Emerging Perspectives on the Francophone Novel of Africa and the Caribbean
By Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Postcolonial Francophone literatures exist at the interface of French as a hegemonic language and its many regional variants that transform this corpus of writings into hybrid literature. Linguistic hybridity compounds the reading and teaching of Francophone literatures of Africa and the Caribbean. An incontrovertible manifestation of linguistic variance in contemporary Francophone literatures is the tendency on the part of fiction writers to resort to modes of writing characterized by linguistic indigenization—an attempt to appropriate the language of the ex-colonizer. The Francophone novel, in particular, has been described by literary critics as a multi-layered text engendered by a plurality of ‘voices’ and the multicultural contexts from where the text takes root. Francophone novelists tend to create hybrid texts that demand of readers to be not just bilingual but also bicultural. Thus, these texts tend to be not only sites for the negotiation of cultural spaces but also loci where writers resort to linguistic resistance in order to call into question some assumptions associated with colonialism, neo-colonialism, and imperialism. In this paper I contend that the Francophone novel of Africa and the Caribbean can no longer be taught using the same paradigms that are used in teaching Metropolitan French novels, the more so because African and Caribbean Francophone writers continually resort to a multiplicity of dialectal forms of French as tools of communication.
This paper provides answers to the following intriguing questions, namely: What are some of the textual and extra-textual considerations that instructors of the Francophone novel of Africa and the Caribbean must reckon with in their attempt to comprehend the form and content of indigenous stories written in French? What is the nature of the translation process that takes place in Francophone novels? What pedagogical frameworks are suitable for teaching this kind of literature? Recourse to the French language in writing indigenous literatures harbors problems of its own. Though developed to express and reflect European worldviews, imagination and sensibilities, Francophone writers from Africa, and the Caribbean tend to tinker with the French language in a bid to convey messages that seem at variance with its native traditions. In this vein, these writers find themselves writing in a language they wish to deconstruct in order to make it bear the imprint of their socio-cultural realities. This task is accomplished through the process of linguistic indigenization, a process that enables creative writers to transpose the imagination, worldview and cultural peculiarities of indigenous peoples into Metropolitan French. Arguing along similar lines, Chantal Zabus observes that the concept of indigenization translates “the writer’s attempt at textualizing linguistic differentiation and conveying African concepts, thought patterns and linguistic concepts through the ex-colonizer’s language” (23). African and Caribbean Francophone writers tend to appropriate the French language by having recourse to discursive strategies that transgress the canons of hexagonal French—semantic shift, intralingual translation, loan translation, lexical interpolation, vernacular transcription, and more.
The rationale for resorting to linguistic appropriation goes beyond the simple need to provide works of fiction with a cultural basis and esthetic value. Oftentimes, Francophone writers resort to appropriative techniques out of a genuine need to communicate effectively as we will see in the literary analysis below. Here then is a literature whose writers depend heavily on translation as a literary canon. The term “translation” should not be understood to refer to the inter-lingual communicative process of replacing a text in the source language by a lexically equivalent text in the target language. When Francophone writers resort to translation as a literary device they do not act in the technical capacity of a text processor engaged in the simple conversion of words and sentences in the source text into equivalent words and sentences in the target language. To put this differently, writers do not simply take words in the indigenous language for which they look for equivalents in the French language. Writers who resort to translation as a creative writing device seem to be involved in a conscious act of intra-lingual translation that enables them to transpose the worldview and imagination of indigenous peoples into the French language. Ahmadou Kourouma, who has distinguished himself as a linguistic innovator, makes it abundantly clear that what he did in writing Les soleils des indépendances (1970) was not a mechanical process of replacing Malinke words with their French equivalents:
It is not translation from Malinke…I thought in Malinke and then tried to present things the way a Malinke would see them; the way they would come to his mind. It is not a translation from Malinke (Badday, 12).
In my attempt to shed light on the problematic of language choice in the Francophone novel of Africa and the Caribbean, I selected a corpus comprising Ahmadou Kourouma’s Les soleils des indépendances (1970), Chamoiseau’s Texaco (1992), Patrice Nganang’s Temps de chien (2001), Mercédès Fouda’s Je parle camerounais (2001), and Gabriel Fonkou’s Moi Taximan (2001). These novels constitute a watershed in the evolution of the Francophone novel. The publication of these texts marks the dawn of a new era characterized by writers’ unbridled inclination toward the subversion of French grammatical canons as the “Empire writes back” to borrow words from Aschroft et al (1989). Kourouma’s peculiar style of writing labeled the “malinkelization” of French is distinctive by the writer’s recourse to semantic shifts, vernacular transcriptions, phrasal restructuring and more. “Malinkelization”[i] of French in Les soleils begins right from the title of the novel. The expression “les soleils” is a calque on the Malinke discursive mode. The word “soleil” has to be put back into the Malinke cultural context in order to discern its full signification. The Malinke use “soleil” to designate a time-frame (“season” and by extension, an “era”). It is in this sense that Kourouma’s narrator talks of “les soleils des indépendances” (7-8, 15,141) [the suns of independences][ii]; “les soleils de Samory” (142) [the suns of Samory]; “les soleils des Toubabs” (142), [the suns of the Whites]; and “les soleils du parti unique” (141) [the suns of one-party politics]. The pluralization of the word “soleils” derives from Malinke worldview. Its signification may not be obvious to a non-Malinke reader on account of cultural unfamiliarity. Sensing the ambiguity in the title, Kourouma comes to the assistance of the reader with a translation: “l’ère des indépendances” (7) [the Era of Independence]. Through the technique of semantic shift, Kourouma introduces a troublesome element into standard French. What Kourouma does in Les soleils is not the mechanical translation activity of replacing Malinke words with their French language equivalents. Rather, he thinks in Malinke and then imagines how best to render his mode of thought in the French language. The equivalence he seeks is semantic rather than formalistic. The literary canon of “malinkelization”could impede the comprehension and teaching of this novel, especially if the instructor is not conversant with some of culture-specific tropes that Kourouma uses in his narrative.
In a similar vein, linguistic indigenization fulfills the critical function of cross-cultural communication in Fouda’s Je parle camerounais. Fouda makes abundant use of Camfranglais[iii] expressions in her attempt to transpose the modes of speech of Cameroonians into written French. An understanding of the contexts in which Camfranglais expressions and other Camerounsimes[iv] are used in Fouda’s novel would not only facilitate readers’ comprehension of the text but would also make it possible for literature instructors to analyze the circumstances surrounding its creation. Fouda often spices her narrative with expressions that may be incomprehensible to people outside the closed circle of Camfranglais speakers as the following example shows: “Si depuis belle lurette vous vous démenez de-ci de-là sans trouver aucune occasion à saisir sur le plan matériel, vous pourrez toujours vous plaindre que le dehors est dur…” (5)[v]. “Le dehors est dur” is a Cameroonianism that conveys the idea that times are tough. Loan words gleaned from Cameroonian culinary register are employed frequently in Je parle camerounais for the purpose of effective communication. When the central character tells another character in the novel: “votre estomac vous lance des insultes” (9)[vi], he is insinuating that that the interlocutor is terribly hungry and should go fetch some food to eat without further delay. Fouda draws readers’ attention to the fact that working class Cameroonians eat their lunch in makeshift open-air restaurants called ‘tournedos’ [roadside restaurants] erected on the sidewalk as seen in this excerpt: “Vous avez alors la possibilité d’aller manger au tournedos. Ne vous réjouissez pas trop vite! Vous n’irez que dans l’un de ces restaurants de plein air, faits de bancs et de tables assemblés, et où, tout bêtement, le client tourne le dos à la route!”(10)[vii] ‘Tourne-dos’ has no equivalent in standard French because the reality does not exist in the French socio-cultural context. This cultural vacuum needs to be filled by teachers of this novel by resorting to near-equivalents in metropolitan French if possible.
By ‘Cameroonizing’ standard French, Fouda distances herself from speakers of standard French by underscoring the ‘Africanness’ of the French she writes. Her text is replete with Cameroonian turns of phrase as this other example shows: “J’ai seulement un ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ et les ‘sans confiance’” (37)[viii]. A ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ is a pair of pants that appears too short or too small for the wearer because s/he has grown bigger. Cameroonians often employ this sort of expression as a form of mockery and as a reminder to the person wearing the pants that it is time to buy a new one. ‘Sans confiance’ is an expression used by Camanglophones to describe low quality rubber-made flipflops whose strings can snap without warning. The word formation technique called ‘compounding’ is another word literary device employed judiciously by Fouda with the intent of transposing Cameroonian socio-cultural experiences into the French language. She creates compound words by combining words from various native languages spoken in Cameroon. Examples include: “Mamie Koki” (10)[ix], “Mamie Ndolè” (10)[x], and “Mamie Atchomo” (10)[xi]. The word “mamie” is the Pidgin equivalent of the standard French “mère”[xii]. “Koki”, “ndolè”, and “atchomo” are local Cameroonian dishes cherished by Cameroonian youngsters. Cameroonian youths often address older women as “mamie” as a gesture of respect due to age. In the commercial arena, this term is used in reference to a woman from whom a client buys food on a regular basis as the following excerpt shows: “Au tournedos, officie l’asso, diminutive flatteur de “associé (e), est cette personne chez qui vous faites régulièrement des achats et qui, lorsque c’est fort sur vous, vous fait manger un crédit…” (10)[xiii] ‘Manger un crédit’ translates the standard French expression “acheter à crédit” [buy on credit]. The word ‘manger’ has been given a different signification in Fouda’s text. ‘Manger’ (to eat) could be translated as “acheter” (to buy) in this context. Semantic re-construction is a literary device widely used by Fouda for the purpose of communicative effectiveness. However, literature instructors need to pay particular attentions to this word smiting because they do harbor latent meanings. A superficial reading of Fouda’s text would do a great disservice to students of the novel.
In Je parle camerounais, Fouda deliberately endows the French language with a local flavor and esthetic as the following example illustrates: “Attisé ainsi, vous seriez ridicule, et Max a bien raison une fois de plus de montrer ses ‘attrape-manioc’: il se moque gentiment de vous.” (36)[xiv]. Les “attrape-manioc” is a metaphorical expression used in reference to human teeth. This neologism derives from the fact the staple food of Fouda’s people is manioc (cassava). ‘Attraper le manioc avec ses dents’ is to ‘eat a meal of cassava’. Usage of this kind lends credibility to the fact that the French language in Fouda’s novel has been doctored to reflect Cameroonian socio-cultural realities. A non-Cameroonian teaching this text is likely to draw a blank on account of the preponderance of Cameroonian speech patterns and lexical items in the narrative.
Fouda’s Je parle camerounais is only one out of many Francophone so-called ‘new’ novels written in a peculiar style. In Temps de chien (2001) Patrice Nganang makes abundant use of code-switching as a narrative paradigm. Temps de chien addresses the problematic of language choice in Francophone literatures beyond the Hexagon. Nganang’s text provides answers to the question relating to how Francophone Africans should tell their own stories. He teases out the space between the writer’s mother tongue and what s/he writes in a “loan” language. In his attempt to transpose the speech mannerisms of Cameroonians into written French, Nganang uses the technique of code-switching. Temps de chien is written in an amalgam of codes—French, Pidgin English, Camfranglais and numerous indigenous languages. It is a text in which street-talk, also known as “Kam-Tok”, “Camspeak” or “Majunga Talk” (Ze Amvela, 56) blends freely with conventional French to produce a new code whose effect on the reader is not only exhilarating but also enriching. Our reading of Temps de chien focuses on how the novelist uses linguistic innovation not only as a narrative technique but also as a tool of resistance as this example clearly shows: “Ma woman no fit chasser me for ma long dis-donc! Après tout, ma long na ma long!”(80). The translator did a laudable job of translating this urban slang into English as follows: “My woman can’t throw me out of my house, I tell you! After all, my house is my house!”(208) The signifier “long” means “home” in Camfranglais. The translator uses the same technique to translate the following passage: “La voix d’un lycéen lui disait: comme d’habitude, Mama Mado. Et ma maîtresse connaissait son goût. La voix d’un autre exigeait, put oya soté, for jazz must do sous-marin.” (84)[xv]. The term “oya” is a Pidgin English word for “oil”, in this case oil used in cooking. “Jazz” is a slang word for “beans”, and “jazz sous-marin” could be translated as “beans submerged in oil”. Cameroonians use this expression to describe the trumpet-like sound that one’s stomach would make if one ate badly cooked beans. These examples serve to underscore the fact that code-switching is used as an effective weapon of resistance in Temps de chien. At the same time, it is a literary device that could complicate the task of teaching the novel. This holds true for Gabriel Fonkou’s Moi Taximan where Camfranglais and vernacular language expressions abound.
Moi Taximan is replete with French words that have undergone semantic transformation as seen in the following excerpt: “Je ne mangeais chez moi que le soir, sauf les jours où je me faisais aider par un ‘attaquant’…afin de me reposer un peu.”(18)[xvi] The narrator employs the word ‘attaquant’ to describe a taxi driver who not only works overtime but is often aggressive and prone to road rage. One other example that illustrates Fonkou’s verbal sophistry is the following: “On sortait de l’opération avec un plus grand sourire si, en plus, les passagers longue distance avaient ‘proposé’…” (8)[xvii] A little further, the narrator sheds ample light on the signification of the word ‘proposé’: “… payer plus cher que le tarif normal” (8)[xviii]. Fonkou’s neologisms shed light on the mindset of his characters: “Entre deux clients, Justine et sa mère participaient activement à l’entretien de la chaude ambiance du secteur des ‘bayam sellam’: potins, querelles simulées, plaisanteries et fausses confidences bruyantes y provoquaient de gros éclats de rire.” (131)[xix]. The term ‘Bayam sellam’, is derived from Cameroonian Creole, also called Pidgin English. Literally, it means “buy” and “sell”. It is used in this novel to describe market women whom the protagonist describes as “des revendeuses, cette catégorie de commerçantes aggressives sans les lesquelles nos marchés perdraient leur âme” (130)[xx]. ‘Bayam sellam’ trade is a vital economic activity in the informal sector born out of dire need (the struggle to improve the livelihood of individuals and families).
Some lexical items in Moi Taximan are English language words that have been endowed with new meanings as this example shows: “Au bout de la journée le plus souvent chacun de nous affichait un sourire de contentement et nous nous quittions à la nuit tombante sur de vigoureuses poignées de mains prolongées par un ‘toss’…”(13)[xxi]. Fonkou’s protagonist defines the term “toss” as “salut du bout des pouces et des majeurs entrecroisés puis séparés dans un vif frottement sonore” (13)[xxii]. The English language has enriched Cameroonian literature of French expression as seen in the following statement: “La journée d’hier a été djidja” (19)[xxiii]. ‘Djidja’, loanword from Pidgin English, derives from the English word “ginger”. Camanglophones use this culinary term to describe a difficult situation comparable to what hexagonal French speakers would describe as “une mer à boire” [an uphill task]. From the pedagogical perspective, this sort of linguistic jugglery does not make matters easy for instructors who have to devise appropriate paradigms for literary interpretation.
Oftentimes, Fonkou’s characters draw attention to ethnic dichotomy and its social ramifications in Cameroon as this example illustrates: “Je ne sais rien, espèce de Bami” (24)[xxiv]. The word ‘Bami’ is an abbreviation of ‘Bamileke’, one of the ethnic groups in Cameroon loathed by other Cameroonians for their ruthless money-mongering and resourceful mindset. Used the way Fonkou does in this text, the word harbors derogatory undertones. As these examples illustrate, neology is a technique constantly exploited by Fonkou to create new words that portray the prism through which he perceives social reality. He makes an ingenious use of the technique of linguistic innovation to portray both the impact of socio-cultural realities of Cameroon on creative writing as well as the significant influence of language choice on postcolonial fictional writing. Fonkou mixes languages purposefully in a bid to underscore the polyglossic context from which his text sprouts as this example illustrates: “La plus grosse surprise se situa le dimanche où la réunion des femmes de mon village vint laver l’enfant” (186).[xxv] ‘Laver l’enfant’ is a native tongue expression that describes the cultural ritual during which the birth of a baby is celebrated by family members. In Fonkou’s native language, this ritual is called “le yaal, à la fois danse et chants pour célébrer la naissance de l’enfant” (187)[xxvi]. The need to possess both translingual and transcultural competences in order to successfully teach this novel is made all the more evident through the use of culture-specific expressions to portray indigenous mores as seen in the examples discussed above.
The beauty of indigenization as a tool of literary creativity is that it cuts across the Francophone entire world. Linguistic manipulation is increasingly becoming a popular mode of writing in Caribbean Francophone literature as seen in the following excerpt culled from Patrick Chamoiseau’s seminal novel Texaco (1992):
Je vendis les cocos du pied-coco de Pè-Soltene, un vieux nègre-distillerie qui fumait sa vieillesse sous ce seul arbre planté. Je vendis des crabes que j’allais déterrer sur les terres de Dillon. Je vendis des bouteilles et des casseroles anglaises. Je vendis des fiasques à parfum qu’une pacotilleuse ramenait d’Italie. Ces djobs me procuraient des sous que je serrais comme ceux de Nelta (après avoir payé notre huile, notre sel, notre pétrole, un bout de toile, et cotisé, comme toutes les bonnes gens d’En-ville à la société mutualiste”, L’humanité Solidaire (299)[xxvii]
Translators of Texaco did a laudable job of preserving the cultural flavor of the source text in the English language translation. Their rendition of the compound noun “Pe-Soltène’ as “Pa Soltène” is culturally significant. The word “Pè” is a Creole word derived from the French word “Père”. “Pe” is probably a contraction of the French word “père” [father]. Chamoiseau’s translators did an excellent job of finding a culturally relevant equivalent in the target language. “Pa” appears to be a contraction of the word “Papa”. The literary significance of this word choice resides in the fact that Chamoiseau succeeds in conveying the cultural implication of the Creole word “Pè” in the French language. In Black communities, “Pè” does not necessarily translate the notion of filial relationship between speaker and interlocutor. Rather, it is a term of respect used by youths in addressing people of a ripe age. Indeed, it is a marker of age difference. Another noteworthy instance of linguistic appropriation in this novel is the writer’s choice of the word “djobs. The word is probably a derivation from the English word “job”. It is a transcription of the way Creole speakers would oralize the word in daily discourse.
What makes Chamoiseau’s narrative style both interesting and challenging for students and instructors of Francophone Caribbean literature is the fact that he blends together standard French, Martinican regional French, Creole, and his own creative wordplay in order to give esthetic value to his novel. He seems to have a predilection for inventing an original style of writing which critics have dubbed the “chamoisification”of the French language. Chamoisification aptly describes Chamoiseau’s wordplay in fictional writing; his attempt to transpose Creole identity into his works. His subversion of the ex-colonizer’s language amounts to a differential discourse that serves as a response to colonial elaboration of authority and forced subjugation. His re-articulation of Caribbean identity (antillanité)[xxviii] is discernible in the manner in which he blends creolized and hexagonal variants of French in his text. The concept of “chamoisification” of French is of special interest to us given that it underscores the novelist’s quest for a third code—a personalized writing mode quite distinct from that employed by Metropolitan French writers. In Chamoiseau’s novel, standard and nonstandard forms come together on the same page and literally wrestle with each other for control of the narrative, just as they are jostling for power and prestige within the Martinican society itself. Commenting on his style of writing in an interview he granted Marie-Jose N’Zenou Tayo, Chamoiseau asserts that it was “… ni un français créolisé, ni un créole francisé, mais un français chamoisisé” (155)[xxix]. Instructors encountering Chamoiseau’s texts for the first time will have to do their homework in order to decipher the signification of the various culture-specific rhetorical devices that the writer employs for the purpose of self-expression. Chamoiseau’s language mixing is challenging to read because readers find themselves looking for meanings of words and expressions and stopping to digest unfamiliar sentences again and again. The use of code-switching compounds an initial frustration but over time ideas surface and it becomes comfortable. Chamoiseau achieves his objective of showing the historical and social complexities of language usage in Caribbean literature.
If up to a certain point, each postcolonial writer has to re-invent language, the situation of Francophone writers residing out of France is peculiar in that for them, French is an occasion for constant mutations and modifications. Engaged as they are, in the game of language, these writers have to ‘manufacture’ their own language of fiction, in a multilingual context often affected by signs of polyglossia. Contemporary Francophone literatures exist at the crossroads of languages and cultures. An incontrovertible evidence of alterity in this new form of literature is the emergence of modes of writing distinctive by nonconformity to linguistic norms. In his text The Francophone African Text: Translation and the Postcolonial Experience (2006), Gyasi observes that Francophone fiction writers create French that is in consonance with the new African environment and the characters that live in it….” (77). He describes this inclination on the part of writers as an act of defiance. As the foregoing analysis suggests, emerging African and Caribbean novels of French expression qualify to be categorized as hybrid texts engendered by the plurality of ‘voices’, and the multilingual contexts of creativity. Francophone fiction writers create multi-faceted texts that demand of readers to be both multilingual and multicultural in order to be able to unravel the hidden textual significations. The corpus of texts examined in this paper functions as sites of cultural and linguistic negotiation.
In conclusion, suffice it to say that the intent of this paper has not been to simply provide you with a plethora of modes of writing that exists in Francophone African and Caribbean literatures. The intent has been to make professors of Francophone literatures, reflect on the nature of the texts they are tasked to teach semester after semester, and propose pedagogical paradigms suitable for teaching such literatures. The question that begs to be asked at this juncture is why it is critical for instructors of Francophone novels of Africa and the Caribbean to be conversant with the evolutionary trends inherent in these texts? I maintain that knowledge of the French language alone will not suffice to do justice to the teaching of the novels discussed in this paper. Teachers of Francophone novels cannot but be like the texts they teach—at once bilingual and bicultural. Given the polytonality and multi-cultural composition of Francophone novels of Africa and the Caribbean, instructors must conceive appropriate literary models for teaching these texts. The texts analyzed in this paper irrefutably call for multifaceted frameworks for instruction. I will discuss three such models here on account of their suitability for teaching Francophone novels.
· Critical Thinking Culture-Based Model
This instructional model is based on Bloom’s Taxonomy (1956) of textual analysis. To effectively communicate the holistic message embedded in the essential elements of information (EEI’s) in a text, Bloom argues, instructors need to create learning tasks that enable learners to interact with texts at six different cognitive levels: Evaluation (making value decisions about issues, resolving controversies, assessing theories, composing ideas, evaluating outcomes); Synthesis (creating a unique original product that may be in verbal form or a combination of ideas to form a new whole, using old concepts to create new ones); Analysis (organizing ideas and recognizing trends, finding the underlying structure of communication, identifying motives); Application (using and applying knowledge, problem-solving, use of facts and principles); Comprehension ( interpreting, translating from one medium to the other, demonstrating, summarizing, discussing the signifier and signified); Knowledge (recall of information, discovery, and observation).
- Hermeneutic (Exegetic) Model
The theory of hermeneutics or exegesis propounded by Schleiermacher (1998) underscores the importance of interpreting, not only the latent (hidden) meanings embedded in a literary text but also the situational dimensions that constitute the matrix in which the text was written.
He further underscores the need to use the hermeneutic circle in the process of unravelling the significations contained in the deep structure of a literary text. The hermeneutic circle facilitates the analysis of a literary text by enabling readers to come to grips with the fact that one's understanding of the text as a whole is established by reference to the individual parts. Schleiermacher further notes that neither the whole text nor any individual part can be understood without reference to one another, and hence, it is a circle. The circularity inherent in hermeneutics implies that the meaning of a text is to be found within its cultural, historical, and literary contexts.
- Styles-and Strategies-Based Instruction (SSBI)
Cohen and Weaver (2006) conceived the Styles-and Strategies-Based Instructional model as a framework for teaching foreign languages. It is very suitable for teaching literatures written in foreign languages. The framework is based on the theory of scaffolding, a concept that stems from the idea that at the beginning of the learning process, learners need a great deal of support; gradually, this support is taken away to allow students to develop a sense of independence. This is what Cohen and Weaver call the gradual release of responsibility. Other facets of the model include: modelling, cooperative learning, activation of prior knowledge, student learning choices and self-initiated learning. The SSBI is a learner-focused approach that explicitly encourages different kinds of intervention in the classroom. Emphasis is placed on how specific learning tasks might call for certain learning style preferences and call for certain teaching strategies.
In a nutshell, by revisiting seminal novels written by Kourouma, Fouda, Nganang, Fonkou and Chamoiseau, I sought to undercore the fact that African and Caribbean novels of French expression are, in essence, hybrid texts that may defy superficial reading. Literary indigenization is not an oddity; rather is a timely response to the call for new ways of writing Francophone so-called ‘new’ novels. Teachers of Francophone literatures of Africa and the Caribbean cannot continue to teach these texts using the same models that were used in teaching metropolitan French novels like Madame Bovary (Flaubert, 1971); Le rouge et le noir (Stendhal, 1972); Germinal (Zola,1959); L’immoraliste (Gide,1902 ); La jalousie (Robbe-Grillet,1957); Planétarium (Sarraute,1959) and so on. Whether or not the novelists included in our corpus have achieved the goal of de-Europeanizing their novels is a question that falls beyond the scope of this paper. Literary scholars like Ngugi wa Thiong’o have argued that to qualify as indigenous, African literatures have to be written in native languages. He further points out that “Literature written by Africans in European languages…can only be termed Afro-European literature; that is, the literature written by Africans in European languages” (27). Much as we salute the success of the aforementioned novelists in imprinting their texts with the worldview, imagination, speech mannerisms, and cultural characteristics of indigenous peoples, we cannot lose sight of the fact the core of these texts is written in French, a European language. In spite of the impressive linguistic innovations inherent in them, they are still essentially French language novels. For these writers, French is a necessary evil with which they must come to terms. Straddling two cultural spheres, Kourouma, Fouda, Nganang, Fonkou and Chamoiseau find themselves at the crossroads of languages. They cannot be faithful to the one without betraying the other.
Notes
[i] Transposition of Malinke thought patterns and worldview into French.
[ii] All translations are mine unless otherwise indicated.
[iii] Camfranglais is a “composite language consciously developed by secondary school pupils who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages”(Kouega, 23)
[iv] Cameroonianisms
[v] If you have been searching here and there in vain for a job to make ends meet, you could always complain that times are tough.[v]
[vi] Your stomach is shouting insults at you.
[vii] You now have the opportunity to go eat in a roadside restaurant. Don’t be too excited! You will go to one of these makeshift restaurants in the open air, where benches and tables are assembled for clients to sit and sheepishly turn their backs to the street!
[viii] I only have a ‘Papa-I-have-grown-up and a pair of ‘sans kong’
[ix] Mama Koki
[x] Mama Ndolè
[xi] Mama Atchomo
[xii] Mother
[xiii]At the roadside restaurant, you’d find the asso, term of flattery that describes the woman from whom you buy food regularly, and who would allow you eat on credit when times are tough.
[xiv] Dressed up in this manner, you’d look ludicrous, and Max, once again, would have cause to expose his ‘cassava-traps’. He’s discreetly making fun of you.
[xv] A student’s voice would say, the usual, Mama Mado, and my mistress knew just what he wanted. Another’s voice would order, put oya soté, for jazz must do sous-marin] (Dog Days, 57).
[xvi] I only ate at home in the evening, except on days when I had asked an ‘attacker’ to replace me so that I could have some rest.
[xvii] At the end of the day, we returned home with a big smile if, in addition to the normal fare, long-distance commuters had proposed.
[xix] Between two customers, Justine and her mother took part in the heated discussions that animated the ‘bayam sellam’ section of the martket: gossip, fake quarrels, jokes and noisy false pretenses that caused outbursts of laughter.
[xx] Retail traders, this category of aggressive market women without whom our markets would lose their vivacity.
[xxi]More often than not, at the end of the day, each one of us wore a smile of contentment as we parted at nightfall, vigorously shaking hands and saying ‘toss’.
[xxii] Handshake with the tips of the thumb and middle-fingers intertwined, followed by a quick separation and loud sound.
[xxiv] I have no clue, you Bami fellow.
[xxv] The biggest surprise came on a Sunday, the day when the association of women from my village came to wash the baby.
[xxvii] I sold the coconuts from the tree of Pa Soltene, an old distillery-blackman who smoked away his old-age under his only tree. I sold crabs which I’d dig up on Dillon’s lands. I sold bottles and saucepans. I sold perfume flasks that a trinket merchant brought from Italy. These odd jobs brought me money that I (after having paid for the oil, salt, kerosene, a piece of cloth, donated a bit like all of City’s good people to the mutual aid society, Human Solidarity) kept like Nelta did (Texaco, 272).
[xxviii] Literary and political movement developed in the 1960s that stresses the creation of a specific West Indian identity out of a multiplicity of ethnic and cultural elements.
[xxix] Neither creolized French nor Frenchified Creole; rather Chamoisified French.
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Indigenization of the English Language in Omotoso’s The Combat
By Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Contemporary African fiction seems to harbor seeds of a literary revolution discernible in the stylistic choices made by creative writers. In an attempt to call colonial legacy and cultural imperialism into question, the ex-colonized tend to write in a domesticated version of the imperial language. No African novel illustrates this literary phenomenon better than Kole Omotoso’s The Combat (1972). Omotoso tends to indigenize language in his text by employing appropriative strategies in ways that undermine the sacrosanct canons of the English Language. Like Achebe (Morning Yet, 1975)[i], he feels the urge to use this European language in a manner that would carry the burden of his indigenous worldview and imagination as the following example shows: “He began to dress; his pants, his singlet— it had large black patches of dirt under the armpits—then his khaki pair of trousers; over it he put a green dansiki which was torn on the shoulders” (3). Omotoso resorts to indigenous language words in a bid to fill in cultural gaps. The vernacular term dansiki is used in this novel to describe a traditional loose-fitting robe worn in many different regions of Africa, especially in West Africa. This robe reaches to the ankles and is either open at the sides or stitched closed along the edges. Wearing a dansiki is a way of making a statement about the value of African heritage.
Contemporary African fiction seems to harbor seeds of a literary revolution discernible in the stylistic choices made by creative writers. In an attempt to call colonial legacy and cultural imperialism into question, the ex-colonized tend to write in a domesticated version of the imperial language. No African novel illustrates this literary phenomenon better than Kole Omotoso’s The Combat (1972). Omotoso tends to indigenize language in his text by employing appropriative strategies in ways that undermine the sacrosanct canons of the English Language. Like Achebe (Morning Yet, 1975)[i], he feels the urge to use this European language in a manner that would carry the burden of his indigenous worldview and imagination as the following example shows: “He began to dress; his pants, his singlet— it had large black patches of dirt under the armpits—then his khaki pair of trousers; over it he put a green dansiki which was torn on the shoulders” (3). Omotoso resorts to indigenous language words in a bid to fill in cultural gaps. The vernacular term dansiki is used in this novel to describe a traditional loose-fitting robe worn in many different regions of Africa, especially in West Africa. This robe reaches to the ankles and is either open at the sides or stitched closed along the edges. Wearing a dansiki is a way of making a statement about the value of African heritage.
Omotoso transposes his indigenous worldview into the English language by having recourse to Yoruba mythology as this example clearly illustrates: “His toe hit a pile of bricklayer’s utensils and he winced: that was not a good sign—to hit the toes of the right foot against anything so early in the morning” (2). The concept of ill-luck is conveyed by the act of hitting an object with one’s right foot in the wee hours of the day. It should be noted that the belief in courting misfortune by hitting a hard object with one’s right foot is tenable only in a society where people believe in the existence of evil spirits that cast spells on people who attempt to cross their paths. By and large, Omotoso employs the technique of indigenization of language for the purpose of underscoring the notion of cultural otherness, especially when he reverts to loan words culled from indigenous languages as this example suggests: “He got out of the car again and went to the stall of the akara seller”(4). Akara is a deep fried dish made of fermented corn flour mixed with banana. A cultural referent such as Akara may constitute a translation impasse for readers not familiar with the socio-cultural context in which The Combat was written, but some effort has to be made by readers to discern source-text indigenous lexemes accurately. Omotoso’s recourse to indigenous culinary lexicon is observable in the following statement: “The woman brought out the moin-moin parceled inside fresh leaves” (11). Moin-moin is a delicious local dish made from ground black-eyed beans mixed with red palm-oil and cooked in small cans as the novelist elucidates: “Soon he exposed the central lump of ground beans mixed in palm oil and cooked with spices…” (12). The driving force behind indigenization of language in this novel seems to be the writer’s desire to put a premium on de-identification. In other words, Otomoso uses the literary medium to shed light on cultural differences. He strives to write differently precisely because he believes that as an African writer he should not write like the Europeans do.
The Combat addresses the question of language in Nigerian literature in particular, and in fictional writing in Africa as a whole. Omotoso focuses on the manner in which the African writer employs language to tie form to content without undermining the esthetics of literary creativity. The particularity of his style resides in the presence of bits and pieces (if not chunks) of Nigerian speech patterns in the text. In his attempt to transpose the speech mannerisms of Nigerians into written English, he employs a variety of linguistic codes, a phenomenon which Haugan refers to as “the alternate use of two languages, including everything from the introduction of a single unassimilated word up to a complete sentence or more into the context of another language” (Quoted in Omole, 58)[ii]. The Combat harbors an amalgam of codes—English, Nigerian Pidgin, and numerous indigenous languages. Code-switching enables Omotoso to transpose native languages and Pidgin into the English language. The text is replete with words and expressions culled from Nigerian Pidgin English: “Wey dey wait wan woman wey go latrine” (33). This sentence could be written in standardized English as: We are waiting for one woman who went to the toilet. Omotoso spices his text with Pidgin English expressions to make his language respond realistically to the mentality of his characters. As the narrator points out, “Chuku spoke in the language of the people. That was all that mattered” (34).
The use of code-switching as a narrative technique in The Combat goes beyond just being creative with language to sending a message to readers about how Nigerian society has become hybridized in the wake of independence from Great Britain. Omotoso adopts a very original narrative technique to illustrate the inner turmoil that Africans experience from cultural imperialism. He deconstructs the English language in order to make it bear the weight of his Yoruba experience. What one reads in The Combat is a reflection of how ordinary Nigerians communicate on a daily basis. Most Nigerians are not just bilingual but multilingual. Using more than one language in one single sentence seems to be commonplace in Nigerian daily discourse. By writing this novel the way he did, Omotoso exposes monolingual readers to other forms of writing. He enables them to actually have a clear picture of how different languages are spoken in Nigeria. The Combat s is a fascinating novel because it brings the African way of life from the cities of Nigeria into the literary limelight. The novelist’s style reminds the monolingual reader that they are reading about a hybrid culture with many languages, codes, and dialects. The novel would be lacking if it did not include all of the complex words and expressions because the reader wouldn't have a well rounded and accurate picture of Nigeria's multilingualism. What we see Omotoso’s stylistics accomplishing is subjecting a monolingual reader to reading beyond the text and exploring the deeper meanings embedded in the author’s word choices.
