstance in sub-Saharan Africa. The Pichi fact is not a logistical problem, it is a correction to how you read the place.

Second, do not confuse the languages. What you hear around you may be Pichi, but it may also be Bubi — the island's own language — or Fang. Assuming everything that is not Spanish is "the creole" is the same crude mistake as assuming that only Spanish is spoken here.

And third, use it to listen better. Knowing the city was founded in 1827 with a Krio-speaking population explains things that otherwise do not fit: why there are English surnames, why some place names sound the way they do, why the Spanish you hear has a rhythm found nowhere else. Malabo is not a Spanish-speaking city. It is a city where Spanish is one of the layers, and not the first one.

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Lucía Montes

Worth Knowing editor · Flowtravel

Lucía chases the fact that changes how you look at a place.