The Kitchen Kaffir is slightly heterogeneous. A number of English and Dutch words have crept into it, with certain modifications to adapt them to the genius of the Zulu language. Amongst the former we would cite callidge (carriage), follik (fork), nquati (note, or letter), lice (rice), and so on, the pronunciation being governed by the fact that the Kaffirs experience difficulty in articulating r. The letter x is also a stumbling-block. Hence ‘box’ is transformed into bogus, and a popular English Christmas institution transplanted to the colony is known as a ‘Kissmiss bogus.’ ‘Sunday,’ again, is spoken of as Sonda or Sonto; and ‘horse’ is ihashi. In denoting money there are also some peculiar terms. A threepenny piece is known as a pen, and the latter word is pretty generally used amongst the Europeans themselves. I may here interject the remark that the threepenny piece is about the lowest coin in circulation in the colony. Pennies are scarce, and farthings an unknown quantity. I was told by a Natal schoolmistress that one of the greatest difficulties she met with was in teaching the children how many farthings made up a penny; and a little colonial-born girl once said to me: ‘Oh! how I would like to go to England to see farthings!’ The Kaffirs look down with contempt upon coppers. A half-crown is called, by a strange phonetic twist, a facquelin, and a florin—well, thereby hangs a tale. Some years ago, a contractor in Natal, who hailed from the north of the Tweed, hit upon a brilliant idea, which he thought would result in a great saving of expenditure. In giving his Kaffir labourers their weekly payment, he substituted two-shilling pieces—till then unknown among the natives—for half-crowns, thinking the ‘untutored savage’ would not detect the difference. They went away contented; but it was not long ere the storekeepers had enlightened their minds as to the true value of the money. I forget how the matter ended; but it is a sad fact that to this day the Kaffirs always speak of a florin as a ‘Scotchman.’ Traces of Dutch in Kitchen Kaffir are numerous.
As to the Zulu element in Kitchen Kaffir, I would premise that the written Zulu bears no very great resemblance to the spoken language. This is partly owing to the number of ‘clicks,’ which originally formed no characteristic of the Zulu tongue, but were many years ago borrowed from the Hottentots, who revel in these verbal impediments. There are three clicks, represented on paper by c, q, and x. The c is made by pressing the tongue against the teeth, as when one is slightly annoyed; while q is like a ‘cluck,’ and x like the ‘chick’ made to start a horse. These, however, are what musicians would term ‘accidentals,’ and but little interrupt the sonorous, melodic flow of Kaffir utterance. To those who know the Zulu language only through books, such words as gqugquza (to stir up) and uqoqoqo (windpipe) may seem next to unpronounceable; but in the native’s lips they lose much of their angularity. So, too, with such combinations as ubugwigwigwi (whizzing-sound) and ikitwityikwityi (whirlwind).
But now to return briefly to Sam. In many respects he is an excellent servant, and like most of the unsophisticated Kaffirs, could be trusted with untold gold. The average Kitchen Kaffir is frequently left in charge of a house during the absence of the family, and would no more think of making away with the valuables than would a watch-dog. One evening Sam asked and received permission to go to the ‘school,’ by which is meant the mission-school, where the Kaffirs are taught to read and write, and where they also receive religious instruction. The effect upon Sam was instantaneous. He invested in a new coat and trousers, a waistcoat, and a white shirt with long cuffs. Big boots adorned his feet, and a felt hat his head. A few days later he had acquired a paper collar, gloves, and leggings, and finally he blossomed out into an umbrella. His evenings are now spent in laborious vivâ voce attempts to master the alphabet, and the rude scrawls upon the whitewashed wall testify to his efforts at caligraphy.
There is much diversity of opinion in Natal as to the results attending the religious training of the native, and perhaps it would be well if a little more of the ‘sweet reasonableness’ of Matthew Arnold were imported into the discussion. There is, however, the fact that many of the Kaffirs are taught to read and write, and this cannot in the long-run be an evil. What has yet been accomplished, even at such institutions as that founded by Bishop Colenso at Bishopstowe, and that at Lovedale in the Cape Colony, is perhaps comparatively small; but it may be as pregnant with encouragement as the humble blue flower that cheered the heart of Mungo Park in the African desert.
TWO DAYS IN A LIFETIME.
A STORY IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.
CONCLUSION.
Presently the nurse came and carried off Miss Lucy and her doll. Lady Dimsdale rose and joined Mrs Bowood.
A minute later, a servant came and presented Captain Bowood with a card. The latter put on his spectacles, and read what was written on the card aloud: ‘“Mr Garwood Brooker, Theatre Royal, Ryde.” Don’t know him. Never heard of the man before,’ said the Captain emphatically.
‘The gentleman is waiting in the library, sir,’ said the servant. ‘Says he wants to see you on very particular business.’