Many (including me) find patois to be so foreign to our ears that we get lost in the sentence structure or lack thereof, that what we think we hear is not what is being said. A recent example happened to me just the other day.
First let me say that patois varies depending on where you go in Jamaica. For instance, Kingstonian patois is quite a bit different than Negril patois. Kingstonians use a lot of local slang that may not be used in Negril. Kind of like an East Coaster in America trying to understand someone from the Deep South and visa-versa. And a further difference is prominent between general island patois and that spoken in Accompong Town. Many Afro-centric words from tribal Africa are a mainstay in their patois. Words and sounds from the Ashanti, Coromantee, Alcan and other dialects from Africa’s Gold Coast and a few from Eastern and Southern Africa have crept into normal conversations.
I found it generally easier to converse with and understand the younger generation of Maroons. Perhaps that is due to their understanding of my limitations or the “freshness” of their terminology which comes mostly from popular music that I listen to and understand more each and every day.
Now, the village elders are a different story. They chat effortlessly using archaic English, African words and phrases interspersed with common patois fully expecting me to understand every word which brings me to my example.
Sunday morning I was sitting on my verandah enjoying the scarlet sunrise when two elderly gentlemen dressed in dapper clothes approached from the main road. I invited them to sit for a spell before moving on. I listened intently as first one spoke and then the other and sometimes both at the same time which soon had me lost as to what they were saying almost completely. I scrambled to pick words and phrases I could understand from their speech. Soon I understood “block” so I knew bricks must be part of it. Now I searched for words that fit around blocks. I thought I heard “rum” which could have been “drum” and then later a date a few days in the future and finally the name “Thomas Rowe*”. Now, I thought I understood. Thomas Row had passed away and the burial (after a Nine Nights) would take place on the date they mentioned. This made good sense to me as it takes 40 blocks to make a cemetery crypt and a “bokkle of rum” is needed to purify the grounds before burial. While I continued to nod as if I understood, one of the gentlemen asked for my thoughts on the matter.
I confidently offered my condolences to the Rowe family over Thomas’ passing and would gladly contribute a few blocks or a bokkle of rum for the internment. They shot a glance at each other before the first gentleman, Thomas Rowe, thanked me for my sentiment but it was (as I could plainly see) not yet required. They both laughed leaving me embarrassed over jumping to conclusions.
Carefully and in more proper English, they went on to explain they were Seventh Day Adventists and they were having a raffle for “bokkles of rum” (though they themselves were not drinkers) to raise funds to build a new church. Feeling sheepish for my faux pas, I bought 20 $100 raffle tickets and, I must confess, secretly hope I don’t win!
*Name changed to protect the living!
Peace and Guidance
