"LANGUAGE: A MANY SPLINTERED THING"
Tuesday, February 21, 2006--just returned from extra duty at the "tuck shop" area of the Norkem Park High School campus (more on the tuck shop later). While walking the grounds of the tuck shop, I heard many languages being spoken by the students...they were either on break, were "bunking" (more on that later too), or their teacher might be absent (the concept of substitute teachers takes on new meaning here). Maybe I should say it takes on "no" meaning here! Teachers are left to their own creativity in covering classes missed because of sickness or whatever other reason they use to say bye-bye to the classroom for a day.
English and Afrikaans are the easiest for my ear to pick up--even in a crowd of excited learners. In my preparatory reading before coming to South Africa I remember the section on languages, especially the indigenous black languages--11 official ones that were not distinct to me at that point. I take that back. Zulu stood out then and it still stands out now...what, staying power because of the poetic nature of the sound it makes when one says it (softly now...Zooo-Looo). Now say Eng-lisch. It does nothing for me either. The language of the classroom is English; it's one of the reasons that made my transition from a Flint classroom to a South African classroom fairly uncomplicated.
The language of the learners, no matter where they are, is their own home language--for me, a smattering of several incomprehensible tongues that on more than one occasion have left me scratching my head, wondering if my learners are conspiring against me in some manner.
It's all innocent banter, of course (gosh, I hope so!). One day I finally acted out against the language barrier and asked one of my 8th-graders to teach me to say "hello" in her indigenous Zulu language. I could see this young learner enjoyed the challenge of teaching me, a helpless, English-language-bound American, how to greet someone in her native Zulu language. Not only that, she queried the class for other ways to greet someone in their home language. The following is a list they developed for me:
ZULU: "SAWBONANI"
SOTHO: "DUMALENG"
PEDI: "KGOTSONG"
TSWANA: "THABELA"
VENDA: "DI MATSHELONI"
SWATI: "SAWBONA"
NDEBELE: "LOEHANI"
XHOSA: "MOLOWENI"
TSONGA: "AVUSHENI"
There you have it. Now keep in mind the above is just a simple greeting. Imagine the cacophoney of sounds when these kids are turned loose to simply chat! My classroom, like all the others, is a cement tomb without accoustical tiles on the ceiling. Most classes have anywhere from 36 to 39 learners...are you understanding the dimension of sound and space in such classrooms? Close your eyes and think of a freight train hitting full steam on the plains of Kansas--sounds just like one of my 8th-grade classes just back from a break at the "tuck shop." More on the tuck stuff too!
You say you want to rely on English only? Okay, shall we talk about the "panel-beater" shop where you take your automobile if it's damaged on the N1 to Joburg. Perhaps they can locate the owner's manual in the "cabbi-hole", the glove-box? You say no...it's stashed in the "boot" (the trunk). When the workers are finished on your car, the damaged parts might be thrown in a "dust-bin." Trash can, of course!
Driving in South Africa is a real adventure. More than once I have wondered what ever possessed the British to promote driving on the "wrong" side of the road? As a matter of fact, everything on vehicles in South Africa is the exact opposite of what one would find in America--or Europe and Asia (with some exceptions, obviously). Oh. And don't dare run through a "robot" while negotiating an intersection (that would be a stoplight for Westerners).
Going shopping? No problem: just grab a "trolley" and fill it up with whatever suits your fancy (a trolley is a shopping cart). Speaking of suits, if you are looking for a swim suit you better ask for a swim "costume." No, it's not Halloween here! Incidently, South Africans don't observe the American rendition of what I refer to as our most pagan holiday.
Need something to snack on--some junk food? No problem...our learners go to the tuck shop on school grounds and get their fill of sugar. I don't think they sell popsicles there, but if they did you would politely ask for an "ice-lollie." Then there's the "stoksweet"...sounds good, huh? Well, that is some kind of sucker or lollipop back in America. In the land of plenty there is not a banana or orange to be seen at the school-run tuck shop. If you prefer, it's called a "snoepie" in the Afrikaans language. While I'm on the subject of Afrikaans, let me not forget the "koeka" shop--flea market shop.
I've also learned there is what is referred to as "township" language. The (black) townships were part of the "Grand Apartheid"; they were established to maintain segregation and continue the solid wall of separation between blacks and whites. The word "spaza" is used to indicate a place where something is purchased outside the normal realm of buying and selling in a place of business. I was told it is like selling items out of one's garage or home. I heard it being used within the school where I teach--someone selling candy or such out of their backpack. I suppose that would be a walking, talking, mobile spaza!
