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Mama JunkYard's
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13:13
From: Mama JunkYard's
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I love to talk. I talk a lot. I have been called a chatter-box by more than one family member. Anyone who went to school in Kenya is familiar with the noisemakers list; a list of the names of any student who dared to speak in class while the teacher was out of the room. The classroom prefects and/or monitors were in charge of updating this list, which they would submit to the teacher upon his or her return. The teacher would call out the names, and one by one the noisemakers would make their way to the front of the classroom for a good ass-whooping. (I use this phrase both figuratively and literally because there were one or two male teachers who seemed to take great pleasure using the canes on our behinds as opposed to our hands) My fondness for talking was such that one teacher in particular threatened to punish any monitor or prefect who submitted a noisemakers list that did not include my name. As a result of this, my name would oftentimes be the only name on the noisemakers list. For all the beatings in the world, for all the having to kneel down on cold concrete floors with hands suspended above my head…I still love to talk.
As someone who loves to talk it is only natural that I find myself engaged in the all sorts of conversations. This in turn has exposed me to weird questions, annoying phrases, and strange words most of which I let slip by. There are however a few things that people have said/asked that have had me vowing never to speak again. These are my top three.
1. ‘So, how do you know so-and-so?’
This question can be heard at parties, especially birthday/house parties with the host’s name replacing ‘so-and-so’. The guest who asks this question is usually one who feels that they have known the host that much longer than you and by extension have more right to be there than you have. In the same way one will observe a dog lifting up its leg at every other lamppost as it goes about its daily walk on a familiar route; the guest who asks this question can be seen moving from person to person marking out those faces he or she does not recognise. If this guest stops at you and this is the first question they ask; you are the lamppost.
2. Use of terms of endearments by total strangers
I miss the days when Routemasters filled the streets of London and bus -conductors would struggle to keep their balance as they churned out tickets from what looked like a rather old cash register dangling from their necks. What I don’t miss is how every conductor would conclude their sentence with the words such as ‘love’, ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’. I could never understand what it was about asking for a single to Covent Garden that would inspire such affection from someone I did not know. This behaviour is not just limited to bus conductors. I had a Design and Technology teacher who would say things like ‘Alright sweet-pea?’ or ‘How are you doing my sweet and sour?’
As if this is not enough, the use of these phrases is not standardised. So for instance in Yorkshire one can be called ‘love’ by a stranger, in the West Country do not be surprised if someone refers to you as ‘my lover’. Here in Nigeria it is ‘baby’ or ‘babygirl’
What I dislike most about this sort of talk is that it is contagious. I have noticed that I now refer to anyone and everyone as ‘my dear’. Why I do it, I do not know. What I do know is that 99% of the people I use it on are not dear to me. It disturbs me greatly to know that I am part of the problem.
3. Archaic words/Big grammar* used in everyday conversation
I know exactly when my hatred for this behaviour began. It was when a security guard at work said to me;
‘Kui, are you ok? You look ee-MASH-EE-ated’
After he wrote it down for me I discovered the word was emaciated, which according to Mshairi is pronounced ee-may-see-ated. Whatever! The guard meant to that I had lost weight yet what he said to me was that I looked “thin or haggard, especially from hunger or disease.” Was there ever a greater conversation killer?
Since I have been in Nigeria I have heard people speak of ‘paucity of funds’ when what they mean is that they are broke, or ‘my peculiarities’ when everyone knows that is a nice way of saying ‘ I have issues’
While these sorts of words may have a place in written texts or even speeches delivered to a particular audience, in everyday conversation I find it breaks the flow. I end up focusing on the word itself and not what the person is saying. Lord help both of us if t is a word I have never heard of before because whatever story was being told shall have to be interrupted while I ask endless questions about the words meaning and origin.
*Baba Willy’s Pidgin dictionary defines big grammar as ‘long and difficult English words’
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Thanks to the Dr for his input on regional variations of the use of the word ‘love’.
Thanks to JKE too for helping me organise my thoughts.
