It is very presumable that, as a reader, you will translate this discourse to mean culture perhaps after you have seen the caption. Actually, you are right – and you are not. The main subject here, as you might later find out if you tread along, is no two than language; oratory prowess and what have you? To start with, in what has necessitated this discourse, I should refer to a narration from one of you – a reader of my articles from the northern part of the country. For Mr Muhammad Nazeerudeen, it was an eyesore, seeing one of the parents of nowadays, Fulanis by tribe, choosing to train wards and children in the English Language than she did in her local language. I was made to understand that all the effort to make the woman in question to understand that her action is tantamount to a subjugation of her own very dialect in the face of a foreign one, proved futile. Well, as I would say, on either side of this divide, there are points, some cogent ones – waiting to be delved into.
Another scenario I should light-up is that given by the chief imam of my mosque, a professor, who asked his students what the word “poison” is called in an indigenous language and, they all exclaimed: poison; replicating the former sound they heard, unconsciously! Few among the children of today know their indigenous languages better than they know the English language. While they would speak passionately and quite spontaneously, they would let out strange and invisible bullets, sharp enough to penetrate a steel armor. You wouldn’t see them; you would never have noticed their blunders for they, their blemishes, would be confiscated under their warming smiles as they watched and mocked your assent and the way you slowly and carefully make the choice of “apt” words.
Well, quite dishearteningly, few of the children of nowadays could wield the English language they claim to know, properly. You would know of this when they address one, a son to their father’s brother, their cousin, as uncle; or when they address their teachers as aunties instead of mistresses. Their manner of controlling, driving or paddling the English language showcases their novelty at it. For my consciousness the other time I paid the parent of a six-year old child a visit, I would have devoured the watery part of his grammar that suggested that he was uncomfortable with the stench of his mother’s flatulence. “Mummy, why have you messed now”, he complained. Well, quite many a child and even a few grown-ups know not that “farting” is the apt word for what is perceived by them to be “a mess” or the pollution of air. But as if the former script acted was deficient, I was welcomed by another, coming from a brother to the six-year-old, a four-year old. While he would report the older one to their mum, another blunder became lanced in my direction. Well, if I might ask you, who would you blame for these inadequacies – the children – or the parents – under whose tutelage, the children were raised?!
A product of yesteryears would seem a colleague of mine (mo fo ruko bo lashiri) who had to ask what I intuited when I wrote on the chalkboard of my class, just recently, that the electioneering campaign ban had been lifted, when it had. Her desperation to abuse any remnants of the morphology of grammar became elucidated with her begging question of whether campaigning was banned prior to the time. Little would the grown-up lady know that any action not permitted by any known law for a specific period of time, however unannounced, is banned! Away from the predicaments of a child who has, over the years, metamorphosed into a grown-up that wallow in the most abject default of language, let me unveil the travails of many a toddler. A fight for supremacy it will seem in a matter of some bellicose duo I had to intervene. Toddlers, as I saw them, they churned thunders in the face of a lightening that did promise to blind semantics, stylisticsLET’S BLAME OUR PARENTS OF YESTERYEARS
By Adegoke Hussein
It is very presumable that, as a reader, you will translate this discourse to mean culture perhaps after you have seen the caption. Actually, you are right – and you are not. The main subject here, as you might later find out if you tread along, is no two than language; oratory prowess and what have you? To start with, in what has necessitated this discourse, I should refer to a narration from one of you – a reader of my articles from the northern part of the country. For Mr Muhammad Nazeerudeen, it was an eyesore, seeing one of the parents of nowadays, Fulanis by tribe, choosing to train wards and children in the English Language than she did in her local language. I was made to understand that all the effort to make the woman in question to understand that her action is tantamount to a subjugation of her own very dialect in the face of a foreign one, proved futile. Well, as I would say, on either side of this divide, there are points, some cogent ones – waiting to be delved into.
Another scenario I should light-up is that given by the chief imam of my mosque, a professor, who asked his students what the word “poison” is called in an indigenous language and, they all exclaimed: poison; replicating the former sound they heard, unconsciously! Few among the children of today know their indigenous languages better than they know the English language. While they would speak passionately and quite spontaneously, they would let out strange and invisible bullets, sharp enough to penetrate a steel armor. You wouldn’t see them; you would never have noticed their blunders for they, their blemishes, would be confiscated under their warming smiles as they watched and mocked your assent and the way you slowly and carefully make the choice of “apt” words.
