This Fascinating “Pidgin”

Its Origin, and How It Works

Written for The Pacific Islands Monthly by F. Robartson, Rabaul

That strange jargon known as “Pidgin English,” has become the lingua franca of much of Asia and Africa —but, more particu larly, of the many-tongued South Seas.

The dictionary tells us that “pidgin” is a corruption of the word “business,” pidgin English having been the medium through which the old British sea-dogs carried on their trading along the Chinese Coast, and in other places where the Chinese have become a business institution.

What a race were the Chinese! In the year 1200 B.C., we are told, a party of Chinese scientists made a voyage to Java, and hundreds of years before Don Juan de Meneses discov ered and named Papua, the peaceful penetrators from the North had estab lished trading points around New Guinea coasts.

It was Chinese traders who first brought “pidgin” to this part of the South Seas; and, despite the fact that Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch and French navigators had each done their part in discovering these “Isles of Romance,” “pidgin” was the only European language which had been made to serve a general utility pur pose for the white and coloured in habitants of the Pacific Islands.

The same brand of “pidgin” is not, of course, used in all countries, as every place has its own peculiar dialect. The vocabulary used in New Guinea would not be properly under stood in East Africa, or even in other parts of the Pacific.

The recipe for the language is inter esting: Take one sea full of British sailor men, hardy, daring, very British and profane, and leave in a cool place for two days; extract their speech, then bring to boil and extract what speech remains. Add a coconut shell each of Chinese, Malay, German and Kanaka, and bring to a boil a hundred or so times, then season with a little war or two; add a few drops of Mission sauce and sprinkle with black birder pepper and recruiter salt. Strain through Kanaka lips and serve with beer on boat days, or with undiluted Australian any other time.

Many travellers have visited New Guinea, doing the “round trip,” and some have written fairly extensively about the place, taking this “absurd garble” in their stride.

There are even those who have spent some time in the Territory who refuse to admit the usefulness of “pidgin”; but it will usually be found that these people have been either too stupid to master it, or have had that fear of ridicule or professed con tempt of so strange and unintellectual a tongue which makes the British probably the worst linguists in the world.

The difficulty of administration, and the absolute necessity for a common form of speech, may be appreciated when it is remembered that about 2,000 whites in New Guinea control — or endeavour to control —a greater number of Chinese, Malays, Japs and half-castes, and approximately 500,000 natives, scattered over innumerable islands. Each island of any size has its distinct language; the hill boys, the river boys, and the coast boys are unable to understand each other, while a stretch of 60 miles along the coast might take one among three different “talks.”

“Why not teach them real Eng lish?” has been asked. But to do so would mean making the language ten times more difficult for half a million primitive kanakas, merely to simplify matters for about 2,000 supposedly intelligent whites.

Another suggestion has been made that some native “talk” be used, such as the tinata Kuanua, or language of the Gazelle Peninsula, in the Island of New Britain, in which there already exists a considerable Mission litera ture.

This idea might eventually be car ried out. But “pidgin English” is now so firmly established, and the structure of Tinata Kuanua differs so greatly from English grammar, that the mental indolence of the master race will doubtless do its share to prevent any change.

A similar attempt to dislodge “pid gin English” was successfully made in Dutch New Guinea, where Malay has been made the universal conver sational medium. But in this case the Dutch have introduced a, language which is no more strange to them than that which they dislodged.

When Germany took possession of North-east New Guinea, in 1884, she found a, land which had already been tapped by the British, even to the extent of having been annexed by the East India Company in 1793, and again by Queensland in 1881. But the Company failed to occupy its annex ure in the first case, while the Home Government refused to endorse Queensland’s action, in the other.

This British influence created for the Germans the unpalatable neces sity of learning this “pidgin” jargon. for without it. successful colonisation of their new possession presented in finite difficulties.