Remember the political advertisments during the last presidential election in America (most folks would just as soon forget those bothersome intrusions into their living rooms)? Democratic hopeful, John Kerry (my man, by the way), was soundly criticized for "flip-flopping" on the issues. The Republicans, not known for creativity, in my opinion, used bathroom flip-flops to emphasize Kerry's supposed vacillation back and forth on key campaign issues. Goodness, remember their silliness in flipping those flip-flops to and fro? The cheap strategy by the GOP was good for laughs--and plenty of votes for the other candidate (the guy who probably understood a flip-flop to be associated with a swimming pool diving board).
Well, in South Africa flip-flops are called "slops." It's national municipal election time here. I'm wondering if a political party in South Africa would want to sway the voters with a "slop" accusation against the opposing candidate? Let's see: that would be a candidate "slop-slopping" on the issues, right? What was funny gets even funnier here!
There were four American educators sent to South Africa by the U.S. Department of State on a Fulbright Teacher Exchange grant. All of us should have been schooled on the fine points of "bunking" relative to youngsters in schools here. When I first heard the term it was in the context of one of my little learners being absent that day. I thought his classmates were being helpful by telling me he was doing some banking. Upon further inquiry, I learned the rascal was bunking, not banking. Bunking is skipping class.
When I have a question about language, virtually any South African language, I take it to Izak Cronje. I'd be willing to bet a bag full of biltong that my "main man" Izak never got involved with bunking during his school days. He is Marina Cronje's husband; Marina is my exchange counterpart who now occupies my classroom in Flint, Michigan. Her husband's knowledge of South Africa and its peoples has been invaluable in my adjustment to living, teaching, and enjoying life here.
He taught me about the "unofficial" language of the miners--developed over years of sweat and toil deep underground in the vast storehouse of riches under Johannesburg. The workers' language is called "Fanagalo." Black miners from all over the continent of Africa contributed most of the linguistic patterns of this unusual language. Whites, so-called Coloreds, and Asians have added some of their distinctions to the language too. It goes something like this: "Yena fuma work lapa?" Translated it means: "You want to work here?"
There could be much, much more on language in this posting. On the continent of over a thousand languages, I'll take a break for now. It's time for me to muddle through my day, trying to understand a very complicated society in which language is only one important component of the rich diversity of my daily experiences.
English and Afrikaans are the easiest for my ear to pick up--even in a crowd of excited learners. In my preparatory reading before coming to South Africa I remember the section on languages, especially the indigenous black languages--11 official ones that were not distinct to me at that point. I take that back. Zulu stood out then and it still stands out now...what, staying power because of the poetic nature of the sound it makes when one says it (softly now...Zooo-Looo). Now say Eng-lisch. It does nothing for me either. The language of the classroom is English; it's one of the reasons that made my transition from a Flint classroom to a South African classroom fairly uncomplicated.
The language of the learners, no matter where they are, is their own home language--for me, a smattering of several incomprehensible tongues that on more than one occasion have left me scratching my head, wondering if my learners are conspiring against me in some manner.
It's all innocent banter, of course (gosh, I hope so!). One day I finally acted out against the language barrier and asked one of my 8th-graders to teach me to say "hello" in her indigenous Zulu language. I could see this young learner enjoyed the challenge of teaching me, a helpless, English-language-bound American, how to greet someone in her native Zulu language. Not only that, she queried the class for other ways to greet someone in their home language. The following is a list they developed for me:
ZULU: "SAWBONANI"
SOTHO: "DUMALENG"
PEDI: "KGOTSONG"
TSWANA: "THABELA"
VENDA: "DI MATSHELONI"
SWATI: "SAWBONA"
NDEBELE: "LOEHANI"
XHOSA: "MOLOWENI"
TSONGA: "AVUSHENI"
There you have it. Now keep in mind the above is just a simple greeting. Imagine the cacophoney of sounds when these kids are turned loose to simply chat! My classroom, like all the others, is a cement tomb without accoustical tiles on the ceiling. Most classes have anywhere from 36 to 39 learners...are you understanding the dimension of sound and space in such classrooms? Close your eyes and think of a freight train hitting full steam on the plains of Kansas--sounds just like one of my 8th-grade classes just back from a break at the "tuck shop." More on the tuck stuff too!
