Can You Please Show Me Where I Come From?

Growing up in South Africa in the 21st century is one tough assignment. I always hear many who were born before our generation saying they faced more challenges that the children who were born in the early 90s and those who were conceived in the millennium. Yes those who were born in the 60s, 70s and 80s might have faced one challenge in the form of apartheid. But the youth of today are facing all the repercussions and the aftermath of apartheid. Among those I shall include social problems.

It is sad to acknowledge that one in nine leaners at a model c school cannot write and speak fluently in their language of birth. Even those who were born in rural areas no longer know how to write or speak in their mother tongue properly. I don’t know of children who are able to recite their family praise songs, but they can recite ten Shakespeare’s sonnets in a few minutes, without even fluffing a line. I guess culture and heritage have lost respect and importance in society. A black child gets angry when called by his or her African name, but they are proud to be called by any European or western name. You will find a child even knowing the meaning behind the name, even using a certain twang to pronounce it.

I am always lucky to find myself in a taxi with my people. When I say my people I am talking about black people who are Pedi, Zulus, Xhosas, Tsongas, Vendas...you name them. One thing I have realised is that you wont find them conversing in their mother tongues, even if there is no white, Indian or Coloured person partaking in the conversation. They will speak this fancy English with an accent only know to them. I am even afraid to talk about the kinds of accents they pull. You would swear none of them was born in South Africa, that none of them might be a son or daughter of a traditionalist from a rural Nongoma, Moletjie, Mmaleboho, Tshamahandzi, or even Taung.

I for one know my family praise song, but I have since realised that ever since leaving my home in Moletjie Ga Phago in the Limpopo Province, I am in a way starting to address my own people in English, which of course is an embarrassment. You will find people laughing at their people simply because they can’t speak English properly, and because they have this heavy accent which is mostly associated with black people. One is not even willing to help or correct so that the next person will get it right next time.

I have met a lot of Pedi people who can’t put together a single sentence without throwing in an English word or any word which is not Pedi. Most of this people who claim not to know their mother tongues where born, bred and schooled in their rural villages before they moved to the cities as young men and women.

I lived in rural Moletjie for all my schooling years and it was after Matriculating that I came to Pretoria to further my studies. It was my first day at TUT and I didn’t know where the Journalism department was. It is sometimes hard for someone who comes from a rural school to fluently express themselves in English, and I am sure there are many of those who relate to what I am trying to say. I happened to be one of those, though I could manage to put together a decent sentence in English.

On my way to the department to register, I meet this young lady. I was lost, and then I heard this young lady talking to people about a department that I was looking for. It looked like she was also there to register. One thing that gave me confidence was that she was speaking in my own language, Sepedi. I approached her and asked. "Dumela, ke kgopela go botsisha. Nka humana kae department ya Journalism kage ke timetse?" ("Hi, where can I find the Journalism department as I am lost", simply translated for those who don’t know Pedi. The young lady looked at me straight in the eye and without any shame, she told me to address her in English as she couldn’t hear a word I was saying. I was perplexed, flabbergasted to say the least. I didn’t have a choice but to rephrase in English so I could get help, I needed it after all.

I just couldn’t understand why the young lady said that, but I realised she wanted to make friends with kids from model c schools whose English would make a boy from a rural school think they are whites covered in a black skin. I have nothing against people expressing themselves in English, and I have nothing against people being educated. My only concern is why expressing yourself using bombastic words in the presence of your father who was not fortunate enough to make it to grade 8, but sacrificed everything so you could get a decent education? Why talk in English when you are among your people who don’t even know what you are saying? It definitely sounds like a slap in the face for me.

Is it that embarrassing to say you are Venda to everyone with your head high above your shoulders? Does it make you any stupid to speak in your own language and practice your culture without shame? I am afraid people will start blaming the loss of knowledge and poor practice of their cultures and way of doing things on apartheid, or better yet, on racism. They will be forgetting that they were the ones who have brought all this shame unto themselves.

I bet one day we will be walking around towns, our villages, asking people where we come from and what our home language was.

Have we no shame?

Mmasekepe O Matsebane