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20:48
From: Mama JunkYard's
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Growing up and living as a Kenyan abroad you get accustomed to people asking the most ridiculous questions about your country of origin. I have on one occasion been asked if I know someone called John, because apparently John was in Kenya. No hang on, John was in Ghana but what does it matter? I must know John. Countless of times someone has asked me if I have bumped into a lion/rhino/elephant. Just recently a non-Nigerian (albeit a rather drunken one) asked me how I came to Kenya from Nigeria. Sometimes these questions irritate me; sometimes they amuse me; other times I am amazed at the sheer stupidity of some people. Yet in all these times I have never felt such anger as I have recently.
In the wake of what can only be described as one of my country’s darkest moments I have found that being a Kenyan abroad has generated a series of deeply troubling questions from non-Kenyans such as:
Oh you are Kenyan? So what tribe are you/What ethnic group do you belong to?
Or
You are from Kenya? So are you Kikuyu or Luo?
On the surface it is easy to view these questions as innocent enquiries from a non-Kenyan who wants to know more about where I am from. Given the manner in which ethnic differences crept into the dispute over the government’s claim to power I know all to well that these questions are anything but innocent.
The first question, in my view is a personal question and should have no place in a discussion between people who barely know each other. Furthermore it rests on the assumption that there is a simple response. For instance, there are many Kenyans who do not belong to one ethnic group or tribe and the question suggests that a single tribe response is the desired answer.
In the case of the second question, it is equally personal but it is more offensive than the first because it reduces my country to a two-tribe nation. It ignores the existence of every other Kenyan who does not fall into either the Kikuyu or Luo ethnic group. It also assumes that one can not fit neatly into both ethnic groups.
That said, what really angers me about both questions is that most people who ask will then use whatever response I give as a basis to project their own limited knowledge of the political and ethnic situation in Kenya.
When I opt to answer these sorts of questions I simply state ‘Kikuyu.’ Each time I have done so my response has been met with statements like:
You must be happy with the result then
or
Ah! It is your man/brother who is in power
even this:
You guys really rigged this election
In single sentence a person has taken my cultural/ethnic identity and formed an opinion about my political allegiance, placed blame upon me for the outcome of the election and worst of all suggested that despite the fact that my country is in turmoil…I am pleased.
The most frustrating part for me is, I am still not sure who/what I should be angry at:
Should I be angry at those individuals who believe that I, who can not speak a word of Kikuyu, would place such importance on my ethnic identity to the extent that I would not only stake my right to vote upon it but forsake my national identity because of it?
Is it fair to direct my anger at the Western media who oftentimes spoke of and wrote about Kenya and Rwanda in one breath/sentence thereby blurring the distinction between a nation disappointed in the outcome of a flawed election and a group of people who value ethnicity more than nationality?
What about those who willingly took part in the destruction of our people, our country, our lives and our homes, maybe I should be angry at them?
Perhaps those who made a mockery of our democratic right to be governed by the leaders we elect, who betrayed the trust we placed in our electoral system…maybe this should be the root of my anger?
I am not content with directing my anger, in equal measure, at all of the above because it is not that simple. I am not content with being angry because it is not productive.
I will have to work something out because when people who can not find Kenya on a map, who do not know the difference and distance between Ghana and Kenya, who can’t accept that we too can fly from our country to over 40 destinations worldwide on Kenya Airways…. when these people start telling me about my ethnic identity and what it means…I get really angry…
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18:25
From: Mama JunkYard's
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Cross-posted from KUL Admin blog
Introduction
On June 1st 2007, Kenyans everywhere will be celebrating Madaraka Day. Madaraka Day commemorates the day that Kenya attained internal self-rule following an important milestone on the road to independence. To mark this event, we would like to invite members of the Kenyan Bloggers Webring to blog in unison under the banner ‘Kenyan Bloggers’ Day’.
Why?
This day is opportunity for members of the Kenyan Bloggers Webring to share their thoughts on the topics below. Last year’s Kenyan Bloggers’ Day featured a wide range of inspired posts. The level of support and interaction shown by our members in response was outstanding. See how members celebrated last year
How to Get Involved
On or on the weekend of June 1st 2007, we are proposing that we all create a post on any or all of the following suggested topics:
* Kenya
* Being Kenyan
* Being a Kenyan blogger
* Being a member of KBW
The post can be a piece of prose – 2 lines, an essay, a poem, a podcast, a photograph, your favourite quote. It is entirely up to you how you chose to celebrate this day. You don’t have to be Kenyan, just a member of KBW.
On this day we wish to use collective blogging as means of celebrating the nation that unites us as bloggers of KBW.
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19:52
From: Mama JunkYard's
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When I left the UK for Abuja I took with me (amongst other things) the Dr’s old laptop, which he had recently swapped for a very shiny Sony Vaio. The Dr’s old laptop was at that time (mid August) around 5 years old which in laptop years is approximately 55 years old but it still worked well enough for me to carry it halfway around the globe with the sole intention of it acting as my second/home machine.
Getting the laptop to Nigeria was not easy. I was due to fly immediately after the UK terror alert that had resulted in many travellers being issued transparent plastic bags to carry their hand luggage, so in preparation I went and bought a laptop rucksack which was apparently the right “carry-on” size. I say apparently because the woman working at the British Airways check-in desk the day I was due to fly was of the opinion that my rucksack was way too big. Unfortunately for me, those metal tray things by the check-in desk that let you determine if one’s bag is the right size supported her opinion. I was not keen to check-in the old laptop so I decided to buy one of those pull-trolley things that one often sees cabin crew dragging along. Still the item was too big. The BA woman, sensing my determination to carry the laptop on board informed me that BA did have bags available.
I wish I had taken a photograph of the bag, which is no longer in my possession. It was one of those of raffia/plastic-chequered bags that many African/Caribbean families in the UK use as laundry bags. My brother told me that these bags are called “Ghana-must-go” bags and that certainly appears to be what everyone in here calls them. Sokari has a photograph of similar bags on her blog. I say similar because the one I was given was incredibly tiny; like a medium to small handbag. I am actually tempted to call it cute had it not clashed, both in colour and in style, with what I was wearing.
The bag was blue, red and white. I was wearing black trousers, a white top, brown shoes and should have been carrying a matching brown hand bag (which was now emptied of all its contents and squashed into one of my suitcases – the very same suitcase that arrived in a Abuja more than a week after I did!) The extent of my higgledy-piggledy look was brought to the fore when the man at the Duty Free counter took one look at my bag, pulled out an extra-large duty free bag and dumped my ‘Ghana-must-go’, laptop and all inside. As he handed the bag back he gave me a look that said ‘it’s ok…your secret is safe with me!’
Upon reaching Naijaland I discovered that my work computer was not where I expected it to be i.e. on my desk in my office. Neither was my desk for that matter, which at the time made perfect sense because I hadn’t been assigned an office. The old laptop which no doubt was sulking after suffering the indignity of being carried in a bag that lacked the necessary cushioning and support that it was accustomed to became both my work and home computer. I reassured both the laptop and myself that this was only a temporary measure but by January 2007, despite getting an office and desk, I still didn’t have a computer.
By this time the laptop had gone from old to ‘one foot in the grave’. It could no longer serve as a ‘portable computer’ because one slight move would result in the machine turning itself off. It would then take a further five minutes of twiddling with the power cord and coaxing it to stay attached to the computer. As the battery never seemed to charge, I did consider taping the power cord to the laptop but then I remembered that the power cord was a replacement of the previous one that had caught fire around the part that connects it to the computer. Aside from the laptop’s in ability to stay on for more than 30 minutes at time, there was the start-up issue (it took 20 minutes to start-up) the lack of multi-tasking capability (the machine could run no more than one application at time), failing USB ports, broken DVD drive … basically the machine was barely functioning.
In mid-February, the Dr and I decided that it was time to get a new machine, which he would bring to Abuja when he came to visit in March. I knew what I wanted; a black MacBook and by the end of February the BlackBook was sitting in a box in Lancaster awaiting its trip to Naija.
There is common saying about buses – you wait for hours and then two arrive at once. Well the same can be said about computers (in this case at least) because two days before the Dr was due to arrive my desktop; complete with printer and a back-up power supply unit was delivered to my desk!
So here I am six months into my stay – I finally have a machine in the office and a machine that I can use at home for blogging, Skype, playing games, listening to music…all at the same time. All I need to do now is get accustomed to using a Mac, which I recently discovered does not have a delete key.
