Kriol is the word ‘creole’ written in the orthography of the variety of creole spoken in Barunga (formerly Bamyili) and Ngukurr (Roper River). Harris has described the origins of Kriol and the use of the language in Bible translation (chapter 10).
Amongst Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory, the term ‘Kriol’ is normally used to refer only to the speech of people from Barunga or Ngukurr, although some use the term more widely and in Western Australia one creole is sometimes called ‘Fitzroy Valley’. The question that arises is whether there is one language, widely spoken throughout northern Australia, that may be referred to as ‘Kriol’, or whether there are varieties of creole, of which Kriol is one example. Some linguists argue that there is a single language throughout the area — the name is in fact irrelevant, but call it Kriol. On the other hand, it is well-known that there are language varieties that, although very similar linguistically, are known as different languages for political or other ideological reasons — for example, Serbian and Croatian. In such cases, however, people tend to assert that they are ‘really’ the same language, thus making a distinction between two kinds of facts, ‘scientific facts’ and ‘social facts’. Because of the dominant scientific paradigm in Western intellectual ideology, facts have status, and real facts have more status than social facts, since it is easier to verify scientific facts. What I call into question is the pre-eminence of scientific arguments in a situation where sociopolitical factors are so evidently significant.
To return to the question of Kriol, many people in the Daly River area do not think that they speak Kriol, even though they acknowledge that they speak a mutually intelligible variety to Barunga Kriol. I could argue for this as a social fact; I could even appeal to a number of ‘real’ facts to show that there are differences between the two varieties of language. At this point, however, I want to establish that to engage in justifying arguments about the status of Kriol, by drawing on established scientific theory, is to accept a particular view of knowledge and science. To do this, without question, in a cross-cultural situation where the dominant, colonising culture accepts this theory of knowledge, but the colonised group does not, is to be implicated in, at best, colonisation of the mind, at worst, genocide.
There is no simple way through the intellectual labyrinth encountered in the course of doing linguistic work, or indeed any kind of work, in an area so beset by social and political problems far beyond the control of any individual. The reality is that after 200 years of colonisation, no Aboriginal community remains untouched by the influence of that invasion, whether it be in economic, social (including educational) or religious ways. At this stage, the only option which I find appropriate is to approach the question by acknowledging the issues involved — by making explicit the cultural values, pressures and expectations arising from my own cultural environment and by articulating our understanding of other relevant perspectives. I shall be content when a first-language speaker of Kriol/creole revises my arguments.
As mentioned earlier, speakers of creole in northern Australia generally recognise only a few varieties as Kriol. On one level this is insignificant: it does not matter what people call the language they speak and the reality of the language remains unchanged by the terminology used by linguists or others, to describe it. On the other level, it does matter, for the work of linguists is significant in determining educational, and hence social, policy in the Northern Territory.
In 1972 the government of Australia declared its support for bilingual education programs on the grounds that, in Prime Minister Whitlam’s words, ‘tribal cultures should be preserved, not crushed’ (Dixon 1980, 91). One of the places that a bilingual program was established was Barunga, where the program was in Kriol. Since that time the situation has changed: the Northern Territory government now takes responsibility for education in the area, there have been general shifts in government policy, and there is now a different perspective on bilingual education. There is currently far more emphasis on the efficacy of vernacular literacy in promoting English literacy than on it as a means of ensuring cultural survival. There is, of course, within both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal intellectual circles, debate about whether vernacular literacy in fact promotes or destroys oral culture; but, aside from that debate, there is also the question of whether vernacular literacy is seen as a tool of assimilation or of liberation.
