AMA-BIGUITY CAN BE VERY CONFUSING IN 11 LANGUAGES - NOT LEKKER AT ALL
Tessa Dowling

The Sunday Independent
November 5 2006

It was a typical end-of-the-month night kwaMzoli - you could sense that all the people wanted to do was eat, drink and fefa (Sotho: flirt). Sis' Dudu, however, was not in the mood. She was wearing a black t-shirt that said, "What part of NO don't you understand?"

"I am totally blank about this flirting business," she sighed, "ever since that time I asked a barman for a drink and he kissed me. I said to myself, 'Girlfriend, from now on, don't even ask a man for the bloody time or he might nibble your ear.' It is too bad."

Bra X (whose party trick was to say "fuck off" in all 11 official languages) puzzled over her remark and then, adopting a very legal pose, one leg on the chair, body curved in thought, quizzed her: "Were you speaking Zulu?"

"Of course! I am not one of those model Cs who can't even pronounce their own names!" Sis' Dudu sucked the air through her teeth in annoyance, remembering a girl who had introduced herself clicklessly: "Hi doll, I'm Kwakwamba - spelt Q-a-q-a-m-b-a."

"Well that explains it!" Bra X clicked his fingers and addressed the jury. "In Zulu, phuza is 'sip' or 'drink', but in Xhosa it is 'kiss'. That guy was only giving you what you asked him for!"

"That is why," offered Bra February, "you should mos rather speak Afrikaans. There is fokol confusion if you say it straight: 'Wil jy met my vry?' " (Afrikaans: Do you want to make out with me?)

Sis' Dudu threw him a gloomy look and, picking at an irritating premenstrual spot on her chin, snapped, "Bhuti, you don't stand a chance with me, whatever language you speak."

"Let me tell you a story of big confusion." This was Sis' Dikeledi, she who was always on the verge of tears (or at least that's what her name said). "My late grandmother was a Sotho who spoke pure Sotho. Her husband was a Tswana man. My grandmother got pregnant but, being a slim woman like me, did not show much. So now, one day she cries out, 'Ke a tswala!' (Sotho: I am giving birth! Tswana: I am getting undressed!) and her stupid Tswana husband replies, 'But it is one o' clock in the afternoon and the priest is coming to lunch. Keep your clothes on!' Can you believe it? Only when he saw the baby's little head popping out did he realise what was going on. That is why my grandmother always said, 'Only speak English to a Tswana man in a time of pregnant emergency'."

"Why do you people always land up dissing the Tswanas?" Boemo, lover of Botswana and all things Tswana, but less discriminating in his passion for beer, was openly sobbing. "You dono whatshishlike to be Tswana-speaking in Cape Town when you are as tired as Thabo Mbeki after a day smiling in the rural areas. I can tell you, he gets exhausted, I know it from the time I was employed as his bodyguard. Unfortunately I let Winnie klap him by mistake so I lost the job. But anyway, if you are talking tired, then that is what it is. Now listen to my story ..."

He pulled up his pants, straightened his cap and slightly lifted his hooded eyes. "Let me tell you, I have the mis-bloody-fortune to live with a Sotho chef of doubtful morals. I say to this guy, 'Ke lapile', (Tswana: I am tired. Sotho: I am hungry.) and what does he do but he goes and cooks me a bloody cat!" Boemo looks around at his audience, who have clearly missed the point.

So he repeats, "I say 'Ke lapile', which to any sane person means, 'I am tired'. But no, the Sothos have corrupted our language to make it mean, 'I am hungry'."

People nodded, but no one reacted quite as he would have liked. Sensing he might be losing his audience, Boemo continued, bravely, "When I get to my bed, I still find his girlfriend there! I say, 'Ke lapile', she thinks I am hungry for love of her and screams, and I get arrested for crimen injure-her! But fok, do I mind? I say, take me to prison. At least there I know a Sotho guard or two who will understand when I tell them I am just fokken tired."

"Ja," Bra February sympathises, "It's very kak when a person don't understand that you are vrek moeg (Afrikaans: dead tired). The only thing you can do then is close your eyes and snore. That way you cancels out any ambi-dexterity."

"Ahem!" Bra X was eager to inject some educated argument into the debate. "The word you are looking for is 'ama-biguity'." Because Bra X truly believed he was a good orator, others also believed him, so a small crowd gathered around to hear "Bra Dictionary" (a nickname he had personally sanctioned).

"You see, why there is all this problem with the Xhosas and the Zulus at a political level is that they think they speak the same language, but in actual fact they are falling into the trap of ama-biguity. Example namba one." He coughed into his clenched fist as if performing some special cabalistic ritual. "In Zulu, geza means 'wash', but in Xhosa it is 'naughty'." He winked.

"Now a prominent Zulu politician might think all he needs to do after being naughty is shower, but soon everyone would realise which geza was 'washing' and which geza was 'naughty'!"

Bra X was drawing a small audience that naturally separated into Xhosa and Zulu camps. "Example namba two. Phambana is Zulu for 'disagree', but in Xhosa it means 'go mad'."

"That's mos lekker, man!" Bra February's low-hipped pants nearly fell off in his excitement. "Maybe that's why the Zulus don't like the Xhosas - whenever a Zulu asks a Xhosa if he disagrees with something, the Xhosa thinks he's being accused of going mad!"

"Eish, what is the difference?" sighed the lugubrious Sis' Dikeledi.

"If you disagree with someone in this country you are accused of being mad, and if someone is really proven to be mad, she disagrees".

"Me, I am fed up with this ama-biguity and ama-double standard. I am going to marry me a nice, quiet Norwegian."

Although her remark was in no way ambiguous, it was so intriguing as to make us all forget about who washes and who gets naughty and who disagrees. But we had to agree that we were all, actually, quite mad.