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11:50
From: Mama JunkYard's
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When I first arrived in Abuja I did a post entitled ‘Wetin Dey Happen’ and this would have a good time for my Nigerian friends to inform me that there a myriad of ways for us to ‘greet ourselves’ here in Naija. Below is what I have managed to come across so far and would welcome corrections for any spellings, meanings and usage that I may have got wrong- oh and any other greetings I may have missed out.
Well Done: Nearly every morning I would exit the lift at work and the security guard on duty would say what I thought was “Welcome Ma’” to which I would respond with, “Thank you, how are you?” Soon after I worked out that he in fact was saying, “ Well done Ma’!’” and though I would often wonder what he was congratulating me for, I would still thank him and ask how he was.
A colleague later explained that in as much as it appears to be a greeting, the context of the phrase that I was already familiar with (i.e. well done as a congratulatory remark) remained the same. In essence the security guard was applauding me for turning up for work and encouraging me to have a good day.
How you body de? Pidgin English; often used when addressing someone who has been unwell. The first time I heard it was during my first week in Abuja. I was staying in a hotel and had just developed a cold. The guest relations manager knowing that my Pidgin English was not my strong point, opted to greet me in what can only be termed as the literal translation of the phrase. I can not even begin to describe my shock when I heard her utter the words “How is your body?”
Compliments: This word is a contraction of the phrase “Compliments of the festive season to you” of which the UK equivalent is either/both Merry Christmas and/or Happy New Year. Given that the December holiday period not just about Christmas and that Nigeria is a religiously (culturally) diverse nation; it is the perfect way to greet your workmates. It is just a little confusing hearing it in the short form for the very first time.
How far? Similar to “How is it going?” though the first time I heard it I didn’t have time to think of it in those terms. All I could think of was “How far with what?” I still am not sure of the appropriate response.
How you dey? This one I got first time around even though I wasn’t quite sure what the ‘dey’ bit meant, the ‘How you’ does indicate that it is some sort of enquiry into how one is doing. What I didn’t grasp until fairly recently was that while saying ‘I’m fine’ is ok; there is a proper Pidgin English response; two in fact. These being either ‘I dey’ or ‘I dey kampe’; the latter used when one is doing really well.
Attached to these greetings are a string of questions that a greeter usually attaches such as How was your night?, How work? and How your people? I am sure there are many more but now I am better prepared. Throw any greeting at me and I will respond confidently with the “catch all” response; I thank God o! (The ‘O’ at the end of the sentence is optional, but I like it)
* The title of this post has its origins in a conversation I had with one of my regular taxi guys. Two days had elapsed since I had ridden in his taxi so I was surprised to see him flashing my phone. (To flash in the context of mobile phones is to ring someone’s phone and hang up before they respond as means of getting that person to call you back) Thinking I had forgotten something in his car, I broke my ‘ignore all flashers’ rule and called him back. Upon picking up his phone he happily informed me “Auntie O! I just de greet you!” Still couldn’t work out whether it was just a sweet gesture or a smart business move or a bit of both; but it made me happy.
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5:25
From: Mama JunkYard's
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In many ways I am glad to see the back of 2006. It has been a rather unsettling year with many unexpected events; however even in all the chaos 2006 has had some flashes of pure joy. Top of the list no doubt has been the support of friends and family especially during the time of Mum’s funeral.
I never thought that my mum would die so soon after moving to Nigeria. My family in UK and Kenya worried over how I would take the news given that I was in a new country almost all alone. I say almost because even though I did arrive in Nigeria alone certainly by the time I was leaving for Kenya to attend the funeral I knew I had some solid friends in Nigeria. I had barely known them for a month but each one of them stood by me in ways that I could never have imagined. Likewise when I arrived in Kenya I was touched by the outpouring of empathy, compassion and love extended to my family by all our friends.
Right now I am blogging from Kenya. I was in two minds about making this trip because as much as I wanted to see my family I was unsure how we would deal with a Christmas without mum. I am thrilled I made the trip. It hasn’t been easy but just like the last time there have been friends on hand to see us into the New Year. In a strange way this has been one of the best holidays I have had and I believe my brother and sisters are of the same view.
