The year is 2098. The 103-year-old woman hobbles to the front of the queue aided by her walker. “Sanibonani. Nisaphila kodwa?” (Hello and how are you?). The teenagers behind the counter exchange mischievous looks before responding, “Hi, Miss Gwala. Unfortunately, we still do not have a staffer who speaks that language here.”
A cursory scan through the radio frequencies reveals that all stations in the land are exclusively English-medium. Well, except Radio Sonder Grense, naturally. We all know that the only things that will survive the nuclear holocaust being pursued in Ukraine are roaches, rats and the RSG radio signal. The sokkie sokkie shuffle is still an unflappable cultural feature of the postapocalyptic world, even in the 2098th year of our Lord.
The paragraph above is a summary of a nightmare I recently suffered. I woke up in a cold sweat afterwards imagining a world without my mother tongue in it. Your head must be buried at least 3m in the sand if you do not appreciate that at least nine of our official languages are facing extinction by the end of this century.
Paradoxically, the apartheid-era Balkanisation of SA did wonders for indigenous languages. It forced the Batswana from Bophuthatswana to imagine a world where Setswana was the commercial language of their “country”. The same phenomenon gripped the Transkei and Ciskei. I know this because I grew up in Hammarsdale, west of Durban, in the ‘70s and ‘80s. The town was under the control of the KwaZulu “self-governing territory”. That period spawned an almost unprecedented avalanche of novels in isiZulu as a result. And when Ithala Bank was conceived in the '80s, there was a lot of excitement in my little town. Winding queues that would put Capitec to shame snake through the Mcoyi taxi rank on month-end Fridays.
I have come to the conclusion that our cabinet, parliament and the departments of arts & culture, basic education and higher education are not invested in the year 2098 where citizens conversing in indigenous languages might cease to be a priority. This is not as far-fetched as it sounds. But I’m not prepared for a world in which I can walk through Park Station precinct without hearing Tshivenda, Setswana, isiZulu, IsiNdebele or Xitsonga. As a country, we are good at regurgitating and peddling lies such as, “Diversity is our strength”. Oh, puleeze! Diversity is as South African as weapons of mass destruction are Iraqi.
I have expended an inordinate amount of energy attempting to educate myself on the nuances of isiZulu over the past two decades. If I’ve learnt anything about my language in that time, it is that my ancestors were nasty people with an advanced sense of humour. No, I didn’t just compare Zulu people with Dave Chappelle or Ricky Gervais, even if the shoe might fit. Zulu proverbs, idioms and sayings are insane. More than anything, they give you a glimpse into the realities that informed Zulu culture.
Oh, puleeze! Diversity is as South African as weapons of mass destruction are Iraqi
Ikati lilele eziko — the literal meaning is “The cat sleeps in the fire”. This is what you say to express you're broke. How broke are you? You’re so broke your cat sleeps on your stove because it has become obsolete.
Sobohla Manyosi — the literal meaning is “Your big tummy will subside eventually”. The background to the saying is that a man called Manyosi was in the habit of slaughtering a goat for his exclusive consumption. He inevitably sported a distended tummy, which became the subject of the saying.
Wande ngomlomo kuhle kwesiqebetho — the literal meaning is “You’re as wide-mouthed as a pisspot”. I have limited experience with a nocturnal pisspot, but I get this. I imagine that pisspots have extremely wide mouths for ease of relief in the middle of the night.
Inkomo ingazala umuntu — the literal meaning, “A cow is just as likely to give birth to a human baby”. This is an elegant, albeit rude saying to tell someone that they’re talking nonsense. Over the years, the saying has spawned variations. My favourite is, Ungabona ipipi lenyoni. (You're just as likely to spot a bird’s wiener.)
Akukho qili lazikhotha emhlane — the literal meaning: “no-one is sufficiently devious as to lick their own back.” This idiom was coined centuries before Anton Rupert’s dad was born. Poor Zulus. They didn’t bargain for folks whose legacy outlives their own lifetimes.
To describe this collection of sayings as the tip of an iceberg is an insult to icebergs everywhere. My friends who speak Tshivenda, Sesotho, isiNdebele, isiXhosa, Sepedi, Xitsonga, Setswana and isiSwati are reading this, shaking their heads because they have so much more to share. We’re sitting on a pile of gold, as a country.
