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The Creative Use of Genre Features Continuity and Change in Patterns of Language Use in Budu, a Bantu Language of Congo (Kinshasa) Frieke-Kappers, C.
2007
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Download date: 02. Oct. 2021 VRIJE UNIVERSITEIT
The Creative Use of Genre Features Continuity and Change in Patterns of Language Use in Budu, a Bantu Language of Congo (Kinshasa)
ACADEMISCH PROEFSCHRIFT
ter verkrijging van de graad Doctor aan de Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, op gezag van de rector magnificus prof.dr. L.M. Bouter, in het openbaar te verdedigen ten overstaan van de promotiecommissie van de faculteit der Letteren op dinsdag 6 november 2007 om 15.45 uur in de aula van de universiteit, De Boelelaan 1105
door Claertje Frieke-Kappers
geboren te Loenen aan de Vecht promotor: prof. dr. L.J. de Vries copromotoren : dr. E. Wattel prof. dr. G.J. Steen Acknowledgements in loving memory of abhaa Gotha Aumani
This dissertation would not have come to fruition without the team of Budu poets, musicians, writers, teachers, nurses, builders, cooks, cleaners, sweepers, administrators, technicians (radio- and ICT-), pilots, bookkeepers, and all who contributed to the production of Budu literacy materials. Even though I did not think of writing a doctoral dissertation until years after we had worked together, these people are to be included in this symbolic first paragraph of my acknowledgements: here I praise the One who made us in His own image, enabling us to use our minds creatively, and I praise you who work together to produce texts of all kinds in Budu. I want to thank my neighbours1 for their feedback in 1997 while I was studying about thirty texts in Ibambi. Often their remarks shed new light on the use of some elements in the texts which escaped my attention. Thanks also to translators-in-training Abhaa Bayaka, Abhaa Nangaa and Abhaa Fomuno for their in-depth analysis of four stories in 1995, as well as to Gotha Aumani, director of the Budu project at that time, and to Abhaa Awilikilango who, in 2002, worked through some texts with me at a seminar on discourse analysis. Also artist and Anglicist Willy Bambinesenge was of invaluable help glossing texts. His creative writings in Budu provided great insights into the dynamics of language use. Both the files which my husband Fred C. Frieke produced (while working on Budu orthography in 1995 and 1996, and on the Luke manuscript in 1998 and 1999) and the remarks of SIL colleague Bettina Gottschlich, who chats in Budu as if it were her mother-tongue German, helped me. I would like to thank Bettina for her willingness to let me use her text- and music-recordings and for her hospitality in 2005, when I returned to Ibambi to check my data with François Abati. I am equally grateful to Jany Maters from Woudrichem, who copied 45 cassettes with Budu recordings for me. Several times in this dissertation the names of Budu translators François Abati, Theofile Anzetaka, transcriber-typist Ingoi Bakunguo, as well as the names of linguists Constance Kutsch Lojenga, Paul Thomas, Gert and Alida de Wit and Fred Frieke occur where I refer to their work. Their insights obviously arose from their love of linguistic analysis. Also Loren Koehler and Tim Raymond should be mentioned. Loren Koehler helped me with the Budu fonts and shared his digital dictionary of Budu, while Tim Raymond shared his insights into Bhele morphology, a related Bantu language. At an international conference in Kenya in 2000, I became aware of the uniqueness of the abundance of tape-recorded and transcribed texts that the Budu team had collected between 1987 and 1996 with the help of Bettina Gottschlich. This material opened up for me the possibility of researching natural Budu texts. Dr. Margaret Jepkiru Muthwii and others encouraged me in my subsequent investigation of natural language. I felt priviledged by the warm welcome I received at the Vrije Universiteit where I started my research in March 2002, many years after doing the Doctoraal Opleiding Bijbelvertalers, a track that is organised in partnership with the Netherlands Bible Society. Without the encouragement of Prof. Dr. Piet van Reenen I would not have committed myself to doing PhD research. Also towards the end, I would not have dared to bring this book to the printer without his scrutiny in proofreading the tables. In 2001, I found Prof. Dr. Lourens de Vries, professor of General Linguistics and professor of Bible Translation at the Vrije Universiteit in Amsterdam, willing to supervise me on this research topic. His own work triggered off the beginning of my research. Also in personal encounters he was always willing to share his ideas about genre and their implication for the study of language. I am grateful for his special sense of humour that helped me through tough times when I found myself struggling to achieve a clear presentation. Co-promotor mathematician Dr. Evert Wattel of the same University, Faculty of Exact Sciences, developed the software for the corpus linguistic research, patiently integrating what I expected from his software design. Dr. Gerard Steen of the English Department at the Vrije Universiteit
1 Abhaa Bambu, Abhaa Sadeyna, Enaa Jabaa, Enaa Nato and Abhaa Bayaka, Abhaa Polo, Ngbengusi, Ma Joli, Ma Thelesi, Ma Rutha and Elisa, Benjamin Adombi, Suza, Theres, Noel, Pierro and Abhaa Ejeo and Ma Catho.
had worked on Biber’s theoretical framework (Steen 2003) and was so kind as to offer to supervise the corpus linguistic aspects. As my second co-promotor, he surprised me by his concise and in-depth questions which set me thinking for at least a month, always helping me to proceed in better ways.Thank you, all three, for your confidence in me. I wish to express my appreciation for the meetings of the Vrije Universtiteit Work Group on the Architecture of Human Language with Dr. Petra Bos, Dr. Wilbert Spooren, Prof. Dr. Geert Booij, Dr. Wilco van den Heuvel, Prof. Dr. Mike Hannay and Dr. Janet Dyk. The comments of Dr. Wilbert Spooren, in particular, were important for the development of my own thinking. Prof. Dr. Thilo Schadeberg, Prof. Dr. Maarten Mous and Dr. Felix Ameka of Leiden University are to be mentioned for the valuable remarks they made in reaction to some papers that I gave. Dr. Ameka, in particular, stirred my thoughts with his original remarks about language use. Prof. Dr. Maarten Mous was very welcoming and the Leiden Friday Afternoon Lectures on Descriptive Linguistics were certainly an inspiration to me on the few occasions I was able to be present. The Bantu Discourse Work-Group of SIL, whose 2005 meetings in Kenya I was able to attend with the financial help of Wycliffe Bible Translators (Europe Area Group), was an inspiration. Their comments on my ideas, especially those of Dr. Stephen H. Levinsohn, Dr. Helen Keaton and Dr. Steve Nicolle, were helpful. I am grateful to The Catharine van Tussenbroek Foundation that provided the money to extend this trip to include a visit to Ibambi to check my data. Proofreaders ready to work through my elaborate explanations of statistics proved to be of a very rare kind. I was fortunate to have two volunteers, whose attempts to repair some of the damage which I did to their language helped me tremendously. Mathematician Peter Stratfold and linguist Alison Nicolle helped me, for instance, even in between house-painting or scuba-diving and literacy workshops. I would also like to recognize the gracious help of Martien Kappers, Douglas Boone, Liz Raymond and Beth Koehler who read through some first-draft materials for me while still maintaining a warm friendship with helpful suggestions. Cindi Hampshire hand-carried heavy books for me from Africa to Europe while traveling with her children, and Helma Rem carried 45 cassette tapes for me in her hand luggage. Your efforts were greatly appreciated. Thanks to Bagamba Araali, now PhD, and to Jill Brace, and to several other friends,2 (if I may still use that word), for their peer support, despite my increasingly infrequent responses to their mail as the final draft neared completion. Without my children Vera and Tim I would certainly have lost my balance. Somehow they managed to keep alternating between teasing me with grotesque 40-word utterances and making me forget all about patterns of language use and focus on the patterns of meals and laundry and dentist visits. Thank you for the fun we were able to have despite my rather monotonous time-table. I thank “Bonne Maman” Martien for her 5-years supply of jam (from the orchard mentioned in the Foreword), mother-in-law Carla van der Wijngaard and mother Ankie Brink for their practical help in mending torn trousers and sheets, sewing pillow cases and whitewashing walls. I feel particularly grateful for the ‘room with a view’ which Martien and Frits helped me realise in our attic. It provided more than a physical place to withdraw. Without such helpful parents it would have been impossible to concentrate on my research. On top of that, my father Jeroen Kappers always jokingly encouraged me to express myself more clearly (if I was ever going to honour my name in Dutch (‘clarity’). Finally I would like to thank my dearest friend Fred. I thank him for taking care of Vera and Tim during my three trips to Africa. I was even more fortunate in that he endured living with an absent- minded partner, confident in the hope that this would not be for ever. Without your decision to keep surrounding me with your relaxed, steady love, I would never have made it.
2 Joukje, Liesbeth, Katrien, Sebastiaan, Marleen, Han, Anneke, Ewoud, Benita, Sijtze, Hubert, Mitzy, Peter, Nelie, Geert, Mariëtte, Kuinira, Gerda, Henrico, Henk, Elly, Adri, Roelof, Remke, Tim, Liz, Margriet, Bernard, Sjaak, Eline, Leo, Rina, Diet.
Contents
Acknowledgements Contents Foreword List of Abbreviations Maps
Chapter 1. Creative Use of Genre Features, Introduction 1 1.0 Introduction 1.1 Text Organisation 1.2 Relevance for the Notion of ‘Naturalness’ 1.3 A Multidimensional Analysis of Language-use Variation 1.4 Language Use and Creativity 1.5 Genre Theory and Creative Innovations 1.6 Cognition and Creativity 1.7 Research Question 1.8 Conclusion
Chapter 2. The Community of Budu Speakers 35 2.0 Introduction 2.1 Political Isolation and Economic Independence 2.2 External Threats 2.3 Literacy Development 2.4 Divergency in Budu Society 2.5 Conclusion Appendix 2.A: Indications of Acculturation in Congo
Chapter 3. Elements of Language use: a Sketch of Budu 53 3.0 Introduction 3.1 Organisation of this Chapter 3.2 Limitations of the present Analysis 3.3 Lexical Properties 3.3.1 Interaction with Neighbouring Language Groups 3.3.2 Main varieties of Budu and its Dialects 3.3.3 Relation to other Bira-Huku Bantu-D Language 3.3.4 Lexical Similarity to Other Languages 3.3.5 Proto-Bantu Vocabulary and Budu 3.3.6 Loanwords from Languages of Wider Communication 3.3.6.1 Loanwords from French 3.3.6.2 Loanwords from Lingala 3.3.6.3 Loanwords from Swahili 3.3.7 Phonological Similarities to Other Languages 3.4 Noun Phrase Morphology 3.4.1 Noun-Class Pairs used for Singular and Plural 3.4.2 Agreement in the Noun Phrase 3.4.3 Verbal Subject Prefixes 3.4.4 Verbal Object Prefixes 3.4.5 Personal Pronouns 3.4.5.1 Pronouns 3.4.5.2 Polite vocatives 3.4.6 Associative Constructions 3.4.6.1 Numerals 3.4.6.2 Prepositions 3.4.6.3 Functional Adjectives 3.4.6.4 Syntactic Adjectives
3.4.6.5 Person Anaphora and Quantifiers 3.5 Verb Phrase Morphology 3.5.1 Verb Derivation 3.5.1.1 The Applicative Extension 3.5.1.2 The Reciprocal Extension 3.5.1.3 The Repetitive/ Intensive Extension 3.5.1.4 The Passsive Extension 3.5.1.5 The Causative Extension 3.5.2 Verb Inflection 3.5.1.0 Introduction and Overview 3.5.2.1 Syntactical Expressions of Tense, Aspect and Mood (TAM) 3.5.2.2 Perfect Narrative Past 3.5.2.3 Historic-Present Perfect 3.5.2.4 Progressive Aspect 3.5.2.5 Perfect Aspect 3.5.2.6 Imperfect Aspect 3.5.2.7 Habitual Aspect 3.5.2.8 Habitual Narrative Tense 3.5.2.9 Syntactical and Lexical Future 3.5.2.10 Summary of the Main TAM Distinctions 3.5.2.11 Mood 3.5.2.11.1 Conditionals 3.5.2.11.2 Optative or Irreal Mood 3.5.2.11.3 Negative Mood 3.5.3 Adverbial Tense, Mood and Aspect Marking 3.5.3.1 Phonologically Stable Morphemes in the Inflected Verb 3.5.3.2 Relative Phrase Markers 3.5.3.3 Adverbial Clitics for TAM marking 3.6 Conclusion about Budu Elements of Language Use Appendix 3.A Phonological Consonant Chart and Orthographic Conventions
Chapter 4. Relations between Genre and the Use of Linguistic Forms 123 4.0 Introduction 4.1 Genre Labels and their Main Groupings 4.2 Tagging Texts of the Researched Corpus 4.2.1 Pronouns 4.2.2 Noun Phrase Morphology 4.2.3 Verb Phrase 4.2.4 Mood 4.2.5 Aspect 4.2.6 Subordination 4.2.7 Reported Speech 4.2.8 Coordination 4.2.9 Emphasis 4.3 StatisticalTools 4.4 Conclusion Appendix 4.A Direct and Indirect Speech Appendix 4.B A Manual Method to Compare Forms with a Shared Distribution
Chapter 5. Conventional Language Use in the Main Genres 149 5.0 Introduction 5.1 Description of Research Results 5.1.1 Data Discussion 5.1.1.1 Personal Pronouns 5.1.1.2 Verbal Prefixes 5.1.1.3 Adverbs and Adverbial Morphemes 5.1.1.4 Reported Speech 5.1.1.5 Lexical Density 5.1.1.6 Mood
5.1.1.7 Aspect 5.1.1.8 Noun Phrase Morphology 5.1.1.9 Connectives 5.1.1.10 Cohesive Devices 5.1.1.11 Attention-getting Devices 5.1.2 Conclusions about Obtained Correlation Matrix with Results 5.2 Discussion of Research Results: Clusters of Co-occurrence in Language Use 5.2.1 Budu First Dimension: Presentation of Events 5.2.1.1. Overview of Distinctive Features of the First Dimension 5.2.1.2 Role First-Dimension Features 5.2.1.3 Conclusion about the First Dimension 5.2.2 Budu Second Dimension: Expression of Information 5.2.2.1. Overview of Distinctive Features of the Second Dimension 5.2.2.2 Role Second-Dimension Features 5.2.2.3 Conclusion about the Second Dimension 5.2.3 Budu Third Dimension: Directive Communication 5.2.3.1. Overview of Distinctive Features 5.2.3.2 Role Third-Dimension Features 5.2.3.3 Conclusion about the Third Dimension 5.2.4 Budu Fourth Dimension: Community Involvement 5.2.4.1. Overview of Distinctive Features of the Fourth Dimension 5.2.4.2 Role Fourth-Dimension Features 5.2.4.3 Conclusion about the Fourth dimension 5.2.5 Budu Fifth Dimension: Production 5.2.5.1. Overview of the Distinctive Features 5.2.5.2 Role Fifth-Dimension Features 5.2.5.3 Conclusion about the Fifth dimension 5.2.6 Budu Sixth Dimension: Performative Usage of Budu 5.2.6.1. Overview of Distinctinctive Features 5.2.6.2 Role Sixth-Dimension Features 5.2.6.3 Conclusion about the Sixth Dimension 5.3 Co-occurrence and its Operation as Distinction of Communication 5.4 Conclusion about Conventional Language Use Appendix 5.A: Overview of Distinctive Features of Communication Determining Language Use Variation Appendix 5.B: Reported Speech and its Structuring Function in a Budu Presentation of Events Appendix 5.C: Modal Connectives as Typical Budu Reference to Shared Knowledge Appendix 5.D: Ideophones and their Budu Usage for Emphasis in Community-Involved Expressions Appendix 5.E: Idiomatic Expressions as Solidarity-markers in Performative Usage of Budu Appendix 5.F: Correlation Matrix in Four Digits
Chapter 6. Conventional Language Use in Embedded Genres 217 6.0 Introduction 6.1 Language in Embedded Genres and Separate Nature of its Usage 6.2 Data Discussion for the Results of Embedded Genres 6.2.1 Genre Markers for Embedded Genres 6.2.2 Distinctive Features of Various Embedded Genres 6.2.3 Interpretation of Results for the Mini-corpus 6.2.4 Excerpt from a Genealogical Interview Embedded in Cultural Documentation 6.2.5 A Separate Dimension of Comunication in Embeddings 6.2.6 Excerpt from an Embedded Guarantee 6.2.7 Forms Common to all the Embedded Genres 6.2.8 Forms that Differentiate between Language-Use in Main and in Embedded Genres 6.3 Conclusion about Conventional Language Use in Embedded Genres Appendix 6.A: Overview Cluster Distinguishing Embedded Genres Appendix 6.B: Genre Markers and Distinctions Embedded Genres
Chapter 7. Six Main Parameters of Language Use in Budu 245 7.0 Introduction 7.1.1 General Remarks about Communicative Dimensions of Variation in Language Use 7.1.2 The Variables 7.2 Parameters of Budu Language use 7.2.1. Temporally-Connective vs. Non-Temporally-Connective Presentation of Events 7.2.1.1 Further Interpretation of the First Dimension of Variation 7.2.1.2 The Continuum of Temporally-Connective Presentation 7.2.1.3 Text Excerpts with Non-Temporally Connective Event Presentation in Drama 7.2.1.4 Contrastive Analysis of Two Distinguished Sets of Genres 7.2.1.5 Text Excerpt with Non-Temporally Connective Event Presentation in Proverbs 7.2.1.5 Differences among Genres within One Set 7.2.1.6 Entire Pact Story with Temporally-Connective Presentation 7.2.1.7 Conclusion about the Presentation of Events in Budu 7.2.2 Explicit Expression of Information vs. Implicit Expression of Information 7.2.2.1 The Continuum of Information 7.2.2.2 The Contrast between Explicit and Implicit information 7.2.2.3 Text Excerpt with Implicit Information in a Trickster Story 7.2.2.4 Text Excerpt with Explicit Information in a Work Order 7.2.2.5 Text Excerpts with Explicit Information in Literacy Lessons 7.2.2.6 Text Excerpt with Explicit Information in Medical Information 7.2.2.7 Conclusion about the Expression of Information in Budu 7.2.3 Directive vs. Non-Directive Communication 7.2.3.1 The Continuum of Directive Communication 7.2.3.2 Text Excerpts with Non-directive Communication in a Life Story 7.2.3.3 Two Contrasted Sets of Distinguished Genres 7.2.3.4 Contrastive Analysis of Two Distinguished Sets of Genres 7.2.3.5 Text Excerpt with Directive Communication in a Party Song 7.2.3.6 Text Excerpt with Directive Communication in a Prayer 7.2.3.7 Text Excerpt with Directive Communication in a Recipe 7.2.3.8 Conclusion about Directive Communication in Budu 7.2.4 Community-involved Language Use vs. Language Use without Community Involvement 7.2.4.1 Two Distinguished Sets of Genres 7.2.4.2 Contrastive Analysis of Two Distinguished Sets of Genres 7.2.4.3 Text Excerpt with Community Involvement in Cultural Documentation 7.2.4.4 Text Excerpts with Community Involvement in Church Songs 7.2.4.5 Text Excerpt with Community Involvement in embedded Agreements 7.2.4.6 The Continuum of Community Involvement 7.2.4.7 Text Excerpts with Community Involvement in Animal Stories 7.2.4.8 Conclusion about Community Involvement in Budu Expressions 7.2.5 Spontaneous Production versus Prepared Production 7.2.5.1 Two Constrasted Sets of Genres 7.2.5.2 A Contrastive Analysis of Two Distinguished Sets of Genres 7.2.5.3 Text Excerpts from Ghost Stories with Spontaneous Production 7.2.5.4 The Continuum of Text Production 7.2.5.5 Text Excerpt with Spontaneous Production in Lullabies 7.2.5.6 Text Excerpt with Spontaneous Production in Riddles 7.2.5.7 Conclusion about Budu Text Production 7.2.6 Performative vs. Constative Language Use 7.2.6.1 The Continuum of Performative Language Use 7.2.6.2 Two Constrasted Sets of Genres 7.2.6.3 Text Excerpts with Performative Language Use in Church Songs 7.2.6.4 Text Excerpt with Performative Language Use in Mourning Songs 7.2.6.5 Text Excerpt with Performative Language Use in Circumcision Songs 7.2.6.6 Text Excerpt with Performative Language Use in a Decree 7.2.6.7 A Contrastive Analysis of Two Distinguished Sets of Genres 7.2.6.8 Text Excerpt with Non-Performative Speech in Drama 7.2.6.9 Text Excerpt with Non-Performative Speech in Travel Instructions 7.2.6.10 Text Excerpt with Performative Speech in Pastoral (Travel) Instructions
7.2.6.11 Conclusion about Performative Language Use in Budu 7.3 Conventional Language Use in Sixteen Budu Text Types 7.3.1 Overview of Dimensions Reflected in Sixteen Text Types 7.3.2 Genre Features and their Use in Each of the Text Types 7.3.2 Conclusion about Sixteen Text Types in Budu 7.4 Conclusion about Distinctions in Conventional Usage of Budu Appendix 7.A: Background Information about Genres Mentioned in ‘Public Meeting’ Text Bhasa
Chapter 8. The Creative Use of Genre Features 349 8.0 Introduction 8.1 Background Information 8.1.1 Health as a Concept of General Well-being 8.1.2 A Historical Affinity of the Budu with Medical Services 8.2 A Text about Malnutrition 8.2.0 Explicit Information about Symptoms of Malnutrition 8.2.1 An Embedded Case history and its Temporally-Connective Presentation of Events 8.2.2 Reported Speech 8.2.2.1 Description of Three Cycles of Reported Speech in this Malnutrition Text 8.2.2.2 An Interpretation of Three Cycles of Reported Speech in this Malnutrition Text 8.2.2.3 Discussion of Three Cycles of Reported Speech in this Malnutrition Text 8.2.3 Allusions to Directive-Performative Communication in this Malnutrition Text 8.2.4 Conclusion about Creatively Used Genre Features in this Malnutrition Text 8.3 Introduction to a Text about Dysentery 8.3.1 Performative Language in this Dysentery Text 8.3.1.1 Use of Ideophones in this Dysentery Text 8.3.1.2 Oath Formula in Opening Dysentery Text 8.3.2 An Embedded Case History and its Temporally-Connective Presentation of Events 8.3.2.1 Description of Six Cycles of Reported Speech 8.3.2.2 Interpretation of these Six Cycles of Reported Speech 8.3.2.3 Discussion of these Six Cycles of Reported Speech 8.3.3 More Usage of Performative Language in the discuseed Dysentery Text 8.4 The Use of Innovative Language in both Medical Texts 8.5 An Analysis of Creative Language in both Texts 8.6 Conclusion Appendix 8.A: with a Glossed Budu Text about Malnutrition Appendix 8.B: with a Glossed Budu Text about Dysentery Appendix 8.C: with a Translated Budu Moral Advice
Chapter 9. Conclusion and Summary 411 9.0 Introduction 9.1 Conclusions 9.1.1 Continuation 9.1.2 Change 9.1.2.1 Operational Change 9.1.2.2 Manipulation 9.1.3 Indigenous Factors for Change 9.1.4 Viability 9.1.5 Future Research into Natural Language 9.2 Summary
Bibliography 429
Foreword “The researcher [outsider] usually arives with a set of asumptions, conscious and unconscious, that shapes both what that person sees and is capable of seeing.” Patrick Kagbeni Muana 1998:51
As a child, I once woke up during a warm summer night. As I stumbled through the darkness, I touched the wall, expecting to find the door's handle. On our annual six weeks holiday in the family caravan, I could usually find my way outside, through the dark, into my grandfather's orchard. This time I could not find the door handle. Instead I found myself looking through a key hole. I could perceive something bright and orange. It took me a while to realise what I was looking at. What I had taken to be an unidentifiable object in the apple-orchard outside, turned out to be a street lantern. It slowly dawned upon me that the summer holidays were over. I was back home and this street lantern was fifteen meters below me on street level. I could see it through a familiar crack in my bedroom wall, I subsequently realised. There was no keyhole. This little anecdote may serve to illustrate the importance of mental creativity on perception, more especially the perception of prototypes. I saw an orange object. But since I thought that I was looking through a keyhole into an orchard, no relevant prototype crossed my mind, to recognise the object for what it was: a brightly-lit street lantern. The crack in the wall, however, did fit in: it was perceived as a keyhole. Its tiny form apparently triggered off a 'suitable' mental image, fitting the overall context. It also illustrates the impression a ‘foreign’ context may leave on the mind. I looked at an orange object since, having been away for the entire summer, I in fact was a ‘foreigner’ to my own street and could not ‘see’ the street lantern. In ethnology and anthropology such interplay between creativity and cultural prototypes has been a prominent topic of discussion. Especially in discussions about the reaction of indigenous cultures to foreign cultures in the process of globalisation the notion of 'framing' and 'reframing' as introduced by Bakthin (translated in English (1981;1986) proved to be a fruitful one (for example the panel discussion on the dynamics of social change led by Danielle de Lame in 2004 at the School of African and Oriental Studies in London). Not so in linguistics however, where the greater part of technical studies of language shy away from issues of mental creativity; probably because of the scarcity of empirical evidence. Exceptions here are publications such as Lakoff and Turner (1989), Lakoff and Johnson (1999), Turner (1991), Sweetser (1990), and Gibbs (1994; 1999), in which “data have been examined along mainly formalist lines and, crucially, researchers have not paid systematic attention to the contextual conditions of its production,” as Carter and McCarthy (2003:65) comment (references in opus cit.), whereas more functionally oriented linguists avoid formalist definitions of linguistic creativity. In my view, however, the concept of creativity is vital to the study of language development. It will therefore be the main focus of my book, and I hope to provide ample empirical evidence to support that view. Such an unusual departure from common linguistic practice demands an explanation. My interest in the analysis of the linguistic process of creativity was first raised when I was confronted with various practical linguistic problems during my stay in the Democratic Republic of Congo between 1993 and 1998. In 1994, my husband and myself were invited by the Congolese Church to come over with our family in order to participate as linguists in the Budu Bible translation project. We subsequently became involved in the training of translators in several languages of Northeastern Congo. Working with SIL-International, we made use of a French course book on translation principles by Barnwell (1990). In this manual naturalness was recommended as one of the three most important criteria for good translations. Between 1995 and 2000 I was part of an Ibambi- based team consisting of mainly Budu speakers. We developed an orthography for Budu that was
approved by representatives of the community in May 1996. From 1998, our German SIL-colleague in Ibambi, Bettina Gottschlich, worked on the area's literacy development helping Budu writers with the preparation of their first booklets. In that context I worked with a team of over twelve Budu speakers on the analysis and transcription of various texts that had been tape-recorded by a Budu language committee from 1987. But when in 1998 a war destabilised the country, our family was evacuated from Congo and we had to continue work from Kenya. In the course of that team work in Ibambi I had started to observe a dilemma. As translators aim for authentic language use, they cannot escape the necessity of a somewhat creative use of linguistic elements in order to guarantee a natural translation. This also applies to pioneering writers, who need the same creativity for newly developed genres such as cultural documentation and medical information. In contrast to the success of the Red Cross medical-training of Budu workers in Northeastern Congo in the 1930s, where oral genres developed even to a further extent in order to transmit new information, higher education seems to make most Budu speakers hesitant in the creative use of language. Model literate genres presented to them in francophone institutes are replicated, whereas workshops on creative writing by SIL, seem to make speakers abide by fixed patterns of language use as observed in authentic Budu genres. The dilemma which I observed was that Budu speakers seemed successful in the creative use of language for the development of new genres in medical care and church organisation, while some attempts to produce natural language in translation and written medical information seemed to result in far less natural texts. Becoming more and more convinced of the complexity of this problem, I set my aim, in the end, at a contribution to the discussion about ‘naturalness’ of texts in the form of a well documented research work without any a priori ideas about particular factors of language-use variations in newly developed genres. It has resulted in a, perhaps indeed documented, but because of the great many excerpts it contains, also a very lengthy dissertation. Hopefully these introductory words may help interested readers to find their way through its pages. I have attempted to describe empirically observed co-occurrences of linguistic forms. In particular in chapter 7 the patterns I have traced are illustrated in text excerpts and have been analysed with reference to the culture and the history of the Budu people (introduced in chapter 2). In chapter 4, a description of the methodology with its statistics has been included to verify claims I make about various relevant data. In the chapters 5 and 6 I explain my method step by step by means of multiple tables, each focusing on a new aspect. This stepwise presentation is rather lengthy and may, therefore, be discouraging to most readers. Readers not interested in statistics can skip over the methodology in the chapters 4 to 6. Readers not familiar with Bantu linguistics may want to skip over the linguistic sketch in chapter 3. But please do not skip over my central message that is presented in chapter 8: that linguistic creativity, as an indispensable factor in the development of natural texts, can be investigated empirically. If this dissertation is nothing more than a poor start of such investigation, it will at least, I hope, contribute in some way to the development of good methodologies to investigate linguistic creativity in relation to natural language use. The development of genres as discussed in Biber (1994; 1995, by Romaine for instance, who writes about Sports Reporting in Tok Pisin) is relevant to my analysis of Budu genres that developed from 1998, when written information and storytelling started to be edited. Biber assumes that, with the gradual development of literate language use, linguistic elements that are rich in information are increasingly used by new literates. He assumes, moreover, that they will eventually have learnt to exploit maximally the advantages of the written mode (Biber 1995:362). Biber’s assumption seems to imply that the integration of information represents a less natural way of verbal expression that is gradually acquired together with the use of print. As I proceeded with this research I discovered that I disagree with this view. My disagreement paradoxically follows from Biber’s own reasoning. On the same page 362 he addresses some misconceptions about the contrast between structural complexity and parataxis. Linguistic complexity does not, in itself, imply the integration of information, so the contrast itself is not valid, according to
Biber. Similarly, I do not see why parataxis can be equalled to a fragmented presentation of information. Chapter 8 of this book contains an example of a single onomatopaeic form that refers to cutting knives. Its use in linguistic parallelisms refers to multiple symptoms of dysentery, because it apparently evokes shared knowledge about the sensation of ‘cutting’ cramps and familiar observations of blood and mucus in the stool as a result from the damage that dysentery does to the soft texture of the intestines. There seems to be no reason to assume that such an iconic reference to complex information would be less suitable for the transmission of knowledge than the use of integrated information in model literate genres. If a concise formulation is apparently no novelty in Budu with its one word reference to multiple symptoms of dysentery, there would seem to be other factors that determine the observed 'unnaturalness' of genres that develop in new genres. I think that only Biber’s theoretical framework provides an empirical basis for a research of the variation that is related to cultural factors. I have combined his method with an ethnolinguistic approach to emerging hybrid genres. These genres develop when speakers ‘entextualise’ prototypical genres in real situations of language use (Bauman 2001; Bauman and Briggs 1992). The theory of ‘implicit anchoring’ developed by Östman (2005 in Halmari and Virtanen), in particular, can be fruitfully combined with an MD analysis, as I hope to illustrate. Östman (2005) assumes that formal features activate prototypes. In his approach, which focuses on English usage, such prototypes represent frames in the minds of language users. Some of these knowledge frames are activated by the overt expression of word patterns, while related expressions may be ‘implicitly anchored’ in the text. Virtanen and Halmari (2005) consider the hybrid ‘infomercial’ genre in Östman’s analysis an important strategy bridging the gap between informational and commercial genres. They emphasize that the main trigger of such creative innovation strategies is the social undesirability of any overt expression of persuasion in English. Although Östman limits his findings to the English language, I have found that ‘implicit anchoring’ can also be useful in explaining the emergence of partially expressed co-occurrence patterns in hybrid genres of Budu. In particular the discovery that such patterns emerge from a linguistic strategy to obscure the socially undesirable connotations stirred my interest. A certain unnaturalness of expression in newer genres may be related to patterns of language use that ‘evoke the wrong idea’ about the communciational intentions. An awareness of the dynamics that set this wrong idea can be the first step in ‘bridging the gap’. The creative texts in chapter 8 suggest that explicit information about medical issues may come across as an attempt of the speaker to, in the the first place qualify himself as ‘the expert’. From a desire to still involve the community and to share personal discoveries of great importance, the speaker may launch linguistic hints to this extent to ‘repair the gap’. The process of linguistic creativity that I have discussed here seems to be constantly at work ensuring that texts abide by factors, which have been determining fixed variations of language use. These factors determine the composition of linguistic co-occurrences that represent prototypes also in modern genres. To return to my opening paragraph: the orange object was unidentifiable, since it did not fit in with any prototypical image I could expect to see. It was, therefore, an 'unnatural' image to me, whereas the crack in the wall blended with the 'naturally expected' prototypical image of the keyhole. In my view, this insight that has triggered off a discussion of personal motivation for and purpose of writing this dissertation, could also prove to be helpful in coping with the ‘translators' dilemma concerning the production of (un)natural texts discussed above. Texts with patterns that confirm prototypical language use probably represent less problematic novelties. They are more acceptable than texts that seem odd in relation to fixed dimensions of communication. For that reason, pioneering writers and Budu translators may therefore be hesitant to use certain linguistic novelties if these are not in line with the nature of linguistic expression in Budu. I hope that this dissertation, which documents some texts that bridge the gap for the Budu by allusions to their rich verbal art, encourages the creativity of such pioneers. Claertje Frieke-Kappers
List of Abbreviations
1 – first person, or: 1st nominal class MIT – Mitigation 2 – second person, or: 2nd nominal class MOD – Modal particle 3 – third person, or: 3rd nominal class NEG – Negation ACT – Active Mood NEG.IPF – Negation of the Imperfect ADD – Additive NEG.OPT – Negation Optative ADI – Adjectival marker NEG.PF – Negation of the Perfect AM – Associative Marker NP – Noun Phrase or : Narrative Perfect ANAPH – Anaphoric expression NPF – Narratif Perfect APL – Applicative derivation OP – Object Prefix ATR – Advanced Tongue Root OPT – Optative CAUS – Causative derivation PAS – Passive Mood CL - Noun Class prefix PAST – Past Tense COND – Conditional PF or P – Perfect Aspect CONS – Consecutive PL - Plural CV – Consonant Vowel PP - Prepositional Phrase DepC – Depressor Consonant PROG – Progressive DET – Determiner PRON – pronoun DL – Default Low Tone PTC – Participle EXCL – Exclamation PX – Prefix EXH - Exhortation R – Rising Tone FR – French RAF – Relativizer affix FUT or F – Future REC – Reciprocal derivation GER – Gerund RED – Reduplication GIVEN – Given information REF – Reflexive derivation H – High Tone REL – Relative Pronoun HAB – Habitual REP – Repetitive/intensifying derivation HABPAST – Habitual Past RES – Resumption marker HPF – Historical Perfect SG – Singular IDEOPH – Ideophone Spec – Species, name of a particular x. IMP – Imperative SW – Swahili INF – Infinitival Form Syn – Synonymous Expression INT – Interrogative TAM – Tense, Aspect and Mood INTENS- Intensifier derivation TBU – Tone Bearing Unit IPF – Imperfect Aspect Var. – Variation IRR – Irreal Mode V – Verb IRR.NEG – Negation Irreal VOC – Vocative L – Low Tone VP – Verb Phrase LI – Lingala LOGOPH or LOG– Logophoric pronoun
A. Map of the area where Budu lineages are situated indicated by
Ilunga (1992) (cf. table 3.2).
