Those words for snow
The number of different Inuit words for snow has been the subject of endless debate, few people taking into account the fact that the now-offensive group name ‘Eskimo’ (from the French Esquimaux, derived from North American Algonquian and literally meaning ‘eaters of raw flesh’) covers a number of different language areas: Inuit in Greenland and Canada, Yupik in Eastern Siberia and Aleut in Alaska. Here is a selection of words for snow from some Inuit languages:
snow, kaniktshaq; no snow, aputaitok; to snow, qanir, qanunge, qanugglir; snowy weather, nittaatsuq, qannirsuq; to get fine snow or rain particles, kanevcir; first falling, apingaut; light falling, qannialaag; wet and falling, natatgo naq; in the air, falling, qaniit; feathery clumps of falling snow, qanipalaat; air thick with snow, nittaalaq; rippled surface of snow, kaiyuglak; light, deep enough for walking, katik-sugnik; fresh without any ice, kanut; crusty, sillik; soft for travelling, mauyasiorpok; soft and deep where snowshoes are needed for travel, taiga; powder, nutagak; salty, pokaktok; wind-beaten, upsik; fresh, nutaryuk; packed, aniu; sharp, panar; crusty that breaks under foot, karakartanaq; rotten, slush on sea, qinuq; best for building an igloo, pukaan-gajuq; glazed in a thaw, kiksrukak; watery, mangokpok; firm (the easiest to cut, the warmest, the preferred), pukajaw; loose, newly fallen which cannot be used as it is, but can provide good building material when compacted, ariloqaq; for melting into water, aniuk; that a dog eats, aniusarpok; that can be broken through, mauya; floating on water, qanisqineq; for building, auverk; on clothes, ayak; beaten from clothes, tiluktorpok; much on clothes, aputainnarowok; crust, pukak; cornice, formation about to collapse, navcaq; on the boughs of trees, qali; blown indoors, sullarniq; snowdrift overhead and about to fall, mavsa; snowdrift that blocks something, kimaugruk; smoky drifting snow, siqoq; arrow-shaped snowdrift, kaluto-ganiq; newly drifting snow, akelrorak; space between drifts and obstruction, anamana, anymanya; snowstorm, pirsuq, pirsirsursuaq, qux; violent snowstorm, igadug; blizzard, pirta, pirtuk; avalanche, sisuuk, aput sisurtuq; to get caught in an avalanche, navcite.
There are also a large number of Inuit words for ice, covering everything from icicles through ‘solidly frozen slush’ to ‘open pack ice in seawater’.
False friends
air (Indonesian) water, liquid, juice
blubber (Dutch) mud
shit (Persian) dust
nap (Hungarian) sun
sky (Norwegian) cloud
pi (Korean) rain
Highland mist
Either there is more weather in the cold, wet places of the world or people have more time to think about and define it. The Scots may not have as many words for snow as the Inuits, but they have a rich vocabulary for their generally cool and damp climate.
Dreich is their highly evocative word for a miserably wet day. Gentle rain or smirr might be falling, either in a dribble (drizzle) or in a dreep (steady but light rainfall). Plowtery (showery) weather may shift to a gandiegow (squall), a pish-oot (complete downpour), or a thunder-plump (sudden rainstorm accompanied by thunder and lightning). Any of these is likely to make the average walker feel dowie (downhearted) as they push on through the slaister (liquid bog) and glaur (mire), even if they’re not yet drookit (soaked to the skin). The track in front of them will probably be covered with dubs (puddles), as the neighbouring burn (stream) grows into a fast-flowing linn (torrent).
The very next day the weather may be different again, and the walker beset by blenter (gusty wind). Or if it’s grulie (unsettled), there’s always the hope that it might turn out leesome (fair) with a lovely pirl (soft breeze). And then, after the next plype (sudden heavy shower), there may even be a watergow (faint rainbow). In deepest winter it will generally be snell (piercingly cold), and sometimes fair jeelit (icily so) among the wreaths (drifts) of snow.