In a situation where an ancestral language is used in a bilingual program, the justification is that this both aids English literacy acquisition and helps to foster the indigenous language. Many such situations are complicated by the fact that more than one ancestral language is used within the community: the school, by choosing to use one rather than another, alters the status of languages, and by implication, of social groups within the community. Nevertheless, given that the process of schooling cannot but have a homogenising effect, the fact that one or more Aboriginal languages may be used within school programs is at least a concession to the special needs of the community. In many cases the school is viewed as a means of facilitating ‘both ways education’. In the words of Bakamana Gayak Yunupingu:
The school is a place which can do a great deal to help children become successful in language use, but it will work best at this when the community is consulted about how language is to be used. This is because Yolngu draw on the philosophies that will help to sustain sensitive components of Yolngu knowledge through the idea of ‘Both Ways’ education, to live in, maintain and be proud to live in a Bi-cultural and Bilingual society. (1987, 134)
Whatever the tension between these two ways, there is at least an understanding that cultural maintenance is a significant factor. The situation in Kriol-speaking areas is, however, somewhat different. There is currently, and has only ever been, an official bilingual Kriol program in one school, namely Barunga. At Ngukurr, Kriol is used only orally although there is some informal Kriol literacy. Both these communities comprise groups of speakers of different ancestral languages, many of whom no longer live in their traditional homelands and who live in these communities because of severe social disruption by European settlers. There are substantial differences between the situation of Kriol speakers and that of speakers of other Aboriginal languages. Kriol speakers never identify themselves as Kriol people. They refer to themselves by the name of their ancestral language, even if they do not speak it. Moreover, ancestral languages are often more widely used at places like Barunga than many Europeans realise. People have learned to hide some aspects of their life.
Now, it is apparent that the use of creole as a first language or as a lingua franca, is widespread throughout much of the school-age population in the Northern Territory. The ideology of bilingual education, of biliteracy, is that it allows ‘both ways’ education, the ’both ways’ being Western and Aboriginal. Yet, many children speak a language that gives them access to neither. Children who are creole speakers are, with a few exceptions, treated as though they speak English, albeit ‘badly’, and there is no provision for them to be taught English as a second language. At the same time, children who speak creole often live in communities where the establishment or continuation of a bilingual program in an ancestral language has been refused on the grounds that the children do not have such a language as their first language. These children not only miss out on adequate access to English, since they are not taught it in ways appropriate to secondlanguage learners, but, in most cases, they miss out on instruction in Aboriginal culture, which is generally assumed to have disappeared.
At Barunga, where there is officially a Kriol bilingual program, this was not the case. It was acknowledged that the children did not arrive at school as English speakers, and ancestral languages were not totally ignored. The inclusion of Kriol, both as a medium and an object of study, gave recognition to the relationship between it and English, while the significance of the ancestral languages, whose names are still used to identify the affiliations of the children within the community, was still acknowledged in the education system. Since the mid 1980s the bilingual program at Barunga has proved vulnerable to changes in school personnel and controversy about the status of Kriol has adversely affected the program there.
Ngukurr (previously Roper River) is, like Barunga, a community where it is widely acknowledged that Kriol is spoken. Unlike Barunga, Ngukurr School does not have an official bilingual program, although Kriol is used informally in the school. There appear to be two reasons for this. One is that written Kriol literacy has been used in church-based contexts and the community is generally aware of Kriol and of Kriol literacy. Secondly, almost the entire school staff at Ngukurr is Aboriginal. This is a result of a policy developed by the Department of Education and the community to rectify a situation where there was low school attendance. Hence, most of the teaching staff are themselves Kriol speakers. Although there is little Kriol literacy, Kriol is used extensively orally in the school.
A previous school principal (now dead and therefore, in accordance with local custom, not to be named here) indicated that she wanted a bilingual program but that she wanted the local community to have control over its own literature production and not rely on material produced at Barunga. This issue of local control of literature is central in the debate about literacy in creole-speaking areas. Although it is not a problem for Barunga and Ngukurr speakers to comprehend each others dialects, the differences in pronunciation and a few items of vocabulary are significant markers of identity. The standardising effects of literacy are known, but resisted, much as American spelling and usage may be resisted in Britain and Australia. But, given the importance of maintaining these distinctions, there is no reason why schools in different communities should not be able to produce their own literature, especially since recent developments in computer technology make desktop publishing a real possibility.
