In defence of accent; my accent.

Written by Tobe Osigwe @ikolondigbo.

Towards the end of first half of this year, I was in Patabah Bookshop at Shoprite Adeniran Ogunsanya for Chimamanda Adichie’s Americana’s book reading. Suffice it to say that the shop was over-crowded with conscious and literate Nigerians. Ehm, who said Nigerians do 

not read? After the star of the day read some excerpts from her new book, the question and answer session began. And in no meantime, the gathering transformed into a feminist conference or should I say, a dress rehearsal for a Vagina Monologue play (that kind of I am not my hair, I am not my breast thing) as several ladies regal the audience with tales of head to head battle with their families, husbands, male cum female friends and society that tried to define, confine and outcast them, whenever they go natural with their hair. I think one of them told the story of a lady who went natural and plaited her hair on her wedding day, and how her family went ballistic for such a stupid and third class decision.

Well, I felt the pain of all those ladies’ narratives, of course I am not a lady so I won’t literally say I understood their inner battles and deep resentment for a plastic society with misplaced priority. Be that as it may, I empathized with them because as a born and bred Nnewi boy, I connected with their battles but in a different dimension. As a young boy with a THICK igbo accent, I obviously identify their struggle with a society that picks the wrong battle, the wrong yard stick and consequently sets the wrong standard.    

To have an accent in Nigeria can be likened to having a body odour. And, as body odour varies from one degree to another, so does accent varies from one form to another. There is the type of accent that can turn you into a comic relief in public, while some type can make you to be tongue tied in a public gathering, cause you dare not want to fall your village people’s hand, then, there is a degree of accent that can turn you into a complete jerk or buffoon. This last kind is the severe form of accent, the kind that makes a lady not to touch you with a long pole as if you are leprous. Did someone just ask which category I belong?

By act of omission or commission, I suddenly found myself in an elocution class earlier this year. Through the lens of elocution my accent became more magnified and I gradually discovered I was becoming more conscious of myself when I speak in public. And, read my lips, that is not a good sign. No thanks to elocution that made me realize my inhibitions. My teacher took pain to cast the demon that was making me call CHOP ‘SH’op while I call the SH sound CH. I was later sentenced to buy and study Daniel Jones Pronunciation Dictionary. I thought this will be the panacea to my supposed speech impediment. Little did I know it will be the beginning of a long walk to my supposed speech freedom.

Ab-initio, I thought I only had the CH, SH, R, and L displacement challenge and I studiously tried to expunge it from my tongue. So, I can speak like Jim Iyke. Delete. Denzel Washington. In the course of my practice, the teacher brought another dimension: Tobe, you have to pronounce and stress all the English phonemes correctly. For e.g., he said CUT should be /K^T/, that the C is like K while the U is like an A sound, T remains T.

The one that has put me in serious trouble lately is the, TH: putting my tongue in between my teeth to pronounce any word that starts or ends with TH. At a point, I got frustrated and asked the teacher, what is the point of all this burden, why should I speak this language exactly like a white man? He retorted “If you want to speak someone’s language you have to speak it like the owner. More so, if you do not speak well it will affect your self confidence in the public”. I asked the teacher, sir do you sound like this if you go to the market to buy tomatoes or if you board a danfo? He said no, with a cosmetic smile hanging on his cheek. That was when I became suspicious of the façade called elocution; the smokescreen began to clear from my eyes as my interest waned. His last answer, ever since then, has raised more unanswered questions for me.

What is the logic behind putting on accent like a cloth? Why should I speak differently to a market woman and speak with panache when I want to address a lady? Is it not hypocritical to sound impeccable on air but sound normal in my house as I discuss with my younger brother? Why should I not strive to pronounce Yoruba and Hausa words, an obviously alien language correctly as I strive to pronounce English words(please do not start with the English is an international language super story, what is good for Okeke should also be good for Okafor)? Am I really being real when I speak with cooked up finesse, I mean, a cosmetic accent?   

This reminds me of the struggle between the Jews and the Gentiles in the early days of Christendom. When the Gentiles gave their life to Christ and confessed that Jesus is the true son of God. Some Jews began to make their conversion burdensome for them by reminding them the Mosaic Law: you should not eat strangled meats, you should not eat blood, and food offered to the idols, you must be circumcised, with other Old Testament laws. This circumcision angle brought a lot of anarchy among the Gentiles who reckoned that if at their age someone should castrate them, then we guess this Christianity should be cross examined. Paul sharply intervened and told the gentiles that, all they need do is to accept Jesus, THAT’S ALL! They should ignore the over zealous Jews.

This Nigerian penchant of speaking like the owners of the language is akin to the circumcision jargon. I think it’s high time we defined the line between foreign speakers of English language and the original speakers. Methinks the idea of telling a full grown man born and bred in his home town to change his accent and speak like the owners of language before he will ever work in a radio station, TV station, star in films, work in a company is totally subservient to westernization and wholly subversive to our culture. Nowadays, some ladies will not as much as say hello to a guy that has an accent. The latest definition of being a gentleman, lady of substance or sophistication now, is by sounding British or Americoco.

Now, there is nothing wrong with sounding British or American especially if you were born there or went to a school here in Nigeria that rebuked the spirit of mother tongue out of you at a tender age. However, everything is clinically wrong when companies begin to use phonetics than intellect as yardstick, when broadcasting houses use elocution than passion and competence as prerequisite, when movie producers use fake accent than acting prowess for role casting. We should stop defining people by their accent but by their character and competence.

Granted that English is an international language, I believe we as local speakers should know where to draw the line. I strongly believe that our inability to know where to draw the line in borrowed cultures and ideals have been a cog in the wheel of our progress as a country and as a continent at large. Like an African proverb states, no matter how fierce the genital rages it can never penetrate through a wall. Moral; no matter how hard we try, we can never sound like the white man, and if at all we succeed, it will still not earn us their respect. What we need to sharpen and develop is our intellect, not our tongue. If you doubt me, ask the Chinese and the Indians. We should stop being like the Pharisees and Sadducees that prefer to wash the outside of a cup than the inside.

To this end I say, if you do not like the way I pronounce my words, do well to cover your ears when I speak, or come along with an interpreter if what am saying is important to you. I have accepted my weakness and moved on to more sublime matters. As Apostle Paul will say in 2 Corinthians 12 v9: “But His answer was ‘My grace is all you need, for my power is greatest when you are weak’, I am most happy then to be PROUD OF MY WEAKNESS, in order to feel the protection of Christ’s power over me”.

Read more by Tobe Osigwe on www.mindsnaps.wordpress.com