So as I head back to Abuja and as we work our way through 2007 I want to thank each and everyone of you who has taken time to support my family. So many of you were friends before mum’s passing and now I count you as family. To those of you who were strangers you are now friends. I wish you all the very best for the year ahead. May you all have more of those instances of pure joy and in the event that life throws you an unexpected event I pray that I can be a good a friend to you as you have been to me.
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10:48
From: Mama JunkYard's
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For most people in Abuja the sign below is nothing more than one of Abuja’s many street signs. For me (and indeed anyone else who speaks Kiswahili) two of the places mentioned instantly stand out:
Nyanya is the Kiswahili word for grandmother and tomato ( I have never known why the two share the same word in Kiswahili - any takers?)
Kubwa in Kiswahili means big.
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9:03
From: Mama JunkYard's
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I thought that Abuja’s Cherry Plus (bakery/coffeeshop) only specialised in amazing coffee; it turns out that according to their menu (pictured below) the Hot Chocolate has super magical powers!
For those who are soon to turn a year older, worry not about your ageing eyes - here is a close up.
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15:59
From: Mama JunkYard's
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I don’t really want to be transformed into a four legged braying work animal but I have recently learned that there is Hausa phrase for foreigners who are fluent in Hausa; this being, “Ya iya Hausa kamar jakin Kano” which literatly translates to “he speaks Hausa like a Kano donkey.” Owing to the fact that ever since my arrival in Abuja I have on numerous occasions (at least six times in one day!) been addressed/spoken to in Hausa by many who have mistakenly identified me as a Hausa speaking Fulani woman I have decided to learn Hausa.
The security guard at work has kindly agreed to teach me a phrase a day. It is going well and I am further encouraged by two things. Firstly, there is no greater honour that can be extended to a visitor than treating him/her as if he/she was not a visitor. The least I can do to show my gratitude is to take steps to integrate with the people of my host nation and though there are over 200 hundred languages spoken in Nigeria I should not let this deter me from learning at least one before I leave. Secondly it has been brought to my attention that there are Hausa words that are similar to those that I am already familiar with as a result of my knowledge of (dare I say fluency in) Kiswahili. I feel like the battle is half won so why not go all the way?
So for anyone else who wants to join me in quest to become a Kano donkey; here is a list of English words with their Hausa and Kiswahili translations and who knows maybe there shall be an all Hausa blog soon.
- Twenty = Ashirin (Hausa); Ishirini (Kiswahili)
- Thirty = Talatin (Hausa); Thelathini (Kiswahili)
- Forty = Arbain (Hausa); Arbaini (Kiswahili)
- Fifty = Hamsin (Hausa); Hamsini (Kiswahili)
- Sixty= Sittin (Hausa); Sitini (Kiswahili)
- Thursday = Alhamis (Hausa); Alhamisi (Kiswahili)
*Learn to count and days of the week in Hausa.
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15:53
From: Mama JunkYard's
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Thank you to everyone, not only for the comments accompanying this post but also for the love, support, empathy, patience and friendship over the past month and a half. It is appreciated.
The Lancashire sea-side resort of Blackpool is home to an Eiffel Tower inspired structure imaginatively named “The Blackpool Tower.” Standing at 518 ft 9 in tall (158 m) the Blackpool Tower is a great place to view the Lancashire coastline. In particular one of the lower platforms contains a glass floor which, while not advisable for those who suffer from a fear of heights, is a wonderful way to see the streets below. The people and cars really do look like ants! When the Dr and I visited Blackpool we told that we must attempt “the leap of faith” i.e. jumping onto the glass flooring. I am not ashamed to admit that I fell into the “O ye of little faith” category – I did not jump!
With hindsight I realise that it wasn’t faith I lacked; it was courage and the “leap of faith” title attributed to jumping onto the glass flooring was/is a misnomer. A leap of faith after all is defined as the act of believing in something without, or in spite of, available empirical evidence.
In the case of the glass floor at Blackpool Tower; there is empirical evidence to support the claim that jumping onto the glass floor will not cause you to drop to your death. It may not be readily available but certainly the engineers responsible for the structure could provide a series of calculations that prove the glass floor could withstand the “jumping weight” of a human being. The idea that jumping on the glass will lead to fall straight through is nothing more than an illusion.
