FAUX-RISH

                                          FAUX-RISH                                                       

So I landed in Ireland, in the County of Clare, in nineteen ninety seven -

and taking on this Faux-rish twang was my necessity - so's the locals'd understand me.

 Many did not -

And me not even Afrikaans.

And what with the place I grew up in being so cut off from everyone, Americans and Ozzies only ever existed on tele –

And meeting the foreign accent, an unusual thing – well except for my parents - but I was accustomed to them.

And I guess the town I blew into had been fairly cut off from me too - a population, probably less than a thousand – fluctuating dramatically from season to season –

 West coast Ireland wintering, uninhabitable for the majority... excepting for those with the strongest constitution.

Now in County Clare, this awareness of my foreigness arose, when occasionally I was met with something like this: “Did ya go to school on an elephant did ya?” And “How many slaves had ya?”

And I’d be all, “Nope. No elephant for me. Seeing as I’ve never been a bleedin’ Indian Princess.”

Childhood reality: barely making it to school from the 'burbs in my parent’s heap of shite, rust and white Fiat...

And the stay-at-home mam to four feral children, the only maid we ever kept. And she'd signed up for it – even with her self confessed disdain for cooking and cleaning..

Well, more often than not, the word “Cow” cropped up in County Clare conversation, what with it being the countryside and all – and then people would look at me with great confusion whenever I said it - them thinking I was saying “Car” which would have been thoroughly out of context.

Now there is a good reason why subtitles run along the screen in a Television interview with an English speaking interviewee from my birth country - For I believe a South African accent pronounces the word “Cow” like “Caaaa” – and the word “Car” like “Caa.” - only the most minuscule of differences you see.

Well I'd no choice but to consciously adjust myself, if I were to make a go of the country at all. My choices in enunciating “Car” were twofold: West coast “Ci-arr” (with a soft lilty ‘r') or North side Dublin, “Kkeaarr” – I am less familiar with the South side manner however.

But seeing as the world was my oyster back then, I chose to chop and change depending who I was talking to.... and, I do not recall how I pronounced “Cow” anymore –

Thinking now like how Charlize Theron drownded out her own South African in Americanisms... sure nobody would’ve had a clue what she was on about had she not… And I've this Breton, Banjo-playin' bestie – spent the nineties gigging with a gang of Belfast musicians. The sound of her now - a cool eclection of pure rural Clare, Northern Ireland – plus last dregs and smatterings from her native Breton... Just try picturing that one.

So now I’m a Londoner – getting slagged off for coming across posh - only from retraining myself in enunciation. The upside being, I talk good'n'proper-like –

 and the majority now understand me..

Well - except for them ruddy foreigners.

But I like it - how humans are so instinctively animal – and well adjustable to new habitats -       

  merely a survival instinct of course...

We are after all only animals –

‘tis indeed survival of the fittest..