Well, quite dishearteningly, few of the children of nowadays could wield the English language they claim to know, properly. You would know of this when they address one, a son to their father’s brother, their cousin, as uncle; or when they address their teachers as aunties instead of mistresses. Their manner of controlling, driving or paddling the English language showcases their novelty at it. For my consciousness the other time I paid the parent of a six-year old child a visit, I would have devoured the watery part of his grammar that suggested that he was uncomfortable with the stench of his mother’s flatulence. “Mummy, why have you messed now”, he complained. Well, quite many a child and even a few grown-ups know not that “farting” is the apt word for what is perceived by them to be “a mess” or the pollution of air. But as if the former script acted was deficient, I was welcomed by another, coming from a brother to the six-year-old, a four-year old. While he would report the older one to their mum, another blunder became lanced in my direction. Well, if I might ask you, who would you blame for these inadequacies – the children – or the parents – under whose tutelage, the children were raised?!
A product of yesteryears would seem a colleague of mine (mo fo ruko bo lashiri) who had to ask what I intuited when I wrote on the chalkboard of my class, just recently, that the electioneering campaign ban had been lifted, when it had. Her desperation to abuse any remnants of the morphology of grammar became elucidated with her begging question of whether campaigning was banned prior to the time. Little would the grown-up lady know that any action not permitted by any known law for a specific period of time, however unannounced, is banned! Away from the predicaments of a child who has, over the years, metamorphosed into a grown-up that wallow in the most abject default of language, let me unveil the travails of many a toddler. A fight for supremacy it will seem in a matter of some bellicose duo I had to intervene. Toddlers, as I saw them, they churned thunders in the face of a lightening that did promise to blind semantics, stylistics,modifiers, lexis, structure and invariably, all literary devices of the English grammar. The little kid in question could have saved himself a face if he had obliged his wailings that wouldn’t let him speak. In the wake of a deafening slap that his belligerent counterpart launched on his face, I heard him avow, to no little detriment to grammar, that he would report the clash to his father. “I will tell my daddy for you,” he stated. My enthusiasm at curtailing any more friction between these wrestlers was dealt a blow with the sporadic laughter that held my nasal cavity in captivity. I asked, as if unsure, of whom or where it was, that they both were educated. But then, to me, it became apparent that they were some children of our educated parents of yesteryears who constantly deface the English language while they efface their very own.
Another scenario I should light-up is that given by the chief imam of my mosque, a professor, who asked his students what the word “poison” is called in an indigenous language and, they all exclaimed: poison; replicating the former sound they heard, unconsciously! Few among the children of today know their indigenous languages better than they know the English language. While they would speak passionately and quite spontaneously, they would let out strange and invisible bullets, sharp enough to penetrate a steel armor. You wouldn’t see them; you would never have noticed their blunders for they, their blemishes, would be confiscated under their warming smiles as they watched and mocked your assent and the way you slowly and carefully make the choice of “apt” words.
Well, quite dishearteningly, few of the children of nowadays could wield the English language they claim to know, properly. You would know of this when they address one, a son to their father’s brother, their cousin, as uncle; or when they address their teachers as aunties instead of mistresses. Their manner of controlling, driving or paddling the English language showcases their novelty at it. For my consciousness the other time I paid the parent of a six-year old child a visit, I would have devoured the watery part of his grammar that suggested that he was uncomfortable with the stench of his mother’s flatulence. “Mummy, why have you messed now”, he complained. Well, quite many a child and even a few grown-ups know not that “farting” is the apt word for what is perceived by them to be “a mess” or the pollution of air. But as if the former script acted was deficient, I was welcomed by another, coming from a brother to the six-year-old, a four-year old. While he would report the older one to their mum, another blunder became lanced in my direction. Well, if I might ask you, who would you blame for these inadequacies – the children – or the parents – under whose tutelage, the children were raised?!