It was only recently, November 13th 2006, to be exact, a month and a day after my mother died that I truly understood what it means to take a leap of faith. Since October 13th I have been told by many people that “things will get better,” “it will be ok, just give it time, or “it won’t hurt so bad after a little while.” From the time I left Kenya, a week after the funeral, to return to Abuja I sought proof to support these statements. Reluctant to go back to doing the things I enjoyed and talking with the people I love because all they did is remind me of a time when mum was alive. A time that I could say that though my mum was in coma she was still alive, we could still see her, touch her and speak to her. Happier times. A time that had gone forever and would never ever come back.
So here I am writing this blog post. I don’t want to write it because with mum’s death came this invisible line that marks everything in my life. Things, events, people, everything seems to neatly fit into one of two categories: those before mum’s death and those after. For a month I have tip-toed on that line. Not wanting to interact with those things that fall into former category for the reasons explained in the paragraph above and equally not wanting to cross over into the latter because I feel that, in spite of all the messages of “things will get better” I am convinced that they won’t. Yet I am writing this post because I know that the line is nothing more than illusion. Irrespective of how I feel the world did not come to standstill on October 12th 2006; it was for all intents and purposes just another day, as was October 11th I am writing this post because even though I have no proof that things will get better; I have to believe that they will.
So this post here; this is my leap of faith.
Hopefully tomorrow this same faith will empower me to respond to the lovely emails I received….and to write a thank you post…and to do all those things that I have been scared to do…
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10:02
From: Mama JunkYard's
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I am blogging from the beautiful capital of Nigeria, Abuja, which shall be my home for the next 12 months.
My internet access at the moment, while being 100% free and 100% unlimited is also 100% unreliable. Hopefully that will change very soon as there is so much I want to blog about.
So far everyone I have met has been incredibly friendly and hospitable. Nigeria is the only country I have been to where an Immigration officer has said to me, ‘I hope you extend your stay to three years’. Not sure I will take him up on his offer but so far all is going well.
The only downside being that I, along with about fifty other passengers had some or all of our luggage left behind. Thankfully for me two of my three suitcases that made it across were the ones that had my important stuff - my underwear, eight boxes of Jaffa Cakes and my flashlights (thanks Remi I have experienced 4 power outages in 24 hours and I have had to rely on my torch for the two minutes of darkness before the generator kicks in!). The one suitcase that has all my shoes, Ketepa tea, Royco and java coffee shall apparently be with me tomorrow!
Last night while driving around Abuja I noticed a few street names that reminded me of Kenya such as Eldoret Close and Embu Close (or Road…can’t remember) which are both towns in Kenya. Eldoret for many years was home to most of my family including Mshairi, Uaridi and Nyakehu.
I know this blog post is rather disjointed but it is my attempt to cram everything in before my internet connection dies again.
‘Wetin dey happen’ is Nigerian Pidgin English for ‘What is going on’ and is used as a greeting in the same way as one would say ‘What’s up?’.
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11:52
From: Mama JunkYard's
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Commas ( ,)
I hate them.
Perhaps hate may be too strong an adjective but commas and their correct use have become my biggest bugbear.
I put it down to the fact that I speak very quickly. Not always, certainly never in a formal or professional capacity. In an informal setting, those who have heard me speak will confirm that every word I utter merges with the next. No full stop to separate my over running sentences. Speaking at the speed of light, as it is called by some members of my family, does have some advantage; there is no better way to repel a person than to waffle endlessy about useless facts at a pace so fast that all they can hear are abunchofjumbledupwords. They immediately walk away baffled and afraid to ever speak to me again.
Yet like most things in life, this trait does have its disadvantages. The speed of my speech is ultimately governed by the speed at which the thoughts in my brain travel. The same is true of anything I read, especially when reading silently, I barely notice punctuation marks. Thus when I sit to write a blog post I often do so with very little punctuation. Upon completion of the post I read it aloud and attempt to insert the relevant full stops commas and whatever else is missing.