Budu Lineages 1. Bafakoy 2. Baliko Toriko 3. Bafamada 4. Northern Maha 5. Southern Maha 6. Makoda (Neta speaking) 7. Malamba 8. Malika Bangatsa 9. Malika-Mabudu-Babyeru 10. Mangbele 11. Timoniko (Neta speaking) 12. Wadimbisa (Neta speaking)
B. A Map of the District Ituri East of Wamba
C. Map of the language families in Northeastern Congo (Bantu in grey, Central Sudanic in black, Adamawa Ubangi in white)
D. Map for Orientation with the Equator and Ituri River in relation to the Rivers Nile and Congo.
Chapter 1. Creative Use of Genre Features, Introduction
“The mere struggle for preservation through writing has tended to discourage or minimize endogenous [sic] creativity.”[…] “The essential thing is to see how it preserved our cultural heritage in order to share its task with modern ways of preservation or documentation.” Kishani (1985:80)
1.0 Introduction
The main focus in this ethnolinguistic study is the use of creative language in Budu. In order to document patterns of language use in modern1 genres which feature innovation and change, it presents an investigation of language use in sixteen main genres. Budu is a so called Forest Bantu language spoken by close to a quarter million (220,000) inhabitants of the Democratic Republic of Congo near the former coffee town of Isiro.2 Cultural information is included in the functional interpretation of patterns of linguistic forms, which co-occur as distinction of Budu genres, next to their linguistic analysis. A perspective which is rejected here is a purist perspective, in which alterations are considered as deviations from pure language use merely because this ‘pure’ form of language existed prior to the innovation process. Linguistic changes have often been interpreted as the immediate result of external factors, such as the innovation of communication techniques: news heralds becoming newspapers, for instance. In particular, the impact of acculturating influences was often taken into consideration. This is found in education through school language and in commerce through advertisements. From a purist perspective, these external factors are a major influence on the novel usage of language patterns. This problematic view is discussed in this chapter.
1The term ‘modern’ is used here in an anthropological sense as for example in Grootaers’ (1996) analysis of modernity among the Zande in Central Africa. His work convincingly shows that the concept in itself is valid, even though the assumptions behind the development of this notion are outdated. ‘Modernity’ implies dichotomies like the one between so called ‘traditional’ societies, that are not yet developed and ‘modern’ societies, with contemporary western society serving as a model towards which other societies are moving as they develop similar economies. This unidirectional approach fails to account for the role played by African societies in the process of globalisations. “Opposed to this view is the dialectical perspective, that acknowledges the interplay between indigenous dynamics and historical trajectories of local societies, on the one hand, and exogenous forces, often multiple and fragmented, on the other” (Grootaers 1996:6). Grootaers in his ‘ethnography of modernity among the Zande’ (1996) therefore describes both the innovations in Zande society (in the areas of political authority, agricultural production, communication and mobility, health, education and Christian Missionary work) and the indigenous discourse of modernity, expressed in new beliefs about misfortune (an increase in homicide related to ‘crocodile-men’ and new religious practices such as a prophetess movement). My use of the term ‘modern’ follows this dialectical perspective where previous dichotomies are replaced with new ones between ‘endogenous’ and ‘exogenous’ and between ‘local’ and ‘global’. The notion ‘creativity’ is used to interpret the reaction to intrusions from this perspective (see for example also Dauphin- Tinturier and Derive (2005)), as in the title of this dissertation. 2Ilunga (1992) refers to the last population count in 1985, when the Budu population of Wamba district was ca. 180,000 with an uncounted number of Budu speakers in virtually all major cities of the DRC. See chapter 2 for information about the Budu community and chapter 3 for information about this Bantu-D language.
1 In contrast, the remainder of this dissertation will be an attempt to interpret internal language factors of innovation. These internal factors can be distilled from empirical research in a multidimensional (MD) approach to variation developed by Biber (1988; 1995). Here various genres of the language are compared for their distribution of linguistic features. While, in the absence of empirical evidence, internal factors of change were often disregarded, I personally think that the MD model enables investigation at the level of empirically observed clusters of linguistic features. This notion is developed in this introduction. Clusters of co-occurrence at text level are central to the MD approach. These co-occurrences provide a platform from which internal factors of variation of a language can be distilled. The creative use of single features can be analysed and explained in relation to internal factors of variation of language. This is possible when the occurrence of single genre features is interpreted in relation to the clusters, as will be illustrated in this dissertation. The view held here is that innovation and change can be seen as mutations of Budu in line with internal factors that determine its expression rather than as foreign additions to a language that almost looses its own character under the pressure of external factors. Because innovations are rather seen as mutations that develop in line with the indigenous language use, they represent new expressions of the language’s nature in reaction to external factors. They therefore can be considered as ‘natural’ language use. If there is any insight from this dissertation that is applicable, the results of this research indicate what constitutes ‘natural language use’ in Budu. This notion is often used in applied linguistics without any precise definition as is discussed in this introduction. Consequently naturalness is often confused with a ‘pure and unchanged’ use of genre conventions.3 This dissertation will illustrate how the notion of naturalness can be worked out in terms of the linguistic co-occurrences within the genres of a language. These represent the language use that is to be expected in Budu and that therefore is ‘natural.’ Novelties may vary these combinations in natural ways providing that they can be explained from the internal factors that determine co-occurrence in the first place. In documenting patterns of language use I hope to facilitate the recognition of innovations that are in line with ‘natural’ expression in Budu, since they seem to be in line with the internal factors that determine linguistic expression. The dichotomy between external factors and internal factors implies a simplification. Although the co-occurrence patterns within the language provide empirical evidence for ‘internal’ reasons for innovation, co-occurrences arise because of cultural conventions. In fact they therefore represent interplay between exogenous and indigenous factors. The quotation from Kishani above can be read as motto with the title: ‘the creative use of genre features.’ It indicates how creativity may be instrumental in preserving the cultural heritage of a language group, including its genre conventions. Kishani’s statement comes in the context of a discussion about language in speech and writing. The Cameroonian writer assumes in his article in Présence Africaine that creativity determines the language use of a group just as much as conventions do. The creative use of linguistic expressions in oral tradition kept the use of African languages alive even when languages of wider communication appeared. This idea seems to contradict intuitive judgements about the conservative role of tradition. A core area of description and analysis in linguistic studies seems to be represented by the rules and regularities of language systems and their use. The ‘preservation’ of ‘endangered’ languages, to use the terminology of the United Nations,4 is in practice often limited to this core task. It would be easy for preservation to neglect the creative potential of languages in adapting to new situations. The
3Often in workshops for translators the translated genres in the source language are compared with similar genres in the target language to compare use of linguistic conventions at text level. 4After the journal Language (1992) with its issue on endangered languages was edited, this terminology remained in use for example in UNESCO organised discussions; UN-related websites and publications (e.g. Bamgbose 2001), but also in the US National Science Foundation, that started an archiving system (MELD) for the documentation of endangered languages (sic) in 2006 (similar to Joel Sherzer’s digital archiving system). Most recently the focus changed from the ‘preservation’ of ‘nearly extinct species’ (sic) to the promotion of language use in all possible media, including internet and computer software.
2 focus of this present language study concerns the analysis of the continued creativity that makes existing conventions as vital as they seem to be, adapting to modern ways of linguistic expression, just as Kishani suggests. I will try to explain how the approach in this research is designed to keep the balance between these two. A quantitative approach to correlation between genre and linguistic expression in a moderate corpus of over two hundred texts5 with 59,284 words is represented in the central part of this study. Recurring morpho-syntactic categories in this corpus were quantified in relation to the main genre of the text in which they occur. These main genres were labelled by Budu speakers. All recurring linguistic forms were tagged with a particular code in the various texts of the corpus. A preliminary linguistic sketch describes the inherent function of the linguistic elements of Budu language use. Features that proved to be countable (in a preliminary phase) were all included in the final investigation of patterns of co-occurrence. Statistical techniques were used to investigate the distribution of linguistic features over the genres of the researched corpus. Features with a shared complementary distribution were taken as empirically found clusters. A qualitative approach was used to functionally interpret the clusters of co-occurrence. In this complementary analysis clusters were studied to discover the shared function of the linguistic forms that emerges when they co-occur in texts as a group. Also the group of genres in which such cluster systematically occurs is considered to discover what they have in common. This analysis requires some knowledge of the language and some knowledge of the cultural context in which genres are used. Together the quantitative and the qualitative lead to a description of conventional language use. Against the background of conventional patterns of co-occurrence in the main genres, the creative use of some genre-features in emerging, hybrid genres is finally discussed with references to the historical and cultural background.
1.1 Text Organisation
This dissertation is organised in three main parts. The first part consists of the presentation of background information regarding the language group in chapter 2 and regarding the language in chapter 3. The second part with the core of the research consists of the chapters 4 to 7. Chapter 4 lists all recurring linguistic elements and the main recurring genres. Chapters 5 and 6 present the relation between genre and language use and an interpretation of the distribution with six clusters of co- occurrence, including further refinement by a closer look at the actual use of some culturally specific forms. Chapter 7 contains many text excerpts as it interprets the shared characteristics of genres that share the distribution of one cluster. This chapter illustrates earlier statements concerning conventional language use. The core of this dissertation presents the methodology and results. The third and most important part of this dissertation consists of the analysis of creative use of genre features. Chapter 8 interprets language use in one particular modern genre, that of medical information. The non-linguistic aspects of medical care are relatively well documented, allowing the reader to compare statements about the relation between language and situational factors with existing literature. Chapter 9 resumes the conclusions of this research and postulates areas of further research. In this introductory chapter the theoretical framework is introduced first. Its application to the investigation of creative language use requires an introduction to the concept of creativity as it is used in this study next. A separate section will follow to relate this to the insights obtained in genre theory over the last decades. Finally the importance of cognitive concepts is emphasised. But first the relevance of this research to the notion of naturalness is explained.
5This concerns 417 texts, including 214 one-liners (proverbs and some riddles).
3 1.2 Relevance for the Notion of ‘Naturalness’
Creativity should, perhaps, foremost be of interest to linguists because languages develop. In the course of that development any linguistic element may be used creatively, first by individuals and later by groups of language users (Croft 2000). An analysis of the functions of such elements requires an explanation of their dynamic patterning in fixed combinations. In, for example, fixed combinations in Swahili as spoken in Shaba, reported speech has occurrences of the French negation non. In Shaban Swahili this French loanword lost its linguistic function as negation. In this language virtually all occurrences of the loanword non indicate turn taking in direct speech. The loanword does not necessarily imply negation. The French negation non developed its specific metalinguistic function in Swahili after it integrated into Shaban Swahili occurrences of reported speech (De Rooij 1996:136,137). This example illustrates the importance of fixed combinations. In combination with other expressions that function to report speech in Shaban Swahili, the French non is used to indicate turn taking. The negation developed this metalinguistic function in combination with expressions of reported speech. De Rooij's analysis of Shaban Swahili also indicates the suitability of salient elements, like the French loanword non, for use as metalinguistic signals. Linguistic elements with a marked phonological appearance are suitable for text structuring or turn taking, because their salient occurrence in itself cuts a text into separate parts. The saliency of the French negation, being a loanword in Shaban Swahili, explains its aptness as indication of a new turn that some reported speaker takes in a sequence of reported speech. The negation non with its nasal vowel, gives this loanword a marked sound in Shaban Swahili. Although loanwords are by nature phonologically different, not all salient elements need to be imported from foreign languages. Certain categories in a linguistic organisation may represent ‘odd’ elements. In Voelz and Kilian (2001) several phonological and morphological features are described that tend to mark ideophones as deviations from other parts of linguistic organisation. Ideophones are words that activate a mental image of some action or process. Their markedness seems essential for some textual effects, facilitating their function as metalinguistic signals. At the same time this ‘odd’ character might explain the “image problem” ideophones have in academic publications, as observed by Meier (1999:146), for instance. Mphande goes as far as to call the academic treatment of ideophones ‘textual genocide’ (1992:119). In my view, the tendency to ignore metalinguistic functions in theoretical linguistics points at an underestimation of creativity. After all, any linguistic element can be used in creative processes where a metalinguistic function is developed. There seem to be therefore at least two points of interest for a linguistic analysis of the creative use of linguistic elements, that is, the possibility of a metalinguistic function, and, its subsequent development into a linguistic function. Creativity is central to both issues. The relevance of this research is indicated with a concrete example, namely that of the ideophone. The use of ideophones illustrates possible implications of insights about co-occurrences for the naturalness of texts.6 Doke provides the most cited definition for the ideophone as: ‘A vivid representation of an idea in sound’ (1935:118). I prefer Mphande’s definition of ideophones as ‘mental
6The first to use this criterion was Campbell (1719-96) (Campbell 1.445f; in: J.R. Mackintosh and H.R. Sefton, "Introduction" to G. Campbell, Lectures, Sermons and Dissertations (Bristol: Thoemmes, 3 vols. 2001) vii-xxii.). With Newmark (1988), Professor of Translation Abdul-Baki As-Safi (Al Mustansiriya University of Bagdad) is one of the few, who elaborated the notion of naturalness. He writes that “On the lexical and cohesive levels, naturalness is a concomitant of proper diction and proper use of cohesive devices in compliance with the Target Language system. On the syntactic level, well-formedness brings about natural sentences which make good use of Target Language – resources.” (Abdul-Baki As-Safi with Incam Sahim Ash-Sharifi 2000). It is very interesting that Professor Abdul-Baki As-Safi’s features of natural language use relate to the choice of genre. Cohesive devices for example are, according to Halliday and Hasan (1976 and 1985) among the most unambiguous indications of register. Since genre as important cultural convention is crucial to the notion of naturalness, it is not surprising that it seems to determine the linguistic phenomena that Abdul-Baki (2000) mentions.
4 image that a spoken sound evokes in the listener,’ (1992:118). Ideophones indeed seem to be characterised by their iconic role that alludes to story scenes in the most concise way, often underlying its main events (Noss 2001 and de Jong 2001). Mphande deplores the fact that: “Ideophones are visibly absent from the translations7 made under influence of missionaries or by missionary-trained scholars (the pioneer researchers in the field of African language studies)” (1992:119). A reason for this absence is suggested in Nida’s instructions to translators, where he explains the inappropriateness of onomatopoeic expressions in language that is used for Bible translations as a problem for the ‘message-context suitability.’ In the context of the Holy Bible, the use of expressions that missionary translators in their own language perceived as ‘slang’ would be inappropriate for the expression of its message (1964:167) and therefore not natural. Nida defines naturalness as ‘the quality of linguistic appropriateness’ in translations.8 This quality ensures that a text ‘conveys an appropriate message.’ Nida’s example clarifies the role of non-African translators9 in the historical development that Mphande indicated. Also in linguistics the idea that ideophones are “highly expressive forms that are subject to stylistic expressions and small in number” has unfortunately been widespread (Meier 1999:136). Meier refers to a workbook on French rhetoric boum is called ‘somewhat silly’ (Dubois 1974) and compared with words that are associated with ‘simplified talk’ about or to children. The phonological nature of most ideophones makes them different from the other forms in the same language. They therefore are perceived as ‘wild’ nature sound (Rhodes 1997 in Meier 1999:137) that is in origin spontaneous (Quirk 1985 in opus cit.), imitative rather than structural and exhibiting such a variety that they are subject to individual interpretation rather than being part of a convention (Leisi 1985 opus cit.). Nash (1989:139 in Meier 1999:146) even claims that they depend “neither on nature nor on convention but on illusion.” Meier reaches the conclusion that, “unfortunately ideophones have an image problem” although they occur “with ubiquity in the native language of five continents.” In 2001, several authors in the volume ‘Ideophones’ (Voelz & Kilian 2001) demanded attention for the way ideophones contribute to the development of discourse. However, Childs in the same volume represents the perspective that ideophones are ‘characteristic of developing languages.’ The idea that ideophones are not a natural feature of fully developed languages seems to be suggested. Mphande discusses a scientific bias against ideophonic language as “textual genocide,” in the sense that it contributes to the annihilation of a fundamental cultural component of African languages,” (1992:119). Even if one does not want to go as far as Mphande, his complaint is clear: ideophones are part of the nature of cultural expression in many African languages and can not be dismissed as odd elements with wild and unconventional properties.
7Indeed Samarin (1971:152) observes that ‘Bible societies are reported to have been very cautious in authorising (or recommending) their use [of ideophones] in Africa.” 8‘Patterns’ recur as an important concept in the discussions about naturalness. Language with patterns that ‘fit the situation’ is considered as natural. It exhibits patterns that manifest the norm which speakers have in mind when they react to a specific situation. Therefore their language use is natural. For Nida (1974) the term ‘natural’ is contrasted with what he calls ‘translationese’ (p. 208) and which he describes as ‘a violation of normal grammatical and semotactic [sic] patterns of language use, unfaithful to the content and impact of the original language.’ Nida defines ‘natural’ in a negative way as language which is "characterised by the use of grammatical constructions and combinations of words which do not violate the ordinary patterns of a language" (1974:203; italics mine). He further assumes that these patterns impact communication. This impact follows from the ‘normal’ expectations of language users. However, Nida does not specify ‘ordinary’ or ‘normal’ patterns of language use. 9In contrast to these non-African translators, Kunene suggested already in 1971 that the function of ideophones should be studied in relation to their distribution over the entire repertoire of genres in a language (1971:10).
5 The widespread image problems of the ideophone10 illustrate the point made by Brown and Fraser (1979:38-39): It can be “misleading to concentrate on specific, isolated [linguistic] markers without taking into account systematic variations which involve the co-occurrence of sets of markers” (in Biber 1995:30). From a phonological point of view or even from morpho-syntactic point of view, ideophones represent ‘odd’ elements that do not follow the linguistic conventions. Their inherent function seems to be expressive and they therefore risk being considered on the same terms as highly varying exclamations. The present study accounts for the systematic variation in which ideophones are involved and shows the set of markers in which they involve the community of the audience (see section 5.2.4.2). Out of the six co-occurrence patterns in Budu one includes ideophones, which suggests that the naturalness of the use of ideophones can be interpreted in relation to these patterns. They reflect the ‘second nature’ from which Budu speakers perceive linguistic utterances and thereby form a criterion of naturalness that should be described empirically with Biber’s co-occurrence patterns. It also is my hope that the results of this study may contribute to the development of further insights in the development of genres in literacy and in Bible translation, in particular in Budu, which so far has only the gospel of St. Luke while a team of Budu translators is working on other books.
1.3 A Multidimensional Analysis of Language-use Variation
In this dissertation I follow the empirical approach of Biber (1988; 1995) to genre. Genres are defined by Biber as variations of language use that are defined by situational characteristics and recognised by mature speakers of a language.11 One of the main distinguishing characteristics of the mulitdimensional approach (MD) to genre as proposed by Biber (1988) is that it considers genre as a continuous rather than discrete construct (Biber 1995:31). No attempt is made to identify genre levels, genres are described in relation to the factors that determine variation in language use. Biber has developed an analytical framework for the analysis of genre-related variation. In his approach situational characteristics are reflected in the linguistic features selected through an intermediary concept, namely that of the so called ‘dimension’ of variation. Some situational characteristics determine language variation in genres. They can therefore be considered as factors of this variation. The linguistic features that ‘co-vary’ with each other, depending on the situation of language use, show that they are affected by the same factor. This factor makes it possible to introduce an intermediary level: “Each set of co-occurring features is called a “dimension” of variation. These are groups of linguistic features that co-occur with high frequency in texts,” (Biber, Conrad & Reppen 1998:146). With corpus-linguistic techniques, the clustering of co-occurring features in particular genres in a collection of texts can be observed. These make it possible to postulate dimensions from quantitative observations. At the same time dimensions are clusters of linguistic features which are associated with a specific function. “Factor interpretations depend on the assumption that linguistic co-occurrence patterns reflect underlying communicative functions.” (Biber and Conrad 2001:24). Dimensions are therefore
10Attempts to encourage the frequent use of ideophones (as they are made in writers workshops to encourage literacy production) in texts where they do not contribute to the communicative intention are just as much result of an image problem since such advice is only expressed in reaction to the absence of ideophones. 11Cf. Stubbs 1996:11 Genres are “goal directed language activities, socially recognized text types, which form patterns of meaning in the social world.” Biber only uses the term text type for prototypical texts. Although using ‘genre’ for situation bound language-use variations in 1988:68, Biber opted for the more general term ‘register’ in later work since he preferred a more general cover term that can be associated with all aspects of variation in use (Biber 1995:9). Considering the close correspondence between register and his earlier use of the term ‘genre,’ I see no reason why, in this specific application in Budu, I should not use the term ‘genre’ (Biber 1995:10).
6 described as underlying communicative functions, or shorter: as ‘dimensions of communication.’ This functional interpretation is based on a qualitative research. It includes an assessment of the shared function of the co-occurring features in a cluster on the one hand, and a study of the similarities and differences between the genres involved on the other hand. Among the dimensions Biber identifies, interactiveness; production circumstances, informational focus, and personal stance are to be mentioned. As the name of this approach suggests, ‘multiple dimensions’ of variation can be observed from the distribution of co-occurring linguistic features. The co-occurrence of features forms a strong indication for the existence of a community convention. Such conventions consist of the agreed understanding that a particular speaker-intention is expressed with a particular (genre related) language use. Biber relates clusters that he observes in particular genres in a corpus to community conventions. The interplay between multiple dimensions is responsible for the complex way in which genres are distinguished in languages. The main premise in MD is the idea that genre comparisons with respect to one single linguistic feature, or along one single dimension of variation, are inadequate for a comprehensive understanding of the relationship among genres (Biber, Conrad and Reppen 1998:156). Genres may be said to vary along the lines laid by dimensions, as they represent texts that vary in their use of certain co-occurrence patterns. Corpus-linguistic techniques enable the description of these relative differences that are important to distinguish particular genres from each other. Genres can be described in terms of the relative differences that are measured quantitatively, as explained in the next paragraphs. The idea of attempting to quantify aspects of language use will be ‘repulsive to many linguists, and outright ridiculous to others,’ to use a variation on Caroll’s words.12 Nevertheless the results represent some of the more obvious characteristics of genre-related language use. These results became available with the rise of corpus linguistics and remain to be further investigated. The ethnolinguistic analysis of creative language use risks remaining rather vague without an empirical basis, so a quantitative approach is needed in this area. Nonetheless I would like to draw attention to the fact that a qualitative analysis remains the aim of all quantitative activities reported in the rather elaborate core chapters of this book. Systematic differences in the relative use of core linguistic features provide a means to determine the language use that characterises particular genres. A comparative approach is required for the analysis of these differences. If there are ten Budu animal stories, a linguistic feature can only be called characteristic for this genre if its occurrence is extraordinary in comparison to the language use in other texts representing other genres. A particular frequency is neither rare nor common in itself. In English for instance, a frequency of 25 per 1,000 words would be extremely common for relative clauses, which typically have average frequencies between 1 and 10 per 1,000 words, depending on the genre. In contrast, a frequency of 25 per 1,000 words would be almost impossibly rare for nouns, where the average frequencies are closer to 200 per 1,000 words (Biber, Conrad and Reppen 1998:137). In order to capture all main distinctions in language use, a wide range of all core linguistic features therefore needs to be included. Only then can quantitative comparisons lead to the correct interpretation of particular distinctive features. Likewise, the expected frequencies for a particular genre can only be interpreted by comparisons with other genres. A frequency count for relative clauses in one particular genre is only meaningful in comparison to its frequency in other genres. The collection of a wide range of socially recognised text categories is needed for such a comparison, assuming that a wide range of linguistic features is represented. The identification of the relative differences of core linguistic features in these
12Some linguists may still identify themselves with the literary critics whom Caroll (1960:282) mentioned before the epoch of corpus-linguistics broke loose: “The notion of attempting to quantify aspects of literary style will be repulsive to many literary critics, and outright ridiculous to others. […] nevertheless the results represent some of the more obvious characteristics of prose that need to be observed, mentioned and duly noted.”
7 text categories enables the researcher to determine the language use that can be expected to occur in particular genres (not defining the categories in an absolute sense, for single texts may in fact differ from the prototype). The analysis of genre variation requires ‘corpora’ that ‘represent the full range of major co- occurrence patterns in a language’ (Biber, Conrad, Reppen 1998:145). The study of a single genre is not sufficient since it does not enable comparisons. In equal manner, it is not possible reliably to distinguish among genres by considering the relative frequencies of individual linguistic features. It is impossible to determine the important features before the research results are available, since too many core linguistic features are shared among genres in natural languages. It is nevertheless possible to look at a category of texts in a researched corpus and to determine which combinations of features appear in each text that represents a certain genre. These combinations are called with a more technical term: the ‘linguistic co-occurrences.’ The importance of linguistic co-occurrence has been emphasized by linguists such as Firth, Halliday, Ervin-Tripp, and Hymes. Biber (1995:30) also quotes Brown and Fraser (1979:38-39) who observe, as I mentioned before, that it can be ‘misleading to concentrate on specific isolated [linguistic] markers without taking into account systematic variations which involve the co-occurrence of sets of markers.’ (square brackets by Biber). He furthermore refers to Ervin-Tripp (1972) and Hymes (1974), who identify ‘speech styles’ as varieties that are defined by a shared set of co-occurring linguistic features, and to Halliday (1988:162), who defines a register as ‘a cluster of associated features having a greater-than-random … tendency to occur,’ (in Biber 1995:30). Many linguistic forms have a relatively low frequency of occurrence. Somebody even remarked that consequently ‘almost any repeated collocation [of a pair of identical words] is a most unlikely event’ (Östman 2005:188 refers to Sinclair 1991:116). Repeated collocations according to translation specialists Hatim and Mason are invariably related to speaker intention (1990:204). They mention the usefulness of repeated collocations as cues for translators. In particular in using lexical repetition, the speaker seems to purposely repeat an otherwise random combination of words. Consider the next citation from Andrea Tyler (1994), who elaborately studied the phenomenon of lexical repetition in relation to coherence: “Partial patterns of lexical repetition provide the listener with meta-information concerning how to interpret key lexical items with the situated context.” When certain combinations of words recur in a text, their meaning is no longer restricted to their reference; they start to function at another level, since they carry what Tyler calls a certain ‘meta-information.’ Gumperz (1982:131) calls this meta-information the ‘contextualisation cue’ of a combination. Where Tyler says that repetitions provide information that is needed to interpret the text’s relation to the situated context, Gumperz contends in more general terms that ‘repeated co-occurrences’ provide a cue to understand the language use in relation to the context. Tyler’s explanation of how this meta-information operates may prove to be helpful: “When a speaker repeats the lexical item, she is signalling to her listener that she is talking about the referent established in the earlier mention. Lexical repetition, thus, acts as a cue that the lexical item has been specified for the purpose of the particular exchange,” (Tyler 1994:686). Gumperz notion of ‘contextualization cues’ is formulated to apply to more than lexical repetition. His contextualisation cues are not per se related to the repetition of lexical collocation, they are defined in relation to a wider set of possibilities13. The most important features of co-occurrences concern the function that it has by the sum total of its members. It has added value. The repeated use of particular categories can be understood according to the same principle of added value since it gives certain
13Each text contains certain features, expressions or structures (or perhaps paralinguistic characteristics or the mere conventions for its use) that, by their combination, enable the language users to identify the main activity. This combination of features or in technical terms ‘co-occurrence’ is typical for the expression of particular social activities in a particular language community.
8 ‘cues’ providing meta-information. Texts with many imperatives, vocatives and exclamations might be understood to be rather directive, for instance. Biber, Conrad and Reppen discovered that fixed co-occurrence patterns that reflect speaker- intention are not related to lexical items or semantic or discourse structure: “From a discourse perspective, the meaning of a text cannot simply be derived from the meanings of the individual sentences in the text,” (Biber, Conrad and Reppen 1998:123). The systematic ways in which the grammatical resources of sentences work together at a discourse level is not directly related to key lexical items that structure the text. Rather there are more subtle indicators of purpose, associated with the language use situation. When words of particular morphosyntactic categories frequently co-occur in particular genres, this provides an indication of a shared function. It carries some meta-information that seems to be intentionally expressed in the text by the language users: “Based on the assumption that co-occurrence reflects shared function, these co-occurrence patterns are interpreted in terms of the situational, social, and cognitive functions most widely shared by the linguistic features” (Biber 1995:30). The co- occurrence of second person forms with imperatives and vocatives for example reflects interaction in English, while a high frequency of generalised content words with unfinished sentences and contracted words at phrase level probably results from a limited production time (Biber, Conrad and Reppen 1998:147): Together these forms co-occur in English conversation, where participants interact with each other and speakers must cope with the constraints of on-line production.” “The MD approach assumes the existence of shared functions underlying groupings of co- occurring features, so that at least some of the functions associated with a given feature will be shared with the other features” in a cluster (Biber 1995:135). The focus is on the shared function of groupings. If a certain text has many adjectives, quantifiers and participia, it signals that a speaker makes use of the conventional set of forms to ‘explain.’ In English an informational focus is manifest in genres that share the characteristic that they represent careful production (Biber 1995:135). In English, texts with many adjectives and nouns tend to have few second person pronouns. This implies that an informational focus tends to exclude an interpersonal focus in English, as can be observed from complementary distribution of these forms. It seems that English language use reflects a combination of the parameters of involvement and information in one dimension that has production time as its shared communicative ‘function.’ The same linguistic forms are not per se associated with this same function when occurring in other contexts, outside the cluster. Another example is that first person forms can contribute to a cluster that reflects interaction in co-occurrence with second person forms. First person forms may be used as well in texts that express formal declarations or monologues that do not involve the audience. The form per se does not reflect interaction. The co-occurrence with other forms of one cluster conditions whether a shared function is ‘instantiated’ at text level, one could say. A shared function may sometimes be related to the inherent function of a linguistic form (as involvement is to second person forms) but it could as well operate at another level, being instantiated by co-occurring forms (ideophones for instance). A focus on the inherent functions of forms can, as Oakey (2002:126) remarked, obscure the multifunctionality of some forms: ‘putting linguistic items in functional categories can obscure the fact that they can have multiple functions.” In the functional interpretation of a cluster an emerging function of single forms, which is instantiated by its systematical co-occurrences with other forms, is more important than the ‘box’ in which the forms is categorised. The shared function of a cluster of forms differs from the sum total of their individual functions. In his English MD research Biber (1988) used 67 features for each of the 481 texts in a one million word corpus and found several clusters of linguistic features, where each cluster is called a dimension. After the main dimensions of communication are determined empirically, the dimension is interpreted functionally.