At Nauiyu Nambiyu (Daly River) the ancestral languages most widely used are Ngan‘gikurunggurr and Ngan’giwumirri, together referred to as Ngan‘gityemerri. In addition, older people use a pidgin, known locally as ’Pidgin English‘, which is mutually intelligible with a creole spoken by younger people and known locally as Ngan’giwatyfala. (Ngan‘gi is the word for ’language‘, hence Ngan’giwatyfala is ‘Europeans’ language’.) The crucial distinction between the pidgin and the creole rests on whether it is the first language of the speaker. In the case of all the older speakers whom I recorded, it is an ancestral language that is their first language both in a chronological sense and in the sense that it is the language they use most. They can be heard addressing young people in ancestral languages, even though the young people tend to respond in creole. In the case of people under thirty years of age, creole is the language they use habitually, although they may have some knowledge of their ancestral languages. In addition, they speak some English as well, so that the creole is, for them, not primarily a contact language with English speakers but the language of intra-community communication. For pidgin speakers the pidgin may serve this function but is also the sole means of communication with English speakers.
There is one group who do not fit neatly into either of these categories and this is the group between the ages of about thirty and forty. This was the first generation to attend the Mission School, which was established in the 1950s. This is the generation whose parents were speakers of ancestral languages, and who spoke those languages with their parents as young children, but who lived in dormitories at the school where English was the only language officially spoken. This is the generation who, although they can often speak an ancestral language to some extent, can be heard using creole to each other and to their children. They are presumably the first generation of local creole-speakers.
Kriol speakers and Ngan‘giwatyfala speakers generally insist that they do not speak the same language, and it appears to be a matter of significance for both groups to maintain this position. One woman who had family connections with both the Daly River area and with a Kriol-speaking area did speak of creole in the two areas as kinds of Kriol, but she also drew my attention to the differences between the varieties. This was also the case with a Nauiyu Nambiyu woman who was interested in writing creole. It would seem that people who were able to discuss the differences and similarities between Kriol and Ngan’giwatyfala were those who had already acknowledged that Ngan‘giwatyfala is widely spoken and has some similarities to Kriol, as opposed to those who were still, in some way, denying its existence. Among the differences were the fact that Daly people say mifala and not mibala (we); they say liliwan for lilwan (small); and they say wulumen not olmen (old man). In addition, when ancestral language words are used in Ngan’giwatyfala, they are different from those used in Kriol-speaking areas. Thus, for people familiar with both varieties, the differences appeared to be either phonological or lexical, with lexical differences mainly restricted to ancestral language words. These are the same kinds of difference that are invoked when one asks about the differences between Barunga and Roper Kriol.
At this stage it is too early to develop a Ngan’giwatyfala orthography., partly because not enough of the language has been recorded and analysed, but also because of the delicate relationship between members of the community and anyone who wishes to discuss creole. There are, of course, linguistic and pedagogical reasons for aiming at an orthography that corresponds as nearly as possible to the sound system of the language. It is also desirable to use symbols which are available on typewriters and so on, and which are not too different from those used in other languages. But beyond factors such as these, it is important that an orthography is acceptable to those who will use it — the speakers of the languages themselves. This is particularly significant where a language is being written for the first time by those who are not members of the local community. Thus, it is essential that speakers of a language cooperate in the design of an orthography. At Nauiyu Nambiyu there is considerable antagonism towards creole and reluctance to participate in activities that might promote it, such as writing it down. Hence, it is difficult to obtain the kinds of input from the community that would be necessary to create an acceptable orthography.
It is thus important to open up debate about linguistic matters with members of the community, to identify the problems as they appear to an outsider and to offer suggestions about possible courses of action. It cannot be denied that children in the community are speaking creole and that this must have some impact on their progress in the school system in which they are obliged to participate. Not only community members, but those people who are in the community as school teachers, need to be involved in the process of deciding what the implications of creole are for the education of the children.
Furthermore, Ngan‘giwatyfala does not exist in isolation. In fact, all over the Northern Territory and Western Australia people speak varieties of creole or non-standard English that are related to each other in some way. It is not only at Nauiyu Nambiyu that children in a community are speaking a creole which is not being acknowledged formally by the school or community and that the children’s access to the skills which the community hopes they will gain from a school education is probably being hampered by the fact that they speak a creole.
It is worth noting here that where written Kriol is already in use, it is not necessarily used in all possible situations. At Barunga, Kriol has been used in the bilingual program there for thirteen years, but its use is mainly confined to the school. It is only amongst members of the Christian community that Kriol literacy is used outside the school and only in that context that there is intra-community communication through the medium of Kriol literacy. Within Barunga, English is generally used as the medium for written communication, such as notices in the shop or on the Council notice board. In such a small community there is relatively little need for written communication and no tradition of using it among community members.
