how do you say? | كيف تقول؟

[ the meta-post: i'm attempting to make good on that promise to post more. because of that, i fear this entry is more a matter of stubbornness than inspiration. i wrote what i am thinking of, and wrote without great emotion or investment. i felt i owed you this disclaimer. ]

these days i find myself speaking a good deal more arabic than english. today, when i was in a rare english-speaking situation and had an idea that i wished to express, the first thought that came to my mind was “i wonder if I have enough vocabulary to express that idea”, and then i remembered that i speak english fairly well. or at least i used to.

and, well… you have probably all heard of something called “translation”, by which something [like a word] is converted from one medium [language A] to another [language B]. it is a myth. every vocal lilt, every hand motion, every cadence that underlines the final words of each american-english thought is utterly untranslatable. i hear a story, and i cannot even ask the questions which race through my american-english mind because arabic does not ask such questions. it wonders different things.

to speak another language is to think like another culture, adopt a different history, take a new name [and still never be fully a part of any culture but the one you were born into].

Bilinguiana

“HHHhhhh,” I sigh in the direction of my bearded roommate, “he sucks at being a guard.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” he says with a smile that confirms my sentiment.

“He only has one thing to do,” I continue, referencing the great football-kicker joke, “And that’s be a guard. And he sucks at it.” I am dialing my guard on the phone at the moment. “And this is not my fault. Know why it’s not my fault?”

Jason chuckles, and I take that as a “no, why?”

“Because getting the water to work isn’t a part of my job description.”

He has me there, “You didn’t read your job description before you came here. You don’t know whether it is or not.”

“No, I read it… just not before I came here. But I’ve read it now, and I know it’s not a part of my job.” I pause to allow both our thoughts to drift to the logical next step. “But you know who’s job description does include – Oh, keef ya Lamin, tamam?” I say to my guard who has just answered his phone. Jason chortles at my duplicity.

“Ay, walahi. Ya, Jewnie, insha’allah kwayis.” I am apparently “Jewnie” in Arabic.

“Hamdulillah”, yeah… except for the whole water thing, ahem. “Ya zol, eyndi mushkila. Al moya ma fi, wa ana mashayt al motor wa fatahtaha wa lissa al moya ma fi, wa Fettishta layk. Inta wayn?”

“Al Habsha, A-Sharigi -”

I interrupt him, “Ya zol! Keef ya bitamshi bara? Lau fi mushkila kida wa ana fetish layk wa ma alga…tak” crap, i’m trying to talk too fast. “ya zol. amel shinu?” Both of us know that as a whole, what I just said doesn’t really make any sense, but he gets the gist of it, and I am justifiably indignant, since he has just admitted to being at a well-known restaurant named “Habesha” in a well-known part of town called “Sharigi” while i was paying him to watch my house and make sure that nothing [like the plumbing] breaks.

“Ya Jewnie, ana fi baladi. Fi Jezira. Jezira…” What? Crap. I misunderstood… somehow.

“Oh, ma`alesh, ma`alesh. OK, mnu al-haaris?” I say, still attempting to sound like my indignation still has a leg to stand on.

“A-zol tiht.” Well, if he keeps saying dumb things like that, then at least I feel better.

“Ma fi zol tiht. A-zol mnu?”

“Zol A-Habeshi!” He pauses, having now repeated himself on the most obvious point and lets it sink in. “A-Zol min Sharig. Huayjib moya fi-salaj layk.”

“OK, ma`alesh” still not completely understanding, but realizing that he can’t do much from where he is. “OK, shukran, habiibna. allahi barak fi.”
“Diik al afiya.”
“Ma`salaama.”
“Allahi sallimak.”

Jason looks at me. “Where is he?”

“He’s… in Jezira. He went home. But at first I thought he said he was at Habesha… oh no…”, I say as the words “Habeshi” and “Sharigi” flash into my head, and I suddenly understand the entire conversation. “…that Ethiopian guy is supposed to be the guard now.” I pause again. Obviously. He arrived today, I’d met him. “Yeah, ok, now it all makes sense. Man, this new guy sucks at being a guard.”

Arabic lessons

makaif hawa. these two anglograms (or so i shall call them), when spoken appropriately will immediately evoke a certain idea in the mind of a person who speaks arabic. it is a distinct idea. it is a relatively simple idea. it is an idea about a perfectly concrete thing. the idea that will be summoned is none other than that of an air cooler. one week ago, my makaif hawa suddenly ceased to function, and today it was fixed.

ghasailta hidumee. this is a phrase I have not been able to say for quite some time now. my inability is not due to the fact that the first phoneme is a voiced velar fricative, either. no, rather i can’t say it because i’d be lying. this little gem means “i washed my clothes” and it hasn’t been true because we have not owned a washing machine. But today, the washing machine came. (never fear, my clothes have been mghasailtu [redundancy on the passive voice, there] until now by a capable friend who does in fact own a machine that washes clothing.)

finally,

kuulu yuum. perhaps you’ve studied another semitic tongue and can surmise the meaning of this frequently used expression? this phrase is relevent to my riding rickshaws, and buses. to my eating fuul, filafel, and shish tawook. to my wearing sandals, my speaking Arabic, and my taking showers. It means “everyday”. Its brother-phrase, kul al-yuum is much more relevant to my drinking of shay and jabana, though: “all day”.

a-Rabna ya barakum,
(our Lord bless y’all)

John Daniel

on fridays (when we rest) i think things like this

i can imagine a time when i will [perhaps]

- listen to music that is considerably less tonal and less “conventional”
- write one-act plays for fun’s sake
- know what happened to Harry Potter in book 7
- take photographs that do not want any unsharp masking or contrast enhancement
- live in a smaller apartment
- record original songs again
- speak Arabic well
- have a “profession” (maybe)
- be thinking of a specific person when i say the words “my wife”
- own at least 5 fountain pens
- posses the ability to consistently cook food into an edible form
- not sleep on floors anymore
- own glasses that fit my temples

but not now.
and all of these can be done anywhere, i think.

johnny