The Island Language

We wrote to our new friends, Delia and Allandale Winston, saying that we had shipped a lot of household furnishings, tools, and a couple of vehicles from Florida to Dominica.

Upon arrival we began the familiarization with the local West Indian English accent and idiom, and the islanders’ preferred language; Patois, or Creole. Not having a foundation in French we could not understand the Creole, but we knew that if we kept at it we would understand the West Indian English.

An entire work of substantial proportions could fall short of touching every nuance of the languages, but some examples come quickly to mind.

The Winstons organized a small punch party for us on the first Sunday. Their verandah overlooked the capital and the Roseau valley. As we sat there that late morning with their friends and family, sipping the wonderful aged island punch, we found that we were having great difficulty following many of the conversations. We sipped punch from small shot sized glasses at this traditional Dominican punch party so we knew we had not consumed enough to call our lack of understanding alcohol impairment. It was a little like being partly deaf, and we were embarrassed to admit our deficiencies to these delightful guests, or our hosts. It was accent and idiom that defeated us that morning, but we soon began to learn.

In a more formal setting there is no difficulty understanding English spoken by educated Dominicans. From our first meeting with Allandale and Delia we never had a problem. It was in a relaxed mode that the early difficulty seemed to come between us. Soon, however, we began to understand every word.

Our children enrolled in the Convent (school), and soon learned what we called an island-school-child accent. It is sort of singsong West Indian Island influenced English, but is perhaps impossible to describe. To us, and to those with whom they converse, it is completely understandable; it’s just a different accent. When an occasion to speak to a Dominican arises, no matter the age, our sons are apt to unconsciously lapse into this accented English and their contact is apt to respond in the same.

Patois, often described as a broken language, can be in any language but is most often from French. French Patois is spoken as the preferred language by a majority of Dominicans and is understood by all. In Dominica Creole is called Patois, not Creole.  Creole is sometimes spoken in the French Islands; Martinique and Guadeloupe. A close approximation of this Patois, or Creole, is almost universally spoken in Haiti. Our young sons learned Creole quickly and with considerable fluency.

When the construction of Island House Hotel was in progress I soon found that speaking Creole would almost always accomplish, with a word or a few words, what an instruction in English might require a sentence or more to convey.

We had, as a houseguest, one of our children’s chums from the states, who in frustration began calling it Patooey, when he could not instantly master it.

Other than my use of Creole in construction or on the anthurium farms, Margie and I used English.

Some examples of the Island English idiom come to mind. A live-in girlfriend is a Keeper. A gay man is an Anti-man. To do an errand is to make a message. To come by is to pass by. A question might be a statement with the words ‘not true?’ added, or ‘Is it true?’ becomes ‘true now?’. Or it could end with ‘not true?’. A good joke might be called a serious joke. One of the old ministers of government drove so slowly that they called him Chibay Chapeau; literally “Hold your hat.” A local magistrate when asked to allow the defendant time to pay the fine denied the time and was called “Now for Now” after that. An automobile is a Motor Car. Almost any vehicle that is not specifically identified might be called a Van.

I tried to get a worker to pick up and hand me an empty coffee can. I tried ‘can’ and then when that did not work I remembered that these are called tins, so I asked for the ‘tin’, but that still caused a blank look. I had been employing one fellow, James Anthony, longer than the rest and he had become accustomed to my way of speech so I asked him what I was doing wrong. He smiled and instructed the worker to bring the ‘teen’ to me and it was promptly done.

The English Colonialists usually enforced a considerable restriction on blasphemous, bad word, and foul-mouthed utterances in their colonies. Court calendars routinely contained cases where a local citizen was charged with using some type of bad language.

One defendant made fun of local English phraseology when facing a bad language charge. Death notices were a daily part of Radio Dominica and the announcer, after identifying the person who had passed away, followed with the phrase “left to mourn their loss, are, etc.” The local name for any hill or mountain is Morne; pronounced the same.  When the judge asked this defendant’s residence he replied “Morne de Loss, your Honor.” “What?” the Judge asked, surprised. “I’m always hearing about that place on the radio, Your Honor,” the defendant smirked, “and the radio say so many people are left there that it must be a nice place, so I decide to go and live there, your Honor.”

He was playing to his friends seated in the courtroom but the Defendant paid for his humor.

A local word that is used as an exclamation and is used sometimes to express an acknowledgment of an exciting instant occurrence is ‘Hegas’. It has no known translation and yet is universally used on the island. Hegas is seldom used however except as shouted in the local movie houses.

Evenings the Arawak and Carib cinemas each open for the showing of one movie. When an exciting point in a film is reached, such as a fistfight with heavy blows, the audience, almost to a person, shouts “Hegas!” at every such blow. The origin of the word, or its meaning, is obscure but it may be an import from St. Lucia where this odd word and its use is also common.

If a housekeeper accidentally breaks something, such as a plate, her response, when questioned is usually, “Not my fault, Madam, (or Sir) the thing just find itself there.”

A vep is the local coined word for a ride. Since the impression is that it be free Mrs. Elma Napier theorized that it came from vespers, which were without cost.

If a Creole word cannot be thought of by a person speaking the language, an English word is often substituted, but it is usually closely followed by a ‘la’. For example when I tried to make the word bucket understood it was finally conveyed through one of my laborers when he called it a bucket-la.

Occasionally here in Florida I am called on to translate what a Haitian is saying and it frequently develops that the Haitian is only speaking English, but in their own Creole accented English.