For a precious few fair days in summer, there may even be a simmer cowt (heat haze), though the more austere will be relieved that the likelihood of discomfort remains high on account of the fierce-biting mudges (midges).
On reflection
My underground oven
Riddles are found the world over. Here are some intriguing ones from Hawaii:
1 ku’u punawai kau i ka lewa my spring of water high up in the clouds
2 ku’u wahi pu ko’ula i ka moana my bundle of red sugarcane in the ocean
3 ku’u wahi hale, ‘ewalu o’a, ho’okahi pou my house with eight rafters and one post
4 ku’u imu kalua loa a lo’ik’i my long underground oven
Answers
1 niu a coconut
2 anuenue a rainbow
3 mamula an umbrella
4 he the grave
Hearing Things
quien quiere ruido, compre un cochino (Spanish)
he that loves noise must buy a pig
Sound bites
The sounds of most of the words we use have little to do with their meanings. But there are exceptions in other languages, too. For best results try saying the words out loud:
ata-ata (Rapa Nui, Easter Island) to laugh
ba’a (Hausa, Nigeria) ridicule, mockery
baqbaq (Arabic) garrulous
bulubushile (Bemba, Congo and Zambia) a stammer or lisp
capcap (Maltese) to clap
chopchop (Chamorro, Guam, USA) to suck
cizir cizir (Turkish) with a sizzling noise
karkara (Arabic) to rumble (of a stomach)
kekek-kekek (Malay) to giggle
kitikiti (Tulu, India) the ticking of a watch; or giggling, tittering
pes pes (Pashto, Afghanistan and Pakistan) whispering
pshurr (Albanian) to urinate, to wet one’s clothes
raxxax (Maltese) to drizzle
ringongo (Gilbertese, Kiribati) to snore
taptap (Maltese) to patter
yuyurungul (Yindiny, Australia) the noise of a snake sliding through the grass
xiaoxiao (Chinese) the whistling and pattering of rain or wind
zonk zonk (Turkish) to throb terribly
Making a splash
Local experience shapes local language. The Tulu people of India, for example, have a fine array of evocative, specific words to do with water: gulum describes a stone falling into a well; gulugulu is filling a pitcher with water; caracara is spurting water from a pump; budubudu is bubbling, gushing water; jalabala is bubbling or boiling water; salasala is pouring water; while calacala describes the action of children wading through water as they play.
Ding dong
The sound of an altogether noisier culture can be heard in Indonesian: kring is the sound of a bicycle bell; dentang, cans being hit repeatedly; reat-reot, the squeaking of a door; ning-nong, the ringing of a doorbell; jedar-jedor, a door banging repeatedly. But there are gentler moments, too: kecipak-kecipung is hands splashing water in a rhythm, while desus is a quiet and smooth sound as of someone farting but not very loudly.
Chirping cuckoos
The Basques of the Pyrenees also use highly expressive words. You might recognize such terms as kuku (a cuckoo), miau (miaou), mu (moo), durrunda (thunder), zurrumurru (a whisper) and urtzintz (to sneeze), but could you guess the meaning of these?
thu to spit
milikatu to lick
tchiuka to chirp
chichtu to whistle
uhurritu to howl
chehatu to chew
karruskatu to gnaw
False friends
rang (Chinese) to yell, shout
boo (Latin) to cry out, resound
hum (Ainu, Japan) sound, feeling
rumore (Italian) noise
bum (Turkish) bang
Sounds Japanese
The Japanese can be equally imitative: shikushiku is to cry continuously while sniffling, and zeizei is the sound of air being forced through the windpipe when one has a cold or respiratory illness. We can hear perhaps a gathering of Japanese women in kusukusu, to giggle or titter, especially in a suppressed voice; and of men in geragera, a belly laugh. M
oving from the literal to the more imaginative, the Japanese have sa, the sound of a machine with the switch on, idling quietly; sooay sooay, fish swimming; susu, the sound of air passing continuously through a small opening.
