Wofrε Me Obroni - A simple(?) Ghanaian language lesson

Wofrε Me Obroni - Translation: I am called Obroni

Now that our kids (well, at least the boys) are going to a new school, they are learning a new language. And it's not French, though that is also on the curriculum. Sean and Michael are learning Twi, pronounced chwee, and Momma is going to learn it too, one way or another... whether it kills her or not.

In America, we've got accents to deal with... my Jersey accent is evident almost as soon as I open my mouth. And most people can tell an Okie from a Bostonian from a Minnesotan from a Texan. While it sounds different emanating from the voice box, it's still English.

The problem (for me, anyway) with Ghana's "mother tongue" is that there is no single indigenous language, there are dozens. And not just different languages, there are also dialects within languages. The Twi that the boys have to learn is Asante Twi, which I've discovered is different from Akuapem and Fante Twi. Who knew.

In any typical Ghanaian household which has school age children, you will hear spoken English and some other local language. My husband, for instance, was raised to speak Ewe, since his family is from the Ewe tribe, but because they lived in Osu, they quickly learned Ga. Then when my husband went to Anum Boys Boarding school, he needed to learn Twi. Fortunately (for me and the kids) English is the official language used in school so almost every kid in the country has a smattering of English. My niece can speak English, Twi, Ga and Ewe, and French fluently, and she's the only girl in Wesley Girls who can speak 5 languages. Jeez, I struggle with one.

But in this household, it's unfortunate, it's currently only Sly who can speak the local languages. Now, I've been listening to him when he's on the phone, and occasionally I can pick out a word or two or three and get the general gist of what he's talking about, but ask me which language he was conversing in, and I'm totally lost. No clue. When I ask him, what did something mean, cause I've heard him say it so many times, I'll try (and typically mangle) to repeat what I think I heard. I am sure to him, it's all gobbledegook but he humors me. Most of the time.

As I said, Sean and Mike have no choice but to learn Twi, as it is a required course in the Ghanaian curriculum, and they must pass it. In the old school, the teaching of Twi was lackadaisical and haphazard, and because the old school was Cambridge oriented, it wasn't absolutely necessary to pass it. At some point last year, they even stopped teaching it, because the teacher quit. The boys weren't exactly depressed about this, as you can imagine.

Praying that my boys (and me, hopefully through osmosis) will learn Twi, we went on a book hunt for a Twi dictionary or at least a primer of some sort. It took several hours, but we finally managed to find one at Ghana Language's Bureau. But the book that really floats my boat is called, "Basic Twi for Learners (Asante)" and it is written by J. Yeboa-Dankwa. I love this book!

It starts by explaining that there are twenty-two letters in the Twi alphabet; seven vowels and fifteen consonants. There are no letters C, J, Q, V, X or Z. But there are two new letters, ε and ɔ, for me to trip my tongue over. The boys and Alex can easily recite the alphabet, complete with rolling "R" sound which I absolutely cannot do. My tongue just does not work that way.

Anyway, the book has simple words, expressions, phrases and conversations to help a foreigner converse with a Twi speaking local. I will (eventually) learn how to greet someone, how to buy bananas or oranges or cloth, take a taxi to Osu RE, or tell you where I am from. There are whole dialogues written out, for all different kinds of scenarios, but the one I really like is this one, which was translated into English. I'm going to paraphrase it here, so I don't get into trouble with the publisher.

Here's the setting: a passenger waits for a trotro (bus) going to (Kwame Nkrumah) Circle. The driver asks the waiting passenger if he plans on getting in, which he does. The passenger asks the drivers mate what the fare is, and the mate responds that it 200 cedis (which is about 2 cents... this is a 9 year old book, by the way, so given inflation, it's likely worth about 20 cents now). The already seated passengers want to know why the fare is so much money for this particular newcomer (obviously they've got an obroni aboard). The mate responds to them that because the price of gas went up, they are charging more. The passengers ask when did this happen. The mate replies, that it was in the newspaper. (This is actually very interesting, because when this book was written 9 years ago, gas prices were subsidized and kept nice and low... perhaps the author had some special insight into the petroleum industry of Ghana.) So, anyway, hearing this, all of the passengers hoot at the mate and begin calling him a liar, a thief and a cheat. The driver insists that the mate charge the passenger the existing approved fare. The other passengers suggest that perhaps the mate is ashamed, but he claims that he is not. The newcomer gives the mate 200 cedis, and now the mate pretends to forget to give him his 50 cedis change. The rest of the passengers start shouting at the mate, and make deragatory comments about his behavior. At this point, the driver tells the passengers to stop talking. They respond that he should mind his own business and just drive the bus. At that, the driver threatens to pull over and stop driving. The passengers say, "Is that so? We shall see!" And they all enjoy a good laugh at the expense of the trotro driver and the mate. Finally, they arrive at their destination.

And lest you think this little story is atypical, you should know (and those of you who are friendly with a Ghanaian know whereof I speak), Ghanaians love to argue and fuss and harangue anyone and everyone... especially when it comes to money. I am so wishy-washy, whatever the price I'm quoted, if it seems reasonable, I accept. If I don't think it's reasonable, I make a single counter-offer. It's either accepted, or I walk away. I do not dicker, bargain or cajole.

But back to Twi. I can tell you my name, "Me din de Barbara," where I come from, "Mefiri New Jersey," and that I like Ghana very much (Mepε Ghana papaapa). What I can't tell you (yet) is how happy I will be when I am able to understand even a tiny portion of this language. Then, maybe, I won't feel so "obroni-ish." Next up, Ewe!