African Languages and Translation
Sub-Saharan African Research Network
Institute for Advanced Studies, University of Warwick
Friday 11 March
[Slide 1] Introduction
Paper: Translating Wolof in the ‘Francophone’ Senegalese Text
In this paper I intend to explore:
[Slide 2] Key Areas for Discussion
· [click] the growing influence of the Wolof language in Senegal
· [click] different forms of Wolof/French “hybridity” in Senegalese women’s literature
· [click] examples of the manifestations of the Wolof language in Francophone texts
· [click] how the informed translator may choose to rewrite these texts in English
· [click] how an understanding of Wolof may amend the strategies of the translator
This paper is based on one subchapter of my thesis entitled: “Translating Francophone Senegalese Women’s Literature: Issues of Change, Power, Mediation and Orality.
I should add therefore, that due to the short time frame, I will only be exploring a very small part of my research into translating Senegalese literature today, but should anyone be interested in my research beyond this paper, I would be happy to provide them with further information and of course, I will be answering questions at the end of this talk.
In researching the translation of literature by Senegalese women writers, I came across a quote from a paper entitled “The Politics of Translation” by Gayatri Spivak in which she states that:
[Slide 3] Learn her mother tongue!
“Rather than imagining that women automatically have something identifiable in common, why not say, humbly and practically, my first obligation in understanding solidarity is to learn her mother tongue. You will see immediately what the differences are. You will also feel the solidarity every day as you make the attempt to learn the language in which the other woman learnt to recognize reality at her mother’s knee. This is preparation for the intimacy of cultural translation.” (Politics 379)
When translating Francophone texts into English, it is often considered sufficient to understand French and English. However, French is at least the second, and sometimes the third or fourth language of many Senegalese writers, and the local languages that came before it are rarely entirely absent from their works of literature.
Here, Spivak is suggesting that an individual learns the native language in order to translate, and I don’t believe this just means translating from a native language into English, but also when translating Francophone texts into English. In other words, that local African languages need to be learnt in order to translate African texts written in European languages.
So, by learning local Senegalese languages how can this effort influence the translation process when rewriting in English? To what extent is it a necessity in postcolonial translation? And is it possible to develop translation strategies and theories to accommodate this concept? In most African countries there are a number of widely spoken local languages, but what is unusual about Senegal is that one native African language is spoken by four fifths of the population, and therefore influences most people in the nation, including Francophone writers – that language is Wolof.
First defined by Fiona McLaughlin as “wolofisation” (153), the growing influence of the Wolof language is portrayed by Françoise Lionnet as dominating Francophone literature because “French is appropriated, made into a vehicle for expressing a hybrid, heteroglot universe.” She describes it as a “kind of “linguistic métissage” (326) which Maweja Mbaya notes in the works of many Francophone writers who:
[Slide 4] Wolofisation
“...make use, in their work, of words, expressions and grammatical structures that come from local languages and cultures, not because they are unaware of French norms, but through pure realism, and with the view to translating their real daily life. Respecting the standard norm no longer seems to be very important.” (this quote has been translated into English from the French, which is on your handout, point A.)
Hence, Wolof is not simply a common tongue that is spoken by users of different languages, but it also has an influence on the other languages that surround it, as well as upon the translator who not only has to mediate between two languages and cultures, but at least three – in the case of the Senegalese writer Mame Seck Mbacké who is of Wolof ethnicity – at least Wolof, French and English – the language the translator is working into in this instance.
[Slide 5] Wolofising French
But for the translator to form a strategy for dealing with texts that draw from multiple languages such as those by Francophone Senegalese women writers, it is first necessary to define the specific ways in which this type of hybridity may manifest itself within the writer’s works. In fact, Yves Clavaron speaks of two kinds of hybridity – that of genre (which I won’t have time to deal with today) and that of language, which will be discussed here. Both overt linguistic hybridity (switching between two languages) and discreet linguistic hybridity (one language or its structures, grammar and idioms articulated in another), have been discussed at length by theorists and can be broken down into separate categories for the purpose of this study.
For example, in The Empire Writes Back, Ashcroft et al. speak of [click] “selective lexical fidelity,” leaving untranslated words from a local language in the text to highlight cultural distinctiveness (37). And in Senegalese terms, Mbaya underlines the ways in which the French and Wolof languages interact to produce a hybrid form of communication. He describes [click] “code-switching” within conversations; beginning a discussion in Wolof, and switching to French half way through. This type of “code-switching” is also employed regularly by television presenters, for example (91).
It is parallel to Ashcroft et al’s “selective lexical fidelity,” but is distinct in that “code switching” is where one language is spoken then swapped to another, whereas “selective lexical fidelity” usually describes the way in which the French language is punctuated by the odd word in a local language. An extreme form of code-switching is described by Mbaya as a dialect called [click] “le français sénégalais,” (“Senegalese French”) or “le français langue d’Afrique,” “The French language of Africa” or “Africa’s French language.” a total mélange of the two languages (171) and used on the streets of Senegal. Mbaya cites the following example:
[Slide 6] Le Français Sénégalais
“Stabilité politique su amul, économie bi du muna dox” (121), which is literally:
[click] “Political stability if there is none, the economy will not work,” meaning:
[click] “If there is no political stability, the economy will not be good.”
[Slide 7] Wolofising French
Then there is discreet linguistic hybridity, which firstly can be found in the form of [click] ‘semantic hybridity’ in the way that words function, their value and meaning, which has been discussed by theorists such as Homi Bhabha (Location 248) or Kwaku Gyasi, who describes semantic shifts whereby European words and phrases are assigned new meanings (African 151).