This method while useful is flawed. Firstly it can only be used when I am blogging from home, or any other location that enables me to engage in what is essentially talking to myself. Secondly, try as I may, I can only read the post aloud at two speeds. One speed being my normal speaking speed, which defeats the object since my speech pattern cares little for the apparently natural breaks in conversation. The other speed is my attempt at mimicking what 99% of my friends and family would consider normal. The end result, to my ears at least, is something that sounds rather ghastly and takes me back to the days when the Walkman was the ‘in’ musical accessory. At this supposedly normal pace I sound exactly how a tape played through a Walkman would sound right before the battery died. E v e r y s i n g l e l e t t e r i s d r a g g e d o n a n d o n a n o n until it becomes impossible for me to work out where the punctuation marks should be placed.
So conscious am I of my grammatical shortcomings that I either use very short sentences or I rely on a tactic which while being grammatically incorrect does make me feel slightly better; once I have completed my post I simply insert a comma at random intervals making sure it is at least three words away from the nearest full stop.
What vexes me the most about this whole situation is that we who suffer from commaphobia are not taken as seriously as other grammatically challenged groups. Take for example those who are yet to learn how and where to place an apostrophe. They can rely on The Apostrophe Protection Society to set them straight and instead of being ridiculed for the inability to correctly use an apostrophe, their misuse is rewarded by giving it the cuddly and friendly sounding title ‘Greengrocers’ apostrophes.’
There is no justice in this world!
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18:55
From: Mama JunkYard's
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According to Wikipedia:
In Māori mythology, Kui was the wife of Tuputupuwhenua. They lived below the ground and when a new house is built, a tuft of grass is offered to them.
Indeed!
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18:03
From: Mama JunkYard's
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(via Digg)
In an understandably vague entry, blogger Jeremy Shoemoney of Shoemoney.com, wrote:
…it appears that I am going to be deposition [sic] and logs from my blog will be subpoena [sic] for use in a case where 1 person [allegedly] slandered* another on my blog.
In the past I have had discussions with at least one blogger regarding my views on comment moderation and deletion. I make no secret of the fact that I will happily delete a comment if I do not like it and first time commenters have to be approved before their comment can appear on my blog.
My main reason for doing so is simple. As the owner of this site I believe that it is perfectly within my rights to ensure that the contents of the site (including comments) are to my liking and within what I consider to be acceptable standards. Certainly my definition of acceptable standards is subjective however everything about this blog is subjective. In as much as I can try to be objective the fact remains that all that is written in this blog is from my perspective and I would not attempt to alter to that because it would go against the notion that this is a personal blog; more specifically my personal blog.
Shoemoney’s predicament reinforces my stance on comment moderation and deletion. Given that most blog authors can elect to disable the comment facility, I consider it a privilege to be able to comment on a person’s blog, a favour granted to me by the blog owner. With this in mind I can’t even begin to imagine how frustrating this whole episode must be for Shoemoney. It is one thing to be taken to court for your actions it is a whole other issue to find that you are being asked to give evidence because somebody else chose to abuse this privilege. Knowing that one can not even document the details of the case or anything related to it in their own blog must only add to the frustration.
What would undoubtedly anger me had I been in Shoemoney’s situation, is the knowledge that the alleged defamotary remarks could have been made without involving Shoemoney. Assuming the defendant is/was a blogger, they should have elected to post the remarks on their blog. In the event that that the defendant is/was not a blogger, setting up a blog is an incredibly easy and free process. Certainly if a person is capable of navigating the comment section of a blog then that person is more than capable of creating their own blog and using their newly set up blogs to record whatever they chose to. While this may not have prevented the action being brought against them it would not have involved Shoemoney.
Shoemoney refers to this case as a ‘landmark case’, this may be true or it may not. Irrespective of the outcome one thing remains, a blogger gave people space to engage and interact in the hope that people would treat this space with respect. Sadly this did not happen and as a direct result this same blogger has been inconvenienced. This alone has led me to approach my comment section with more vigilance. I do not need nor do I want that kind of drama.
*Jeremy Shoemoney refers to this as a ‘slander’ case yet it was my understanding that ‘libel’ is the appropriate term for defamatory remarks made via a fixed medium…oh well…
Read the complete article at Mama JunkYard's
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