You say you want to rely on English only? Okay, shall we talk about the "panel-beater" shop where you take your automobile if it's damaged on the N1 to Joburg. Perhaps they can locate the owner's manual in the "cabbi-hole", the glove-box? You say no...it's stashed in the "boot" (the trunk). When the workers are finished on your car, the damaged parts might be thrown in a "dust-bin." Trash can, of course!
Driving in South Africa is a real adventure. More than once I have wondered what ever possessed the British to promote driving on the "wrong" side of the road? As a matter of fact, everything on vehicles in South Africa is the exact opposite of what one would find in America--or Europe and Asia (with some exceptions, obviously). Oh. And don't dare run through a "robot" while negotiating an intersection (that would be a stoplight for Westerners).
Going shopping? No problem: just grab a "trolley" and fill it up with whatever suits your fancy (a trolley is a shopping cart). Speaking of suits, if you are looking for a swim suit you better ask for a swim "costume." No, it's not Halloween here! Incidently, South Africans don't observe the American rendition of what I refer to as our most pagan holiday.
Need something to snack on--some junk food? No problem...our learners go to the tuck shop on school grounds and get their fill of sugar. I don't think they sell popsicles there, but if they did you would politely ask for an "ice-lollie." Then there's the "stoksweet"...sounds good, huh? Well, that is some kind of sucker or lollipop back in America. In the land of plenty there is not a banana or orange to be seen at the school-run tuck shop. If you prefer, it's called a "snoepie" in the Afrikaans language. While I'm on the subject of Afrikaans, let me not forget the "koeka" shop--flea market shop.
I've also learned there is what is referred to as "township" language. The (black) townships were part of the "Grand Apartheid"; they were established to maintain segregation and continue the solid wall of separation between blacks and whites. The word "spaza" is used to indicate a place where something is purchased outside the normal realm of buying and selling in a place of business. I was told it is like selling items out of one's garage or home. I heard it being used within the school where I teach--someone selling candy or such out of their backpack. I suppose that would be a walking, talking, mobile spaza!
Remember the political advertisments during the last presidential election in America (most folks would just as soon forget those bothersome intrusions into their living rooms)? Democratic hopeful, John Kerry (my man, by the way), was soundly criticized for "flip-flopping" on the issues. The Republicans, not known for creativity, in my opinion, used bathroom flip-flops to emphasize Kerry's supposed vacillation back and forth on key campaign issues. Goodness, remember their silliness in flipping those flip-flops to and fro? The cheap strategy by the GOP was good for laughs--and plenty of votes for the other candidate (the guy who probably understood a flip-flop to be associated with a swimming pool diving board).
Well, in South Africa flip-flops are called "slops." It's national municipal election time here. I'm wondering if a political party in South Africa would want to sway the voters with a "slop" accusation against the opposing candidate? Let's see: that would be a candidate "slop-slopping" on the issues, right? What was funny gets even funnier here!
There were four American educators sent to South Africa by the U.S. Department of State on a Fulbright Teacher Exchange grant. All of us should have been schooled on the fine points of "bunking" relative to youngsters in schools here. When I first heard the term it was in the context of one of my little learners being absent that day. I thought his classmates were being helpful by telling me he was doing some banking. Upon further inquiry, I learned the rascal was bunking, not banking. Bunking is skipping class.
When I have a question about language, virtually any South African language, I take it to Izak Cronje. I'd be willing to bet a bag full of biltong that my "main man" Izak never got involved with bunking during his school days. He is Marina Cronje's husband; Marina is my exchange counterpart who now occupies my classroom in Flint, Michigan. Her husband's knowledge of South Africa and its peoples has been invaluable in my adjustment to living, teaching, and enjoying life here.
He taught me about the "unofficial" language of the miners--developed over years of sweat and toil deep underground in the vast storehouse of riches under Johannesburg. The workers' language is called "Fanagalo." Black miners from all over the continent of Africa contributed most of the linguistic patterns of this unusual language. Whites, so-called Coloreds, and Asians have added some of their distinctions to the language too. It goes something like this: "Yena fuma work lapa?" Translated it means: "You want to work here?"
There could be much, much more on language in this posting. On the continent of over a thousand languages, I'll take a break for now. It's time for me to muddle through my day, trying to understand a very complicated society in which language is only one important component of the rich diversity of my daily experiences.
posted by JOBURG JOURNAL at 12:16 AM
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