It’s hard to live in Malta for long without some ‘Maltification’, slipping into the way we sometimes communicate, in a mingling of Maltese and English – Minglish.
A number of bilingual countries cocked a snook at their colonial past, taking pride in their own brand of Manglish (Malay), Tanglish (Tamil) or U-glish (Ugandan). So why not us?
When Salman Rushdie wrote his 1981 novel Midnight’s Children he came up with a new word: Chutnification is the “transformation of English, making the language more flavoursome, tangy and exciting,” according to Dr Sarala Krishnamurthy, dean of the School of Communication at Namibia Polytechnic.
Fooling around with direct translations can start off as a family joke, becoming established code within a select group of people.
The World Atlas of Varieties of English (Frieberg Institute for Advanced Studies) notes that a post-colonial “MaltE” is spoken “by a minority of speakers residing largely in the northern Valletta Harbour region”.
It’s perfectly possible to “drop” a building in Minglish. Once a turnkey project has been sealed, the delivery of materials to the upper floors often involves a “high-up”.
This word appears to be a singularly Maltese invention from which we may extract a drop of pride. It’s a perfectly acceptable take on Hiab, the Swedish brand of truck-mounted lifters and cranes, Hydrauliska Industri AB.
My all-time favourite is “it fell for me”. It’s especially useful when the Waterford champagne flute with a life of its own is lying in shards on your ruffled host’s marble floor.
Instructions to a child ahead of a family lunch party might go like this:
“Ejja, prepare yourself! Wake up from the chair so we make the table, then you can dress up.” (“Come on, get ready! Stand up, let’s lay the table, then you can get dressed.”)
Who is to say which is inferior/superior?
Ask anyone you know for a few examples of Minglish and they are sure to come up with some gems, as in this fictitious adventure:
Peter and Mary cut their tickets to see a play put up by V18. Peter’s wife pretended he should wear a trouser for Valletta. The scar on his leg, from when he did an operation, would show if he wore shorts. Mary calculated that with the trouser he would be more polite.
She pretended they go by ferry so that he could take her a photo on deck. But they heard that the ferry drowned in a storm so by force they had to go by walk. Their car, which had been at them for ages, had a Spartan plug missing. And anyway, they wouldn’t have found a parking.
Much mirth can be derived from the national dilemma on how to pronounce a simple English culinary term: ‘Bowl’
The play was so and so. But they met an old friend of Peter’s, who dropped them after the performance. What a combination!
No need for translation but did you laugh – or cry?
Petrol becomes petlor, aluminium becomes enimiliu, and allergy has been known to morph into “energy”.
A friend with the letters L, N and R in her name puts up with having it reversed to an utterance that sounds like a French car.
Asians have similar problems with these consonants. (If you don’t have trouble with them then your Maltese family line probably doesn’t go back beyond the Knights).
An English teacher based in the Far East has come up with exercises “to train the muscles in the mouth and make the shift from their natural way of producing those letters in their own language”. What about bad spelling on menu boards outside restaurants? I can’t wait for the first catering establishment in swanky Strait Street to present their clientele with Porku Sangwich and Stejk Gordon Blue as an added attraction, in the liberal spirit of the street’s heritage – a true mingling of tongues.
If said in a way that rhymes with “nest of lawyers” then chest of drawers is more likely to be distinguishable from “Justin draws”.
“Spitchered”, an RAF slang word, will score you 14 points on a Scrabble board. It appears in the Oxford English Dictionary but seems to have gone out of popular circulation.
Approval by Collin’s English Dictionary of the word “spuction” is still pending. An expression widely used for the inspection chamber related to the public sewer, it is not about to be flushed out of the system.
Only the other day, the Luqa local council referred in print to the “spuction” outside Frankie’s vegetable outlet. On reading this, an involuntary cheer escaped me.
Much mirth can be derived from the national dilemma on how to pronounce a simple English culinary term: “bowl”.
When delivered in Queen’s English it has an uncomfortably close ring to a base term for urine in Maltese. Rhymed with “vowel”, it becomes equally unmentionable at the dinner table.
It might be best if we agree to declare that the apples are in the fruit “boll” (rhymes with “knoll”).
While trying to inch your way through the crowded entrance of a tiny shop to grab the last copy of The Sunday Times of Malta, the rough equivalent in Minglish for “Excuse me, I’d like to get past please” is invariably: “Sorry!”
Barked out as a command, it lacks the usual apologetic tone, translating as:
“Get out of the way, I’m coming through.”
Could this be a hangover from our colonial past, when British officers patrolled the streets and military parades invaded public spaces?
Some elderly members of the population still back up against a wall, half raising a salute, when they spy a red-faced foreigner coming their way. Finally, the expression “out of the blues” has no connection with a Sliema hospital formerly run by English nuns. Clearly it’s here to stay, and the same goes for “one in a blue moon.”
While avoiding its use in exam papers or professional settings, let’s celebrate these unique thunderclaps which spice up our homegrown Minglish.
With thanks to all who contributed examples of mangled English, this article is dedicated to Valletta 2018.