Gul·lah/gele

OUR LANGUAGE IS NOT BROKEN

BY: SUNN M’CHEAUX

In the years since I started teaching Harvard University’s first and only Gullah language course, there are still moments when it feels surreal to be at such an esteemed institution of higher learning teaching my native language that I was barred from speaking throughout my education in Lowcountry South Carolina schools. Adding insult to irony, Gullah is a language that is indigenous to my hometown; English is not. Yet, I am often asked how I learned to speak Gullah, never how I learned to speak English. In a predominantly English-speaking colonized region, it is presumed that I must have picked up Gullah—an English-based AfroIndigenous creole—by way of exceptional circumstances with English being learned by default of my immediate surroundings, schooling, and society at large. Yes and no. Mostly, no.

Gullah was the first and foremost language of my immediate surrounds, a familial village in rural Mt Holly, South Carolina. It was not until I started attending kindergarten that I was formally introduced to the English… and anti-Gullah linguicism.

Even as a child, alongside mostly Gullah/Geechee classmates, I did not understand why communication gap between a teacher (who did not understand their students’ creolized English) and a classroom full of creolized English-speaking students (who did understand their teacher) was resolved by conditioning the many [students] to understand the one [teacher], never the one to understand the many.

Terms such as “proper,” “standard,” “bad,” and “broken” were used to justify the practice of in-class linguicism (linguistic racism) under the guise of teaching Gullah/ Geechee students “correct” grammar. I wondered why other bilingual students’ native languages were not deemed “incorrect.” What I came to realize is that I was not considered bilingual. Because my native language, even in its native region, was not regarded nor respected as a “real” language.

“What I came to realize is that I was not considered bilingual. Because my native language, even in its native region, was not regarded nor respected as a ‘real’ language.”

“I did not learn to speak Gullah, I was born Gullah; and speak it as my identity made manifest. The better question is how I learned to speak English.”

I did not learn to speak Gullah, I was born Gullah; and speak it as my identity made manifest. The better question is how I learned to speak English. The hard way. It did not have to be that way, though. A Gullah/Geechee student does not have to erase Gullah to embrace English. In fact, a teacher knowing that their Gullah/Geechee student calls a peanut “guba” or dragonfly “jingabaga” should expand both the teacher’s and student’s vocabulary, not reduce the student’s to standard English words.

While my primary purpose at Harvard University is to teach the Gullah language to students enrolled in my course, I hope the success of the course sets a promising precedent to other schools—particularly in the Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor region that service Gullah/ Geechee students—and helps destigmatize Black English and creoles in learning any subject. It can be that way… if we make it so.

Sunn will be a guest speaker at the We Lit Afro Indie Book Fair on March 6th. See www.afroindie.com for more info.