I dislike english because I feel she is a complex being for a girl who already has a complicated situation.
I met english at the tender age of 10 (or is it 12?) before then I don’t quite remember any memories of our meetings if there were ever any. She was happily delivered to me via books and sentences I didn’t get why were not crafted in a language I can understand when they were specifically drafted with me in mind.
Anyway, if you must know, I speak ‘partly broken’ english and I absolutely have no vision of improving it even though I day dream of a sexy blue eyed, brown haired and broad shouldered British english speaking close friend that my future promises to deliver when my eyes are closed.
English, besides the fact that she introduced and built a mansion in my territory without my consent, lovely english my dear friend is a bad adopted relative.
Firstly, she doesn’t know her place. She wants to be noticed even on occasions where she absolutely has no business attending. Like when I have to explain to my grandmother who doesn’t understand english the process of sending a fax. I mean I can happily do this in my IsiZulu but no english wants to be there, sticking her english self out, confusing the heck out of my grandmother and rendering my illustrations invalid.
Secondly, english is disrespectful. Everytime I try to have a decent conversation with someone of english descent and all eyes are on me because I’m making some profound point, she without informing me, sleeps away from my tongue and I’m left with the unfortunate journey of searching my messy brain archive for the word I wanted to actually utter because the one in my head doesn’t quite fit the conversation and if it does, it will make me sound like a group of students on a presentation they know not enough about. So I stare into nothingness leaving everyone in that awkwardly annoying suspense like they’re viewing a non-stop buffering youtube video.
Another thing which english does that turns my beautifully brown african skin from navy to almost charcoal grey with anger is directions. Even though I haven’t established it, I’m quite not the greatest when it comes to explaining and describing situations and circumstances in english but I hope I’ve established that I’m not to blame for that.
English always succeeds in making me sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about when it comes to directions. Good thing I don’t say up when I mean down but I definitely say left when I mean right. And I sometimes say isle when I mean passage. My mind always sees it but english fails to own it in my tongue and translate it with my mouth.
English is unreliable and just plain conniving but people still don’t boycott her. She has a whole range of multiple affixes that when given the chance, enjoy a good but unnecessary laugh out of my english learning Africans. In fact affixations take the cup of joyfully confusing me and my people.
Although me and english are still in a tug of war about seeing eye to eye when it comes to daily use, I continue to write in english because (though I say so myself) its the only time I do english some justice and she doesn’t embarrass me that much. And yes, that’s about the only time where I adhere to not only understandable but acceptable english standards.