Readers of The Combat would realize that there is translation of sorts taking place in the text. It is worth mentioning that the term ‘translation’ is not used in this review to refer to the replacement of a text in the source-language by a lexically and semantically equivalent text in the receptor-language. The kind of translation activity that takes place in Omotoso’s novel can best be described as ‘intralingual’ translation. Karen Korning Zethsen[iii] observes that intralingual translation could be perceived as the “interpretation of verbal signs by means of other signs of the same language” (Meta 54.4, 2009, 797). For the purpose of this review, ‘intralingual translation’ will be considered as a process whereby the creative writer conveys the thought patterns, cultural specificities and worldview of indigenous peoples into a European language, in our case English. The cultural parameter of the translation process in The Combat serves the purpose of explaining cultural referents in a text in which lack of general background knowledge prevents the target group from understanding the intended messages. The translation activity that takes place in Omotoso’s novel is translation within the same language. It is a transposition process that enables him to infuse his narrative with the imprint of his cultural background, worldview and, imagination.
One seminal role that translation plays as a narrative technique in The Combat is the communicative function it fulfills. Translation serves as a means of facilitating cross-cultural communication in the novel. Omotoso attains this objective by availing himself of the literary technique of semantic shift in order to create fresh idioms in the English language. For example, in the sentence, “Their faces seemed to burst into smiles as soon as Chuku came to the gate” (34), “burst into smiles” is a translation from the writer’s Yoruba native tongue into English. In standardized English, this idiom has equivalents such as “wide grins,” “broad smiles,” or, if “burst” must be used, “burst into laughter.” By turning to his native tongue, Omotoso adds one more idiom to the English language by translating his Yoruba imagination into this language. Idioms derived from indigenous languages bring along with them a specific perspective of the world which enriches the European language. Moreover, translation conveys semiotic significations on account of the cultural specificity of the metaphors, idioms, proverbs, and other rhetorical devices employed by the fiction writer. The functional significance of narrative proverbs in The Combat is noteworthy as this example indicates: “Place anybody on the back of a horse and he would puff out his chest…” (35). As if in doubt of the reader’s ability to glean the implied meaning of this proverbial expression, Omotoso comes to his rescue with a translation: “it is natural in man to adapt himself to his environment” (35). Metaphors also come in handy in the writer’s endeavor to de-Europeanize his text as seen in this other example: “The man smiled, showing a set of unevenly spaced teeth, corn scattered on a cob” (46). By placing the expression “showing a set of unevenly spaced teeth” in apposition with “corn scattered on a cob” the novelist succeeds in providing an explanation of the latter using the former.
Omotoso constantly borrows from the 250-odd vernacular languages spoken in Nigeria as seen in the following example: “She fetched a pair of slippers decked with gold thread which she put on the feet of the body; over the thick uncombed hair she put abetiaja” (86-87). The indigenous language word abetiaja describes the stylish manner in which Yoruba men wear their hats. This other one is equally significant: “She beat the flies off the body, using her ibori” (86).The native tongue word ibori is Yoruba for headscarf. Switching codes enables Omotoso to imprint his text with the belief systems of his characters. A classic example is the belief in deities and their prophets and prophetesses: “He had seen one or two aladuras going to their early morning prayers” (44). Aladura could be loosely translated as “prophet” or “prophetess”. Code-switching is an effective inter-cultural communication tool in The Combat. It enables the novelist to express the cultural particularities of the Yoruba in English. At the same time, it helps the writer translate orality into the written word as the inclusion of the following sont indicates:
Ogbon jojo nii sonii diwin
Boogun bap o lapoju
A so ni di were
B’obinrin bag bon ni agbonju
Penpe laso oko ree mo
A difa fun oloro Ife
Nijo ti nfomi ojuu sogbere omo (82)
In sum, Omotoso makes abundant use of the technique of literary indigenization to portray the socio-cultural realities of Yoruba people, and the significant influence of appropriation of language on postcolonial fictional writing. He mixes languages purposefully in a bid to underscore the heteroglossic context from which his novel arises. If up to a certain point, each writer has to re-invent a language of fiction, the situation of African Anglophone writers living in the post-colony is peculiar in that for them, English is not an acquisition; rather it is an occasion for constant mutations and modifications. Engaged as he is in the game of language, Omotoso has created his own language of fiction, in a multilingual context often affected by signs of diglossia. His desire to “Africanize English is evident in his constant use of Yoruba cultural referents and lexes. This succinct analysis of the The Combat lends credibility to the contention that Omotoso is in a dubious love relationship with his mother tongue and his language of adoption—English.
References
[i] Achebe, Chinua. Morning yet on Creation Day: Essays. London: Heinemann, 1975.
[ii] Omole, James O. “Code-switching in Soyinka’s The Interpreters.” eds. Epstein, L.
Edmund and Robert Kole. The Language of African Literature.Trenton:
Africa World Press, 1998.
[iii] Zethsen, Karen Korning. “Intralingual Translation: An Attempt at Description.” Meta 54.4
(2009):795-812.
The question of language choice inAfrican literature has caused significant ripples in the pool of literary criticism. The genesis of this discourse dates back to Obiajunwa Wali, whoin 1963, wrote an article titled “The Dead End of African Literature” (Transition 10, 13-15) in which he argued that “the whole uncritical acceptance of English and French as the inevitable medium for educated African writing, is misdirected, and has no chance of advancing African literature and culture” (Quoted in Olaniyan & Quayson, 282). He further pointed out that until African writers accept the fact that any true African literature must be written in African languages, they would be merely pursuing a dead end. Wali even sounded a fatalistic note when he opined that “African languages would face inevitable extinction, if they do not embody some kind of intelligent literature, and the only way to hasten this, is by continuing in our present illusion that we can produce African literature in English and French”(op cit, 284). These postulations have given rise to a groundswell of contentious, even tendentious discourses among writers and critics of African literature. The most vocal voice among them all has been that of prolific Kenyan writer Ngugi wa Thiong’o.
In his seminal work, Decolonizing the Mind: the Politics of Language in African Literature (1986), Ngugi argues over and over again that to qualify as African, African literature has to be written in indigenous languages. As he puts it, “Literature written by Africans in European languages… can only be termed Afro-European literature; that is, the literature written by Africans in European languages” (Decolonising, 27). He describes his return to African languages in his fictional writing as “a quest for relevance” (87), noting that the use of indigenous languages in fictional writing is a liberating venture that enables Africans to see themselves clearly in relationship to themselves and to other selves in the universe. Thus, Ngugi’s rhetoric broaches the most urgent problematic of postcolonial African writing: the issue of how language (medium) becomes the message in a work of literature. It is a logocentric approach that puts a premium on words and language as the fundamental expression of external reality. This paper seeks to shed light on the language question in African literature. It delves into the contradictions inherent in Ngugi’s posture in favor of the unassailable position of indigenous languages in contemporary African fiction.
It is true that language embodies all the great moral, gender, philosophical, and in fact, physical issues humanity has grappled with from time immemorial. Language has been exploited by fictional writers to all intents and purposes, ranging from language as deconstruction in Orwell’s 1984 (1977), language as a room without a view in Kafka’s The Trial (1937), to language as a gap through which reality escapes in Robbe-Grillet’s Le Voyeur (1955) or from cyclic language as unmaking in Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude (1982), language as seduction and disillusionment in Nabokov’s Lolita (1955) to language as an expression of otherness in Nganang’s Dog Days (2001). There is always a “sense of carnivalesque enjoyment in the pyrotechnical properties of language-as-narrative,” to borrow words from André Brink (Quoted in Olaniyan & Quayson, 333-9).However, to reduce the problematic of postcolonial literature to the question of language seems to me an untenable argument. Although I understand where Ngugi is coming from, and see the importance of promoting the use of indigenous languages through writing, I can't help but think that his argument is completely circular and that he seems to contradict himself all too often. Africa has so many languages. In my home country, Cameroon, one can count over 200 languages. If one writes in one of these languages, how would the people from the other linguistic communities be able to read the books? Only the few speakers of the language in which the literary works are written would have access to the message.
I think the most important aspect of this contradiction is Ngugi’s decision to translate his books originally written in his mother tongue, Gikuyu, into the English language for the purpose of widening his readership. His latest novel, Wizard of the Crow (2007) was written in Gikuyu and later translated into English by Ngugi himself. He is so terribly against writing in English, yet we are reading his books in English! Ngugi's stance on language is pretty inflexible, or too inflexible, in this era of globalization.
I don't mean to be at all offensive, but I feel his stance is a little hypocritical in that after condemning writing in European languages, he still uses English to educate people about this. Decolonizing the Mind, his tool of combat is written in English! I'm bothered every time I read something written by him in English or hear him speak in English. Naturally, I'm not saying he shouldn't write or speak in English, but doesn't he see why it is somewhat necessary to do so? A proverbial expression in my mother tongue cautions against destroying the tree whose fruits you savor.
The mere fact that his indigenous-language fictional works have been translated into English so that it may be read by a global readership and Africans who don’t speak Gikuyu makes Ngugi's frivolous argument a nonstarter. His latest book, Dreams in a Time of War: A Childhood Memoir (2010) which I reviewed not long ago is written in English! Ngugi is aware that he needs to reach a broader audience/readership; therefore, he writes in English. Isn’t this an indication that his pontifications against the use of imperial languages in African literature are spurious? If he only wrote in Gikuyu, wouldn’t he unquestionably have a limited readership?
In one of his essays “The Language of African Literature” (Decolonizing the Mind, 4-33), he endeavors to account for the rationale behind writing African literature in European languages, which includes a broader reading audience, publishing/distributing opportunities, and the majority of awards that are only given to works written in European languages. What does this say about his dogged determination to write only in his mother tongue? Ngugi finds it hard to stop writing in English or translating his own works into English because he is a product of the same linguistic/cultural dualism that nourishes his creative genius. I believe that he is merely resisting the psychological effects of the perplexities that arise from this ambivalence.
What would happen if Mungaka, an indigenous language spoken in the grassfields of Cameroon, became very popular and a French writer began writing their books in this native tongue? Would these books still be classified as Mungaka literature regardless of the French content of the works? How about a Kenyan who grows up speaking Gikuyu and later learns Japanese and starts to write fiction in this Asian language? Would his works be Kenyan or Japanese? Because intriguing questions like these are bound to arise, creative writers need to give serious thought to the language question in literature.
I certainly comprehend the importance of writing in African languages for the purpose of safeguarding cultural heritage. I have written in Cameroonian Creole (Pidgin), Camfranglais, and Hausa in my attempt to transpose not only the speech patterns and mannerisms of Cameroonians into the written medium but also to underscore Cameroonian worldview and imagination. But to argue that one has to write in one’s mother tongue in order to earn a place in the ivory tower of African litterai seems to me lame contention. If African writers only wrote in their native languages, wouldn’t this alienate readers who only read in European languages? Wouldn’t alienation harbor grave consequences, especially from the pecuniary point of view?
Ngugi's uncompromising position is only one side of an ongoing argument in favor of the decolonization of African literature (Chinweizu et al, 1983). Like Ngugi, Chinweizu, Jemie and Madubuike posit that the use of European languages in African literature is a perpetuation of the neo-colonialist tendencies that seem so pervasive in African economies, politics and cultures. Aruging along similar lines, Ngugi observes that there is no difference between a politician who argues that Africa cannot dispense with imperialism and an African writer who believes that European languages are indispensable. As he puts it: “I believe that writing in Gikuyu language, a Kenyan language, an African language is part and parcel of the anti-imperialist struggles of Kenyan and African Peoples”(Quoted in Olaniyan and Quayson, 302).
On his part, Chinua Achebe observes that for him there is no choice; he has to write in English: “But for me there is no other choice. I have been given the language and I intend to use it” (Morning Yet on Creation Day, 62). If you want to get reward for your hard labor (writing), you need a wider audience.
Achebe’s writing does not usually conform to the European language idiom and syntax not because he is not proficient in English but because he is smart enough to manipulate the English language to bear the weight of his Igbo imagination and sensbility. As he puts it: “The price a world language must be prepared to pay is submission to many different kinds of use” (op cit, p.61). Though written in English, his novels are very rich in African tradition. He has the tool and uses it in a way that serves his purpose. How many people would have read Things Fall Apart (1958) or Arrow of God (1964) if they were written in Igbo? Achebe's domestication of the English language in these novels is done with a seamlessness that demonstrates his dexterity as a creative writer; not his inability to utilize "standard" English. Achebe's commitment to the promotion of a Nigerian identity in his Europhone novels lends credence to the fundamental truth that African literature need not be written in African languages in order to convey an African message. What matters, in essence, is that the African writer be responsible for promoting an image of Africa, positive or negative, using whatever tools are at his/her disposal. For Ngugi this is done through the use of Gikuyu. For Achebe, Soyinka and francophone writers like Kourouma, Nganang, Fonkou, and Boni, it is the indigenization of language that makes the task feasible. These writers are able to (re)mold European languages and make them feel and sound African. I believe that transgressing the grammatical canons that govern the usage of European languages and incorporating different aspects of African language aesthetics is a tremendously effective way to get ideas across to readers. Kourouma achieves this feat in The Suns of Independence (1981).
African Literature written in European languages is African literature. Many attributes converge to produce a label for a particular brand of literature. Medium (code) of communication is only one aspect. Other factors namely, stylistics, content, situational dimensions, spatio-temporal matrices, to name but a few, are integral parts of the holistic message. It is disingenuous to limit the examination of a people’s literature to the ‘wrapping’ at the expense of other constituting factors. I do not think that the language in which a work of literature is written is really as important as Ngugi and Wali perceive it. What is more important is the message/content and the stylistic devices employed to convey intended messages. It does not matter which language writers choose to glean their signifiers from, all that matters is what is being signified. I feel that one should judge whether or not a novel is "African" by what is being signified, not by the language from which the signifiers are culled.
That being said, I continue to wonder whether Ngugi truly even believes what he is saying and if so, why is he still writing in English? What are his motivations for circumventing this issue? Outrage, inspiration, or captivating an audience? I believe denouncing Africans who write in European languages (himself included); Ngugi is simply seeking negative attention. Is he trying to draw attention to his works? Hasn’t he garnered enough notoriety as a dissent writer? I believe that Ngugi wants to be heard in the dissident tone of voice for which he is already notorious. Like Wali, does he really fear that African languages would be extinct if Africans don’t write in their mother tongues?
Just because we do not write in our native tongues does not mean that the languages are going to be lost! The question regarding what will happen to African native languages that are not written in is an interesting one, though. I think it takes more than just literature to make a language last. The whole debate on the interplay between orality and literacy has been fully examined by Walter Ong in his text Orality and Literacy: the Technologizing of the Word (1982) in which he points out that language perpetuates culture, and culture sustains language. As long as languages are orally kept alive they will survive, no question about that. The deleterious effects of the arguments against Europhone African literature is that they make African literature in European languages inherently second-rate. I'm sure Ngugi would balk at me for saying this, but in a way, he is doing the same thing the colonizers did to African languages—they brought their languages to Africa and attached a stigma to the use of native African languages. By raising African languages to an unquestionably higher pedestal, Ngugi is devaluing the work of African writers who write in English, French or Portuguese. I don't know if he is necessarily discrediting them, but I do feel as though he is giving them a slap on the wrist, so to speak.
This discourse raises the question of relevance in African literature. Ngugi observes: “…the language question cannot be solved outside the larger arena of economics and politics or outside the question of what society we want” (Decolonizing, 106). How relevant are African literary texts to the rank and file— the proletariat and the masses to whom the message is often directed? Ngugi co-authored his first play Ngaahika Ndeenda (1982) in Gikuyu and later translated it into English as I Will Marry When I Want (1982). The original version was staged as a communal play in an open theatre. The local folks could identify not only with the language but also with the themes that undergirded the crafting of the play, notably misappropriation of land in Kenya under British colonial rule. The play also tackles the problem of neo-colonization. In brief, the play was relevant to Kenyans because it reflected their lived experiences.
All of Ngugi's works of fiction are deeply concerned with existential problems, celebrations and conflicts in the lives of Africans. With this in mind it seems to me that Ngugi is caught in a terrible web, in that he believes that revolutionary literature has to be written in a language the people would understand. He seems to be saying that if literature is not written in the language of the people, the revolutionary among them will not be born.
In this case, the language of the people is very important. Yet, he reverts to writing in English without giving his readers cogent reasons why he does so. Do Africans want to continue to tell their own stories in foreign tongues? Do they want to continue to feed their children with stories about the marvels of western civilization at the expense of their own cultural values? Ngugi’s arguments may make sense when we come to terms with the fact that the search for new directions in our language policies should be viewed as an integral part of the overall struggle of Africans against imperialism in its neo-colonial stage. He contends that discourse on the politics of language in African literature cannot be dissociated from Africa’s struggle for liberation. As he puts it: “It is a call for the rediscovery of the real language… of struggle…” (op cit, 108). Ngugi certainly has a point when he underscores the imperialistic functions that language has been made to fulfill in Africa.
This notwithstanding, it seems to me that there are many more nefarious manifestations of imperialism that should constitute the focus of the liberation struggle in Africa. It is counterproductive to try to impose reductionist standards on how to judge African literature today on the grounds that we are waging a war against imperial forces.
African writers should be at liberty to write in the language(s) of their choice because our cultural values, worldview and imagination can only be shared with the external world through African literature written in European languages. I have no doubt that, on second thought, Ngugi wa Thiong'o would be prepared to modify the statements he has made so far about language choice in African literature, the more so because he continues to write in English after making these powerful statements. I fully support him on the issue of promoting the teaching of African languages in schools through well conceived curricular modalities. Even though (I'm sure) Ngugi has the best intentions in defending his position so passionately, his prescription has the potential to inhibit creativity to a certain extent because it is so restrictive.
The fact that African literature produced in European languages so far has been incredibly effective at communicating the message of resistance against neo-colonial oppression and cultural imperialism demonstrates the ingenuity of writers at using every available resource to assert their identity.
In a nutshell, the ongoing debate on language choice in African literature should not be perceived as an attempt to belabor the obvious. Given the history of colonization and its aftermath in Africa, this question is bound to recur in any forum where the raison d’être of fictional writing is the topic of discussion. It is important for Africa to have literatures written in indigenous languages to preserve traditional values and speak directly to fellow Africans. At the same time, we cannot subscribe to the fallacious logic of the unassailable position of indigenous languages in contemporary African literature.
I believe that there must be a balance between the inclusion of African-language literatures and Europhone literatures written by Africans in our corpus of literary works. In sum, this all goes back to the question: What makes a book African? The writer is African? The language is African? The message is African? Or all three? Though I agree that publishing houses should encourage the publication of African-language literatures, I also don't think it is fair to discount a writer simply because s/he chooses to write in English, French, or Portuguese, etc. For many Africans, indigenous languages might provide the most natural mode of writing; others, though, may choose European languages for a variety of equally valid reasons. I would actually like to know what bothers Ngugi, Wali and ilk more—the fact that English is a colonial language, or the fact that by writing in English, an African writer is not using a native African language.
Works cited
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Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. London: Heinemann, 1958.
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Brink, André. “Languages of the Novel: A Lover’s Reflections.” Olaniyan, Tejumola and Ato
Quayson. Eds. African Literature: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory. Oxford:
Publishing, 2007.
Chinweizu et al. Toward the Decolonization of African Literature. Washington D.C.:
Howard University Press, 1983.
Grillet, Robbe. Le voyeur. Paris: Editions de Minuit, 1955.
Kafka, Franz. The Trial. New York. A.A. Knopf, 1937.
Kourouma. Ahmadou. The Suns of Independence. London: Heinemann, 1981.
Marquez, Garcia Gabriel. One Hundred Years of Solitude. New York: Limited Editions Club,
1982.
Nabokov, Vladimir Vladimirovich. Lolita. Paris: Olympia Press, 1955.
Nganang, Patrice. Dog Days. Charlottesville: University of
Virginia Press, 2001.
Ngugi, wa Thiong’o. Decolonizing the Mind: the Politics of Language in African
Literature. London: Heinemann, 1986.
Literature. London: Heinemann, 1986.
_______________. Wizard of the Crow. New York. Pantheon Books. 2006.
Ngugi, wa Thiong’o and Ngugi wa Mirii. I Will Marry When I Want. London: Heinemann,1982.
Olaniyan, Tejumola and Ato Quayson. Eds. African Literature: An Anthology of
Criticism and Theory. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2007.
Criticism and Theory. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2007.
Ong, Walter. Orality and Literacy: the Technologizing of the Word. London and New
York: Routledge, 1982.
Orwell, George. 1984. London: Penguin Books Limited, 1977.
Wali, obiajunwa. “The Dead End of African Literature." Transition 10(1963):13-15.
© The Entrepreneur Newspaper 2010. All Rights Reserved .
Abstract
Post-colonial creative writers constantly resort to creolization and indigenization as modes of linguistic and cultural appropriation. In other words, these writers tend to transpose the imprint of their cultural backgrounds onto their fictional works.This paper addresses the challenges posed by language mixing to the literary translator. Rather than interrogate the theories of translation, the paper seeks to bring new insights to the pragmatics of translation – ways in which the literary translator grapples with meaning discernment and rendition when faced with texts couched in indigenized and hybridized linguistic forms, namely creoles, pidgins, camfranglais, and other forms of hybrid languages. There are clear and obvious benefits in literary indigenization (i.e., a larger audience, self-representation, etc) but how do these benefits transform when these languages are contextualized in literature? In what ways is pidginization complicit or at variance with imperial languages? And what are the ramifications of such complicity or variance for the translator? What forms of discursive agencies are made available through translation?
Les écrivains postcoloniaux recourent souvent à la créolisation et à l’indigénisation comme modes d’appropriation linguistique et culturelle. En d’autres termes, ces auteurs ont tendance à transposer les marques de leur culture sur leurs oeuvres. Cette étude examine la problématique de mixage de langues qui se pose souvent lors de la traduction des oeuvres littéraires. Loin d’incriminer les théories courantes sur la traduction, l’étude formule quelques suggestions sur la pragmatique de la traduction – la manière avec laquelle le traducteur littéraire cherche à saisir le sens des mots dans un texte plein de formes linguistiques indigenisées et hybridisées, plus particulièrement les formes créoles, pidgins, camfranglais et toute autre forme de langues hybrides. Il y a des avantages évidents dans l’indigénisation littéraire (i.e. une plus large audience, représentation de soi, etc.), mais comment ces bénéfices sont-ils perçus lorsque le langage littéraire est hautement contextualisé ? Dans quelle mesure la pidginisation est-elle en complicité ou en opposition avec les langues impériales ? Quelles sont les ramifications d’une telle complicité ou variance pour le traducteur ? Quelles sont les formes d’agence discursives disponibles à travers la traduction ?
Camfranglais is a hybrid language spoken in the Republic of Cameroon where English, French and close to 250 indigenous languages coexist. It consists of a mixture of French, English, Pidgin and borrowings from local languages. Kouega (2003:23) defines Camfranglais as “a composite language consciously developed by secondary school pupils who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages.” Cameroonian youths tend to use this language as a communication code in order to exclude other members of the community. In other words, they use it to exchange ideas in such a way that the information would sound mysterious to non-members.
It is the use of terms such as “damba” “see,” “tomorrow,” “pourquoi,” “nayo nayo.”, “fia,” “bateau” “aff” and “buy” that may make understanding difficult for older people who are monolingual speakers of French or English. It is clear from these examples that the sentence structure of Camfranglais is calqued on the French syntactic structure. Each utterance above contains at least one English, Pidgin or indigenous language word like “play,” “go,” “come,” “hate” “know,” “nayo nayo,” etc.
This language blend has been developed by urban youths to talk about daily events that are of interest to them, namely dating, entertainment, sports, money, physical looks and so forth. Camfranglais serves its adolescent speakers as an icon of “resistance identity” (Castells 1997). In other words, they create and constantly transform this sociolect by manipulating lexical items from various Cameroonian and European languages, in an effort to mark off their identity as a new social group – the modern Cameroonian urban youth – in opposition to other groups such as the older generation, the rural population and the elite. It is a composite language which resembles a pidgin in that it results from contact between several languages (Kouega 2003). To render their language incomprehensible to outsiders, speakers of Camfranglais use various techniques of word formation such as borrowing from various languages, coinage, elision, affixation, inversion, and reduplication.
Camfranglais first emerged in the mid-1970s after the reunification of Francophone Cameroun and Anglophone Southern Cameroons. It became fashionable in the late 1990s, due partially to its use by popular musicians such as Lapiro de Mbanga, Petit Pays and others. Kouega (2003) gives a striking account of the social distribution of Camfranglais:
In an article titled “Le Camfranglais, Un cousin du Verlan?” (1989), Michel Lobé Ewané draws striking parallels between Camfranglais and Verlan, a slang language spoken by young people in the French banlieue (suburbs). Verlan was invented as a secret code by youths, drug users and criminals to communicate freely in front of authority figures (parents and police). Here is a translation of Ewané’s article:
The scene described below is one of those incidents that occur on a daily basis in the streets of Yaoundé. It is an account of a traffic accident in which a posh car has just run over a dog. The forces of law and order are interrogating eye-witnesses. Among the people being interrogated, there is a recalcitrant young man who explains in an unusual lingo why he will not testify:This strange language is “Camgfranglais” and the story recounted is the subject of a popular play written by the talented Cameroonian playwright Essindi Mindja. Could this be described as linguistic vandalism or banditry? Is it rather an invention akin to the French argot called Verlan? Could this be perceived as the manifestation of cultural creativity conditioned by a linguistic environment in which official languages (English and French) have been taken hostage by indigenous languages?
In any event, Camfranglais, a hybrid language composed of borrowings from French, English, Pidgin and Cameroonian indigenous languages (Duala, Ewondo, Bassa, etc), has become a popular lingua franca amongst high school and college students in Cameroon. The rampant use of this language in academic circles is a great cause for concern for English and French language teachers and professors. According to a certain professor, this language translates not only the rejection by Cameroonian youths of foreign languages imposed on them but also the adoption of a sophisticated mode of expression that is intelligible to members of a select group. Camfranglais is a linguistic melting-pot comprising at least four different languages. Its vocabulary, syntax, imagery, accent and pronunciation are constantly being remodeled according to rules formulated on the basis of new findings by members of this restricted circle. The end result has been the birth of a jargon intelligible to high school and college students as well as the rank and file.
The syntactic structure of Camfranglais is calqued on French syntax. Inside the sentence, some words are replaced by either English words which may be conjugated like in French, or by words borrowed from one of the indigenous languages, namely Duala, Ewondo or Pidgin. Example: “J’ai tcha (pris) le métro et vous knowez (savez qui vient de ‘to know’) qu’il ne run (roule) pas vite.”[3] Another example: “Je te give (donne, ici, je te payes) huit kolo fap (8500 CFA Francs in Pidgin).”[4] The origin and etymology of Camfranglais words are diverse.
It seems to me that Camfranglais has borrowed a lot from the French Verlan as exemplified in the following sentence: “La nga (ou la meute, c’est-à-dire la nana) dont je t’ai tok (parlé) m’a bondi (m’a snobé).”[5] Recourse to the word “bondir” is justified by the impression the speaker wants to create in the mind of the listener. He wants to underscore the idea of being given the cold shoulder by a girl he admires. The image created by this usage may have far-reaching ramifications, especially when it is affiliated with an English language lexicon. For example, “Je suis filingué (attiré) par cette nga”.[6] The word “filingué,” coined from the English “feeling” could also be used in reference to a singer, performer or even a professor that one admires.
In sum, Camfranglais is chap (difficult) to understand, chap to tchatcher (speak).[7] It is the lingo of students and the working class distinct from the business language of pacho (papa). Our pretty girls speak it too. There are countless synonyms at the disposal of Camfranglais speakers. The following words refer to “woman”: Wa, Nga, Meute, Gnoxe, (the word ngoxer is often used to mean “make love,” etc. Political and economic events in Cameroon have favored the rapid evolution of this language. Neologisms are being created day in day out to replace old ones. For example, on account of the economic crisis in Cameroon attributed to the severe austerity measures imposed on the citizens by the International Monetary Fund (MF), it is now common to hear Camfranglais speakers say: “Le Cameroun est fmisé (soumis aux contraintes du FMI).”[8] The language has become so popular that renowned musicians are using it as a medium of self-expression. They find the humor, imagination and inventiveness of the anonymous creators of Camfranglais very appealing. Prepositions, concord and the gender of nouns are all muddled up. The context of communication is that of everyday life: friendship, school, love, courtship, parents, dating, leisure…
One of Cameroon’s musical virtuosos, Lapiro de Mbanga, whose latest release caused a furor last summer, talked about “Big Katica for Ngola.” The clip was censured for some time because the expression Big Katica actually refers to the President of the Republic. Katica is an indigenous word designating someone who invites friends to a game of poker, and Ngola is the original name for the capital city, Yaoundé. It is evident that Camfranglais has it own coded political lexicon. Camfranglais is considered ‘cool’ not only by high school and college students, but also by some youthful teachers. A few years ago, a high school teacher brought the question of Camfranglais into the limelight in a letter addressed to the editor of one of the local newspapers, Cameroon Tribune. Ironically, his letter was only published ten years later in a bi-weekly, Weekend Tribune in a column devoted to Camfranglais. Here is what the teacher said: “As far as I am concerned, Camfranglais is a language associated with ease of communication. We, the youths, want to simplify everything. In fact, we want to prove to everyone that we are learning several languages, and that we are capable of achieving alchemy of words… We must not lose sight of the fact that languages taught in school are poorly mastered.”
This view was corroborated by remarks made by the national pedagogic adviser for the French language who claims: “I do not view the use of Camfranglais by our students as constituting a learning obstacle. However, if this new code became worrisome, it would be necessary to integrate it into our national language syllabi in order to make learners aware of the risks they may run by using it. The school milieu is governed by rules. So it is a safe-guard.”
The birth of Camfranglais in Cameroon is not an isolated occurrence in Africa. Moussa or Nouchis (the lingo of the Loubards in Treichville) in Ivory Coast is analogous. Undoubtedly, these creolized linguistic varieties will soon become the language of theater and cinema, as has been the case with pidginized French used by humorous playwrights such Jean Miché Kankan and Daniel Ndo in Cameroon. With their black humor, these playwrights have no reason to be envious of French Verlan speakers.
All in all, it is clear from Michel Lobé Ewané’s article that Camfranglais has clear social functions. It signals rebellion against authority and societal expectations. It is often associated with opposition to authority figures. In addition to switching to a code that most adults will not understand, Camfranglais provides a ‘cover’ for the use of taboo forms as well as ‘covert’ prestige for those who identity with this linguistic variety.
A number of Cameroonian fiction writers have begun to transcribe Camfranglais and other Camerounismes [9] in their creative writing. Here are a few examples of Cameroonianisms that a reader is likely to find in a Cameroonian novel or play of French expression:
Lexical items borrowed from Cameroonian indigenous languages are gradually finding their way into Camfranglais. I have selected a couple of examples from Kouega’s article for purposes of illustration:
In his latest detective novels Cameroon’s most popular novelist, Mongo Beti, has transcribed Camfranglais and other Cameroonianisms into French. In Trop de soleil tue l’amour (1999), Beti inserts Cameroonianisms such as: “Quand le grand chef disparaît de chez nous là pour passer deux mois à Baden-Baden là, tu vas même lui dire que quoi? Je te demande, Norbert, qui va même lui dire que quoi?” (120). Announcing the death and burial of his mother to his boss, the same character has recourse to a typical Cameroonianism: “Mais non, grand,[11] ce n’est pas la même; nous sommes en Afrique non? Quand je dis ma mère, ce n’est pas toujours celle qui m’a accouché,[12] vous savez bien; grand, vous êtes Africain, non?”(120). In Branle-bas en noir et blanc (2000), Beti writes: “C’est comme les bordelles,[13] il faut passer à la casserole” (23).
In a poem titled “Identity Crisis,” Vakunta (2001) has recourse to Camfranglais to express his dual identity:
Anyone with the remotest interest in literary translation cannot help but ask the nagging question: what are the implications of this usage for the translator? As literary critic Paul Bandia has pointed out: “The difficulty of translating pidgins and creoles in the African novel lies in the fact that there is hardly any direct equivalent relationship between English-based pidgins and French-based pidgins in West Africa” (Bandia 1993: 103). Yet Camfranglais and other forms of Cameroonianisms are charged with socio-cultural information that reveals a lot about the characters in the narrative as we have seen in Ewané’s article. It is, therefore, of crucial importance to retain these linguistic variants in the translation process because they are employed by the creative writer in order to capture the socio-cultural context of the novels. Eugene Nida has underscored the importance of maintaining dialectal forms in the translation process as follows:
The aim of this article has not been to provide a framework for resolving potential translation problems that may arise from the use of Camfranglais or other forms of Camerounismes in creative writing. Our objective has been to acquaint the reader with the emergence of a new linguistic code whose usage in African literature is likely to present the translator with peculiar problems. Africans of all backgrounds use blended languages such as Camfranglais, Pidgin, Moussa and Nouchis as a means of ensuring group solidarity within a community of practice. Creative writers use these mixed varieties to translate the socio-cultural contexts that inform and structure their narratives. Ivorian writer, Ahmadou Kourouma’s recourse to linguistic hybridization in three of his novels, Les soleils des indépendances (1968), Monnè: outrages et défis (1993) and En attendant le vote des bêtes sauvages (1998) has been described by literary critic Gyasi as “a creative translation process that leads to the production of a Malinke text in French and the development of an authentic African discourse” (151). Kourouma echoes Gyasi when he evokes translation in his work: “J’ai donné libre cours à mon tempérament en distordant une langue classique trop rigide pour que ma pensée s’y meuve” (8)[14]. The reader of Les soleils des indépendances is able to detect what may be termed a new African mode of storytelling. Kourouma uses a hybrid code which forces the non-Malinke speaker to refer to the novelist’s native language and culture for signification. This is because the writer’s use of ‘Malinkalized’ French leads to the production of a third code, characterized by an authentic African discourse.
An experienced translator working on the fiction of Mongo Beti and other Cameroonian writers would, I believe, achieve functional equivalence by having recourse to a communicative translation model. Using such a model is of critical importance given that a translation is supposed to have the same impact on the target language receptors as the original did on the source language recipients.
References
Introduction
Nouchi, also called abidjanese French is a slang spoken by urban youths in Côte d'Ivoire. According to Blaise Ahua (2006), this lingo was created in the 70’s by high school dropouts who needed a secret code to survive in a world that makes no provision for the underprivileged. He further notes that Nouchi became popular thanks to an article written by two well-known Ivorian journalists—Bernard Ahua and Alain Coulibaly—titled “Nouchi: un langage à la mode” [Nouchi, a fashionable language][1] published in a weekly, Fraternité Matin in 1986. Research shows that Nouchi speakers are generally in the age bracket of 10-30 years. Jérémie Kouadio N’guessan (1990) notes that Nouchi “est devenu la première langue, ou tout au moins la langue la plus parlée des jeunes agés de 10 à 30ans (177) [Nouchi has become a primary language, more or less a language spoken by young Ivorians aged 10-30]. Created and spoken in the streets by youths living on the fringe of society, Nouchi is viewed negatively by most Ivorians who believe that Nouchi speakers are thugs and thieves. Nouchi is a crypted language with a group identity. As N’guessan(1990) points out, “ La revendication d’un code linguistique bien à soi va de pair avec la revendication d’une identité sociale construite en opposition aux autres”(189)[ the demand for a personal linguistic code goes hand in hand with the need for a social identity constructed in opposition to others.] In brief, Nouchi is a sociolect[i] created by Ivorian youths to talk about the things that are of interest to them to the exclusion of non-initiates—drugs, sex, scams and so on.
