The hEvolution hOf hEnglish

It took Nigerians 10 years to figure out that there was more than one way to speak English. After that, they got worryingly good at it. The evolution of Pidgin English did not surprise the first English Lord who stumbled on it. With more than a hundred years’ worth of experience as colonists, they were well familiar with the transformation of their language by the “natives” into a vocalisation whose rhythm and meaning was better understood. Pidgin English was to be expected. What was not to be expected was the evolution of the brand of English which has since become secretly known as “Americanese”. Yes, there is such a word as Americanese. No, it isn’t recognised, nor is likely to ever be. But it does exist. Take it from me. Or better still, take it from Shudah Mohmoh.

Shudah Mohmoh visited the United Kingdom for three weeks and then returned to Lagos. During his stay there, the bulk of his time was spent watching TV and taking hot baths. His trip was filled with nothing out of the ordinary. And yet, upon his return home, something monumental was discovered. His diction had changed.

Suddenly Shudah Mohmoh found the insane urge to slur whenever he spoke. For some reason, “Yes” became “Yerr” and “Water” became “Warra”.

When his parents asked him how his time in the UK was and he replied, “Men, I had a rirrry good time, man,” his mum battled against the urge to hit him on the head with her fufu stick.

Why do Lagosians feel the urge to slur whenever they have either visited the shores of another country or are in the presence of someone whom they are convinced should benefit of their superior vocabulary? The slurring of words is what has become known as Americanese. In lots of ways, it sounds like what you would expect from an 80-year-old Chinese man, suffering from acute phlegm who is suddenly trying to learn English for the first time.

Last week I was in church. The service was going okay. The sermon was impressive. I had ₦1,000 which I could drop as offering and more than one person had commented on how great my shirt looked. And then the time for worship began. It was nothing out of the ordinary. The lead singer started the process by singing the song whose chief refrain was “Worthy, you are worthy. King of kings, lord of lords, you are worthy.”

My problems began when a young lady got up and began to sing, very loudly: “Worry, you are worry...”

I stared at her in disbelief. It was hard for me to understand or accept. Could she not hear that what she was singing was not only un-cool, it bordered dangerously on accidental blasphemy? She didn’t notice my attention at first but just kept on singing. Very loudly too. There were over 500 people in the chapel but we could all hear her singing very loudly “...king of kings, lord of lords, you are worry.”

The sceptic in me was tempted to ask her how it was possible for her to pronounce the word “Lord” correctly and yet miss out completely on a similar phoneme seconds later. But if there is one thing I am, it is a gentleman and so I just continued to stare at the girl. She was after all “worry” of attention.

Eventually she noticed, as all ladies seem uncannily able to do, that I was staring. She gave me a quick glance before returning for a longer stare. Thus admonished, I quickly returned my gaze back to the chancel. I was just in time too. The lead singer, having exhausted the first worship song switched to another which was familiar as it was laced with painful potential.

“You are worthy, lord, you are worthy, lord...” she sang.

Sure enough, the lady by my side belted out her version very loudly. Her voice was rich and firm, laced with the conviction of the moment. She sang with the strength and energy of a person who believed absolutely in what she was saying. “You are worry lord...”

I sighed to myself and slowly began to anticipate the end of service. I didn’t understand what was the “marrer” with the girl. Once the service was done, I would be “gerring” out of there. I might be wrong, but I thought I heard Jesus laugh.