A CHAT FROM LONDON : ‘Me nah see you for ages; you look like the traffic lights!’

The other day I was hanging out with a group of London musicians. We had been jamming on Latin and African percussion and taking a break, outside. Since many tend to smoke in the city, such breaks are crucial, as smoking indoors is illegal. Before the smoking ban came into effect in 2007, it was a big mess. I remember when I was doing gigs in nightclubs (averaging three times a week) I once had a very serious cough infection. So serious that I thought I had TB. Thanks to this new law things are looking better for us non-smoking folks.

So we were standing outside, taking a break.

It was early evening, sun still saying here I am guys, enjoy me. As you know in the northern hemisphere the shining star sticks around until nine o’clock during summer. In winter our dear fire friend goes home early. You have darkness taking over from 4 thirty in the afternoon. Late sunsets in summer; early ones in winter.

It was June and out of the blue I heard this strong Jamaican accent called Patois. Patois (pronounced “Patwa”) a development of European languages by Caribbean people, is beautiful. There is the French type (also known as Creole) also spoken in Ivory Coast, Mauritius and Seychelles (called “Seselwa” it’s the national language); while in the islands of the Caribbean you may hear it in Antigua, Grenada and St Lucia, to mention a few.

Jamaican Patois has become more worldly known (as familiar as Lingala, publicised by popular Congolese music) through reggae music. I first heard it being spoken through radio and TV interviews of the late Jamaican musician Bob Marley (pictured. The language continued to flourish as Reggae poets (i.e. Jamaican born poets who used reggae music) spoke it openly in the 1980s. Most outstanding were Linton Kwesi Johnson (still going strong) and Mutabaruka (the barefoot poet). Mutabaruka was born Allan Hope in 1952 but took on a Rwandan name that interprets “one who is always victorious”...I have seen Mutabaruka walking in snow in Germany and hot Brazil, he never wears shoes. The two brilliant writers perform their poetry in Patois.

So we were standing outside chatting and joking when this loud and cheerful Jamaican strolled in greeting everyone. Then he saw me.

“Yoh, Freddy! Wagwaan bredren! Me, nah see you for ages, Mon! You look like the traffic lights!”

Everyone laughed real loudly.

To start with the phrase Wagwaan bredren (literally “what is going on brother”) is a common salutation that asks how you are.

As the laughter ebbed, the chap went on as if nothing had happened. Being a writer I was mesmerised by the idiom uttered. I had green glasses on, a colourful Rasta hat (red, yellow, green, black) plus a blue Zanzibar T-shirt. One music colleague from Grenada helped elaborate:

“This is how creative we Caribbean people can be, Freddy. Instead of saying you look colourful - which is a cliché - we create a fresh poetic speech. Sometimes we might compliment someone with very good looking teeth by saying: your mouth looks like a glass of milk. Or tell a lady, my princess you have been sweet as sugar today, let me thank you with a warm blanket. Instead of saying let me hug you.”

It made me reflect on how we humans contribute to enhance expression and language. Spike Lee, the African American film maker, has created mainstream phrases through the title of his movies. Do the Right Thing (1989) is a motion picture about blacks being proud of their origins, while She Has Gotta Have It (1986) is a story of a woman dating and cheating on three men, simultaneously. Speaking of African Americans, during the 1970s the well researched book, Roots by the late journalist Alex Hailey which was turned into a Hollywood block buster helped publicise the phrase “going back to your roots”; nowadays a common phrase.

Black people in the Diaspora have contributed a lot to the English language. The language of hip hop is another example that we can write kilos of articles about. When the late Bongo Flava rapper, Mangwea, released Mikasi in 2006 he was playing a part in the beauty of the Kiswahili language. A tradition zooming back to Marijani Rajab (Sokomoko), Said Ahmed (Asali Chungu), Salum Abdullah (Shemeji Shemeji Huku Wamwazima Taa) Shaaban Robert (Kusadikika) etc.

Language is not only developed by artists, it is of and by the masses.

Says Kenya’s novelist, Prof Ngugi wa Thiong’o (Writers in Politics, Heinemann Books, 1981): “Any language has its social base in a people’s production of their material life- in the practical activity of human beings co-operating and communicating in labour to wrestle with nature to procure their material means of life- food, clothing and shelter...”