Hermeneutic (Exegetic) Model
Ze Amvela, Etienne. “Reflexions on the Social Implications of Bilingualism in the
Notes
[xv] A student’s voice would say, the usual, Mama Mado, and my mistress knew just what he wanted. Another’s voice would order, put oya soté, for jazz must do sous-marin] (Dog Days, 57).
[xx] Between two customers, Justine and her mother took part in the heated discussions that animated the ‘bayam sellam’ section of the martket: gossip, fake quarrels, jokes and noisy false pretenses that caused outbursts of laughter.
Dr. Vakunta is Professor at the United States Department of Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California. He specializes in postcolonial literatures of Africa and the Caribbean. He has authored several books including, Indigenization of Language in the Francophone Novel: A New Literary Canon (2010), Cry my beloved Africa (2008), Ntarikon (2007), and more. He runs a blog at http://www.vakunta.blogspot.com/
Works cited
Linguistic Experimentation In Mercedes Fouda’s Je Parle Camerounais: Pour Un Renouveau Francofaune
By Peter Vakunta
Those who insist that writers in the post-colony write in exactly the same way as mother-tongue metropolitan writers do, to use the jargon of postcolonial literary theory, would have to rethink after reading Mercédès Fouda’s novel titled Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune. Aschroft et al. (1989) argue that this Calibanic longing for linguistic liberation has become a symbol of resistance in postcolonial literary theory. By appropriating the master’s language, Caliban is able to break out of Prospero’s linguistic prism. Like Caliban, fiction writers everywhere in the sphere of Francophonie, are trying to jettison the yoke of linguistic/cultural imperialism by domesticating French in an attempt to convey indigenous thought patterns, speech mannerisms, worldview, imagination and socio-cultural experiences. The debate on the recourse to the techniques of domestication and foreignization as means of literary communication has attracted the attention of translation theorists for long time. Lawrence Venuti discusses these techniques at length in his book The Translator Invisibility (1995).
Domestication as a literary paradigm has been used by award-winning francophone fiction writers such as Henry Lopès (1982), Patrick Chamoiseau(1994), Michel Tremblay(1972), Ahmadou Kourouma (1970) , Nazi Boni (1962), Patrice Nganang(2001) and Mercédès Fouda (2001), to name but a few. In other words, these writers consciously manipulate the European language in an attempt to reflect local speech patterns while writing in the French language. Thus, linguistic experimentation with the language of the ex-colonizer harbors not just aesthetic but also political undertones.When creative writers resort to domestication as a literary technique, they superimpose indigenous linguistic features and values upon the European language. By resorting to the domestication of French in Je parle camerounais Fouda gives prominence not just to her native tongue but also to the kind of uneducated French that is spoken by the Cameroonian rank and file as this example shows: “Le ‘mamba’ alias billet de dix mille francs, de couleur verte, qui cause dans les bars autant de dégats que la morsure de son homonyme reptilien sur les humains.”(6). By using the word “mamba’ (venomous arboreal snakes) to describe money, Fouda underscores the importance of fauna and flora in the speech patterns of Cameroonians. In Cameroon, the word “mamba” refers to the 20000 CFA bill that often arouses feelings of envy when someone takes it out of his/her wallet to buy drinks in a bar. It’s an indicator of the socio-economic status of the spender. Recourse to flora is also evident in this other example: “J’ai un bon gombo pour nous… Le gombo, c’est ce petit job périodique et sporadique dont les revenus disparaissent aussi rapidement que son homonyme, plante mucilagineuse dont on fait les sauces, et qui, surtout cuisinée avec du couscous, descend à toute vitesse dans la gorge.”(36). Gombo is “okra” but in this context, it is used as an equivalent to the English language word “windfall”.
Like Caliban in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, (1921) Fouda writes in stark defiance of French grammatical conventions. He is saying to the ex-colonizers: you taught me French but I am going to appropriate it to the extent where you will have a hard time recognizing your language when you read it in my works. This is what makes her French an ‘embargoed ‘language from the perspective of Metropolitan speakers of French.
If the Académie française had its way, it would not hesitate to put Fouda’a book in a state of pariah on account of her linguistic nonconformity. The quest for linguistic autonomy is evident from onset—the title of Fouda’s book speaks to her dissidence. By titling her text Je parle camerounais, she distances herself from Metropolitan French. She does not write: Je parle le français camerounais; rather she writes: Je parle camerounais. Here is another example of Fouda’s attempt to appropriate French in her text: “Attifé ainsi, vous seriez ridicule, et Max a bien raison une fois de plus de montrer ses ‘attrape-manioc’: il se moque gentiment de vous” (37). Les “attrape-manioc” is a reference to human teeth. Because the staple food of Fouda’s people is cassava (manioc) she uses this compound word in reference to teeth. ‘Attraper le manioc’ avec ses dents is to ‘eat a meal of cassava’. This usage clearly shows that the French in Fouda’s text has been been subjected to indigenization to reflect Cameroonian socio-cultural realities.
A Westerner reading Je parle camerounais is likely to draw a blank on account of the ‘foreigness’ of Fouda’s lexicon. She uses neologisms typical of Cameroonian speech as this example illustrates: “J’ai seulement un ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ et les ‘sans confiance’.”(37). A ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ is pants that appear too short for the wearer because s/he has grown taller or bigger. Cameroonians use this expression as a form of mockery and as a reminder to the person wearing the pants that it is time to buy a new one. ‘Sans confiance’ are a pair of slippers that would go bad as soon as the buyer wears them. They inspire lack of self-confidence. ‘Sans confiance’ literally means ‘no confidence’. These are shoes on which no one can really rely because they are badly made.
Readers of Je parle camerounais....may wonder what sort of translation process takes place in Fouda’s text. It is worth mentioning that the term ‘translation’ is not used in this paper to refer to the replacement of a text in the source language by a lexically and semantically equivalent text in the target language. The translation activity that goes on in this text is intra-lingual. Intra-lingual translation occurs within the source language. It is a creative translation process in which writers attempt to infuse their works with the imprint of their cultural backgrounds, worldview and imagination with the intent of taking control the language of the ex-colonizer.
Fouda transposes the world view and of Cameroonians into the French language through the techniques of semantic shift, lexical interpolation, neology, and code-switching. Code-switching is a technique that she employs with dexterity to fictionalize Cameroonian lived experiences. Her text provides an opportunity to read the type of Africanized French that is spoken in the neighborhoods and informal spheres in Cameroon. Je parle camerounais is replete with Camfranglais, Pidgin English and indigenous language words and expressions that endow the text with a stamp of cultural identity.
Semantic shift enables Fouda to attribute new significations to existing French words as the following example indicates: “En somme, la fête est mondiale, terme exploité quand il y a foule, et que les gens apprécient, comme lors des coupes du monde de foot.”(54-55) In Fouda’s text, the word “mondial” loses its original signification of “worldwide” and takes on the additional meaning of “extraordinary”. Fouda constantly shifts meaning for the purpose of translating the speech patterns of her characters into French as this other example seem to illustrate: “Ces temps derniers les jeunes talents se sont vus affubler des substantives “yo” et “yoyettes”, surtout s’ils se sont branchés comme des fils électriques, avec pantalons en tire-bouchon…” (62)
The words “jeune” and” talent” though French have been indigenized and endowed with entirely new significations in this context. In Cameroonian French, these two words used together “jeune talents” refer to “young girls and boys who are inexperienced in the ways of the world. It is worth mentioning that words like “yo” and “yoyettes” are Cameroonian neologisms. Both words describe young coquettish girls in Fouda’s novel. Linguistic indigenization of the caliber that one finds in her text has the potential render the novel incomprehensible for a non-Cameroonian readership given that these lexes are context and culture-specific. They are derived from Camfranglais, a hybrid language spoken in Cameroon.
More often than not, Fouda resorts to semantic shifts for the purpose of creating humor as the following sentence suggests: “Et puis vous n’aimez pas les papayes, filles à la peau-cratère décolorée tyrant sur l’orange, vous préférez le cirage, les noires à la peau luisante.”(63) The word “papaye” (papaya or pawpaw) is used here to describe an African girl who has made abortive attempts to lighten her complexion by means of body creams. Such unsuccessful attempts often create a complexion that is neither black nor white. For want of a better word, Cameroonians generally refer to this kind of skin color as “peau papaye” (Papaya or pawpaw skin). In a similar vein, unattractive girls have earned the unpleasant sobriquet “nivaquine”. This metaphor derived from the medical lexicon is humorous. Equally hilarious is Fouda’s attempt to create a correlation between a woman with huge butts and a national debate or conference on same topic of grave importance as the following sentences shows: “De trop larges débats, qui qualifient les gros derrières, et par extension les grosses personnes, puisque si l’on doit discuter en fonction des mensurations, on ne saurait rapidement faire le tour des grosses corpulences.”(63).
The expression “larges débats” describes the large butts of a woman. The linguistic manipulation in Fouda’s text translates the African writer’s conscious attempt to distort a classical language otherwise too rigid to enable indigenous thoughts to flow freely. Fouda adapts her language to the African narrative style. So widespread is the practice that literary scholar Ojo-Ade has made the following remarks:
On the whole, one may safely say that the dual culture of the African writer (the native culture he is writing about and the European culture he has imbibed) makes him first and foremost a translator before being a creative artist. (“The Role of the Translator”, 295)
One could deduce from Ojo-Ade’s observations that the transposition of African worldview and imagination into European languages remains the hallmark of postcolonial African literature. As Gyasi posits, contemporary fictional writing in Africa is “a creative translation process that leads to the production of a…text in French and the development of an authentic African discourse” (151). Interestingly, this aspect of African literature remains unexplored by those who have a stake in African creative writing, thus leaving the reader to surmise the rationale behind this constant recourse to translation in fictional writing. There is no doubt that an understanding of the socio-cultural matrix of a literary work would serve to enlarge readers’ experience and make the text more accessible than it would be were they to learn nothing of the circumstances surrounding its creation. Arguing along the same lines, Ezekiel Mphahle observes:
"The major problem facing the African writer is the problem of explaining and translating Africa to the modern world, to Europe, to the world of culture …. The African writer who writes in English or French is interested in seeing that French and English cultures recognize what he and his culture are. It is for this reason that he tries to be the translator of his culture." (Quoted in Egejuru, 116)
Fouda translates Cameroonian discursive particularities into French by employing indigenous language idiomatic expressions as seen in this statement: “Et puis, vous haussez les épaules, il crache je mange? Il pisse je bois?”(62) Literally, these idioms could be translated as: Do I eat his spittle? Do I drink his urine?” These statements translate the contempt the speaker has for the person referred to. A metropolitan speaker of French is likely to say, “Je me moque de lui”. Similarly, when the narrator says: “Ce dernier, qui ne parle non plus avec l’eau dans la bouche, veut vous rallier à son opinion: fuir le plus rapidement possible” (67), he is translating native parlance into the French language. The expression “parler avec l’eau dans la bouche” could be written in standard French as “tenir des propos incongrus or mensongers” which could be translated as “to tell lies or half truths”.Chantal Zabus describes this mode of creative writing as “the writer’s attempt at textualizing linguistic differentiation and conveying African concepts, thought patterns and linguistic concepts through the ex-colonizer’s language” (23).
Fouda peppers her texts with words and expressions that are probably comprehensible only to Cameroonians because they are words created by Cameroonians in a multilinguistic communication context as seen in the following statement: “Si depuis belle lurette vous vous démenez de-ci de-là sans trouver aucune occasion à saisir sur le plan matériel, vous pourrez toujours vous plaindre que le dehors est dur…” (5). “Le dehors est dur” is a Cameroonianism which translates the idea that times are hard. This interesting one would certainly intrigue French speakers not familiar with Cameroonian French: “Bon, on fait comme ça! dira-t-on en guise d’au revoir.”(8) The expression “On fait comme ça!” which literally means “let’s do it that way” is meant to translate the standard French expressions “Au revoir”, “A tout à l’heure” or A bientôt”.
Euphemisms are part and parcel of Fouda’s lexicon. When a Francophone Cameroonian says, “votre estomac vous lance des insultes” (9), s/he is saying that you are hungry. Cameroonians use the expression “manger son midi” (9) to translate” eat one’s lunch”, le midi being the name given to any meal eaten between noon and 2:00pm. It is important to know that such meals are generally not eaten at home. Rather, they are eaten in makeshift open-air restaurants erected by the roadside as this statement makes explicit: “Vous avez alors la possibilité d’aller manger au tournedos. Ne vous réjouissez pas trop vite! Vous n’irez que dans l’un de ces restaurants de plein air, faits de bancs et de tables assemblés,et ou , tout bêtement, le client tourne le dos à la route!”(10) The word “tourne-dos” has no equivalent in Metropolitan French.
Fouda’s text is filled with compound words created from the different vernacular languages spoken in Cameroon. Examples include: “Mamie Koki” (10), “mamie ndolè” (10), “mamie atchomo” (10) etc. The word “mamie” is the Pidgin equivalent of the standard French “mère”. Young Cameroonians generally address older women as “mamie” as a gesture of respect. In the commercial arena, this term is used as a reference to a woman from whom one buys food on a regular basis as the following excerpt shows: “Au tournedos, officie l’asso, diminutive flatteur de “associé (e),est cette personne chez qui vous faites régulièrement des achats et qui, lorsque c’est fort sur vous, vous fait manger un crédit…”(10) It should be noted that “manger un crédit” translates the standard expression “acheter à credit”(to buy on credit). It is evident that the word “manger” has been given a different signification in this context. “Manger” could be translated as “acheter”. The expression “c’est fort sur vous’ translates the standard French expression “les temps sont durs”. “Koki”, “Ndolè”, and “atchomo” are local Cameroonian dishes.
In a nutshell, Fouda’s Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune is an indigenized text that seems to defy comprehension on account of the peculiarity of the French language in which it is written. Fouda has tinkered with Moliere’s language to the point where it unrecognizable by native speakers of French. Teaching this novel places an enormous burden on the instructor and students—the strain of interpretation and elucidation. So why teach it? I decided to include this novel on the reading list of my French 228 (fifth semester) language, literature and culture course because I believed that it would give me the opportunity to discuss the concept of linguistic Otherness.
The text has enabled me to impress on my students that there are varieties of French just as there are Englishes in the world today. There is Camfranglais in Cameroon, Nouchi in Côte d’Ivoire, Franglais in Canada, and creolized French in Francophone Caribbean and so on and so forth. This brings us the perhaps the most important question in this discussion: how should a text like Fouda’s be taught?
In grabbling with this question, I have deemed it expedient to adopt a hermeneutic socio-cultural pedagogical modality for teaching Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune. The rationale for this choice is that Fouda’s text is culturally impregnated as I have illustrated in the examples above. The instructor has to interpret the situational dimensions that account for the total meaning of Fouda’s text. Without a proper understanding the non-textual components of this text, any attempt at teaching it would be a non-starter. As Juliane House points out: “The semantico-stylistic interpretation of a literary text should be considered as the most important aspect of exegesis in the translation process...we have to deal with details which are often hardly perceivable, yet are nonetheless significant since they inform us about the artistic type not by means of themes, composition and transformation of reality, but by delicate stylistic nuances.”(1977, p.68) The instructor of Je parle cameroonais has to unravel the latent meanings embedded in the author’s choice of words, expressions and syntactical constructions in order to be able to explain the text to students unfamiliar with the socio-cultural matrix from which the novel sprouted.
It is rather unfortunate that this seminal work in postcolonial Francophone Cameroonian literature has not yet been translated into English. Although some of Fouda’s linguistic particularities my pose considerable challenges for the translator who has to balance lexical and semantic equivalence, I believe that her creative genius and stylistic dexterity certainly deserve to go beyond the confines of Francophone readership....© The Entrepreneur Newspaper 2009. All Rights Reserved
Works cited
Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths, Helen Tiffin. Eds. The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-colonial Literatures. London and New York: Routledge, 1989.
Boni, Nazi. Crépuscule des temps anciens. Paris: Présence Africaine, 1962.
Chamoiseau. Patrick. Chemin-d’école. Paris: Gallimard, 1994.
Egejuru, Panel A. Towards African Literary Independence: A Dialogue with Contemporary African Writers. London: Greenwood Press, 1980.
Fouda Mercédès. Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune.Paris: Karthala, 2001.
Gyasi, Kwaku, A. “Writing as Translation: African Literature and the Challenges of Translation.” Research in African Literatures 30.2 (1999): 75-87.
“The African Writer as a Translator: Writing African Languages through French.” Journal of African Studies 16.2(2003):143-159.
House, Juliane. “Of the Limits of Translatability.” Babel 19.4 (1973):166-67.
A Model for Translation Quality Assessment. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag, 1977.
Kourouma, Ahmadou. Les soleils des indépendances. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1970.
Lopès, Henri. Le pleurer-rire. Paris: Présence Africaine, 1982.
Nganang, Patrice. Temps de chien. Paris: Serpent à Plumes, 2001.
Ojo-Ade, Femi. “The Role of the Translator of African Literature in Intercultural Consciousness and Relationships.” Meta 31.3 (1986):291-299
Shakespeare, William. The Tempest. Cambridge: The University Press, 1921.
Tremblay Michel. Les belles-soeurs. Montréal: Leméac, 1972.
Venuti, Lawrence. Translator’s Invincibility:A History of Translation. NewYork: Routledge, 1995.
Zabus, Chantal. “A Calibanic Tempest in Anglophone and Francophone New World Writing.” Canadian Literature 104 (1985):35-51.
The African Palimpsest: Indigenization of Language in the West African Europhone Novel. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1991.
Those who insist that writers in the post-colony write in exactly the same way as mother-tongue metropolitan writers do, to use the jargon of postcolonial literary theory, would have to rethink after reading Mercédès Fouda’s novel titled Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune. Aschroft et al. (1989) argue that this Calibanic longing for linguistic liberation has become a symbol of resistance in postcolonial literary theory. By appropriating the master’s language, Caliban is able to break out of Prospero’s linguistic prism. Like Caliban, fiction writers everywhere in the sphere of Francophonie, are trying to jettison the yoke of linguistic/cultural imperialism by domesticating French in an attempt to convey indigenous thought patterns, speech mannerisms, worldview, imagination and socio-cultural experiences. The debate on the recourse to the techniques of domestication and foreignization as means of literary communication has attracted the attention of translation theorists for long time. Lawrence Venuti discusses these techniques at length in his book The Translator Invisibility (1995).
Domestication as a literary paradigm has been used by award-winning francophone fiction writers such as Henry Lopès (1982), Patrick Chamoiseau(1994), Michel Tremblay(1972), Ahmadou Kourouma (1970) , Nazi Boni (1962), Patrice Nganang(2001) and Mercédès Fouda (2001), to name but a few. In other words, these writers consciously manipulate the European language in an attempt to reflect local speech patterns while writing in the French language. Thus, linguistic experimentation with the language of the ex-colonizer harbors not just aesthetic but also political undertones.When creative writers resort to domestication as a literary technique, they superimpose indigenous linguistic features and values upon the European language. By resorting to the domestication of French in Je parle camerounais Fouda gives prominence not just to her native tongue but also to the kind of uneducated French that is spoken by the Cameroonian rank and file as this example shows: “Le ‘mamba’ alias billet de dix mille francs, de couleur verte, qui cause dans les bars autant de dégats que la morsure de son homonyme reptilien sur les humains.”(6). By using the word “mamba’ (venomous arboreal snakes) to describe money, Fouda underscores the importance of fauna and flora in the speech patterns of Cameroonians. In Cameroon, the word “mamba” refers to the 20000 CFA bill that often arouses feelings of envy when someone takes it out of his/her wallet to buy drinks in a bar. It’s an indicator of the socio-economic status of the spender. Recourse to flora is also evident in this other example: “J’ai un bon gombo pour nous… Le gombo, c’est ce petit job périodique et sporadique dont les revenus disparaissent aussi rapidement que son homonyme, plante mucilagineuse dont on fait les sauces, et qui, surtout cuisinée avec du couscous, descend à toute vitesse dans la gorge.”(36). Gombo is “okra” but in this context, it is used as an equivalent to the English language word “windfall”.
Like Caliban in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, (1921) Fouda writes in stark defiance of French grammatical conventions. He is saying to the ex-colonizers: you taught me French but I am going to appropriate it to the extent where you will have a hard time recognizing your language when you read it in my works. This is what makes her French an ‘embargoed ‘language from the perspective of Metropolitan speakers of French.
If the Académie française had its way, it would not hesitate to put Fouda’a book in a state of pariah on account of her linguistic nonconformity. The quest for linguistic autonomy is evident from onset—the title of Fouda’s book speaks to her dissidence. By titling her text Je parle camerounais, she distances herself from Metropolitan French. She does not write: Je parle le français camerounais; rather she writes: Je parle camerounais. Here is another example of Fouda’s attempt to appropriate French in her text: “Attifé ainsi, vous seriez ridicule, et Max a bien raison une fois de plus de montrer ses ‘attrape-manioc’: il se moque gentiment de vous” (37). Les “attrape-manioc” is a reference to human teeth. Because the staple food of Fouda’s people is cassava (manioc) she uses this compound word in reference to teeth. ‘Attraper le manioc’ avec ses dents is to ‘eat a meal of cassava’. This usage clearly shows that the French in Fouda’s text has been been subjected to indigenization to reflect Cameroonian socio-cultural realities.
A Westerner reading Je parle camerounais is likely to draw a blank on account of the ‘foreigness’ of Fouda’s lexicon. She uses neologisms typical of Cameroonian speech as this example illustrates: “J’ai seulement un ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ et les ‘sans confiance’.”(37). A ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ is pants that appear too short for the wearer because s/he has grown taller or bigger. Cameroonians use this expression as a form of mockery and as a reminder to the person wearing the pants that it is time to buy a new one. ‘Sans confiance’ are a pair of slippers that would go bad as soon as the buyer wears them. They inspire lack of self-confidence. ‘Sans confiance’ literally means ‘no confidence’. These are shoes on which no one can really rely because they are badly made.
Readers of Je parle camerounais....may wonder what sort of translation process takes place in Fouda’s text. It is worth mentioning that the term ‘translation’ is not used in this paper to refer to the replacement of a text in the source language by a lexically and semantically equivalent text in the target language. The translation activity that goes on in this text is intra-lingual. Intra-lingual translation occurs within the source language. It is a creative translation process in which writers attempt to infuse their works with the imprint of their cultural backgrounds, worldview and imagination with the intent of taking control the language of the ex-colonizer.
Fouda transposes the world view and of Cameroonians into the French language through the techniques of semantic shift, lexical interpolation, neology, and code-switching. Code-switching is a technique that she employs with dexterity to fictionalize Cameroonian lived experiences. Her text provides an opportunity to read the type of Africanized French that is spoken in the neighborhoods and informal spheres in Cameroon. Je parle camerounais is replete with Camfranglais, Pidgin English and indigenous language words and expressions that endow the text with a stamp of cultural identity.
Semantic shift enables Fouda to attribute new significations to existing French words as the following example indicates: “En somme, la fête est mondiale, terme exploité quand il y a foule, et que les gens apprécient, comme lors des coupes du monde de foot.”(54-55) In Fouda’s text, the word “mondial” loses its original signification of “worldwide” and takes on the additional meaning of “extraordinary”. Fouda constantly shifts meaning for the purpose of translating the speech patterns of her characters into French as this other example seem to illustrate: “Ces temps derniers les jeunes talents se sont vus affubler des substantives “yo” et “yoyettes”, surtout s’ils se sont branchés comme des fils électriques, avec pantalons en tire-bouchon…” (62)
The words “jeune” and” talent” though French have been indigenized and endowed with entirely new significations in this context. In Cameroonian French, these two words used together “jeune talents” refer to “young girls and boys who are inexperienced in the ways of the world. It is worth mentioning that words like “yo” and “yoyettes” are Cameroonian neologisms. Both words describe young coquettish girls in Fouda’s novel. Linguistic indigenization of the caliber that one finds in her text has the potential render the novel incomprehensible for a non-Cameroonian readership given that these lexes are context and culture-specific. They are derived from Camfranglais, a hybrid language spoken in Cameroon.
More often than not, Fouda resorts to semantic shifts for the purpose of creating humor as the following sentence suggests: “Et puis vous n’aimez pas les papayes, filles à la peau-cratère décolorée tyrant sur l’orange, vous préférez le cirage, les noires à la peau luisante.”(63) The word “papaye” (papaya or pawpaw) is used here to describe an African girl who has made abortive attempts to lighten her complexion by means of body creams. Such unsuccessful attempts often create a complexion that is neither black nor white. For want of a better word, Cameroonians generally refer to this kind of skin color as “peau papaye” (Papaya or pawpaw skin). In a similar vein, unattractive girls have earned the unpleasant sobriquet “nivaquine”. This metaphor derived from the medical lexicon is humorous. Equally hilarious is Fouda’s attempt to create a correlation between a woman with huge butts and a national debate or conference on same topic of grave importance as the following sentences shows: “De trop larges débats, qui qualifient les gros derrières, et par extension les grosses personnes, puisque si l’on doit discuter en fonction des mensurations, on ne saurait rapidement faire le tour des grosses corpulences.”(63).
The expression “larges débats” describes the large butts of a woman. The linguistic manipulation in Fouda’s text translates the African writer’s conscious attempt to distort a classical language otherwise too rigid to enable indigenous thoughts to flow freely. Fouda adapts her language to the African narrative style. So widespread is the practice that literary scholar Ojo-Ade has made the following remarks:
On the whole, one may safely say that the dual culture of the African writer (the native culture he is writing about and the European culture he has imbibed) makes him first and foremost a translator before being a creative artist. (“The Role of the Translator”, 295)
One could deduce from Ojo-Ade’s observations that the transposition of African worldview and imagination into European languages remains the hallmark of postcolonial African literature. As Gyasi posits, contemporary fictional writing in Africa is “a creative translation process that leads to the production of a…text in French and the development of an authentic African discourse” (151). Interestingly, this aspect of African literature remains unexplored by those who have a stake in African creative writing, thus leaving the reader to surmise the rationale behind this constant recourse to translation in fictional writing. There is no doubt that an understanding of the socio-cultural matrix of a literary work would serve to enlarge readers’ experience and make the text more accessible than it would be were they to learn nothing of the circumstances surrounding its creation. Arguing along the same lines, Ezekiel Mphahle observes:
"The major problem facing the African writer is the problem of explaining and translating Africa to the modern world, to Europe, to the world of culture …. The African writer who writes in English or French is interested in seeing that French and English cultures recognize what he and his culture are. It is for this reason that he tries to be the translator of his culture." (Quoted in Egejuru, 116)
Fouda translates Cameroonian discursive particularities into French by employing indigenous language idiomatic expressions as seen in this statement: “Et puis, vous haussez les épaules, il crache je mange? Il pisse je bois?”(62) Literally, these idioms could be translated as: Do I eat his spittle? Do I drink his urine?” These statements translate the contempt the speaker has for the person referred to. A metropolitan speaker of French is likely to say, “Je me moque de lui”. Similarly, when the narrator says: “Ce dernier, qui ne parle non plus avec l’eau dans la bouche, veut vous rallier à son opinion: fuir le plus rapidement possible” (67), he is translating native parlance into the French language. The expression “parler avec l’eau dans la bouche” could be written in standard French as “tenir des propos incongrus or mensongers” which could be translated as “to tell lies or half truths”.Chantal Zabus describes this mode of creative writing as “the writer’s attempt at textualizing linguistic differentiation and conveying African concepts, thought patterns and linguistic concepts through the ex-colonizer’s language” (23).
Fouda peppers her texts with words and expressions that are probably comprehensible only to Cameroonians because they are words created by Cameroonians in a multilinguistic communication context as seen in the following statement: “Si depuis belle lurette vous vous démenez de-ci de-là sans trouver aucune occasion à saisir sur le plan matériel, vous pourrez toujours vous plaindre que le dehors est dur…” (5). “Le dehors est dur” is a Cameroonianism which translates the idea that times are hard. This interesting one would certainly intrigue French speakers not familiar with Cameroonian French: “Bon, on fait comme ça! dira-t-on en guise d’au revoir.”(8) The expression “On fait comme ça!” which literally means “let’s do it that way” is meant to translate the standard French expressions “Au revoir”, “A tout à l’heure” or A bientôt”.
Euphemisms are part and parcel of Fouda’s lexicon. When a Francophone Cameroonian says, “votre estomac vous lance des insultes” (9), s/he is saying that you are hungry. Cameroonians use the expression “manger son midi” (9) to translate” eat one’s lunch”, le midi being the name given to any meal eaten between noon and 2:00pm. It is important to know that such meals are generally not eaten at home. Rather, they are eaten in makeshift open-air restaurants erected by the roadside as this statement makes explicit: “Vous avez alors la possibilité d’aller manger au tournedos. Ne vous réjouissez pas trop vite! Vous n’irez que dans l’un de ces restaurants de plein air, faits de bancs et de tables assemblés,et ou , tout bêtement, le client tourne le dos à la route!”(10) The word “tourne-dos” has no equivalent in Metropolitan French.
Fouda’s text is filled with compound words created from the different vernacular languages spoken in Cameroon. Examples include: “Mamie Koki” (10), “mamie ndolè” (10), “mamie atchomo” (10) etc. The word “mamie” is the Pidgin equivalent of the standard French “mère”. Young Cameroonians generally address older women as “mamie” as a gesture of respect. In the commercial arena, this term is used as a reference to a woman from whom one buys food on a regular basis as the following excerpt shows: “Au tournedos, officie l’asso, diminutive flatteur de “associé (e),est cette personne chez qui vous faites régulièrement des achats et qui, lorsque c’est fort sur vous, vous fait manger un crédit…”(10) It should be noted that “manger un crédit” translates the standard expression “acheter à credit”(to buy on credit). It is evident that the word “manger” has been given a different signification in this context. “Manger” could be translated as “acheter”. The expression “c’est fort sur vous’ translates the standard French expression “les temps sont durs”. “Koki”, “Ndolè”, and “atchomo” are local Cameroonian dishes.
In a nutshell, Fouda’s Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune is an indigenized text that seems to defy comprehension on account of the peculiarity of the French language in which it is written. Fouda has tinkered with Moliere’s language to the point where it unrecognizable by native speakers of French. Teaching this novel places an enormous burden on the instructor and students—the strain of interpretation and elucidation. So why teach it? I decided to include this novel on the reading list of my French 228 (fifth semester) language, literature and culture course because I believed that it would give me the opportunity to discuss the concept of linguistic Otherness.
The text has enabled me to impress on my students that there are varieties of French just as there are Englishes in the world today. There is Camfranglais in Cameroon, Nouchi in Côte d’Ivoire, Franglais in Canada, and creolized French in Francophone Caribbean and so on and so forth. This brings us the perhaps the most important question in this discussion: how should a text like Fouda’s be taught?
In grabbling with this question, I have deemed it expedient to adopt a hermeneutic socio-cultural pedagogical modality for teaching Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune. The rationale for this choice is that Fouda’s text is culturally impregnated as I have illustrated in the examples above. The instructor has to interpret the situational dimensions that account for the total meaning of Fouda’s text. Without a proper understanding the non-textual components of this text, any attempt at teaching it would be a non-starter. As Juliane House points out: “The semantico-stylistic interpretation of a literary text should be considered as the most important aspect of exegesis in the translation process...we have to deal with details which are often hardly perceivable, yet are nonetheless significant since they inform us about the artistic type not by means of themes, composition and transformation of reality, but by delicate stylistic nuances.”(1977, p.68) The instructor of Je parle cameroonais has to unravel the latent meanings embedded in the author’s choice of words, expressions and syntactical constructions in order to be able to explain the text to students unfamiliar with the socio-cultural matrix from which the novel sprouted.
It is rather unfortunate that this seminal work in postcolonial Francophone Cameroonian literature has not yet been translated into English. Although some of Fouda’s linguistic particularities my pose considerable challenges for the translator who has to balance lexical and semantic equivalence, I believe that her creative genius and stylistic dexterity certainly deserve to go beyond the confines of Francophone readership....© The Entrepreneur Newspaper 2009. All Rights Reserved
Works cited
Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths, Helen Tiffin. Eds. The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-colonial Literatures. London and New York: Routledge, 1989.
Boni, Nazi. Crépuscule des temps anciens. Paris: Présence Africaine, 1962.
Chamoiseau. Patrick. Chemin-d’école. Paris: Gallimard, 1994.
Egejuru, Panel A. Towards African Literary Independence: A Dialogue with Contemporary African Writers. London: Greenwood Press, 1980.
Fouda Mercédès. Je parle camerounais: pour un renouveau francofaune.Paris: Karthala, 2001.
Gyasi, Kwaku, A. “Writing as Translation: African Literature and the Challenges of Translation.” Research in African Literatures 30.2 (1999): 75-87.
“The African Writer as a Translator: Writing African Languages through French.” Journal of African Studies 16.2(2003):143-159.
House, Juliane. “Of the Limits of Translatability.” Babel 19.4 (1973):166-67.
A Model for Translation Quality Assessment. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag, 1977.
Kourouma, Ahmadou. Les soleils des indépendances. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1970.
Lopès, Henri. Le pleurer-rire. Paris: Présence Africaine, 1982.
Nganang, Patrice. Temps de chien. Paris: Serpent à Plumes, 2001.
Ojo-Ade, Femi. “The Role of the Translator of African Literature in Intercultural Consciousness and Relationships.” Meta 31.3 (1986):291-299
Shakespeare, William. The Tempest. Cambridge: The University Press, 1921.
Tremblay Michel. Les belles-soeurs. Montréal: Leméac, 1972.
Venuti, Lawrence. Translator’s Invincibility:A History of Translation. NewYork: Routledge, 1995.
Zabus, Chantal. “A Calibanic Tempest in Anglophone and Francophone New World Writing.” Canadian Literature 104 (1985):35-51.
The African Palimpsest: Indigenization of Language in the West African Europhone Novel. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1991.
Meta : journal des traducteurs / Meta: Translators' Journal Volumen 53, número 4, Diciembre 2008, p. 942-947 Editor : Les Presses de l'Université de Montréal ISSN : 0026-0452 (impreso) 1492-1421 (digital) |  |
On Translating Camfranglais and Other Camerounismes
By Peter Vakunta
By Peter Vakunta
Abstract
Post-colonial creative writers constantly resort to creolization and indigenization as modes of linguistic and cultural appropriation. In other words, these writers tend to transpose the imprint of their cultural backgrounds onto their fictional works.This paper addresses the challenges posed by language mixing to the literary translator. Rather than interrogate the theories of translation, the paper seeks to bring new insights to the pragmatics of translation – ways in which the literary translator grapples with meaning discernment and rendition when faced with texts couched in indigenized and hybridized linguistic forms, namely creoles, pidgins, camfranglais, and other forms of hybrid languages. There are clear and obvious benefits in literary indigenization (i.e., a larger audience, self-representation, etc) but how do these benefits transform when these languages are contextualized in literature? In what ways is pidginization complicit or at variance with imperial languages? And what are the ramifications of such complicity or variance for the translator? What forms of discursive agencies are made available through translation?
