Nan shon?

And just as I’m saying this, who other than Urara should come through the front door? She's wearing a simple beige suit with a white blouse. Her long hair falls in soft curls on her shoulders. She looks absolutely gorgeous.

Walking directly towards me, Urara places her hand on my back and, much to my surprise and delight, kisses me on the cheek.

Jesus, when was the last time a woman did that to me?

She turns to the man next to me and asks if he would move over a bit. Naturally, he obliges. I am genuinely flattered. So much attention and kindness from someone as lovely as Urara; I don't feel worthy.

"I thought about calling you today," I say.

It’s the God's truth. Every time I looked at the phone, my heart filled with a gnawing pain. In another lifetime, I wouldn't have wasted a second worrying. I would have picked up the receiver and, assuring myself I'd had nothing to lose, dialed Urara's number and asked her out.

"Why didn't you?"

Yeah, good question: why didn't I? Well, for starters, after almost a-year-and-a-half-long run of disappointments, I am so decorticated of self-confidence that it is becoming difficult to conceal the stark naked weakness of my character. Had I called Urara only to be let down, I might very well have thrown in the towel, retiring from the maddening sport altogether.

"I, uh . . . Well, . . . What with Bon starting tomorrow and all, it just seemed better to wait . . . "

"That's very thoughtful of you, Peador, but, really, you needn't be so careful with me."

Earlier when I was chatting with Shō, it occurred to me that the reason my Japanese seems to have improved, allowing me to finally maintain conversations beyond all the insipid self-introduction I have been chagrined to give, is that I have finally broken through the dialect barrier. In the first several months since moving to Fukuoka, the local dialect had been keeping me shut out, peering in and wondering what the devil everyone was talking about.

I doubt most Anglophones appreciate how dramatically regional dialects can vary. Mind you, it's not just a matter of accents, which betray a speaker's origin like "shibboleth" did in Biblical times, marking my Dad as having hailed from Dublin, my mother from Cork. No, I'm talking about huge variations from region to region in grammar, phrasing, and vocabulary that make the sundry dialects sound as if they are distinct languages in their own right.

It was frustrating enough when I first began studying Japanese to discover that the phrases in my textbook that I had gone to the trouble of memorizing were seldom used in situ. 

Listen: A simple question like "What are you doing?" ought to be straight- forward, right? Well, my good-for-nothing textbook taught me to utter the following mouthful: "Anata-wa nani-o shite-imasuka?" Had I ever managed to get that doosie to roll properly off my tongue, my curiosity might have been duly answered. The trouble is, it'd be as natural as jogging on the beach in clunky ski boots. Your average Tarô, after all, usually rattles off a curt "Nani shiteru no?" or something close to it.

When I figured this out, I wasted little time taking my Sensei aside and telling her to please, please, please throw politeness out the window and start teaching me real, living, breathing Nihongo rather than the embalmed and entombed Japanese she had been inflicting on me. I don't care what the old Japan hands say; a little confrontation can go a long way.

With time and encouragement, my very square Sensei mended her stubbornly proper ways, but, even then, she took great pains to warn against using casual Japanese too lightly. You must never cause offence by saying something inappropriate, she'd instruct sternly as if her very reputation were at stake. I'd remind Sensei to let her hair down because this wasn't the Edo Period anymore. A samuraiwasn't going to lop off my head because I'd dis'd him.

No sooner had I got phrases like "Nani shiteru no?" under my belt than I moved to neighboring Fukuoka and slammed up against an unexpected brick wall: the local dialect known as Hakata-ben. Suddenly, it was as if everyone around me were speaking in tongues. If a Fukuokan wanted to know what I was doing, he didn't ask, "Nani shiteru no?" He said, "Nan shiyoh to?" or “Nanba shiyotto?” or even "Nan shon?"

In a matter of six months, I'd gone from "Anata-wa nani-o shite-imasuka?" to "Nan shiyoh to?" Italian and Portuguese couldn't be more different from each other.

Something clicked sometime during the past few months when I wasn't paying attention, and the next thing I knew, I'd got one leg over the wall and was shimmying the other one up. The idle banter between Yumi and Reina, among my students, between bartenders like Shô and the customers started to make sense.