9 The first step in the interpretation of a dimension is an assessment of the functions that are most widely shared by the members of the co-occurrence pattern. This functional interpretation represents the qualitative part of the research. It is based on an assessment of the common function most widely shared by the cluster of linguistic features in one co-occurrence. In a shared, complementary distribution, positive members express the opposite of the negative members, while both share the same function.14 In English (Biber 1988) co-occurrences of contracted forms and second person forms in texts, for instance, reflect a non-informational focus that characterises interaction in contrast to co-occurrences with nouns, prepositional phrases and attributive adjectives, which convey an informational focus (Biber 1995:135). If English speakers focus on the interaction, as in telephone conversation, they use contracted forms in combination with second person forms in an on-line production of language. In contrast, texts without these forms reflect a careful formulation with integrated information in nouns and attributive adjectives and prepositional phrases. This opposite end of the continuum reflects careful production. Although the forms that were mentioned are very different, they share the function of distinguishing on-line production from careful production in English. A second aspect of functional interpretation consists of an analysis of the similarities and differences among genres with respect to one dimension. By counts of the linguistic features with respect to the dimension (for instance by a noun-score or an adjective score) it becomes possible to compare the texts that represent one dimension and to make generalisations regarding the genres that are most representative of it. In English, telephone conversations have the highest scores for involved production, whereas official documents have the lowest score. The contrast between these types of communication in actual texts confirms the functional interpretation previously given on the basis of the linguistic features. The similarities and differences among genres with respect to dimensions are helpful in the establishing of functional interpretations. The group of genres that represent use of a certain cluster is compared with the group of genres without occurrence of the same cluster. A contrastive analysis of the two groups of genres contributes to the functional interpretation of a ‘dimension.’ In English for instance telephone conversations and academic prose can be considered as non-narrative language use in contrast to fiction. While Biber (1994) was still researching whether he could find some universal parameters of variation in language use, he concludes in his 1995 publication that the culturally-specific expression of languages results in entirely different organisations of linguistic expression in each language. In his 1995 publication Biber summarises MD approaches to register variation in four languages.15His goal was to investigate the possibilities of cross-linguistic universals for register variation and to identify generalisations that held across English, Somali, Korean and Tuvuluan Nukulaelae (1995:24). In 1988 Biber observed the most prominent clusters of linguistic features in English, before he interpreted possible functions of these clusters. The functional interpretations are not made a priori; they follow from the observed distribution of core linguistic features in a corpus representing a wide variety of texts. Each language exhibits different patterns of co-occurrence, which distribution reflects different contrasts in communication. In English the contrast between informationally-focused language and personally- involved language is apparently important, as can be observed from the most important cluster that combines these two parameters. This dimensions is related the use of written communication in
14Complementary distributions include ‘features that tend to be present’ and ‘features that tend to be absent.’ In English nouns, prepositional phrases and attributive adjectives co-occur in texts that have a markedly low frequency of contractions, present tense verbs and second-person pronouns (Biber, Conrad and Reppen 1998:147). To account for the complementary nature of the distribution of the two groupings they are called the negative and the positive features. They nevertheless belong to the same cluster. This analysis accounts for the shared distribution that any text with the occurrence of positive features has notably few occurrences of negative features. Conversely, if a text has many occurrences of the negative features, it will usually have notably few positive features. 15Besnier’s (1988) work on Nukulaelae Tuvuluan; Kim’s (1990) work on Korean; Biber and Hared’(1992; 1994) work on Somali and Biber’s (1988) work on English were the first comprehensive MD analyses.
10 academic communication. In contrast in Korean, honorification plays a role in the contrast between expressions of deference and written communication without such expressions, as can be observed from its manifestation in the cluster of honorification, which use reflects this contrast. Researches into the dimensions underlying speech-writing differences represent one application of MD. Its description for instance only takes 19 of the 428 pages in Biber’s cross-linguistic comparison of dimensions of genre variation (1995). More central to Biber’s approach is the notion of genre. Situational variations of language are crucial to communication and the ubiquitous nature of genres consequently has been noted by several scholars. Biber and Conrad (2001:4) quote Ure (1982:5), Ferguson (1983:154) and Hymes (1984:44). All three underline the all-pervasive nature of genre variation in language use. Since MD approaches are designed to investigate the linguistic correlates of dimensions of communication, genre plays a central role as concept in this framework. Previous research in MD established functions like production circumstances (a function of situation); the presentation of information (a cognitive function) or the involvement of the community (a social function) is irrelevant. It does not determine the extent to which clusters of co-occurrence mark the main genres of language use in a community. Biber’s MD approach of genres is the first to explain observed clusters of co-occurrence in genres of large text corpora. Whereas critics like Milroy (2001) disregard any co-occurrences of elements representing different levels of linguistic organisation,16 Biber’s methodology provides a tool to investigate the creative manipulation of clusters that can not be explained without the multifunctionality of different levels of linguistic organisation. This particularity of co-occurrences is crucial to their operation. It enables language users to recognise culturally-specific dimensions of communication that are not explained by the inherent functions of the linguistic forms in co-occurrences. Biber's work therefore accounts for the exploitation of linguistic variation by language communities. This dissertation applies the MD theoretical framework as developed by Biber (1988; 1994; 1995), for the investigation of creative innovations in Budu. This special application requires an adaptation of the statistical tools, as I will now attempt to explain. Since the present research is an investigation of the creative use of genre features, it represents an attempt to explore linguistic features that speakers apparently are most aware of using. Whereas patterns of co-occurrence usually operate below the level of conscious awareness, gifted language users exploit these patterns. Their creative application of the patterns gives evidence that, at some semi-conscious level these verbally gifted speakers are sufficiently aware of these patterns to manipulate language use, achieving in creating some intended effects. To focus on these salient characteristics of genre, the establishment of direct feature/genre correlations seems more helpful than the correlation between particular distributions, as calculated in the so called technique of ‘factor analysis’ used in MD-approaches. A factor analysis is a correlational technique that is designed to identify clusters of variables that are distributed in similar ways. It determines which features typically occur together in texts.17 Instead of a factor analysis, a slightly different methodology was used in the present research. Factor analyses depend on the correlation between the shared distribution of one feature with another feature (independent of whether these distributions include significant frequencies in relation to the genre). In contrast, the chosen technique takes correlations between genre and feature as its point of departure. In a second step, the distribution of each linguistic feature is compared and those features that do not contradict each others’ complementary distribution in the entire corpus are considered as members of the same cluster of co-occurrence, while clusters with less than five members are
16Milroy considers phonological functions for instance as a more basic property than pragmatic functions. 17When a text has for instance many nouns in English, it is likely to also have many attributive adjectives and prepositional phrases, whereas a text with few nouns probably also has few attributive adjectives and prepositional phrases.
11 disregarded. Since both statistical techniques result in clusters of co-occurrence, the same qualitative analysis can be applied as in Biber’s work. In the rest of this dissertation I hope to clarify the aptness of clusters of co-occurrence as an empirical basis of a research of multiple dimensions of communication in the Budu researched corpus of texts. Innovative alterations represent alternatives in relation to the indigenous patterns of conventional language use and can be explained in relation to the same dimensions, as I will demonstrate. Such analysis accounts for the indigenous factors related to innovation. Some of the creative language use relates to single genre features, but this will always be in reference to the cluster in which they operate. In the section on the cognitive aspects of creativity, I will account for the freedom which I take in making statements about the use of single genre features in reference to Östman (2005). A technical detail that might be of interest to those who work in Genre theory is that the approach chosen here allows for a dynamic view on genres. Although correlations-matrices with genre- form correlations are an important point of departure, they are only used to make the complementary distribution of forms over genres visible. This distribution is established from relative co-occurrences.18 Similar to the MD approach, the approach opted here allows for a perspective on genres as fluid categories. Genres are defined in relation to systematic differences in the relative use of core linguistic features. This seems to be important, since the dynamic nature of genre conventions makes them suitable to alter patterns of language use creatively.
1.4 Language and Creativity
Creative language use provides evidence for the cognitive reality of clusters that can be observed by MD-analyses. The dynamics of creative genre modification clarifies the nature of these clusters, as will be explained in the following section. In this section first the role of creativity in language change is discussed in general. Verbally-gifted members of a society use clusters of co-occurring forms with maximum effect. With their playful language they impact audiences; effectively exploiting linguistic expectations. A village chief may, for instance, be portrayed as an authority by the performative speech which he is reported to give in storytelling, when the expectations regarding chiefs and their addresses to villagers are reflected in his language use. By the use of the appropriate cluster, storytellers exploit genre-distinctive forms. These forms seem to enable them to connect with the expectations of the audience. Verbal art involves the most effective use of patterns of co-occurrence; nevertheless, it often is produced intuitively, without any conscious identification of these patterns. It nevertheless presupposes the ability of the audience to unpack implied allusions to for instance the ‘decree of the chief’ genre. This unpacking occurs at a semi-conscious level, while the audience is focused on the story line. Next to the playful exploitation of co-occurrences, language use can be modified to achieve individual goals, when somebody is lying by using an oath, for instance. Individual language users may exploit any linguistic unit or any level of linguistic organisation in order to achieve their own communicative goals. This “is an important arena for language change in the area of patterns of variation” (Biber 1994:27).19 In the case of lying a speaker intentionally hides his deceitful manipulation of some conventions; focused as he or
18Relative predictability equals that a form is not significantly absent in a genre, relative absence equals that it is not significantly present. Forms with a relative chance of co-occurring often seem to share also their relative predictabilities. 19Communicative intention is not to be confused with speakers’ intention. Due to the creativity in human language ‘scolding,’ may eventually be used to establish friendships. The individual intention expressed with this offensive language is far from offensive. In this dissertation nothing is said about possible individual intentions, simply because they can not be empirically tested.
12 she is on hiding the truth. Even ‘liars,’ are not necessarily aware of the conventions that they skilfully manipulate, focused on meaning as they are. Intuitively speakers nevertheless select the linguistic forms that are most effectively used to express themselves. Both producing and understanding creative language use requires a level of consciousness beyond that of ordinary language use. In their introduction to the proceedings of a symposium on ‘linguistic play’ Kirshenblatt-Gimblet & Sherzer (1976:2) contend: “Basic to speech play is the expressive, stylistic potential of language, which requires recognition of language structures as embodying a variety of functions [… in relation] to patterns of speaking of the community in question.” This recognition raises the awareness of language users about some structures in their language. Language acquisition in fact exploits this raised awareness. The level of consciousness that is required in special applications of conventions makes speech play very apt for language acquisition. In order to clarify this point I will now refer to various levels of linguistic organisation, including genres. “Creative language use represents an important platform where educative games raise the awareness of the correct use of forms at different levels of linguistic organisation,” Sanches and Kirshenblatt- Gimblet contend (1976:1). Their volume on speech play provides some interesting examples of language games that gradually increase in complexity with the years of linguistic development.20 In language acquisition young speakers learn to copy the appropriate use of linguistic forms. A heightened awareness of the relevant units and their borders enables language learners to learn about these forms. Creative usages of language are helpful in language acquisition because they effectively decompose structures (at respective levels of linguistic organisation) into features that can be practiced separately. Studies on the acquisition of riddling for example (e.g. Bauman 1977) illustrate the gradual acquisition of riddle conventions in North American languages. Biber emphasises the analytical function of games in language acquisition: “Discovery of this pathway of acquisition is of considerable importance because it decomposes the genre into features of structure, content, and function which are otherwise not obvious” (Biber 1994:23). To give an example for English, stories with much repeated quotes provide practice with the use of direct speech, eventually combined with indirect speech reporting. The use of quotes teaches the audience how reported speech is conventionally used in the genres of a language. News reporting may for instance exhibit a particular use of quotes. It relates to the ‘truth value’ of a statement, for a quote from the president is to be taken seriously. Citations in true stories in English often are used to make the narration more vivid and not are necessarily expected to literally record what a person said. Young speakers discover more about the use of a feature while being exposed to jokes, puns, riddles and other language games. They learn to copy the appropriate use of each culturally-specific structure (genres for instance). This copying can be called, in more technical terms, a ‘replication of conventions.’ Next to replication, particular creative usages of language may effect in a delineation of groups who master a certain variation. Adolescents around the world are known to create their own sub-
20Young children seem to be occupied with sounds at a phonological level of a languages organisation (practicing nonsense phrases that abide by the phonological rules of the language (‘gibberish’)). It is noteworthy that children of this age are not interested in adult use of similar nonsense phrases that respect morphological and syntactic rules called ‘jabberwocky’ (de vek blakt mukken in Dutch). Children may practice with either sounds (end rhyme); rhythm (clapping hands); or morphological units (finding homonyms or synonyms for instance) to focus on one aspect of language use at a time in each developmental stage (Saville-Troike (2003:238-43)). The content-related questions that the children are supposed answering at the same time require their full attention. This suggests that this practicing happens at some subconscious level, like in the singing of narrative songs or rhymes that draw attention to the story line. Riddles represent a category of language use that seems to be made for play. In African languages it is often used in contests, where young speakers of a language are rewarded for their competence in several aspects of language use, sometimes practicing collocations for instance. Nursery stories, with their predictability of episodes invite young children to join in with the ‘chorus.’ The playful use of language is effective in language acquisition since it helps learners to distinguish which units are salient for communication. Experimenting with new discoveries, language learners test learning hypotheses, thereby at the same time inviting feed-back with the necessary corrections.
13 systems to guarantee private communication. These sub-systems may consist of an obscure pronunciation of the mother tongue with syllabic reversal or word reversal. Some secret languages consist of the addition of particular phonemes (the ‘o’ language and the ‘p’ language) or of the subtraction of certain phonemes. Sherzer (1976) documents three examples of French ‘verlen’ or ‘larper;’ a ‘backward language’ as it is called in the code itself (instead of parler à l’envers).21 “By throwing sounds into new environments, in which they usually undergo the ordinary morphophonemic rules of the particular language, the play languages provide rich evidence of the kinds of patterned phonetic alternation used by linguists to posit abstract phonemes or morphophonemes” (Sherzer 1976:32).22 Most play languages are used for concealment “and a corresponding delineation of social groups and subgroups, such as Parisian youth gangs23 and Walbiri male initiates” (Sherzer 1976:34). In second-language learning creative processes are also important. Second language learners creatively explore rules that govern the morphology of their language of study. The perceived meaning of a suffix may, for instance, be tested out with self-made words. The next example provides some self- made words that Congolese students developed while being in the francophone environment of their campuses, French being the language of education in Congo. The experimental use of morphological suffixes in these expressions not only reflects attempts to try out how word-building might work in French, it also reflects the playful manner in which the students delineate themselves as educated members of society. Consider the following examples of French suffixation that were integrated in the official language in of the DRC (N’Sial 1993:43):
- ance becqueter- becquetance ‘to snack- the eating of a meal’ faire- faisance ‘to make- the action of making love’ sucrer-sucrance ‘to add sugar – the action of adding sugar’ - ard bruit- - bruillard ‘noise’- ironic reference to ‘noisy person’ directeur- directard ‘director’- ironic reference to ‘a directors title’ - eux/se colonialiste- colonialeux popular reference to ‘colonial agent’ photographe- photoleux popular reference to ‘photographer’ Rwandais- Rwandaleux popular reference to ‘somebody from Rwanda’ tribaliste- tribaleux popular reference an ‘ethnically oriented person.’ - ite cravate – cravatite ‘obsession with wearing ties’ bourse- boursite ‘suffering chronic lack of money as from a ‘bourse’(‘scholarship’) descendre-descendite ‘disease one gets while going down-town (descendre = going down-town)
When replication is creatively altered as in the examples provided here, the altered replication may start to function independently, as a new expression. The creative use of linguistic units for individual goals can be an important arena for language change as was already commented in reference to Biber (1994:27). I will therefore develop the technical details of this example, although it is at the level of word- construction and not genre-innovation, since it illustrates some basic aspects of language change as described in Croft (2000). In the first stage, when the students started to use these expressions playfully, it delineated them as a particular group. Apparently the ‘funny’ words were not as obscure as secret language, for they are now part of the French that is spoken in the DRC, as documented by N’Sial in an assignment from the French government. The examples show how ‘altered replication’ can be adopted as new way
21This term is used in Dubois et al. 1970:65, who according to Sherzer was the first to mention this language. Sherzer further gives examples of five Panaman play languages in Cuna and seven Javanese play languages. These play languages have in common that they require the skilful handling of the syllabic units of a language, thereby raising a certain (semi-) awareness of the (morpho) phonemic rules. 22In Congo Thomas (personal communication) and Kutsch Lojenga commented about play languages, which they ‘consulted’ in equal manner for the analysis of respectively Komo and Ngiti. 23Peter Stratfold told me in personal communication that London’s Cockneys were known to use a similar speech called ‘backslang.’
14 of speaking, provided that the ones who initiated this altered replication are influential in society. Linguistic innovation in general is related to the diversity between groups of members that belong to the same language community. The differences between groups within a language community give rise to the integration of some un-conventional usages of linguistic elements in the system of existing conventions. Playful use of a language forms part of the continuous negotiation between its users, resulting in new conventions for language use. New or borrowed units are integrated into the language when the convention is adopted by the entire community. This requires a period of normalisation or naturalisation of the ‘odd’ element. Before the listed French expressions were integrated in Congolese French, they were used among student populations only. Some kind of consensus needs to be reached about the playful usages of trendy innovations. Only when a considerable number of community members starts to use the expressions in an unmarked way, they can be considered as new conventions that represent ‘naturalised’ language use. Innovations that are adopted as new conventions form part of the changes in a language. Prior to language change, innovations and their effects are ‘tested out’ in an experimental phase. Creativity is instrumental in this phase. Negotiations about language use conventions tend to result in the adoption of one altered replication as the norm. Communities exhibit a natural tendency to select one possible expression as the conventional signal at the expense of all other possibilities. Rwandaleux developed, for instance, as only popular reference to a citizen of Rwanda in Congolese French. This took a long period of time. The social tendency to abide by one convention is called the first law of propagation. It is described in Croft (2000:174) as a process in which the application of an ‘altered replication’ by individual speakers becomes a ‘differentiated replication’, that is accepted by the entire language group. The French Rwandaleux for instance is the popular reference to citizens from Rwanda. It implies a slightly pejorative allusion to scandaleux ‘scandalous,’ as does also colonialeux ‘colonial agent.’ The meaning of selected alternatives develops from the replicated element. Consequently it is to be considered as a ‘differentiated’ meaning, according to Croft. The process of propagation typically extends over many generations; nevertheless sociolinguistic research has demonstrated that it can occur in less than the lifespan of a speaker (Croft 2000:5 refers to Trudgill 1988). The time of the process depends entirely on the intensity of interaction within a community and on its openness to other communities. Croft therefore concludes that the structure of a community that adopts an altered replication as its new convention is as important as the nature of the convention itself. In the following chapter some background information regarding the community of Budu speakers will be provided. Some aspects of creative language use that still need to be discussed relate to the saliency of the expressions that are used. The last example illustrated the use of a second language. Foreign elements play a special role in creative applications when they are borrowed in the own language. They are marked in relation to elements of the own language. Language users tend to be more conscious about borrowed elements, while in fact all linguistic elements can be used creatively. Speakers tend to be less aware of the conventions that are ‘played with’ in the creative use of less salient elements. In contrast, speakers may be aware of the foreign conventions that are creatively used, as in the word formation in the French examples. This is very clear from the following examples of the language use of Mayan Indians as described by Hanks (1987; 1996). In the case discussed by Hanks Mayan scribes did their uttermost to produce a ‘perfect replication’ of the conventions of Spanish letters. In the literate tradition of the Mayan, scribes used to be delegated with all writing tasks. The Indians in the Spanish colony used Mayan in communication with the Franciscans in 1567, when a certain conflict with the Spanish king arose. Hanks (1987; 1996) describes the Mayan in an official appeal addressed to the Spanish king. It is beyond the scope of this introduction to discuss this language use in detail. The features that illustrate my point can nevertheless be mentioned. The letter represents a mixture of Mayan and Spanish conventions for genre use and thereby confused its receptors at the court. Hanks (1996:287-9) interprets the choice of
15 lexico-grammatical elements in the text as authentic Mayan while at the same time it invokes the appearance of the legitimate and authoritative nature of their letters to the Spanish addressee.24 The Mayan writers attempted to make a perfect replication of what they considered to be the appropriate Spanish genre. They literally translated some deictic and relative expressions and they mimicked some habits by replicating signatures, which they placed under the letter. To express their political solidarity with each other, they placed a manifold signature. The letter’s multiple repetitions were interpreted at the court as ‘cut-and-paste’ replications from several Spanish documents at once. An evaluation of the appeal as ‘fraudulent copy’ was reinforced when the Spanish saw many signatures placed underneath the letter. The alterations are evidence of the unavoidable influence of the indigenous language and culture. Unaltered replications seem impossible to produce, even for his Majesty. Blommaert (2002) describes a similar attempt to produce replications of foreign conventions. In this case two employees in the Democratic Republic of Congo were sent money from abroad by their former employers so that they could write an autobiography and a historiography.25 They had no access to concrete textual examples of the acculturated genres and therefore used approximate models like the catechism and the text book. The resulting autobiography was written in Swahili, the historiography in French, which is the language of education. Blommaert makes no mention of the repertoire of oral genres or other aspects of the community of the authors. He only mentions the relative success they had in producing elaborated texts with carefully formulated, detailed information. They in the first place achieved a role as salaried écrivains in their own community, where they replicated the praxis of the foreign genre. Blommaert’s main point is that their success in what he calls the ‘ortho-praxis’ of genre replication stands in no relation to any ‘orthodox’ use of the genres. To underline his point, he mentions several serious errors that nevertheless do not seem to reduce the social roles which the écrivains established. His example does unfortunately, unlike Hanks example, not comment on possible influences from the mother tongue of the Congolese writers. In both examples foreign conventions are imitated in order to make a genre similar to a foreign model. These examples of external influences illustrate that it would be misleading to compare the use of foreign elements with their use in the original language. Features from catechisms and text books are replicated in French and Swahili and characteristics of Spanish letters are replicated in Mayan because the respective genres function as model genres. It is noteworthy that only particular features are replicated. Apparently these are being perceived as the most effective ones, seen from limited exposure to the range of possibilities in respectively French and Spanish. In contrast the authors know a range of possible expressions in their mother tongue. The mother tongue therefore represents a frame of reference from which some foreign features are perceived as more effective than other. Indigenous factors invariably lead to altered replication. Hanks shows how insights in the indigenous conventions for language use make us understand altered replications. Blommaert shows that distortions are irrelevant to the one who borrowed the features. A third example is from De Rooij’s (1996) study of French code switching in Shaban Swahili. The title of his work ‘cohesion through contrast’ summarises why code switching takes place in a Shaban variation of Swahili: the selection of foreign discourse markers is often preferred for its contrast with Swahili. Like speakers of American variations of German, who almost exclusively use American English markers such as You know, well, and because instead of German markers, French function words are frequently used in the Swahili of language users who also know French. French function words highlight the structure of the text because they stand out against the background of Swahili (De Rooij 1996:169,170). De Rooij describes how the French negation ‘non’ is used systematically for turn taking in direct speech in Shaban Swahili (opus cit: 136,137), while que ‘that’ is used more frequently
24Some expressions could be read as literal translation of some Spanish expressions. Especially the use of deictics seems to be inspired by the Spanish and the relative constructions that follow a Maya noun phrase too. 25Tshilumba wrote the historiography to be edited with his paintings that where eventually published by Fabian (1996).
16 introducing direct speech (opus cit: 201,202) than subordinated clauses as such (opus cit: 156-168). These French function words are used in a manner that is non-equivalent to the first language alternatives, as discussed in De Rooij. Although he uses a different terminology, the replication of the French words is in fact a ‘differentiated’ replication.26 While the use of French at first sight seems purely prestige-related, only function words are pronounced in French. In this case the discourse structure of Shaba Swahili seems to determine distortions of the second language. Creative language users seek possibilities to communicate effectively. They may use elements from model genres in foreign languages if that suits their intention, as seems the case in particular genres such as drama.27 Borrowed constructions always reflect indigenous aspects of the mother tongue, since it is the genres in the own language provide speakers with a repertoire in relation to which they exploit foreign elements. As examples from Mayan seem to indicate, speakers evaluate the effectiveness of foreign elements from their own frame of reference. Because each speech community has its own linguistic organisation, borrowed constructions are perceived according to the existing framework of communication in that speech community. In contrast to Hanks, who discussed some features of Mayan, most of the literature on acculturation and related genre modification emphasizes the acculturating culture. An attempt to account for genre-related influence of English as a second language is presented in Romaine (1994). She describes the development of sports reporting in Tok Pisin, a pidgin language in Papua New Guinea in reference to Biber (1988) for comparisons with English sports reporting. Admitting that sports- reporting represents no monolithic category, Romaine makes some generalisations about the apparent influence of English sports reporting.28 Romaine used all texts representing Tok Pisin sports reporting from 1978, when the genre was first used in print,29 until 1990. Based on her diachronic comparison of newspaper reports she concludes that NP modification and the creation of new words reflect English influences. Similar to the findings of Hared (1992) for Somali press registers between 1972-’89, Romaine concludes that the main factors determining developments in the new genre were standardisation and modernisation of communication technologies resulting in an increased lexical elaboration. Biber (1995:360) refers to these studies commenting on the influence of pre-existing models for printed genres. New genres may arise in reaction to foreign models, which consequently need to be considered, is what Biber suggests. Somali and Tok Pisin both have a relatively young tradition of print. They therefore both show how pre-existing foreign models interact with communicative factors reflected in indigenous language use. Somali had no literate tradition of its own until 1972 and was influenced by Arab, Italian and English models for the use of printed genres. Tok Pisin had German and English models to refer to. With the exception of Chinese and Greek, most cultures have not themselves established a literate tradition. They are consequently influenced by the literate tradition in some other language that the community is exposed to. In reference to Greek- and Chinese-oriented languages Biber adds: “It is thus possible that the introduction and subsequent development of the written registers in such situations [where there was neither international communication nor ease of travel] depended to a greater extent on pre-existing
26De Rooij concludes that: “the presence of a phonological shape from a second language in bilingual discourse does not automatically entail that this shape also carries all grammatical properties it has in monolingual L2 discourse. Detailed contrastive studies of the distribution of items in monolingual discourse and the distribution of these forms in code switched speech involving different language pairs with one held constant are needed ...” (1996:202). 27Code switching is cross culturally a well known device used in for instance drama to enlarge the possibilities for expression. Kurtz & Kurtz for example (1998) contend that the mixing of Swahili and English undoubtedly gives the writer Mailu an opportunity for creative expression beyond the linguistic boundaries to which he has previously conformed. This: “illustrates a creative use of code repertoire available to members of a multilingual speech community.” 28Another problem that she does not mention is the influence of German, as the country used to be a German colony before it became a British region, thereby simplifying the complex multilingual situation even further. 29The first oral sports reporting was documented around 1920, Romaine (1994:65).
17 spoken registers than in modern-day language situations influenced by contact with foreign models,” (Biber 1995:361) for written communication. And: ‘’we need empirical investigations of the extent to which the early development of written registers in a language is shaped by the functional and linguistic characteristics of pre-existing foreign models,” (Biber 1995:360). Biber sees the need for investigations. The printing press seems indeed to be a factor that can change genre-related cultural conventions, like other technical innovations. Biber mentions the introduction of page numbers or section heading (1995:239). Yates and Orlikowski (1992) researched the creation of new office genres. They investigated existing genres and new genres by looking at their interrelatedness and described the development of the office memo from the preceding business letter. Changes in correspondence in businesses gave rise to new mutual understandings. Whereas business companies used mainly to correspond with each other, internal business communication increased as the size of the average business grew. The norms for writing business letters were first maintained, then elaborated in an intermediate stage when the format of business letters was extended to be used in internal communications. In final stages, modifications resulted in a new genre, which was the office memo (1992:306 in Mayes 2003). The process starts when the ‘maintenance’ of an existing genre such as the business letter no longer meets the changed conventions for its use, “due to a change of technique” with related changes in culture. Conventions for genre use often change when an external factor introduces new technical possibilities. For instance mail letter writing with the Mayan Indians (Hanks 1986) and newspaper printing with the speakers of Tok Pisin in Papua New Guinea (Romaine 1994). It nevertheless seems easy to underestimate cultural changes that precede technical innovations, like the growth of companies and the organisation of colonial sports manifestations. Budu is a language in its early stages of literacy use. Its official orthography was only established in 1996 and its first printed material was produced in 1998. In the following chapter some background information regarding the relevant foreign languages with literate tradition will be provided. However, rather than investigating the linguistic and functional characteristics of Arab, Swahili, Bangala and French in comparison to Budu, I will investigate the indigenous factors related to creative innovations. Foreign models may explain some elements that were adopted in Budu language use. They do not explain why those particular features where adopted rather than any other. Whereas, an investigation of the role of adopted elements in indigenous language use, may shed light on the reason why this element seemed attractive to use. The investigation of indigenous language use not only has more explanatory power since it explains selection, it also is easier than a fourfold analysis of all foreign languages with an existing literate tradition in Budu history. On top of that it avoids the risk of overestimating mere technological aspects of language use. In this research I follow the ethnomethodological assumption30 that language use is a manifestation of social structure. In the Boasian tradition31 language is studied as one of all possible manifestations of social structure. The use of the main clusters observed in the researched corpus can be considered to reflect the most important dimensions of communication or the ‘emic contrasts,’ that, together, manifest the social structure of a culture. In Korean, for instance, honorific expressions are used to express deference to the addressee or the person spoken about. They co-occur with humble references to the first and second person and foster social personhood in Korean. One cluster of expressions related to honorification is a dimension of communication in Korean (Biber 1995:202). In interpretations of linguistic innovations modern genres, I will refer to the main dimensions of variation in
30For example Malinowsky (1923); Hymes (1982) analysis of speaking in s.p.e.a.k.i.n.g. (setting; participants; ends; act; key; instrument; norms of interaction and genre and with elements of communication as analysed by Saville-Troike (1982)). 31Foley mentions Boas (1911); Sapir (1949) and Whorf (1956) as the most important leading scholars in this relativist school, with Lucy (1992); Gumperz and Levinson (1991) and Silverstein (1976, 1979; 1981, 1985) as later representatives (Foley 1997:214).
18 Budu. In order to interpret the cultural aspects of these dimensions I refer to the existing literature on this subject. The rest of this section indicates which concepts I hope to include in my analysis of creative innovations in Budu. The assumption that language is a manifestation of social structure is related to Giddens ‘structuration theory’ in sociology (1984). Human beings remember certain structures and instantiate structure in social practices (cf. Bailey 1985:15). Social structure “therefore is in a sense more internal than exterior to their activities” (Giddens 1984:25). The meaning of utterances is not pre-existing, it is the cumulative effect of the ongoing situation. This includes the language use and the negotiation of meaning as represented by altered replication. Emerging knowledge is activated by recurrences of similar situations. Emerging knowledge reflects the social structure in which it is produced. This was made clear from the Mayan and French examples with social roles that ‘emerged’ from the creative attempts of scribes and teachers who are using a foreign genre. The authors of those particular texts were aware of these models. In contrast, most creative language is used while those involved remain virtually unaware of the features of genres that are exploited. Genre modification may arise in relation to social structures, which members of a community take for granted. Their linguistic activities automatically arise from the desire to maintain the social structure. The strategy which is responsible for such linguistic activities can be compared to other survival strategies that are learnt very young: it goes unnoticed. This can be compared to what Giddens calls ‘monitoring.’ Patterns of features are constantly monitored by language users in (sub)conscious ways (see for example Giddens 1984:50). This monitoring enables language users to adjust their utterances to eventual changes in the situation. Monitoring may operate at a practical level without being verbalised. Practical monitoring occurs subconsciously. Giddens calls one level at which adjustments are made the ‘unconscious social self.’ Unconscious is the inaccessible social self that is fostered through routinisation to develop ontological security and preserve the face of others (1984:50). Similar to bed-time routines that foster trust with young children, expectations regarding language use are fostered. Relating social structures are cultivated to preserve ‘the social personhood’32 of language users. Our choice of words and the language used by others may modify our social personhood, since it is a linguistic construction that arises in interaction. Language use reflects the culturally specific ways in which ‘face threatening’ situations are handled. This cultural structuration concerns the entire society and therefore it is influential as an internal factor that determines the adoption of new conventions. In researching creative language use I will therefore look at linguistic strategies that arise in attempts to ‘save face,’ as this seems representing an indigenous factor for change. Another internal factor for change seems related to the shared knowledge of language users. This plays a role in the cultural organisation of a community and its (linguistic) conventions. Social institutes, in which genres play an important role, contribute in essential ways to the linguistic and cultural organisation of a language community (Giddens 1984). Their centrality follows from their role in transmitting knowledge and organising power in a society.33 Consequently linguistic systems are interdependent on the organisational structures that they help to maintain. Languages consequently keep changing in changing circumstances, as results from corpus linguistic research in natural language
32The social personhood is called, in theoretical terms, ‘face.’ It was developed by Brown and Levinson (1987) from a term introduced by Goffman for ‘‘the public self image that every member wants to claim for himself’’ (1967:61). Social harmony is typically related to group solidarity in some societies; or as Brown and Levinson describe it, positive politeness strategies are important in order to help community members preserve their social personhood (1987:101-29). 33It is mentioned in Street (1993) and (1995) that these two factors of language use variation are important. This so called ‘ideological’ literacy view is expressed in reaction to the ‘autonomic literacy’ in which literacy practices are seen as independent from social organisation. Street advocates the ‘ideological’ determination of literacy, since he sees internal ideologies and the own world view as more important for the use of language than technologies.