So far as communication with the wider community is concerned, English is, and is likely to remain, the medium of communication. The only likely use for written Kriol is for the dissemination of information about government projects and suchlike, but even this seems improbable in view of the increasing use of television and video to perform this kind of function. At Ngukurr, a team of educators from the Northern Territory Power and Water Authority conducted a campaign to teach people about conservation of resources, but they did this through personal contact and videos, not through writing. The widespread ownership of televisions and video equipment, in contrast to the lack of writing materials in Aboriginal communities, suggests that this situation may continue. Indeed, in the wider Australian community it is through the electronic media that information is most rapidly and effectively disseminated to the general public.
Thus it seems reasonable to assume that if written creole is ever used in Nauiyu Nambiyu, its use too may be restricted to educational purposes within the community. In view of this it is worth examining the possibility of devising an orthography specifically for use in that community, or in others that use the same dialect. There are two possibilities, one is using the Ngan‘gityemerri orthography, or a modified version of it, the other is to have a completely separate orthography based neither on Ngan’gityemerri nor on Kriol. These two possibilities will be considered in turn.
One obvious way to write Ngan‘giwatyfala would be to use the local orthography of Ngan’gityemerri. But the sounds of the two languages are in fact rather different. Like most Australian languages, Ngan‘gityemerri has no fricative sounds such as [s], [z] and [h]. It is necessary to represent these sounds in Ngan’giwatyfala and a similar need to extend Ngan‘gityemerri symbols arises within vowels. Once such additions or changes are made— and reflected in a substantial proportion of the words of the language — it is no longer the case that one is using the local orthography. Any supposed advantage of similarity or compatibility between two spelling systems is undermined.
A second possibility would be to use the Kriol orthography already in use at Barunga and Ngukurr. Some minor modifications would still be needed — for example, the addition of the symbol f to cater for Ngan‘giwatyfala pronunciations such as mifala ‘we’ rather than Kriol mibala — but a strong argument for using the existing Kriol orthography is that it has been developed already and is relatively widely known. It is used not only in scholarly works about Kriol, but there are also many books written in the language for use in schools and a Kriol version of the Bible. If it were used for writing Ngan’giwatyfala and other varieties of creole that have not yet been written, there could ultimately be a very extensive range of communities that would share a writing system. It would be possible to produce written texts that could be used in creole-speaking areas all over the Northern Territory and there would be the potential for the dissemination of written information to large numbers of people.
On the other hand, there are problems that are not so easily overcome as minor modifications to the use of symbols. It is clear that varieties of creole are spoken differently. Moreover, the differences between varieties are important to speakers. Kevin Rodgers, principal of the Ngukurr school and a Kriol speaker, has explained why Ngukurr people do not want Kriol material for their school to be produced at Barunga:
It is important to write the dialect of Kriol that is spoken in Ngukurr and not that spoken in Barunga, since the sounds and some vocabulary of the Ngukurr dialect is related to the local traditional languages and not to the traditional languages spoken at Barunga. (1988)
Thus, even within the areas where people acknowledge that they all speak Kriol, there are problems about using the written form. Kriol orthography allows dialectal variation to be manifested so that, for example, the word for ‘go’, can be written go or gu according to local pronunciation. But this means that written material produced by the speaker of one dialect is regarded as unsuitable teaching material in areas where another dialect is spoken. There is a strong feeling within communities that their identity is reflected in the variety that they use. Thus, there is hostility towards standardising written Kriol, towards creating a written form that is no-one’s dialect but that everyone could read. Rodgers writes:
The Barunga school books were influenced by non-Aboriginal teacher linguists who seem to have developed a ‘School Kriol’ dialect, which is more than simply the difference between oral and written Kriol modes.
