Kenyan Journal #8: How To Wish You Could Understand Swahili In One Easy Lesson
"Aaaye"
"Aaaye"
"Aaaye"
"Aaaye"
"Hey-ah"
"Aaaye"
This is the typical end to Swahili small talk in the Taita Hills. I can't vouch for the rest of Kenya, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were similar. I have no clue what it means, but parts of it can also be used in the middle of a conversation. Dorcas, our secretary, is an expert. She can hold almost an entire conversation in Swahili with only Aaayes and Heyahs. Whenever I try it, all I get are confused looks.
Another piece of Swahili that I can't get right is the greeting "Sasa?". It means 'now' and the full phrase is "Vipi sasa?" or "How now?" which makes sense, even without the cow. The problem is that in Swahili the accent is on the second last syllable of the word, but in English, the final syllable of a question is raised, and hence accented. So every time I say "Sasa?" I get the emPHAsis on the wrong sylLAble, and no amount of practice has been able to put things right.
I'm slowly getting used to the idea that vocabulary, grammar and pronounciation are the tip of the iceberg when it comes to understanding a language. For example, most Kenyans would have difficulty understanding my last sentence, because it relies on the iceberg metaphor to convey its meaning. I've had my share of misunderstandings.
Some parts of Swahili are comfortingly familiar. In good Canadian English, we often add "Eh?" to the end of a sentence. In Swahili, you'll often hear "Si ndiyo?" appended to a sentence, which has the same meaning ("Isn't that so?" or literally 'not yes?'). It doesn't have the beautiful simplicity of "Eh?", but it's the thought the counts.
Some parts of Swahili are logical, but never comfortingly so, because logic is not familiar to English speakers. Think of how you would answer the question "Do you own an elephant?" Now how would you answer the question "Don't you own an elephant?"
Unlike you and I, Kenyans would sensibly answer "No" to one question and "Yes" to the other. This is quite confusing for first-language anglophones and the Kenyans that talk to them.
I first encountered it when looking for some tea, but the thermos was empty. "Isn't there any more chai?" I asked.
"No" Dorcas answered.
As I was asking I had lifted the second thermos, and could plainly feel that there was lots more tea. After a few belated blinks it occurred to me that she was right. There was not not more chai.
In a similar vein, it is considered rude to contradict someone, especially a person in a position of power or respect, which I am by virtue of my skin colour and nationality, though I like to pretend that my education has something to do with it too.
After lunch one day, Dorcas brought back a maandanzi, which is a dough triangle, as opposed to a dough naught. She was holding the plastic bag so that a corner of maandanzi was sticking out as she offered me some. She only had one, and I didn't want to take it all, but I also knew that touching someone else's food with your fingers is considered quite rude. So I asked whether I should just tear off a corner.
Dorcas said "Yes", so I did, for which she gave me a consternated look before asking if I liked it. I did indeed and told her so, and then she asked if I'd please take the rest of it.
This was a Very Confusing Moment, but she clearly wanted me to take the rest. As I had no objection, despite her earlier answer I did.
The light bulb went on two days later when I got an email from my uncle describing how during his time in Ethiopia he had learnt to ask open-ended questions, because closed-ended questions were invariably answered "Yes" (unless asked in the negative, of course) so as not to cause offense.
I had assumed that a similar politeness applied to the question "How far is it?", which I'd been warned by several North Americans is always answered "Not far", as in "How far is it from Kenya to Canada?", "Not far."
But apparently it's not politeness, it's just that Kenyans have no sense of distance.
I know this because I invited a friend of mine over to my house. He said, "This weekend I have to walk to Werugha and tend our fields there."
"How far is Werugha?" I asked.
"I have to wake up early in the morning to walk there, maybe one-hundred and fifty kilometres." he answered.
Well, that's going to be a mighty early morning, after all he's walking the distance of almost four marathons. When I checked a map, I found that Werugha is about four kilometres from his house.
Kenyan lack of distance judgement was confirmed last weekend, when I dropped by Emily's house to give her an article about AIDS spread in the developing world.
Emily is an American Peace Corps volunteer who lives in Wesu, about three kilometres or forty-five minutes from Wundanyi, and works in the hospital there.
When I left, she walked as far as the hospital with me. One of her Kenyan friends greeted her and asked where she was going. With a glint of mischief in her eyes, Emily answered "Chini tu" - 'Not far'. The Kenyan responded "America?"
Asubuhi njema kwa wewe - A good morning to you,
Yaacov
P.S. Photos from Wundanyi are finally online, sorry for the delay!
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