19 use make clear. It therefore seems important to include changes in Budu social institutes in my investigation of creative genre features, especially when they pertain to transmitting knowledge and organising power in Budu society. Creativity is responsible for attempts to modify language for certain effects. These effects may represent individual needs or social activities. In both cases creativity contributes to ‘altered replication,’ even when speakers do their utmost to make perfect replications of a genre. Language users may delineate themselves by this altered replication in such an attractive way that others adopt the same altered replication. The form starts to lead a life of its own and results in a ‘differentiated meaning’ that replaces all other possibilities. Although creativity is related to the individual frame of reference of language users, it may extend its repertoire by adopting expressions from a foreign language. This happens especially when foreign genres represent a model that is absent in the language group. Although Biber suggests an investigation of the influence of foreign linguistic and functional characteristics, this dissertation chooses rather to investigate the relation between genre modification and indigenous factors of change. Biber (1994:27) mentions the individual manipulation of genre conventions as an important source of change.34 Once a model genre is imitated, a strong trigger for the modification of such borrowed ‘model’ genres may be that they include culturally less-acceptable expressions of communicative intentions. This is the case when replication of model genres results in language use that has particular connotations in the indigenous language. Other internal factors that may determine creative genre modifications seem to be changes in social institutes and social roles. Social personhood and related linguistic strategies, for instance in politeness, are important too (Brown and Levinson 1987). While the social structure of a community is observed in daily interactions, the social structure of a culture is manifest in its language. I will therefore investigate Budu language use and compare its dimensions of communication with my observations and informal interviews from my 24 month’s stay in Budu area over ‘95/ ’96 and ‘97/’98. Those frequent forms that seem related to foreign influences in modern genres need to be compared with their occurrence in older genres. I hope to discover reasons for the accommodation of some forms that were selected from all other possible expressions.
1.5 Genre Theory and Creative Innovations
In the following section some insights from genre theory are discussed to see where the proposed approach needs to be adapted. My main question is whether the approach to creative language use can depend on a multidimensional approach with emphasis on two main triggers of modified language use, namely individual manipulation of language and changes related to the shared social knowledge, as discussed in the previous section. Berkenkotter and Huckin (1995) presented an important study concerning the development of academic genres. Their work suggests that genres, more than any other level of linguistic organisation, form a platform for negotiation. Creativity at both social and individual level is instrumental in this negotiation. Genres represent socio-cognitive realities that are dynamic enough to allow for continuous modification. Berkenkotter and Huckin (1995) made an attempt to interpret the entire process of genre
34Similar to the motivation behind the development of euphemisms for ‘water closet’ or ‘W.C’, some genre modifications may arise from the need to hide overt persuasion or other taboo purposes that speakers may express with texts (cf. Halmari and Virtanen 2005). Advertisements for financial investments are usually accompanied by warnings about the fluctuating values of stock. Like health warnings on boxes of cigarettes, these warnings cannot change in form because of legal prescriptions. The radio advertisements for financial investments therefore creatively raised the tempo and intonation in which the obligatory warning is read aloud. This change of form suggests a change of meaning. Probably the warning is intentionally presented as entertainment by its ironical declamation. All linguistic units develop cultural connotations and changes in meanings that may therefore contribute to changes in use and eventually in form.
20 modification rather than the cognitive level at which ‘prototypical texts are produced and reproduced’ (1995:5).35 For an understanding of the operational level of this negotiation, I will therefore look at several conclusions reached in other literature on Genre. As we use language, we constantly exploit the way others have used language in a process that can be either called ‘recurrency’ (Giddens 1984), or: ‘reproduction’ (Bakthin 1986), or ‘replication’ (Croft 2000). Our language thereby reflects the voices of others and includes familiar ways in which others have indicated social purposes with their text use. In Russian literary criticism this ‘dialogic’ nature of language use was analysed by Bakthin (1981; 1986). He interpreted developments of literary genres from the epic to the novel as result of the development of the gradually modified use of recurring genre features. In daily conversation speakers directly react to the situation of use, resulting in songs, oaths, requests etc. These are the primary genres of a language. The same genres can be exploited in more complex texts such as the sermon, the epic, the report etc. An oath that occurs in reported speech in an epic conveys the expression of commitment of the characters in the story. Embedded genres portray the character (in relation to what follows in the story) as either a liar or as a sincere character. In contrast to the primary oath, such embedded oaths are used by the narrator to portray, rather than to commit him or herself as a speaker. Primary genres consist of one social practice, whereas secondary genres combine two or more primary ones. This difference between primary and secondary genres in Bakthin's writings was an important tool in later Genre analysis.36 It clarified the complexity of the dynamics involved in modified genre use. Communicative practices with a modified usage are reflected in genres. These modifications emerge from their intertextuality that is consciously manipulated by artful narrators. The ‘differentiated replication’ of genres and their dynamic nature was discussed in Russian literary criticism in terms of the literary criticism called formalism. Only some decades later lower-level units of communication were discussed in evolutionary theories about language change and related to propagation.37 Although genres represent a level of communication that facilitates conscious reflection on the part of the researcher who is interested in the development of modified usages, genres at the same time are organised at a level of linguistic organisation which, by its operation at text and even intertextual level, is opaque.38 This opacity, in combination with the potential of genre features to be borrowed across languages makes the technical investigation of genre-related changes of language use a complex issue that was avoided until corpus linguistic techniques made it possible to quantify more complex correlation patterns. There is general agreement that genre features operate in co-occurrences at text level. In analyses of genre development, configurations of multifunctional features from interrelated levels need to be explained. Such configurations represent a complex area, in which incidental changes of use emerge as genres are altered in recurring situations. In order to discuss these configurations, many genre theorists have taken the social reality as their point of departure. Social and cultural factors that determine the development of genres seem endless. Whereas anthropologists Bauman and Briggs (1990:64) discuss ways in which the “social capacity of particular
35The five features of genres that are emphasised by Berkenkotter and Huckin (1995) are dynamism, situatedness, embeddedness in form&content, duality of structure and community ownership. 36It was adopted without criticism although Hanks comments: “The difference simplifies primary genres as if they never could be multifunctional,” (1996: 243). 37Croft (2000) chapter seven discusses Labov 1963, Lewis 1969, Guilbert 1965, Brown and Gilman 1960. 38All propagation processes discussed in Croft’s framework on language change (2000) start with the innovation lower-level linguistic unities. The historic and cultural characteristics of sounds, phonemes, morphemes, syntactic constituents and pragmatic constructions can be interpreted in analysing language change, focusing on changed features at these levels. Such changes in language-use concern particular features, therefore the analysis is directly related to these particular units. In contrast, genre modification occurs at a level where the relationship between different elements with different functions, plays a role, simply because these features in all their variety co-occur distinguishing the genre.
21 genres and the relationship between genres” are patterned: namely “in ways that shape and are shaped by genre, social class, ethnicity, age, time, space and other factors”, the leading New Rhetoric’s Miller goes one step further and describes genres as bearers of “knowledge of the aesthetics, economics, politics, religious beliefs and all the various dimensions of what we know as human culture.”(1994:69). Culturally relevant aspects of language use are defined in this theory as “a set of particular social patterns and expectations that provides a socially objectified motive” (Mayes 2003:36). These patterns can be compared cross-culturally as strategies that solve universal problems. If language is considered from this solution-oriented perspective, each society represents an indigenous set of issues that are seen as problems. Luckmann contends (1992:228 in Mayes 2003) “The communicative problems for which such solutions are socially established and deposited in the social stock of knowledge tend to be those which touch upon the communicative aspects of those kinds of social interactions which are important for the maintenance of a given social order.” Since each society represents a different social order, each language is unique in its linguistic organisation into genres. Together its genres form a stock of known solutions, or as Bergmann and Luckmann refer to it genres form a ‘communicative budget.’ This budget consists of ‘families’ of genres (Bergmann and Luckmann 1994:88). The weak point of this approach seems that a rather subjective interpretation of ‘problem-solving strategies’ is taken for its point of departure (Mayes compares Japanese and American cooking lessons for instance by considering the positioning of the furniture and the interaction).39 Nevertheless, Bergmann and Luckmann with their approach seem to explain some aspects of the family resemblance between genres. Quite a few genre-theorists study genre-related language use by merely looking at social structures, going from the context to the text. Other genre theorists rather go from the text to the context. They take language use as their point of departure and interpret the context in which genres of particular texts are produced. Virtanen and Halmari contend: “As language users we have expectations that help us to process texts, negotiate for meaning and adapt to new situations,” (2005:10) stressing that, though expectations may be rather abstract, they are nevertheless expressed in actual texts that manifest configurations of concrete linguistic features, which can be studied. In ethnolinguistic work linguistic differences in speech styles formed an important part of the cultures that needed to still be described. Genres were approached as a constellation of systematically related, co-occurring formal features and structures that contrast with other such constellations (Ervin-Tripp 1972; Hymes 1989 [1974] in Bauman 2001:58). The relation between ‘talk and action’ was considered important and therefore Gumperz contends in his book Language and social identity that co-occurrence expectations “are learned in the course of previous interactive experiences and form a part of our habitual and instinctive linguistic knowledge” (1982:153). This is not a passive knowledge, as he continues to explain on page 162: “Co-occurrence expectations enable us to associate styles of speaking with contextual presupposition. We regularly rely upon these matching procedures in everyday conversation. Although they are rarely talked about and tend to be noticed only when things go wrong, without them we would be unable to relate what we hear to previous experience.” Whether genre theorists focus on the textual features of genres or on contextual characteristics, there seems to be an agreement in the literature about the ability of language users to select or recognise the appropriate genre. By this selection, language users silently express their definition of the social situation in which they communicate. Throughout the literature on the subject, genre theorists keep referring to ‘patterns’ of meaning and of language use. While several authors concentrate on reasons why genre features are hard to isolate40 and retrieve to the observable reality of social context,
39Mayes’ (2003) well documented study accounts for the selection of her three points of comparison: setting, social position and activity, which remain, in my view, prone to subjective interpretations of the context. 40Because of its versatile and dynamic nature, it can be hard to relate single features of language use to genres. Fairclough (1992) mentioned the interdiscursivity of some texts. There are multiple song types that all belong to the same discourse type of songs, while nursing songs, mourning songs and flirting songs represent completely different communicative events. These songs nevertheless exhibit considerable interdiscursivity in most
22 others explore the possibilities of quantitative research. These provide them with countable results of the interplay between text and context.41 Language users engage in social interaction and therefore their genre selection can be considered as a socially acceptable way to define the social situation. Speakers intent to use language in such ways that it facilitates genre recognition and therefore complex conventions are expressed in obvious patterns.42 My main question regarding genre theoretical insights was whether the approach to creative language use could depend on a multidimensional approach with emphasis on two main factors that seem to relate to modified language use, namely individual manipulation of language and changes in relation to the shared social knowledge which language represents. In the literature about genre development there is no agreement about the linguistic aspects of these two main factors. This is problematic since a central concept is needed to approach the non-conventional use of single genre features objectively, especially in cross-linguistic research, where the researcher has a perspective biased by her or his own social knowledge. Genres represent social knowledge and sometimes the use of a single genre feature, by its co-occurrence with other features, may give rise to a surprising effect in which some knowledge is evoked. The analysis of various cultural and social factors of genre development contributed to an even better appreciation of the complex relationship between single genre features and social knowledge. In contrast to the obvious correlation between language use and social situation, single linguistic forms are not easy to isolate as features of single genres. In the discussed case studies, single features seem to function as trigger that evokes a certain model genre. Although genre-theoretical studies provide valuable insights into the cultural factors that seem to be involved, none seems concerned about the operational aspects of the involved dynamics. There are several aspects of the dynamics of genres which obscure the operational level at which modifications take place. Next to the possibility for genres to be embedded in other genres that were discussed above, the shared distribution of forms over groups of genres is one reason why genre- distinctive features are not so easy to isolate. Genres represent classes of communicative events that are manifest in prototypical text use (for instance stories) without strict borders. Rather than categories genres represent a continuous range with fluid borders (Swales 1990:58; Miller 1984). Biber’s work (1995) illustrates that multiple dimensions overlap within one genre. This implies that co-occurrences of linguistic features of more than one cluster are used to distinguish a genre. One and the same text may therefore reflect more than one communicative dimension. Biber summarises his findings (1995:357) as follows: “the linguistic variation among the texts of a language constitutes a continuous multidimensional space, and text types are dense concentrations of texts within that space. It is theoretically possible for a text to represent any combination of linguistic characteristics from multiple dimensions.” In theory one can imagine a continuous space of variation. In actual languages the dense concentrations of texts of particular genres suggests some text prototypes that can nevertheless be identified. Prototypical text types can be defined for a genre, based on their prototypical combinations of clusters. Conventional language use is represented by texts that remain close to the prototype. However: “In between these prototypes, there are particular texts that combine functional emphases and linguistic forms in complex and relatively idiosyncratic ways. These texts are not aberrations; rather, they reflect the fact that speakers and writers exploit the linguistic resources of their language in a continuous manner.” Biber seems to imply that non-conventional language use can be languages. Hyman used the term ‘metaphrasis’ to refer to the embedding of genres mentioned as (Hyman 1975) in Virtanen and Halmari (2005:10), and Bhatia 1993:13 mentions the problematic distinction between main genre and subgenre. 41Nattinger and DeCarrico (1992), Swales (1981; 1987), and Stubbs (1996) use, for instance, corpus linguistic techniques to exploit lexicalisation patterns for the teaching of English as second language. 42Mayes (2003:37) refers to Hymes (1962; 1974), Levinson (1979), Gumperz (1982), Duranti (1985); Swales (1990); Bhatia (1993) and Bazerman (1988; 1994).
23 best compared with conventional language use in an analysis of the creative exploitation of linguistic resources. Non-conventional language use may seem to be an aberration in that it exploits a single feature in unexpected manner. From what Biber says about such aberrations, it seems that they can be best described in relation to the prototypes. This cognitive concept seems to represent the operational level that is needed for further interpretations of creative language use.
1.6 Cognition and Creativity
Genre development seems to depend on human creativity, which continuously exploits cognitive prototypes that are represented in language as in other cultural conventions. The impact of a creative use of genre conventions seems to depend on the representation of cognitive realities. Therefore some background information regarding several theoretical concepts, as developed in cognitive psychology, ethnolinguistics and in the study of literature, seems helpful at this point. My conclusion is, that reference to the so called ‘ongoing input principle’ seems to explain the operation of single genre features as enaction of prototypical genres. To explain this operation as I envision it in relation to an MD-approach of the Budu corpus, the notion of ‘prototypes’ and that of ‘frames’ is also discussed in this section. The problem discussed in this section is the possibility to use single genre features creatively to activate social knowledge. First, the selection of some features that, apparently are the most apt to trigger social knowledge, needs to be explained. Analyses of allusions such as Bauman (2001) seem to focus selectively on the features that are used while they fail to explain why other possible forms are not involved in allusions in the same situation. Second, it seems problematic that the most fragmentary allusion suffices to invoke social knowledge considering the absence of any direct correlation between context and text. Bakthin referred to the criteria that determine whether a text counts as complete or not with the notion of ‘finalisation’ (Bakthin 1986:76). The reference to a genre can be considered as complete when the basic requisites of the genre are present in a text, according to Bakthin. Bakthin emphasises the dynamics of what he calls ‘the dialogue of different genre distinctions.’ He refers to the presupposed interaction between various features that together form the basic requisites, which in the MD approach of Biber would be called the co-occurrence pattern of features in texts. How do the dynamics of co- occurrence account for the possibility that only partial references to a genre trigger associations with the knowledge, which the genre represents, at an operational level? Giddens structuration theory (1984) explains that language users attempt to match a text with other texts in the language in the process of determining its genre. In that process they seem to depend on their larger frame of reference, which seems to consist of the entire repertoire of possible language use. Within that larger frame of reference, some prototypical text examples are used as points of reference. Language users seem to use these prototypical examples, against whose characteristics they keep matching other possible examples of a category. Subconsciously, a constant attempt is going on to determine what possible patterns of language use they are exposed to. This matching enables language users to make an estimation of the expectations expressed to them. In this operation, the notion of prototypes accounts for the perception of yet undefined types of texts. New texts tend to be understood in terms of their family resemblances with existing prototypes, as the prototype theory predicts. The most recurrent and most accessible text categories are used for reference. Seeming ‘aberrations’ from this prototype are interpreted as texts from the category that they most resemble, as suggested in Biber’s quote at the end of previous section (1995:357). The MD approach results in continuous ranges, along which various prototypical and less prototypical genres can be ranged. The notion of blurred edged categories is central to the concept of prototypes (cf. Labov 1972), as it is to Biber’s notion of situation-bound text varieties.
24 In order to address the problem first mentioned in the introduction, some insights regarding genres are now discussed. This problem was that the selection of some features that, apparently are the most apt to trigger social knowledge, is not yet explained. The concept of prototypes is central in the approach that I will now follow. The prototype43 was introduced in psychology for those concepts that are designable by words in natural languages. Concepts not necessarily cover all of the physical features of an object. Because the essential features are accessible to human perception, prototypes can be indicated by cues. They consist of the better exemplars of the concept cues. Special features are crucial to the reactivation of the notion. Rosch’s (1977) research in cognitive psychology concluded that categories or concepts can not be reduced to the sum of simple components. “They rather depend on a prototype that is conditioned by sociocultural factors. This, plus the notion of family resemblances, (Wittgenstein 1953) allows language users to see instances as more or less typical instances of a particular category (Anderson 1985)” Paltridge (1997:53) in his summary about the importance of prototypes in the development of genre theory. In this section I heavily rely on Paltridge’s summary without further references. Prototype recognition depends on family resemblances of less typical categories. These types may resemble the prototypes by several of their features. For resemblances between genres the family relationship between sets of genres was mentioned by Bergmann and Luckmann (1994:88). In an MD approach quantitative similarities between co-occurrences in genres of one dimension account for their distinction as sets of genres with shared function. Also the frequency, appearance and function of a category, together with perceptual, social or memorial salience of the categories may contribute to the development of a prototype (Aitchinson 1987 in Paltridge 1997:56). The concept of ‘prototype’ can be applied to language use in texts, as Biber’s quote illustrated in previous section (1995:357). This language use consists, in terms of the MD approach, of a prototypical co-occurrence pattern that is distinctive for a particular genre. The remarks about the factors that affect the recognition of prototypes are now applied to co- occurrences. Aitchinson (in Paltridge 1997:56) mentions three main factors that facilitate the recognition of a prototype: frequency, salience and function, about which the following remarks can be made. First, if an altered co-occurrence pattern is used frequently, the users of a language will eventually start to refer to it as one of all possible usages of the language and connect it with the situation in which it keeps recurring, even when it shows no resembles with other categories, since by then it will have become the ‘norm’ for this situation. Frequency of situation-bound recurrences is important, since it engrains the social expectation until this becomes easily accessible and can be referred to with minimal reference to the features. Patterns are recognised when they occur frequently. If a community is frequently exposed to a certain way of handling recurring situations, this situation-bound recurrence is more easily recognised and might be adopted as new convention. This explains the selection of English loanwords in Tok Pisin sports reports for instance. Second, the saliency of a pattern may facilitate its development as convention. Aitchinson (in Paltridge 1997: 56) mentions three possible aspects of this salience: memorial, perceptual and social salience. If a certain co-occurrence pattern is engrained in the public memory because it marks a historical situation, it may become popular to use it. Patterns are recognised when they appeal to public memory. In Congo the use of features of scouts songs and military parades in political songs during Mobutu’s reign contributed to the development of national song types in popular music (Gondola 1997:71). Very similar to memorial salience is perceptual salience. If a new way of presenting information is easy to digest, it will be stored in the memory of language users as a good option. An altered co- occurrence pattern with sound effects or other mnemonic aids draws attention as it stands out against
43Rosch continued the work of the psychologist Bartlett (1932) who used the word ‘frame’ for active developing patterns. Recall is a dynamic process as Paltridge summarises it (1997:53).
25 unmarked utterances. This explains for instance the use of French function words in some Shaban Swahili genres (De Rooij 1996). These words are salient and easy to remember as markers of text structure. Such language use will facilitate the development of a prototype. Perceptual salience of an altered co-occurrence pattern exists in changed circumstances, where genres with a different presentation of information are perceived as easier to digest than information in previous genres. This may be the case in drama or audio drama, where stories are presented in an even more scenic way than in most African storytelling sessions. Patterns are recognised as prototype when they have perceptual benefits. Social salience pertains to instant effects, like privileges or wealth that seem to be obtained by the use of prestigious forms. Language that is associated with television ads for luxury items is often associated with access to, or promises about a certain lifestyle. Its social salience favours the engrainment of its patterns of co-occurrence. Patterns are recognised when they are socially salient. Third, the function of a new co-occurrence pattern determines its development as a new convention. In changing social circumstances, the existing repertoire of genres may lack a category with a similar function. When this is the case, a new prototype will develop rapidly to meet the changed needs of the society. Patterns are recognised when they are obviously needed to fulfil a certain function. This may explain the rise of drama in urban societies in Congo, where only a few remember the traditional stories that filled a role in the village community in bringing its members together for story telling sessions, for instance. The function of a pattern seems to be related to the existing repertoire of genres. Against the repertoire of all possible genres particular co-occurrences are easily recognised by their appearance, like in material culture. If an altered co-occurrence pattern represents a ‘striking appearance’ (Aitchinson 1987 in Paltridge 1997:50) in relation to the repertoire, it is easy to access and this will contribute to its development as prototype. Patterns are recognised when their appearance is striking. Insights regarding the development of prototypes add some factors to the list that was made during previous sections. Individual manipulation and changes in relation to the social knowledge were two indigenous factors resulting in creative expression as mentioned in earlier sections. In the present section perceptual salience of a co-occurrence pattern and its family resemblance with existing patterns can be added to the list. The family resemblance seems related to the function and appearance of a pattern in relation to the existing repertoire of genres. These points seem to represent operational factors determining genre modification. The other points mentioned in relation to the recognition of prototypes seem related to the tempo at which prototypes develop, without per se adding new indigenous triggers for genre development. They are firstly frequent exposure to altered replication; secondly exposure to socially salient co-occurrence patterns, whether prestigious or pejorative; and thirdly the introduction of co- occurrences with memorial salience seem all three related to the previously mentioned first factor of individual manipulation. All three have been exploited in commercial advertisements and ideological indoctrination for their known effect in accelerating the spread of a new convention. The rest of this section addresses the second problem that was mentioned in the introduction. This problem was that the most fragmentary allusion suffices to invoke social knowledge considering the absence of any direct correlation between context and text. In order to investigate this problem, I will discuss the notion of ‘frames.’ Prototypical language use can be seen as a manifestation of social knowledge in a so called cognitive frame. Schank and Abelson (1977)44 use the concept ‘knowledge schema’, to explain the relation between stored information and verbalisation (Paltridge 1997:50 refers to Chafe 1980; 1994 and to Fillmore 1975)). Fillmore (1975) calls knowledge schemata ‘frames’ or ‘sets of linguistic possibilities that are associated with particular types of events.’
44With the ‘restaurant’ script or schema, Schank and Abelson (1977) illustrated the importance of mental schemata for the handling of information in linguistic interaction, as Ensink and Sauer (2003:5) mention.
26 The notion of frames is helpful in the analysis of less conventional recurrences of genre-related language. A genre is oriented to the production and reception of particular kinds of texts. However, since a text is “a bounded, formally regimented, internally cohesive stretch of discourse that may be lifted out from its immediate discursive environment and recontextualised in another”, to use Bauman’s words, “its generic language use may also be ‘reframed’ by another stretch of text” (Bauman 2001:58). In that case the ‘key’ to understanding such stretches of text is re-used in a new context. This ‘key’ concept was introduced by Gumperz (1982) as a contextualisation cue that enables language users to interpret the meaning of a text in a certain situation. Because social knowledge is stored in genre- related language use (as was previously explained) it necessarily provides ‘interpretation cues’ to unlock this knowledge. Bauman and Briggs (1992) suggested that these cues be interpreted as ‘framing devices,’ since these keys clarify to which knowledge frame a stretch of text refers. This terminology was developed in ethnolinguistics in order to account for the relation between different performances. Similar to dance, wailing and musical performances, linguistic features are considered to invoke, by their familiarity, a cognitive ‘world’ that is created by the interaction in performances. Language use and other cultural manifestations may represent altered replications of prototypes. Bauman and Briggs (1992) introduced the term ‘entextualisation’ to refer to the manifestation of generic conventions in the actual use of language. Proverbs have a rather rigid entextualisation, while some story genres may represent the opposite. Framing-devices in the text represent interpretation cues that recur in various ‘entextualisations’ of the same genre. The notion of entextualisation made it possible to interpret effects of altered replication in relation to genres. I will now attempt to clarify how these concepts are used to analyse the dynamic nature of genres. In the reframing of a genre, the effect of framing devices is altered. This effect was described by Bauman (2001), for instance, in terms of allusions to texts. In his analysis of the language used by market salesmen in Mexico, Bauman (2001) attempted to advance from the interpretation of the process of entextualisation as presented in Bauman and Briggs (1992). He studies what happens if there is a ‘gap’ between a prototypical use of genre conventions and a real text. To explain the exceptional use of allusions to radio advertisements by a salesman on the Mexican market, Bauman suggests that this way of selling luxury plates is related to the item for sale: plates are not durable luxury items. Plates in themselves are cheap and require a ‘cheap’ selling genre. However, when a vendor of luxury items sells them, he bridges the gap between his ‘cheap’ selling style and the relatively luxury plates by what Bauman calls a ‘calibration’ strategy. By his allusions to glamorous advertisements the vendor compensates the impression that the plates are cheap. This example illustrates the vagueness involved in Bauman’s selective interpretation of features in language use. Calibration nevertheless seems a helpful notion to explain text strategies that may arise when language is not used prototypically. For a more precise linguistic analysis of texts with ‘mixed genre use,’ it seems to be helpful to distinguish between interactive and cognitive frames. Levinson (1979) was the first to suggest that activity types could be associated with linguistic structures co-occurring with it, in reference to ‘interactive frames.’ The notion of interactive frames can be understood as specific knowledge about the norms for interaction in a culture.45 The ethnolinguist Hanks uses this cognitive information to explain the influence of Spanish on Mayan documents. Hanks calls social interaction ‘local knowledge’ and suggests that it updates the ‘knowledge schema.’ Hanks (1996:233) emphasises the importance of emerging aspects “that come into being during interaction.” Not only the prototypical co-occurrences of situational features of communicative practices, but rather “the ongoing tension between schematic and emergent aspects (none as complete as a type) accounts for regularity and novelty, reproduction and production” in his view. This is similar to considering allusive genre features as triggers of secondary frames of reference. In terms of an MD approach the use of a linguistic form may instantiate the dimension that is
45Both Mayes (2003:35) and Paltridge (1997:50 cite Fillmore 1976) suggesting that interactive frames and knowledge or cognitive frames should be considered as interrelated.
27 associated with it by co-occurrence patterns even in the absence of most forms of that cluster in a particular text. This happens in creative language use where cognitive frames seem to be represented by clusters of linguistic features, while interactive frames seem to be represented by prototypical genres. The main genre of language use may represent a ‘normal’ conventional or prototypical text, while creative allusions in that text at the same time refer in an unconventional, creative way to another dimension of communication, by single features. My main point is the linguistic manifestation of cognitive frames in the co-occurrence of linguistic features. If frames are manifest in fixed clusters of co-occurrence the reference to single features may, in some cases, suffice to instantiate certain associations, with, for instance legitimate power, as in the Mayan example. This can be explained as an effect of the ‘ongoing input principle’ that is related to the perception of frames, as will be explained now. “The most powerful aspect of frame theory is undoubtedly that it accounts for the principle of ‘continually available input’” (Ensink and Sauer 2003:5):46 “processes of human perception and comprehension do not need complete data in order to yield coherent and interpreted output.” They give the example of visual perception. Whenever we see a vehicle behind a tree, we do not perceive a complete vehicle, but fragments of the front and the backside. We nevertheless do not see the fragmentary parts, we “see” one unified whole car.”47 Similarly, patterns of linguistic co-occurrence may be partly used over an entire text, alluding to the embedded use of a particular genre. However, the mature speaker of the language, although not perceiving the unified entire pattern as realised in complete texts representing the genre, perceives an allusion to that genre. The language use in genre allusions triggers a particular genre frame, or the basic requisites of that frame, that make its activation complete. Such fragmentary patterns allude, be it subconsciously, to a specific communicative connotation. This idea is very similar to the idea which was developed in phenomenology by Schutz and Luckmann (1973) who postulated that information about an object is perceived in an on-line fashion, including continuous updates (referred to in Mayes 2003:21) in a process called ‘typification’, where the most relevant and useful concepts are stored in a more permanent way. Thus ‘continuous input of information’ allows us to account also for the operation of genre features in recontextualisation, where they only suggest a genre without fully representing it. While only single features may be used to allude to official documents, for instance, the proper use of these features may instantiate the entire ‘officialness’ that is attached to such documents. This explains the dynamics of English influence in the use of newly invented Tok Pisin words for sports reporting (Romaine 1994). Such words allude to the ‘official’ tone of newspaper language as it existed prior to the development of such reporting in the largest pidgin language of Papua New Guinea. Similarly the use of Spanish linguistic features in Mayan letters alluded to the juridical language in authoritarian Spanish documents (Hanks 1987). It seems that the salience of these contextualisation cues makes them more apt to function as triggers of a frame, since in all these examples loanwords are the most prominent features functioning as contextualisation cues. Cognitive frames represent a useful concept in the analysis of creative genre use in as far as these frames are manifest in formal linguistic features. These frames account for ‘incomplete’ patterns of language use that still are effectively used to activate emerging connotations in the appropriate entextualisation, because they apparently represent the ‘basic requisites’ needed for a complete iconic reference in Bakthin’s terms. The synthesis of ethnomethodology, pragmatics and artificial intelligence gives “due recognition to both the conventional and creative features of natural language use” (Widdowson 1983:77 in Paltridge 1997:51). On top of the disciplines mentioned in the Paltridge quote, the quantitative- comparative approach proposed by Biber (1995) can be effectively used in combination with the ongoing input principle if frames are defined in terms of the linguistic co-occurrences that seem to
46Ensink and Sauer (2003:5) refer to Kuipers 1975; Bobrow & Norman 1975. 47Ensink and Sauer (2003:5) refer to Braddly 1990:335-347; Schank and Abelson 1977.