Mbaya too cites the creation of entirely new words for phrases that are far more accessible in Wolof, but are based around the French language. For example, “absenter quelqu’un” means “not to be able to find someone because of their absence.” This does not exist in standard French, but it sounds French (161). This can also be considered a form of “calquing” (Makouta-Mboukou, Introduction). Finally, Mbaya reveals evidence of grammatical influences of Wolof upon the French language, where a French adjective such as “normal” is transferred into the negative form using a Wolof construct – “normal” becomes “normalul,” meaning ‘it isn’t normal’ (121). This can be described as [click] ‘syntactic and grammatical hybridity,’ a type of relexification, which uses structures or grammar from one language and expresses them in another.
These different forms of linguistic hybridity can be found in Senegalese women’s works. Firstly, “code switching” was found to be particularly evident in Mame Seck Mbacké’s poetry collection entitled Pluie-poésie: Les pieds sur la mer where she places a poem entitled “Timis” written in Wolof (33) half-way through the book – this is on your handout, point B, with a translation into English.
The rest of the poems are written almost entirely in French. The use of the Wolof language and the unusual layout of the poetry mean the text type is unclear. Is this Western-style poetry or oral poetry more reminiscent of African tradition? By translating the poem literally at first, the text type is clearer, individual phrases can be understood, and the translator can decide how to lay out the poem in translation. In fact, although the poem does use repetition, some rhyme and a clear rhythm, it generally follows a Western style.
Either way, the translator can make an informed decision in rewriting the text. Furthermore, if the translator chooses to rewrite the entire collection and she understands a few words of Wolof, she would know there is probably no need to translate this poem at all, for a version does appear in French on the next page. The translator’s decision then would be whether or not to translate the French version or the Wolof one for an English collection, for example.
Having lived in Senegal and experienced the source text culture and language was an immense help with the translation of some of the sentences, but it also raised questions that lack of knowledge would not have. This is evident in the analysis of the following extract from Le froid et le piment, also by Seck Mbacké, where the use of “selective lexical fidelity” is apparent:
[Slide 8] Example: Selective Lexical Fidelity
Le long des trottoirs, sous le froid mordant et dans la neige, traînent des sabadors, des boubous en flammes jetés par les fenêtres.... (Seck Mbacké 41)
Along the pavement, in the snow and biting cold, there is a trail of sabadors, flaming boubous which have been thrown from the windows....
“Boubou” is known by many Europeans as an item of clothing worn in West Africa, but the word “sabador” is an outfit worn by men in Senegal, consisting of trousers and a smart type of “boubou” worn as a shirt. Whilst it looks in this sentence that the latter is explaining the former, the words in fact have different meanings. Only the lack of “and” implies that Seck Mbacké is providing an explanation. In some ways, the above translation is not completely satisfying, but not wanting to over-domesticate the English version, that part of the sentence has been translated almost word for word.
[Slide 9] Wolofising French
In other examples, a Wolof word or phrase is followed by a translation into French in brackets. Chantal Zabus describes this technique of tagging or explaining an African word or phrase with its Europhone equivalent as [click] “cushioning” (158-159).
For example: and this is on your handout, point C:
“Elle a même préparé du thiébou dieune (riz au poisson) à ce dernier” (Seck Mbacké, Froid 63).
Whilst “riz au poisson” by no means describes the dish, again there has been an attempt to avoid over-domestication. However, the transcription of thiébou dieune is better amended:
“She even made ceebu jën (fish and rice) for him.”
In this transcription, the modern standardised version prescribed by the Centre de Linguistique Appliquée de Dakar (Malherbe 25) has been used, so it can be pronounced correctly by the well-informed. Seck Mbacké’s transcription is too firmly embedded in the French language.
“Cushioning” as a form of “selective lexical fidelity” is not only present in Seck Mbacké’s poetry and prose, but also her play entitled Qui est ma femme? where conversations between two of the protagonists combine both Wolof and French. The following example is on your handout, point D:
ADAMA: Amaïa. Arrête; Amaïa écoute-moi. Tu sais que ton mari t’a passé tous les caprices. Alors! De grâce reprends-toi. Adina amoul solo. La vie est si éphémère.
AMAIA: Si tu as des conseils à donner adresse-toi à ta femme. Toppatol sa affaire. Occupe-toi de tes oignons. Tu est pire que l’assassin qui vient présenter ses condoléances. (104)
ADAMA: Amaïa. Stop; Amaïa, listen to me. You know your husband has indulged all your whims. Come on! For goodness sake, pull yourself together. The world / life is not important. Life is too short.
AMAIA: If you have advice to give, speak to your wife. Mind your own business. Mind your own business. You are worse than a murderer offering his condolences.
Understanding the native language of Wolof, it can be seen that Seck Mbacké has translated each of the Wolof phrases into French in the next sentence. Evidently, this means that the Wolof phrases sound ‘silly’ when translated into English, and more suitable to be left untranslated so there is no unnecessary repetition in the English language. However, this does not necessarily have to be the case. The domesticating translator may decide to remove evidence of the Wolof language, or footnote the Wolof. Alternatively, the Wolof of Senegal could be translated into the Wolof of the Gambia, so for instance, “Adina” could become “Aaduna,” “amoul” changes to “amut” and “solo” to “soloh.” Again, the translator is mirroring the source text writer by working interlingually between a native language and a colonising language: