Monday 14 May 2012

Bubbling from the pot

I’m sitting here, quietly watching the sea, when the peace is shattered by raucous laughter – my own, that is. I am giggling with my cousin, Vick, who happens to be in London.

Kif! In other words, those are pretty nice shells
We chat all the time, you see, thanks to smartphones, facebook and email. She’s just told me that she thought she was being “very international” by using the word “fundi” until it dawned on her that no-one understood what she was saying. When a South African says “fundi”, they mean “expert”. To most others, it is gobbledygook.

Strange variety

What makes it even funnier is that Vick has been in a very senior position on a very large UK newspaper, but speaks a rather strange variety of the English language: the South African kind.

I, too, did not know that “fundi” was a South African word, and I raise it with my sister K (she lives in Geneva, remember, where she has a top job in a big multinational). “Oops, I use it all the time,” she says.

A bit of research reveals that “fundi” actually comes from the Nguni (Xhosa and Zulu) word for teacher: umfindisi. It also has some other fairly obscure meanings: we could, for example, be referring to a fundamentalist greenie in Germany (but we’re not).

So we chuckle at ourselves. The truth is that South Africans rejoice in this rich English that has bubbled out of our post-apartheid melting pot.

Peppered chats

We liberally pepper our chats with words that we know are South African, like “eish” (I’m shocked/annoyed/amazed), “eina” (ouch), “kif” (nice/pretty), “muti” (medicine), “lekker” (nice) and, even, when we’re very cross, “bliksem” (a naughty person, or to hit something). Those words – there are a lot of them (try here for a taste) – are Afrikaans, Xhosa, Zulu or any one of South Africa’s 11 official languages.

We also have another whole decidedly South African lexicon of English that we use all the time – and usually, we don’t know there is anything odd about it. That applies to even the most sophisticated, globally speaking, of us: people like Vick and K.

K, for example, adds that she’s just told an American friend that she would “hold thumbs” for his wife, who’s just been for a job interview. “He asked how one held thumbs. When I explained, he said, ‘Oh you mean, like crossing fingers’.”

When she visited a few weeks ago, we shrieked with laughter as she related how she was greeted with blank stares when she declared that she would “fetch” her daughter. You fetch a thing (a dog fetches his bone?), not a person. Then she kept us in hysterics as she ran through a string of phrases that she has discovered are thoroughly South African. So we will say that something is “not a train smash” (not so bad). We will declare, “serious” (pronounce “see-ree-ous”, with lots of exclamations marks), when we really want to make a point. Or we will say “ag, shame” when something is cute.

Newsroom run-ins

And when Vick visited, we literally rolled on the floor with laughter as she described her London newsroom run-ins with our peculiar language. She had problems, she said, with “just now”, which South Africans interpret as “in a little while”. I am quoting her from memory, but she says it’s close enough.

“When British people say it, they mean, ‘immediately’. So at first, a lot of the subs thought I was being very pushy because I kept asking them if they would complete tasks and stories ‘just now’. Eventually we adapted it and they would ask me, Do you mean an English ‘just now’ or a South African ‘just now’?”

Robots

To South Africans and no-one else, a “robot” is a “traffic light”. As Vick discovered: “I once asked the picture editor to put across an image of a robot – I needed to use it as a cut-out. I waited and waited ... We were getting dangerously close to deadline, so I strode across to urge the picture desk into action. She opened up a folder full of pictures she’d put across in response to my request ... It was crammed with computer robots from science fiction movies!

“And then there was the day when I complimented one of my colleagues on her new jeans. I said, ‘Ooh, I like your pants!’ She looked horrified, blushed, and then asked me whether her trousers were see-through. It’s ‘trousers’ over here; ‘pants’ are knickers.” 

On that note, I am going to water the vegetable garden before the sun goes down.

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