28 manifest and activate them. It is my hypothesis that such a synthesis would indeed give due recognition to both the conventional and creative features of natural language use, to extend Widdowson's remark just quoted. The use of cognitive frames as a notion in the analysis of generic allusions has the advantage that it can be used in more formal linguistic analyses. In the multidimensional analysis of co-occurrence in the various genres of a language, it may be used to account for less prototypical language use. Some genres are not represented by full texts. They consist of some contextualisation cues that are recontextualised in texts of a different main genre. These single features can not be related to dimensions of communication or even to genres. Single linguistic features can not be associated with single communicative features (there is no such straightforward relation between text and context, as was explained before). Nevertheless single features may be used as framing devices to instantiate a frame by the cue that they give to their original context. In that case they activate an association with a genre that is different from the main genre. Because of the strict conventions that are reflected in co- occurrence patterns, each of the features of a cluster of co-occurrence has “at least some of the functions associated […] with the other features defining a dimension” (Biber 1995:135). Dimensions of communication are more important than single genre distinctions in this approach. In terms of co- occurrence patterns, this implies that only part of a pattern, which contributes to genre recognition, can be used as a contextualisation cue. The principle of continually available input explains the dynamics of partial contributions, that the human mind can digest in the form of fragmented references to ‘frames’ that have social relevance. An approach very close to this one (apart from MD) is presented in Virtanen and Halmari (2005), who elaborate the notion of ‘entextualisation’ that was introduced by Bauman and Briggs (1992). Commenting on their compilation of articles on the topic of ‘persuasion’ they observe that the theory of genre as interpretative frame is a useful notion in explaining linguistic changes represented in texts with persuasion. The volume contains examples of commercial, juridical and business persuasion, where the attempt to change the opinions and behaviour of the addressee(s) is underlyingly present. “Entering into dialogue with the audience forces the author of a persuasive text repeatedly to re-consider the packaging, the linguistic form in which the persuasive message will be wrapped. The composition of the audience –its values, opinions, and worldviews; which will never remain constant – forces the persuader to monitor the text in search of the best possible package that leads to the desired direction.”(Virtanen and Halmari 2005:231). To be effective, language users avoid the explicit formulation of persuasion. Persuasion therefore is a ‘taboo’ goal in communication, which, like euphemisms, keeps being formulated in new ways. Persuasion therefore is an area of language use where changes occur in an ongoing fashion. As soon as a certain form of language is associated with persuasion, it needs to change. The need for new, fresh forms of persuasion may result in generic hybrids (Bauman and Briggs 1992:135) which may result in the birth of a whole new genre. In that process the two notions of interdiscursive gap and intertextual gap, as introduced by Bauman and Briggs (1992) are helpful. In the first place, genres need to look like their generic ‘home’ genre as Halmari and Virtanen (2005:237) call it. They need to resemble their generic prototype. Printed advertisements may be purposely different to hide their persuasive intentions. To do this, advertisers may attempt to maximize the intertextual gap with other ads, to make the readers approach the information with an open mind, without awareness that they are being persuaded (it is not incidental that many societies require newspapers to add the label ‘advertisement’ above their ads, similar to the legal prescription of health warnings in tobacco or alcohol ads). Hybridised genres also need at the same time to remain different from other genres of the language in order to be recognised. The genre therefore ‘maximizes the interdiscursive gap by its entextualisation.’ The gap with other discourses is kept comfortably large to avoid confusion. Under this condition, a genre will pick up a maximum number of characteristics of another genre in the process of entextualisation. Virtanen and Halmari suggest the use of the term ‘intergenre’ for the intermediate hybrid genre that may share features of both the ‘home genre’ and the genre from which it borrows
29 elements. Intergenres may serve the goal of persuasion by ‘selling’ one genre as another one because they are mixing the elements of both. The main genre at the same time retains its identity while the juxtapositioned genres serve the purpose of persuasion. An example is the so called ‘informercial’ ad that is presented like product information while it also attempts to convince the readers to buy the product. Östman (2005) in the same volume (Virtanen and Halmari 2005) presents his analysis of the process by which authors keep the equilibrium between the discursive and the intertextual gap. Since language users intend to persuade with a maximum effect, they will aim for a large intertextual gap (the genre should not look like an ad) and a sufficiently large interdiscursive ad (the ad should not be mistaken as silly nonsense that is merely there for entertainment). The method presented by Östman is developed in earlier work on pragmatic particles and called ‘implicit anchoring.’ The operation of implicitly anchoring linguistic units in texts can, according to Östman, be interpreted with help of three universal parameters, namely cohesion, involvement and explicitness. The same model can be applied to lexical information that signals persuasion. Östman explains how writers avoid the use of explicit collocations that overtly communicate their attempts to persuade. They rather make use of a less obvious type of collocation with not strictly adjacent words (within the five words to its left or right side). Members of such collocations can be considered ‘implicitly anchored’ to other members of the collocation. In contrast to explicitly mentioned persuasion, readers seem unaware of this type of ‘implicitly anchored’ information. Implicit anchoring is a technique still to convey information to the readership without making readers aware of the consistent use of certain collocations. This type of implicit information can only be discovered by corpus linguistic research. Building on his qualitative studies of pragmatic information, Östman applies the same three parameters to interpret the function of the implicitly anchored words which he finds. Östman proposes an approach to collocations that is similar to Biber’s approach. The combination of corpus linguistic research and qualitative research but also the use of parameters is alike. While Östman restricts his analysis to those elements that he preselects from qualitative language use, Biber, by means of quantitative pre-tests, selects his linguistic variables by measuring the most frequent co-occurrences. The strength of Östman approach to less obvious patterns of collocation is its application to patterns of distanced collocation. This approach gives one possible explanation to the question that was mentioned in the introduction to this section: why the most fragmentary allusion suffices to invoke social knowledge. While Östman (2005) explains partial references as a technique that obscures less desired individual manipulation of language such as persuasion, I apply this technique of implicit anchoring to the broader area of social knowledge. Social knowledge may be represented in a less desired way in new genres because of the borrowed features from model genres in a foreign culture. Implicit anchoring seems applied to repair the undesired effects of this borrowing, as I will explain in chapter 8. Östman’s investigation of the kind of linguistic manipulation that makes use of combinatory patterns is similar to my application of the MD approach, except that I do not use a priori established parameters or elements of lexical collocation. I follow Biber in his quantitative pre-work establishing co- occurrence patterns that are distilled from the distribution of individual elements in the different genres of the corpus, and I follow Biber in his functional interpretation of the observed clusters to establish parameters. All the same I interpret the manipulation of single features in a way that reminds of Östman’s ‘implicit anchoring.’
30 1.7 Research Question
The research question which I would like to answer in this dissertation is the following: What relationship can be observed between language use in modern genres and existing patterns of co- occurrence as can be described with an MD approach (Biber 1988; 1995)?48 Can the creative use of genre features be investigated as linguistic change emerging from changed situations of language use?
Related sub-questions are: Which features are shared between older and newer genres of the same dimension, and which features are altered in modern genres of Budu? (in terms of altered patterns of co-occurrence?) In terms of an MD approach to variation this sub-question can also be formulated as: which similarities and differences can be observed between prototypical text-types (Biber 1995:9,10) representing the same dimension of variation?
Continuation: How can an eventual continuation of patterns of co-occurrence in modern genres of Budu be explained by means of Biber’s dimensions of variation?
Change: Which indigenous factors of variation seem to determine possible changes in the language use? Which indigenous factors of variation seem to determine creative modifications of prototypical text types?
Operational changes: Can genre modification be explained as an attempt to facilitate the recognition of new prototypes in terms of resemblance with other text types distinguished for the same dimension of variation? In other words: can developing genres be compared with text- types representing the same dimension of variation?
Manipulation: Is it possible to explain genre modifications alternatively in terms of the desire to obscure communicative intentions (by manipulating entextualisation gaps)?
What would the nature of such altered patterns be? Will observed altered-patterns (of language use) be viable as possible conventions to be adopted in terms of Crofts (2000) propagation? Will genres with modifications be continued as such, including the altered meaning that is conveyed? What is the contribution of procedures in this research to an investigation of criteria for natural language use?
Before I summarise theoretical framework that was used for this research, the expectation that I have about this research can be formulated as follows: With an application of Biber’s (1995) analytical framework for genre analysis, I hope to identify indigenous factors that contribute to the analysis of
48Co-occurrences concern the clustering of forms in their distribution over the main genres of the researched corpus. This clustering reflects culturally-specific dimensions of communication that are distinguished in Budu society, as it does in Korean, Somali, Polynesian Nukulaelae and English (Biber 1995). It also determines what language use Budu speakers expect in a certain genre, and what expectations are played with in creative language use. Because the indigenous framework of clusters with its conventional language use leads to particular expectations regarding communicative intentions conveyed with a text, it may also be used to explain less desired connotations of acculturated language use that might give rise to creative modifications. Therefore a quantitative approach facilitating the postulation of patterns of co-occurrences seems to provide empirical data that are needed for the research of creative use of genre features, while the semantics of text-structural genre features, such as “key lexical items that structure texts,” seem to be of secondary importance for the expectations of language users, as Biber suggests (Biber, Conrad and Reppen 1998:123).
31 linguistic innovation in modern genres emerging in Budu literacy in the Democratic Republic of Congo. In reference to these indigenous factors, I hope to clarify the creative use of single genre features in allusion to strongly established genres. I also hope to explain the selection of particular foreign elements in the development of genres. It is not usual in MD approaches to isolate single features. However, with reference to the ongoing input principle (Ensink and Sauer (2003:5)) and in variation on Östman’s (2005) analysis of implicit anchoring I will attempt to investigate whether it is a fruitful approach to consider the unconventional use of single features in relation to patterns in which these features conventionally occur. As far as I know, other approaches to ‘altered replication’ of genre features do not explain the selection of features in genre modification nor the allusions that can be made by single features.
1.8 Conclusion
Conventional genres of language use can be recognised by their situation-bound nature. Genres can nevertheless also be used outside the situations to which they are bound, especially if this situation needs to be evoked in the mind of the addressee for some reason (Bakthin 1981; 1986). The genre is a platform for linguistic innovation. It manifests the cultural conventions that determine language use more than other levels of linguistic organisation seem to do, because its mere co-occurrences of linguistic forms are related to culturally-specific dimensions in communication, for instance ‘involved versus non-involved’ communication (Biber 1988). Co-occurrence patterns of linguistic forms always represent culturally specific language use. Although some parameters of language use seem to be universal, their linguistic correlations differ for each language (Biber 1995). Co-occurrence patterns are related to frames of cultural knowledge as the parameter of honorification in Korean illustrates, similar to the most important dimension of variation in English that combines parameters of informational focus and non-involvement (Biber 1995). Consequently also changes in cultural, situational and cognitive functions are reflected in genre modifications by linguistic innovations. Some external factors to linguistic innovation are discussed in the literature as language contact (Hanks 1987; 1996; Romaine 1994; Blommaert 2001) and the replication of model genres in societies that have not yet developed particular literate genres. Technical innovations, such as mail services and the introduction of the newspaper, seem to play a crucial role. Hanks (1987; 1996) like Yates and Orlikowski (1992) point at the importance of the existing genres that determine how novelties are accommodated. Biber suggests that a thorough investigation of language use is needed in such cases where genres arise in contact between established literate traditions and languages that take this tradition as model. Especially the linguistic and functional characteristics of the model need to be investigated, in his view. In this dissertation I choose rather to investigate the relation between genre modification and indigenous factors of change. Indigenous factors may explain the selection of features that are replicated in copying the model. They also reveal the role which a replicated genre fulfils, regarding the existing repertoire of genres in a language. More precisely I focus on factors related to patterns of co- occurrence that distinguish genres as they can be deduced from empirical observations with an MD- approach to variation (as in Biber 1988; 1995) and try to relate linguistic innovation of these patterns in modern genres to internal triggers of genre modification. This implies that I investigate the linguistic and functional characteristics of indigenous language use and not of eventual models. Regarding the literature on genre two main factors seem to relate to modified language use, namely individual manipulation49 and changes in relation to the social knowledge shared by its users (Giddens 1984 calls this social structure). The last factor relates to changes in social institutions (cf.
49This is illustrated in several articles in Virtanen and Halmari 2005.
32 Street 1995); changes in social roles and changes in politeness as a linguistic strategy relating to social personhood (Brown and Levinson 1987). These three aspects of social knowledge indicate the kind of cultural conventions in co-occurrence patterns, distinguishing the most important dimensions of communication in a language (for instance honorification). They may represent indigenous factors of change. The language use in the related genres fosters, and is fostered by social structures. Language can thus be used to change social structure just as much as it may reflect changes in social structures. Since the creative use of single genre features relates to entire patterns of co-occurrence, it seems helpful relating it to the frames of knowledge which co-occurrences represent (Bauman and Briggs 1992; Bauman 2001; Gumperz 1982). In anthropology the notion of frames was worked out explaining the use of a single genre feature in evoking social knowledge, as in musical allusions. The dynamics of reframed stretches of language relate to their effect on the addressee. Reframing may cause a text to be so different from other texts of the same genre, that it can almost not be recognised. This is called enlarging the intertextual gap by Bauman and Briggs (1992). It can also result in a text that resembles another genre since it is reducing the interdiscursive gap, to continue this terminology. Creative language use often plays with these effects, obscuring the genre of a text or ‘selling it’ as a different genre (Virtanen and Halmari 2005; Bauman 2001). Regarding literature about the operation of cognitive frames (summarised in Paltridge 1997:1- 29) humans seem able to recognise prototypes from fragmentary representations (Ensink and Sauer 2003:5 call this the principle of ongoing input). Family resemblance is an important factor in the recognition of prototypes (Wittgenstein 1953 in Paltridge 1997:53). For resemblances between genres the family relationship between sets of genres was mentioned by Bergmann and Luckmann (1994:88) in terms of overlapping features. In an MD approach quantitative similarities between co-occurrences in genres of one dimension account for their distinction as sets of genres with shared function. Prototypes are recognised because of their family resemblances. Also their saliency and frequency play a role, together with their function. Creative language use is interpreted in relation to conventional language use. Patterns of language use are recognised because of their family resemblance with prototypical patterns of co- occurrence. Innovative usages of these patterns can eventually lead to language change, with for example new genres. An altered pattern may develop differentiated meaning. This may represent a remaining modification of existing genres. The recognition of modified genres as potential prototypes depends on their frequency, saliency and function as well. Any factor determining linguistic innovation is therefore related to the existing repertoire of genres. Some factors relate to the use of language in a culture, for instance manifesting social structure, indexing social roles, ensuring the dignity of social personhood or expressing other aspects of shared knowledge. Other factors relate to its operation as system that reflects dimensions of communication and that therefore can be manipulated. The creative use of linguistic units for individual goals can be an important arena for language change (Biber 1994:27). The use of a striking pattern of language in verbal art can make a lasting impression on a group of language users, which may start to reproduce it in an attempt to delineate themselves as a group (multiple examples can be found in various passages of Sherzer 1976; 2002). More important to language change are attempts to manipulate communication by creative use of patterns in persuasion, especially if frequent exposure to altered patterns and their salience imprints the memory of the hearers. Patterns that are easily remembered; related to shared history and, that at the same time represent prestige probably will be recognised and replicated. Their altered replication will develop a new, differentiated meaning in its use as new convention (Croft 2000). This process of propagation is facilitated by these operational factors (Paltridge 1997:53). In this chapter the creative use of genre features was introduced as a complex operation, which is related to the co-occurrence of distinctive features in patterns. These patterns develop by convention in each linguistic community. Each language group has its own patterns of co-occurrence that represent culturally specific manifestations of the communication in that group. Apparently no universal parameter
33 for language use can be found, which would be expressed alike in two languages researched so far (Biber 1995). To investigate the creative use of genre features, the focus on external factors, such as foreign influences, does not seem adequate. Language contact may lead to the replication of single features of model genres; however, an adequate explanation of these replications is not possible without an analysis of the indigenous repertoire of genres, since they determine the selection of possible features. After establishing the parameters of language use that seem to determine Budu, it hopefully is possible to interpret the language use in modern genres. Altered patterns of language use in texts of these genres may be interpreted as striking, salient, or particularly functional in relation to all possible patterns of language use. They may also be interpreted in relation to existing patterns that manifest shared social knowledge with all its aspects. In the following chapter background information regarding the Budu will be presented clarifying their patterns of social interaction, social roles (political and religious leaders and teachers) and social institutes (community leadership, school, church etc.) as this may contribute to the functional interpretation of some clusters of co-occurrence. Creative language use provides further evidence for the cognitive reality of frames and corresponding co-occurrence patterns as were first suggested by Gumperz (1982:131). These frames can be investigated in terms of the observable co-occurrence patterns that seem to manifest them. A cross-cultural comparison of the linguistic co-occurrences and of the social effect of their manipulation could lead to an interesting development of more theoretical insights. I hope that this dissertation contributes to this development and that similar investigations may be done in the future.
34 Chapter 2. The Community of Budu Speakers
“Creativity is best understood with reference to a confluence of different systems involving both mentalistic predisposition and sociocultural domains such as community reception and acceptance within a particular domain.” Carter (2004:41)
2.0 Introduction
In section 1.4 several remarks were made concerning the adoption of new conventions for language use. References to Croft (2000) were made to introduce some helpful concepts from the evolutionary approach that he introduces in his handbook on language change. The term ’propagation’ in particular is a concept that contributes to the analysis of creative language use. Croft (2000:5) uses it to make a difference between creative innovation and language change. Creative innovation occurs when individual speakers of a language use recurring expressions in an altered manner (‘altered replication.)’ Only when entire language communities adopt such altered replication as the only ‘normal’ way to use the expression, the propagation process is completed and the replication has ‘differentiated’ meaning, since it has become the new convention and no longer the socially marked alternative. To understand the impact of creative language use on linguistic change, it is important to understand the convention itself. An analysis of language use in the following chapters contributes to this. Nevertheless, as was explained in chapter 1, internal factors in linguistic change are investigated in this dissertation and consequently the community in which an innovation is introduced is to be studied, since its interaction may clarify which social motives play a role in the adoption of new conventions. For this reason an entire chapter is dedicated to the Budu speaking community, with an emphasis on two elements that pertain to its openness to change. These elements are not simply related to the geographical situation of the majority of Budu speakers in the Wamba district of the Oriental Province of the DRC. Rather the interaction between members of the community and its social ‘isolation’ from other groups seem to matter. As in biology, populations have the strongest developed features when isolated from other groups while having a close internal network where interaction takes place. In contrast, populations that are most open to change are those groups that have intensive interaction with other groups and a loosely structured social network in their own community. In the last case, propagation may occur within the lifespan of one speaker of the language. One of the interesting aspects of the society of Budu speakers is, that they seemed to represent the isolated and independent group with a close internal network until their success in coffee trade and their involvement in the national church resulted in intensive interaction with other groups, while the internal network loosened. Within the lifespan of one language user (the author of the speech discussed in 8.3, for example) new conventions were adopted for genre modification and even for the development of entirely new genres. This chapter on the community of Budu speakers explains the development of a new social network that reaches beyond ethnic boundaries and opens intensive interaction with members of other language groups, explaining the rapid development of new, acculturated genres in the Budu community that are influenced by the languages of wider communication. While an analysis of Budu language use is meant to contribute to the analysis of linguistic conventions, the present chapter is added to contribute to the functional interpretation of the language
35 use that manifests social knowledge pertaining to social roles, social institutes and the regard of social personhood in Budu society.
2.1 Political Isolation and Economic Independence
Isolated communities tend to develop a strong tradition of text use. This virtually unchanged living situation fosters the recurrence1 of situations. Also the Budu political organisation and economic independence as producers of palm oil and mineral salt reinforced their social cohesion, which is also reflected in highly developed conventions for genre use. Between 1700 and 1850 (and probably even longer) the Budu maintained their political organisation in lineages and relied on palm oil production. Around 1700 the Budu “began to drift westward from the springs of the Nepoko and the Ituri to occupy territory in the middle Nepoko area,” and immigrated into the Bomokandi area (Vansina 1990:174). Around 1850 the Budu seem2 to have moved to the Southern area along River Nepoko to escape the expansions of the Mangbetu and Zande reign since they refused to be dominated by the expanding kingdoms of the Mangbetu. Budu are one of the few groups in the area who lived outside the direct dominion of the Mangbetu and they could afford to, since, together with the Bali they succeeded to withstand the attacks of massed spearman. They were successful because of their political organisation into multiple associated lineages (ïmbaa3) with arched ambushes4 as a military technique (Vansina 1990:174). This political organisation enabled them to maintain their own lifestyle as they withdrew in the deeper forest to escape the expanding Mangbetu and Zande. In the isolated forest the original Budu lifestyle was continued. Recurrent situations and associated text use reinforced existing cultural conventions for language use.5
1In terms of biology (Maturana and Varela 1987 in Foley 1997:10) this repeated recurrence leads to a stronger ‘structural coupling’ of the community members with their text use conventions. For the present dissertation I will refer to ‘reinforcement’ of conventions rather than to ‘structural coupling’ between Budu speakers and their conventions to avoid more theoretical jargon. 2Several sources confirm this migration (Mueller 1930; Towles 1990 and oral sources from related language groups that are documented in de Wit; de Wit-Hasselaar and Boone (1995). Moeller (1930:37) argues that before any other group, the Nyari-Budu passed the Semliki valley south of the lake to escape continuous threats of the Gallas (Hamites) in the Bunyoro kingdom as both Lendu and Nyali groups seem to have remembered it in 1937. The Budu moved slowly to the north, where they were chased by Nilotic Lendu and Sudanic Lugbara and changed course to the west, where they settled in Bomokandi valley until Mangbetu and Zande aimed to include them into their respective kingdoms 130 years ago. Baboya also mentions the existence of many legends about a common ancestor of the Budu, Nyali and Vanomo (1992:10). He considers the presence of archaic-Budu speaking communities west of Bunia called Bavomo or Bapolomo as indications of the Eastern origin of the Budu. 3Publications about this institution called it ‘emba,’ which hilariously enough refers, as Mukonji (1984) points out, to nothing more than ‘a ripe banana’ in Budu. Mukonji (1984) presents this intricate political organisation for which the Budu are famous (Vasina 1990:174). His description resembles De Maegth’s description of the banza organisation among the Nyari, where a kama (cf. Budu ngama) is assisted by several kumu (cf. bakumu) to represent the ancestors ruling the lineage, as summarised in check ASC 4It is interesting that this technique continued to induce fear for the Budu and Bali. The Italian okapi preserver Gatti (1944:165) writes about East African Journal African World, which refers to the ongoing violence in Ituri caused by so called ‘leopard men’ of the baniota secret society (London, N° 1707, 27 July 1935). It is noteworthy that this rather sensational author claims that he can, after having travelled more than 2500 kilometre through Ituri forest, not confirm this report. However, in 1947 Gatti writes about his experience with baniota men that killed some of his employees in the environment of Watsa (1947:216); a rare occasion since the arched ambushes seemed to have been eradicated since November 1934. 5Some information about the unchanged economy of the Budu can induced from the traces which former generations left in the forest. The Budu are famous for their palm oil production. Palm trees are indeed planted at several settlements where the Budu have, according to the oral tradition, migrated until they arrived at the source of the Nepoko around 1700 (Vansina 1990:169;174). These palm trees, if indeed planted by the Budu, would be
36 Another important factor for the reinforcement of conventions for language use is the cultural isolation of the Budu, surrounded as they are by Nilotic and Ubangian groups with a different background. The Budu speaking community represents a Bantu ‘isle’ in a region where over 25 Nilo- Saharan and Ubangian groups are predominant (Vansina (1990:169). Ndaaka is the only Bantu language in its close vicinity.6 It represents a closely affiliated group in contrast to the Lika, who are more similar to Bua than to Bantu D.7 In the midst of ‘foreign’ savannah originating cultures, Budu speakers seem to have cherished their own cultural identity with as an important aspect their politico-religious organisation that differed from the Mangbetu, Zande, Mayogo, Lugbara, Lendu8, Mamvu and Lese.9 The Budu society is remarkably void of hierarchically structured power-organisations. Power used to be ascribed to one representative of the lineage in hereditary fashion (Mukonji (1984)). This person and his helpers enjoyed some ascribed priviledges. The Budu seem to have considered traditional lineage leaders ïmbaa as the embodiment of the entire clan (including its history) rather than as supreme master. Representatives of Budu politico-religious power used to receive the best food and services while held responsible for the military security and the social and cosmic harmony in the entire lineage. Material priviledges were required with the person who was supposed to redistribute the available supplies in a strategic way; for example to entertain guests of the community with whom harmonious relations had to be maintained. In contrast to the neighbouring groups, lineages had no hierarchically ordered relations between their members and developed no patron-client relationships with the surrounding hunting Pygmies groups to the extent other farmer groups did. Goods are incidentally exchanged between the two groups, however, not necessarily involving face-to-face contact. Lambrecht describes how Pygmies, after a successful hunt, would deposit chunks of meat and leave (1991:86). Once out of sight, some villagers would arrive at this meeting place under a large solitary tree. They would place their staple food next to the meat and retreat in turn. After the Pygmies examined the manioc, rice or bananas, they could either an indication of their move from Semliki River near the Ruwenzori mountains in the East via present day Tchabi and Boga along the borders of Ituri Rainforest to the North, where they would have been chased by inhabitants of the savannah to the Bomokandi valley near the source of the Nepoko. The Budu are still known, along this route, for their trade in palm oil. After they entered the swamps of the Rainforest, the Budu also became famous for the production of salt made from vegetation typical to the marshes. 6The Zande and Mangbetu had a different political organisation with a strong hierarchy, in which kings and princes formed the principal categories (Evans Pritchard). The Lese with their extended households live in symbiotic relationships with the Efe Pygmies groups, which affect their entire world view (Grinker 1994). The Lugbara and Lese with their cattle herding practices have a different economic orientation. The Mayogo probably have the most similar way of life to the Budu, however, their Adamawa Ubangian language is of an entirely different language family. Van der Poort (1973) mentions a history of misunderstandings between the two language groups. 7See section 3.3.4 for detailed remarks about the lexical cognates. 8With regards to the contact between Lendu and Budu the following documentation of oral history might be of interest. De Wit (1993:5) writes in the Nyali survey report of SIL “When we asked the Nyali (in Kilo) to tell us their history, we heard the following story (which differed from the one mentioned by Vansina and in the Actes du Colloque (Bunia 1981): "The Nyali stem from a man called Nyali, who was the brother of Budu. They had the same father but different mothers. The names of the father and of the mothers are unknown. Budu adopted Ndaka into his family, the son of Budu's sister and another unknown man who ran away. The whole family lived right west-north-west of Lake Mobutu. They herded cattle and grew bananas and peanuts. After some time, the Lendu came from the east (Uganda), they found the good country of the Nyali and pushed them farther to the west, Nyali and Budu settled down around Kilo, but Ndaka journeyed far west into the forest and Tchabi, a son of Nyali, fled from the Lendu to the northern banks of the Semliki river. One year, the Nyali's gardens produced earlier than Budu's. The Budu family started to eat from their brother's family's garden. A fierce dispute broke out (it was not clear whether a real war broke out) which resulted in the departure of the Budu family. They left also to the west in search of Ndaka. They did not find him, however, and finally settled down around Wamba and Ibambi. Only later they found out that ‘only’ 100 km of forest had kept them separate.” 9It is noteworthy that the Budu have not, until relatively recently, introduced circumcision and therefore remained free from cultural obligations towards their circumcisions partners until the beginning of the 20th century (for example Vansina 1965:102).
37 accept the exchange or withdraw in the forest until more staple food was added. “Agreement was reached only after one of the parties had removed the other’s proffered merchandise,’’ (Lambrecht 1991:87). The Budu society is characterised by a certain “freedom of constraints on individual behaviour, since no member is unreasonably deprived of the capacity to make his or her own decisions by the dominance of another.”10 In the egalitarian society of the Budu equality of the condition of community members paradoxically is ensured by the same strategies that ‘deny individuals avenues for autonomous achievement,’ as Helliwell comments on the natural inequality in egalitarian societies (1995:361). These strategies consist of witchcraft and sorcery, as described for similar societies by Evans-Pritchard and Aunger (1996). They guarantee that any person who develops individual autonomy, at least the kind of autonomy that results in an achieved condition different from the other members of the same lineage, is suspect of manipulating unseen forces. Such a person is punished in an appropriate manner (using intermediates) as soon they confess the use of magic or when the use of witchcraft is ‘proved’ by an ordeal. This strategy is considered to ensure the ‘equality of condition’ of community members. Although the Budu lifestyle remained virtually unaltered in the domain of political organisations, their language adopted a vocabulary for music and trade, reflecting important interaction at the court of the Mangbetu and in visits to neighbouring groups (Demolin 1990). In the songs and stories that priest- scholar Vorbichler collected with the neighbouring Efe and Lese, various Budu songs and phrases can be found. Nevertheless this contact seems to be incidental, with ongoing violence in the absence of circumcision festivals between the Budu and other groups until the first half of last century. In summary one could say that the Budu live among cultures with origins that are actually ‘foreign’ to them, which contributed to the reinforcement of their own conventions.
2.2 External Threats
The relative isolation described in section 2.1 was reinforced by ongoing external threats to the community. Budu speakers faced Arab11 slave traders while colonial powers and military forces of
10Helliwell has this definition of equality in reference to Errington and Gewertz (1987:63 and 67 (in Helliwel1 1995:372)). 11To specify this reference to ‘Arab slave traders’ I summarise Birmingham 1976: After 1850, Sudanese and Egyptian merchants opened up the hinterland of the Bahr el Gazal and operated from a series of fenced enclosures. Their superior fire arms enabled a forced collection of food supplies. Their trade was in ivory and in slaves. Zande and later also Mangbetu rulers offered assistance. Under the Avangura King, Gura (1755- 80), the Azande established a kingdom and expanded South and East into the Uele valley. From 1820 subjects assimilated to Azande patterns of life rather then being conquered in a more absolute sense. In 1835 Zande princes Tombo and Bazingbi controlled the entire area between the rivers Uele and Nile. In the mean time other Arab traders executed orders from Sultan Sayyid from Zanzibar (Kwamena Poh (1982). They worked under Tippu Tib to collect ivory to supply the growing production of piano keys, billiard-balls and ornaments in Europe and America. As from around 1870 they transported ivory from Ituri to Zanzibar by forced labour, while Zanzibar itself had officially abolished the slave trade in 1873. Around 1850 also the Zande and the traders whom they assisted shifted their activities to the South, where the Budu live. Such traders, as from 1860 on, were the wealthy Coptic and Nubian traders, who settled near the Congo-Nile divide for the purpose of more active overland trade. The ivory trade from Khartoum was “delayed by the organised resistance of the Mangbetu kingdom on the Uele River,” Birmingham (1976:267). The garden-land of the upper Uele became a scene of violence and destruction, and the Mangbetu were unable to preserve their prosperity and independence while “violence was compounded by the gun trade as manufacturers and dealers sought outlets for their weapons in a period of rapidly advancing technology.” (opus cit. p. 267 and 268). Finally Abd al Samad succeeded in trading with the Mangbetu king, Munza, who invited them in 1867. Sudanese slave traders guided botanical doctor Schweinfurth, who enjoyed the hospitality of King Munza between 1868-1871. King Munza’s court was the most Southern place visited in Schweinfurth’s expedition in 1870. He witnessed the interaction with Pygmies
38 various nationalities12 invaded their area. Instead of disintegrating under continuous threats, the lineages fostered their cultural heritage. Widespread fear13 among community members arose when they saw their strongest men depart as porters for the forced transport of ivory and some children and women for forced labour in the Gold mines of Kilo;14 the Budu community was nevertheless not shattered by these external threats to their social cohesion. The transmission of agricultural skills, hunting skills and the knowledge of palm tree climbing and cooking remained virtually unaltered while political and economical threats from the outside world kept going on between 1880 and 1945: The Sudanic razzia’s during the 1850s; Zanzibari razzia’s during the 1880s; the King of the Belgians’ expeditions during the 1890s; the military forces’ collection of commodities as from 1888; the forced political re-organisation in chiefdoms in 1924; forced colonial labour as from 1920; forced road construction and forced habitat along the new road as from 1940; forced labour in the gold mines during the second World War;15 and enforced methods of cotton and other ‘poor people’ of the forest south of Munza’s kingdom, referring to the ‘Mabode’ (sic) as a people who live outside the realm of the slave raids. In 1870 the Mangbetu and their traders were attacked by the Zande, who, in their turn were crushed in 1873 by Al-Zubayr and his Arab traders. Arab traders from northern Sudan represented the first Islamic religious influence in the area. In 1879 the Italian Gesso led the Egyptian government forces in this extended part of the Equatorial province of the British Egypt (1872) and recruited Azande princes Ndoruma, Zemo and Zassa as government representatives. Gessi needed ivory and accepted some tusks that were collected in the Congo, where he had no control. Ironically the collection of ivory appears to have followed the patterns of violence which Gessi was trying to eradicate in Bahr al Gazal. In April 1884 his successor surrendered to the Mahdist rebellion against the Egyptian reign. The Arabs continued their trade until they were forced to stop it by continued measures of the Belgian government. These measures consisted of a military expedition that resulted, between 14 February and 7 May 1897 in a rebellion of the front part of king Leopold’s army. In May 1897 the Congo Free State army was on its way to the Sudanic fort Lado with the plan of marching on till they reached the Red Sea, expanding the Congo Free State at the expense of Egypt. The military expedition ended however killing most of its officers in a rebellion while the rear part of the expedition was forced to return. Of interest to our case is that from 7 May on one general was reported to have fought back from Avakubi, close to the Budu area. Only two months later some of the rebels were defeated on the upper- Lindi. Between 1897 and 1900 most rebels continued to survive outside the army by means of armed ambushes. These last comments by captain Bodart appear in manuscripts edited in 1977 by Pierre Salmon. 12For example (Lyons, 1992) writes that in 1886 King Leopold’s “Force Publique” was the largest colonial army in Sub Saharan Africa. The Congo Free State devoted 49% of its budget to the army (3,127 troops in 1891), 12,452 men were recruited from Dahomey, Zanzibar, Hausa land, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Gold Coast, Abyssinia, Somali, and Egypt because African born soldiers were considered more immune to sicknesses. In 1889/92 500 Hausa and 600 Ethiopian men were hired as soldiers after more than 64% of the Belgian soldiers had died from sicknesses. 13Lyons reports that the Van Kerckhoven expedition hired 300 paddlers for the 30 canoes. In October 1893 a Belgian commander was reported to be disappointed by the small amount of ivory he found after defeating Budu speaking people in Lower Uele. He was nevertheless very pleased to capture ‘many women to work in his plantations’ (1992:25 ff refers to documentation dated 24 October 1893). A certain Dr. Abeti commented in 1909 that an average labourer in the mine was ‘done for’ in seven months. Sixty percent of the hospital patients came from the Nepoko region, where the Budu live, the majority being children between 8 and 10 years old suffering from tuberculosis. (p.30). In 1915 some administrators express concern about the heavy burden of imposed labour upon ‘the Africans’ in Uele. In 1931 the Budu were under the heavy obligation to cultivate cash crops and in mining areas near Wamba and Kilo Moto mines to feed labourers. In the Second World War, many men left to fight as soldiers and consequently children were sent to the gold mines in Kilo Moto. 14Lyons (1992:31) reports that the mines in Kilo and Moto were exploited from 1905 and respectively 1911, after which labourers were forced to walk hundreds of miles to work on the hundred and sixty sites of the mines. All extractions were performed by hand. The colonial state forced labour until 1920. On page 30 she cites Dr. Fontana, Annual Report of Medical Service for Province Oriëntale, (1931) to have reported that 64 firms in the province employed 61.190 labourers. In 1928 a subsidiary company, Minière de Tél’, operated eight mining camps in the Nepoko region (of Wamba district) and employed 2,081 labourers. Charles Scheyvaerts executed a special survey between October 1918 and January 1919. He was the appointed investigator to inspect on reported atrocious conditions at the mines, after which at least child labour decreased. 15Crawford Young (1976) documented the economic and social impact of WW II on Congo: “The effort de guerre imposed severe sacrifices, which bore most heavily upon the African population. The Allies at first asked
39 production in the 1950s.16 As might have been expected, these continuous threats caused a large part of the Budu population to repeatedly withdraw into the forest to practice a slash-burn agriculture combined with occasional hunting and collecting, especially after their agricultural autonomy was threatened because farmers had switched from rice cultivation to cotton production (Bambanota 1989:122)17 and coffee production. Nevertheless, the Budu did not develop mutual dependencies for survival with the Pygmies, as the related Mbo (Towles 1993). Since the Budu already practiced the palm oil trade and adopted salt production as soon as they entered the Bomokandi swamps around 1700, they never economically depended on relationships with the Pygmies to the extent the Mbo, the Mamvu and the Lese populations did. Pygmies only incidentally visit villages that are surrounded by dense forest to visit lineage heads (Mukonzi 1984:67). Temporal flights to the forest did not result in a mutual dependency between the Budu and the surrounding Pygmies, Efe or Lese. The most important threat to the social cohesion of the Budu communities was the changed role of the lineage leader. In pre-colonial days, the active role of political leaders consisted of peacekeeping by possible mobilisation of Budu warriors with their poisoned arrows. When Zanzibari slave traders arrived around 1875, some leaders accepted guns in exchange for elephant tusks and slaves. Before the arrival of the slave traders lineage leaders were the most important males who incidentally received game from hunting experts while the area enjoyed the strategic protection by intermediary role of the lineage leaders. The land, rivers and the iron that was used for melting were all seen as clan property and chiefs were considered as the only legitimate representatives of the lineage to distribute these goods: “ces biens appartenaient aux familles, aux lignages, car la société traditionelle bodo et lika était une société collectiviste, communautariste, socialiste au sens du socialisme africain,” (Mukonzi 1984:63). Lineage leaders only organised festivals, contributed to bridewealth payments and represented the Most High in the original organisation of Budu and Lika societies. Around 1908 Belgian authorities started to further exploit the priviledged leaders as ‘subaltern functionary’ of the colonial administration. “Their major task was to ensure that their administrative units adequately met what was known in colonial discourse as their ‘collective obligations to the state,’ (Mwene-Batende 1982:96). These included compulsory cultivation of certain export crops, conscription, and forced labour on public projects, labour recruitment and taxes. Fulfilling these obligations in a satisfactory manner implied hardships for ordinary people but political and economic rewards for the chiefs. It succeeded in setting the chiefs against their own people”, Nzongola-Ntalaga (2002:35). The colonial authorities are still traumatically remembered for the public floggings of failing chiefs and for other humiliating punitive measures; for example in the thematic paintings that decorate kiosks and
for increased production of tin and gold, with cobalt, tungsten, uranium (CFK: Sybilla Claus in the Dutch Journal ‘Trouw’ assumes that Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs were produced with uranium from Congo, 5 June 2003) and rubber subsequently added to the list. The number of required days of corvée labour on roads, public works, and forced cultivation was raised from 60 to 120, a figure in reality often exceeded. Coerced collection of wild rubber, abandoned since the ‘red rubber’ scandals of the Congo Free State, was resumed, raising rubber exports from 1142 tons in 1939 to 11.337 in 1944. Units of the Force Publique, funded by the colonial budget, were made available to Allied forces in the Abyssinian campaign, in West Africa, the Middle East, and even Burma. While the territorial service redoubled its pressure on the subject population, it was stripped of its cadres.” p. 702-703. In answer to demonstrations in Lubumbashi, troops opened fire on the persons involved resulting in an official death toll of 60. After the war inflation resulted from attempts to restore the social peace: “The colonial administration sought social peace after the Second Word War through rising real wages, which tripled during the 1950-8 period.” “After 1961 inflations swiftly eroded and nullified these gains: by 1965 real wages were back to the 1958 level.” 16Likaka (1995:206) refers to violence by illiterate supervisors in the first phase of coerced cotton production, after Isiro was re-organised as city for the distribution of cotton in 1926 (Choprix 1961:23). Many of these supervisors were former soldiers who were used to force subjects. 17Mily Denda Sakala documents that between 1984 and 1986 rice in the province Haut Zaire even had to be imported from Kisangani (1996:216).
