Mek We Yan (Notes for Naija Pidgin & English Language) by Eriata Oribhabor is published by Something for Everybody Ventures (SFEV) in the year 2020.
Eriata Oribhabor’s book on pidgin language, Mek We Yan, is a repository of a nation’s sickness, agitations, sad laughter, unionship, easiness and uneasiness. Oribhabor is a passionate pidgin writer and activist who takes on the illness of a system at a glance, and to be honest, there is no better way to satirize the catastrophe of a people than first dethroning the formality of the borrowed language and doing so in a language communal to the people. Pidgin is a language of ease, a beckoning and welcoming language, a conversational lingo, where there is scarcely the feel of intimidation in one party by another. Some would say it is the language of convenience, and convenience in every sense of it, because, as the viewpoint elaborates, no man who is pressed and is in urgent need of the restroom would resort to the propriety of English. Pidgin flows. Who dey there? Abeg do quick. Naija pidgin is home and Oribhabor makes a home out of it. For Oribhabor, as uncovered in this book, pidgin is a language of unfurling, one which is unbothered by grammatical constraints.
The book itself has an inviting title. Mek We Yan is easily a call to people to sit with one another and enjoy the luxury of laughter-doused chitchat. Yan, standing alone, means to discuss, to converse, so the author from title identifies that there is a problem. And he does not want the people to read their problems and nod to the metaphors (which is what writings in proper English language may offer) but for the readers to see themselves for what they are. Pidginization afforded Oribhabor a chance to create characters out of gloomy situations without making them as tragic as they were wont to be, but, holding on to the idea that Nigerians are the second happiest people in the world, weaves comedy into their challenges. So much is this comic interpretation that when AIDS — a rather sensitive health alarm in the country — was mentioned, it was poetically transposed to another context, If You No Fit Hod Body, Use Condom. Hold body here translates to abstinence and in a society where abstinence is akin to folly and unsophistication, it is advised that one should be so sensible as to wear rubbers (in the local parlance).
The book is divided into two parts. The part one aptly called From Di Starting, chronicles the regular life from the rashness of the street, to shrewdness of boycotting police checks and the general observation of Nigerian’s attitude as regards their preference of their stomach to any other problem. Opening the first part, the author fully understands the noisiness of Nigerians, the way they create chaos out of relatively peaceful situations. For instance, a police officer at a checkpoint, reaching a driver who is plying the road with illegal papers. Such driver never admits their offence but rounds up the officer with curses and claims that are inexistent, in the end when he zooms off, he sticks out his tongue at the officer, jeering, shouting, No be me una see, Dis Na Wrong Number, implying that the officer must have caught the wrong person. Oribhabor strikes a chord at how we are never receptive of good motives or intentions, so long as it means we standing and explaining for a long time. But we are always available to any union, or summons, if the aim is to chop life. And if anyone disagrees with this idea of refreshment amidst pains, you will be asked Who No Wan Chop Life? The second part of the book complements the first and continues the expressiveness till the end.
Oribhabor’s book carries with it daring comments on the social, domestic and professional lives of the people. Daring because it comes differently. The issue of bribery and corruption has for long held prominence in many Nigerian social commentaries. Holding politicians accountable for our problems has always been the spice of literature in the country for a long time, beginning from the time of Achebe’s The Trouble With Nigeria till now. Nigerians love the blame-shifting game, a rubbing of ego, particularly when they are exonerated from the illness of the nation. Oribhabor attacks with nuance, a rather humorous nuance, confronting the people, their pretentiousness, their hypocrisy, their looseness, and their swiftness to clad themselves in the garb of priests and judges over matters. It is not uncommon to find a Nigerian derogating another for prostituting, while they themselves would sneak out at nights to do the same. A gentleman on a queue at the bank would berate others for jumping lines, but would easily jump the same line at the hospital for antiretroviral drugs. A mother immediately condemns a child for her indecent sense of fashion but has a daughter somewhere whose clothing never gets beyond the thighs. Oribhabor discusses people who are ready to assume anything good: good mother, respectful girl, reserved girl, hardworking man, god-fearing and churchgoing, down-to-earth father. But they would never agree to have contributed to social vices. For the others, whom they consider socially unaccepted, they are quick to say, Yeye Dey Smell. It tells of how chameleonic (permit me to say) we are, how goodness is only a subjective thing, and not open to any form of objectivity. It is always a relief to have thinkers and social commentators like Oribhabor who once or twice remind us, both charlatans and the virtuous, that if you shine your eye proper proper, you go see sey you fit be Jesus for where some pipul wey sabi do holy holy for afternoon, do difren thing for night.
The reader of this book at a glance understands the creativeness of the title in each note. Level Go Change is a baptism of optimism, a litany in the face of the grimmest economic displacement. Kia Kia brings to mind the fast-pacedness of our people. Kia Kia is the language of cheating, hushed and hurried instructions on how a particular public item must be stolen, on how one due process or the other would be evaded. We, as a people, are moved by tangibility, by visibility (call it moneygrubbing), and so one must be ready to be asked Na Flower I Go Chop? if all they could afford are sweet, bone-chilling messages without money to prove their love. Arrangee Marriage is a dinner with the past, recalling the unwholesome marriage of absolutely different people, prior to Independence. Oribhabor also reminds his readers that our people are, by default, angry, and so when asked to Abeg Hold Your Side, u go jus shift from dia, for the consequences of further questioning are not usually funny.
The beauty of this pidgin collections transcends the ideas (or central ideas, scholarly put) running through it, or the emotions laced in the body of the work. The beauty is emboldened by its eccentricity, how evocative and pronounced the author is, despite knowing that a majority of his people are not ready for the truth. This beauty is also uncovered in the craftiness of the language, the multiplicity of meanings, its ambiguity, as well as the practicality of the lines. Oribhabor embodies metaphors of chaos, of mildness, of uneasiness, of animosity, of hypocrisy in this world. He is set out to do what Ngugi Wa Thiongo has decided to do with the language which the native people understand the most. This progressive attempt, especially in subtlety of pidgin conversations, makes literature a household item, and not aesthetically art for art’s sake.
Mek We Yan is available in bookstores in Ibadan and Lagos or you can contact the author, Eriata Oribhabor directly for directions on where to purchase a copy of this beautiful book!
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