Language has been used as a barrier and a bridge. The more you know, the more people you can connect with. However, it’s the ones you know, that determine the opportunities that are available to you.
When people go to a new place, they usually assimilate and adopt the dominant culture. That wasn’t the case in South Africa. The Dutch (Boers) colonized, then the British. Instead of learning Xhosa, Zulu, Pedi, or Tswana, the colonizers kept their language and seized power. The British and Boers vied for power and the Boers came out on top. To keep that power to themselves and out of the hands of the majority, the native peoples, a racial caste system was created- Apartheid.
Afrikaans was the language of the oppressors, and therefore, became the language of power. The better your Afrikaans, and the cleaner your accent, the more opportunities you were afforded. More jobs were now open to you, and they were of better quality. So you weren’t stuck doing the menial tasks the whites wouldn’t do. The problem with this was that Afrikaans wasn’t the native language of black South Africans, and blacks didn’t necessarily understand it, whereas it was the Boers’ primary language.
During Apartheid students were taught and had to test in Afrikaans. Because of being taught and tested in a language they didn’t understand, black South Africans wouldn’t test as well, and couldn’t receive the qualifications necessary (like a degree or diploma) to gain power and improve their quality of life.
These inadequate test scores also reinforced the Boers’ notion of black inferiority. Another way this perceived inferiority was displayed was through the use of the Dompas. After arriving to Cape Town on Friday, we went to the Langa Dompas Museum with our guide for the day, Mike, where we learned more about the history of the Dompas. While all South Africans during the time of Apartheid were required to carry some form of identification, there existed a disparity between white and non-white citizens. Whereas white South Africans’ I.D.’s looked like your standard drivers license, non-white South Africans were made to carry a Dompas, which was a little booklet a little thicker than a passport. Officially they were called reference books, but everyone referred to them as Dompases, which translates from Afrikaans as ‘Stupid Pass’ or ‘Dumb Pass.’ This further perpetuated the perceived notion of inferiority.
Blacks tried to empower themselves by conforming to the norms of their oppressors. While interacting with Boers in a work environment, many black people realized that the traditional names that carried individual meanings and deep significance in their culture, were too long to pronounce. So they adopted an English name and only used their African names at home.
When I came to South Africa, I didn’t come like the European colonizers. When I arrived in Johannesburg, I found it very difficult to use my name to introduce myself. I had to repeat myself so people could pronounce it and they’d still end up calling me ‘buddy’ or ‘mate,’ because they couldn’t remember it. So I conformed and asked for a traditional African name. One man gave me the name ‘Thabo’ and I took the surname ‘Nkosi’, which I knew meant ‘king’ in Zulu. Thabo is Sutu for ‘happy.’ So I became ‘The Happy King.’
On Friday we flew from Johannesburg to Cape Town. There we met Pumelele, or ‘Push,’ our main connection in Cape Town. While on the bus, heading to our home stays in suburban Cape Town, he informed us that we were entering a predominantly Xhosa community (traditionally called “townships,” note that I use the term “community” intentionally), and stressed the importance of trying to engage and connect with our host families in their native languages. So he taught us how to greet our families and ask how they were doing, but knowing what I knew, that wasn’t enough for me. So I asked Pumelele for more. When I arrived at Mama Nokhaya’s house I greeted her- Molo, Mama. Molo. Unjani? Dipelile. Wene? Dipelile, Nkosi. Igama nam gu Thabo. Molo, Thabo. Hello, Ma’am. Hello. How are you? I’m fine, thank you. And you? I’m fine, thank you. My name is Thabo. (she smiled) Hello, Thabo.
Deverrick M., Eastern High School