40 offices nation-wide.18 In 1924 Budu and Lika leaders first resisted the government’s measures of installing chiefdoms, because they feared that it would overrule their ancestors claim on the territory (Mukonzi 1984:64). Their forced acceptance of the chiefdoms instilled fear and insecurity. While Budu speakers experienced ongoing violent intrusions, the more peaceful inventions in cultures of their intruders remained hidden to them. The first model of an automatic gun, called the Maxim gun, was, for instance, tried out in the Ituri Forest by the explorer Stanley during his African coast to coast expedition in 1887 before the British army started to use this weapon in 1889. In contrast, it was not until 1911 before the first text books for Ituri’s inhabitants were introduced in the area. Ongoing intrusions consisted in the increased political, economic and medical threats. Budu society remained isolated19 from the use of literacy in schools, hospitals and churches while the rubber and the ivory they collected contributed to the manufacture of car wheels, piano keys and billiard balls in Europe and America. Vansina summarises this phase in the history of this area: “The peoples of the rainforest began first to doubt their own legacies and then to adopt portions of the foreign heritage. But they clung to their own languages and much of the older cognitive content carried by them,” (1990:247). The existence of a reinforced tradition is reflected in the text examples in this dissertation, while some of the texts in the researched corpus represent genres that developed from contact with cultures with a literate tradition. Although the Budu, with their strong lineage organisations, remained isolated in their community network, they became one of the groups most open to change in the entire area (Aunger 1996). Aunger performed, as a biological anthropologist, a study of food avoidances in the Ituri area inhabited by Budu, Lese, Efe and Bira (1996:217 and 216). Aunger researched the influence of school and Christianity on the amount of observed food avoidances in the daily diet of inhabitants of the Budu area and surroundings. Each sub-lineage in the Forest has its own taboo food related to the animal that is representing the ancestors. Lineage members express their reverence for ancestors by observing food avoidances. Aunger expected an improved diet with more calorie intake among educated inhabitants, under the influence of the acculturating forces of school and Christianity. In contrast to his expectations, mere church affiliation or school attendance did not result in improved diets. In some cases students even adopted an increased number of food avoidances; especially when young persons lived in the same home they happened to adopt each others observances of food taboos, resulting in a lower calorie intake. However, interesting enough among all the tested subjects, Aunger found that the Budu in particular were the most open to change. He found important differences between the Budu and other groups in his research. Although these differences can not be interpreted as correlations between ignored food avoidances and school or church affiliation, they seem to be related to the less isolated position of the Budu. Church affililiated or not, and school attending or not, the Budu’s as a group tended to be more indifferent to food avoidances. In the Ituri Forest school and church represent ideas that are “truly foreign, costly to espouse, and are not linked to other beneficial ideas or practices. This suggests that, for ideological-motivated acculturation to be successful, the imported ideas must be intrinsically congenial or otherwise confer a substantial benefit on those who adopt them,” (Aunger 1996: 217). Education and Christianity indeed seem to have represented new possibilities for social mobility. Schools and churches, where regular contact with foreigners is possible, are considered to be “institutes of acculturation that are intimately tied to avenues for achieving power and prestige”, (opus cit.) while they also serve as a means to escape from the traditional lifestyles. “Literacy, for example, has the ability to lead the imagination into
18In the book of Jewsiewicki (1991) see figure 5 ‘whipping by a chief’. 19The exposure to Zanzibari traders’ use of literacy was only limited due to the choice of Arabic (script) which kept its impact reduced to a minimum, similar to the situation in Malawi, about which Chimombo writes: “Reference to literacy and numeracy seems to depend on Western education, since, perhaps, it was more widespread and aggressive, and went hand in hand with evangelisation (which the Moslems were not interested in at this early stage),” (Chimombo 1987:309).
41 places and times that readers cannot visit for themselves. Similarly, Christianity might provide psychic [sic] comforts unavailable through traditional religion.” (Aunger 1996:216) contends in an attempt to explain, from his evolutionary perspective as a biologist, the persistence of food avoidances representing a dangerously low calorie intake in the face of biological advantages of ignoring taboos. Aunger found that the Budu group in his research represents an exception to the normally slow process of acculturation. This can be explained by the “intrinsic cognitive appeal” (opus cit.) of the conventions that are introduced with school and church, without necessarily making every Budu attend church or school. In contrast to Sudanic groups, the witchcraft20 practiced among the Bantu groups apparently does not inhibit their embrace of education and church as institutes of acculturation although they do not embrace the food taboos that are prescribed by healers. Bantu groups seemed for some reason to be more open to change. The following section is meant to suggest some reasons.
2.3 Literacy Development
Within the lifespan of one speaker of Budu, the community developed from using single conventions for the use of written texts to functioning in the literate mode. Between 1911, when the Budu speaking community was first exposed to schools with literacy in French, and 1996, when the orthography of their own language was established, their first graduate student finished the Sorbonne in Paris as doctor in linguistics (Asangama 1983). Within 85 years some conventions for the use of language in completely new situations had developed. In this dissertation some texts written between 1998 and 2001 represent new genres as they developed in the contact with the literate tradition in French, Swahili and Lingala. In the rest of this dissertation I will investigate the relation of these genres to other Budu genres. In this section I discuss factors that may have contributed to the openness of the Budu to adopt any new cultural convention after the decades between 1880 and 1945, in which Budu conventions where reinforced as their own network remained rather isolated. I will discuss the disturbed economic autonomy, the disintegration of the village community as result of increased mobility and urbanisation, and the changed gender roles in the Budu area as factors that contributed to the increased interaction with other groups. The church relations with other ethnic groups play a special role, since they represent at the same time a new social network and the continuation of some social roles from the village community. The new social network enables interaction with other groups, which implies exposure to ‘altered replication’ of conventions, in Croft’s (2000) terminology. The introduction of cash crops in the Budu area was forced by the colonial government as from 1920. They saw the densely populated Wamba district as a good production area from where cotton and coffee could be transported to the Congo River by train.21 Until 1964 cotton was the most important crop; between 1964 and 1981 coffee became the most important cash crop (Mokili 1986:152). While the introduction of cash crops implied semi-permanent housing of its farmers, it leads to depletion of the soil to be used for food crops as traditional Budu farmers used to migrate to new fields every seven years. Also the division of labour was affected, because 44% of the working population was active in the coffee fields. Women took over the responsibility for the food crops and had to use abandoned coffee fields. Most (70%) of the money owned in coffee was spent on cars, trucks, motorbikes, bikes, cassettes, radio’s and other non-food items (Mokili 1986:153, 153). Coffee therefore introduced a new social class of those who have access to money and with a claim to land.
20The social control that is exercised by constant accusations among kinsmen about offences against the ancestor spirits is one of the side effects of the application of witchcraft as a system of apportioning justice (Aunger 1996:217, cf. Grinker’s study of the balance between various parties in Efe –Lese Households (1994). 21A train connected the harbour of Aketi with Isiro in 1934 and in 1943 2500 employees built the extended rails to Mungbere, in the northern Budu area (Choprix 1961:41 and Mily Denda-Sakala 1996:207).
42 The disturbed economic autonomy and affected division of labour among the Budu threatened its social cohesion while it at the same time opened an era with intensified contacts with other groups. A new network of contacts with other groups developed in relation to the selling and transportation of cash crops in Isiro (then called Paulis) and because of the inter-ethnic church denominations that had their activities in the entire province. A new phase in the history of the Budu had started. The new rail in 1934 connected the North-South roads with the West, while road building in 1940 connected the Wamba district with its district capital Paulis, later called Isiro (Choprix 1961:22). The Budu, who are known for their traditional involvement in trade,22 made an extensive use of these new possibilities. As long as one can remember, Budu traders had been the most important palm oil producers in the area. Around 1850, after they left the Bomokandi valley to settle in the area of the marshes near the Nepoko, the Budu became famous salt producers. The State distribution of manufactured salt as reward for cotton production23 made an end to the monopoly of the Budu salt traders, as the entire Eastern Province was provided with this product. However, around 1925,24 coffee plantations became the main cultivation of the fertile area around coffee town Paulis (Uele being the principal Robusta coffee producing region of the country from that time) and many Budu farmers started producing for the coffee trade. The forced cotton labour, detrimental to agricultural communities in other parts of the country, only had limited impact on the principal coffee producing areas.25 Budu traders were eager to familiarise themselves with the numeracy skills taught in Mission schools from 1911 onwards. Most of their labourers gained enough money to buy bicycles (94% is mentioned by Mokili 1986:152). Since the roads26 facilitated the transportation of the coffee beans, mobility increased enormously during the years 1930. This development resulted in the migration of parts of the population to the major cities of Congo. Nowadays there seems to be a small Budu speaking population in bigger cities of Congo. The introduction of literacy in the Budu area was facilitated through the trade language Swahili that was introduced into the area by Zanzibari traders from 1887. Use of this trade language, in combination with the organisation of a church community in the early twentieth century, contributed to the development of an interethnic church network. From 1911 on27 literacy was taught in Francophone
22For example Vansina writes that “Les Budu étaient des commerçants fameux. Ils vendaient du sel dans l’ Uele et chez les Pere [Bhele of Butembo] et de l’huile de palme chez les Meje [Mangbetu South of Isiro] et les Bali et des armes à tous leur voisins,” (1965:97). 23Likaka makes also mention of the bicycles that cotton traders could obtain as a reward for high production. This production premium gave rise to a particular song, sung by Mangbetu women: “Where is my husband, I want to use his bike,” (Likaka 1995:214, 215). 24Between the rivers Bomokandi and the Nepoko both the climate and the soil proved to be excellent for coffee cultures and as a result especially the chiefdom Ibambi-Timoniko produced above the (already high) average (540 kg/ha) of the area with its 1,400 kg/ha, reason to call the Budu area the coffee ‘granary’ of Uele (together with Rungu it produced 40% of Uele’s entire coffee production). Especially since Timoniko and Wadimbisa had 84 and 75 inhabitants per square kilometre (as opposed to the average density for population in Uele of 5 persons per square kilometre) was important to the production of coffee, introduced in the Wamba area in 1920. With an average of 12 bags of 60 kilo coffee beans per family per year, the salary of an average coffee trading family was much higher than the salary of those in administrative or public functions, Mokili (1986: 143-152). 25Although many Budu still remember the humiliations and punishments associated with the cotton industry in Ibambi, the cotton production in Uele-Nepoko was nothing compared to the coffee production in Niangara (Likaka (1995:205) mentions for example a small wage of a cotton producing family during 1930/31). The coffee trade saved the Budu population to a large extent from the terrible treatment which cotton production administrators in less fortunate parts of the country gave to underproducing farmers and even to their chiefs between 1917 and 1935. 26 Dubois (1932:85) reports about the medical services of the Red Cross from Pawa: “Grace à l’excellent réseau routier du pays, la surveillance des villages serait fort facilitée.” 27 As from 1904, Catholic priests were reported to travel along rivers from Bafwabaka to Paulis (Isiro) to preach their message. Many Budu as a result moved to Bafwabaka or surroundings, where the local population grew to 30.000 in the years 1930 (Baboya Ilunga 1992).
43 missionary28 schools in Bafwasende, at a few days journey from Ibambi. The Southern Budu area had access to the villages east of Bafwabaka where the transmission of this new skill was in the hands of Catholic teachers. From 1920 onwards Budu were included in a Seminary training serving about 50 newly started schools. Furthermore, from 1930 onwards a Swahilophone Catholic girls’ school was organised in this non-Budu town Bafwabaka. The first (Swahilophone) schools in the Budu area were built from 1936.29 A translation of the Swahili Bible was edited in 1929.30 During the same period, a Protestant mission started its church related activities in the Ibambi area.31 The Heart of Africa Mission (HAM) was around 1960 registered as national church denomination CECCA 16, obtaining permission for its activities in North Eastern Congo. The local church community in Ibambi, like its Roman Catholic fellowship of believers that was founded as from 1945, seems to have gradually started to fulfil social roles that used to be centralised in the village community. In particular the male house of meetings bhasa used to be the centre of social organisation, as Budu writers Athoo, Bukwedu, Oginyo and Idey (1999) contend, in one of the texts of the researched corpus. These Budu writers bring to attention that two factors that used to determine community affairs, namely decision- making and the transmitting of knowledge are no longer organised by the village elders. These seem to be increasingly represented by the church community.32 Urbanisation had its effect on the development of new social network. Places like Wamba, Ibambi and Pawa became the new centres (cf. Grinker 1994; Towles 1993 about the same area). “New mines were developed by the Belgian government near Wamba [...], where the Budu […] formed the bulk of the labour pool” (Grinker 1994:35). By the 1920s, Wamba had undergone extensive construction and landscaping. Schebesta reports that the major town for the Budu Wamba, had many factories and plantations; broad streets lined with palms (1934:88). The Belgians forced agriculture to produce much food for the miners, which attracted famine struck populations to the well- supplied mining centres in times of crisis. During 1940-’45 the farmers were forced to hand 60% of their food crops to administration. Large plantations were built near Wamba to feed the miners. Urbanisation is a factor in the development of a new interethnic network. Mobility and social mobility also increased the interaction with outsiders. Traders and church leaders travel throughout the entire Province, while soldiers and ordained pastors are by default assigned to places outside their native area.33 Another example of social mobility is the so called enfant
28The data concerning the Roman Catholic Mission posts and related schools and churches are indicated on a map by Léon Saint Moulin, (1989), on which it also says that in 1989 Roman Catholic church membership in the Wamba district (between 20 and 29 % of the population) was lower than the national average (48 % for villages, 66% for towns). The founding dates of mission stations can be compared to the following: Kisangani (1899); Bafwabaka (1914); Buta (1910); and Bunia (1912). 29Schools and churches were built in 1936 (Maboma); 1939 (Ibambi); 1945 (Pawa) and in 1945 also another Francophone Seminary in Lingondo (St Moulin (1989). 30The Swahili New Testament was revised in 1992. The entire Bible was translated into the Swahili of Congo in 1960 for the 9,100,000 speakers of Congo Swahili in the East and South of the country and revised in 2000. 31The Protestant Heart of Africa Mission (HAM) which had in 1913 started their activities in Niangara with a hospital, from 1916 onwards centred their activities in major Budu towns Wamba and Ibambi where they were welcomed by chief Ibambi. They organised two Swahilophone training schools for church workers and several Swahilophone primary schools. In 1918 two hundred adults are reported to have visited one school in Wamba. The boys school had about 100 pupils whereas girls were said to be less easily persuaded; in the 1950-ies there were only 10 of them in the Hospital in Ibambi area (Nebobongo), where many nurses had been trained in French before. Rosevaere (1988:36). This mission was later called the WEC. 32The changed social situation with scattered communities represents different needs (of children and women) and therefore forms a challenge to social life. The church community, with its opportunities for women, gains importance as it started to answer a need. A similar transition was observed for Mangbetu society, where the Roman Catholic Church took over roles from the traditional leadership. Wenger (1995) observes: “There is a government structure in the area, but it has very little influence, leaving the churches as the only functioning organisation of any size in the area. […] The church's influence and authority are respected by both members and non-members throughout the language group.” 33One of Ibambi’s pastors as was serving as a missionary in Chad between 1996 and 2006.
44 confiés. From the 1970s on many village-families send their children to school in town where relatives provided them with the opportunity of schooling. Mobility contributed to the increased interaction with outsiders. The church community fulfilled a new role in the changed situation. In contrast to the male leaders, the female relatives of enfants confiés incidentally interact with them as they work on distant fields or when both sell crops at a central market. The female majority in most Budu churches, represented in leading roles as evangelists, teachers, medical workers and directors, therefore seems significant. Women in this new institution were able to voice their changing interests as members of society, several of them being educated themselves and most of the town women in charge of enfants confiés. The changed social situation with scattered communities represents different needs of children and women and therefore forms a challenge to the traditional social life in village communities. The church community, with its opportunities for women, gained importance as it started to answer a need without threat to the position of Budu men, who represent the church’s main leadership. The cash economy, which gradually started to replace the exchange of goods,34 was already mentioned in relation to cash crops. It was first introduced with the many porters that Budu communities provided for the expeditions in the area (Schildkrout and Keim 1990, chapter 3 note 28). As the money economy was firmly established in the Wamba district through coffee cultivation and the paid jobs for teachers and medical assistants, church leaders started to become involved in bride-wealth negotiations in order to reduce exuberant bride prices that started to be asked, especially for educated girls. At the same time circumcision started to be organised in church-related hospitals. These are some examples of how in many villages the church community gained influence in the social organisation of neighbourhoods. The church community began to represent the most prestigious employer in the region (next to the coffee farmers and private gold mining companies) by organising medical training and medical services35. Budu nurses and teachers could qualify themselves for jobs. Although these jobs were underpaid, it should be noticed that the church nevertheless introduced a stratified society into the village communities. Nelson (1995:73) for example observes this pattern for the Baptist Church in Eastern Congo in which he grew up ‘that they were very much helping to establish,’ as individual village members were ‘ready to get away from the endless repetition of daily chores’. In the village community the division of agricultural chores represented an egalitarian system from which specialists could not escape. The church not only disrupted this egalitarian society with the introduction of paid specialists, it also provided an alternative platform for the organisation of community matters in an urbanising society with increased social and physical mobility. With the introduction of literacy in Swahili and French, Budu speakers were exposed to new conventions for language use in genres such as medical diagnosis or school lessons, for which the Budu social organisation had not yet developed a slot. Instead of copying these genres, new genres were developed accommodating existing conventions regarding communication in Budu society. The remark earlier made regarding propagation, that it usually takes generations before a new convention takes the place of a former alternative is contradicted by the history of the Budu. This can only be explained by what Vansina seems to call, rather dramatically ‘the death of a tradition’ (the title of chapter 8 of his 1990 publication with subtitle: ‘the history of political tradition in Equatorial Africa’). It suggests that Vansina’s interpretation of the disintegrated social structures in the Budu area is not dramatic, but just realistic. It any way accounts for the incredibly quick development of a Budu literacy that resulted in the edition of printed booklets between 1998 and 2001.
34The exchange of goods is still practised at some local markets (Grinker 1984:138 and my own observation) 35Although it should be said that these jobs do not represent the instant money that gold or diamonds represent. Wild (1999) remarks for the area surrounding the Eastern city Bunia that Christians see it as their duty to work in underpaid service in hospitals, schools and training institutes rather than making money through mineral excavation or in prostitution.
45 The Red Cross started in 1925 to have Budu medical assistants trained with doctor Conzémius in Pawa. They were trained to work with microscopes in attempts to eradicate leprosy and sleeping sickness. This experienced doctor, who had worked in Katanga from 1911, established the work of the Congolese Red Cross (founded in 1924) in Budu town Pawa.36 Budu midwives were trained by his wife37, who had also started a prenatal care clinic. The success of these attempts may have contributed to the Budu openness to literacy. In contrast to in the rest of Northeast Congo, where miscommunications and widespread fear of western medical services were reported frequently (as referred to in the well-documented dissertation of Lyons 1992) it certainly seems unique for the Budu inhabited area that rumours regarding biopsies in this area did not develop as ideas about the doctor’s anthropophagi and use of magic (since, for hygienic reasons, most biopsies and post mortem investigations were conducted in seclusion). Churches functioned as active agents of change in the area of literacy. They organised two Swahilophone training schools for church workers and several Swahilophone primary schools.38 In the towns Babonde and Mungbere the Protestant mission of the so called “Assemblies of God” started primary schools in Swahili (Kingwana). The medical training in the church related hospitals in the area was preceded by the work of the Red Cross and continued its work outside Pawa when the Red Cross run short of finances. Swahili is the most important language of instruction in the area’s school. After the four initial years the lessons in the primary schools change from using Swahili to French.39 This transition is made
36The area around the Nepoko River was chosen by the Red Cross because of its poverty, dense population and isolated situation in relation to medical services (Cornet 1971:258). The Red Cross organised medical dispensaries in Karume, Adamokoko, Betongwe, Obongoro and a small hospital in Pawa (300 beds) and Avakubi. Smaller clinics were founded in Ibambi, Babonde, Adiembali and Medje and Viandana. From 1931 for budgetary reasons the services of the Red Cross are limited to the chiefdom Abiengama where the Budu Makoda lineage is situated (Dubois (1932:83). 37Cornet (1971:259+260). 38In 1918 two hundred adults are reported to have visited one school in Wamba. The boys school had about 100 pupils whereas girls said to be less easily persuaded; in the 1950’s there were only 10 of them in the Hospital in Ibambi area (Nebobongo), where many nurses had been trained in French before. Rosevaere (1988:36). 39From grade 4 in Congolese primary schools French was in use as language of instruction from as early as 1906. In 1906, even before Congo became a nation, a Concordate was signed between the Vatican and the Belgian government (one of the financing parties of Congo Free State). The Catholic Church was ensured a monopoly in Congolese educational matters (Burke 1994:130) with French as obligatory part of the curriculum (Yates 1980:259), whereas most Protestant Mission Schools had Anglophone teachers. Schools were built near plantations, completely in line with King Leopold’s hidden aim to exploit the country. As a consequence, Catholic schools used trade languages, to teach children of several ethnic groups which had gathered around the plantations. The obligatory use of French in education made the students well- equipped for labour supervised by Europeans (Polomé 1968:302). In 1926, 1938 and 1948 French was established as obligatory language again. Therefore missionary teachers, of whom some contributed to the development of Congo with linguistic descriptions of the vernacular languages (Fabian 1996:139), nevertheless wrote most schoolbooks in trade languages or French (Vinck 2000). Strikingly there seems to have even been little awareness of vernacular languages at all. For example Fabian 1991 ([1983]:139) points out that even the term ‘langue indigène’ as mentioned in publications before 1928 invariably referred to Lingala of Swahili and not to vernacular languages. However Vinck (2000:87) nevertheless mentions the existence of a dozen textbooks in vernacular languages, among which Otetela, Amashi, Kiyaka, Lomongo en Kintandu. Since not all regions were covered by Catholic Missions, Leopold accepted Protestant teachers to ‘fill the gaps’ (Reardon 1968:86) with schools where the curriculum was in the vernacular and in a Language of Wider Communication. However, as from 1890, the use of vernacular languages in Protestant schools has been an issue for the colonial government. It was pronounced as an argument against teaching in the vernacular languages that the pupils would have less possibilities to express themselves in abstract notions: “L’ indigène parle sa langue maternelle très correctement et il possède un vocabulaire d’autant plus étendu que les mots généraux ou abstraits lui font presque complètement défaut." (Inspection Générale de l’Enseignement 1931:7 in Fabian 1983:143). Through the years educational organisation in Congo has been perceived as a state affair. Catholic schools collaborated in close union with state agents. Protestant schools owed loyalty to the colonial administration (the chiefs) which granted them the land on which
46 to prepare the advanced pupils from grade 5 onwards to enrol in the Francophone secondary schools in the area. Two were started in 1950. However, the average Budu spear was limited in his choice of curriculum. Due to the economic pressures most Congolese had to work their fields. As soon as children reach the age where they can work full time in the fields, their work as co-labourers is needed, considering the percentage of children in Congolese society. This implies that most children spend two years of primary education at maximum (Yates (1980:27) and Boyle (1995: 465 466)). The choice of language in school was unfortunate for the development of literacy. During colonial years the Budu speaking children were discouraged by punishments and humiliations for using their mother tongue in class.40 Nevertheless, considering the frequent punishments, it apparently was hard for most children to communicate in Swahili only. Even towards the end of the twentieth century most women at the maternity clinic in Ibambi lack basic knowledge of Swahili, while most Budu men seem to master enough Swahili for their trading trips (with bicycles). Outside the larger villages and off the roads the knowledge of Swahili is minimal, whereas exposure to French, which is taught from the fourth year of primary education, is minimal. For example, in the 1990s only about 2000 Budu speaking children attended secondary schools in the Wamba district each year (against a population of 220,000). The choice of language for the introduction of literacy resulted in a strong selection, which resulted in a development of divergence in the society between educated and uneducated Budu speakers. This contributed in Croft’s terms to a greater chance for ‘differentiated replication,’ since multiple groups with exposure to the use of language in general started using their own language reflecting this foreign influence. The first Protestant University in Zaire in 1963 had some impact on the Budu of the Wamba district who are situated in the same province (Haut Zaire).41 Because of its church affiliation enrolment in the University was encouraged by the large Protestant schools in the Wamba district. In 1974 this third University of Congo was nationalised by president Mobutu. It then had a student population with a percentage of about 4,5 % vernacular North Congolese language speakers (Boyle 1995:461).42 More important are the professional training institutes that served the Budu area at a distance (1967 Buta; 1968 Bunia). By 1970 Budu speakers had access to literacy at all educational levels, with a University at 250 kilometre distance and with the two higher institutes in the area. This means that within 59 years the community made the transition from virtually no contact with the technology of writing to an increasing number of its members being enrolled in education with access to libraries, Universities and Training Institutes. Budu speaker Asangama obtained his PhD at the University of the Sorbonne (France) in 1983, when he presented the linguistic description of Budu and continued his academic activities, presenting a lecture about Swahili at the University of Dar es Salaam in Tanzania in 2001, referred to in Kishe (2001:218). French is the official language of Congo and therefore the language of higher education. It is associated with the formal training that is prerequisite to social mobility. Its lack of impact in the Budu area seems due to the lack of financial success of those few who succeed in obtaining school diplomas.43 When the mineral excavation was privatised in 1973, employees in gold mines and popular musicians actually had more cash than university graduates. schools were built. School diplomas gave students access to (administrative) jobs with the government, or with the mission schools and medical facilities, where they were supervised by Francophone colonials. 40Several older Budu speakers relayed to me how children were put in a corner of the classroom with a sign, saying: pagan around their neck for incidentally using their mother tongue. During colonial times the Budu was referred to as ‘Mosengi’ from the French: ‘mon singe’ Abati (2003), or from the Arab word ‘black,’ which was also used in a derogatory sense (Mufwene 2001:205). 41It was founded by the Protestant Council of Churches (PCC) later called Church of Christ in Congo (ECC). 42In this Univeristy a percentage as high as 20,7 % of the students indicated Swahili as their mother tongue, which is not surprising in an area where the Swahili speaking traders had resided under Tippu Tib between 1874 and 1892, with many residents remaining until the 1920’s. 43Crawford Young (1975) mentions the changed opportunities for the educated: State salaries were tripled between 1950 and 1960, followed by huge inflation. This in the first place led to governmental efforts to increase
47 However, since school language for a long while represented the only written language known to the Budu, its role as a model is considerable. Hopes for the restoration of the economy, which declined, since the 1980s to catastrophic depths in Bas-Uélé,44 were somehow associated with the use of Swahili and French, reminiscent as it is of better times. At the same time growing numbers of the Budu population stopped attending school to keep their subsistence farming going because of the lack of cash. Bangala45 is predominantly known as an orally transmitted language. It is used as a second language by soldiers46. Nevertheless church attending people may be familiar with the Bangala Bible47 that was translated anew (1997) in Isiro (at 75 kilometres from Ibambi) or with the Bangala catechism that is used near Isiro. Because of the glamour of both Lingala music and television broadcasting, Bangala (the pidginise Lingala) gained some influence in the Budu area since the 1970s (Asangama 1983:10) and nowadays some Bangala church songs are used. Swahili never lost its role as the regional trade language in the entire Wamba district, possibly because of the residence of Zanzibari traders in Wamba between the 1880s and 1920, when the last traders left. The continued presence of Lingala speaking military forces keeps the Budu exposed to shouted orders in this language.48 the social mobility of the mass of the populace, after the 1964-5 rebellions had voiced the discord generated by the contrast between the visible wealth of the administrative-political elite and the deteriorating situation of the less fortunate: “At the same time the social mobility for those at the bottom was ensured by expanding the educational system. (1975:746-7). However, in 1967 the inflation decreased due to an effective price stabilisation programme and the introduction of a new currency. However, by 1972 deterioration set in: between 1964 and 1975 the minimum wage reduced by 53 percent (International Labour Organisation reports). By 1975 cotton coffee and palm fruits prices were a quarter to a third of the 1960 level. This situation was discouraging to those who considered enrolment in higher education for themselves or their relatives. 44Mily Denda-Sakala (1996:214) writes: “Le Bas-Uélé est enclavé, il est éloigné, il n’a ni chemins de fer opérationnels, ni routes de dessertes agricoles. La misère demeure. La population croupit dans la paupérisation. Partout dans la sous-région les produits de plusieurs récoltes demeurent invendus, d’autres pourissent. Les quelques kilos de café moississent chez lez planteurs. Le cotton n’est plus planté, le paddy et l’arachide ne font plus objet d’aucune campagne. Tout cela à cause du fait qu’il n’y a pratiquement plus de routes. En tout pour tout, le zairisation a inauguré une période catastrophique pour la sous-région du Bas-Uélé.” 45Most soldiers of the Congo Free State used Bangala. Lyons (1992) documents reports about these soldiers: “Enforced collection of commodities was customary at 132 state posts, in 1900 at 183 posts in Uele. Cloth, beads and brass rods were exchanged for rubber and ivory (Lyons 1992:12). Captain Gage, an eyewitness mentioned in the Sudan Internal Report 1887 mentions that, in case of resistance to this ‘trade,’ villages were surrounded, cattle and women captured and resisting men shot. The population was obliged to supply the ‘traders’ with food as well. As a result the area in a ten days march around State posts and military camps was deserted. (Lyons 1992:21,22.) Over 12,000 African soldiers were involved in this army. Soldiers from nine different countries joined mother tongue speakers of Lingala speaking soldiers and their lingua franca became the Bangala of Congo. 46Regarding the development of Bangala (a pidgin language) next to Lingala it is interesting that Samarin writes (1991:72): ‘Colonialisation was labour intensive; people in large numbers –women as well as men, children and adults –were moved about at the will and whim of the agents of Congo Free State. They must have found it useful to adopt the emerging equatorial lingua franca among themselves. It was also the lingua franca for the Force Publique, the militia of the State, which in the early years consisted of large numbers of foreign Africans. It is therefore reasonable to consider the possibility that parallel to the emergence of a pidgin that became stabilised in the northeast [Bangala], there emerged in the equatorial area a creolised variety [Lingala].’ Contrary to the people groups who responded favourably to the language of the foreigners and who appropriated this new language for themselves, making it more congenial to their own grammars and lexicons, the language groups in the north east seem to have not integrated the pidgin which they used (Bangala) for contact with foreigners into their own languages. 47The Bangala New Testament was edited in 1928 and revised in 1977; the entire Bible was edited in 1953 and revised in 1997. Bangala has 3,500,000 speakers in the Eastern Province of the DRC (Grimes (1996). (for comparison: the Lingala New Testament was edited in 1942 and revised 1992. The entire Lingala Bible was edited in 1970 for the 8,400,000 speakers in North, Center and West DRC.) Even the popular Lingalophone music is associated with the military, as Gondola (1997:71) points out: “The colonial trilogy of religious choirs, the scout songs, and the military parades were fundamental in the formation
48 Although the impact of the printed word was largely restricted to schools and churches,49 newspapers seem to have been distributed in French only50 in the Kinshasa area and in the South in Chiluba (Mudimbe 1988). From 1991 onwards a Swahili publication ‘Igogo’ was edited by the Budu project for Bible Translation and Literacy that was founded in 1987 in Ibambi. Between 1998 and 2001 this same project also mimeographed the first Budu publications through writers’ workshops in Ibambi and Wamba. The first Bible Publication51 in Budu was published in the year 2001. Within 80 years after the first school lesson attended by a Budu speaker, the Budu started their own publications. Broadcasting was more important in terms of national influence of foreign languages than education. The coffee price made televisions obtainable to several Budu traders. From 1967 Congolese national television was broadcast from Kinshasa (Goyaerts 1995). In 1977 television broadcasting was organized to other parts of the country as well, mostly in French (N’sial 1993:127). An increasing number of programmes on television was in Lingala, as this is one of the major languages spoken in the capital. One of the influences of television was the popularity of Lingalophone music from the capital. During the 1970s and 1980s the prices of coffee on the world market enabled Budu coffee farmers to buy televisions and radios which exposed the Budu speaking community to the publicities of luxurious products and the advertisements of a glamorous lifestyle. As for the radio, Calvet (1974:223) mentions two national radio broadcasting stations in Congo in French and in national languages. From 1966 onwards, Swahili broadcasting from Katanga could be heard by Budu speakers (cf. Fabian 1996: 51). Moreover, Budu speakers can receive Swahili radio transmissions from other East African countries. Of all the transmissions, audio drama is the most popular genre of radio-broadcasting next to music. Most broadcasting in the area is in Swahili. The Roman Catholic mission in Ibambi seems to have produced Budu radio programmes. Unfortunately I was not successful in obtaining possible recordings or written scripts.
