In Ons Land Suid Afrika…Tales from the Mother City
One of my favourite jokes told to my majority white and affluent audience is the one about the pronunciation of the word, Xhosa.
Please do not be alarmed by my use of the words “White” and “Affluent” as adjectives for the description of this particular audience. Simply put; a majority black and poor or affluent audience would not quite understand the need for the lesson.
Relooking at the situation, I need to mention, “South African audience”, for either hypothesis.
“Formerly Advantaged” South Africans seem to draw a blank at pronouncing “Xh”. So in the telling of my joke I take the audience back to all those Wild West movies and television shows they loved showing on the old SAUK/SABC.
John Wayne would get up on a horse and click two times, “Xh-Xh”, before spurring the beast gaily forward.
Even my childhood favourite the Lone Ranger would wink and click twice, “Xh-Xh” before jumping on his white stead and heading off into the sunset.
Lucky Luke, the perpetually stoned cowboy, dubbed into Afrikaans, had a horse that loped behind him making that vaguely familiar double click, “Xh-Xh” with his hooves.
So I explain to the audience that saying Xhosa is like riding a horse,
“Xh-xh, xh-xh, Xhosa!”
I’ve even started doing this at dinner parties, gallery openings and other such social events in the Mother City. This is usually preceded by that all too familiar question, after they’ve grappled with the simplicity of the name ODIDIVA,
“So, what tribe are you from?”
Tribe? Funny how Europeans, those travelling currently to South Africa under tourism, never get asked that question. It is always presumed they have some kind of “ethnicity”.
For some reason whenever someone asks me about my tribe, I suddenly imagine mud huts, loin cloths and a Chief with a feathered headdress or Shaka Zulu played iconically by Henry Cele.
No one ever asks, “What is your home language?” Funny how like a French person, who speaks French, I am Xhosa and speak Xhosa at home.
But I do digress.
The revelation behind my Cowboy story with the double clicks is that white South Africans have always had the capacity and the familiar references to be able to pronounce Xhosa correctly.
Thus it becomes evident that there is a train of thought that finds saying Xhosa correctly, demeaning.
On my recent tour to Copenhagen, Denmark, this High School student, quite enthused to be meeting a “real” South African, asked me if I made “…those noises.”
The joke ends off,
“Xhosa pronounced correctly is a very deep, sophisticated and centuries old language with conjugation more meticulous than French. “X.hausa” sounds like a bastardised version of Afrikaans, Dutch or German stockings. And finally the popular “Koza” is actually .co.za.”
I noticed my cousin’s Facebook update a couple of days ago,
“If one other person just assumes that they can speak Afrikaans to me and I will understand or that I can…”
I laughed. She grew up in the Eastern Cape, moved to Cape Town to study, stayed and went on to marry a charming English speaking Coloured man.
On the other hand, I am a born and bred Capetonian. Born in the St Monica’s Hospital situated on the slopes of Signal Hill in the Bo-Kaap.
A day after being bemused by my cousin’s Facebook comment, I travelled to the City of Cape Town’s Media Building for a meeting. I enquired with the security the whereabouts of the Suidooste Fees.
In my haste to get to my appointment I mispronounced the name of the festival and was promptly corrected, twice.
I then replied in English, “South-Easter Festival”, the two female Coloured security guards emphatically repeated, “Suidooste Fees”.
I then said, “umYadala weMpumaMzantsi”.
“Watter!” was the reply.
I then explained to them in Afrikaans that if they can pronounce the word Xhosa correctly or could even speak it I would be very happy to hear it. They both couldn’t do either, yet one actually did manage to mumble,
“ndiyazama-zama”.
This means she is attempting to learn, a little.
Many years after members and leaders of the Mass Democratic Movement and Liberation Organizations prostrated themselves in front of the Truth and Reconciliation Movement as their counterparts of the Apartheid Era political parties, Cabinet Ministers and Generals, hid behind foot soldiers,
we the “Formerly Disadvantaged” still must make all the effort to bridge the gap in reconciliation.
African newsreaders are cruelly criticised for poor English pronunciation and diction as 15 years roll by without a single competent Zulu or Xhosa or Tswana speaking Caucasian newsreader ever gracing our screens.
Freedom Front members of parliament stand defiantly delivering speeches and comments in Afrikaans in the National Assembly. They forget that English is spoken by the majority of the MP’s in Parliament, not because the British Empire won the Anglo-Boer War, but because the majority speaks Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho, Tswana, Ndebele, Tsonga, Pedi, Swati and Venda.
Therefore the majority is finding common ground and again making the effort at reconciliation.
Most Former Model C schools still do not offer more than 2 official South African languages (English & Afrikaans) as part of the curriculum. They cite a number of excuses including a lack of suitable teachers and resources. These excuses are made even when the majority the children attending speak Zulu, Xhosa or Sotho and travel a 40 kilometre round trip to attend school everyday.
By the way, The South African Democratic Trade Union (Sadtu) is the largest public service trade union with over 250 000 members. The majority are indigenous African language speakers.
Just as with the Truth & Reconciliation Commission and South Africa’s 11 Official Languages, no one is forced to learn anything, no one can be forced to change.
The opportunities to change and adapt to a more conciliatory, cohesive, co-productive society are there everyday. Not just when the international community flocks to see the billions spent by government on stadia and infrastructure for the World Cup.
Every moment one mispronounces someone’s “ethnic” name, surname or language and continues to do so we take two steps back and tread water in our development and growth.
We stop flying the flag. We revert to type. Think about it.