A product of yesteryears would seem a colleague of mine (mo fo ruko bo lashiri) who had to ask what I intuited when I wrote on the chalkboard of my class, just recently, that the electioneering campaign ban had been lifted, when it had. Her desperation to abuse any remnants of the morphology of grammar became elucidated with her begging question of whether campaigning was banned prior to the time. Little would the grown-up lady know that any action not permitted by any known law for a specific period of time, however unannounced, is banned! Away from the predicaments of a child who has, over the years, metamorphosed into a grown-up that wallow in the most abject default of language, let me unveil the travails of many a toddler. A fight for supremacy it will seem in a matter of some bellicose duo I had to intervene. Toddlers, as I saw them, they churned thunders in the face of a lightening that did promise to blind semantics, stylisticsLET’S BLAME OUR PARENTS OF YESTERYEARS
By Adegoke Hussein
It is very presumable that, as a reader, you will translate this discourse to mean culture perhaps after you have seen the caption. Actually, you are right – and you are not. The main subject here, as you might later find out if you tread along, is no two than language; oratory prowess and what have you? To start with, in what has necessitated this discourse, I should refer to a narration from one of you – a reader of my articles from the northern part of the country. For Mr Muhammad Nazeerudeen, it was an eyesore, seeing one of the parents of nowadays, Fulanis by tribe, choosing to train wards and children in the English Language than she did in her local language. I was made to understand that all the effort to make the woman in question to understand that her action is tantamount to a subjugation of her own very dialect in the face of a foreign one, proved futile. Well, as I would say, on either side of this divide, there are points, some cogent ones – waiting to be delved into.
Another scenario I should light-up is that given by the chief imam of my mosque, a professor, who asked his students what the word “poison” is called in an indigenous language and, they all exclaimed: poison; replicating the former sound they heard, unconsciously! Few among the children of today know their indigenous languages better than they know the English language. While they would speak passionately and quite spontaneously, they would let out strange and invisible bullets, sharp enough to penetrate a steel armor. You wouldn’t see them; you would never have noticed their blunders for they, their blemishes, would be confiscated under their warming smiles as they watched and mocked your assent and the way you slowly and carefully make the choice of “apt” words.
Well, quite dishearteningly, few of the children of nowadays could wield the English language they claim to know, properly. You would know of this when they address one, a son to their father’s brother, their cousin, as uncle; or when they address their teachers as aunties instead of mistresses. Their manner of controlling, driving or paddling the English language showcases their novelty at it. For my consciousness the other time I paid the parent of a six-year old child a visit, I would have devoured the watery part of his grammar that suggested that he was uncomfortable with the stench of his mother’s flatulence. “Mummy, why have you messed now”, he complained. Well, quite many a child and even a few grown-ups know not that “farting” is the apt word for what is perceived by them to be “a mess” or the pollution of air. But as if the former script acted was deficient, I was welcomed by another, coming from a brother to the six-year-old, a four-year old. While he would report the older one to their mum, another blunder became lanced in my direction. Well, if I might ask you, who would you blame for these inadequacies – the children – or the parents – under whose tutelage, the children were raised?!
A product of yesteryears would seem a colleague of mine (mo fo ruko bo lashiri) who had to ask what I intuited when I wrote on the chalkboard of my class, just recently, that the electioneering campaign ban had been lifted, when it had. Her desperation to abuse any remnants of the morphology of grammar became elucidated with her begging question of whether campaigning was banned prior to the time. Little would the grown-up lady know that any action not permitted by any known law for a specific period of time, however unannounced, is banned! Away from the predicaments of a child who has, over the years, metamorphosed into a grown-up that wallow in the most abject default of language, let me unveil the travails of many a toddler. A fight for supremacy it will seem in a matter of some bellicose duo I had to intervene. Toddlers, as I saw them, they churned thunders in the face of a lightening that did promise to blind semantics, stylistics,modifiers, lexis, structure and invariably, all literary devices of the English grammar. The little kid in question could have saved himself a face if he had obliged his wailings that wouldn’t let him speak. In the wake of a deafening slap that his belligerent counterpart launched on his face, I heard him avow, to no little detriment to grammar, that he would report the clash to his father. “I will tell my daddy for you,” he stated. My enthusiasm at curtailing any more friction between these wrestlers was dealt a blow with the sporadic laughter that held my nasal cavity in captivity. I asked, as if unsure, of whom or where it was, that they both were educated. But then, to me, it became apparent that they were some children of our educated parents of yesteryears who constantly deface the English language while they efface their very own.
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