The test of any such orthography will of course be whether it is acceptable to speakers. At present no orthography is acceptable. Moreover, very few people are familiar with the Ngan‘gityemerri orthography, making it difficult to consult community members about the extent to which they would like Ngan’giwatyfala orthography to be based upon it. It seems likely that the evolution of an orthography for Ngan‘giwatyfala will depend to some extent on whether the community develops a strong interest in writing Ngan’gityemerri. If they do, then using that orthography as a basis for creole orthography may be acceptable. If not, then it might be more appropriate to use the Kriol orthography, if indeed Ngan‘giwatyfala is ever written by its speakers. Ngan’giwatyfala speakers may continue to regard the variety as a purely oral mode of communication so that the question of how to write it will remain forever merely a matter of debate among linguists.
The issues in creole literacy include both practical linguistic questions relating to the precise form of the orthography and more delicate questions relating to notions of linguistic and cultural identity. The most pressing issue, however, is what linguists and educators should or can do to facilitate language education that is appropriate to the needs of Aboriginal people in communities where creole is spoken. With hindsight, it is easy to identify the mistakes in apparently well-meant efforts. At a local level, consultation and liaison with local Aboriginal people with an interest in education are possible and desirable. More important, in my opinion, is a willingness to share information freely. To empower Aboriginal people in ways that allow them to challenge and debate such issues, they need to have free access to the information with which non-Aboriginal people work. In order to do this they need access to the education system that informs the debate. Yet, when non-Aboriginal people make decisions about language that seem to them necessary to facilitate that access, they may be guilty of cultural imperialism. It is only by making explicit, at every stage, our cultural assumptions; by being prepared to learn about and respect those of others; and, most importantly, by not judging those of others by the criteria intrinsic to our own, that we can hope to maintain the integrity of our culture and that of anyone with whom we are in contact.
To illustrate the issues raised in this chapter, the same story is given below in three different orthographies. The story is a spoken narrative, not originally written down. But the three transcriptions of it will show the differences mentioned above. A translation to English is included at the end. (Only the second transcription is punctuated because only it has adopted a punctuation system.)
Ngan’gityemerri orthography
(Names are left in English spelling. Words that break normal rules of Ngan’gityemerri orthography are marked with an asterisk.)
wan satidey* muning mi Kiti en u* nadawan Molly Patricia Mercia Dominica mela bin askim* gida* bla* gu anting langa ada* said* langa wut* dat* pleis* na im kul* Dangerous Gap init Dangerous Gap wel mela bin askim* bla* Patricia asbin* imin drupimuf* mela la rud* en mela bin wuk frum* la dat* kuna* rait* bak la dat* lilwan krik* wen dat wen dey bin syutim wan ulmen gat gan mela bin dringgimbat* wata* de na wel mela bin stat* klaimapbat* untup* la il en ay bin stat* lukranbat* blanga* we dem* pukupany wen dey* bin digimbat mela bin fanydimbat sam* fresywan* uwul* we dey* bin digimbat wel ay bin gu ratybek* la wan kuna* en ay bin fanydim* syugubeg* langa entpit* en imin isiwan bla* tegimat tufala bin afum lilwan eks* en Patricia imin biyany imin sidanabat* la wan lilwan ruk* en im from* samting* imin telim yu luk andanit* en imin luk dat pukupany wel imin raty* andanit* wel mela kudan tekimetim tyepeka end* Patricia imin telim rai wan pukupany* im iya ay kan tekimbat yu ken alpum mi en imin gifit mi dat ukwaya ay bin tray* tekimbat* nating* wel frum* de mela bin mufimbat wan ruk* wel mi ay bin duwim dat* wek tekimbat* dat* ruk* afta* ay bin pulimat dat* pukupany* bat imin unli* lil bebiwan wel mela bin gudaun* daun* na wel mela ai bin testi* bla* wata* bat nu wata* bin de wal mela bin klaimap* ran* an ran* ai bin get disi mela bin gu en mela bin afum wan dug* im neim* Sopi wel ai bin telim Patricia en Marita bla* gudan lukranabat wata* dey bin fanydim liliwan watahol* bat imin hotwan* dat* wata* ay kudun drinkim* wel mela bin go ratyaran* dat* dug* imin tayid* na frum* klaimapbat* la il imin afta* sidan* la wanim busyisy wal mi ay bin anggri* bla* taka mela bin tekim nu* taka de la dat il ay bin lafta* katimbat* merrepen ay bin itimbat* datan* na ay bin itimbat* itimbat* tu en ay bin megim dem* adamob* katimbat mu* tufala bin anggri* frum* de mela bin dringgimbat* wata* imin sey* faif* u* klok* na mela bin wuk bek mela wukbek we Andi bin drupimuf* mela mela luk dat* redwan* ka imin de na weitweitbat* bla* mela en mela bin kambek kemp den
As can be seen almost thirty per cent of words are problematic, and some of those are problematic in several ways. It seems to be clear that the orthography of Ngan‘gityemerri is, therefore, unsuitable as a medium for writing Ngan’giwatyfala.