2.4 Divergency in Budu society
In an evolutionary approach to the development of new conventions for language use, social diversity usually facilitates change. When a population represents an open network that entertains intensive interaction with outsiders, ‘altered replication’ is likely to result in ‘differentiated replication.’ Especially when the innovation is related to perceived advantages, like status and wealth, or simply with a change from the daily life of subsistence farming, the spread of an innovation is likely to happen. While some educated Budu are exposed to French, Swahili, English and Lingala model literary genres that have not yet had the chance to develop in Budu (due to the absence of an orthography until 1996), an even larger group has reduced access to conventional language use. of Congolese music.” On top of that, the use of Lingala in the forced cotton production did contribute to its military connotation. The reputation of production supervisors in Congo, often illiterate soldiers of the military consisted in looting, raping and whipping. For example one administrator reported (Bambili): “While on tour with cotton monitors for ensuring control, policemen committed rape and many lived by plunder.” In 1949 several Mangbetu and Zande women in the Boemi chiefdom were flogged (Likaka (1995: 210/11). The supervisors, who worked as policemen, used Lingala commands in their abuse of power. In a second phase of the forced cotton labour, Lingalophone music was used in film and plays to encourage cotton production by so called cotton festivals (Niangara 1937), where production premiums were on display with signs in Lingala to promote them (Likaka (1995:217). This reputation of Lingala nevertheless never was established within the Wamba district, although the Mangbetu and the population of Niangara are close by enough to exercise some influence in the Wamba district. 49In these domains the printed word consisted of church membership baptism certificate cards, song books, catechism booklets, Bible translations in Swahili (1927) and Bangala (1928). 50The Swahili publication ‘Neno la Imano’ (Word of Faith) distributed by the Congolese Brethren CAFEZA in Nyankunde, was never available to the Budu in the Wamba district. 51This pertains to the translated gospel of St. Luke in both Neta and Koya dialects.
49 School children and traders among the Budu have a decreased exposure to conventional language use. This is similar to the situation in the Bira speaking community in North Eastern Congo, about which the Polish researcher Krzywicki comments that the diminishing use of strictly distinguished genres does by no means imply that the use of genres in itself stopped being important: “Le conte populaire n’est pas un genre mort. Bien au contraire, les contes continuent à être transmis, même si les circonstances dans lesquelles on se raconte ce genre d’histoires ne sont pas toujours les mêmes. Bien d’avantage, ils s’enrichissent par certains côtés, se diversifient et continuent à jouer un rôle culturel important dans des milieux qui n’ont pas, ou ont très peu de contacts avec la littérature écrite,” (1984:434). Krzywicki seems to describe a situation in which those whose are exposed to foreign genres seem to continue the use of traditional Bira genres in a new way. Altered replication of the traditional language use seems to have occurred in that case. It remains to be seen whether this is the case for Budu use of traditional genres. In contrast to Krzywicki, who describes semantic and discourse- features of Bira story genres, I will look at linguistic aspects of language use in Budu, leaving aside semantic features and structural properties of texts (as long as these are not reflected in formal distinctions that can be empirically observed in language use). All the same, the Budu seem to have developed a continued use of language in a society while facing a considerable divergency, as with the Bira.
2.5 Conclusion
The goal of this chapter was to provide an overview of factors that seem relevant to the adoption of new conventions by the entire community. Isolation and Divergence were the two successive phases in the history of Budu society that respectively reinforced conventions and opened the way for altered conventions. The Budu society was politically isolated from other groups. It was neither incorporated in the Mangbetu kingdoms nor deported by the Zande princes or Zanzibari traders. Due to its economic independence as palm oil trading community, it never engaged in relationships with neighbouring groups, other than for music or for the exchange of goods. The Budu speaking community maintained its social cohesion until a combination of Arab traders and Belgian colonialists managed to alter the non-hierarchical leadership to force the exploitation of the territory of Budu lineages. This, in combination to the introduction of a stratified society with paid jobs, contributed to the loosening of social interactions within the village, until the church and its network had developed into a strong community with intensive interethnic interaction with outsiders. This accelerated the integration of new conventions in the entire community. Somehow Christianity and education were embraced by the Budu community in particular. The early success of the Red Cross in the area was inherited by the church when church-related medical services continued most of its work after financial problems forced the Red Cross to limit its activities. However, this probably is not the only factor explaining the openness to change in the Budu speaking community observed by Aunger (1996) and Vansina (1990). It is a challenge to explain the openness of the Budu from internal factors that contributed to its historical development. And yet it is most likely that newly developed patterns of language use represent ‘intrinsically attractive appeals’ because they ‘connect to the cognitive reality’ of the indigenous culture, as Aunger remarks in his observations that refer to the impact of acculturation to eating habits via church affiliation and school attendance (Aunger 1996:216). It is not unlikely that the newly developed patterns of language use will eventually affect the entire community and fulfil a need that has developed in the changed circumstances. Patterns of language use provide an internal clue to the analysis of the observed openness to change, since they provide a means to interpret new genres in relation to the existing dimensions of communication.
50 In this dissertation I will attempt to let the language speak for itself and distil the internal factors that can be discerned from results of a quantitative-comparative approach. I expect that the extreme contrast between the isolation of the Budu community and its observed openness in the period that followed the 1940s resulted in strict conventions for genres of which Budu speakers are conscious enough to playfully exploit them in the quick sequence of developments that result in Budu literacy in the 1990s. I hope that the analysis of patterns of language use helps explaining what could have possibly motivated the acceptance of innovations, such as are observed in the newly developed genres, to be discussed in chapter 8. This dissertation can be seen as a first attempt to come to an analysis that could be much better done by Budu speakers themselves. I readily surrender it for an analysis that is done from an insiders’ perspective.
Appendix 2.A: Indications of Acculturating Forces in Congo
As from the 1970s the representation of Congolese village populations in the church became significant. To give an impression of the membership of the Assemblies of God churches: they counted 40,368 members in 1968, the CECCA 16 churches had 19,550 members in the same year (McGavran and Riddle 1979:119). The number of churchgoing Budu in 2001 can only be estimated, since there are no official numbers. However, given Congo’s fabulous church growth (Mudimbe 1988) of more than 40% since 1968 (McGavran and Riddle 1979), it seems not to be erroneous to estimate that 8 of every 10 Budu speakers attends church on a regular base. In 1979 McGavran & Riddle (p.119) base their percentage of 88,5% churchgoing Congolese for the whole country on a careful comparison between the available statistics. Church organizations in the Budu area pursued medical relief work with hospitals in Nebobongo, Mulita, Isiro and Pawa (where they continued the work of the Red Cross) and in many village clinics. The next overview of the growth of Protestant work is provided here because this church is represented in Ibambi, where the researched corpus was collected. It gives an indication of the role of the Church in Congolese society:
51 years: 1907 1935 1950 1959 mission stations: 29 177 271 345 catechumens 25,000 180,000 275,028 345,473 ordained pastors - 62 166 225 lay pastors - 200 487 11,200 catechists 600 14,398 19,005 20,128 primary schools - 9239 11,534 11,179 pupils 20,488 307,844 387,598 469,667 teacher institutes 1 6 ? 34 technical schools 1 ? ? 34 pupils 30 ? 90 872 special school 96 pupils 2,790 secondary schools 8 10 pupils 411 1,228 medical schools - 17 29 36 pupils - 220 432 586 hospitals and clinics 27 72 171 186 beds in h.and c. - 1,575 6,544 7,717
The first column is based on J. Rambaud, the second on A.R. Stonelake, the third on G.W. Carpenter, and the third on CMN statistics, all quoted in Braekman, E.M. (1961: 348). Unfortunately more region- specific statistics were destroyed in the years 1964-’70 during social unrest (the so called Simba rebellion) (Van Der Poort 1973:47).
52 Chapter 3. Elements of Language Use; a Sketch of Budu
Popoko aka. Popoko b d . b d ya n mas kang . 1. Read here. 2. Read Budu. 3. Budu has its own sounds.
Mas kang ka “a e i o u, n a ”1 4. The sounds are a, e, i, o, u, and a .
fragment from a literacy lesson by Fomuno Alongbaa (May 1996) 3.0 Introduction
In this chapter all the recurring morpho-syntactic categories in Budu language use are presented before they will be listed as labelled in the corpus research of texts in chapter 4. It consists of a brief description of the main linguistic categories in Budu. As linguistic sketch it is ‘brief’ considering various interesting characteristics of a language from the North Eastern borderland of Bantu. Nevertheless, the primary concern is the identification of elements that possibly function as variables of variation across different situations of communication. It is not as exhaustive a description of Budu as the detailed grammatical, morphological and phonological description by Budu speaker Asangama (Asangama (1983)). The present sketch is heavily dependent on the work of Asangama and summarises his findings regarding the linguistic elements of Budu. Where this seems relevant in the light of Bantu linguistics, I will refer to two brief phonological descriptions by Kutsch Lojenga (1994) and Koehler (1995); a paper on Budu discourse by Abati (2003) and finally to my own analysis of discourse.2 All characteristics that relate to Budu as a Bantu language seem relevant in a linguistic sketch of this so- called ‘border Bantu’ or ‘Forest Bantu’ language (Grégroire 2003:343). Furthermore details are included that indicate the extent of interaction between Budu and non- Bantu languages, in an attempt to provide data with the statement that the community of Budu speakers lived as a relatively isolated group; surrounded by non-Bantu speaking groups. A third criterion for relevance that I used to decide whether to include certain details or not is whether it provides the reader with an idea of linguistic processes that facilitated morpheme identification. As a linguistic sketch this chapter accounts for the understanding of Budu that was preliminary to the morpheme identification required for tagging all texts. It follows from this third criterion that the focus of this linguistic sketch is on morphology and syntax. The remarks concerning vowel harmony in this chapter serve to support the morpho-syntactic analysis. For a description of tone rules and phonology I refer to Asangama (1983) and Kutsch Lojenga (1991; 1994). Budu is spoken by an estimated 220.000 people in the Northern Bantu borderland in North East Congo (DRC); an area with notorious borders both between language families and within language families. Grégroire describes the equatorial Forest as ‘the biotope where the Bantu languages border on the Ubangian languages to the West and the Central Sudanic languages to the East, [while borders exist CFK…] also between Bantu languages of the Eastern and the Western block.” (2003:349).
1The non-Roman vowel symbols indicate [-advanced tongue root] vowels, see Koehler, Loren (1995) and Kutsch Lojenga, Constance (1994) for this phonological characteristic of Budu. See also table 3.10. 2I refer to my discourse analysis of some 30 texts that were glossed by Willy Bambinesenge. I also consulted field notes on adjectives by Sabine Brackhahn (1989) and notes on verbal tone by Fred C. Frieke (1996-‘99).
53 3.1 Organisation of this Chapter
Budu is classified as Bantu D-35 or, more general as part of the D-30 group in Guthrie (1948; 1971).This remnant group consists, unlike other groups in Guthrie’s classification, of geographically close languages, such Ndaka (situated to its South) and Mbo (situated to its far South). Other groups are of a linguistically more homogeneous character.3 Bantu languages are grouped together in families because of their lexical similarity and because of similarities in their organisation of grammatical gender and agreement. The characteristics of Budu as a Bantu language are discussed as a point of departure. This makes it possible to comment on its particular characteristics as a Border Bantu language. Since comparative word lists are documented for Budu and related languages (de Wit-Hasselaar 1995), there seems to be no objection to using the classical criterion of lexical similarity as a point of departure (cf. Nurse and Phillipson 2003:166). Budu can be considered a Bantu language of the Bira-Huku (D-30) group established by Guthrie (1948); called D332 in Maho (2003:644). First, remarks about lexical properties will be made. Second, the gender system with its typical Bantu Noun Class system and its agreement through the noun phrase is discussed. Third, the morphological structure of Budu verb phrases is presented. There are several characteristics of Budu verb phrases that require explanation. In comparison to other Bantu languages the most striking feature of Budu verbs is a relatively important lexical distinction for Tense Mood and Aspect (TAM) in contrast to the limited amount of syntactic distinction. Furthermore the discussion of these lexical TAM markings provides illustrations of another particular feature of this Bantu language: the vowel harmony in Budu, described by Kutsch Lojenga (1994) and Koehler (1995). Vowel harmony seems to be rare in other Bantu-language families described so far, whereas it is found in several central Sudanic languages, and in slightly modified form, also in the Budu neighbouring language Ubangian Mayogo as Kutsch Lojenga remarks (2003:452). The particular distribution of this phonological feature in verb phrases facilitates morpheme identification. This phonological particularity that is, as a matter of fact, not reduced to verb phrases. Following the identification of linguistic elements in this chapter, the categories that were tagged for quantitative research are listed in chapter four. Problems encountered in identifying morpho-syntactic categories are also discussed in the following chapter. Orthographic conventions used for Budu transcriptions in the examples are explained in the appendix (to chapter 3).
3.2 Limitations of the present Analysis
The researched corpus is limited to the Neta dialect of Budu. Texts from its four sub-dialects are included (Ineta (by the Timoniko), Isombi (by the Wadimbisa), Koda (by the Makoda), and West Bafwangada (by the Bafanio). These four are referred to in general as Neta. There are two reasons for this limitation.
3Other Bantu language families, also represented in the DRC, are Bantu L and Bantu J with H, K and M (in minor parts of the country). Bantu language families by convention are represented by characters from the alphabet. For example Bantu A, B and C are spoken in respectively Cameroon; Congo (Brazzaville) and in the North Western part of the Democratic Republic of Congo (Kinshasa).
54 First, texts used for this dissertation were selected from a larger corpus base present in the Budu project. This selection of texts in the variety of Budu spoken in Ibambi was accessible for me as an inhabitant of Ibambi. I could discuss (transcriptions of) these Neta texts with Budu project members.4 Second, the Neta variety of Budu was described by Asangama (1983), who wrote a French linguistic dissertation at the Sorbonne while another Neta speaker, Francis Anzalekeyo Abati (2003), in his master’s thesis (Abati 2003) describes some salient characteristics of Budu discourse. The work of these Budu speakers and linguistic analyses of Neta by Kutsch Lojenga (1991; 1994) and Koehler (1995) helped me to interpret language use in the researched corpus of texts. An equally large selection of Budu Koya texts was ignored for research due to practical reasons. I hereby express the hope that more Budu linguists will follow the example of the Budu speakers Anzetaka and Bafau’ndey and describe the Koya variation of Budu in even greater detail than has been done in their master’s theses, due to the limitations of that genre. Anzetaka (2003) focuses on some aspects of discourse analysis while Bafau’ndey (1985) analyses the verbal morphology in the Koy sub dialect.
3.3 Lexical Properties
Budu is the largest Northern Bantu D language group. The only other Bantu-D group that inhabits the area North of the Equator is Lika (D-20). This neighbouring group, situated to the South-west of the Budu, exhibits more similarity with Bantu-C than with Bantu-D Nyali languages. Lika for instance has 60% lexical similarity with Bua while it only has 30 % lexical similarity with Budu (see survey reports by Boone 1995:40,14). One of the main effects of this geographical position of Budu speakers is that they are surrounded by speakers of non-Bantu languages. Over at least four centuries Budu interacted with speakers of Central Sudanic Nilo-Saharan (Mangbetu; Mamvu; Lese) and Adamawa-Ubangian languages (Mayogo; Zande). This interaction is, for instance, reflected in the amount of borrowed elements in these languages. Because borrowed nouns are the easiest to trace, some Mangbetu loanwords are documented in following section to indicate the areas of life that are reflected in this interaction.
3.3.1 Interaction with Neighbouring Language Groups
The interaction with neighbouring language groups is reflected in Budu morphology. In this section two illustrations are provided. The first illustration consists of names of chiefdoms and lineages. The second consists of a list of Mangbetu loanwords that are used with a Bantu plural prefix in table 3.1.. Detailed overviews of chiefdoms and corresponding clan lineages are presented in (Baboya Ilunga (1992)). He gives an impression of the extent of interaction between language groups in the Wamba district of the Eastern Province of Congo. The names of several subgroups in the Wamba district provide illustrations of language contact between the various groups in this densely populated region. The Budu are for instance called Ma-budu by most inhabitants of the region, while the prefix Ma- for people (like in Mayogo) is used by the Mayogo to the North, by the Mamvu to the East and the Meje to the West (Meje is a variety of Mangbetu). The Budu use this prefix ‘ma-‘ themselves for their Northern lineages the Makoda, Mahaa, and Mangbele. Interesting enough, the Southern Mangbetu
4Reasons that could be added are that Budu Neta seems to represent an older and more isolated version of Budu. It for example has /m/ instead of the nasalisation that characterises Budu Koya. The relatively small amount of Mayogo and Mangbetu speakers in the Budu Neta area reduces direct exposure to those non-Bantu languages (see also table 3.2).
55 lineage Ba-byeru has, unlike these Budu lineages, Bantu ba- prefix, while normally this Mangbetu group uses the prefix mava- for people groups (like in Mavazo). Close interaction between this Mangbetu group and the Budu is reflected by the use of this prefix ‘mava- in the form ‘b-ava’ (under influence of Bantu prefix ba- ) in Budu clan names. Vansina explains the occurrence of this Budu prefix in Mangbetu as a prestige-driven innovation in that language (1990:174).5 Furthermore the Lika prefix ‘bafwa-’ has been adopted by the Budu to refer to lineages.6 The Lika ancestor Agbaka is considered as father of his lineage, and his villagers are consequently called Bafwabaka (Ilunga 1992:34), or also, in analogy to the Mangbetu morphology (with bava-) as the Bavagbaka. The names of lineages and chiefdoms in the district Wamba therefore illustrate the cultural and linguistic interaction between three major language families.7 The second illustration of the influence of neighbouring languages consists of a list of Mangbetu nominals that are used in Budu. Budu vocabulary represents a relatively large non-Bantu vocabulary that has been combined with a Bantu morphology. Many Budu words for animated beings carry the Mangbetu prefix na-/ne- in singular to which the Budu prefix ba- is added for plural. These assumedly are loanwords, since na/ne does not behave like a productive prefix in Budu as can be seen from its occurrence in the plural. Table 3.1 is provided to give an impression of such nouns in Koehler’s (2001) 2873 entry lexicon of Budu underived words containing 1792 nouns. It is noteworthy that some words of this list refer to typical savannah animals, like grasshoppers, crickets, and termites. The forest dwelling Budu might have borrowed some of these words from the Nilo-Saharan Mangbetu who originate from the savannah. In material culture several innovations like the curved cereal-harvest knife were adopted from the Sudanic people, as reflected in the nouns that were borrowed.8 Unlike these innovations, all other loanwords are in use next to Budu synonyms and merely reflect the interaction that activates their selection in certain situations of language use (e.g. business and music making):
5Vansina writes about the Budu that: ”Their lineages made such an impression that the [Nilotic] Mangbetu groups began to designate their Houses by the compound prefix Mava, in which va- was taken over from the [Bantu class two prefix] ba- that prefixed Mabodo [sic] names of lineages.” Examples from Baboya Ilunga (1992) are like Bavajua; Bavasoma; Bavasendu; Bavananga; Bavoza; Bavangoa; Bavabaie; Bavandikwa; Bavaoza; Bavakombanza; Bavananzee; Bavasena (1990:174). 6As can be heard in the references to the Bafwagada, Bafwakoy, Bafwabaka, Bafwasende; and the Bafwakwe. 7Contrasting with the interaction between three major language families in the area is their respective interaction with the original inhabitants of Ituri Forest, the Pygmies. Next to speakers of the three mentioned language families, the Wamba district is inhabited by net-hunting Pygmies, called Bá-chwá by the Budu. This Budu name was adopted by the Mangbetu as áswá (singular). Báchwá tend to adopt the language of the farmers whom they interact with most. According to Vansina, Bali and Budu are the only non-Western Bantu languages that use this name for autochthonic forest dwellers (Vansina 1995:279). 8The Mangbetu loanword for ‘pig’ also reflects an innovation. The domestication of pigs was introduced in the area only recently, apparently from the Mangbetu (they were not among the domesticated animals that were introduced by Muslim traders… ). Grinker (1994) claims their introduction among the Lese to be as recent as in the 1980’s. Another ‘foreign’ food category is represented by frogs, which the Mangbetu are uninhibited to consume, while the Budu are afraid to confuse them with very similar but poisonous frogs.
56 Table 3.1: Mangbetu nouns used with Budu class 2 plural formation: nabhálá, small white fish nand nd kp l , a type of caterpillar nabh mbh a, a type of insect nand kwá , var.:: caterpillar often found near the nand kwa .. b sanga tree nádú, large edible frog nangasa-nangasa, a type of tree nádhi, a rope used for playing nangomú, a type of small fish nádhingbé, a type of snail nanjókolóko, a type of caterpillar var.: nadhingbo.. nadh b b , a type of poisonous insect nanjúu-njúu, chameleon nagoú, chirping cricket nebhalú, the fibre of a banana tree which is used for medicinal purposes. nágundéndé, a type of insect nebhólí, pipe for smoking hemp. nagbáya, a type of frog nébholódhi, thing to sharpen knives nahíi-híi, a type of caterpillar nedíkpo, hair pick often made from bone. nahopí-nahopí, a type of insect nédú, cassava náj b pride nefádha, a type of arrow. nakakal , a type of insect négádhi, a type of vine. nak chala, seed used in shakers nekélo rope wrapped around the feet of a chair to give a coloured design. nakwábodhu, green caterpillar with black nekokó, small wooden drum used as a bands musical instrument. nákpaká-kpaka, winged insect; grub nekpábi, witness. nakpakáwa, insect némbila, traditional clothing made from bark. nákyo,var.: nekye.. very small fish nembíte, a type of ant. nalolí, a type of snail nengobú, traditional clothing. námú, a dam nengóló, tree which produces cloth. namugú, a type of tree nepéle, a type of arrow. namukú, a type of fish nepíte, a type of edible frog. namukwe-namukwe, a type of insect nesíná, feather used to decorate a hat. namutumbó- grub often found in neyóbhang , a type of insect (this might be a namutumbó, firewood compound with bhang ‘escape’ nam ch k mba, dormant larva just before n b t , worm used for fishing. the adult stage nam gagá, black biting insect n bh l ,(PL var:ma-) white mushroom which grows on the trunk of a fallen tree or on firewood. nam gb , caterpillar (eats leaves of n gbama, young man. b s tree); if it touches the eye it makes a hole there. nam gb gb , a type of bird n gb mb , a tail feather. nam k , gossip n gy l , bird which eats rice. nam kp -nam kp , a type of insect n k , a charm used for fortune-telling which is placed inside the hole of a tree. nam ky ky , termite which destroys n k gb k k shards of pottery used for fortune- houses telling. nam ngy , bird like a dove n k k , a type of edible insect; grub nam nj á, a type of frog n kp blade namwéí-mwéí, a type of insect n mb ng , a type of large banana. namw g -mw g , a type of insect n mb , pig (either wild or domestic). nambíbi, termite found in the n ng s jigger. savannah nand kál l , bamboo-leaves-eating caterpillar n vánda, ebony diospyros (ebenaceae).
57 3.3.2 Main varieties of Budu and its Dialects
According to Ilunga (1992) the Wamba district entails 10,305 km2 (cf. the size of countries like Jamaica or Lebanon) and is inhabited by speakers of Lika (23.5 %) and Budu (71%). Next to the Lika, two other minorities live in the area, namely the Mayogo (3.6 %) and Mangbetu (of the so called Babyeru lineage 1.9 %). In 1985 the 227.268 inhabitants of the area represent the following homogenous Budu groups, compared for the dialects spoken in each area:
Table 3.2 Budu population count of 1985
North-West (gallery forest and savannah) 25.263 Timoniko; 8.156 Bafanio; (Speakers of Neta) 15.623 and 27.424 Makóda
Centre (gallery forest) Wadímbisa 53.787 (Speakers of Neta/Koya)
South/South-West (dense forest) 25.105 Bafwakóy (Malamba) (Speakers of Koya) (+some Mayogo and Mangbetu + many Lika)
East (forest on the other side of the River Nepoko) 17.600 Máhaá (Speakers of Máhaá)
Table 3.2 visualises the geographic distribution of Budu inhabitants per chiefdom as counted in the population count of 1985 (Ilunga 1992), including two towns. Each town represents a main variety of Budu. For a map see page XVII. First, market town Ibambi is situated in the North-West chiefdom Timoniko. On the Ibambi side of River Nepoko, four Neta dialects are spoken: Ineta (by the Timoniko), Isombi (by the Wadimbisa near town Isiro), Koda (by the Makoda), and West Bafwangada (by the Bafanio), referred to in general as Neta. Neta is the variety of Budu described in the present work. Second, another main variety of Budu is spoken by the inhabitants of the Southern chiefdom Bafwakóy. It includes district capital Wamba with its densely populated area Durunga neighbouring East Bafwangada. Around 1900, this town developed from a settlement of Swahili traders. Its inhabitants speak the main variety Koya, represented by the three dialects East Bafwangada, Kóy (by the Bafwakóyi), and Malamba (or also called Bamba (referred to in general as: Koya). Koya represents another main variety of Budu. Wamba and Ibambi are connected by a road with ferry service across the Nepoko River. Cut off from the rest of the Budu by the River Nepoko, the 17.610 speakers of a third main variety, Máhaá are situated close to gold town Watsa in the Watsa district. These Budu speakers understand the Koya variety of Budu better than the Neta variety (SIL 1989). Asangama even groups the Malamba together with the Máhaá although he is not referring to mutual understanding (1983:16). Grouping this third variety of Budu under Koya, there are altogether four dialects of Budu spoken at the Ibambi side of the Nepoko River and four (including Máhaá) at the Wamba side. Not included in Table 3.2 are the Western chiefdoms Balika Toriko in the proximity of town Isiro and Babubu Malika since they are inhabited mainly by Lika speakers, as is the Malika Bangatsa chiefdom (with its 6.338 Lika speakers). The town of Isiro has a large percentage of Mayogo inhabitants while its language of wider communication is Bangala (a local variety of Lingala)9.
9Van Der Poort 1973:22 refers to percentages of 12,3 % Budu inhabitants of Isiro, 34 % Mayogo, 19,4 % Mangbetu, 10 % Zande, 8,1 % Babua and 16,2 % other ethnic groups. In the population count of 1970 there seem to have been close to 45.000 inhabitants of Isiro.
58 3.3.3 Relation to other Bantu-D languages
Bantu D and particularly D-30 can be characterised as a remnant group, in which all less characteristic Bantu languages of the same geographic area are grouped together. The main difference between Bantu-D languages and other Bantu groups is their underdifferentiation of Noun Class systems. Based on this morphological underdifferentiation, Guthrie’s 1948 classification groups several languages about which, in 1948, Guthrie had virtually no information, in the ‘Bira-Huku’ sub-group of Bantu-D. These are the following (the numbering in brackets is from the Guthrie (1970) list, the plain numbering is from the Bastin (1975:12) and the triple numbers originate from the updated list (Maho 2003:644)).
Table 3.3: Guthrie’s Bira-Huku sub-group of Bantu-D rearranged and extended (following de Wit 1994:13)
Bira: Amba (or: Kwamba, Rwamba, Humu) D-22; Bera (Plains Bira) D-32 (or D-22); Bila (Forest Bira (D 311) D-32 (or D-22); Bhele (or: Pere; Pere) D-31 Komo D-37 (Bastin 1978:147) (or D-23)
Huku: Nyali D-33 Vanuma D-331 (Nyali-Tchabi by the colonial authorities and Nyali-South by some others). Huku D-33 Budu D 332; Ndaka D 333, Mbo D 334 (D-35)
Table 3.3 lists all languages of the Bira-Huku group of Bantu family D together as one, not very homogeneous, group. The empty line in table 3.3 visualises the distinction between the two groups. Each group of related languages is based on lexical similarity (Boone (1995:13)). The first five language groups form the sub-group Bira and the last four language groups the Huku. They are named after representative languages of those subgroups. Huku refers to the non-Bira variation to cover the languages Nyali (Huku), Vanuma, Budu, Ndaka and Mbo.10
3.3.4 Lexical Similarity to other Languages
The Nyali (Huku) variation consists of Nyali, Vanuma, Ndaka, Mbo and Budu and represents a group with lexical similarities varying from 75% to 90%. The high percentage of lexical cognates distinguishes the Nyali group variation from the Bira group.11 Bira is representative of the other main variation distinguished in Bantu-D. The Bira variation includes the Komo and Bhele languages. A comparison of the percentages of cognates between the two different groups within this umbrella group Bantu–D is revealing. The lexical similarity between Bira and Nyali (Huku) languages averages between 20 and 30 percent, as illustrated in the shaded cells of next Table (based on De Wit 1994:13):
10The term Huku was used by the neighbouring Hema to refer to Nyali speakers when they were answering colonial administrators. The latter apparently were not aware of the indistinctive nature of this name. The Hema called all non-Hema speakers Huku in Swahili (‘those‘). Nyali seems a more accurate name than Huku (Hema speaker Bagamba Araali and Constance Kutsch Lojenga both in personal communication) as suggested in previous literature by Asangama (1983:15, Bryan (1959) and Voegelin and Voegelin (1977:62) in de Wit- Hasselaar, 1994:9). 11Lexical similarity is measured using standard word lists and comparing all entries for form and meaning. If both form and meaning are similar, an entry can be considered a ‘cognate’ (for introductions to the development of this presentation of lexical similarity see Bastin, Coupez and Mann (1999: 105-116)).