Keywords/Mots-clés: creolization, pidginization, hybridization, indigenization
Résumé
Les écrivains postcoloniaux recourent souvent à la créolisation et à l’indigénisation comme modes d’appropriation linguistique et culturelle. En d’autres termes, ces auteurs ont tendance à transposer les marques de leur culture sur leurs oeuvres. Cette étude examine la problématique de mixage de langues qui se pose souvent lors de la traduction des oeuvres littéraires. Loin d’incriminer les théories courantes sur la traduction, l’étude formule quelques suggestions sur la pragmatique de la traduction – la manière avec laquelle le traducteur littéraire cherche à saisir le sens des mots dans un texte plein de formes linguistiques indigenisées et hybridisées, plus particulièrement les formes créoles, pidgins, camfranglais et toute autre forme de langues hybrides. Il y a des avantages évidents dans l’indigénisation littéraire (i.e. une plus large audience, représentation de soi, etc.), mais comment ces bénéfices sont-ils perçus lorsque le langage littéraire est hautement contextualisé ? Dans quelle mesure la pidginisation est-elle en complicité ou en opposition avec les langues impériales ? Quelles sont les ramifications d’une telle complicité ou variance pour le traducteur ? Quelles sont les formes d’agence discursives disponibles à travers la traduction ?
Camfranglais is a hybrid language spoken in the Republic of Cameroon where English, French and close to 250 indigenous languages coexist. It consists of a mixture of French, English, Pidgin and borrowings from local languages. Kouega (2003:23) defines Camfranglais as “a composite language consciously developed by secondary school pupils who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages.” Cameroonian youths tend to use this language as a communication code in order to exclude other members of the community. In other words, they use it to exchange ideas in such a way that the information would sound mysterious to non-members.
2
Some examples of Camfranglais expressions that one would hear in the streets and school circles in Cameroon include:
Tu play le damba tous les jours? = do you play soccer every day?
Je veux go = I want to go.
Il est come = he has come.
Tout le monde hate me, wey I no know pourquoi = everyone hates me but I don’t know why.
J’ai buy l’aff-ci au bateau = I bought this stuff in the market.
Je vais te see tomorrow = I will see you tomorrow
Elle est sortie nayo nayo = she went out very slowly.
Tu as sleep où hier? = where did you pass the night yesterday?
Tu as go au school? = did you go to school?
Il fia même quoi = what is he really afraid of?[1]
Je veux go = I want to go.
Il est come = he has come.
Tout le monde hate me, wey I no know pourquoi = everyone hates me but I don’t know why.
J’ai buy l’aff-ci au bateau = I bought this stuff in the market.
Je vais te see tomorrow = I will see you tomorrow
Elle est sortie nayo nayo = she went out very slowly.
Tu as sleep où hier? = where did you pass the night yesterday?
Tu as go au school? = did you go to school?
Il fia même quoi = what is he really afraid of?[1]
It is the use of terms such as “damba” “see,” “tomorrow,” “pourquoi,” “nayo nayo.”, “fia,” “bateau” “aff” and “buy” that may make understanding difficult for older people who are monolingual speakers of French or English. It is clear from these examples that the sentence structure of Camfranglais is calqued on the French syntactic structure. Each utterance above contains at least one English, Pidgin or indigenous language word like “play,” “go,” “come,” “hate” “know,” “nayo nayo,” etc.
This language blend has been developed by urban youths to talk about daily events that are of interest to them, namely dating, entertainment, sports, money, physical looks and so forth. Camfranglais serves its adolescent speakers as an icon of “resistance identity” (Castells 1997). In other words, they create and constantly transform this sociolect by manipulating lexical items from various Cameroonian and European languages, in an effort to mark off their identity as a new social group – the modern Cameroonian urban youth – in opposition to other groups such as the older generation, the rural population and the elite. It is a composite language which resembles a pidgin in that it results from contact between several languages (Kouega 2003). To render their language incomprehensible to outsiders, speakers of Camfranglais use various techniques of word formation such as borrowing from various languages, coinage, elision, affixation, inversion, and reduplication.
Camfranglais first emerged in the mid-1970s after the reunification of Francophone Cameroun and Anglophone Southern Cameroons. It became fashionable in the late 1990s, due partially to its use by popular musicians such as Lapiro de Mbanga, Petit Pays and others. Kouega (2003) gives a striking account of the social distribution of Camfranglais:
An impressionistic inspection of the profession of fluent Camfranglais speakers outside school premises reveals that they are peddlers, and laborers, hair stylists and barbers, prostitutes and vagabonds, rank and file soldiers and policemen, thieves and prisoners, gamblers and con men, musicians and comedians, to name just the most popular ones.The lexical manipulation, phonological truncation, morphological hybridization, hyperbolic and dysphemistic extensions characteristic of Camfranglais reflect the provocative attitude of its speakers and their jocular disrespect of linguistic norms and purity, clearly revealing its function as an anti-language (Halliday 1977). While this lingua franca functions like other slangs all over the world, it is somewhat unique in that it combines elements from French, English, and Pidgin and Cameroonian native languages.
Kouega 2003:513
In an article titled “Le Camfranglais, Un cousin du Verlan?” (1989), Michel Lobé Ewané draws striking parallels between Camfranglais and Verlan, a slang language spoken by young people in the French banlieue (suburbs). Verlan was invented as a secret code by youths, drug users and criminals to communicate freely in front of authority figures (parents and police). Here is a translation of Ewané’s article:
Among the youths of every generation, there is always a speech code reserved for initiates. Camfranglais was invented by students at the University of Yaoundé about ten years ago as a result of the imposition of bilingual curricula on them by the State. It first saw the light of day at a time when students came face to face with the reality of a national bilingual education policy which compelled them to take courses in a language in which they were not proficient: French for Anglophone students and English for Francophone students. It started as a joke. Students wanted a mode of communication that would distinguish them from other segments of the population. Camfranglais has come to stay. It has become widespread and deep-rooted.
The scene described below is one of those incidents that occur on a daily basis in the streets of Yaoundé. It is an account of a traffic accident in which a posh car has just run over a dog. The forces of law and order are interrogating eye-witnesses. Among the people being interrogated, there is a recalcitrant young man who explains in an unusual lingo why he will not testify:
Tu nyai mon pied? C’est les mberés qui ont book. One day j’ai seulement nyé une aff, je n’étais pas inside, on m’a tcha, on m’a put au ngata. On m’a dit soté j’ai moto […] Papa! a no dé fo’dé fo sé ka sé dans kin’a dog na dog for djintété. Dan kin’a matoa na matoa for djintété. Lep me je broute ma granut nayo yah!”[2]
In any event, Camfranglais, a hybrid language composed of borrowings from French, English, Pidgin and Cameroonian indigenous languages (Duala, Ewondo, Bassa, etc), has become a popular lingua franca amongst high school and college students in Cameroon. The rampant use of this language in academic circles is a great cause for concern for English and French language teachers and professors. According to a certain professor, this language translates not only the rejection by Cameroonian youths of foreign languages imposed on them but also the adoption of a sophisticated mode of expression that is intelligible to members of a select group. Camfranglais is a linguistic melting-pot comprising at least four different languages. Its vocabulary, syntax, imagery, accent and pronunciation are constantly being remodeled according to rules formulated on the basis of new findings by members of this restricted circle. The end result has been the birth of a jargon intelligible to high school and college students as well as the rank and file.
The syntactic structure of Camfranglais is calqued on French syntax. Inside the sentence, some words are replaced by either English words which may be conjugated like in French, or by words borrowed from one of the indigenous languages, namely Duala, Ewondo or Pidgin. Example: “J’ai tcha (pris) le métro et vous knowez (savez qui vient de ‘to know’) qu’il ne run (roule) pas vite.”[3] Another example: “Je te give (donne, ici, je te payes) huit kolo fap (8500 CFA Francs in Pidgin).”[4] The origin and etymology of Camfranglais words are diverse.
It seems to me that Camfranglais has borrowed a lot from the French Verlan as exemplified in the following sentence: “La nga (ou la meute, c’est-à-dire la nana) dont je t’ai tok (parlé) m’a bondi (m’a snobé).”[5] Recourse to the word “bondir” is justified by the impression the speaker wants to create in the mind of the listener. He wants to underscore the idea of being given the cold shoulder by a girl he admires. The image created by this usage may have far-reaching ramifications, especially when it is affiliated with an English language lexicon. For example, “Je suis filingué (attiré) par cette nga”.[6] The word “filingué,” coined from the English “feeling” could also be used in reference to a singer, performer or even a professor that one admires.
In sum, Camfranglais is chap (difficult) to understand, chap to tchatcher (speak).[7] It is the lingo of students and the working class distinct from the business language of pacho (papa). Our pretty girls speak it too. There are countless synonyms at the disposal of Camfranglais speakers. The following words refer to “woman”: Wa, Nga, Meute, Gnoxe, (the word ngoxer is often used to mean “make love,” etc. Political and economic events in Cameroon have favored the rapid evolution of this language. Neologisms are being created day in day out to replace old ones. For example, on account of the economic crisis in Cameroon attributed to the severe austerity measures imposed on the citizens by the International Monetary Fund (MF), it is now common to hear Camfranglais speakers say: “Le Cameroun est fmisé (soumis aux contraintes du FMI).”[8] The language has become so popular that renowned musicians are using it as a medium of self-expression. They find the humor, imagination and inventiveness of the anonymous creators of Camfranglais very appealing. Prepositions, concord and the gender of nouns are all muddled up. The context of communication is that of everyday life: friendship, school, love, courtship, parents, dating, leisure…
One of Cameroon’s musical virtuosos, Lapiro de Mbanga, whose latest release caused a furor last summer, talked about “Big Katica for Ngola.” The clip was censured for some time because the expression Big Katica actually refers to the President of the Republic. Katica is an indigenous word designating someone who invites friends to a game of poker, and Ngola is the original name for the capital city, Yaoundé. It is evident that Camfranglais has it own coded political lexicon. Camfranglais is considered ‘cool’ not only by high school and college students, but also by some youthful teachers. A few years ago, a high school teacher brought the question of Camfranglais into the limelight in a letter addressed to the editor of one of the local newspapers, Cameroon Tribune. Ironically, his letter was only published ten years later in a bi-weekly, Weekend Tribune in a column devoted to Camfranglais. Here is what the teacher said: “As far as I am concerned, Camfranglais is a language associated with ease of communication. We, the youths, want to simplify everything. In fact, we want to prove to everyone that we are learning several languages, and that we are capable of achieving alchemy of words… We must not lose sight of the fact that languages taught in school are poorly mastered.”
This view was corroborated by remarks made by the national pedagogic adviser for the French language who claims: “I do not view the use of Camfranglais by our students as constituting a learning obstacle. However, if this new code became worrisome, it would be necessary to integrate it into our national language syllabi in order to make learners aware of the risks they may run by using it. The school milieu is governed by rules. So it is a safe-guard.”
The birth of Camfranglais in Cameroon is not an isolated occurrence in Africa. Moussa or Nouchis (the lingo of the Loubards in Treichville) in Ivory Coast is analogous. Undoubtedly, these creolized linguistic varieties will soon become the language of theater and cinema, as has been the case with pidginized French used by humorous playwrights such Jean Miché Kankan and Daniel Ndo in Cameroon. With their black humor, these playwrights have no reason to be envious of French Verlan speakers.
All in all, it is clear from Michel Lobé Ewané’s article that Camfranglais has clear social functions. It signals rebellion against authority and societal expectations. It is often associated with opposition to authority figures. In addition to switching to a code that most adults will not understand, Camfranglais provides a ‘cover’ for the use of taboo forms as well as ‘covert’ prestige for those who identity with this linguistic variety.
A number of Cameroonian fiction writers have begun to transcribe Camfranglais and other Camerounismes [9] in their creative writing. Here are a few examples of Cameroonianisms that a reader is likely to find in a Cameroonian novel or play of French expression:
On dit quoi? = quoi de neuf?
On va porter le même pantalon = je ne te lâche pas.
Le dehors est mauvais = les temps sont durs/difficiles
Grever = organizer/mener une grève.
Faites-moi le changement de 1000 francs CFA = donnez-moi la monnaie de 1000 francs CFA.
Appuyer une nana = avoir des rapports sexuels avec elle.
Cogner un plat de riz = le manger avec appétit.
Fesser un enfant = lui donner une fessée.
On t’a cherché avec ton ami = ton ami t’a cherché.
On est ensemble! = A bientôt! /On se tient au courant!
Il se comporte = il agit bien/ il prend ses responsabilités.
Tu es là depuis? = ça fait longtemps que tu m’attends?[10]
On va porter le même pantalon = je ne te lâche pas.
Le dehors est mauvais = les temps sont durs/difficiles
Grever = organizer/mener une grève.
Faites-moi le changement de 1000 francs CFA = donnez-moi la monnaie de 1000 francs CFA.
Appuyer une nana = avoir des rapports sexuels avec elle.
Cogner un plat de riz = le manger avec appétit.
Fesser un enfant = lui donner une fessée.
On t’a cherché avec ton ami = ton ami t’a cherché.
On est ensemble! = A bientôt! /On se tient au courant!
Il se comporte = il agit bien/ il prend ses responsabilités.
Tu es là depuis? = ça fait longtemps que tu m’attends?[10]
Lexical items borrowed from Cameroonian indigenous languages are gradually finding their way into Camfranglais. I have selected a couple of examples from Kouega’s article for purposes of illustration:
Kongolibon = close-shaven
Kumbu = big dish
Longo-longo = tall and usually slim
Mbambe = someone who does hard labor for a wage
Mbut = idiot
Mimbo = alcoholic drink
Jobajo = locally brewed beer
Odontol = home-distilled liquor
Mola = man
Mof-me-de! = piss-off!
Nayo-nayo = very slowly
Ndoh = money
Ndomo = hit someone in a fight
Tara = friend
Toum = sell
Villakonkon = rustic; uncivilized person
Weh-heh! = exclamation expressing pity
Wolowoss = prostitute
Jambo = gambling
Kumbu = big dish
Longo-longo = tall and usually slim
Mbambe = someone who does hard labor for a wage
Mbut = idiot
Mimbo = alcoholic drink
Jobajo = locally brewed beer
Odontol = home-distilled liquor
Mola = man
Mof-me-de! = piss-off!
Nayo-nayo = very slowly
Ndoh = money
Ndomo = hit someone in a fight
Tara = friend
Toum = sell
Villakonkon = rustic; uncivilized person
Weh-heh! = exclamation expressing pity
Wolowoss = prostitute
Jambo = gambling
In his latest detective novels Cameroon’s most popular novelist, Mongo Beti, has transcribed Camfranglais and other Cameroonianisms into French. In Trop de soleil tue l’amour (1999), Beti inserts Cameroonianisms such as: “Quand le grand chef disparaît de chez nous là pour passer deux mois à Baden-Baden là, tu vas même lui dire que quoi? Je te demande, Norbert, qui va même lui dire que quoi?” (120). Announcing the death and burial of his mother to his boss, the same character has recourse to a typical Cameroonianism: “Mais non, grand,[11] ce n’est pas la même; nous sommes en Afrique non? Quand je dis ma mère, ce n’est pas toujours celle qui m’a accouché,[12] vous savez bien; grand, vous êtes Africain, non?”(120). In Branle-bas en noir et blanc (2000), Beti writes: “C’est comme les bordelles,[13] il faut passer à la casserole” (23).
In a poem titled “Identity Crisis,” Vakunta (2001) has recourse to Camfranglais to express his dual identity:
I don’t quite know who I am.
Je ne sais pas au juste qui je suis.
Some call me Anglo;
D’autres m’appellent Frog.
I still don’t know who I am
Je ne sais toujours pas qui je suis.
My name c’est Le Bamenda;
My name is L’Ennemi dans la maison;
My name c’est le Biafrais;
Mon nom is second-class citizen;
My name c’est le maladroit.
Taisez-vous! Shut up!
Don’t bother me!
Ne m’embêtez pas!
Don’t you know that je suis ici chez moi?
Vous ignorez que I belong here?
I shall fight to my dernier souffle
To forge a real name pour moi-même.
You shall call me Anglofrog!
Vous m’appelerez Franglo!
Shut up! Taisez-vous!
Don’t bother me!
Ne m’embêtez pas!
Vous ignorez que I belong here?
Don’t you know that je suis ici chez moi?
I shall fight to my last breath
To forge a real lingo for myself.
I’ll speak Français;
Je parlerai English
Together we’ll speak camfranglais;
C’est-à-dire qu’ensemble,
We’ll speak le Camerounisme,
Because ici nous sommes tous chez nous (10).
A bon entendeur salut!
He who has ears should hear!
Je ne sais pas au juste qui je suis.
Some call me Anglo;
D’autres m’appellent Frog.
I still don’t know who I am
Je ne sais toujours pas qui je suis.
My name c’est Le Bamenda;
My name is L’Ennemi dans la maison;
My name c’est le Biafrais;
Mon nom is second-class citizen;
My name c’est le maladroit.
Taisez-vous! Shut up!
Don’t bother me!
Ne m’embêtez pas!
Don’t you know that je suis ici chez moi?
Vous ignorez que I belong here?
I shall fight to my dernier souffle
To forge a real name pour moi-même.
You shall call me Anglofrog!
Vous m’appelerez Franglo!
Shut up! Taisez-vous!
Don’t bother me!
Ne m’embêtez pas!
Vous ignorez que I belong here?
Don’t you know that je suis ici chez moi?
I shall fight to my last breath
To forge a real lingo for myself.
I’ll speak Français;
Je parlerai English
Together we’ll speak camfranglais;
C’est-à-dire qu’ensemble,
We’ll speak le Camerounisme,
Because ici nous sommes tous chez nous (10).
A bon entendeur salut!
He who has ears should hear!
Anyone with the remotest interest in literary translation cannot help but ask the nagging question: what are the implications of this usage for the translator? As literary critic Paul Bandia has pointed out: “The difficulty of translating pidgins and creoles in the African novel lies in the fact that there is hardly any direct equivalent relationship between English-based pidgins and French-based pidgins in West Africa” (Bandia 1993: 103). Yet Camfranglais and other forms of Cameroonianisms are charged with socio-cultural information that reveals a lot about the characters in the narrative as we have seen in Ewané’s article. It is, therefore, of crucial importance to retain these linguistic variants in the translation process because they are employed by the creative writer in order to capture the socio-cultural context of the novels. Eugene Nida has underscored the importance of maintaining dialectal forms in the translation process as follows:
More frequently the dialect forms used by writers are either horizontal (geographical or vertical (socioeconomic) dialects, and rarely do authors or translators consistently represent all the details of such dialects, but at least certain easily recognized features are selected that serve to signal the type of dialect being used. A form such as “y’all” is supposed to typify Southern American English, and boid “bird” and “goil” are supposed to represent the Lower East Side of New York City. The problem for the translator is to find in a foreign language a dialect with approximately the same status and connotations. Rarely is the dialect match fully successful, for the values associated with a particular dialect are often highly specific.
Nida 1976: 55
The aim of this article has not been to provide a framework for resolving potential translation problems that may arise from the use of Camfranglais or other forms of Camerounismes in creative writing. Our objective has been to acquaint the reader with the emergence of a new linguistic code whose usage in African literature is likely to present the translator with peculiar problems. Africans of all backgrounds use blended languages such as Camfranglais, Pidgin, Moussa and Nouchis as a means of ensuring group solidarity within a community of practice. Creative writers use these mixed varieties to translate the socio-cultural contexts that inform and structure their narratives. Ivorian writer, Ahmadou Kourouma’s recourse to linguistic hybridization in three of his novels, Les soleils des indépendances (1968), Monnè: outrages et défis (1993) and En attendant le vote des bêtes sauvages (1998) has been described by literary critic Gyasi as “a creative translation process that leads to the production of a Malinke text in French and the development of an authentic African discourse” (151). Kourouma echoes Gyasi when he evokes translation in his work: “J’ai donné libre cours à mon tempérament en distordant une langue classique trop rigide pour que ma pensée s’y meuve” (8)[14]. The reader of Les soleils des indépendances is able to detect what may be termed a new African mode of storytelling. Kourouma uses a hybrid code which forces the non-Malinke speaker to refer to the novelist’s native language and culture for signification. This is because the writer’s use of ‘Malinkalized’ French leads to the production of a third code, characterized by an authentic African discourse.
An experienced translator working on the fiction of Mongo Beti and other Cameroonian writers would, I believe, achieve functional equivalence by having recourse to a communicative translation model. Using such a model is of critical importance given that a translation is supposed to have the same impact on the target language receptors as the original did on the source language recipients.
Notes
[1] Francis Niba Ngwa. “New Language for divided Cameroon,” <http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/6376389.stm>, February 20th, 2007.
[2] Tu m’as bien regardé? C’est vous les flics qui ont été à l’école. Un jour, j’étais témoin d’une affaire. Je n’y étais pour rien, mais on m’a arrêté et m’a mis en prison… On m’a dit que j’étais coupable. Papa! Ce genre d’histoire ne m’intéresse pas car ce chien c’est le chien d’un grand monsieur. Cette voiture c’est la voiture d’un riche. Laissez-moi en paix dans mon coin. [Who are you taking me for? It’s you, policemen, who have been to school. One day I was witness to an incident in which I was not involved. The police arrested me and threw me in jail. They said I was guilty. This kind of stuff doesn’t interest me at all. This dog belongs to some big shot, and this car is owned by some rich person. Let me go in peace.]
[3] J’ai pris le métro et vous savez qu’il ne roule pas vite. [I took the subway and you know that it doesn’t run fast].
[4] Je te payes huit mille cinq cent francs CFA [I will pay you eight thousand five hundred CFA francs].
[5] La nana dont je t’ai parlé m’a ignoré [The girl I talked to you about has snubbed me].
[6] Je suis attiré par cette nana (I admire this girl).
[7] Difficult to understand and speak
[8] Subjected to the constraints of the IMF.
[9] Cameroonianisms.
[10] “Camerounismes et le français parlé au Cameroun.,” <http://www.camerouninfo.net/>, April 8th, 2003.
[11] Patron.
[12] Mis au monde.
[13] Putes.
[14] Moncef S. Badday (1970): «Ahmadou Kourouma, écrivain ivoirien», L’Afrique Littéraire et artistique 10, pp. 8-19.
References
Bandia, P. (1993): “Translation as Culture Transfer: Evidence from African Creative Writing,” Traduction, Terminologie, Rédaction 6-2, pp. 55-78.
Bandia, P. (1993): “On Translating Pidgins and Creoles in African Literature,” Traduction, Terminologie, Rédaction 6-2, pp. 94-114.
Gyasi, K. (1999): “Writing as Translation: African Literature and the Challenges of Translation,” Research in African Literatures 30-2, pp. 75-87.
Halliday, M.A.K. (1977): Language as a Social Semiotic: The Special Interpretation of Language and Meaning, Baltimore, University Park Press.
Kouega, J.- P. (2003): “Word formative processes in Camfranglais,” World Englishes 22-4, pp. 511-539.
Kouega, J.- P. (2003): “Camfranglais: A novel slang in Cameroon schools,” English Today 19-2, pp. 23-29.
| Autor : | Peter Wuteh Vakunta |
|---|---|
| Títle : | On Translating Camfranglais and Other Camerounismes |
| Review : | Meta : journal des traducteurs / Meta: Translators' Journal, Volumen 53, número 4, Diciembre 2008, p. 942-947 |
| URI : | http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/019665ar |
Tous droits réservés © Les Presses de l’Université de Montréal, 2008
© 2011
Ivorian Nouchi, Cousin to Cameroonian Camfranglais
By Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Introduction
Nouchi, also called abidjanese French is a slang spoken by urban youths in Côte d'Ivoire. According to Blaise Ahua (2006), this lingo was created in the 70’s by high school dropouts who needed a secret code to survive in a world that makes no provision for the underprivileged. He further notes that Nouchi became popular thanks to an article written by two well-known Ivorian journalists—Bernard Ahua and Alain Coulibaly—titled “Nouchi: un langage à la mode” [Nouchi, a fashionable language][1] published in a weekly, Fraternité Matin in 1986. Research shows that Nouchi speakers are generally in the age bracket of 10-30 years. Jérémie Kouadio N’guessan (1990) notes that Nouchi “est devenu la première langue, ou tout au moins la langue la plus parlée des jeunes agés de 10 à 30ans (177) [Nouchi has become a primary language, more or less a language spoken by young Ivorians aged 10-30]. Created and spoken in the streets by youths living on the fringe of society, Nouchi is viewed negatively by most Ivorians who believe that Nouchi speakers are thugs and thieves. Nouchi is a crypted language with a group identity. As N’guessan(1990) points out, “ La revendication d’un code linguistique bien à soi va de pair avec la revendication d’une identité sociale construite en opposition aux autres”(189)[ the demand for a personal linguistic code goes hand in hand with the need for a social identity constructed in opposition to others.] In brief, Nouchi is a sociolect[i] created by Ivorian youths to talk about the things that are of interest to them to the exclusion of non-initiates—drugs, sex, scams and so on.
Here are a few examples of utterances made by Nouchiphones:
1. J’ai un gba avec un mogo= J’ai un rendez-vous avec une fille [I have a date with a girl]
2. Ça c’est ma gnan= voici ma petite amie [Here is my girlfriend.]
3. Ça c’est ma go= voici ma petite amie [Here is my girlfriend]
4. Le gboo a behou= le groupe a fui [The gang has vanished.]
5. Le professeur a mouillé la go= le professeur a couché avec la fille [The teacher had sex with the student.]
Words such as gba, go, mogo, gboo, and behou are Nouchi words. They may constitute comprehension hurdles to listeners not familiar with this emerging lingua franca in Côte d'Ivoire. These examples lend credibility to the assertion that Nouchi speakers tend to borrow words from Ivorian native tongues, especially Dioula, Bété, and Baoulé.
Several factors account for the rapid spread of Nouchi, not least of which is its frequent use by Ivorian musicians, and the urbanization of rural neighborhoods in Côte d'Ivoire. Globalization, the influx of immigrants, and the social miscegenation that results thereof, are some of the major factors that have been used by linguists to shed light on the spread of Nouchi in Côte d'Ivoire. Another factor that has served as a catalyst to the spread of Nouchi is the popularity of Zouglou[ii] music that became trendy in the 1990’s in Côte d'Ivoire. According to Krol (1995), “les thèmes du zouglou évoquent les choses de la vie abidjanaise, la rue, ses misères, celles de la vie estudiantine, la prostitution, le SIDA, dans un langage terre à terre, ludique, parfois très crû, avec ce sens poussé de la dérision qui caractérise le caractère ivoirien”(179)[ Zouglou music broaches themes that shed light on life in Abidjan, its streets, hardship, student life, prostitution, and AIDS, all sung in a language that is familiar, playful, and, at times crude—a language characterized by the vitriolic derision that Ivorians are noted for]. Nowadays, you would find walls and pavements in the city of Abidjan covered with graffiti written in Nouchi.
Like most francophone Africans, Ivorians tend to appropriate the French language for the purpose of making this European language bear the weight of their imagination, world view and modes of speech. One could argue cautiously that Ivorians are constantly negotiating linguistic spaces in their daily discourses because as N’guessan(1992) observes, his people “ont l’habitude de ‘tordre le cou’ aux mots et aux phrases pour les adapter aux besoins de communication d’une population hétérogène…”(189)[people have developed the habit of wringing the neck of words and sentences in order to make language respond appropriately to the needs of a heterogeneous society…] It should be noted that Nouchi is no longer the preserve of Ivorian youths. The fact of the matter is that this language has become the common parlance of educated Ivorians in the workplace, at universities and colleges, and in other walks of life where people feel the need to switch codes for the purpose of phatic communion. Some linguists(N’Guessan, 1990,1992; Ahua, 1995; Hattinger, 1983) contend that the pidginization of French in Côte d'Ivoire could be attributed to the literary works of a son of the soil— renowned novelist, Ahmadou Kourouma, who did everything he could to “Malinkelize”[iii] the French language in his fictional writing. In an interview he granted Moncef Badday on the stylistic choices he made in the writing of his award-winning novel, Les soleils des indépendances (1970), Kourouma had this to say:
Rightly or wrongly, Côte d'Ivoire enjoys a certain degree of notoriety on account of its brand of French. What distinguishes Ivorian Francophones from other Francophones in Africa is what N’Guessan 1990) refer to as their “français populaire parlé par le locuteur moyen, peu ou pas lettré” (52) [colloquial French spoken by the man in the street, more or less semi-literate.] Several epithets have been coined to describe the sort of French spoken in Côte d'Ivoire — Petit français[pidgin French] , français de Treichville(Treichville French, in reference to one of the popular and densely populated neighborhoods in Abidjan), français de Moussa [Moussa’s French, in honor of a character in a magazine column), français populaire d’Abidjan(FPA)[Abidjan colloquial French] and français Nouchi[ Nouchi French]. All these labels refer to variants of the same code—non-standard French spoken in Côte d'Ivoire. Today, this urban slang has become so popular that the Ivorian weekly Ivoire Dimanche has devoted two columns to write-ups in the lingo, namely La Chronique de Moussa and the comic strips column titled Dago (N’Guessan and Bertin Gnamba, 1990). These two columns have given Nouchi legitimacy by providing a written code for Nouchiphones. Thanks to Ivoire Dimanche, Nouchi now has its own distinct vocabulary and syntax.
Nouchi Vocabulary
A few examples would enable readers to grasp the peculiarity of the vocabulary and syntactic structure of Nouchi: La go a momo mon pia, which could be rendered in standard French as: La fille m’a subtilisé mon argent [the girl has stolen my money]. This sentence is an example of français Nouchi spoken by layabouts in neighborhoods in Abidjan. It is a mixture of French and indigenous languages. Vernacular language words like “go” (girl); mono” (steal); “pia” (money) are employed by Nouchi speakers to translate their worldview and imagination into a European language—French. The switching of codes in the sentence above could render comprehension arduous for monolingual readers of Nouchi. The juxtaposition of words such as “go”, “mono”and “pia” with standard French words may complicate matters even further for a speaker who speaks only one of the many local languages in Côte d'Ivoire. N’Guessan and Gnamba (1990) point out that the sentence above could be rendered as Fille-là a prend mon l’argent [That girl has take my money (my emphasis)]. This sentence smacks of non-conformity with grammatical rules. Like her linguistic sibling, Camfrancais[v], Nouchi speakers borrow from African native languages spoken in Côte d'Ivoire —Dioula, Baoulé, and Gouroussi, and Bété, to name but a few. Carole de Feral (2006) observes: “Le camfranglais , ainsi nommé par les linguistes aussi bien que par les locuteurs depuis le milieu des années 1980, est né du contact du français et d’autres langues en présence au Cameroun, notamment le pidgin-english, l’anglais, l’ewondo et le duala”(2). [Camfranglais, so called by linguists and speakers since the mid-1980s, is the product of languages in contact with French, and other languages spoken in Cameroon, namely Pidgin English, English, Ewondo, and Duala.] Camfranglais and Nouchi are the end products of efforts on the part of Africans to appropriate the French language. As a hybrid language, the syntax of Nouchi contains bits if not chunks of elements derived from the various languages from which nouchiphones borrow. Nouchi lexicon is hybrid. Some Nouchi words are loans from European languages, especially, French, English, German, and Spanish. Others are interjections (ideophones and onomatopoeic expressions) culled from Ivorian indigenous languages. The following examples would shed some light:
English words in Nouchi
Nouchi Syntax
Contrary to expectation, Nouchi has a syntactic structure: subject+ verb + object. However, some peculiarities are noticeable in Nouchi syntax. The first of these anomalies is the omission of the impersonal pronoun “il” [it] as seen in the following examples culled from an article written by Blaise Mouchi Ahua (2008):
Examples:
In sum, it is noteworthy that although anchored on the linguistic substratum of hexagonal French, Nouchi has its own syntactic structure as the foregoing examples illustrate. The question that begs to be asked at this juncture is whether the Ivorian linguistic phenomenon has been replicated elsewhere on the linguistic landscape in Africa. The answer is in the affirmative. . Cape Verdean creole[vi] is a hybrid language as well. Krio[vii], a lingua franca spoken in the West African nation of Sierra Leone is a creole too. Fanagalo[viii] and Tsotsitaal[ix] are South African urban slangs. Moreover, Nouchi has a sister language in the Republic of Cameroon christened Camfranglais. Jean-Paul Kouega (2003)defines Camfranglais as a “composite language consciously developed by secondary school pupils who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages”(Kouega, 23). Cameroonian youths use this urban slang as a communicative code to exclude other members of the community from their discourses. They resort to Camfranglais to exchange ideas such as dating, sports, physical looks, drugs, and more in a manner that the message would remain obscure to non-initiates.
Nexus between Ivorian Nouchi and Camfranglais
From the foregoing, it is easy to identify five major points of convergence between Nouchi and Camfranglais: First, both are hybrid codes (by-products of languages in contact) intended to convey a group identity or social identity. Second, these languages are created by the younger generation to serve a practical purpose—survival. Third, both languages constitute a deviation from the sacrosanct diktats of normative grammar imposed by the French Academy. Four, Nouchi and Camfranglais constitute a threat to linguistic purists who nurse a genuine fear of the demise of standard French. Five, Camfranglais and Nouchi are languages of resistance to French cultural imperialism in the postcolony—Africa. This analysis leaves the reader with no doubt that Ivorian Nouchi and Cameroonian Camfranglais are, indeed, siblings born and bred in different climes.
About the Author
Dr. Vakunta is Professor of Modern Languages at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey-California, USA. His just published theoretical book, Indigenization of Language in the African Francophone Novel: A New Literary Canon (2011) by Peter Lang Publishers is available at:
http://www.amazon.com/Indigenization-Language-African-Francophone-Novel/dp/143311271X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1295160626&sr=1-1
Works cited
Ahua, M. Blaise.”Mots, phrases et syntaxe du nouchi.” Retrieved December 20,2008 from http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&source=hp&q=LE+NOUCHI&btnG=Google+Search&aq=f&aqi=&aql=&oq=&gs_rfai=
_______________.”La motivation dans les créations lexicales en nouchi.” Le
Français s en Afrique 21(2006): 143-157.
Badday, Moncef S. “Ahmadou Kourouma, écrivain ivoirien.” L’Afrique Littéraire
et Artistique 10 (1970):8-19.
Feral, Carole de. Français identitaire des jeunes en Afrique , pratiques,
représentations, enseignement" par Carole de Feral. Retrieved January 3, 2006 from http://www.google.com/search?q=reseau+sociolinguistique+et++dynamique+d
es+langues&hl=en&safe=active&prmd=ivns&ei=R8IkTYHxM4L4sAPJs5HOAQ&start=0&sa=N
Hattinger, J.L. Le français populaire d’Abidjan:un cas de pidginisation. ILA:
Université d’Abidjan, 1983.
Kouega, Jean-Paul. “Camfranglais: A New Slang in Cameroon Schools.” English Today 19.2 (2003): 23–29.