So, when Urara places her hand on my arm and says, "Suki yaken, sonna ki' tsukawan dotte." I didn't have to translate it inside my head from Hakata-ben into the standard Japanese, which would have sounded like, "Suki dakara, sonna ki-o tsukawanai de," I just took it now as having meant that this Urara likes me so I ought to stop tip-toeing so carefully around her.

"Are you here alone tonight?" I ask.

"No, Hiromi-chan will be here soon. And, what about you, Peador?" 

There are times the right words just flow from my mouth making me feel as if I had French-kissed the Blarney Stone, and then there are those that make me feel as though it had been dropped on my head. Today I am in that blessed rock's good graces; I tell Urara I was waiting for someone special to show up.

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"You."

 — excerpt from A Woman's Nails by Aonghas Crowe

Abunaka-ken

I found these two signs at a construction site in my neighborhood. Written in Hakata-ben, they sound more familiar, softer perhaps, and are probably more effective than if they had been written in standard Japanese.

あぶなかけん (Abunaka-ken)

入ったら (haittara)

いかんとばい (ikan-to-bai) 

In standard Japanese the sign would read: 危ないので、入ったらいけないよ (Lit. “Because it is dangerous, do not enter.”)

Key:

. . . ken means . . . kara or . . . node, and expresses a reason or cause.

As we have seen in another posting, in many parts of Kyūshū, the i-ending of adjectives is replaced with -ka, so abunai (dangerous) becomes abunaka.

. . . ikenai is ikan in Hakata-ben, similar to akan in the Kansai dialect, but much less frequently used.

. . . to can added for emphasis or as a question marker.

. . . bai in standard Japanese is . . . dayo.

工事しよるけん (Kōji-shiyoru-ken)

立入禁止ばい！！ (tachiirikinshi-bai)

 Again, in standard Japanese the sign would read: 工事しているので、立入禁止ばいのよ (Lit. “Under construction, entering is forbidden.”)

Dendera Ryuba

If you have raised children in Japan you may have heard the song “Dendera Ryūba”. The song, which is often featured on NHK’s Nihongo-de Asobo (lit. "Let’s Play in Japanese"), originated in Nagasaki and is sung in the northern Hichiku dialect, which is spoken in western Kyūshū including in Fukuoka where it is called Hakata-ben (博多弁). The name Hichiku (肥筑) is derived from the names of the old provinces in the region: Hizen (肥前), Higo (肥後), Chikuzen (筑前) and Chikugo (筑後).

でんでらりゅうば (が)

でてくるばってん

でんでられんけん

でーてこんけん

こんこられんけん

こられられんけん

こーんこん

Dendera ryūba,

Detekuru batten,

Denderaren ken

Dētekon ken,

Konkoraren ken,

Korareraren ken,

Kōn kon

In standard Japanese:

(自分の家を) 出られるならば、

出て行くけれど、

出られないから、

出て行きません。

(そちらの家) 来られないから (つまり→行けないから)、

来られないから (つまり→行けないから)

来ません、来ません  (つまり→行けない、行かない)

Translation:

If I can leave (my home),

I’ll go out, but . . .

I can’t go out, so . . .

I can’t go to (your home), so . . .

I won’t go. I won’t go

A few things are worth noting here. One, in the western Japanese dialect (not sure about other areas) kuru (来る, to come) also has the meaning of iku (行く, to go), and people say ima-kara kuru (今から来る), when they mean “I’m leaving now” or “I’m on my way”. This is similar to “I’m coming now” in English and I have never felt it awkward the way some transplants from outside do when they hear it.

 Also,

   -ken (けん) is similar to kara (から) in standard Japanese and means “because, since, for, as”.

   -batten (ばってん) is keredo (けれど) and can mean “though, although; but; however; and yet”.

The chant was also used in a Toyota commercial a few years back featuring Nagasaki natives Riisa Naka and Kawaguchi Haruna:

In the comercial the older sister asks, "Tototo?" (Did you take [a picture]?) To which the younger sister replies: "Tototo." (Yes, I did take it.)