Kriol orthography
(Some minor modifications have been made to usual Kriol.)
Wan Satidei moning mi Kitty en hu nathawan? Molly, Patricia, Mercia, Dominica mela bin askim githa bla gu anting langa atha said langa, wat that pleis na im kal? (Dangerous Gap intit?) Dangerous Gap. Wel mela bin askim bla Patricia asbin. Imin tekim mela. Imin dropimof mela la rod. En mela bin wok from la thad kona rait bak la thad liliwan krik wen dat wen dei bin shutim wan ulmen deya gat gan. Mela bin dringgimbat wada deya na. Wel mela bin stat klaimapbat ontop la il en ai bin stat lukranabat blanga weya that pokupain wen thei bin digimbat. Mela bin faindimbat sam freshwan owul we thei bin digimbat. Wel ai bin gu raitbek la wan kona en ai bin faindim shugabeg langa entpit en imin isiwan bla tegimaut mela bin abum liliwan eks. En Patricia imin biyain. Imin sidanabat la wan lilwan rok en im from samthing imin telim yu luk andanith en imin luk thad pokupain. Wal imin rait andanith wel mela kudun tekimautim tjepeka. En Patricia imin telim mi ‘Wan pokupain im iya ai kaan tekimbat yu kan alpum mi?’ En imin gibit mi thad ukwaiya. Ai bin trai teikimaut, nathing. Wel from theya mela bin mubimbat wan rok wel mi ai bin duing that wek tekimatbat that rok afta ai bin pulimat that pokupain bat imin onli lil beibiwan. Wal mela bin gudaun daun na. Wel mela, ai bin testi bla wada. Bat no wada bin deya wal mela bin klaimap ran en ran en ai bin get disi. Mela bin gu en mela bin abum wan dog im neim Sopi. Wel ai bin telim Patricia en Marita bla gudaun lukraunabaut wada. Dei bin faindim lilwan wadahol bat imin hotwan that wada. Ai kudan drinkim. Wal mela bin go raitaran with thad dog imin tayid na bla klaimapbat thad il imin afta sidaun la wanim bushish. Wal mi ai bin anggri bla taka. Mela bin tekim no taka deya la that il. Ai bin lafta kadimbat Merrepen. Ai bin idimbat tharran na. (Idimbat Merrepen?) Mm. (Yu kan idim?) Ai bin idimbat, idimbat tu, en ai bin mekim that nathamob katimbat mo. Tufala bin anggri tu. From theya mela bin dringgimbat wada. Imin sei faif o klok na mela bin wok bek. Mela wokbek weya Andy imin dropimof mela. Mela luk that redwan ka imin deya na weitweit bla mela. En mela bin kambek kemp den.
