The difference between our point of view and that of our teachers
accounts for many of the difficulties we experience in learning a native
language; and I am afraid that a real appreciation of those difficulties
has rendered me somewhat suspicious of those travellers who, after a
very short acquaintance with the native language, translate glibly their
interviews with the people. Just recently I have been reading a book on
the Congo in which the following occurs: “_Bikei yonsono, malami be na
Mputu. Sola è koye._” This the author, who frequently takes credit to
himself for his knowledge of the native language, translates as follows:
“All I say is true, you say I lie. It is finished. I have seen those
things; you have not.” Whereas it should be: All things are very good in
Mputu (white man’s country). Truly friend! And the sentence in Bangala
should have been written: _Bike binso bilamu be na Mputu. Solo koye!_ No
Congo native would have been guilty of the grammatical blunders
perpetrated in the sentence as written by the author. I have frequently
noticed that the less a person knows about a native language the more
fluently and beautifully he will translate it, as he is bound only by
the limitations of his own imagination.
When we had been living at Monsembe a few months we were much vexed and
disgusted to find that the people had been deceiving us considerably
over their language. One day, while working with the men, I heard a
native workman shout out a request to another native labourer. From the
nature of the work being done I could easily guess what the phrase
really meant; but the wording of the sentence was entirely different
from that which they had given us to express the same idea. Going into
the house, I brought out my notebook and said: “Just now you called out
so and so,” repeating the short sentence that was still fresh in my
memory. “How is it we have another set of words in our book?”
A broad smile gradually spread over the native’s face as he replied:
“White man, when you came first to live amongst us we could not
understand the purpose of your coming. We brought you rubber and ivory;
but you said, ‘We do not trade in such things.’ We then brought you male
and female slaves, and asked you to buy them, and you replied, ‘We do
not trade in slaves.’ We then brought you a large jar of sugar-cane
wine, but you said that you did not drink wine, and we answered that we
would drink it for you, and even then you would not buy it. After that
we came to the conclusion that there was some wicked reason for your
presence in our town, some bad purpose we could not understand, and we
therefore arranged among ourselves not to teach you our language, but to
tell you as many words and phrases as we could belonging to other
languages.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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