「とっとーと？」

「とっとーと」

 And finally, here is a modern version of the song with an Senegalese twist:

Shekarashika

HKT48, an all-female Japanese theater/idol group based in Fukuoka, has teamed up with one of my personal favorites, rock group Kishidan (氣志團), to release a new single "Shekarashika!" Have a listen:

Shekarashika (しぇからしか) is Hakata-ben for urusai (うるさい), and means "noisy, annoying, troublesome, persistent, nagging". Example:

Hakata-ben:「しぇからしか。だまっときない」

Shekarashika! Damattokinai!

Standard Japanese: うるさい。少し黙っておけ

Urusai. Sukoshi damatte-oke!

Rough translation: Enough! Shut up for once!

Hakata-Ben Line Stamp

Apparently, this is a thing now. The Hakata-ben stickers for the Line application.

What's up?

“I doubt most Anglophones appreciate how dramatically regional dialects can vary. Mind you, it’s not just a matter of accents, which betray a speaker’s origin like ‘shibboleth’ did in Biblical times, marking my Dad as having hailed from Dublin, my mother from Cork. No, I’m talking about huge variations from region to region in grammar, phrasing, and vocabulary that make the sundry dialects sound as if they are distinct languages in their own right.

“It was frustrating enough when I first began studying Japanese to discover that the phrases in my textbook that I had gone to the trouble of memorizing were seldom used in situ. 

“Listen: A simple question like ‘What are you doing?’ ought to be straight- forward, right? Well, my good-for-nothing textbook taught me to utter the following mouthful: ‘Anata-wa nani-o shite-imasuka?’ Had I ever managed to get that doosie to roll properly off my tongue, my curiosity might have been duly answered. The trouble is, it’d be as natural as jogging on the beach in clunky ski boots. Your average Tarō, after all, usually rattles off a curt ‘Nani shiteru no?’ or something close to it.

“When I figured this out, I wasted little time taking my Sensei aside and telling her to please, please, please throw politeness out the window and start teaching me real, living, breathing Nihongo rather than the embalmed and entombed Japanese she had been inflicting on me. I don’t care what the old Japan hands say; a little confrontation can go a long way.

“With time and encouragement, my very square Sensei mended her stubbornly proper ways, but, even then, she took great pains to warn against using casual Japanese too lightly. ‘You must never cause offence by saying something inappropriate,’ she’d instruct sternly as if her very reputation were at stake. I’d remind Sensei to let her hair down because this wasn’t the Edo Period anymore. A samurai wasn’t going to lop off my head because I had dis’d him.

“No sooner had I got phrases like ‘Nani shiteru no?’ under my belt than I moved to neighboring Fukuoka and slammed up against an unexpected brick wall: the local dialect known as Hakata-ben. Suddenly, it was as if everyone around me were speaking in tongues. If a Fukuokan wanted to know what I was doing, he didn’t ask, ‘Nani shiteru no?’ He said, ‘Nan shiyoh to?’ or ‘Namba shiyotto?’ or even ‘Nan shon?’

“In a matter of six months, I’d gone from ‘Anata-wa nani-o shite-imasuka?’ to ‘Nan shiyō to?’ Let me tell you, Italian and Portuguese couldn’t be more different from each other.” 

Excerpt from A Woman’s Nails.

Genki-Bai!

Finally, an answer to something I should have figured out long ago, but didn't! What is the difference between the copula (sentence endings) ~tai (〜たい) and ~bai (〜ばい).

~tai (〜たい) is equivalent to ~da (〜だ) or ~desu (〜です) in standard Japanese and can be translated into Japanese as is/be.

~bai (〜ばい), on the other hand, has a similar meaning, but is used for emphasis. It is similar to ~dayo (〜だよ) or ~desu (〜ですよ). Like adding a "hurumph" to the end of your sentence.

The pictures were taken during the Dontaku Festival in May of 2005, shortly after our big earthquake in March of that year. The mascots and blimp-like balloons all say "Genki-bai!" (元気ばい!), meaning "We're (as if Fukuoka) are doing great!"

If Tony the Tiger were from Hakata, he would just say "They're grrrreat!" He's say, "They're grrrreat-bai!"