Kourouma, Ahmadou. Les soleils des indépendances. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1970.
Krol, P.A. Avoir 20 ans en Afrique. Paris: L’harmattan, 1995.
N’guessan, J. Kouadio. “Le nouchi et les rapports Dioula-Francais.” Retrieved January 5, 1990 from http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&source=hp&q=Le+nouchi+abidjanais+%252C+naissance+d%27un+argot+ou+mode+linguisitique+passagere%3F&btnG=Google+Search&aq=o&aqi=&aql=&oq=&gs_rfai=
_____________________.”Le nouchi abidjanais, naissance d’un argot ou mode linguistique passagère?” ILA: Université d’Abidjan, CIRL, no.32, 1992.
N’guessan, J. Kouadio and Bertin M. Gnamba. “Variétés lexicales du francais en Côte d'Ivoire.” in Visages du français” in Variétés lexicales de l’espace
francophone. Paris: AUPELF-UREF, 1990.
Notes
1. J’ai un gba avec un mogo= J’ai un rendez-vous avec une fille [I have a date with a girl]
2. Ça c’est ma gnan= voici ma petite amie [Here is my girlfriend.]
3. Ça c’est ma go= voici ma petite amie [Here is my girlfriend]
4. Le gboo a behou= le groupe a fui [The gang has vanished.]
5. Le professeur a mouillé la go= le professeur a couché avec la fille [The teacher had sex with the student.]
Words such as gba, go, mogo, gboo, and behou are Nouchi words. They may constitute comprehension hurdles to listeners not familiar with this emerging lingua franca in Côte d'Ivoire. These examples lend credibility to the assertion that Nouchi speakers tend to borrow words from Ivorian native tongues, especially Dioula, Bété, and Baoulé.
Several factors account for the rapid spread of Nouchi, not least of which is its frequent use by Ivorian musicians, and the urbanization of rural neighborhoods in Côte d'Ivoire. Globalization, the influx of immigrants, and the social miscegenation that results thereof, are some of the major factors that have been used by linguists to shed light on the spread of Nouchi in Côte d'Ivoire. Another factor that has served as a catalyst to the spread of Nouchi is the popularity of Zouglou[ii] music that became trendy in the 1990’s in Côte d'Ivoire. According to Krol (1995), “les thèmes du zouglou évoquent les choses de la vie abidjanaise, la rue, ses misères, celles de la vie estudiantine, la prostitution, le SIDA, dans un langage terre à terre, ludique, parfois très crû, avec ce sens poussé de la dérision qui caractérise le caractère ivoirien”(179)[ Zouglou music broaches themes that shed light on life in Abidjan, its streets, hardship, student life, prostitution, and AIDS, all sung in a language that is familiar, playful, and, at times crude—a language characterized by the vitriolic derision that Ivorians are noted for]. Nowadays, you would find walls and pavements in the city of Abidjan covered with graffiti written in Nouchi.
Like most francophone Africans, Ivorians tend to appropriate the French language for the purpose of making this European language bear the weight of their imagination, world view and modes of speech. One could argue cautiously that Ivorians are constantly negotiating linguistic spaces in their daily discourses because as N’guessan(1992) observes, his people “ont l’habitude de ‘tordre le cou’ aux mots et aux phrases pour les adapter aux besoins de communication d’une population hétérogène…”(189)[people have developed the habit of wringing the neck of words and sentences in order to make language respond appropriately to the needs of a heterogeneous society…] It should be noted that Nouchi is no longer the preserve of Ivorian youths. The fact of the matter is that this language has become the common parlance of educated Ivorians in the workplace, at universities and colleges, and in other walks of life where people feel the need to switch codes for the purpose of phatic communion. Some linguists(N’Guessan, 1990,1992; Ahua, 1995; Hattinger, 1983) contend that the pidginization of French in Côte d'Ivoire could be attributed to the literary works of a son of the soil— renowned novelist, Ahmadou Kourouma, who did everything he could to “Malinkelize”[iii] the French language in his fictional writing. In an interview he granted Moncef Badday on the stylistic choices he made in the writing of his award-winning novel, Les soleils des indépendances (1970), Kourouma had this to say:
J’adapte la langue au rythme narratif africain…. Ce livre s’adressse à l’Africain. Je l’ai pensé en malinké et écrit en français prenant une liberté que j’estime naturelle avec la langue classique….Qu’ai-je donc fait? Simplement donné libre cours à mon tempérament en distordant une langue classique trop rigide pour que ma pensée s’y meuve. J’ai donc traduit le malinké en français en cassant le français pour trouver et restituer le rythme africain (38).
[I adapt my language to the African narrative style….This book is addressed to the African reader. I thought in Malinke and wrote in French, taking some liberty I consider natural with the classical language …. So what did I do? I simply let go my temperament by distorting a classical language otherwise too rigid to enable my thought to flow freely. I, therefore, translated Malinke into French, breaking the French to find and restore the African rhythm].
This excerpt sheds ample light on the genesis of the linguistic acrobatics that one finds in Ivorian Nouchi. Like Kourouma, Nouchiphones constantly tweak French in an attempt to adapt it to Ivorian speech patterns. Nouchi has become the common code among musicians, prostitutes, feymen[iv], and the rank and file in Côte d'Ivoire. Linguists with an interest in linguistic innovation and neologisms are currently working hard to codify this nascent language, so that it could be put on the same pedestal as other languages spoken in Côte d'Ivoire. Like its Cameroonian cousin, Camfranglais, Nouchi is perceived by self-styled Ivorian language purists as a threat to standard French. Interestingly, the truth is that Nouchi has come to say. It is gaining traction, the more so because some politicians have recognized it as the language of the people and use it quite often for political expediency. For instance, former president Konan Bédié used it during one of his official addresses to the nation. In the same vein, during one of the Francophone Summits, the topic of Nouchi and its evolution was extensively debated.Rightly or wrongly, Côte d'Ivoire enjoys a certain degree of notoriety on account of its brand of French. What distinguishes Ivorian Francophones from other Francophones in Africa is what N’Guessan 1990) refer to as their “français populaire parlé par le locuteur moyen, peu ou pas lettré” (52) [colloquial French spoken by the man in the street, more or less semi-literate.] Several epithets have been coined to describe the sort of French spoken in Côte d'Ivoire — Petit français[pidgin French] , français de Treichville(Treichville French, in reference to one of the popular and densely populated neighborhoods in Abidjan), français de Moussa [Moussa’s French, in honor of a character in a magazine column), français populaire d’Abidjan(FPA)[Abidjan colloquial French] and français Nouchi[ Nouchi French]. All these labels refer to variants of the same code—non-standard French spoken in Côte d'Ivoire. Today, this urban slang has become so popular that the Ivorian weekly Ivoire Dimanche has devoted two columns to write-ups in the lingo, namely La Chronique de Moussa and the comic strips column titled Dago (N’Guessan and Bertin Gnamba, 1990). These two columns have given Nouchi legitimacy by providing a written code for Nouchiphones. Thanks to Ivoire Dimanche, Nouchi now has its own distinct vocabulary and syntax.
Nouchi Vocabulary
A few examples would enable readers to grasp the peculiarity of the vocabulary and syntactic structure of Nouchi: La go a momo mon pia, which could be rendered in standard French as: La fille m’a subtilisé mon argent [the girl has stolen my money]. This sentence is an example of français Nouchi spoken by layabouts in neighborhoods in Abidjan. It is a mixture of French and indigenous languages. Vernacular language words like “go” (girl); mono” (steal); “pia” (money) are employed by Nouchi speakers to translate their worldview and imagination into a European language—French. The switching of codes in the sentence above could render comprehension arduous for monolingual readers of Nouchi. The juxtaposition of words such as “go”, “mono”and “pia” with standard French words may complicate matters even further for a speaker who speaks only one of the many local languages in Côte d'Ivoire. N’Guessan and Gnamba (1990) point out that the sentence above could be rendered as Fille-là a prend mon l’argent [That girl has take my money (my emphasis)]. This sentence smacks of non-conformity with grammatical rules. Like her linguistic sibling, Camfrancais[v], Nouchi speakers borrow from African native languages spoken in Côte d'Ivoire —Dioula, Baoulé, and Gouroussi, and Bété, to name but a few. Carole de Feral (2006) observes: “Le camfranglais , ainsi nommé par les linguistes aussi bien que par les locuteurs depuis le milieu des années 1980, est né du contact du français et d’autres langues en présence au Cameroun, notamment le pidgin-english, l’anglais, l’ewondo et le duala”(2). [Camfranglais, so called by linguists and speakers since the mid-1980s, is the product of languages in contact with French, and other languages spoken in Cameroon, namely Pidgin English, English, Ewondo, and Duala.] Camfranglais and Nouchi are the end products of efforts on the part of Africans to appropriate the French language. As a hybrid language, the syntax of Nouchi contains bits if not chunks of elements derived from the various languages from which nouchiphones borrow. Nouchi lexicon is hybrid. Some Nouchi words are loans from European languages, especially, French, English, German, and Spanish. Others are interjections (ideophones and onomatopoeic expressions) culled from Ivorian indigenous languages. The following examples would shed some light:
English words in Nouchi
- Il est die=He is completely drunk
- Je suis enjayé d’elle= I am in love with her
- Elle est trop small= She is too young.
- Il est calé a piso=He is at home
- Ça tapait les salto partout partout= There was an uproar everywhere
- C’est como?= What’s new?
- Ton gars est kaput= Your friend is terribly drunk
- Nein, il ment! = No, he is joking!
- Ton mogo est là = Your friend is here
- Y’a pas tama sur moi= I am broke
- C’est le koro du coin= He is the boss in our ghetto
- Il se blo trop= He is a trickster
- Y’a likefi=there’s nothing to fear
- Ton gars tape ahoko= Your friend masturbates
- Les ju sont barrés= Bus controllers are around
- Le mogo veut me kpa=The man wants to catch me
- Il a damé sur moi-ho! = He dumped me, unfortunately!
- Tu es zago, hein! =You are dressed to kill, right!
Nouchi Syntax
Contrary to expectation, Nouchi has a syntactic structure: subject+ verb + object. However, some peculiarities are noticeable in Nouchi syntax. The first of these anomalies is the omission of the impersonal pronoun “il” [it] as seen in the following examples culled from an article written by Blaise Mouchi Ahua (2008):
- Faut damer! =let it go!
- Fait bei là-bas! = Fuck off! /get lost!
- Y’a foi dans la capi=there’s nothing to fear in the capital city.
- J’ai pas vu ça koba= I didn’t understand it that way.
- On va pas te fa= you are going to be killed.
- C’est un gars sans…= He is without a dime
- Go-là est devant… = This girl is a go-getter
- Faut créer…= You’ve got to look for a solution
Examples:
- Ils ont train la go= The young woman has been raped.
- On maga son bedu= His wallet has been stolen.
- Les pos m’ont kpa= I have been arrested by the cops.
In sum, it is noteworthy that although anchored on the linguistic substratum of hexagonal French, Nouchi has its own syntactic structure as the foregoing examples illustrate. The question that begs to be asked at this juncture is whether the Ivorian linguistic phenomenon has been replicated elsewhere on the linguistic landscape in Africa. The answer is in the affirmative. . Cape Verdean creole[vi] is a hybrid language as well. Krio[vii], a lingua franca spoken in the West African nation of Sierra Leone is a creole too. Fanagalo[viii] and Tsotsitaal[ix] are South African urban slangs. Moreover, Nouchi has a sister language in the Republic of Cameroon christened Camfranglais. Jean-Paul Kouega (2003)defines Camfranglais as a “composite language consciously developed by secondary school pupils who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages”(Kouega, 23). Cameroonian youths use this urban slang as a communicative code to exclude other members of the community from their discourses. They resort to Camfranglais to exchange ideas such as dating, sports, physical looks, drugs, and more in a manner that the message would remain obscure to non-initiates.
Nexus between Ivorian Nouchi and Camfranglais
From the foregoing, it is easy to identify five major points of convergence between Nouchi and Camfranglais: First, both are hybrid codes (by-products of languages in contact) intended to convey a group identity or social identity. Second, these languages are created by the younger generation to serve a practical purpose—survival. Third, both languages constitute a deviation from the sacrosanct diktats of normative grammar imposed by the French Academy. Four, Nouchi and Camfranglais constitute a threat to linguistic purists who nurse a genuine fear of the demise of standard French. Five, Camfranglais and Nouchi are languages of resistance to French cultural imperialism in the postcolony—Africa. This analysis leaves the reader with no doubt that Ivorian Nouchi and Cameroonian Camfranglais are, indeed, siblings born and bred in different climes.
About the Author
Dr. Vakunta is Professor of Modern Languages at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey-California, USA. His just published theoretical book, Indigenization of Language in the African Francophone Novel: A New Literary Canon (2011) by Peter Lang Publishers is available at:
http://www.amazon.com/Indigenization-Language-African-Francophone-Novel/dp/143311271X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1295160626&sr=1-1
Works cited
Ahua, M. Blaise.”Mots, phrases et syntaxe du nouchi.” Retrieved December 20,2008 from http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&source=hp&q=LE+NOUCHI&btnG=Google+Search&aq=f&aqi=&aql=&oq=&gs_rfai=
_______________.”La motivation dans les créations lexicales en nouchi.” Le
Français s en Afrique 21(2006): 143-157.
Badday, Moncef S. “Ahmadou Kourouma, écrivain ivoirien.” L’Afrique Littéraire
et Artistique 10 (1970):8-19.
Feral, Carole de. Français identitaire des jeunes en Afrique , pratiques,
représentations, enseignement" par Carole de Feral. Retrieved January 3, 2006 from http://www.google.com/search?q=reseau+sociolinguistique+et++dynamique+d
es+langues&hl=en&safe=active&prmd=ivns&ei=R8IkTYHxM4L4sAPJs5HOAQ&start=0&sa=N
Hattinger, J.L. Le français populaire d’Abidjan:un cas de pidginisation. ILA:
Université d’Abidjan, 1983.
Kouega, Jean-Paul. “Camfranglais: A New Slang in Cameroon Schools.” English Today 19.2 (2003): 23–29.
Kourouma, Ahmadou. Les soleils des indépendances. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1970.
Krol, P.A. Avoir 20 ans en Afrique. Paris: L’harmattan, 1995.
N’guessan, J. Kouadio. “Le nouchi et les rapports Dioula-Francais.” Retrieved January 5, 1990 from http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&source=hp&q=Le+nouchi+abidjanais+%252C+naissance+d%27un+argot+ou+mode+linguisitique+passagere%3F&btnG=Google+Search&aq=o&aqi=&aql=&oq=&gs_rfai=
_____________________.”Le nouchi abidjanais, naissance d’un argot ou mode linguistique passagère?” ILA: Université d’Abidjan, CIRL, no.32, 1992.
N’guessan, J. Kouadio and Bertin M. Gnamba. “Variétés lexicales du francais en Côte d'Ivoire.” in Visages du français” in Variétés lexicales de l’espace
francophone. Paris: AUPELF-UREF, 1990.
Notes
[1] All translations are mine except otherwise indicated.
[i] In linguistics, a sociolect is the language spoken by a social group, social class or subculture. In this regard it differs from a dialect, which is the language variant spoken in a certain region, although some sociolects may be high status dialects. A sociolect is different from an idiolect, which is the language variant of an individual.
[ii] Zouglou is a dance oriented style of music from the Côte d'Ivoire with strong influences from Zouk music that first evolved in the 1990s out of the university crisis at the time. It started with students from the University of Abidjan and has since spread everywhere, including Burkina Faso, Cameroon and Gabon. Popular with the youths, the lyrics are written in local languages and French street slang. It has parallels with rap in the West. It uses humor to depict things going wrong in society.
[iii] Malinke is Kourouma’s mother tongue. Malinkelization is the translation of Malinke words, worldview and imagination into the French language.
[iv] conmen
[v] Camfranglais is an urban slang created by high school students in Cameroon. See Paul Kouega(2003)
[vi] Cape Verdean Creole, also known as Kabuverdianu, is a creole language origin, spoken on the islands of Cape Verde. It is the native language of virtually all Cape Verdeans. It is used as a second language by the Cape Verdeans in the diaspora. The language has particular importance for creolistics studies since it is the oldest (still-spoken) creole and the most widely spoken Portuguese-based creole on the globe.
[vii] Krio is the lingua franca and the de facto national language spoken throughout the West African nation of Sierra Leone. Krio is spoken by 97% of Sierra Leone's population and unites the different ethnic groups in the country, especially in their trade and social interaction with each other. Krio is the primary language of communication among Sierra Leoneans at home and in the diaspora The language is native to the Sierra Leonean Creole people or Krios, (a community of about 300,000 descendants of freed slaves from the West Indies, United States and Britain), but it is spoken as a second language by millions of other Sierra Leoneans belonging to the country's indigenous tribes.
[viii] Fanagalo or Fanakalo is a pidgin (simplified language) based on the Zulu, English, and Afrikaans languages. It is used as a lingua franca, mainly in the gold, diamond, coal and copper mining industries in South Africa — and to a smaller extent in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Namibia, Zambia, and Zimbabwe. Although it is used as a second language only, its number of speakers was estimated to be several hundred thousan in 1975.Fanagalo is the only indigenous language-based pidgin language, and is a rare example of a pidgin based on a native language rather than on the language of a colonizing power.
[ix] Tsotsitaal is a variety of mixed languages mainly spoken in the townships of Gauteng province, such as Soweto, but also in other agglomerations all over South Africa. Tsotsi is a Sesotho slang word for a "thug" or "robber." A tsotsitaal is built over the grammar of one or several languages, in which terms from other languages or specific terms created by the community of speakers are added. It is a permanent work of language-mix, language-switch, and terms-coining. Tsotsitaal, the original variety, is based on Afrikaans, in which were originally added Tswana terms, and later terms from Zulu and other South African languages. Tsotsitaal spread first as a criminal language, as it had the power of insuring secrecy in the speech: only criminals at first could understand it. Later, as a prestigious sign of rebellion against the state and its police, and as gangsters were admired by youths who would see in them role models, Tsotsitaal became a youth and street language.
Le mensonge héroïque dans la dramaturgie Cornélienne
par Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Le présent exposé se veut une analyse stylistique de l’œuvre dramaturgique de Corneille. Il s’agira d’une mise en relief de la portée significative du mensonge (illusion) comme technique littéraire dans le théâtre cornélien. Pour bien cerner les contours thématiques du présent travail nous nous servirons d’un corpus qui se compose de trois pièces, notamment Le menteur, ‘L’Illusion comique et Le cid. Nous nous proposons d’aborder l’étude sur deux volets: dans un premier temps, nous nous focaliserons sur l’analyse critique des pièces élues. Le deuxième volet nous permettra de nous appesantir sur la fonction littéraire du mensonge comme procédé narratif dans le théâtre cornélien.
Avant d’entrer dans le vif du sujet il conviendrait de définir les termes ‘héroïsme’ et ‘illusion’ tel qu’ils sont utilisés dans ce projet. Curial signale que les mots ‘héros’ et ‘héroïsme’ sont des lexiques dotés de sens divers. On entend par ‘héros’ “le personnage principal d’un livre (ou d’un film)” (41). Sur un second plan, on qualifierait de ‘héros’ toute personne qui a une conduite moralement ou physiquement courageuse….” (41) Chez Corneille, le personnage héroïque ne s’identifie pas forcément à la figure centrale de la pièce. Ainsi, on se rend compte que dans Cinna, le véritable héros c’est l’empereur Auguste, et non Cinna qui donne pourtant son nom à la tragédie. Le statut du personnage éponyme (personnage dont le nom sert du titre de l’œuvre) ne suffit pas chez Corneille pour élever un personnage au rang de héros. Ce n’est pas parce que son surnom de ‘Cid’ sert du titre à la pièce que Rodrigue passerait forcément pour héros. Curial souligne, de surcroît, que “l’héroïsme cornélien ne se réduit pas à la bravoure militaire….” (44) L’héroïsme suppose tout d’abord un certain nombre de prédispositions. La condition préalable étant le fait d’être ‘généreux’, mot qui renvoie à la notion de ‘lignée’. Dans la littérature classique, on qualifierait de ‘généreux’ celui qui est issu de la famille aristocratique. A titre d’exemple, quand le roi Don Fernand accueille le vainqueur des Maures en ces mots: “Généreux héritier d’une illustre famille (v.1209), il insinue que Rodrigue est de la famille noble. Dans une autre optique, la générosité désigne le devoir d’un noble de défendre son sang, son rang et son honneur. De ce point de vue, Chimène et Rodrigue sont tous les deux ‘généreux’. La seconde condition découle de la première: il faut posséder de la ‘vertu’ au sens très particulier où Corneille utilise ce terme. La vertu désigne l’énergie physique puis morale dont le noble en est capable. Corneille et, avec lui, tout le XVIIe siècle, pensaient qu’une naissance aristocratique prédisposait naturellement au courage. C’est à cette théorie que se réfère implicitement Rodrigue quand défiant le comte, il prononce ces superbes paroles: “Aux âmes bien nées la valeur n’attend point le nombre des années (v.405-406). Autrement dit, on est noble dès la naissance. En somme, l’héroïsme cornélien se présente comme une aventure physique, morale et spirituelle qui vise à atteindre la plénitude de soi, à savoir, “à dépasser toutes les contradictions qui peuvent exister pour réaliser la synthèse de tous les aspects de la personnalité.” (Couprie 1989, 48)
Dans le même ordre d’idées, le terme ‘illusion’ articule deux oppositions manichéennes— celle du vrai et du faux, et celle du présent et de l’absent. Lyons en fait l’observation ci-après:
Au XVIIe siècle, pour des raisons générales de conjoncture culturelle et pour des raisons ressortissant plus spécifiquement à l’esthétique théâtrale, nombre de textes dramatiques ne se contentent pas de l’illusion au premier degré…illusion pour le spectateur…qui les distinguent de l’art narratif, mais comportent des incidents relevant du second degré d’illusion, dans lesquels les personnages sont eux-mêmes sujets à une puissante illusion.” (143)
Il convient de souligner que l’illusion héroïque se situe au cœur du théâtre cornélien. Par illusion héroïque il faudrait entendre le jeu que l’homme joue par vertu, par noblesse et par générosité. Selon Rousseau, “C’est le jeu où une sorte de charité parfois supérieure, parfois excessive, parfois même fantaisiste, s’exerce aux dépens du jeu inverse, du sévère, et inexorable de la vérité….” (120) La pièce cornélienne qui illustre le mieux la thématique de l’illusion héroïque est bien évidemment Le menteur, que Charles Péguy n’hésite à mettre en parallèle avec le Cid. “Le cid”, dit-il,” est la tragédie du noble jeu comme Le menteur est parallèment et conjointement la comédie du noble jeu.” (242) Le menteur ne ment point par vice; encore moins pour déformer le visage de l’univers au gré d’un calcul intéressé. Il se permet de mentir pour peupler le monde d’actes imaginaires, plus beaux que ceux qu’il aurait la faculté d’accomplir. S’il invente des actions magnifiques, c’est probablement faute d’avoir su réaliser des tours de force, comme Rodrigue qui défait les Maures en une nuit. Le menteur ment par optimisme et par magnificence. Le mensonge sert de l’expression allègre du génie de Corneille, de ce que Madame de Sévigné appelle avec prédilection son goût pour les choses “qui étonnent, qui enlèvent, qui font frissonner.” (52)
Il ne faudrait pas ignorer Le menteur de La suite du menteur où le mensonge est mis nettement cette fois-ci au service de la vertu: Dans La suite du menteur, Corneille écrit: “Et vous savez mentir par générosité.” (III, 5, 1167) Les mensonges de Dorante dans cet acte ne diminuent en rien la qualité de l’âme: Dès lors, à cela près, vous étiez en estime/D’avoir une âme noble, et grande, et magnanime (, II 4, 623-624). On ne s’étonne guère quand Corneille fait de Dorante un personnage plaisant et sympathique. Entre Le menteur, comédie humaine du mensonge social, et La suite du menteur, comédie plus grave du mensonge à tendance héroïque, s’ouvre toute la question de la place du mensonge non seulement dans la dramaturgie de Corneille mais aussi dans nos propres vies. Le menteur et La suite du menteur nous montrent comment le surhumain se forme dans l’exercice même de la comédie humaine. Le surhumain ne nous intéresserait pas tant s’il était exceptionnel à l’ordre de la vie. Revaz note que “le mensonge héroïque est une forme du don de soi.” (99) Sur ce point une nouvelle remarque s’impose: le mensonge héroïque ne vas pas sans paire. Si le mensonge valeureux peut être une forme de générosité, c’est à condition de servir d’objet. Le mensonge peut être “une vertu sociale”, pour reprendre les propos de Lyons (145). Dans l’esthétique dramatique de Corneille, l’illusion héroïque se justifie souverainement, parce qu’il est “au service d’une immatérielle lumineuse et sublime vérité.”(Rousseau. Op.cit. 148)
Dans L’illusion comique, le mensonge accapare souvent l’attention du spectateur. C’est dans la grotte du magicien, Alcanadre, et sous l’illusion que Pridamant retrouve son fils, Clindor, ou du moins, son spectre. Or Pridamant est sujet à une autre illusion, plus considérable parce qu’inattendue, celle
D’un bout à l’autre, les idées et les actes rivalisent pour accomplir l’épopée du mensonge héroïque. Pour bien apprécier le fonctionnement du mensonge dans L’Illusion comique, il conviendrait de regarder de plus près le rapport entre le vrai et le faux, le présent et l’absent. Pour ce qu’est de Pridamant, l’illusion est tout d’abord une erreur, une méprise sur le réel. Elle est l liée, premièrement, à la perception par les sens et affecte, par conséquent, le jugement. L’illusion est fondée sur une erreur d’interprétation de ce qui est perçu, mais une erreur spontanée qui ne découle pas de longs raisonnements de la part du personnage ou du spectateur. L’illusion se caractérisait donc par la fausse présence, ou du moins par l’impression de la présence. Kerr observe que “le personnage dans l’illusion croît non seulement saisir le vrai mais le saisir dans l’instant.” (66) A titre d’illustration, Pridamant croît voir son fils, certes, mais un fils absent. Alcanadre laisse entendre carrément que la scène de la grotte est un lieu d’illusion. L’illusion se fait reconnaître par son insertion dans le processus contrastif, dans l’expérience d’un décalage entre deux ‘vérités’, dont une seule sera retenue. L’illusion contribue à la structure de l’action dramatique. C’est une des formes multiples du quiproquo. Schérer prétend que l’obstacle créé par la fausse apparence, “a cette supériorité sur le vrai qu’il produit exactement les mêmes réactions dans l’âme du héros qui le rencontre sur sa route, puisque ce dernier le croît véritable, mais qu’il est beaucoup plus facile à écarter, puisqu’il est faux.” (72) Il cite L’Illusion comique comme exemple de méprise sur l’action même que le spectateur a vu représenter devant ses yeux, quand il partage “l’erreur des autres personnages en croyant, au cinquième acte… que Clindor a vraiment été tué, alors qu’il ne faisait que jouer un rôle.” (88)
Si Corneille a choisit pour titre de sa pièce le terme “illusion” c’est qu’il entend sans nul doute désigner le type d’erreur en jeu: une conclusion erronée qui se fonde sur l’évidence apparemment irréfutable des yeux. L’illusion fait donc partie des quiproquos, mais d’une forme particulière douée d’une force exceptionnelle et, au sens strict du terme, d’un effet spectaculaire.Quiproquo et spécularité sont souvent associés dans les analyses de la culture baroque. L’aspect le plus émouvant de L’Illusion comique est évidemment la mort de Clindor. L’émotion qu’éprouve le spectateur n’est pas due à une quelconque illusion mais plutôt à une faute d’interprétation. On dirait qu’il manque à Pridamant une ‘clé’ pour déchiffrer la signification de ce qu’il a bien vu. D’après Couton, trente ans après la mise en scène de cette pièce, Corneille se félicite d’avoir encouru de la méprise dans ces termes:
Clindor et Isabelle étant devenus comédiens sans qu’on le sache, y représente une histoire qui a du rapport avec la leur, et semble en être la suite. Quelques-uns ont attribué cette conformité à un manque d’invention, mais c’est un trait d’art pour mieux abuser par une fausse mort le père de Clindor qui les regarde, et rendre son retour de la douleur à la joie plus surprenante et plus agréable.(615)
Corneille semble s’intéresser à l’effet obtenu en entretenant une confusion entre la prétendue réalité de l’acte IV et la non-réalité de l’acte V. La structure du “théâtre dans le théâtre” lui permet en effet de revenir à un motif typique du théâtre baroque, c’est- à- dire, la fausse mort, pour en tirer des effets agréables par un processus d’amplification: il s’agit d’abuser Pridamant et avec lui les spectateurs. Il faudrait entendre par ‘abuser’, faire tomber dans l’illusion. Corneille en offre des exemples à l’intérieur de L’Illusion comique, en particulier, au dernier acte de la pièce. Là, les personnages parlent sans cesse de l’importance qu’il y a à tromper les autres. Ils se considèrent eux-mêmes “abusés” la plupart du temps. Ce cinquième acte offre l’échantillon d’un discours sur la fausse apparence. Isabelle se plaint à Lyse de l’infidélité de Clindor. Lyse lui conseille de “dissimuler” sa jalousie et sa colère de le laisser dans l’illusion que son épouse est satisfait de son sort. Peu après, parlant à Clindor, Isabelle décrit le moment présent comme la dissipation d’une illusion antérieure: “Ne crois plus m’aveugler; /au milieu de la nuit, je ne vois que trop clair.” (v.1407-1408)
La thématique de l’illusion atteint son paroxysme quand Clindor essaie de faire passer la passion illicite de Rosine pour une illusion, quoi qu’il la sache pertinement amoureuse de lui: “Madame, ôtez ce mot dont la feinte se joue, / et que vertu dans l’âme désavoue. / C’est assez déguisé, ne dissimule plus/L’horreur que vous avez de mes feux dissolus.” (v. 1597-1600) Cela va de soi que l’illusion est non seulement une notion récurrente dans la dramaturgie de Corneille mais une technique très efficace de narration. Quant à sa fonction théâtrale, nous pouvons nous fier à Scherer qui voit dans l’illusion littéraire “un procédé qui, dans bon nombre de cas, unit parfaitement le thème et la fonction de la pièce pour provoquer la vérité.” (452)Un exemple bien éclairant c’est Le cid. Cette pièce n’est pas sans faire large part à l’illusion. L’héroïsme sublime de Chimène ne peut s’expliquer que par le biais d’une illusion qui l’oblige à montrer ses véritables sentiments pour Rodrigue. Assez curieusement, Chimène se voit “abusée” non une fois, mais deux fois moyennant la “fausse mort” de Rodrigue. La première fois (IV, 5), c’est le fait d’un artifice imaginaire de la part du roi pour confirmer ses soupçons sur la persistance de son amour pour le Cid: il paraît que “sa douleur a trahi les secrets de son âme.” (V.1355) Nurse observe:
En expliquant son émoi par la douleur de voir Rodrigue échapper à la punition, Chimène, sans pour autant tromper personne, circonscrit le discours au registre public où elle s’efforce de maintenir son rôle de fille endeuillée avide de vengeance, alors que le côté ‘caché’ de Chimène, sa passion pour Rodrigue, est ce qui fait l’intérêt au public. (32)
Il faudra la réitération (V, 5) de la fausse mort de Rodrigue pour la rendre indéniable. Cette fois ce n’est plus un artifice mais une illusion spontanée qui fait déborder les larmes de Chimène: “j’obtiens pour mon malheur ce que j’ai demandé. (V.1729) Cette remarque manifeste l’ampleur de son sacrifice et l’intensité de son émotion. On pourrait discuter infiniment les différences entre les variantes de la fausse mort— tragi-comiques et comiques. L’illusion, comme l’exemple de Chimène le montre, “engage profondément le corps du personnage abusé”, pour reprendre les mots de Marpeau (158). La réaction immédiate est provoquée par un objet également physique, et non seulement verbal. Nous pouvons, avec le recul du lecteur, démontrer ou déconstruire le dispositif, sans pour autant nier son importance dramatique et psychologique. Nous savons que Rodrigue n’est pas mort et que, de toute façon, même si le sang sur l’épée de Don Sanche était celui du Cid, ce ne serait là qu’un indice ou une synecdoque désignant le héros lui-même. L’illusion, cependant, bloque tout recours au passé et à l’avenir, dont il n’est plus besoin, croît-on, “pour connaître la vérité”, aux dires de Grosperrin (117). Le plus souvent, dans la tragédie cornélienne, le texte dramatique est complice de cette illusion, en mettant l’accent sur l’apparente ‘réalité’ et non sur les fautes de méthode ni sur les défaillances intellectuelles de celui ou de celle qui agit dans le contexte de cette réalité perçue. Le dénouement du Cid reste le mariage de Chimène et de Rodrigue. Ce qui scandalisa le plus les adversaires de Corneille fut justement ce dénouement. Dans ces observations, Georges de Scudéry traitait Chimène de “impudique”, de “prostituée”, de “Parricide” et de “monstre”(244). Autrement dit, Scudéry reprochait à Corneille d’être resté fidèle à la vérité historique qui attestait le mariage de Rodrigue et de Chimène, au détriment de la vraisemblance qui voudrait que le mariage n’ait pas lieu: comment admettre en effet sans réticence qu’une jeune fille épouse le meurtrier de son père? Il s’agissait de savoir si le théâtre devrait se conformer au “vrai” tout court, mais parfois choquant, ou au “vraisemblable”, à ce que le public est prêt à croire? Encore une question qui touche à la thématique de l’illusion. Alors que les partisans du classicisme ne cesseront de proclamer la supériorité du “vraisemblable” sur le “vrai”, Corneille sera l’un des rares auteurs de son temps à adopter la position inverse. Au “vraisemblable”, il préférera sinon toujours, du moins souvent, le “vrai”. C’est le cas dans Le cid. Plus de dix ans après la parution de cette pièce, Corneille déclarera dans la préface de l’une des éditions de son œuvre en 1648 que le mariage de Chimène et de Rodrigue fut effectivement célèbre par l’archevêque de Séville en présence du roi et de toute sa cour et qu’il ne peut rien changer à cette vérité. Cette position quasi constante de Corneille en faveur du vrai semble être l’une des formes majeures de son originalité; c’est en même temps l’un des traits qui le distinguent des autres dramaturges de son temps. En fin de compte, nous aurions saisi la portée et l’essence même de l’emploi du procédé littéraire de mensonge dans le théâtre cornélien. L’illusion comique sous toutes ses formes constitue un mensonge qui énonce l’avènement du vrai. En ce qui concerne les pièces que nous avons analysées ci-dessus, l’utilité de ce procédé est sans conteste. Plutôt que de créer un obstacle facile à écarter, comme le prétend Scherer, le mensonge permet de découvrir une vérité profonde. A titre d’exemple, l’illusion de la mort de Rodrigue et de Clindor permet à d’autres personnages de révéler leurs potentialités cachées.
