The Language Thing...

A great part of my life has had me feeling like that one melanin-absent child in a family of darkies.
In South Africa, I’m the foreigner from Nigeria. In Nigeria, I’m the one who grew up in Southern Africa. Then to confirm my outcast status that further, there’s the language thing...

In SA, I’d try to speak one of the Official languages -  seSotho. But my friends would have a field day begging me to repeat “Hey wena, o tla swaba!”, because it just sounded “so cute!” I think I’m the only person who has ever made the threat “hey you, you’ll be sorry!” sound like a compliment.

I know a few Zulu words, but that brings more giggles than watching Mr. Bean... after inhaling a serious dose of nitrous oxide.

I won’t even try the ‘lingual ingressive airstream mechanism’ language – Xhosa ever again; we just don’t click (pun totally intended ). Don’t get me wrong, my tongue is good at that sucking action, but I make it sound like I’m insulting someone... [If you’d like to try learning Xhosa, here’s a really good teacher’s YouTube Channel:  XhosaKhaya]

 I speak pidgen english, but the ‘accent’ is usually quite off... Even the South Africans who watch Nigerian movies on Africa Magic can pull it off better than I sometimes.

Then there's the language that has surely got to be my saving grace: Ibibio - my native language.
Usually, back home in Nigeria, I’d get spoken to in English by the aunties and uncles. Then they’d address my cousins in Ibibio. One day my father told the extended family that they should speak to me in Ibibio because (he strongly believed) I actually understand the language.
So the skirmish of confusation began there. I remember once my late grandmother asked me a question in English and I wanted to prove that my father was spot on about me knowing the mother tongue, so I replied in Ibibio. Later my mother asked me what I had said to my grandma that got her  so worked up... Remains an unsolved mystery till today.

My father is part Igbo, part Yoruba and part Ibibio (no, he doesn’t have 3 parents), but this apple didn't just fall far from the tree - it fell in a vineyard.

Then there’s French. I started on that in the 3^rd grade. Je comprend le français un petit peu. It was an awesome journey. But don’t try and hold a complete conversation with me in French.

I’ve tried Swahili, Luganda, Venda, and Chinese too. I'm grateful for the opportunity, but it's time to admit - I'm not one of those who can hold Diplomas in knowledge of foreign languages.
But all that is ok – I got a Distinction in English since the Third Grade.

I've spent a large portion of my life trying to fit into different language factions.
But you know that puzzle piece that evidently fits in at the corner of the solution? That’s just not me. I’m somewhere in the middle, waiting - totally incomplete. However, I'm happy as I'm blessed with the opportunity to language-hop.