Carol’s Column

Ewe ... hayi ... and a few clicks are just the trick

A cannon of spit flew across the room and hit me in the eye. It was accompanied by an explosive sound that blew from Angus' mouth as he attempted to say qonda, the Xhosa word for “understand”.

I should explain the scenario. Six of us sat eagerly, ears cocked, listening to Tembisa Bonga discussing ubuntu, the foundation stone of African culture. “It is an amalgam of compassion, morality, caring, understanding and empathy. It incorporates the concept of sharing, of hospitality and welcome. It draws all people together in a common family with shared values and equality.”

Xhosa speakers would describe ubuntu as “umntu ngumntu ngabantu” - “a person is only a person because of other people”.

For years I have been fracturing Afrikaans in an attempt to communicate with those who praat that tongue. It is time, I thought to myself, that I learn another of our 11 official languages. Because I am surrounded by Xhosa speakers, Xhosa was the natural choice, which is how I found myself at an African language school.

We were a mixed bunch. There was Stanford, a thin man with the profile of a wildebeest. He was a bank manager, he said. Two students, Emma and Rick, unanimated and hairy, Paula, a domestic engineer, Angus, a Scot who'd arrived in South Africa two months previously, and me. With two things in common. We were Western and white.

We learnt a few basics of Xhosa culture: that the one who arrives offers a greeting, that it is considered impolite to offer a casual greeting, that a proper greeting involves shaking a person's hand and enquiring about the state of their health and that of their families. That a “hard” handshake and eye contact denotes aggression and lack of respect.

That to talk quietly so that others cannot hear causes suspicion. Why are two people talking quietly? Do they not want others to hear their conversation? Are they ashamed of what they are talking about?

And then began the lesson proper. “Don't be shy,” said Tembisa. “Talk out!”

The clicks caused chaos. Stafford lost his teeth while attempting the hard palatal “q” click.

The “x” click, a slushy sideways click, is enhanced by a mouth full of saliva which is when Angus did his full-frontal spitting attack.

The “c” click, pronounced by placing your tongue flat upon the roof of your palate, tip against teeth, sounds like an excited cricket.

“Louder, relax,” encouraged Tembisa and within minutes we were an enthusiastic orchestra of linguistically clicking spitters.

Then we progressed to greetings. It was the “how are you” part which caused problems.

“Terrible,” said Stanford and proceeded to tell us, in English, how his wife had run away with a refrigeration mechanic. Paula suffered from backache due to a disc which had jumped out while she was doing stomach crunches for flab. While to the question “usaphile?” - which translated means “are you still alive?” - Emma and Rick responded in the negative, which I thought apt.

Tembisa smiled. “It is not necessary to be so specific,” she murmured when Stanford mentioned he had a spastic bowel in response to Paula's “uyaphila” translated as “you are well?”

To date, I can proficiently meet, greet and part in Xhosa. Which invariably releases huge smiles and a stream of animated response from Xhosa speakers.

I have learnt another thing. It is possible to participate in an entire conversation, nodding ewe as in yes and hayi as in no, with a few oohs, aahs and clicks thrown in. As for understanding?

Well, as they say in Africa, by and by.

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