En guise de conclusion, l’analyse succincte des trois pièces ci-dessus nous amène à percevoir non seulement le rôle capital que joue l’illusion comique comme procédé littéraire dans l’oeuvre théâtrale de Corneille mais aussi son ampleur dans la dramaturgie du 17e siècle. Il s’en sert pour combler la lacune entre l’apparence et la réalité. De surcroît, la représentation illusoire lui permet de rapprocher les spectateurs des acteurs. Que ce soit dans le sens d’un dénouement heureux comme dans Le cid, L’Illusion comique et Le menteur, ou d’une finalité funeste comme dans Horace, l’illusion aura facilité l’aveu de l’inavouable.
Ouvrages cités
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Couton, Georges. Examen de l’Illusion comique, Œuvres complètes. Paris: Gallimard, 1980.
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Discourse on the Second Sex in Africa
By Peter Vakunta
Pregnant, bare-foot, and in the kitchen! This is the portrait of the legendary African woman. In his novel titled Monnè: outrages et défis (1990:135) Ivorian writer, Ahmadou Kourouma bemoans the fate of the African woman in the following terms: “Dans ce monde, les lots de la femme ont trois noms qui ont la même signification: résignation, silence, soumission.”[There three words for women’s lot in this world and they all have the same meaning: resignation, silence, submission.]
In this paper, I argue that a community that continues to relegate some of its members to the fringe of society is a community at risk. Interestingly, this is happening in most countries on the African continent where the woman’s body has become a playground for the theatrics of male chauvinists. As Etoke (2006:41) points out, “Female figures mainly operate as abstract bodies …. The woman’s body becomes the battleground of conflicting discourses on nationalism, identity and sexuality.” Africa is filled with cultural practices that legitimate the notion of a docile female body. The practice of virginity testing where the absence of a small tissue becomes a big issue is a case in point. Every year in South Africa
Despite the notoriety of this practice throughout Africa , critics view it as a violation of the right of the girl child. They argue that the practice is unconstitutional and violates the human rights of those being tested. Others argue that the practice violates children’s right to privacy, bodily integrity and dignity. This writer contends that virginity testing undermines the principles of equality, freedom and human dignity. According to an article published by the United Nations (UN) Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (2007:2), the South African Commission on Gender Equality has described virginity testing as “discriminatory, invasive of privacy, unfair, impinging on the dignity of young girls and unconstitutional.” This notwithstanding, proponents argue that the practice is the best way to curb sexual promiscuity, unwanted teenage pregnancy and the spread of HIV/AIDS. Persuasive as these arguments may seem, the fact of the matter is that only scant attention is being paid to the health hazards and the emotional burden put on young girls undergoing virginity testing. Social workers in South Africa Africa have noted that pressure emanating from virginity testing is resulting in young girls engaging in anal and oral intercourse in order to keep their status as virgins intact. Jambaya (2007:2) points out that if a girl is found to have had sex she is “open to being ostracized by the community and subjected to all forms of abuse.” The questions that beg asking are: What about boys? Why aren’t they being tested? Are boys not sexually promiscuous too? This writer contends that boys and girls should be given equal treatment. The boy child should be taught moral rectitude as well, if this is the ultimate goal of virginity testing. By putting the onus of sexual responsibility only on girls alone, this writer posits that virginity testing is sexist and unfairly discriminatory. This sort of discrimination stigmatizes the female gender, pejoratively called the second sex, by creating the false impression that women are inherently erratic in their comportment.
Worse still, virginity testing may contribute to the spread of HIV/AIDS given the widely held belief in some parts of Africa that having unprotected sex with a virgin may serve as a cure for AIDS. Girls who pass the test may be targeted by male predators. Another negative aspect of virginity testing is that it relies on the fear factor rather than free choice, to dissuade teenagers from engaging in pre-marital sex. It overlooks cases where the hymen of a girl may be ruptured as a result of engaging in physically exacting activities such as sports. Moreover, these tests fail to take into account involuntary sexual encounters such as rape. A girl who has been raped would undergo trauma on several levels if she had to undergo a virginity test. On this count, many girls, out of shame, are reluctant to report that they have been raped. For these reasons, it may be argued that we are fighting a losing battle given that the whole exercise is not foolproof. These are some of the intriguing issues that proponents of virginity testing have not been able to address. To make matters worse, the practice has now been made to serve utilitarian purposes. For example, some parents want their daughters to undergo virginity testing in the most part because their daughters would fetch them a higher lobola[ii] if they passed the test.
Virginity testing is not the only ordeal the African woman has to deal with. In her novel C’est le soleil qui m’a brûlé (1987), Cameroonian feminist writer Calixthe Beyala underscores the traumatic experience of rape on women. She shows how rape has become emblematic of the sexual tensions existing between men and women in Africa . The novel highlights the fate of Ateba, a young woman whose life in the slums of Cameroon
Another cultural practice that puts the life of the African woman in jeopardy is female genital mutilation (FGM). This practice has been christened the scourge of Africa by global feminists. Abusharaf (2006:5) draws attention to the joint statement issued in April 1997 by WHO, UNICEF and UNFPA that defines female genital mutilation as “All procedures involving partial or total removal of the external genitalia or other injury to the female genital organs whether for cultural or other non-therapeutic reasons.” Female genital mutilation is prevalent in African countries such as Nigeria, Ethiopia, Sudan, Niger, Somalia, Chad and Egypt. It is not restricted to one ethnic, religious or socioeconomic class. Many reasons account for the perpetuation of this practice, the most common being cultural and religious beliefs. Interestingly enough, some African women believe that FGM makes them more feminine and, therefore, more attractive to men! Some African men argue that FGM raises the social status of the family and generates income when the daughter gets married and the dowry is paid. Like virginity testing, this age-old practice has been made to serve pecuniary ends because a premium is placed on its financial benefits.
Female genital mutilation is traditionally performed by elderly women who have no medical skills whatsoever. According to Hamilton
In her novel, La petite peule (2000), Guinean writer Mariama Barry brings the issue of female genital mutilation to the forefront. According to Etoke (op cit, 41), Barry “reveals how the woman’s body works as a mediator that finds a compromise between a need for freedom and socio-cultural mechanisms that regulate the life of the individual.” Etoke points out that in this compelling narrative about female genital mutilation, we find that Barry’s writing portrays the suffering female body as suffocated because of her inability to escape from traditional ways of thinking which repress any display of emotion. Barry (op cit, 13) describes the painful experience of the mutilated girl as follows:
Je perçus entre mes jambes le contact glacial de quelque chose de tranchant. Sur le coup je n’ai pas réalisé la douleur, je ne voulais plus penser à mon mal. [I felt a cold contact between my legs, something sharp. At the moment I did not realize the pain. I did not want to think about my pain anymore.]
The novelist deliberately refrains from naming the object used in mutilating the woman’s body. Rather she puts emphasis on the victim’s feigned stoicism—the attempt to resist and forget her travail. Etoke notes (op cit, 42):
Barry negotiates a literary space in which it is possible to tell a traumatizing individual experience when you belong to a society where female sexual mutilation is first and foremost understood as a cultural practice that helps in maintaining traditional values and social cohesion.
Kourouma (1970:31-32) views female genital mutilation differently. In his novel Les soleils des indépendances he depicts it as rape:
Le viol! Dans le sang et les douleurs de l’excision, elle a été mordue par les feux du fer chauffé au rouge et du piment. Et elle a crié, hurlé. Et ses yeux ont tourné, débordé et plongé dans le vert de la forêt puis le jaune de l’harmattan et enfin le rouge, le rouge du sang, le rouge des sacrifices. Et elle a encore hurlé, crié à tout chauffer, crié de toute sa poitrine, crié jusqu’à s’étouffer, jusqu’à perdre connaissance.
[Rape! Amidst the blood and pain of excision, something had seared her like fiery pepper, like red-hot-iron. She had screamed, howled. Her eyes had spun round, spilled over and plunged into the green of forest, the yellow of the harmattan wind, then red, blood-red, the red of sacrifice. And she had screamed again, screamed as loudly as possible, with all her strength; screamed until she choked and fainted.][iii]
In contradistinction to Barry who perceives female genital mutilation as a rite of passage, Kourouma decries its harmful effects. According to Abusharaf(op cit,1), “Bolokobi, khifad, tahara, tahoor, qodiin, irua, bondo , kuruna, negekorigin, and kene-kene are some of the terms employed in African indigenous languages to denote a set of cultural practices collectively known as female circumcision.” Most of these terms could be translated as ritual purification or rite of passage.
The World Health Organization (1994:22) estimates that “over 130 million girls and women have undergone genital excision and at least two million per year are expected to go through the practice.” Health authorities in Italy estimate that 40,000 women of African origin, mostly Somalis, have undergone the practice and 5000 young girls are currently at risk. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention estimate that , in the United States of America alone, more than 150,000 women and girls of African origin have already been cut or might have the operation performed on them (Hundley 2002). Abusharaf (op cit, 4) further observes that “Numerous groups in Africa are grappling with these practices, which have proven harmful to women and girls, in an attempt to end them once and for all.”
Feminist discourse around the world underscores the fact that female genital mutilation is a form of violence against women, indistinguishable from rape, human trafficking, physical and emotional abuse, and sexual harassment. They have portrayed the practice as a symptom of female victimization by a patriarchal society keen on controlling women’s sexuality (Eisler, 1995; Hicks, 1996; Hosken, 1994; Lightfoot-Klein, 2003; Okin, 1999; Walker and Parmar, 1993). Some gender activists argue that the practice infringes upon human rights conventions intended to protect and defend women from violence and aggression, notably the UN Declaration on Violence against Women (1993) and the UN High Commission on Refugee Statement Against Gender-Based Violence (1996). This writer sees female circumcision as a form of castration that deprives the woman of sexual pleasure and in so doing violates her right to corporeal and sexual integrity. Ablation of the clitoris during infancy prevents the establishment of the reflex circuit, and the woman will never be able to experience clitoral or vaginal pleasure.
The woman’s right to corporeal integrity is equally violated through the age-old custom that allows widow inheritance in Africa . Wife inheritance is widely practiced among ethnic groups in Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Sudan and Cameroon, to name but a few. Most men who inherit widows have multiple sex partners because they have inherited other widows. Ignorance and unwillingness to wear condoms often lead to the spread of HIV in such polygamous families. A study carried out by Okeyo (1994:1) shows that “sexual intercourse is an essential component of widow inheritance.” In other words, men’s uncontrollable libido leads them into marrying the widows of deceased relatives. Okeyo notes that, the eldest son of a polygamous husband who dies leaving behind young wives is entitled to "inherit" the youngest stepmother. To justify this practice, wife inheritors call it "widow guardianship".
In her novel So Long a Letter (1980:57), Senegalese writer Mariama Bâ addresses the question of widow inheritance. The novel recounts in epistolary form the story of a Senegalese woman, Ramatoulaye, whose husband dies after many years of polygamous marriage. His brother, Tamsir, uses tradition and religion (Islam) as a justification to marry his late brother’s wife:
When you have come out (that is to say, of mourning), I shall marry you. You suit me as a wife, and further, you will continue to live here, just as if Modou were not dead. Usually, it is the younger brother who inherits his elder brother’s wife. In this case, it is the opposite. You are my good luck. I shall marry you.
By bringing the oddity of this practice under the spotlight, Bâ speaks for all the oppressed women in Africa. As she points out in her non-fictional work (1981:7), “It is up to us women to take our fate in our hands in order to overthrow the order established to our detriment instead of submitting to it.” In the aforementioned novel she illustrates that Senegalese society functions as though all wives come from a lower class than their husbands. Although only the specific offense of Tamsir’s action is named here, the larger wrong is that society allows such practices to take place. Klaw (2000:136) notes, “Ramatoulaye’s narrative deconstructs several of the essential definitions that the dominant order uses to justify its actions.” Bâ’s protagonist raises her voice in protest against patriarchal tyranny by refusing categorically to marry her late husband’s brother:
My voice has known silence for thirty years; thirty years of harassment …. You forget that I have a heart, a mind that I am not an object to be passed from hand to hand. You don’t know what marriage means to me: it is an act of faith and of love, the total surrender of oneself to the person one has chosen and who has chosen you. (58)
These words of dissidence call into question a tradition that has gone unquestioned for generations. By questioning the raison d’être of arranged or forced marriages, Bâ is appealing for a change in Senegalese mentality. Riesz (1991:27) observes that “critics have generally regarded Mariama Bâ’s Une si long lettre as a novel about marriage, about how and why…marriages failed in a Senegalese Islamic context.” This writer believe that the failure of marriages in such African societies is attributable to the fact they are contracted for the wrong reasons. For example, Binetou’’s marriage to Modou in So Long a Letter illustrates blind devotion to traditional materialism. She feels caught in a double blind when she agrees to marry Modou. She does not wish to suffer for the rest of her life married to an old man; but at the same time, she does not want her mother to hate her for not giving her a rich and easy old age: “Her mother cried so much. She begged her daughter to give her a happy ending in a real house that the man promised them. So she agreed.” (55) Bâ pointedly remarks: “Sold, she raised her price each day.”(72) The theme of Bâ’s novel, I believe, is gender equality. As she points out: “I remain convinced of the obligatory, inescapable complementarity of man and woman.”(129) She thinks that freedom of choice in marriage would result in harmonious co-existence in the community and probably put an end to gender oppression in Africa .
Gender oppression accounts for the rampant practice of arranged marriages on the continent. In traditional African societies girls are given in marriage in their teens in order to ensure obedience and subservience to their husbands. In Ethiopia and parts of West Africa, for example, marriage before the age of fourteen is not uncommon. In Kebbi State Northern Nigeria , the average age of marriage for girls is just over 11, against a national average of 17. Strange as it may sound, it is true that some African communities persist in perceiving the girl child as an object to be sold. Indigent families often regard their daughters as economic assets. In North Africa , for instance, girls as young as ten are being sent off to marriage in order for the parents to reap financial benefits. To put this another way, growing poverty in Africa has put young girls at risk of forced marriages. Parents who can no longer fend for themselves opt to trade off their children for money. When this happens, the girl becomes “owned” and feels powerless in the matrimonial home. In villages throughout northern Malawi
More often than not, these girls have no one to turn to when complications arise in the matrimonial homes. Those who are not subservient are often subjected to battery by their husbands. In Egypt
It is interesting to note that early marriages are closely linked to repeated and unplanned childbearing. UNICEF stresses the fact that child marriages inflict tremendous physical and emotional hardship on young women all over the world. Death rates are also high because teenage bodies are not ready for the rigors of pregnancy and childbirth yet. Pregnancy-related deaths are the leading cause of mortality for child mothers. Medical professionals have pointed out that pre-adolescent marriage is partly responsible for Africa ’s high maternal mortality rates, one of the highest in the world. In sum, the consequences of forced marriages are many: early pregnancies, hazardous births, school dropout, and unemployment among others. The list has grown to include HIV at an age when girls do not fully understand the risks involved in uncontrolled sexual conduct.
This writer maintains that teenage marriages could be brought to an end by educating young girls and their parents on the health hazards and other mishaps associated with the practice. Another way to address the issue would be to organize national campaigns to raise awareness on this problem. Child marriage is a tradition that tends to be passed down through generations because parents were brought up in the same manner. Worse still, most parents are not aware of the dangers involved, or might even feel that the dangers are justified for cultural reasons. Even when parents and children understand the negative implications of teenage marriages, pressure exerted by society on families to conform may be great. Be it as it may, these attitudes have to change in order for our society to make substantive progress. Customs promoting adolescent marriages need to be challenged. The media (TV, radio and newspapers) could play a significant role in calling attention to attitudes and customs that encourage child marriages. Incentives meant to encourage parents to send their female children to school would also be valuable.
Cameroonian playwright Guillaume Oyono Mbia has fictionalized the problem of forced marriages in his play titled Three Suitors: One Husband (1968) set in the village of Mvoutessi East Cameroon . In this play, Juliette, a daughter from the village, returns home from secondary school with Oko, her fiancé, whom she intends to introduce to her family. But other arrangements for her marriage had already been made by her father, Atangana Abessolo, and all her relatives expect her to comply. Mosadomi (2000:1) describes this culturally rich play as an “epigraphic comment on love, marriage, tradition and personal pursuit of happiness.” Mbia’s play portrays an individual crisis in the sense that the protagonist finds it hard to understand why an educated girl like herself should have a husband imposed on her. At the same time, the play is a collective crisis in that Juliette’s marriage is only one of many such marriages being negotiated behind the backs of girls in her community. She is astonished at this transaction that transforms her into a commodity and a source of wealth for her father and the community at large. Her bewilderment is voiced when she screams:
What? Am I for sale? Are you trying to give me to the highest bidder? Why can’t you ask me my opinion about my own marriage? […] So you are expecting me to make you rich! Am I a shop, or some other source of income? (15-16)
In a male-dominated society like Mvoutessi this reaction is unacceptable. That is why her outraged father expresses his shock: “Since when do women speak in Mvoutessi? Who teaches you girls of today such disgraceful behavior? Why are you always trying to have a say in every matter?” (15)
The reaction of Juliette’s father lends credibility to the claim that in traditional Africa men expect women to be seen and not heard. In many African communities, marriage is considered consummated only after lobola (bride price) has been paid. The payment of bride price is widespread and entrenched in Africa . It is a custom that requires a man to give money and possibly goods such as livestock to his would-be wife’s family. In South Africa Derby Africa as the groom’s family gives a gift, typically cattle, to the family whose daughter is joining their household.” In its most benign form, lobola is a token of appreciation from the groom’s family to the bride’s. At its most egregious, it turns girls into the human equivalent of cattle.
Women rights activists are working hard to abolish lobola because it creates a financial incentive for parents to marry off their daughters sooner rather than later. In most communities, bride price negotiations are typically male discussions of down payments, installments, settlements and the occasional refund of dowry for a wife who runs away. In the event of divorce, the bride’s family is required to pay back the lobola. In some countries such as Uganda Derby Johannesburg Republic of Cameroon Africa : breast ironing.
A nationwide campaign is underway in Cameroon Cameroon
My mother took a pestle, she warmed it well in the fire and then she used it to pound my breasts while I was lying down. She took the back of a coconut, warmed in the fire and used it to iron my breasts. I was crying and trembling to escape but there was no way.
Strangely enough, some girls iron their own breasts in the mistaken belief that doing so would help them escape from early marriage. Vaiza (2006:10) notes that “the practice is carried out in almost every nation of Africa, mainly in the regions of Chad, Togo, Benin, Guinea-Conakry and Cameroon.” Girls as young as twelve years old are subjected to this humiliating custom. No matter how painful and barbaric the practice may be, girls are afraid of defying what they see as a ritual or rite of passage. Nonetheless, women rights activists are leaving no stone unturned to eradicate this nefarious cultural practice.
Cameroonian parents who iron the breasts of their daughters do so because they believe that when a girl has breasts, she attracts male attention, have sex, and become pregnant. Ironically, breast-ironing is not an effective method of preventing early sex and unwanted pregnancies because many of the teenage girls who have had their breasts flattened still fall pregnant. The solution to this problem, I think, is education. It is incumbent upon parents to educate their children on the hazards of premature sexual intercourse. They should school their children on the basics of sexual reproductive health so they are aware of what it means growing up and having breasts or having menstrual periods. Breast-ironing, it seems to me, is as bad as female genital mutilation and virginity testing because it is one of those contraptions conceived to manipulate female bodies. The effects are devastating and traumatizing. Massaging the breasts of young girls is very dangerous and harmful to health. Healthcare professionals have underscored the dangers associated with breast-ironing. They point out that the emotional scars associated with the practice are overwhelming. Some social workers wonder how a girl can ever get over the fact that her parents, the people she trusted the most in her life, destroyed her breasts so that she wouldn’t have sex. These stories leave one with the feeling that some of our customs ought to be questioned and challenged because they are counterproductive. Our women need proper education in order to play an effective role in the fight against gender oppression. Speaking to ‘Africa Today’ Senegalese musical virtuoso, Baaba Maal (2005:38) points out:
Majority of African women are uneducated, unemployed and have limited opportunities in trade or government …. In the lyrics of my song I talked about an African woman one day joining the good male leaders to lead the continent out of our predicament because women have the power and have shown the determination when they get the opportunity.
Women play a crucial role in nation-building the world over. Africa is no exception. If we continue to put our womenfolk on the back burner our continent will stagnate in perpetuity because the development of the African continent requires collective effort. There is no gainsaying the fact that African women are as capable as their men. Liberian Head of State, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf has made history by being elected the first female president on the African continent! Kenyan university don Wangari Maathai has done Africa proud by winning the prestigious Nobel Prize for her sterling achievement in the field of environmentalism! Africans need to discard age-old customs that are keeping us in the dark. We must place men and women on an equal footing in all walks of life. There are no inherently inferior sexes.
As French feminist writer Simone de Beauvoir argues in her book Le deuxième sexe (1949:13) gender is a social construct:
On ne naît pas femme: on le devient. Aucun destin biologique, psychique, économique ne définit la figure que revêt au sein de la société la femelle humaine; c’est l’ensemble de la civilisation qui élabore ce produit intermédiaire entre le mâle et le castrat qu’on qualifie de féminin.
[One is not born, but rather becomes a woman. No biological, pschological, or economic fate determines the figure that the human female presents in society; it is civilization as a whole that produces this creature, intermediate between male and eunuch, which is described as feminine.][v]
De Beauvoir underscores the role played by prejudice in the oppression of women in contemporary societies. She points out that the key to understanding how girls develop as opposed to boys is to be found not in any “myth of the second sex” but in the manner of their upbringing in a society geared toward male supremacy. In other words, women consider themselves inferior because men regard them as such. Beauvoir offers her views on the subtle ways in which matrimony has often been made to work to the detriment of women. She perceives marriage as a male contraption to perpetuate gender inequality when she notes:
Le mariage s’est toujours présenté de manière radicalement différente pour l’homme et pour la femme. Les deux sexes sont nécessaires l’un à l’autre, mais cette nécessité n’a jamais engendré entre eux de réciprocité ; jamais les femmes n’ont constitué une caste établissant avec la caste mâle sur un pied d’égalité des échanges et des contrats. Socialement l’homme est un individu autonome et complet ….On a vu pour quelles raisons le rôle reproducteur et domestique dans lequel est cantonnée la femme ne lui a pas garanti une égale dignité. (196)
[Mariage has always been a very different thing for man and for woman. The two sexes are necessary to each other, but this necessity has never brought about a condition of reciprocity between them; women, as we have seen, have never constituted a caste making exchanges and contracts with the male caste upon a footing of equality. A man is socially an independent and complete individual .… We have seen why it is that the reproductive and domestic role to which woman is confined has not guaranteed her an equal dignity.][vi]
I argue along with De Beauvoir and other feminists that the second-class status to which the African woman has been confined is a social construct. I further contend that gender discourse in Africa needs to be revisited and re-orientated to address issues that center on gender inequality. Finally, I posit that the African woman is in dire need of proper education in order to fight male oppression. It is my conviction that a woman’s consciousness of her own femininity is to be defined under circumstances dependent on the society of which she is a member. Indeed, a major thesis of this discussion is that all her life the African woman is to find the magic of her mirror a tremendous help in her effort to assert herself in order to attain self-liberation. It is in the context of their natural differences that African men and women must validate their commonality.
©VAKUNTA 2010
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NOTES
Seven Habits of Highly Effective Language Learners Revisited: Pedagogical Implications for Foreign Language Instructors
By Dr. Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Introduction
Second language acquisition is a highly cumulative process. Regardless of the motivation level of the learner, language learning will take a long time. This is attributable to the fact that language is a complex system of sounds, words, syntactic structures and ways of expressing meaning. To learn a new language is to acquire another prism through which one sees the world and exchanges information and thoughts with others. Because a foreign language is learned in an environment where it is not the primary vehicle of daily interaction, students must do more than merely rely on classroom instruction (Oxford, 1990). Given that the target language (TL) is significantly different from L1 (mother tongue), language learners have to re-order their thought patterns and modes of speech to conform to the idiom of the new language. This is a cognitive process that calls for a tremendous amount of diligent practice.
This paper addresses seven habits of highly effective language learners. It discusses instructional strategies that have proven effective in the teaching of foreign languages the world over. Our ultimate goal is to provide foreign language learners with useful tips that have transformed language apprenticeship from a harrowing experience to a gleeful ride toward communicative proficiency. The pedagogical paradigms discussed here would equip foreign language instructors with the savvy needed to face the onerous task of teaching adult learners whose attitudes toward learning are distinct from those of adolescent learners. Assumptions regarding second language acquisition abound. For this reason, I will share with readers one such assumption for the purpose of generating critical thoughts on what it means to be a good language learner:
“Yes! You can learn a foreign language. Learning a foreign language is not difficult. It is a natural process in all societies. A billion plus Chinese and Arabs learned the two hardest languages in the world. They did that under adverse weather conditions, rampant pestilence, wars, hunger, no Defense Language Institute, no assessment and selection, and no entertaining technology” (Reaction from an anonymous foreign language instructor to a student who complains about feeling lost all the time during her language course).
What’s wrong with this picture? What underlying assumptions could be made from these statements? What do foreign language instructors need to know about pedagogy, andragogy, and the characteristics of language learners? Here are some points for discussion stemming from these questions:
Pedagogy is child-focused instruction. Children are known to be natural language learners, for very good reasons. They have learned their mother tongue with relative ease. They have no inhibitions. They are risk takers. There are linguistic and psychological theories that explain children’s seemingly effortless second-language acquisition ability (Gass and Selinker, 2008; Omaggio, 1993). We will not get to the crux of these theories at this juncture. Suffice it to say that knowledge of the characteristics of learners provides useful insights into how language learning occurs. Effective language teachers take cognizance of the differences in the developmental levels and individual characteristics of the students they teach. Understanding the principles of child development and the characteristics of good language learners can provide teachers with the skills necessary for establishing a continuum between L1 and L2 acquisition.
Successful language teachers know that students come to the classroom with a wealth of knowledge. In addition to cultural information, there are other kinds of knowledge that students bring to the language classroom, not least of which is mastery of the grammar and morphology of their mother tongue(s). Knowledge of students’ reservoir of prior knowledge, and personal learning habits can be very useful for language instructors in the planning of learning tasks as the following discussion will illustrate.
1. Learner Autonomy
Effective learners tend to be self-directed (autonomous) actors in the language learning process (Benson, 2000).They assume responsibility for their own learning, by deciding what, where, and how they learn. Autonomous learners do not depend on instructors for the creation of knowledge; rather they assume responsibility for their own learning. There are three levels of learner autonomy: psychological, methodological and motivational. Adults are intrinsically motivated to learn. Put differently, they are motivated by internal incentives and curiosity, rather than external rewards. The term ‘motivation’ is a complex term. Whether we view it as instinct, humanism, behaviorism, cognition or socio-education the fact remains that ‘motivation’ is one of the basic aspects of the human mind, and most teachers agree that it plays a critical role in determining achievement and underachievement in any given learning situation (Dornyei, 1994, 2006). Motivation is the key to successful language learning.
What are the pedagogical implications of the foregoing postulations? How could language instructors utilize this information profitably in the classroom? We deem it necessary for foreign language instructors to consider the option of involving learners in the design of learning tasks, definition of content, and the selection of methods to be used for evaluating outcomes of learning. Language instructors must never lose sight of the fact that adult learners are contributors to the creation of knowledge. Ipso facto, they should be involved in the planning and evaluation of learning outcomes. Learner autonomy could be problematic at times given that it requires teachers and learners to trade roles, as it were. Some teachers may feel threatened by the likelihood of losing power in the classroom. The remedy to this sort of problem is to acknowledge the fact that working in tandem with students in the conception of learner-centered tasks is not tantamount to losing one’s position as the authority figure in the classroom. Rather, it should be viewed as a collaborative endeavor intended to empower learners and render teaching student-oriented and interactive (Brown, 1994).
2. Identifying the purpose of learning tasks
Effective language learners tend to identify the purpose, classification and demands of learning tasks (Bloom, 1956). Bloom elucidates these concepts as follows: Task purpose is the motivation for carrying out the learning task. Task classification defines the kinds of learning tasks to be performed. Task demand refers to strategies to be used to accomplish the task. It should be noted that task analysis is a highly individualized procedure that may vary from learner to learner. Bloom’s taxonomy (see image below) sheds ample light on how these concepts correlate in the language learning process.
Bloom came up with this pyramid that describes six levels within the cognitive domain. It shows how learners process learning material, from the simple recall of facts at the lowest level, through increasingly more complex and abstract mental levels, to the highest order which is classified as evaluation. Knowledge deals with remembering; Comprehension is accomplished through an interpretive process or describing learning material in one’s own words; application is synonymous with problem-solving; analysis is analogous to breaking down knowledge into component parts; synthesis enables the learner to combine separate bodies of knowledge to form a whole; at the level of evaluation the language learner forms opinions or judgments about the material s/he is processing. This pyramid sums up what is generally referred to as Bloom’s Taxonomy.
What are the pedagogical implications of using Bloom’s Taxonomy in the foreign language classroom? In other words, how could instructors put this knowledge into profitable use during the language course? In our opinion, targeted instruction would help learners select appropriate strategies for performing specific learning tasks at different cognitive levels. At the elementary stage of the language course, instructors could start off with lower-order thinking (LOTS) tasks that require recall of information and then proceed to higher-order thinking(HOTS) tasks as learners become more and more comfortable and better equipped with the linguistic wherewithal to handle more cognitively demanding tasks. Instructors should design learning tasks that require learners to go from mere recall of information to more cognitively demanding tasks such as analysis and evaluation of knowledge.
3. Learning the target language in context
Good language learners seek to acquire linguistic competency simultaneously with cultural competency (Finkbeiner, 2008), the more so because linguistic competency is a function of cultural competency. Put differently, an inseparable part of acquiring linguistic competency is an awareness of the target language culture. Linguistic competency is generally complemented by target culture competency in the learning process. What does this mean for instructors of foreign languages? What pedagogical implications do these facts harbor for these teachers? We suggest that learning tasks be created to reflect a wide range of motivations, cultural diversities, and final learning objectives (FLO’s). Final Learning objectives include: proficiency (traditional language skills of listening, speaking, reading and writing), performance (operational abilities); area studies (knowledge of culture, society, people, politics, etc) and ancillary (miscellaneous) abilities. Individual and cultural diversities influence language learning decisions and choices. [i]
4. Knowledge of one’s preferred learning style(s)
Good language learners know what kind of learning style works best for them. A learning style is one’s consistent way of responding to and using stimuli in the context of learning. Stylistic preferences are usually presented in the form of bipolar opposites (Reid, 1998) as seen below:
Of what benefit is knowledge of students’ preferred learning styles? How could this information be utilized profitably by language instructors? Instructors should create an interface between learning styles and teaching styles in order to maximize learning opportunities for students. Varying teaching styles to accommodate different learning styles in the language classroom would certainly pay off. Learners should be informed that knowledge of learning styles increases self-awareness; they should be encouraged to get out of their zone of comfort from time to time and adopt a different learning style if the first one doesn’t work. Learners should be urged to engage in style stretching so as to incorporate approaches to learning they have tended to resist in the past.
5. Evaluating one’s own learning progress
Good language learners constantly evaluate learning progress by tracking down causes of problems and coming to grips with challenges they encounter in the learning process (Anderson, 2008). Students should be required to generate individualized learning plans and portfolios that measure the progress they are making in the language course. These individual learning plans would serve as roadmaps that provide learners with some direction to follow as they grapple with language apprenticeship. What pedagogical implications do these ideas harbor for language instructors?
How could this information be utilized profitably by instructors and students? We opine that instructors form the habit of periodically reviewing students’ individualized learning plans in portfolios developed by students themselves. The onus is on instructors to help learners attain the goals they set for themselves during the initial stages of the language course. Using these documents during advising/counseling sessions would enable teachers to measure the amount of progress students are making. It would also make it possible for them to provide remedial help to students whenever the need arises.
6. Good language learners are critical thinkers
Critical thinking results in purposeful, reasoned, and goal-oriented learning. Learners who continually reflect upon the learning process become better prepared to make conscious decisions about their learning (O’Malley & Chamot, 1990). Adult learners are prone to the kind of learning that gets them involved in solving problems, formulating inferences and calculating likelihoods. What are the pedagogical implications for language instruction? How could this knowledge be integrated into curriculum design to help students learn better? Instructors should foster critical thinking in the language classroom by designing task-or problem-centered rather than content-centered curricula. Meta-cognition is a big term in language pedagogy; students have to be taught to think about thinking in the learning process.
7. Effective language learners tend to avoid the error trap in the learning process.
There is a clear distinction between mistakes (performance slips), and errors (evidence of learner’s incomplete language system), also called inter-language (Gass & Selinker, 2008).These researchers urge language instructors to make error analysis an integral part of instruction. As the nomenclature suggests, it is the type of linguistic analysis that focuses on the errors learners make in producing TL, unlike contrastive analysis which focuses on errors made by instructors. This has weighty pedagogical implications for language instruction given that instructors could tap into these concepts in a bid to render teaching relevant to learners.
Instructors need to create an expectation of positive feedback for learners to profit from the effects of error correction. Gass and Selinker (2008:102) suggest that “Errors should be taken as red flags; they provide windows onto a system that is, evidence of the state of a learner’s knowledge of the L2.” Errors are not to be viewed solely as a product of imperfect learning; rather they should be perceived as indications of learners’ attempt to figure out some system, that is, to impose regularity on the language they are exposed to. As such, errors are evidence of an underlying rule-governed system. Learners, on the other hand, should accept the fact that they will make mistakes in the language learning process. In sum, the practice of error correction should be used judiciously; it should be restricted to errors that are related to the pedagogic intent of the particular learning task. The decision to effect error correction or not should be linked to the focus of the learning event in which the error occurs. Roberts (1995) concludes that for corrective feedback to be effective, learners must both notice and understand the nature of the correction.
Conclusion
In a nutshell, the truth of the matter is that the best teachers and the best-structured language programs cannot possibly teach students everything they need to know to function as linguists. Succeeding as linguists depends on learners going beyond what teachers and programs offer them in the classroom. As this study lucidly illustrates, effective language learning is deemed to be a three-pronged enterprise involving trained teachers, well-structured programs and learners who know themselves well enough to be entrusted with the critical responsibility of directing their own learning.
Notes
By Dr. Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Introduction
Second language acquisition is a highly cumulative process. Regardless of the motivation level of the learner, language learning will take a long time. This is attributable to the fact that language is a complex system of sounds, words, syntactic structures and ways of expressing meaning. To learn a new language is to acquire another prism through which one sees the world and exchanges information and thoughts with others. Because a foreign language is learned in an environment where it is not the primary vehicle of daily interaction, students must do more than merely rely on classroom instruction (Oxford, 1990). Given that the target language (TL) is significantly different from L1 (mother tongue), language learners have to re-order their thought patterns and modes of speech to conform to the idiom of the new language. This is a cognitive process that calls for a tremendous amount of diligent practice.