Gitaigo describes a more particular Japanese concept: words that try to imitate not just sounds, but states of feeling. So gatcha gatcha describes an annoying noise; harahara refers to one’s reaction to something one is directly involved in; and ichaicha is used of a couple engaging in a public display of affection viewed as unsavoury by passers-by. Mimicry of feelings extends to descriptions of the way we see: so jirojiro is to stare in fascination; tekateka is the shiny appearance of a smooth (often cheap-looking) surface; pichapicha is splashing water; and kirakira is a small light that blinks repeatedly.
Sounds familiar
Not all words about sound are imitative; or perhaps it’s just that things strike the ear differently in other parts of the world:
bagabaga (Tulu, India) the crackling of a fire
desir (Malay) the sound of sand driven by the wind
faamiti (Samoan) to make a squeaking sound by sucking air past the lips in order to gain the attention of a dog or children
riman (Arabic) the sound of a stone thrown at a boy
ghiqq (Persian) the sound made by a boiling kettle
kertek (Malay) the sound of dry leaves or twigs being trodden underfoot
lushindo (Bemba, Congo and Zambia) the sound of footsteps
nyangi (Yindiny, Australia) any annoying noise
yuyin (Chinese) the remnants of sound which remain in the ears of the hearer
On reflection
Top ten
In terms of numbers of speakers, the top ten world languages are as follows:
1 Mandarin 1,000+ million
2 English 508 million
3 Hindi 497 million
4 Spanish 342 million
5 Russian 277 million
6 Arabic 246 million
7 Bengali 211 million
8 Portuguese 191 million
9 Malay–Indonesian 159 million
10 French 129 million
Seeing Things
cattiva è quella lana che non si puo tingere (Italian)
it is a bad cloth that will take no colour
Colourful language
We might well think that every language has a word for every colour, but this isn’t so. Nine languages distinguish only between black and white. In Dan, for example, which is spoken in New Guinea, people talk in terms of things being either mili (darkish) or mola (lightish).
Twenty-one languages have distinct words for black, red and white only; eight have those colours plus green; then the sequence in which additional colours are brought into languages is yellow, with a further eighteen languages, then blue (with six) and finally brown (with seven).
Across the spectrum
As with colours, so with the rainbow. The Bassa language of Liberia identifies only two colours: ziza (red/orange/yellow) and hui (green/ blue/purple) in their spectrum. The Shona of Zimbabwe describe four: cipsuka (red/orange), cicena (yellow and yellow-green), citema (green-blue) and cipsuka again (the word also represents the purple end of the spectrum). It is just Europeans and the Japanese who pick out seven colours: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.
Welsh blues
The Welsh for blue is glas, as in the expression yng nglas y dydd, in the blue of the day (the early morning). But glas is a hard-working word. It’s also used in the expression gorau glas (blue best), to mean to do one’s best, and, changing tack rather dramatically, it appears as glas wen (blue smile), a smile that is insincere and mocking. In Welsh literature, glas is a colour that is somewhere between green, blue and grey; it also has poetic meanings of both youth and death.
False friends
blank (German) shiny
hell (German) clear, bright, light
cafe (Quechuan, Peru) brown
Thai dress code
Thais believe that if they dress in a certain colour each day it will bring them good luck. The code is: Monday, yellow (lueang); Tuesday, pink (chom poo); Wednesday, green (kiaw); Thursday, orange (som); Friday, blue (nam ngem); Saturday, purple (muang); Sunday, red (daeng). Black (dam) is not lucky for conservative people and is reserved for funerals; unless you are young, in which case it’s seen as edgy and sophisticated.