59 Table 3.4 Lexical Cognates between Bira and Nyali (Huku) Bantu-D groups (de Wit-Hasselaar 1994)
Bira COMPARISON LANGUAGES BIRA GROUP WITH LANGUAGES NYALI GROUP 59 % Bila 56 % 81% Kaiko 57 % 72 % 82% Bhele 58 % 70 % 72 % 80 % Komo 23 % 23 % 21 % 25 % 28 % Budu (Neta) 22 % 21 % 21 % 24 % 28 % 92 % Budu (Koya) 22 % 23 % 22 % 23 % 29 % 85 % 86 % Ndaka 24 % 26 % 25 % 26 % 30 % 78 % 78 % 87 % Mbo 22 % 21 % 21 % 21 % 27 % 74 % 75 % 76 % 77 % Vanuma 22 % 21 % 20 % 22 % 27 % 74 % 73 % 73 % 76 % 85 % Nyali
Table 3.5 presents the percentages of lexical similarity as established through a comparison of a standard list of 252 basic words. For the entire Nyali (Huku) word lists see de Wit-Hasselaar (1995). Budu Neta refers to the variety of Budu spoken in Ibambi, whereas Budu Koya refers to the Wamba variety. The percentages express the amount of cognates in relation to the entire word list used in the comparison. Bira for example has a lexical similarity of 59% with Bila (see leftmost upper cell), whereas Budu Neta has a lexical similarity of 92% with Budu Koya. This means that little over half of the words in the standard word list, that was compared between the languages Bila and Bira, had similar forms and similar meanings, whereas almost all words of the same list were similar (in form and meaning) for Budu Koya and Budu Neta. The percentages of lexical similarity are usually taken as indication of what is to be considered a separate language and what a dialect. Note that both dialects of Budu (Budu Neta and Budu Koya) share 78% similarity with Mbo, as the third row underneath Neta and the second underneath Koya indicate. Although the two main varieties of Budu exhibit 8 % lexical differences in their basic vocabulary they can be considered as one language. A percentage lower than 85% lexical similarity indicates that the compared varieties probably concern different languages. Based on this criterion too, Budu and Ndaka can be considered as different languages. In table 3.5 the similarity between the Huku languages is presented in tree-diagram (de Wit 1994:13):
Table 3.5: tree diagram depicting percentages of cognates found between Huku languages
Budu (Neta) Budu (Koya) Ndaka Mbo Vanuma Nyali
l------l Budu 90% l------l l------l l------l 85% l------l 80 % l------l 75 % l
Table 3.5 does not necessarily reflect genealogical relationship or degree of inter-comprehension, it is designed to expose lexical similarity. Nevertheless all groups involved seem to acknowledge their common descent.12 Although neither common descent nor lexical similarity are neutral notions for those interested in the origin of languages, (as Phillipson and Nurse 2003:166 remark), they merit some attention, considering the Bantu characteristics of the Nyali group and its relative homogeneity in comparison to other languages grouped in Bantu-D.
12A sociolinguistic-survey team reported that Vanuma’s common ancestor Sidhu, has Mombi, Nyali, Buduma and Ndaka for sons (de Wit-Hasselaar 1994:4); while the brother of ancestor Nyali is talked about as Budu (de Wit 1993:5). Other sources refer to the same names in close association. Ilunga reports for example that Budu ancestor Songe is considered to be the father of a man called Budu and of Nyali’s mother (1992:10-11). Towles contends that the Mbo speakers consider both Ndaka and Budu as their ancestors (1993:15-16).
60 3.3.5 Proto Bantu Vocabulary and Budu
Since lexical similarity is the main criterion for the classification of Budu as a Bantu language, some comments considering the Budu lexicon will be made now, prior to the discussion of grammatical gender and verbal morphology. Guthrie, in his principal criteria for Bantu languages, (1948) refers to a reconstructed form of Bantu or to the so called ‘Proto Bantu’ (PB). His lexical criterion is formulated like follows: “The vocabulary can be at least partly related by fixed rules to a set of hypothetical common roots” (1948:10). According to this criterion Budu does not classify as a typical Bantu language, since Budu, like Vanuma (Bryan and Tucker (1959:101) has a large non-Bantu vocabulary. Only 15 words of Vansina’s (1990) list of 129 Proto Bantu words are recognisable in present-day Neta, while three of them possibly have been borrowed from the regional language Swahili (SW): Table 3.6 Proto Bantu words found in Budu di-té ‘war’ from the Proto Bantu word for ‘war’ ditá (SW vi-ta) dyaá ‘hearth; household; fire(place)’ from the Proto Bantu word for ‘home’ dá or yadí dyeétu ‘three’ from the Proto Bantu numeral tátu ‘three’ m -ganjá ‘fellow novice’ from the Proto Bantu word for a ‘boy’s initiation’ gandá; h na ‘to plant’ from Proto Bantu kón- ‘to plant’; kumú ‘ritual village leader’ from Proto Bantu -kúmú ‘leader; big man;’ kwei ‘leopard’ from Proto Bantu goy; ‘leopard’ m -nganga doctor (SW) with plural ba-m nganga from Proto Bantu –ganga ‘religious expert;’ ‘doctor;’ but PL. baganga ‘medicine men’ mu-ngángu ‘sugar-cane’ from mongo var. mongunga/aka Bantu: ‘ngángúlú’ m -chwá ‘Pygmy’ from the Proto Bantu tóá ‘serf’. pémba ‘chalk’ (SW) similar to Proto Bantu for ‘kaolin ’ used also for potting clay and of ritual importance. b -t ‘medicine; tree’ from Proto Bantu té ‘charm medicine’ t na ‘to cut’ from Proto Bantu –ténd- ‘to cut; circumcise’ -ngá ‘pangolin’ from the Proto Bantu -ká tema ‘to cut’ from the Proto Bantu ‘tem’ axe.
However, Budu speaker Asangama lists almost 300 Budu words that can be related to Proto Bantu as reconstructed in Guthrie’s comparative Bantu list (1970) with its 1278 entries (Asangama 1983:32-37). The two comparisons indicate that Budu inherited between 12% and 25% of PB vocabulary, which seems a very low percentage for a Bantu language.
3.3.6 Loanwords from Languages of Wider Communication
3.3.6.1 Loanwords from French
French is the national language used in Congolese education and administration. About 20% of the national population, mainly in urban areas, speaks French. The remaining 80 % is familiar with the sound of French without a full understanding of its contents (N’Sial 1993). To quote an academic writer from North-Eastern Congo about the situation in his home area: “Congolese knowledge of these languages is very limited and their comprehension uncertain. ‘Uncertain’ could merely be an euphemism… In remote villages, mother tongues are permanently used.” (Alo 1999:5).
61 While the main function of regional languages seems to be the expression of solidarity, French on the contrary is the dominant language in institutional settings. The use of French is triggered whenever Francophone institutes, such as schools and government offices, determine the interaction between Congolese citizens. Interaction in the mother tongue occurs outside the realm of the institutional setting. Ethnic solidarity is expressed when Congolese speakers of the same mother tongue meet each other in town or at school at extra-curricular activities. From 1906 French was taught as an obligatory part of the curriculum in the few primary schools that existed at that time (Yates 1980:259). Since most schools were built in mission stations near large plantations, trade languages were taught in the first four years of primary school in order to accommodate children of different ethnic groups which had gathered around the plantations. The obligatory use of French in education formed part of the governmental language planning to develop a labour force that could be supervised by Europeans (Polomé 1968:302). French was established as the obligatory language on several occasions (in 1926, 1938, 1948 and in 1958). French was used as the language of instruction, of labour supervision and as the language of medical diagnosis in the main colonial hospitals of North Eastern Congo (Lyons 1992). Its impact is most clear from the use of ‘neutral’ French words as scolding expressions even when their original meaning was not pejorative (cf. Bloch 1998 about a similar situation in Madagascar). Budu integrated several French words within its morphology. Consider table 3.7:
Table 3.7 French loanwords in Budu
Budu word French meaning French meaning if different amandi amande fine amiba (ba-) amoebe amoeba (used in scolding) as mb e assemblée (-s) reunion avio avion aeroplane bh do (ba-) bidon jerry can dispasele dispensaire medical clinic l l (ba-) erreur error (used mockingly to tease peers) fu (-ma) fou (x) idiot (used in scolding) gbanda lateral bandes latérales mutual affection between (idiomatic expression) friends s da (ba-) soldat (-s) soldier bhandit(ba-) bandit (-s) criminal (used in scolding) katak m ny catéchumène(s) catechetical teacher bhasíni, (ba) bassin (-s) basin ma-s l (ba-) ma soeur missionary lady any unmarried woman ma-toko-sikope microscope microscope dh nd , (ba-) dindon (-s) turkey i-famili famille(-s) family -f l m (be-) infirmière (s) nurse kamerades* (ba-) camarade(s) fellow kalasi classe school school class kilom t l kilomètre kilometre kobhaye (ba-) cobaye guinea pig k manda commandant commander k l g (ba-) collègue(-s) colleague lap , (ba) lapin (-s) hare lómelo numéro ordinal number l p tál l’ hôpital hospital
62 m d l y (selon la) modèle like; according to de n v nouveau (adj. new (adj.) masc.) palas l parcelle compound pas t l pasteur preacher pastor ma-likucha maracuja (-s) passion fruit radio radio radio s s t , (ba) chaussette(-s) sock salubéti sale bête ! dirty animal (scolding people) (in French these are two words) -mánga, () mangue(-s) mango -->is not equal to manga ‘pepper’) v l (ba-) vélo (s) bicycle
The typical CV structure of Bantu words is maintained by the insertion of vowels in French loanwords. Microscope becomes, by use of inserted vowels to establish the canonical Budu syllabic structure CV, matoko-sikope ‘microscope; classe kalasi,; parcelle ‘palas l ‘compound’;’ pasteur pas t l ‘pastor;’ ’kilom t l ‘kilometre;’ and salle bête salubéti ‘dirty animal!’ In matoko-sikope ‘microscope;’ the ma- seems to be interpreted as class prefix, similar to the l- in l-ómelo ‘number’, which origin can be understood as reinterpretation of the n- as foreign prefix that is replaced by another, apparently less foreign l- prefix from Lingala. In all other Budu words the French13 velar phoneme /X/ ‘r’ and its liquid /l/ ’l’ are both alike replaced by one liquid lateral sound. Table 3.7 has some exceptions with velar fricative ‘r’ in the French bandes lateral, camerades and in radio. In particular the expression bandes lateral’ seems to represent a petrified expression that is imitated in exposure to broadcasting. Apart from these exceptions a lateral pronunciation tends to replace the French ‘r’ and ‘l’ alike.14
3.3.6.2 Loanwords from Lingala
Lingala is a Bantu language spoken in the North most part of Eastern Congo, to the North of the Budu area. Isiro is the city that is closest to the Budu area (75 kilometres from Ibambi). This city is Lingalophone with a regional version called ‘Bangala’ (Samarin 1991:70,71 and Mufwene 2001:199). I
13French used to be spoken by colonial agents. The Belgians pronounce the French ‘r’ with tong tip (Piet van Reenen personnal communication). 14This change can be explained from the perceived similarity between liquid laterals in French and in Budu. In Budu, the liquid lateral occurs intervocallically and (under influence of Lingala) in prefixes where it represents an allophone of the alveolar with ingressive air. In Budu phonemes with alveolar articulation have two alternative pronunciations. Although both realisations have ingressive lung air, root-initial phonemes exhibit a flapped pronunciation, while in all other positions the alveolars have a liquid-lateral realisation. Although the sound is also made by a (brief) flap to the alveolar ridge, the tongue tip is rectracted in the direction of the post- alveolar regions. The particularity of this sound is, “that one side of the tongue remains so low that air can flow continuously through a lateral escape channel, resulting in something that sounds like [r] and [ l] alike” (cf. Ladefodged and Madieson 1996:243 about flapped laterals). It follows from this perspective that Budu speakers perceive the French ‘r’ and ‘l’ as allophonic realisations of one and the same phoneme. The loanwords lapin ‘hare,’ and l p tál ‘hospital’ suggest that their first syllables are interpreted as prefixes (as in lomelo ‘number’) and not as root-initial morphemes, in contrast to the first syllable of radio. This word is pronounced with velar ‘r’ like the ‘r’ in kame-rades, possibly conditioned by its root-initial position. The examples in the collection of loanwords are insufficient to provide evidence for this tentative hypothesis. They nevertheless reinforce the impression that the morphological position of a lateral phoneme determines its phonetic realisation even in French loanwords. See appendix 3A for explanations about Budu orthography.
63 will use the term Lingala, as this reference is used in North-eastern Congo by the speakers themselves. They use the reference ‘Bangala’ for the mix of ethnic groups who live along rivers in that part of the Democratic Republic of Congo. It is noteworthy that Lingala loanwords are virtually absent from Budu, as far as I could determine with my limited knowledge of Lingala. There are some exceptions like mwaná ‘child’ and mütïmá ‘heart’, which Budu speakers claim to originate in Budu itself. Lingala, like Budu, is a Bantu language. It seems to have influenced Budu in the syntactic domain, with, for example, its plural formation with prefix li- , as will be explained in section 3.4.1. Code switching is responsible for the considerable frequency with which Lingala words are used in Budu joking or boasting. The only genre in which Lingala words occur with significant frequency is drama. In theatre the mere use of Lingala caricatures soldiers. Their short loose commands on the stage are used in imitation of the incoherent utterances that soldiers are perceived to make relative to the ongoing discourse between citizens. Also young adults tend to use Lingala for code-switching when they boast or commandeer. Probably they are inspired by their encounters with Lingalophone soldiers in the urbanised centres where schools are situated. Maybe some ambivalence towards the use of Lingala is reflected in the virtual absence of Lingala loanwords in Budu and also in use of the language to boast or commandeer. This might be explained by its use by successive regime’s oppressive soldiers, starting with the Congo Free State colonial army in 1891, until Mobutu’s virtually unpaid soldiers who used Lingala for the enforced collection of commodities or to demand favours of citizens. Only more recently, as from 1977 when Lingalophone music started to be broadcast nation wide, “the use of Lingala began to evoke connotations with the fast and easy life enjoyed by musicians and singers” (cf. de Rooij 1996:48). Parts of Lingala song lyrics started functioning as popular sayings. The examples which Goyaerts gives for Bukavu are valid for the Ibambi area as well: kobeta libanga struggle to survive; madesua ya bana beans for the children (in the sense of ‘bribe’); tika mwana ‘leave the child alone’ (used to warn old men to not ask for sexual favours); nakolia yo ‘shall I eat you’ (used to asked for a bribe) (1995:312).
3.3.6.3 Loanwords from Swahili
Swahilophone resident communities of traders from Zanzibar influenced the Budu culture and language between 1887 and 1920. Their leader Tippu Tib temporarily settled several Swahili speaking communities in a place called Wamba in reference to the palm trees for which the Budu are famous. During Zanzibari business Wamba developed into a town inhabited by Budu traders and porters. Even after the colonial intervention in 1897, when Zanzibari traders were violently stopped from exploiting the area, some Swahili families remained in Wamba. A standardised form of Swahili, spoken in Tanzania, is referred to as Swahili Boar by the Congolese. This official Swahili is distinguished from the Congo Swahili (Kingwana) that developed from the contact between Congolese and speakers of the kiUnguja dialect of Zanzibar.15 The Swahili regional language in the Wamba district is a local variation of one of four Languages of Wider Communication (LWC) spoken in Congo. This regional language is used in the entire area where the Zanzibari traders had their sphere of influence from 1874 onwards. Today a quarter of Congo’s entire population is using Swahili as their first language (N’Sial 1993:129,130).16 Swahili is used to express solidarity between Congolese citizens from different areas. The church setting triggers the use of Swahili in inter-ethnic meetings similar to the effect of school setting as mentioned for French. While the Isiro-bound Mayogo use Lingala, other language groups
15On the history and status of Swahili see Myers-Scotton (1993) and Fabian (1986). 16N’Sial 1993 based his conclusions on a thorough comparison of no less than nine statistical researches, of which he discusses three.
64 involved in church meetings of CECCA 16 use Swahili. The diplomatic use of this trade language reinforced the desired cooperation between language groups. Therefore the choice of Swahili was considered as inevitable in the development of regional societies (cf. Van Der Poort 1973:240). Like the Swahili of former Muslim traders in the area, the Swahili of church leaders invokes connotations with its religious context as they too refer to one Creator God Mungu ‘God’ while also representing a ‘book’- based religion (kitabu). Despite the institutional effect of the church in larger meetings, the importance of vernacular languages is emphasized during sub-committee meetings, when speakers of the same mother tongue meet. These church sub-committees are comparable to the growing ethnic associations in Eastern Congolese towns, reflecting as Alo (1999) observes “the reflex of survival [which] pushes people to cling to their traditional communities. Even in towns, close-knit networks are maintained through ethnic associations called in French mutualités ‘benefactor friendly societies’. Their meetings are held in most cases in mother tongues.’’ From 1980 onwards, language committees for the development of vernacular languages were organised upon instigation of the regional umbrella Protestant church organisation CECCA 16 in the area around its head quarters in Isiro. All discussions about this development are held in the regional languages Lingala and Swahili. Although Swahili as a Bantu language has a morphology that is similar to Budu, some Swahili loanwords are integrated entirely, including their prefixes, resulting in the attachment of Budu prefixes to complete Swahili words.17 Examples are:
Table 3.8 Swahili loanwords in Budu
Budu word from Swahili SW meaning: Budu meaning á-mb , (bá-) mbu (SG and PL) mosquito(s) one single mosquito b -sáa (noun) ku-sahau (INF) to forget forgetting i-ndíma (l-) ndimu (SG and PL) lemon -báta (li-) batá (ma-) duck bhal a barua letter; school -f ng la (ma-) ki-fungula (vi-) key -k f (ma-) kofi (ma-) fist i-paipái, (ma-) papai, (ma-) French: papaya pawpaw -pá (ma-) pau (mapao) long thin piece of iron ; shovel spoon -p la (ma-) pera (ma-) (from the English pear) guava -táb (l -) ki-tabu (vi-) Book text ;writing -tanda (l -) ki-tanda (vi-) bed (m -)kanisa (ma-) kanisa church church kawa kahawa coffee i-nanási, (ma) nanasi, (ma-) French : ananas pineapple ma-l mb ma-ombo ; ma-ombi prayer m -nganga, mu-ganga, (ba-) doctor medical assistant PL:bam nganga; Mungu Mungu God (the Creator) m -pánga, (m -) panga (ma-) machete ; large knife m -p nga mpunga (SG and PL) rice (the crop) rice (ready to eat or crop) nama (ba-) nyama (wa-) (nama = soft) animal
17 Similarly some Swahili loanwords have been incorporated in Swahili as loans from yet other languages. For instance the prefix ki- in kitabu ‘book’ actually belongs to the root of this Arab derived Swahili word. However, in analogy to nouns prefixed by ki-, the sound ki- is interpreted as prefix and the word accordingly has vi-tabu as its plural. In Budu these Swahili prefixes consequently have been replaced by Budu prefixes.
65 nd ka ku-andika to write nd k (l ) (ba-) ndugu (wa-) relative p s , (ba-) posho verb: to hand out weekly salary saán , (ba-) sahani (SG and PL) plate sab ma, (ba-) sabuni (SG and PL) (French : savon) soap t mba tuma to send -bá , (ma-) u-mbao PL mbao board ; blackboard ; plate board -ch pa (-) chupa (SG and PL) spoon spoonful -s ja, (-) soya (SG and PL) soya bean w-atungbúlu, (ma-) ki-tunguu (vi-) onion (matunguu = onion; shallot wild cardamom) b- ng (noun) wongo (ADI) uwongo is the SW noun ; falsehood ; lies bongo = brain
Many of these loanwords represent class 5 nouns. This Swahili class has no nominal prefix and is used to denote plural and singular alike. In Budu most of them get class 5 prefixes i- , while some are interpreted as class 11 nouns with Budu prefix u-, for instance papai ‘pawpaw fruit’ becomes i- paipái; while soya becomes -s ja ’one bean of soya’ due to the respective sizes of pawpaw fruit and soya beans (small plant products tend to get U- prefixes). Swahili prefixes are not always recognised in Budu morphology. For example the singular prefix MU- in m -nganga ‘doctor’ is not omitted in the Budu plural ba-m -nganga ‘doctors.’ This anomalism differentiates the loanword from the plural baganga, from the Budu word nganga ‘healer’. It is rather unusual that m -nganga has H in the Budu prefix. This tone reminds of the H in (petrified) prefixes of many nouns denoting small animals in Bhele, Komo and Budu, like in the noun on the first line.18 The word m -nganga often refers to the medical assistant to the doctor (the ‘junior’ doctor). The H seems productive as diminutive in this example.
18Budu has a considerable set of nouns denoting small animates or plant product(s). They exhibit a H realisation on the prefix that seems related to a floating H. The first indication that a floating H can be attributed to diminutive formation in Budu, as in some other Bantu D languages, is the productivity of H in loanwords. Furthermore the semantic properties of the fixed set of H toned nouns seem to indicate a diminutive formation. Phonological properties indicate the independent status of the H. Most floating H’s cannot be explained as leftward spread of the noun root melody. It occurs in L noun roots, in consonant-initial noun roots and in trisyllabic vowel initial noun roots that normally have a toneless prefix/root merged TBU. An additional indication of floating H diminutive formation on nominal prefixes is the predictable occurrence of a rising tone on those TBU’s with depressor onset that follow a prefix with H, since in most other cases where H follows another H, a depressor effect is neutralised (no R). This effect of Budu depressor consonants on any second TBU with H seems to support the assumption that Budu has a diminuitive formation with floating H that is attached to the nominal prefixes. In his article on Bantu derivation, Schadeberg relates the diminuitive derivation partly to the use of class 12/13 kà-/TU. He mentions the possibility that small animates in some Bantu languages are “assigned to these classes, that have very few nouns inherently assigned to them,” (2003: 83). Another diminutive formation mentioned by Schadeberg is the use of a derived noun prefix placed before the ‘inherent noun prefix, (rather than substituted for it).’ This last possiblility of diminutive formation is probably responsible for the H with which some Budu nouns are realised. My investigation of the semantic properties of 194 Budu nouns with H prefixes (out of 1792 nouns) confirmed my impression that nouns with attachment of H to their prefixes have a diminutive sense. A fixed set of nouns with H attached to their prefix denote insects, grubs, caterpillars, fishes, herbs, small tools or childrens games/songs/habits. Some words refer to culturally despised persons or characteristics, such as ámbamba ‘anxiety; illusion’ or ímbekédu ‘a spoiled thing’ jangw ‘a prostitute’. However, diminutive derivation by H tone attachment to prefixes is not entirely predictable since not every small animate being or plant(product) is denoted with H-prefixed nouns. In contrast, the diminutive formation seems to be productive in Swahili loanwords, like: á-mb (bá-)’mosquito’ (as in Komo D-37, Paul Thomas personal communication) and m -nganga, (ba-) ‘(medical assistant to) doctor.’ For Komo see also Thomas’ sample of 22 high-prefixed nouns (1994:181). Noun prefixes are DL except in case of a remnant diminutive pre-prefix. Derivation with pre-prefixes to noun classes is not uncommon in certain Bantu languages. An example of such a pre-prefix is provided by Grégoire
66 Another example where the Budu morphology is imposed on Swahili loanwords is the Swahili noun matungulu ‘onion’, in which the ‘ a’ apparently is interpreted as root (with plural class 6 prefix ma-) and consequently prefixed with u- for singular: w-atungbúlu ’one single onion.’ A third type of borrowing is represented by the Budu word bongo ‘lies’, which is based on reinterpretation of the Swahili adjective wongo ‘false’ as class 14 noun with prefix b-. The loanwords in table 3.8 not only show the impact of Budu morphology, they also reflect Swahili cultural influence on Budu culture to be considerable. Taken into account that this overview represents all Swahili loanwords in Koehler’s (2001) 2873 underived-words lexicon, one can conclude that one third is related to food (fruits, cooking utensils), while various words relate to literacy (like (writing) board, book, writing) and other innovative elements of the Swahili life style (key, salary, bed, soap). The Polish explorer Czekanowski observed the use of literacy among the Swahili traders in the Wamba area when he travelled through the Budu area in 1918. He writes about the community of Swahili traders: “Manche verstehen mit arabischen Lettern Suaheli zu schreiben. In der Nahe von Mawambi kam ich an einer Schule vorbei. Die Kinder hatten Bretter [the loanword mbao!] mit aufgeschriebenen arabischen Alphabet un riefen laut in einem Chor, ganz wie in einer Judenschule, die Namen der Buchstaben aus” (1924:250). In contrast to the use of literacy in Arab schools, literacy practices of the traders outside their own school context were rarely noticed. Czekanowski mentions for example, that he never ‘caught his travel companion in the act of reading’ his hand carried ‘kitabu’ (book). This travel companion, nevertheless a Koran teacher, only once asked Czekanowski for writing paper (1924:252). For the rest of his trip paper was only requested by the Swahili ladies in the area, who needed it for their earring fabrication. It therefore seems legitimate to conclude that Congolese language groups were not exposed to a functional literacy among the Wangwana.19 While the Swahili lexicon influenced Budu to a considerable extent, due to the intense interaction with the Zanzibari traders in Wamba, the syntax also had its influence as the frequently used Budu collocations nabo ‘with them’ and nayo ‘with her/him’ illustrates. These fixed combinations have an a in their first syllable, like in Swahili, whereas no a exists in the composing elements in Budu.
3.3.7 Phonological Similarities to Other Languages
In the area of phonology, Budu has been influenced in particular by Central Sudanic languages such as Mangbetu (see table 3.2). This is obvious from, for example, the occurrence of the phoneme ‘ngb’ (like in Mangbetu) in Budu. Like the Central Sudanic Mangbetu, Budu has contrastive labio-velar pairs of consonants such as gb, kp, and the prenasalised velar ngb (as in the word matungbulu ‘onions’). Other prenasalised stops are mb, nd, ng, ngy, nj.20 A voiced fricative occurs prenasalised mv in less than ten words. This influence of Mangbetu is typical for Budu. Especially labio-velars occur rarely in Bantu in general. A second area in which the influence of non-Bantu languages can be observed is tone. “There is a particularly strong tendency to avoid rising tones in Bantu,” as Kissebeth and Odden observed (2003:66). Bantu languages tend to have four basic tone patterns that make use of L and H (H, L, HL and LH). However, Budu has a tonemic Rising tone (R) that can not be interpreted as LH sequence. R in Budu can be explained as depressor effect of certain voiced consantants on the realisation of high tone (H) (Kutsch Lojenga 1994:128). However, since not all consonantal onsets that cause this R can be observed in the present state
(2003:362) in her article on Forest Languages, where she mentions the Nyanga (D43) á pre-prefix that can apparently be attached to all nominal classes. In Budu H assignment to nominal prefixes seems to be exploited in a small set of Budu nouns of various nominal classes with either diminutive or pejorative connotations. This pre- prefix is distinct from the remnant of gá- pre-prefixes for a subclass 1, designating members of the family. 19In contrast, other aspects of the Zanzibari (‘Arab’) culture seem to have influenced Budu culture. The Budu custom of avoiding eye contact in conversations with the older and more important persons may origin in interaction with Swahili traders. The Budu themselves have no social ranking but avoid eye contact to emphasise gender and age differences. 20Not included in this list is the nasal resonant ny.
67 of Budu, as they are lost in diachronic processes, the R has become tonemic.21 For example in syllables that start with an ‘h’ in Budu H becomes R, although there is no voiced consonant in its onset. This ‘depressor’ effect, as it is called, is related to a prior phase of Budu. Proto Bantu CS 897 *-gunda ‘garden,’ that in D27 lost its initial –g, seems to be related to the Budu verb húna ‘to plant’ (with rising tone). Despite its voiceless nature, the /h/ is part of the set of depressor consonants reminiscent of the /g/ which it probably replaced in certain contexts. The R in Budu is related to a depressor effect that is not always phonologically conditioned in the present state of the language. In 1% of all verbs R results from a prior phase of the development of words as the Proto Bantu example suggests. A third area in which Budu phonology exhibits similarities with non-Bantu languages is vowel harmony. Budu has a system of vowel harmony that is based on the position of the tongue. In particular whether the root of the tongue is advanced or not is relevant for this system. Therefore the tongue root position is denoted as plus Advanced Tongue Root or minus Advanced Tongue Root: [+ATR] or [-ATR]. An identical vowel harmony system that, like Budu, includes nine vowels, can be observed in the Mangbetu (Central Sudanic) language spoken to the Northwest of the Budu and a slightly modified vowel harmony in the Mayogo (Ubangian) language of the Northern neighbours of the Budu. Although Budu speakers and their Northern neighbours have been in close interaction over the past ages, this does not imply that vowel harmony origins in non-Bantu. Kutsch Lojenga contends that at least several Bantu-D languages of the Nyali (Huku) group exhibit a nine vowel system with vowel harmony (2003:452). The Budu vowel system of nine vowels exhibits cross- height vowel harmony of the type characterised by the phonological feature of Advanced Tongue Root [ATR]. 22 The vowels that exhibit [-ATR] quality in Budu are denoted in Budu orthography as a, , , , and . They pair up with the a, i, e, o, and u. The vowel ‘a’ is neutral with regards to ATR quality. The vowel- harmony in the phonological word is evident through examination of vowel co-occurrences in disyllabic noun roots, harmony of verbal affixes and harmony of numeral roots. I refer to Kutsch Lojenga (1994) and Koehler (1995) for a fuller description of this phonological feature of Budu, of which I only summarise the main characteristics. Vowels from the group /i e o u/ never occur in the same disyllabic noun root as vowels from the group / /. Root vowels determine the vowel quality of both preceding syllables and verbal extensions. An exception is the causative extension –iso, which always maintains its own vowel quality and even causes the rest of the phonological word to be pronounced with Advanced Tongue Root, changing prior verb roots to a variant with Advanced Tongue Root pronunciation. According to the convention I sometimes use capitals to
21Budu rising tones (R’s) occur in 99% of all cases with depressor consonants. The exceptional 1 % occurs in some class 1a mominal references to relatives. Rising tone is caused by a depressor effect of voiced consonants in their syllabic onset. This set of voiced consonants was documented for Budu verbs by Asangama (1983). In his three verb groups (H, L and LH (rising tone) verbs), the LH verbs are invariably conditioned by depressor consonants (cf. Abati (2003). Kutsch Lojenga (1994), suggests the depressor effect in the consonsants [b],[ d], [dz], [gy], and [gb], [v] and [h] (1994: 128), or in Budu orthography the bh, dh, j, gy, gb, v and h. The set is ‘to be investigated, data not yet being completely consistent’ according to Kutsch Lojenga (same page, footnote 2). My own field work with Mr. Bayaka in 1995 suggests that of these consonants the v, gy and j were not exhibiting a depressor effect, while all the other consonants mentioned by Kutsch Lojenga were. This needs to be mentioned for the interest of future research, although it is beyond the scope of this thesis to document these remarks. 22In most West African languages the pronunciation of vowels exhibits differences as to the position of the tongue root (Ladefoged 1964 in Ladefoged and Madison 1996:300). ‘Advanced Tongue Root’ is a minor feature of vowel pronunciation which has replaced the terminology Tense/Lax. Lindau (1975) in Ladefoged and Madison (1996:300) convincingly presented Akan vowels in two distinguished sets; one without and one with advanced tongue root. Advanced tongue root can be described as resulting enlargement of the whole pharyngeal cavity while the larynx lowers in the meantime. This enlargement is noticeable in a different acoustic quality of the vowel, that sometimes is described as ‘brighter’ than the so called [–ATR] counterparts. The feature ATR is used to describe the advancement of the tongue root as a phonological property of entire words (root + affix) with differing rules per language (or sometimes even dialect, as in Budu). Such African languages with harmony of the ATR quality of the vowels in a certain domain (e.g. the phonological word) can be compared to Finno-Ugritic languages with harmony of the backness quality of vowels (Lund, Magnus 1992:77, Hungarian Phonology and Morphology, Lund Un. Press).
68 denote that vowels in a certain morpheme may represent either [ATR] or [- ATR] value, depending on their phonological environment. Instead of either u or , U is used in such case, for instance. In order to explain how this characteristic of Budu facilitated the identification of morpho-syntactic categories in this research, this chapter contains many illustrations of vowel harmony. The first examples are merely expository and limited to the noun. The distribution of ATR in Budu nouns illustrates that vowel Harmony is maintained throughout the word.23 The two sets of vowels, one with ATR and one without ATR, therefore occur in two sets of nouns. The –ATR pronunciation [a ] can be heard in the top group of nouns of table 3.10, for example :
Table 3.10 Advanced tongue root as property of entire words