It seems strange that, after 30 years of occupation, so few of their own

words have become grafted on to “pidgin” English They found their own tongue too lacking in flexibility, however, for nat ive speech so Government and Mission co-operated in an endeavour to oust our super-slang. A conference was called and the suggestion already mentioned in this article, of substi tuting the Rabaul (or Gazelle Penin sula) language, was made. Most of the speakers, however, found too many objections to the scheme, which was eventually turned down as impracticable. But the hope was expressed that, with continued propa ganda and prompting among the planters and other out-station whites, this desirable object might eventually be achieved.

Although not “woven with Italian Art,” and although no great poet or dramatist has found in it the echo of his soul, newcomers often find the old users of “pidgin” surprisingly fluent, and never at a loss to express any idea they wish to convey.

It provides, too, a never-ending source of amusement, both to the older residents ami the new, for the boys are constantly coming in contact with something, or some situation, new to their experience, and have no hesitation in putting to it their own “pidgin” interpretation.

Most words have several meanings, according to their use, or the gesticu lation which accompanies them. For example, “bullamoocow” means either a bull or a cow, and the meat of such, either cooked or raw, singular or plural. “Kai kai” means either food, meals, or the verb to eat. For instance, if a boy’s master went to dinner and ate meat which he enjoyed the boy might say “Masta, e go junis along kai kai, now e kai kai-im bul lamoocow. Em e good pella kai kai too mus.”

Deewhy (or diwai) means a tree or wood of any sort, whilst a piece of fruit is a “picaninny belong diwai.”

A friend of mine, wishing to order sausages for his kai kai, had the following conversation with his mon key (a small boy) : “You savvy sausage, eh?”

“No gut (No) Masta.”

“Orright, you savvy bullamoocow?”

“Essah!”

“Now, you savvy banan?” (banana).

“Essah ”

“Orright. Now you catch in banan belong bullamoocow!” —and his order was taken.

Another thing which never fails to confuse the newcomer is the positive answer to a negative question. For instance, were I to call on someone and find him apparently out, I might say to his boy, “Masta e no starp?”

To which I would expect the reply “Essah!”

If, however, 1 said “Masta e starp?” he would reply “No gut,” which means just “No.”

Some words which are quite allow able in the best “pidgin” circles could hardly take their place in polite soci ety down South, whilst some perfectly harmless English words take on a meaning which precludes their too frequent use, even in the circles referred to.

The trick of repetition to obtain effect, is even more often used than by some of our best novelists. A boy who has searched well, but unsuc cessfully, for something, would ex plain “Me lookoutim, me lookoutim, me lookoutim —e no starp.”

Water is “wara” or “vara”; the sea is “sodawara”; and hot water is, and remains even when cold again, “art wara.” A common reply to a request for hot water is, “Art wara e no art yet.”

Another strange thing is that every bird is a “pigeon” except a, pigeon, which is a “balus”: whilst “toomus” means merely “a lot.”

The following is a brief extract from the pidgin Bible: “Deo e hasikim Kain e sipik” (God he asked Cain he speaks).

“Kain, velsitap barata belong ju, Abel?” (Cain, where stops brother belong you, Abel?”).

Kain e sipik: “Me no sabe! vatpo, mi belong lakautim barata belong me?” (Kain he speaks; “I don’t know! what for, me belong lookout — im brother belong me?”) Every white woman is a “Missus”; a little girl is either a “picaninny” or a “liklik missus”: whilst a small boy or a youth is a “liklik masta.”

A “monkey” is a native boy up to perhaps 16 years, the age of a “boy”

running up to somewhere in the vic inity of 35, after which he approaches the state of being “lapoon.” This word “lapoon” is either adjective or noun, and applies to anything old. It is often mistakenly used by the stranger when he intends to use “long long,” which means either “Mad,”

“drunk,” “a madman,” or “a drunk.”

A conversation between two boys in pidgin would be absolutely unin telligible to a newcomer, but one learns to understand much more quickly than to speak it with any degree of confidence, This is parti cularly the case in the towns, where many of the boys are spoken to so frequently in straight English that they learn to understand almost any thing said to them, and so relieve the stranger of what would otherwise be an awkward necessity.

These boys, however, usually retain the pidgin pronunciation of their words, which require some little at tention to catch and learn.