This paper addresses seven habits of highly effective language learners. It discusses instructional strategies that have proven effective in the teaching of foreign languages the world over. Our ultimate goal is to provide foreign language learners with useful tips that have transformed language apprenticeship from a harrowing experience to a gleeful ride toward communicative proficiency. The pedagogical paradigms discussed here would equip foreign language instructors with the savvy needed to face the onerous task of teaching adult learners whose attitudes toward learning are distinct from those of adolescent learners. Assumptions regarding second language acquisition abound. For this reason, I will share with readers one such assumption for the purpose of generating critical thoughts on what it means to be a good language learner:
“Yes! You can learn a foreign language. Learning a foreign language is not difficult. It is a natural process in all societies. A billion plus Chinese and Arabs learned the two hardest languages in the world. They did that under adverse weather conditions, rampant pestilence, wars, hunger, no Defense Language Institute, no assessment and selection, and no entertaining technology” (Reaction from an anonymous foreign language instructor to a student who complains about feeling lost all the time during her language course).
What’s wrong with this picture? What underlying assumptions could be made from these statements? What do foreign language instructors need to know about pedagogy, andragogy, and the characteristics of language learners? Here are some points for discussion stemming from these questions:
- Pedagogy is distinct from Andragogy
- L1 acquisition and L2 acquisition do not necessarily constitute a continuum
- Postponed application of knowledge for child learners is different from immediacy of application of knowledge for adult learners
- Acquaintance with students’ preferred learning styles is a vital pedagogical tool
- Knowledge of students’ interests and reservoir of experience is crucial for instructed second language learning
Pedagogy is child-focused instruction. Children are known to be natural language learners, for very good reasons. They have learned their mother tongue with relative ease. They have no inhibitions. They are risk takers. There are linguistic and psychological theories that explain children’s seemingly effortless second-language acquisition ability (Gass and Selinker, 2008; Omaggio, 1993). We will not get to the crux of these theories at this juncture. Suffice it to say that knowledge of the characteristics of learners provides useful insights into how language learning occurs. Effective language teachers take cognizance of the differences in the developmental levels and individual characteristics of the students they teach. Understanding the principles of child development and the characteristics of good language learners can provide teachers with the skills necessary for establishing a continuum between L1 and L2 acquisition.
Successful language teachers know that students come to the classroom with a wealth of knowledge. In addition to cultural information, there are other kinds of knowledge that students bring to the language classroom, not least of which is mastery of the grammar and morphology of their mother tongue(s). Knowledge of students’ reservoir of prior knowledge, and personal learning habits can be very useful for language instructors in the planning of learning tasks as the following discussion will illustrate.
1. Learner Autonomy
Effective learners tend to be self-directed (autonomous) actors in the language learning process (Benson, 2000).They assume responsibility for their own learning, by deciding what, where, and how they learn. Autonomous learners do not depend on instructors for the creation of knowledge; rather they assume responsibility for their own learning. There are three levels of learner autonomy: psychological, methodological and motivational. Adults are intrinsically motivated to learn. Put differently, they are motivated by internal incentives and curiosity, rather than external rewards. The term ‘motivation’ is a complex term. Whether we view it as instinct, humanism, behaviorism, cognition or socio-education the fact remains that ‘motivation’ is one of the basic aspects of the human mind, and most teachers agree that it plays a critical role in determining achievement and underachievement in any given learning situation (Dornyei, 1994, 2006). Motivation is the key to successful language learning.
What are the pedagogical implications of the foregoing postulations? How could language instructors utilize this information profitably in the classroom? We deem it necessary for foreign language instructors to consider the option of involving learners in the design of learning tasks, definition of content, and the selection of methods to be used for evaluating outcomes of learning. Language instructors must never lose sight of the fact that adult learners are contributors to the creation of knowledge. Ipso facto, they should be involved in the planning and evaluation of learning outcomes. Learner autonomy could be problematic at times given that it requires teachers and learners to trade roles, as it were. Some teachers may feel threatened by the likelihood of losing power in the classroom. The remedy to this sort of problem is to acknowledge the fact that working in tandem with students in the conception of learner-centered tasks is not tantamount to losing one’s position as the authority figure in the classroom. Rather, it should be viewed as a collaborative endeavor intended to empower learners and render teaching student-oriented and interactive (Brown, 1994).
2. Identifying the purpose of learning tasks
Effective language learners tend to identify the purpose, classification and demands of learning tasks (Bloom, 1956). Bloom elucidates these concepts as follows: Task purpose is the motivation for carrying out the learning task. Task classification defines the kinds of learning tasks to be performed. Task demand refers to strategies to be used to accomplish the task. It should be noted that task analysis is a highly individualized procedure that may vary from learner to learner. Bloom’s taxonomy (see image below) sheds ample light on how these concepts correlate in the language learning process.
Bloom came up with this pyramid that describes six levels within the cognitive domain. It shows how learners process learning material, from the simple recall of facts at the lowest level, through increasingly more complex and abstract mental levels, to the highest order which is classified as evaluation. Knowledge deals with remembering; Comprehension is accomplished through an interpretive process or describing learning material in one’s own words; application is synonymous with problem-solving; analysis is analogous to breaking down knowledge into component parts; synthesis enables the learner to combine separate bodies of knowledge to form a whole; at the level of evaluation the language learner forms opinions or judgments about the material s/he is processing. This pyramid sums up what is generally referred to as Bloom’s Taxonomy.
What are the pedagogical implications of using Bloom’s Taxonomy in the foreign language classroom? In other words, how could instructors put this knowledge into profitable use during the language course? In our opinion, targeted instruction would help learners select appropriate strategies for performing specific learning tasks at different cognitive levels. At the elementary stage of the language course, instructors could start off with lower-order thinking (LOTS) tasks that require recall of information and then proceed to higher-order thinking(HOTS) tasks as learners become more and more comfortable and better equipped with the linguistic wherewithal to handle more cognitively demanding tasks. Instructors should design learning tasks that require learners to go from mere recall of information to more cognitively demanding tasks such as analysis and evaluation of knowledge.
3. Learning the target language in context
Good language learners seek to acquire linguistic competency simultaneously with cultural competency (Finkbeiner, 2008), the more so because linguistic competency is a function of cultural competency. Put differently, an inseparable part of acquiring linguistic competency is an awareness of the target language culture. Linguistic competency is generally complemented by target culture competency in the learning process. What does this mean for instructors of foreign languages? What pedagogical implications do these facts harbor for these teachers? We suggest that learning tasks be created to reflect a wide range of motivations, cultural diversities, and final learning objectives (FLO’s). Final Learning objectives include: proficiency (traditional language skills of listening, speaking, reading and writing), performance (operational abilities); area studies (knowledge of culture, society, people, politics, etc) and ancillary (miscellaneous) abilities. Individual and cultural diversities influence language learning decisions and choices. [i]
4. Knowledge of one’s preferred learning style(s)
Good language learners know what kind of learning style works best for them. A learning style is one’s consistent way of responding to and using stimuli in the context of learning. Stylistic preferences are usually presented in the form of bipolar opposites (Reid, 1998) as seen below:
- Active---Reflective
- Sensing---Intuitive
- Visual--- Verbal
- Sequential---Global
Of what benefit is knowledge of students’ preferred learning styles? How could this information be utilized profitably by language instructors? Instructors should create an interface between learning styles and teaching styles in order to maximize learning opportunities for students. Varying teaching styles to accommodate different learning styles in the language classroom would certainly pay off. Learners should be informed that knowledge of learning styles increases self-awareness; they should be encouraged to get out of their zone of comfort from time to time and adopt a different learning style if the first one doesn’t work. Learners should be urged to engage in style stretching so as to incorporate approaches to learning they have tended to resist in the past.
5. Evaluating one’s own learning progress
Good language learners constantly evaluate learning progress by tracking down causes of problems and coming to grips with challenges they encounter in the learning process (Anderson, 2008). Students should be required to generate individualized learning plans and portfolios that measure the progress they are making in the language course. These individual learning plans would serve as roadmaps that provide learners with some direction to follow as they grapple with language apprenticeship. What pedagogical implications do these ideas harbor for language instructors?
How could this information be utilized profitably by instructors and students? We opine that instructors form the habit of periodically reviewing students’ individualized learning plans in portfolios developed by students themselves. The onus is on instructors to help learners attain the goals they set for themselves during the initial stages of the language course. Using these documents during advising/counseling sessions would enable teachers to measure the amount of progress students are making. It would also make it possible for them to provide remedial help to students whenever the need arises.
6. Good language learners are critical thinkers
Critical thinking results in purposeful, reasoned, and goal-oriented learning. Learners who continually reflect upon the learning process become better prepared to make conscious decisions about their learning (O’Malley & Chamot, 1990). Adult learners are prone to the kind of learning that gets them involved in solving problems, formulating inferences and calculating likelihoods. What are the pedagogical implications for language instruction? How could this knowledge be integrated into curriculum design to help students learn better? Instructors should foster critical thinking in the language classroom by designing task-or problem-centered rather than content-centered curricula. Meta-cognition is a big term in language pedagogy; students have to be taught to think about thinking in the learning process.
7. Effective language learners tend to avoid the error trap in the learning process.
There is a clear distinction between mistakes (performance slips), and errors (evidence of learner’s incomplete language system), also called inter-language (Gass & Selinker, 2008).These researchers urge language instructors to make error analysis an integral part of instruction. As the nomenclature suggests, it is the type of linguistic analysis that focuses on the errors learners make in producing TL, unlike contrastive analysis which focuses on errors made by instructors. This has weighty pedagogical implications for language instruction given that instructors could tap into these concepts in a bid to render teaching relevant to learners.
Instructors need to create an expectation of positive feedback for learners to profit from the effects of error correction. Gass and Selinker (2008:102) suggest that “Errors should be taken as red flags; they provide windows onto a system that is, evidence of the state of a learner’s knowledge of the L2.” Errors are not to be viewed solely as a product of imperfect learning; rather they should be perceived as indications of learners’ attempt to figure out some system, that is, to impose regularity on the language they are exposed to. As such, errors are evidence of an underlying rule-governed system. Learners, on the other hand, should accept the fact that they will make mistakes in the language learning process. In sum, the practice of error correction should be used judiciously; it should be restricted to errors that are related to the pedagogic intent of the particular learning task. The decision to effect error correction or not should be linked to the focus of the learning event in which the error occurs. Roberts (1995) concludes that for corrective feedback to be effective, learners must both notice and understand the nature of the correction.
Conclusion
In a nutshell, the truth of the matter is that the best teachers and the best-structured language programs cannot possibly teach students everything they need to know to function as linguists. Succeeding as linguists depends on learners going beyond what teachers and programs offer them in the classroom. As this study lucidly illustrates, effective language learning is deemed to be a three-pronged enterprise involving trained teachers, well-structured programs and learners who know themselves well enough to be entrusted with the critical responsibility of directing their own learning.
Notes
[i] Adapted from notes on: Area Studies Content Area Final Learning Objectives for Basic Courses at DLLFLC, August 14, 2006.
Bibliography
Anderson, J. Neil, (2008). “Metacognition and Good Language Learners.”(ed.) Carol Griffiths. Lessons from Good Language Learners. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp.99-109.
Benson, P. (2000). Teaching and Researching Autonomy in Language Learning. London:Longman.
Bloom. B.S. (1956). Taxonomy of Educational Objectives. New York : David McKay Co. Inc.
Brown, Douglas H. (1994). Teaching by Principles: An Interactive Approach to Language Pedagogy. Englewood Cliffs: Paramount.
Dornyei, Z. (1994). “Motivation and Motivating in the Foreign Language Classroom.” The Modern Language Journal 78, 273-284.
----------------------- (.2006). Motivation, Language Attitudes and Globalization. Clevedon:Multilingual Matters Ltd.
Finbeiner, Claudia (2008). “Culture and Good Language Learners.” (ed.) Carol Griffiths. Lessons from Good Language Learners. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp.131-141.
Fuller. E. Graham. (1987).How to learn a Foreign Language. New York: Barnes and Noble.
Gass. M. Susan and Larry Selinker. (2008). Second Language Acquisition: An Introductory Course. New York: Routledge.
Griffiths, Carol. (2008). Lessons from Good Language Learners. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Knowles, S. Malcolm. (1990). Adult Learners: A Neglected Species. Houston:Gulf Pub. Co.
------------------------------ (1984). Andragogy in Action. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Omaggio, Alice H. (1993). Teaching Language in Context. Boston: Heinle & Heinle Publishers.
O’Malley, J.M. and A.U. Chamot. (1990). Learner Strategies in Second Language Acquisition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Oxford, Rebecca L. (1990). Language Learning Strategies: What Every Teacher Should Know. New York: Newbury House Publishers.
______________. (1999). Language Strategies in the Context of Autonomy, Synthesis of Findings from the International Invitational Conference on Learning Strategy Research. New York: Columbia University Press.
Reid, M.Joy. (1998). Understanding Learning Styles in the Second Language Classroom. Upper Saddle: Prentice Hall Regents.
Roberts, M. (1995). “Awareness and the Efficacy of Error Correction.” In R. Schmidt (ed.) Attention and Awareness in Foreign Language Learning (pp.163-182).
Soloman, A. Barbara and Richard M. Felder. (1988). “Index of Learning Styles Questionnaire.” Retrieved July 23, 2011 from http://www.engr.ncsu.edu/learningstyles/ilsweb.html
Bibliography
Anderson, J. Neil, (2008). “Metacognition and Good Language Learners.”(ed.) Carol Griffiths. Lessons from Good Language Learners. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp.99-109.
Benson, P. (2000). Teaching and Researching Autonomy in Language Learning. London:Longman.
Bloom. B.S. (1956). Taxonomy of Educational Objectives. New York : David McKay Co. Inc.
Brown, Douglas H. (1994). Teaching by Principles: An Interactive Approach to Language Pedagogy. Englewood Cliffs: Paramount.
Dornyei, Z. (1994). “Motivation and Motivating in the Foreign Language Classroom.” The Modern Language Journal 78, 273-284.
----------------------- (.2006). Motivation, Language Attitudes and Globalization. Clevedon:Multilingual Matters Ltd.
Finbeiner, Claudia (2008). “Culture and Good Language Learners.” (ed.) Carol Griffiths. Lessons from Good Language Learners. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp.131-141.
Fuller. E. Graham. (1987).How to learn a Foreign Language. New York: Barnes and Noble.
Gass. M. Susan and Larry Selinker. (2008). Second Language Acquisition: An Introductory Course. New York: Routledge.
Griffiths, Carol. (2008). Lessons from Good Language Learners. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Knowles, S. Malcolm. (1990). Adult Learners: A Neglected Species. Houston:Gulf Pub. Co.
------------------------------ (1984). Andragogy in Action. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Omaggio, Alice H. (1993). Teaching Language in Context. Boston: Heinle & Heinle Publishers.
O’Malley, J.M. and A.U. Chamot. (1990). Learner Strategies in Second Language Acquisition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Oxford, Rebecca L. (1990). Language Learning Strategies: What Every Teacher Should Know. New York: Newbury House Publishers.
______________. (1999). Language Strategies in the Context of Autonomy, Synthesis of Findings from the International Invitational Conference on Learning Strategy Research. New York: Columbia University Press.
Reid, M.Joy. (1998). Understanding Learning Styles in the Second Language Classroom. Upper Saddle: Prentice Hall Regents.
Roberts, M. (1995). “Awareness and the Efficacy of Error Correction.” In R. Schmidt (ed.) Attention and Awareness in Foreign Language Learning (pp.163-182).
Soloman, A. Barbara and Richard M. Felder. (1988). “Index of Learning Styles Questionnaire.” Retrieved July 23, 2011 from http://www.engr.ncsu.edu/learningstyles/ilsweb.html
Camfranglais—the Making of a New Language in the Cameroonian Francophone Novel
By Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Introduction
The contemporary Cameroonian novel of French expression exists at the interface of French as an imperial language and its many regional variants that transform fictional writing in Francophone Cameroon into hybrid literature. Linguistic hybridity compounds the reading of the Cameroonian novel. An incontrovertible manifestation of linguistic variance in postcolonial Cameroonian literature is the tendency on the part of writers to resort to modes of writing characterized by linguistic indigenization—an attempt to appropriate the language of the ex-colonizer. The Cameroonian novel has been described by literary critics as a multi-layered text engendered by a plurality of ‘voices’ and the multicultural contexts from where the text takes root(Bjornson, 1986,1991; Ashuntantang, 2009; Ambanasom, 2009, Vakunta, 2011) . Cameroonian novelists tend to create hybrid texts that demand of readers to be not just bilingual but also bicultural. Thus, these texts tend to be not only sites for the negotiation of cultural spaces but also loci where writers resort to linguistic appropriation in order to call into question some assumptions associated with colonialism, neo-colonialism, and imperialism. In this paper I contend that the contemporary Francophone Cameroonian novel cannot be read and critiqued using the same paradigms that are used in critiquing the hexagonal French novel, the more so because Cameroonian writers continually resort to indigenized forms of French for effective communication.
This paper provides responses to the following intriguing questions: What are some of the textual and extra-textual considerations that readers of the Cameroonian novel must reckon with in their attempt to comprehend the form and content of indigenous stories written in the language of the ex-colonizer—in our case French? What is the nature of the translation process that takes place in the writing of the Cameroonian novel? What analytical frameworks are suitable for reading and critiquing this kind of literature? There is no gainsaying the fact that recourse to the French language in writing indigenous literatures harbors problems of its own. Though developed to express and reflect European worldviews, imagination and sensibilities, Francophone Cameroonian writers tend to tinker with the French language in a bid to convey messages that seem at variance with its native traditions.
In this vein, these writers find themselves writing in a language they wish to deconstruct in order to make it bear the imprint of their socio-cultural realities. This task is accomplished through the technique of literary indigenization, a process that enables creative writers to transpose the imagination, worldview and cultural peculiarities of indigenous peoples into Metropolitan French. Arguing along similar lines, Chantal Zabus observes that the concept of indigenization translates “the writer’s attempt at textualizing linguistic differentiation and conveying African concepts, thought patterns and linguistic concepts through the ex-colonizer’s language” (23). Cameroonian writers tend to appropriate the French language by having recourse to discursive strategies that transgress the canons of metropolitan French—semantic shift, intra-lingual translation, loan translation, lexical interpolation, vernacular transcription, code-switching, and more.
The rationale for resorting to linguistic indigenization goes beyond the simple need to provide works of fiction with a cultural basis and esthetic value. Oftentimes, Cameroonian writers resort to appropriative techniques out of a dire need to communicate effectively as we will see in the literary analysis that follows. Here then is a literature whose writers depend heavily on translation as a mode of writing. The term “translation” should not be understood to refer to the inter-lingual communicative process of replacing a text in the source language by a lexically equivalent text in the target language. When Cameroonian novelists resort to translation as a literary device they do not act in the technical capacity of a text processor engaged in the simple conversion of words and sentences in the source text into equivalent words and sentences in the target language. To put this differently, writers do not simply take words in the indigenous language for which they look for equivalents in the French language. Writers who resort to translation as a creative writing canon seem to be involved in a conscious act of intra-lingual translation, a communicative process that enables them to transpose the worldview and imagination of native peoples into the French language.
In an attempt to shed light on the impact of Camfranglais on the Francophone Cameroonian novel, I selected a corpus comprising Mercédès Fouda’s Je parle camerounais (2001), Patrice Nganang’s Temps de chien (2001), and Gabriel Fonkou’s Moi Taximan (2001). Three reasons account for my choice of these texts. Firstly, all three novels are written in Camfranglais. Secondly, these novels constitute a watershed in the evolution of the Cameroonian Francophone novel since independence from France in 1960. Lastly, all three writers belong in the generation commonly referred to as ‘resistance’ writers. The publication of these texts marks the dawn of a new era characterized by writers’ inclination toward the subversion of French grammatical canons as the “Empire writes back” to borrow words from Aschroft et al (1989).
Fouda’s peculiar style of writing French is distinctive by her recourse to semantic shifts, vernacular transcriptions, phrasal restructuring and compounding. Linguistic indigenization fulfills the critical function of facilitating cross-cultural communication in her novel Je parle camerounais. She makes abundant use of Camfranglais[i] expressions in her attempt to transpose the modes of speech of Cameroonians into written French. An understanding of the contexts in which Camfranglais expressions and other Camerounsimes[ii] are used in Fouda’s novel would not only facilitate readers’ comprehension of the text but would also make it possible for literary critics and instructors to analyze appropriately the circumstances surrounding the crafting of the novel.
Fouda tends to spice her narrative with expressions that may be incomprehensible to people outside the closed circle of Camfranglais speakers as the following example shows: “Si depuis belle lurette vous vous démenez de-ci de-là sans trouver aucune occasion à saisir sur le plan matériel, vous pourrez toujours vous plaindre que le dehors est dur…” (5)[iii]. “Le dehors est dur” is a Cameroonianism that conveys the idea that times are tough. Loan words gleaned from Cameroonian culinary register are employed frequently in Je parle camerounais for the purpose of effective communication. When the central character, Marc, tells another character in the novel: “votre estomac vous lance des insultes” (9)[iv], he is insinuating that the interlocutor is terribly hungry and should go fetch some food to eat. Fouda draws readers’ attention to the fact that working class Cameroonians eat their lunch in makeshift open-air restaurants nicknamed ‘tournedos’ [roadside restaurants] erected on the sidewalk as seen in this excerpt: “Vous avez alors la possibilité d’aller manger au tournedos. Ne vous réjouissez pas trop vite! Vous n’irez que dans l’un de ces restaurants de plein air, faits de bancs et de tables assemblés, et où, tout bêtement, le client tourne le dos à la route!”(10)[v] ‘Tourne-dos’ has no equivalent in standard French because this reality does not exist in the French socio-cultural context. This cultural vacuum has to be filled by readers of Fouda’s novel by resorting to near-equivalents in metropolitan French.
By embedding Cameroonian modes of speech in standard French, this novelist distances herself from speakers of standard French by underscoring the ‘Africanness’ of the French she writes. Her text is replete with Cameroonian turns of phrase as this other example shows: “J’ai seulement un ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ et les ‘sans confiance’” (37)[vi]. A ‘papa-j’ai grandi’ is a pair of pants that appears too short or too small for the wearer because s/he has grown bigger. Cameroonians employ this Camfranglais expression as a form of mockery and as a reminder to the person wearing the pants that it is time to buy a new one. ‘Sans confiance’ is an expression used by Camanglophones to describe low quality rubber-made flipflops whose strings can snap without warning. The word formation technique called ‘compounding’ is another literary device employed judiciously by Fouda with the intent of transposing Cameroonian socio-cultural realities into the French language. She creates compound words by combining words from various native languages spoken in Cameroon. Examples include: “Mamie Koki” (10)[vii], “Mamie Ndolè” (10)[viii], and “Mamie Atchomo” (10)[ix]. The word “mamie” is the Pidgin equivalent of the standard French “mère”[x]. “Koki”, “ndolè”, and “atchomo” are local Cameroonian dishes cherished by Cameroonian youngsters.
Cameroonian youths often address older women as “mamie” as a gesture of respect due to age. In the commercial arena, this term is used in reference to a woman from whom a client buys food on a regular basis as the following excerpt shows: “Au tournedos, officie l’asso, diminutive flatteur de “associé (e), est cette personne chez qui vous faites régulièrement des achats et qui, lorsque c’est fort sur vous, vous fait manger un crédit…” (10)[xi] ‘Manger un crédit’ translates the standard French expression “acheter à crédit” [buy on credit]. It should be noted that the word ‘manger’ has been given a different signification in Fouda’s text. ‘Manger’ (to eat) could be translated as “acheter” (to buy) in this context. Semantic re-construction is a literary device used dexteriously by Fouda for the purpose of communicative effectiveness. However, literature instructors and literary critics have to pay particular attention to these newly minted words because they do harbor latent meanings.
In Je parle camerounais, Fouda deliberately endows the French language with a local flavor and esthetic as the following example illustrates: “Attisé ainsi, vous seriez ridicule, et Max a bien raison une fois de plus de montrer ses ‘attrape-manioc’: il se moque gentiment de vous.” (36)[xii]. This statement harbors some cultural undertones. Les “attrape-manioc” is a metaphorical expression used in reference to human teeth. This neologism derives from the fact the staple food of Fouda’s people is manioc (cassava). ‘Attraper le manioc avec les dents’ is to ‘eat a meal of cassava’. This sort of language usage lends credibility to the fact that the French language in Fouda’s novel has been doctored to reflect Cameroonian socio-cultural realities. A foreigner reading this novel for recreational or pedagogical purposes is likely to draw a blank on account of the preponderance of Cameroonianisms—speech patterns and lexical manipulations in the narrative.
By indigenizing standard French the way she does in her novel, Fouda distances herself from the sacrosanct canons of Metropolitan French. She underscores the importance of the dialectal form of the French she uses in creative writing. Her text is replete with Cameroonian turns of phrase.
Fouda does not stop at lexical manipulation; she imprints her work with African imagination as seen in the following examples: “Et puis vous n’aimez pas les papayes, filles à la peau-cratère décolorée tirant sur l’orange, vous préférez le cirage, les noires à la peau luisante” (63).[xiii] The word “papaye” (papaya or pawpaw) is used here to describe an African girl who has made abortive attempts to lighten her skin color by using bleaching creams. Such unsuccessful attempts often result in a complexion that is half-white and half-black. For want of a better word, Francophone Cameroonians refer to this sort of complexion as “peau papaye” [papaya skin]. This sort of stretched imagination is evident in the following statement: “De trop larges débats, qui qualifient les gros derrières, et par extension les grosses personnes, puisque si l’on doit discuter en fonction des mensurations, on ne saurait rapidement faire le tour des grosses corpulences” (63)[xiv]
These examples lend credibility to theory according to which Europhone Cameroonian creative writing is hybrid literature underpinned by the transposition of indigenous worldview and imagination into the written word. Of extreme importance to Fouda in the writing of her novel is the transposition of indigenous thought patterns and African imagination into French. Irele notes that the term “African imagination” should be taken as “referring to a conjunction of impulses that have been given a unified expression in a body of literary texts” (The African Imagination, 4). From these impulses, grounded in both common experience and in shared cultural references Cameroonian literary texts have come to assume a particular significance.
Fouda’s Je parle camerounais is only one out of many Cameroonian ‘new’ novels written against the backdrop of linguistic innovation. Temps de chien (2001) by Patrice Nganang is another classic example of postcolonial Cameroonian works of fiction in which the writer takes liberties with the language of the former colonial master. In Temps de chien, Nganang makes judicious use of the technique of code-switching as a narrative canon. The novelist addresses the problematic of language choice in Francophone Cameroonian literature. He teases out the space between his mother tongue and what he writes in a “loan” language—in our case French. In his attempt to transpose the speech mannerisms of Cameroonians into the written word, Nganang Cameroonizes the French language by having recourse to by resorting to code-switching.
Temps de chien is written in several codes—French, Pidgin English, Camfranglais and numerous indigenous languages. It is a text in which street-talk, known as “Kam-Tok”, “Camspeak” or “Majunga Talk” (Ze Amvela, 56) blends freely with conventional French to produce a new slang whose effect on the reader is both exhilarating and enriching. My reading of Temps de chien focuses on how the novelist employs the technique of linguistic innovation as a narrative device and as a tool of resistance as seen in this example: “Ma woman no fit chasser me for ma long dis-donc! Après tout, ma long na ma long!”(80). The translator did a laudable job of translating this urban slang into English as follows: “My woman can’t throw me out of my house, I tell you! After all, my house is my house!”(208) The signifier “long” translates the concept of “home” in Cameroonian French.
Nganang resorts to the technique of lexical transposition in order to translate the speech mannerisms and thought patterns of Cameroonians into French as seen in the following passage: “La voix d’un lycéen lui disait: comme d’habitude, Mama Mado. Et ma maîtresse connaissait son goût. La voix d’un autre exigeait, put oya soté, for jazz must do sous-marin.” (84)[xv]. The term “oya” translates the English word “oil”. In this statement, Nganang makes reference to oil used in cooking. “Jazz” is a slang term for “beans”, and “jazz sous-marin” could be translated as “beans submerged in cooking oil”. Cameroonians use this expression to describe the sonorous trumpet-like sound that one’s stomach would make if one were imprudent enough to eat badly cooked beans. These examples serve to underscore the fact that Temps de chien is a novel that exists at the interface of French as a hegemonic language and its Cameroonian regional variant. At the same time, it is a text in which occidental and indigenous cultures jostle for space as this passage clearly shows: Il frappa ses mains et dit: c’est du ndoutou, dis donc. Elle veut me gâter la journée”(205).[xvi] It should be noted that the term “ndoutou” carries cultural significations. “Ndoutou” is worse than back luck. In Cameroonian discourse this word carries a deeper signification than ill-luck. “Ndoutou” is a mishap that is likely to ruin one’s entire day. There is a myth among Cameroonians according to which one misfortune begets another. For instance, a market woman would tell her first customer to not cause her “ndoutou” if the customer drove too hard a bargain. The reason is that these women believe that the first customer sets the pace for the day. Clearly, linguistic/cultural hybridity is the hallmark of Nganang’s Temps de chien. The same could be said of Gabriel Fonkou’s Moi Taximan.
Moi Taximan is replete with French words that have undergone semantic transformation as seen in the following excerpt: “Je ne mangeais chez moi que le soir, sauf les jours où je me faisais aider par un ‘attaquant’…afin de me reposer un peu” (18).[xvii] The narrator employs the word ‘attaquant’ to describe a taxi driver who not only works overtime but is often aggressive and prone to road rage. The following example further illustrates the fact that Fonkou is straddling the divide between Metropolitan French and its Cameroonian variant: “On sortait de l’opération avec un plus grand sourire si, en plus, les passagers longue distance avaient ‘proposé’…” (8)[xviii] A little further, the narrator sheds ample light on the signification of the word ‘proposé’: “… payer plus cher que le tarif normal” (8)[xix]. Fonkou’s language appropriation technique enables him to shed light on the mindset of his characters: “Entre deux clients, Justine et sa mère participaient activement à l’entretien de la chaude ambiance du secteur des ‘bayam sellam’: potins, querelles simulées, plaisanteries et fausses confidences bruyantes y provoquaient de gros éclats de rire.” (131)[xx]. The term ‘Bayam sellam’, is derived from Cameroonian Creole, also called Pidgin English. Literally, it means “buy” and “sell”. It is used in this novel to describe market women whom the protagonist describes as “des revendeuses, cette catégorie de commerçantes aggressives sans lesquelles nos marchés perdraient leur âme” (130)[xxi]. ‘Bayam sellam’ trade is a vital economic activity in the informal sector born out of dire need (the struggle to improve the livelihood of individuals and families).Some lexical items in Moi Taximan are culled from the English language. They are familiar words that have been endowed with new significations as this example indicates: “Au bout de la journée le plus souvent chacun de nous affichait un sourire de contentement et nous nous quittions à la nuit tombante sur de vigoureuses poignées de mains prolongées par un ‘toss’…”(13)[xxii].
Fonkou’s protagonist defines the term “toss” as “salut du bout des pouces et des majeurs entrecroisés puis séparés dans un vif frottement sonore” (13)[xxiii]. The English language has enriched Cameroonian literature of French expression as seen in the following statement: “La journée d’hier a été djidja” (19)[xxiv]. ‘Djidja’, loanword from Pidgin English, derives from the English word “ginger”. Camanglophones use this culinary term to describe a difficult situation comparable to what hexagonal French speakers would describe as “une mer à boire” [an uphill task]. From the pedagogical perspective, this sort of linguistic jugglery does not make matters easy for instructors who have to devise appropriate paradigms and learning tasks for pedagogical purposes.
Oftentimes, Fonkou draws attention to ethnic diversity and its ramifications on Cameroonian fictional writing as this example illustrates: “Je ne sais rien, espèce de Bami” (24)[xxv]. ‘Bami’ is a truncated form of the word ‘Bamileke’, a reference to an ethnic group in Cameroon perceived by most Cameroonians as leeches on account for their ruthless money-mongering and resourceful mindset. Used the way Fonkou does in his text, this term harbors derogatory undertones. As these examples illustrate, lexical manipulation is a literary technique utilized by Fonkou ingeniously to convey contextualized messages and significations. He uses words and expressions that portray the lens through which his characters perceive social reality. The novelist makes a clever use of the technique of linguistic innovation to portray both the impact of socio-cultural realities on creative writing and the factors that determine language choice in Cameroonian fictional writing.
Fonkou mixes languages purposefully in a bid to underscore the multicultural and multilingual contexts in which his text was written as this passage illustrates: “La plus grosse surprise se situa le dimanche où la réunion des femmes de mon village vint laver l’enfant” (186).[xxvi] ‘Laver l’enfant’ is a native tongue expression that describes the cultural ritual during which the birth of a baby is celebrated by family members. In the novelist’s native tongue, this ritual is called “le yaal, à la fois danse et chants pour célébrer la naissance de l’enfant” (187)[xxvii]. The need to possess both translingual and transcultural competencies in order to successfully comprehend and critique this novel is made all the more evident through the use of culture-specific words and expressions to portray indigenous mores as seen in the examples discussed above.
The beauty of indigenization of language as a tool of literary creativity is the fact that it cuts across the Francophone/Anglophone linguistic divide in Cameroon. In his collection of short stories titled Stories from Abakwa (2007), Anglophone storyteller, Francis B. Nyamnjoh, makes abundant use of linguistic engineering as a narrative device. The writer does more than simply re-write the events that characterize the day-to-day lives of the inhabitants of his native land, Cameroon. What strikes the reader the most in this anthology of short stories is the code-switching of which the author avails himself. Camfranglais—the novel slang that does not only baffle the protagonist, Fineboy Ayuk, but also causes his demise, is the hallmark of Nyamnjoh’s narrative technique in all the stories contained in his anthology as seen in the following passage:
“Montre-moi vos pièces!” The taller of the officers startled the inattentive old man when he came up to where they stood. Fineboy Ayuk failed to understand him, and confessed.
“I no di hear Kampha talk sah.”
“Who di parlez Kampha talk avec toi? I no want nonsense you hear?” The very officer replied full of bile and pulling his ear demonstratively.
“Sorry sah if I don tonton talk bad talk. But I no di hear dat talk you talk so,” Fineboy pleaded with humility.
“Arrêtez-lui…Arrêtez le fainéant. Search-am fine fine,” the officer shouted to his counterpart. (86–87)[xxviii]
These stories are a remarkable depiction of the linguistic hybridity that characterizes daily discourses in Mimboland, a fictional country that could easily represent Nyamnjoh’s home land, Cameroon. As is the case with the other works discussed in this study, the theme of Nyamnjoh’s short stories is Camfranglais, a novel slang in postcolonial Cameroonian literature. Language-mixing is perhaps one of the most effective strategies of linguistic appropriation at the disposal of fiction writers in Cameroon. It enables them to make the European language bear the weight of an indigenous cultural experience. By inscribing Camfranglais and pidgin into his text Nyamnjoh succeeds in underscoring the linguistic plurality characterizes creative writing in Cameroon in the wake of independence. The juxtaposition of several codes in his stories is indicative of the fact that Nyamnjoh’s book mirrors the linguistic landscape in Cameroon—a country where 236 native tongues jostle for space with two European languages (English and French). It also reveals the fact that this Cameroonian writer is able to hold onto his cultural roots even when he writes in a borrowed tongue.