Think about what the effort to pronounce that word correctly will do for the self-esteem and general “Feel Good” factor of this young nation, we all proudly call home.
Please do not be alarmed by my use of the words “White” and “Affluent” as adjectives for the description of this particular audience. Simply put; a majority black and poor or affluent audience would not quite understand the need for the lesson.
Relooking at the situation, I need to mention, “South African audience”, for either hypothesis.
“Formerly Advantaged” South Africans seem to draw a blank at pronouncing “Xh”. So in the telling of my joke I take the audience back to all those Wild West movies and television shows they loved showing on the old SAUK/SABC.
John Wayne would get up on a horse and click two times, “Xh-Xh”, before spurring the beast gaily forward.
Even my childhood favourite the Lone Ranger would wink and click twice, “Xh-Xh” before jumping on his white stead and heading off into the sunset.
Lucky Luke, the perpetually stoned cowboy, dubbed into Afrikaans, had a horse that loped behind him making that vaguely familiar double click, “Xh-Xh” with his hooves.
So I explain to the audience that saying Xhosa is like riding a horse,
“Xh-xh, xh-xh, Xhosa!”
I’ve even started doing this at dinner parties, gallery openings and other such social events in the Mother City. This is usually preceded by that all too familiar question, after they’ve grappled with the simplicity of the name ODIDIVA,
“So, what tribe are you from?”
Tribe? Funny how Europeans, those travelling currently to South Africa under tourism, never get asked that question. It is always presumed they have some kind of “ethnicity”.
For some reason whenever someone asks me about my tribe, I suddenly imagine mud huts, loin cloths and a Chief with a feathered headdress or Shaka Zulu played iconically by Henry Cele.
No one ever asks, “What is your home language?” Funny how like a French person, who speaks French, I am Xhosa and speak Xhosa at home.
But I do digress.
The revelation behind my Cowboy story with the double clicks is that white South Africans have always had the capacity and the familiar references to be able to pronounce Xhosa correctly.
Thus it becomes evident that there is a train of thought that finds saying Xhosa correctly, demeaning.
On my recent tour to Copenhagen, Denmark, this High School student, quite enthused to be meeting a “real” South African, asked me if I made “…those noises.”
The joke ends off,
“Xhosa pronounced correctly is a very deep, sophisticated and centuries old language with conjugation more meticulous than French. “X.hausa” sounds like a bastardised version of Afrikaans, Dutch or German stockings. And finally the popular “Koza” is actually .co.za.”
I noticed my cousin’s Facebook update a couple of days ago,
“If one other person just assumes that they can speak Afrikaans to me and I will understand or that I can…”
I laughed. She grew up in the Eastern Cape, moved to Cape Town to study, stayed and went on to marry a charming English speaking Coloured man.
On the other hand, I am a born and bred Capetonian. Born in the St Monica’s Hospital situated on the slopes of Signal Hill in the Bo-Kaap.
A day after being bemused by my cousin’s Facebook comment, I travelled to the City of Cape Town’s Media Building for a meeting. I enquired with the security the whereabouts of the Suidooste Fees.
In my haste to get to my appointment I mispronounced the name of the festival and was promptly corrected, twice.
I then replied in English, “South-Easter Festival”, the two female Coloured security guards emphatically repeated, “Suidooste Fees”.
I then said, “umYadala weMpumaMzantsi”.
“Watter!” was the reply.
I then explained to them in Afrikaans that if they can pronounce the word Xhosa correctly or could even speak it I would be very happy to hear it. They both couldn’t do either, yet one actually did manage to mumble,
“ndiyazama-zama”.
This means she is attempting to learn, a little.
Many years after members and leaders of the Mass Democratic Movement and Liberation Organizations prostrated themselves in front of the Truth and Reconciliation Movement as their counterparts of the Apartheid Era political parties, Cabinet Ministers and Generals, hid behind foot soldiers,
we the “Formerly Disadvantaged” still must make all the effort to bridge the gap in reconciliation.
African newsreaders are cruelly criticised for poor English pronunciation and diction as 15 years roll by without a single competent Zulu or Xhosa or Tswana speaking Caucasian newsreader ever gracing our screens.
Freedom Front members of parliament stand defiantly delivering speeches and comments in Afrikaans in the National Assembly. They forget that English is spoken by the majority of the MP’s in Parliament, not because the British Empire won the Anglo-Boer War, but because the majority speaks Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho, Tswana, Ndebele, Tsonga, Pedi, Swati and Venda.
Therefore the majority is finding common ground and again making the effort at reconciliation.
Most Former Model C schools still do not offer more than 2 official South African languages (English & Afrikaans) as part of the curriculum. They cite a number of excuses including a lack of suitable teachers and resources. These excuses are made even when the majority the children attending speak Zulu, Xhosa or Sotho and travel a 40 kilometre round trip to attend school everyday.
By the way, The South African Democratic Trade Union (Sadtu) is the largest public service trade union with over 250 000 members. The majority are indigenous African language speakers.
Just as with the Truth & Reconciliation Commission and South Africa’s 11 Official Languages, no one is forced to learn anything, no one can be forced to change.
The opportunities to change and adapt to a more conciliatory, cohesive, co-productive society are there everyday. Not just when the international community flocks to see the billions spent by government on stadia and infrastructure for the World Cup.
Every moment one mispronounces someone’s “ethnic” name, surname or language and continues to do so we take two steps back and tread water in our development and growth.
We stop flying the flag. We revert to type. Think about it.
Think about what the effort to pronounce that word correctly will do for the self-esteem and general “Feel Good” factor of this young nation, we all proudly call home.
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