Kriolu ALUPEC

Kriolu ALUPEC

So as I’ve mentioned before, kriolu is the language spoken by all Cape Verdians. It’s the first language, and is spoken in the home, on the streets, between couples, at bars and on the beach, amongst family and friends. When children learn to speak, they learn kriolu. It is, for the most part, not yet a written language. (I’ve found only one book printed in kriolu, and that was on Praia.) Each of the inhabited islands has its own particular dialect of kriolu, and oftentimes dialects can even differ from village to village within the same island. Although all the dialects are closely related, there are big differences in vocabulary, pronunciation, syntax, grammar and punctuation. Consequently, a stranger to the islands might hear someone speaking the Badiu kriolu of Fogo and someone else the Sanpadjudo kriolu of Santo Antao, and think they were speaking two completely different languages. (This presents an especially difficult challenge to Peace Corps volunteers, as we all learn the badiu of Santiago, but are then shipped off to various islands and forced to learn a new kriolu once at site.) Cape Verdians can, for the most part, understand all of the various dialects, although each island would claim that their particular version was mex seb, (better…as we’d say here on Santo Antao).

Portuguese however, is the language that is spoken in schools, government offices, and on the television. All written documents and books in Cape Verde are printed in Portuguese. During classes at all the schools, teachers teach in Portuguese, and the students respond in Portuguese. When the kids head into the hallways during a break, they speak to one another in kriolu, then return to the classroom, and to conversing in Portuguese. Homework and papers are completed in Portuguese.

It’s something that we as Americans just can’t fathom. Imagine speaking one language at school or at the driver license office or at the bank, and another during happy hour. We (at least in Texas public high schools and universities) were required to take a certain number of foreign language hours, but even after 7 years in middle and high school, and 4 years in college, few people ever became fluent in their foreign language. Here, they are learning and speaking two languages almost from the time they can walk, they become fluent in both, and each language has its own environment. You’ll NEVER catch a Cape Verdian talking to another Cape Verdian in Portuguese under any normal circumstances. Its only used for official or governmental tasks.

I am reminded of the following conversation between myself and my friend Sabino, which took place one night as we were leaving my English class. It went something like this:

“Oi Caley, m ta kontent pa prende ex inglex official la na bo aula, ma, kuando bo te be enxine-nos kel kriolu d’bzot?” (Hey Caley, I’m happy top be learning the official English in your class, but, when are you going to teach us your kriole?)

“Ami n’komprende-b Sabino. Kuale kriolu d’minha?” (I don’t understand you Sabino. What kriole of mine?)

“Asim a bzot ta fala dentru d’kasa. Englex de strada. Inglex familiar. Moda k’ bzot ta fala entre amigo. Englex d’alma.” (Like how you talk in the house. Street English. Normal English. The kind you speak amongst friends. English of the soul.)

“O Sabino, bo n’sabia k nos n’den un kriolu la na Merka? Nos ten so un lingua la, y so un moda d’inglex, y e maix o menos igual na tud part d’merka. So inglex.” (Sabino, you didn’t know that we don’t have a kriolu in America? We have just one language there, and it’s more or less the same in all parts of America. Just English.)

He was shocked. He felt sorry for me that I didn’t have another, deeper, more soulful language to speak. He told me that there are some things you can only say in kriolu. I told him that English is English, we all speak it all the time. It’s the same on TV as in the house, as it is in the schools, as it is in the books. I told him that I talked to my teachers exactly the same way I talked to my friends. He looked sad, so I tried to explain to him that America is made up of people from every nationality and that in a city like New York for instance, you might hear a dozen languages in a single day. I told him about accents from Boston and how they are different from accents in Texas and how those are different than accents in the Carolinas. I told him that there are perhaps still some crazy Cajuns in Louisiana that can speak a French-English Creole, but that it wasn’t the same thing as his kriolu.

Anyway. The reason I bring all this up is that the government of Cape Verde is currently working to standardize a written kriolu alphabet that will work for all of the variations of kriolu spoken here. (There was and possibly still is talk of deciding on a standard form of kriolu, but that will almost certainly never happen.)
Imagine, the word for “more,” depending on your island and your flavor of kriolu, is pronounced either mosh, mesh, mas, mays, mise, or mishe. However you say it, if you ever want to write it down, you need an alphabet and some basic rules before you can start.
This brings me to an article I found in last weeks A Nacao, the national weekly newspaper in Cape Verde. In it, the author makes his case for the ALUPEC kriolu alphabet (I have yet to discover what the acronym stands for) by writing the same short story in all the major forms of Cape Verdian kriolu, thus proving that it can and does work. It’s the first time I’ve seen anything like this since coming here, and it’s easily the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen in the newspaper.
Unfortunately I am unable to make all the accent marks on my keyboard, so the transcription below lacks all the fun little marks and slashes you get to make, but I think you’ll get the idea. The story was long so I’m only putting in the first three sentences. They say, more or less:

“Once, there were two friends who were always together. Where you saw one, you were sure to see the other one as well. They had a strong friendship that was just right for spending time together, and anyone could see that they were great friends.”




Djarfogu
Era un bes tenba dos amigo ki ta staba kuazi senpi djuntu. Undi bu odja un, bu pode konta ma kel out ta staba la djuntu ku el tambe. Es tenba un amizade tau finu pa kumpanheru, ki karkel argen podeba kusiba ses amizade.

Santiagu
Era un bes tinha dos amigo ki ta staba kuazi senpri djuntu. Undi bo odja un, bu pode konta ma but a odja-ba kelotu tambe. Es tinha un amizade tau finu pa kunpanheru, ki kualker algen podia kubisaba ses amizade.

Sintonton (this is the kriolu that I speak)
Era un vex, dox emige ex tava ztode kueje senpre junte. Onde ke bo tava oia un, bo podia konta ma bo te be oia kel ote tambe. Ex tinha un amizede mute fine pa kunpenher, ke kualker pesoa podia kubisa ses amizede.

Saniklau
Era un bes tinha dos amige ke staba kuaze senpre de junte. Und eke bo odjaba un, bop ode konta ma kel ote tambe bo ta adjaba. Es tinha un amizade de tau fine pa kunpanher, ke kualker psoa podia kubisaba ses amizade.

Bubista
Tinha dos emige kit a sta tude junte. Und eke bu odja un, but a odja kel ote. Ar tinha txeu, txeu amizade pa kumpanher, ke era un invenja de tude jente. Un amizade de verdade.

Dja de Sal
Un vex dos amige ta stava senpe junte. Onde k’un stava kel ote tanbe stava. Ses amizade era tau expesial pa kunpenher ki kualker pesoa tava sinti inveja d’es.