Colour-coded
We can be green with envy, see red, or feel a bit blue. Colours have a strong symbolic force, but not everyone agrees on what they stand for:
Red
makka na uso (Japanese) a deep red (outright) lie
aka no tannin (Japanese) a red (total) stranger
film a luci rosse (Italian) a red (blue) film
romanzo rosa (Italian) a pink (romantic) story
vyspat se do červena/růžova (Czech) to sleep oneself into the red (have had a good night’s sleep)
Yellow
jaune d’envie (French) yellow (green) with envy
gelb vor Eifersucht werden (German) to become yellow with jealousy
kiroi koi (Japanese) a yellow (particularly screeching) scream
gul och blå (Swedish) yellow and blue (black and blue)
Black
svartsjuk (Swedish) black ill (jealousy)
hara guroi (Japanese) black stomach (wicked)
être noir (French) to be black (drunk)
mustasukkainen (Finnish) wearing black socks (jealous)
White
andare in bianco (Italian) to go into the white (to have no success with someone romantically)
ak akce kara gun icindir (Turkish) white money for a black day (savings for a rainy day)
un mariage blanc (French) a white marriage (a marriage of convenience)
obléci bílý kabát (archaic Czech) to put on the white coat (to join the army)
Blue
aoiki toiki (Japanese) sighing with blue breath (suffering)
blau sein (German) to be blue (drunk)
en être bleu (French) to be in the blue (struck dumb)
aoku naru (Japanese) blue with fright
blått öga (Swedish) blue eye (black eye)
modré pondlí (Czech) blue Monday (a Monday taken as holiday after the weekend)
Green
al verde (Italian) in the green (short of cash)
vara pa gron kvist (Swedish) as rich as green (wealthy)
langue verte (French) green language (slang)
darse un verde (Spanish) to give oneself greens (to tuck into one’s food)
aotagai (Japanese) to buy green rice fields (to employ college students prematurely)
On reflection
Polyglossary
Two countries, Papua New Guinea with over 850 languages and Indonesia with around 670, are home to a quarter of the world’s languages. If we add the seven countries that each possess more than two hundred languages (Nigeria 410, India 380, Cameroon 270, Australia 250, Mexico 240, Zaire 210, Brazil 210), the total comes to almost 3,500; which is to say that more than half of the world’s spoken languages come from just nine countries.
If we look at it in terms of continents, North, Central and South America have around one thousand spoken languages, which is about 15 per cent; Africa has around 30 per cent; Asia a bit over 30 per cent; and the Pacific somewhat under 20 per cent. Europe is by far the least diverse, having only 3 per cent of the world’s languages.
Number Crunching
c’est la goutte d’eau qui fait déborder le vase (French)
it’s the drop of water that makes the vase overflow
Countdown
You might expect words to get longer as numbers get bigger, so perhaps it’s a surprise to find that in some languages the words for single digits are a real mouthful. In the Ona-Shelknam language of the Andes, for example, eight is ningayuneng aRvinelegh. And in Athabaskan Koyukon (an Alaskan language) you need to get right through neelk’etoak’eek’eelek’eebedee’oane to register the number seven.
The world’s vocabulary of numbers moves from the precise …
parab (Assyrian, Middle East) five-sixths
halvfemte (Danish) four and a half
lakh (Hindustani) one hundred thousand
… to the vague:
tobaiti (Machiguengan, Peru) any quantity above four
mpusho (Bemba, Congo and Zambia) any unit greater than the number ten
birkacinci (Turkish) umpteen
Counting in old China
From the very biggest to the very smallest, the Ancient Chinese were highly specific in their delineation of numbers, from:
tsai 100 trillion
cheng 10 trillion
chien a trillion
kou 100 billion
jang 10 billion
pu / tzu a billion
kai 100 million
ching 10 million
right down to:
ch’ien one tenth
fen one hundredth
li one thousandth
hao one ten-thousandth
ssu one hundred-thousandth
hu one millionth
wei one ten-millionth
hsien one hundred-millionth
I Never Knew There Was a Word For It Page 10