As the excerpts above indicate, Cameroonian fiction writers tend to acknowledge the importance of linguistic hybridity in daily communication by transposing Camfranglais and other creolized lingos into literature. Code-switching is perhaps one of the most effective strategies of linguistic appropriation at the disposal of the creative writers whose texts we have discussed in this study. Recourse to language mixing enables them to create an interface between indigenous and imperial languages in creative writing. By inscribing Camfranglais and Cameroonian Pidgin into their texts these writers succeed in showing that the socio- economic dichotomies created by colonialism have remained in postcolonial Cameroon.
If up to a certain point fiction writers have to re-invent their own language of communication, the situation of Cameroonian Francophone writers residing out of the metropolis is peculiar in that for them, French is an occasion for constant mutations and modifications. Engaged as they are, in the game of language, these writers have to ‘manufacture’ their own language of fiction in a multilingual context often affected by signs of polyglossia. The Cameroonian contemporary novel exists at the crossroads of languages and cultures. An incontrovertible evidence of alterity in this new form of literature is the emergence of modes of writing distinctive by nonconformity to linguistic canons. In his text The Francophone African Text: Translation and the Postcolonial Experience (2006), Gyasi observes that Francophone fiction writers create French that is in consonance with the new African environment and the characters that live in it….” (77). He describes this inclination on the part of writers as an act of defiance. As the foregoing analysis suggests, emerging Cameroonian novels of French expression qualify to be categorized as hybrid texts engendered by a plurality of ‘voices. Cameroonian fiction writers create multi-faceted texts that demand of readers to be both multilingual and multicultural in order to be able to decipher the latent textual significations. The corpus of texts examined in this paper functions as sites of cultural and linguistic negotiation.
The question that begs to be asked at this juncture is why it is critical for instructors of Cameroonian Francophone novels to be conversant with the evolutionary trends inherent in these texts? The intent of this paper has not been to simply provide you with a plethora of modes of writing that exists in Cameroonian literature. The purpose of this research has been to make professors of Cameroonian literature reflect on the nature of the texts they are tasked to teach, and develop pedagogical paradigms that are suitable for teaching such a literature. I maintain that knowledge of the French language alone will not suffice to do justice to the teaching of the novels discussed in this paper. Linguistic innovation has ramifications on the pedagogy of the Cameroonian Francophone novel.
Pedagogical Implications of Indigenization of Language as a Literary Canon
Instructors of Cameroonian Francophone novels cannot but be like the texts they teach—at once bilingual and bicultural. Given the polytonality and multi-cultural composition of novels written by Cameroonians, it is incumbent on instructors to conceive appropriate literary models for teaching these texts. Undeniably, the texts in the corpus analyzed in this paper call for multifaceted instructional frameworks. I will discuss three such models here on account of their suitability for teaching the contemporary Francophone Cameroonian novel.
Critical Thinking Culture-Based Model
The critical-thinking culture-based instructional model is based on Bloom’s Taxonomy (1956) of textual analysis. To effectively unravel the holistic meaning embedded in the essential elements of information (EEI’s) contained in a source text, Bloom argues, instructors need to create learning tasks that enable learners to interact with texts at six different cognitive levels: Evaluation (making value decisions about issues, resolving controversies, assessing theories, composing ideas, evaluating outcomes); Synthesis (creating a unique original product that may be in verbal form or a combination of ideas to form a new whole, using old concepts to create new ones); Analysis (organizing ideas and recognizing trends, finding the underlying structure of communication, identifying motives); Application (using and applying knowledge, problem-solving, use of facts and principles); Comprehension ( interpreting, translating from one medium to the other, demonstrating, summarizing, discussing the signifier and signified); Knowledge (recall of information, discovery, and observation). Bloom’s Taxonomy is particularly suitable for critiquing Francophone Cameroonian novels on account of the multi-layered nature of the texts.
The theory of hermeneutics (or exegesis) propounded by Schleiermacher (1998) underscores the importance of interpreting, not only the latent (hidden) meanings embedded in a literary text but also the situational dimensions that constitute the matrix in which the text was written.
Schleiermacher further underscores the need to use the hermeneutic circle in the process of literary analysis in a bid to unravel the significations contained in the deep structure of a literary text. The hermeneutic circle facilitates the analysis of literary texts by enabling readers to come to grips with the fact that one's understanding of the text as a whole is established by reference to the individual parts. Schleiermacher further notes that neither the whole text nor any individual part can be understood without reference to other parts, and hence, it is a circle. The circularity inherent in the theory of hermeneutics carries the implication that the meaning of a text is to be found within its cultural, historical, and literary contexts that constitute the matrix within which the texts were written. This model is germane for the analysis and teaching of the contemporary Cameroonian novel given that it is anchored on a cultural matrix.
Styles-and Strategies-Based Instruction (SSBI)
Cohen and Weaver (2006) originated the concept of Styles-and Strategies-Based Instructional model as a framework for teaching foreign languages and literatures. The Styles-and Strategies-Based Instructional model is suitable for teaching literatures written in foreign languages. This is because the framework is based on the theory of scaffolding, a concept that stems from the idea that at the beginning of the learning process, learners need a great deal of support; gradually, this support is taken away to allow students to develop a sense of independence. This is what Cohen and Weaver described as the gradual release of responsibility. Other facets of the model include: modelling, cooperative learning, activation of prior knowledge, student learning choices and self-initiated learning. The Styles-and Strategies-Based Instructional model is a learner-focused approach that explicitly encourages the creation of a blend of high-order and low-order learning tasks for learning in the classroom. This model places emphasis on specific learning tasks that enable instructors to align student learning style preferences with teaching modalities. In short, the Styles-and Strategies-Based Instructional model would render the reading and teaching of the Francophone Cameroonian novel less painstaking due to its emphasis on self-initiated learning.
Conclusion
In sum, by revisiting seminal novels written by Fouda, Nganang, and Fonkou, we sought to substantiate the thesis according to which Cameroonian novels of French expression are, in essence, hybrid texts that defy superficial reading. Literary indigenization is not an oddity; rather is a timely response to the need for new ways of writing postcolonial literature. Teachers of Francophone novels from Cameroon cannot continue to teach these texts using the same models that were used in teaching metropolitan French novels like Madame Bovary (Flaubert, 1971); Le rouge et le noir (Stendhal, 1972); Germinal (Zola,1959); L’immoraliste (Gide,1902 ); La jalousie (Robbe-Grillet,1957); Planétarium (Sarraute,1959) and so on.
Whether the novelists included in our corpus have achieved the goal of de-Europeanizing their novels or not is a question that falls beyond the scope of this paper. Literary scholars like Ngugi wa Thiong’o have argued that to qualify as indigenous, African literatures have to be written in native languages. He further points out that “Literature written by Africans in European languages…can only be termed Afro-European literature; that is, literature written by Africans in European languages” (27). Much as we salute the success of Fouda, Nganang, and Fonkou in imprinting their texts with the worldview, imagination, speech mannerisms, and cultural peculiarities of indigenous peoples, we cannot lose sight of the fact the core of these texts is written in French, a European language. In spite of the impressive linguistic innovations inherent in the novels examined, they are still essentially French language novels. For these writers, French is a necessary evil with which they must come to terms.
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Notes
[i] Camfranglais is a “composite language consciously developed by secondary school pupils who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages”(Kouega, 23)
[ii] Cameroonianisms
[iii] If you have been searching here and there in vain for a job to make ends meet, you could always complain that times are tough.[iii]
[iv] Your stomach is shouting insults at you.
[v] You now have the opportunity to go eat in a roadside restaurant. Don’t be too excited! You will go to one of these makeshift restaurants in the open air, where benches and tables are assembled for clients to sit and sheepishly turn their backs to the street!
[vi] I only have a ‘Papa-I-have-grown-up and a pair of ‘sans kong’
[vii] Mama Koki
[viii] Mama Ndolè
[ix] Mama Atchomo
[x] Mother
[xi]At the roadside restaurant, you’d find the asso, term of flattery that describes the woman from whom you buy food regularly, and who would allow you eat on credit when times are tough.
[xii] Dressed up in this manner, you’d look ludicrous, and Max, once again, would have cause to expose his ‘cassava-traps’. He’s discreetly making fun of you.
[xiii] ) Besides, you don’t like papaya, girls with cratered orange-like complexion; you prefer shoe polish, those with shiny black skin.
[xiv] Extremely big debates, term used to describe huge buttocks, and by extension chunky people, since it would be a difficult task to quickly measure the dimensions of these persons.
[xv] A student’s voice would say, the usual, Mama Mado, and my mistress knew just what he wanted. Another’s voice would order, put oya soté, for jazz must do sous-marin] (Dog Days, 57).
[xvi] [He clapped his hands and said, “It’s just ndoutou, I tell you, bad luck. She wants to ruin my day”] (Dog Days, 142).
[xvii] I only ate at home in the evening, except on days when I had asked an ‘attacker’ to replace me so that I could have some rest.
[xviii] At the end of the day, we returned home with a big smile if, in addition to the normal fare, long-distance commuters had proposed.
[xx] Between two customers, Justine and her mother took part in the heated discussions that animated the ‘bayam sellam’ section of the martket: gossip, fake quarrels, jokes and noisy false pretenses that caused outbursts of laughter.
[xxi] Retail traders, this category of aggressive market women without whom our markets would lose their vivacity.
[xxii]More often than not, at the end of the day, each one of us wore a smile of satisfaction as we parted at nightfall, vigorously shaking hands and saying ‘toss’.
[xxiii] Handshake with the tips of the thumb and middle-fingers intertwined, followed by a quick separation and loud sound.
[xxvi] The biggest surprise came on a Sunday, the day when the association of women from my village came to wash the baby.
[xxviii] “Show me your identification papers!’ The taller of the two officers said, startling the inattentive old man when he came up to where they stood. Fineboy Ayuk did not understand him and confessed:
“I don’t understand Kampha language, sir.”
“Who is speaking Kampha language to you? I don’t want to hear nonsense from you, do you understand?” the very officer replied full of bile and pulling his ear demonstratively.
“I am sorry sir, if I have inadvertently said something offensive. But I don’t understand the language you are speaking,” Fineboy pleaded with humility.
“Arrest him…Arrest the idler. Search him thoroughly,” the officer shouted to his counterpart.
Revisiting Emily Thompson’s MA Thesis on the Cameroonian Postcolonial Novel
By Dr. Peter Vakunta
In a 59-page document titled “Nation and Identity: Post-colonial Aspects of the Cameroonian Novel” prepared in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the award of a Master’s degree in literature at the Masaryk University in the Czech Republic, Ms. Emily Thompson embarks on the breathtaking trajectory of unraveling the nexus between historicity, colonial legacy, linguistics and ethnic nationalisms, as well as the ramifications of all these for literary creativity in postcolonial Cameroon. To accomplish this mammoth task, Thompson selects a corpus of five novels written by Anglophone and Francophone Cameroonians: Taboo Love (Ngongwikuo, 1980), The White Man of God (Jumbam, 1980), A Nose for Money (Nyamnjoh, 2006), Les chauves-souris (Nanga, 1980), C’est le soleil qui m'a brûlée (Beyala, 1987) and Triple Agent Double Cross (Tisi, 2002).
Thompson provides no rationale for selecting these particular novels which not only belong in different socio-linguistic molds (French and English) but are also separated by a time-span of twenty years (three novels written in the 80’s one written in 2002 and another in 2006). She simply states:
In this work I have chosen to consider the following novels: A Nose for Money (2006) by Francis Nyamnjoh, 2006), The White Man of God (1980) by Jumbam,Taboo Love (1980) by Joseph Ngongwikuo, Triple Agent Double Cross (2002) by Janvier Tisi Les chauves-souris (1980) by Bernard Nanga, and C'est le soleil qui m'a brûlée (1987)by Calixte Beyala. Translations of all sources are my own work and can be found immediately following the quotes in the footnotes (1).
The importance of rationalizing her choice of novels might have eluded Thompson. However, it is my conviction that being apprised of her motivations for choosing these novels out of hundreds of equally interesting novels written by Cameroonians on both sides of the Mungo would have shed ample light on the relevance of these texts to the ambit of her research. On this count the researcher ‘sins’ by omission. Given the scope of her project and time constraints, Thompson should have taken the sagacious decision of analyzing fewer novels in-depth to drive her point home rather than embrace several texts and provide a rather superficial critical analysis.
Literature review is conspicuously absent from Thompson’s work. After the introduction (chapter one), readers expect to read a literature review, a synopsis of the theoretical foundations that underpin Thompson’s research problem and methodology surprisingly, she delves head-on into a reading of the novels. Here is how she introduces Chapter Two: “Chapter two compares the use of authenticity discourse and mimicry in two novels, The White Man of God (1980) by Kenjo Jumbam and Taboo Love (1980) by Joseph Anchangnayuouh Ngongwikuo as a call to resistance to European hegemony”(2). She then proceeds to pad her work with historical minutiae that does not disambiguate her unsubstantiated stance on this issue.
Further, she broaches the critical question of language choice in African literature when she observes that “Most Cameroonian writers have opted to write in either French or English, substituting words from indigenous languages where adequate expressions were absent in the colonial language”(8). A succinct literature review would have come in handy here. By not adumbrating the contradistinctive views expressed by Ngugi wa Thiong’o and Chinua Achebe on the problematic use of European languages in writing African literature, Thompson’s work appears slanted, the moreso because Ngugi has argued repeatedly that to qualify as African, African literature has to be written in indigenous languages. He posits: “Literature written by Africans in European languages… can only be termed Afro-European literature; that is, the literature written by Africans in European languages” (Deocolonizing the Mind, 27).On the other hand, Achebe maintains:
I feel that the English language will be able to carry the weight of my African experience. But it will have to be new English, still in full communion with its ancestral home but altered to suits its new African surroundings. (Morning yet, 62)
It is imperative to point out that Ngugi and Achebe do not share the same views as regards the use of European languages as media for the writing of African literature. This sort of comparative analysis would have enabled Thompson to argue her case more powerfully and convincingly.
It must be borne in mind that language choice in African literature is an identity marker in itself. When writers give pride of place to indigenous languages over imperial languages or resort to indigenized forms of colonial languages (Camfranglais in Cameroon, Nouchi in Cote d’Ivoire, Creole in the Caribbean and so on) as opposed to metropolitan versions of the ex-colonizer’s language, that choice in itself constitutes cultural nationalism. It is in this light that Ashcroft et al contend in The Empire Writes Back (1989) that colonized peoples respond to colonial legacy by writing back to the imperial center from the empire. This comes about as indigenous peoples begin to write their own histories, their own literatures, using the ex-colonizer’s language.
An illuminating approach to the study of the Cameroonian postcolonial novel could be derived from the works of Franz Fanon (1959, 1961, and 1967) and Albert Memmi (1965). These writers locate the principal tenet of postcolonial African literature in the imperial/colonial dialectics. In the process of indigenization, language is adopted and utilized in various ways to express widely differing cultural experiences, for in one sense, all postcolonial literatures are cross-cultural given that they negotiate a space between two different cultural spheres.
It is hard to imagine why Thompson did not see the need for a literature review that would have enlightened her on the theories that undergird literary interpretation in the African context. In his discussion on the nexus between Nation and Narrative, Homi K. Bhabha (1990) provides a succinct analysis of the interface between resistance and the notion of the third space in postcolonial literatures. As he puts it, “The process of cultural hybridity gives rise to something different, something new and unrecognizable, a new area of negotiation of meaning and representation” (211). A reading of seminal theoretical works like Quayson’s Post-colonialism: Theory, Practice or Process? (2000), Obiechina’s Culture,Tradition and Society in the West (1982), Ngugi, wa Thiong’o’sDecolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Language in African (1986), and Irele’s The African Experience in Literature and Ideology(1981), The African Imagination: Literature in Africa and the Black Diaspora (2001), Recasting the World: Writing after Colonialism (1993) by White, Jonathan and The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays(1981) by Bakhtin, Mikhail would have provided Thompson with a sturdy theoretical framework on which to base her exegesis. These works discuss, among other things, the theme of mimicry and linguistic appropriation in the postcolonial novel which Thompson tackles superficially in her study (13-24).Without this theoretical matrix, her work lacks credibility.
In chapter 3 of her work titled:“Literary Orality: Reification or Resistance” (25-29) she attempts to establish an interface between oral traditions and the contemporary Cameroonian novel. True to herself, she does not fall back on works written by Africans to buttress her thesis. Rather she resorts to Hellenistic theories like those contained in Walter Ong’s Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (1988). I am not discounting the relevance of the postulations made by Ong with regard to the orality-literacy continuum in the novelistic genre. In fact, Ong is credited for being an authoritative voice in this domain of literary studies.
However, this does not make his theories applicable to African Literature, much less Cameroonian literature. Had she read works like African Oral Literature: Backgrounds, Character and Continuity (1992) by Isidore Okpewho, “A Review of African Oral Traditions and Literature” in African Studies Review 28.2-3 (1985): 1-72 by Harold Scheub, “Transition from Oral to Literary Tradition” by Emmanuel Obiechina, in Présence Africaine 63.3 (1967):140-161, and Ruth Finnegan’s Oral and Beyond: Doing Things with Words in Africa (2007), it would have dawned on her that the contemporary Cameroonian novel is indeed an offshoot of the traditional oral tale.
The fact that the Cameroonian novel exists as an interface between orality and literacy is a given and should have been made abundantly clear in Thompson’s work. An intelligible discussion of orality is crucial to her project given that it upholds the view according to which creative writing in Africa is not simply a matter of drawing upon material from the folklore, but essentially of representing such material through the medium of writing, in order to give new expression to forms that already exist in indigenous languages. The predominance of oral traditions as a shaping medium is a determinant in the process through which such material is recreated and brought to a new mode of existence through writing.
In chapter 6 (46-52) Thompson endeavors to shed light on the concept of “African palimpsest” but fails to provide a credible working definition for this important component of Cameroonian literature. A reading of insightful theoretical works on this subject would have been Thompson’s point of departure. In her book titledThe African Palimpsest: Indigenization of Language in the West African Europhone Novel (1991) Chantal Zabus provides an in-depth discussion of this concept. She defines the African palimpsest is as “the writer’s attempt at textualizing linguistic differentiation and conveying African concepts, thought patterns and linguistic concepts through the ex-colonizer’s language” (23). Another book that discusses this notion at length is Gerard Genette’s Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree (1982).
As far as the mechanics of writing go, Thompson’ work leaves much to be desired. Her work lacks coherence. There are no seamless transitions between chapters. A careful reading of the work leaves one with the sore impression that the chapters are disjointed entities held together by some invisible hooks and threads. A thesis is supposed to read seamlessly. The pages are not fraught with grammatical incongruities and orthographical bloopers but I did sport some on pages,14,15,16,18, 29,31,35, 45,47,49,50,52,55, 56, and 59.
In a nutshell, suffice it to say that Thompson’s research is not all grime and gloom. She did a laudable job of providing a socio-cultural basis for her analysis of the five novels she chose as corpus. My take-away after reading this work is that Thompson was hard pressed for time and had to put together some wishy-washy stuff just to obtain her diploma. Now that it is a done deal, I hope that she will revert and apply her mind to this very important aspect of Cameroonian literature for the sake of posterity.
About the authorDr. Vakunta is Professor at the United States Department of Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California. He specializes in postcolonial literatures of Africa and the Caribbean. He has authored several books including, Indigenization of Language in the Francophone Novel: A New Literary Canon (2010), Cry my beloved Africa (2008), Ntarikon (2007), and more. He runs a blog at http://www.vakunta.blogspot.com/
Works cited
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Aschcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths, Helen Tiffin. Eds. The Empire Writes Back:
Theory and Practice in Post-colonial Literatures. London and New
York: Routledge, 1989.
Bakhtin, Mikhail. Esthétique et théorie du roman. Trans. Daria Olivier.
Paris: Gallimard, 1978.
____________.The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Trans. Caryl
Emerson and Michael Holquist. Austin: University of Texas Press,
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Beyala, Calixte. C'est le soleil qui m'a brûlée.Paris: Editions J’ai lu, 1987.
Bhabha, Homi K. Nation and Narration. London: Routledge, 1990.
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Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth. Trans.Constance Farrington.
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Finnegan, Ruth H. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Clarendon, 1970.
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_____________. Oral Poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977.
_____________. The Oral and beyond: Doing Things with Words in Africa. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007.
Genette, Gerard. Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree. Trans.
Channa Newman and Claude Doubinsky. Lincoln: University of
Nebraska Press, 1982.
Irele, Abiola. The African Experience in Literature and Ideology. London:
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Jumbam, Kenjo. The White Man of God. Oxford: Heinemann, 1980.
Memmi, Albert. Portrait du colonisé, précédé du portrait du colonisateur.
Paris: Bucket/Chastel, 1957.
Nanga, Bernard. Les chauves-souris. Paris: Presence Africaine, 1980.
Ngongwikuo, Joseph, A. Taboo Love. Hicksville: Exposition, 1980.
Ngugi, wa Thiong’o. Homecoming: Essays on African and Caribbean
Literature, Culture and Politics. New York: Lawrence Hill and Co.,
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Nyamnjoh,Francis. A Nose for Money. Nairobi: East African publishing,
2006.
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Présence Africaine 63.3 (1967): 140-161.
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West African Europhone Novel. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1991.
Toward a Multidimensional Paradigm for Teaching
Operational Francophone Culture in Higher Education
By Dr. Peter Wuteh Vakunta
Introduction
The term Francophonie is a label that has been used to describe the international organization of fifty-six (56) member-states where French is used as an official language. These include Francophone countries in Europe, the Caribbean, Africa, North America, the Pacific Islands (including French Polynesian Islands such as Tahiti, Iles Marquises) New Caledonia, and the Australian Continent (including French territories North East of Australia and Vanuatu). It bears underscoring the fact that Francophonie is a not a monolith. To put this differently, Francophone culture is not an organized whole that acts as a single unified structure. Much to the chagrin of the Académie Française or the French academy (the 40-member body that was created in 1635 to monitor the purity of French language and culture), Francophonie has become a rather multifaceted heterogeneous hydra with many tentacles. In other words, the imperial culture inherited from the Hexagon has undergone sustained indigenization and appropriation to the extent that Francophone cultures out of Metropolis have acquired local colorations and flavors; in short, they have been endowed with local specificities.
Each Francophone regional culture has an identity distinguishable from other Francophone cultures. The reason for these contradistinctions is that each post-colony has indigenous languages and cultures that tend to adulterate the imperial language inherited from France. Cultural indigenization has engendered discourses on the dynamics between Cultural Universalism and Cultural Relativism within the Francophone mold. The concept of cultural relativism is a hot potato that I will not delve at this juncture considering the scope of this paper. What I would like to do during the10 minutes that I have is discuss four examples of cultural appropriations prevalent in the Francophone world. Hopefully, this would give you an idea of what cultural appropriation entails within the context of Francophonie. I will further discuss three pedagogical paradigms that I have found particularly germane in teaching Francophone cultures. Hopefully, DLI instructors some of my points useful and would adopt them in the development of their own operational culture courses.
- Antillanité or Caribbean Identity
Antillanité (Caribbean Identity) is a literary/cultural movement that saw the light of day in the 1960s in the West Indies. It stresses a rethinking of the concept of the Caribbean Identity within the backdrop of the multiplicity of ethnic and cultural identities that exist in the Caribbean. Antillanité underscores the notion of Caribbean Cultural Specificity (spécificité antillaise) derived from the ertswhile concept of Negritude, a cultural revalorization movement that started in France in the early 1930s focusing on of black culture, black consciousness and black personality .So what makes Antillanité distinct from other Francophone cultures? Antillanité differs markedly from other cultural movements is in its conception of alterity or (Otherness), Edouard Glissant calls le divers. Glissant, a well-known proponent of this school of thought argues that Negritude was monolithic, being essentially African in character. In his view, Antillanité should look both inwards, and outwards, towards the Caribbean and Meso-America as a whole, in its quest for self-invention from which proponents conceive identity as an archipelago of signifiers, none of which enjoys primacy over the others and whose unity lies not in the fact of possessing a single source but, rather, in the complex amalgamation of these myriad forces which hold themselves in relation to each other. One of the major advances made by Antillanité is that it has, in large measure, shed the regressive, matro-centric orientation common to both assimilationist and Negritudist movements.
What distinguishes Antillanité from other Francophone cultural movements is its creole-based cultural matrix. In many parts of the Caribbean, the term "Creolean" is used to refer to a French-speaking person of primarily European ethnicity born in the Caribbean islands. The term Creole is sometimes used to describe anyone, regardless of race or ethnicity, who was born and raised in the region. In Guadeloupe and Martinique, 'creole' is used to refer to people of mixed race accepted as white, and people classified as black/mulatto who are mixed of European, African and both native and east Indian. Creole, 'Kreyol' or 'Kweyol' also refers to the creole languages in the Caribbean, including Antillean Creole, Haitian Creole, and Jamaican Creole, among others. It should be noted that Creole culture is a heterogeneous hybrid comprising cultural artifacts from African, Europe and the West Indies. Creolized culture designates hybridity. The concept is akin to Créolité or Creoleness, term coined by Bernabe et al.
Créolité or Creoleness
The term ‘creolite’ is used in a positive sense to describe cultural mixture or hybridization in the West Indies. It denotes the resilience, and inevitability of cultural syncretism in a multicultural society. Various theoreticians and literary writers such as Edouard Glissant, Patrick Chamoiseau, Jean Bernabe, Raphael Confiant, Charles Steward, and Cotternet-Hage among others have examined the concept through the prism of a positive re-evaluation of the political and literary significations of cultural hybridity within a pluri-cultural matrix.
These writers note that the process of creolization is a multidimensional phenomenon hard to stop. As Stewart posits, “As with all natural language developments, trying to control it is like putting one’s finger in a dike that has already burst”(5). Glissant adumbrates the diachronic plurality inherent in creolization, thereby making the concept take on a historical dimension. Mercer makes the following pertinent observation about Caribbean Creoleness:
Across a whole range of cultural forms there is a ‘syncretic’ dynamic which critically appropriates elements from the master-codes of the dominant culture and ‘creolizes’ them, disarticulating given signs and re-articulating their symbolic meaning. The subversive force of this hybridizing tendency is most apparent at the level of language itself where creoles, patois, and Black English decenter, destabilize and carnavalize the linguistic domination of English—the nation –language of the master discourse— through strategic inflections, re-accentuations and other performance moves in semantic, syntactic, and lexical codes. Creolizing practices of counter-appropriation exemplify the critical process of dialogism…” (Quoted in Hall and Young, 1990, p. 236).
In social and racial discourses, the term ‘creolization’ is employed in concatenation with ‘syncretism’, ‘hybridity’ and ‘mixture’. Papastergiadis (2000, p128) equates this term with ‘transculturation’ and ‘hybridization’. Other theorists see the concept through the lense of cross-breeding. Cotternet-Hage, for instance, sees an oppositional connotation in the term ‘creoleness’, distinguishing blacks born into slavery in the Americas from Africans born slaves transported to the New World. Applied to Europeans, the term designates those locally born from those born in the Old World.
It bears pointing out that with the cessation of slave importation in the early 19th century, this dichotomy has ceased to be relevant. The foregoing shows how historical and social contingencies have fractured and inflected the meaning of ‘créolité’, so that it denotes different things in different places (Martinican creoleness, Guadeloupean Creoleness, Haitian Creoleness, etc). It is evident that the historical development of ‘creoleness’ as an identity marker in the postcolonial period is quite complex. Creolité is not specific to the French-speaking cultures of the West Indies. Francophone sub-Saharan Africa has its versions of creoleness. In Cameroon, for example, we there is a linguistic/cultural variant of creoleness known as Camfranglais.
Camfranglais
Camfranglais is a hybrid language spoken in the Republic of Cameroon where English, French and over 200 indigenous languages coexist. Camfranglais is a mixture of French, English, and Pidgin lexes as well as borrowings from native languages. Kouega defines Camfranglais as: “a composite language consciously developed by secondary school pupils who have in common a number of linguistic codes, namely French, English and a few widespread indigenous languages” (23). Cameroonian youths use Camfranglais as a coded language in order to exclude other members of the community from being privy to their discourses. In order words, they use it to exchange ideas in such a way that the information would sound mysterious and unintelligible to non-initates. It should be noted that Camfranglais is a multidimensional socio-cultural linguistic phenomenon. Because it is a linguistic composite, it transports a variety of cultures. Each language that is embedded in this lingo transports a specific culture, worldview and imagination. Though intended for oral usage only, Camfranglais has now gradually wriggled its way into Cameroonian literature. Nstobé et al observe that the emergence of Camfranglais marks the beginning of a linguistic revolution in Cameroon. As they put it, “le camfranglais s’enrichit et se revitalize de divers apports linguistiques conduisant à une véritable révolution culturelle…” (9) Camfranglais, they argue, is tantamount to linguistic invasion that threatens the very survival of formal French language spoken in Cameroon: “Il faut admettre, il s’agit bien d’une invasion, d’une dictature de mots et de termes venus d’ailleurs et qui diminuent quotidiennement l ‘occurrence d’utilisation d’un vocabulaire proprement français.” (9) To put this differently, the quintessence of Camfranglais is the deconstruction of the sacrosanct grammatical canons of the French language. To this end, camfranglophones resort to a variety of word formative processes. The distinctive traits of Camfranglais are lexical mixing, code-switching, pidginization, creolization, and linguistic hybridity. Cultural hybridity is not unique to Cameroon. In Côte d’Ivoire, a variant of Camfranglais exists. It is called Nouchi.
Nouchi
Nouchi is a vernacular language, non-standard French of sorts, spoken predominantly by urban youths in Côte d’Ivoire. Like Camfranglais, it is a creolized language, comprising standard French mixed with some local dialects, the main ones being Dioula, Baoule, and Bete. Nouchi also borrows from foreign languages such as English, German and Spanish to expand and enrich its vocabulary. Beyond the linguistic aspect, Nouchi is a cultural hybrid; a mixture of Western and local cultures. In a sense, Nouchi could be defined as a creolized language that conveys a unique world view and imagination.
It would be difficult to pinpoint a specific socio-cultural movement leading to the birth of Nouchi. But we can speculate that this language has evolved over the years since the time of colonization with the national population adding its personal twist to the language of the colonizers. Recent vestiges of Nouchi can be traced back to neighborhoods in Abidjan, such as Adjame, Abobo and Yopougon, but more specifically in the ghettoes of these places. Uneducated Ivorians utilize Nouchi as a tool for daily communication, notably in business transactions. Given the complexity of formal French, and the illiteracy of the people, it is understandable why Nouchi has become a lingua franca in Côte d’Ivoire. This French-based slang enables the locals to better express their daily needs, experiences, imagination and sensibilities. They tend to add a few words and expressions here and there to compensate for concepts that cannot be expressed in standard French. Nouchi serves as a perfect tool for the interpretation of social realities and cultural specificities.
Initially, looked down by the elites, Nouchi, like its Cameroonian counterpart, has made its way up to the mainstream of social discourses. It has now been exported out of the slums and propagated through music, notably with the advent of the musical genre known as zouglou. Zouglou musicians, usually from the ghettoes constantly resort to Nouchi as a way to convey their anti-establishment messages. Pioneer musicians such as Yang system, Kassiri, or Gor La Montagne who were either gangsters or slum-dwellers made it very fashionable to sing in Nouchi. And gradually, Nouchi spread to other art forms, notably sitcoms, Ivorian Rap and comics. Nowadays, Nouchi constitutes an integral part of Ivorian national identity.
Why do we need to know all this? The reason is that knowing a culture, or being born and nurtured in a culture does not presuppose expertise in teaching that culture. This has wide-ranging pedagogical ramifications for teachers charged with the critical task of teaching operational Francophone culture at DLI and other institutions of higher education.
Pedagogical Implications for Instructors of Operational Culture
Given the multi-layered nature of francophone operational cultures, it is expected that instructors would conceive appropriate tasked-based models for teaching these cultures. You may be wondering what operational culture is all about. Operational culture deals with the ways in which politics, the economy, infrastructure, and militaries are embedded in local cultures and languages. When people “switch into” or activate the normal behaviors of a given cultural group for a specific purpose, they “operationalize” whatever culture they are interacting with. This enables our military to operate effectively in diverse environments. The cultures discussed in this paper undoubtedly call for a multifaceted framework for instruction. I will limit my discussion to three models which I find particularly suitable for teaching Francophone Operational cultures.
- Problem-Based Critical Thinking Model
This instructional model is based on Bloom’s Taxonomy (1956). To effectively communicate the holistic message embedded in the essential elements of information (EEI’s) in a culture-based text, Bloom argues, instructors need to create learning tasks that enable learners to solve problems at six different cognitive levels: Evaluation (making value judgments about issues, resolving controversies, assessing theories, composing ideas, evaluating outcomes); Synthesis (creating a unique original product that may be a combination of ideas to form a new whole, using old concepts to create new ones); Analysis (organizing ideas and recognizing trends, finding the underlying structure of communication, identifying motives); Application (using and applying knowledge, using facts and principles to facilitate problem-solving); Comprehension (interpreting, translating information from one medium to the other, demonstrating, summarizing, discussing the connection between signifier and signified); Knowledge (recall of information, discovery, and observation).
- Hermeneutic (Exegetic) Model
The theory of hermeneutics, also called exegesis propounded by Schleiermacher (1998) underscores the importance of interpreting, not only the latent (implied) meanings embedded in a culture-rich text but also in unravelling the situational dimensions that constitute the matrix in which the culture is rooted. Schleiermacher underscores the need to adopt the hermeneutic approach in training learners to succinctly decipher the significations contained in the deep structure of a culture-laden text. The hermeneutic model facilitates the analysis of texts by enabling readers to come to grips with the fact that one's understanding of the text as a whole is established by reference to the individual components. Schleiermacher further notes that neither the whole text nor any individual parts can be understood without reference to base culture, and to the constituent sub-cultures. The circularity inherent in the hermeneutic model implies that the meaning of a text is to be found within its cultural, historical, and linguistic components.
- Styles-and Strategies-Based Instructional Model (SSBI)
Cohen and Weaver (2006) conceived the Styles-and Strategies-Based Instructional model as a framework for teaching world languages and cultures. This framework is suitable for teaching post-colonial cultures for two main reasons. First, the framework is based on the theory of scaffolding, a concept that stems from the idea that at the beginning of the learning process, learners need a great deal of support; gradually, this support is taken away to allow students to develop a sense of independence. This is what Cohen and Weaver call the gradual release of responsibility. Other facets of the model include: modelling, collaborative learning, activation of prior knowledge, student learning choices and self-initiated learning. Secondly, the Styles-and Strategies-Based Model is a learner-focused approach that explicitly encourages different kinds of task-based interactions in the classroom. Proponents of this model put emphasis on specific learning tasks that might call for the alignment of learning style preferences with certain teaching strategies.
Conclusion
What this study suggests is that teaching operational culture through a multidimensional paradigm can be both exciting and challenging, but rewarding provided instructors are savvy enough to adopt innovative models that provide learners with ample opportunity to interact with learning materials and peers engrossed in the critical task of acquiring a mix of lower-order and higher-order thinking skills in the learning process. Instructors charged with teaching Francophone operational cultures should realize that no one size fits all when it comes to designing learning tasks that are consonant with outcomes of learning.
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