Local orthography
wan satidey moning mi Kiti en hu nadawan Molly Patricia Mercia Dominica mela bin askim gida bla gu anting langa ada sayd langa wot dat pleys na im kol Dangerous Gap init Dangerous Gap wel mela bin askim bla Patricia asbin imin drupimuf mela la rod en mela bin wok from la dat kona raty bak la dat lilwan krik wen dat wen dey bin syutim wan ulmen gat gan mela bin dringgimbat wata de na wel mela bin stat klaymapbat ontop la il en ay bin stat lukranbat blanga we dem pukupany wen dey bin digimbat mela bin fanydimbat sam fresywan uwul we dey bin digimbat wel ay bin gu ratybek la wan kona en ay bin fanydim syugubeg langa entpit en imin isiwan bla tegimat tufala bin afum lilwan eks en Patricia imin biyany imin sidanabat la wan lilwan rok en im from samthing imin telim yu luk andanit en imin luk dat pukupany wel imin raty andanit wel mela kudan tekimetim tyepeka end Patricia imin telim mi wan pukupany im iya ay kan tekimbat yu ken alpum mi en imin gifit mi dat ukwaya ay bin tray tekimbat nating wel from de mela bin mufimbat wan rok wel mi ay bin duwim dat wek tekimbat dat rok afta ay bin pulimat dat pukupany bat imin onli lil bebiwan wel mela bin gudaun daun na wel mela ai bin testi bla wata bat no wata bin de wal mela bin klaimap ran en ran ai bin get disi mela bin gu en mela bin afum wan dog im neym Sopi wel ai bin telim Patricia en Marita bla gudan lukranabat wata dey bin fanydim liliwan watahol bat imin hotwan dat wata ay kudun drinkim wel mela bin go ratyaran dat dog imin tayid na from klaimapbat la il imin afta sidan la wanim busyisy wal mi ay bin anggri bla taka mela bin tekim no taka de la dat il ay bin lafta katimbat merrepen ay bin itimbat datan na ay bin itimbat itimbat tu en ay bin megim dem adamob katimbat mo tufala bin anggri from de mela bin dringgimbat wata imin sey faif o klok na mela bin wuk bek mela wukbek we Andi bin dropimof mela mela luk dat redwan ka imin de na weytweytbat bla mela en mela bin kambek kemp den
English translation
One Saturday morning me Kitty and who else, Molly, Patricia, Mercia and Dominica, we all decided amongst ourselves that we would go hunting together over the other side [of the river] at, what’s that place called, Dangerous Gap isn’t it? Dangerous Gap. Well we asked Patricia’s husband to take us and he dropped us off on the road and we walked from the corner all the way back to the little creek where they shot an old man, with a gun. We had a drink of water there then we started climbing to the top of the hill and looking around for where the echidnas had been digging. We found some recent holes where they had been digging. Well I went all the way back to one corner and I found some honey in an antbed and it was easy to get out. Two of them had a little axe and Patricia was further back. She’d been sitting down on a little rock and something told her to look under the rock and she saw an echidna. It was right underneath. Well we couldn’t reach it apparently. And Patricia told me, ‘There’s an echidna here. I can’t get it out. Can you help me?’ She gave me the hook wire. I tried to take it out but I couldn’t. Well after that we were moving the rock, well I was doing the work, moving the rock, and then I pulled out the echidna but it was only a baby. Well we went all the way down then, well we, I, wanted a drink of water and there wasn’t any water there. We climbed up again round and round and I got dizzy. We went on and we had a dog with us, called Sopi. Well I told Patricia and Marita to go down and look for water. They found a little waterhole but the water was hot and I couldn’t drink it. Well we went all over the place with that dog. It was tired after climbing the hill and it had to rest in the whatchamacallit, the bushes. Well, as for me, I was hungry. We hadn’t taken any food there and I had to cut some sand palm nuts. I was eating them, I was eating two of them and I made the others cut more. The other two were hungry too. After that we were drinking water, it was about five o’clock then. We walked back. We walked back to where Andy had dropped us off. We saw that red car. He was waiting for us and we returned to the camp then.
It shood be noted, on the wun hand, that certen speech sounds ar reprezented by several fonic units, and, on the uther, that certen fonic units ar uzed to denote more than wun sound. This may seem sumwhot strainge at first.
What is your reaction to his suggestion? Does the fact that Wijk is not a native English speaker affect your feelings about his suggestion?
| Dixon, R.M W. | |
| 1980 | The Languages of Australia, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. |
| Rodgers, K. | |
| 1988 | Critical Review of Language Survey by John Sandefur, unpublished MS. |
| Wijk, A. | |
| 1977 | Regularized English Regularized Inglish. A Proposal for an Effective Solution of the Reading Problem in the English-Speaking Countries, Almqvist and Wiksell, Stockholm. |
| Yunupingu, B. | |
| 1986-87 | Language-Use in Yirrkala. In D-BATE: Aboriginal Teachers Write about Their Community Languages, Deakin University and Batchelor College of Aboriginal Teacher Education, NT. |