English is the official language of the Bahamas.


Seriously.


I know what you're going to say: you've been to the Bahamas before and can argue with certainty that what emanates from the gobs of Bahamians is certainly not English. It's not even American, for cryin' out nevermind!


When I first arrived in Nassau in 1991, I felt the same way. Although my job in Nassau required me to interact with Bahamians in person and on the telephone, I couldn't understand most of them. My ears were not accustomed to the accents and lilting emphasis of Bahamian English, or "Bahenglish".


It was so bad in the beginning that I was sometimes forced to pretend I was deaf--complete with a few tumbling, sign language motions with my hands--in order to avoid the embarrassment of not being able to understand a direct question levelled at me in my native tongue. Once, I even faked a ruptured gall bladder to divert attention away from my inability to understand a co-worker's question.


But I was proud, and soon began to see opportunity in my embarrassment. I always considered myself completely comfortable in the presence of individuals of nationalities, viewpoints, and beliefs that differed from my own. Just because I couldn't understand anything, didn't mean I couldn't communicate something.


So, I consciously began to view each language situation as an opportunity to show respect for the manner in which English is spoken in the Bahamas. I began to see the joy and happiness in the simple interaction between two human beings from different countries who speak the same language but have no real understanding between them.


Here's how I typically handled such situations:


Bahamian (looking directly at me with a friendly smile on their face):
"Bonje sjlps svbels slsa;lue euizols d dk vivces;a kd;lkja sdhl skld;lk, hey Joe?"


Me (averting my eyes to a freshly-poked pencil hole in the drop down ceiling):

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. That's really, super funny, but I didn't catch everything. Say again?"


Bahamian (looking directly at me with a friendly smile on their face):
"Bonje sjlps svbels slsa;lue euizols d dk vivces;a kd;lkja sdhl skld;lk, hey Joe?"


Me (tossing my head back and hands in the air in the universal gesture of good humor): "Hoo boy! Hee, hee, hee. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha."


Although my solution to this language dilemma was incredibly gratifying for me, it seemed to take my Bahamian co-workers slightly longer to appreciate its effectiveness. For some strange reason that must be cultural in origin, several seemed to purposely avoid all contact with me from that point forward.


I'm glad to say that I eventually developed an ear for the lilting language, and today I'm completely fluent in Bahenglish. I can understand Bahamians in the Straw Market, on Bay Street, even in Spanish Wells.



But whenever I see a tourist struggling to understand a taxi driver, scooter renter, or hair braid lady, I remember my own early days with fondness. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.