Several days ago the continuously superb Xinjiang blog, Autonomous Region, noted from an April 2010 picture that on new signs in the Shanxi Xiang area, Uyghur characters have undergone a transformation and are now written as large as, if not larger than, Chinese characters. This is appropriate, of course, because this region of Urumqi is predominantly Uyghur.

Shanxi Xiang Neighborhood in Urumqi | View Larger Map

The catch–and in my limited experience there’s almost always a catch–is that rather than relaying the names of the stores or the type of wares they are hawking, the new, culturally sensitive signs instead broadcast the typical, trite ethnic unity slogans that, for some reason, the government thinks is somehow effective. Autonomous Region has already translated a few of the signs, though I hope he doesn’t mind of we take a closer look at the new slogans, sharing in particular the Uyghur phrases for any of our readers learning Uyghur, or at least interested in looking how the slogans vary and overlap between the two languages.

ھەر مىللەت خەلقى قول تۇتۇشۇپ تەڭ ئىلگىرىلەيلى!

Her millet xelqi qol tutushup teng ilgirileyli!

各族人民携手共同发展！

Let peoples of every ethnicity join hands and advance!

مىللى بۆلگۈنچىلىككە قارشى تۇرۇپ ۋەتەننىڭ بىرلىكىنى قوغدايلى!

Milli bölgünchilikke qarshi turup wetenning birlikini qoghdayli!

反对民族分裂 维护祖国统一

Let us oppose ethnic separatism and defend the unity of the land!

«ئۈچخىل كۈچ»كە زەربە بىرىپ خەلقنىڭ مەنپەئەتىنى قوغدايلى!

“Üchxil küch”ke zerbe birip xelqning menpe’etini qoghdayli!

打击《三股势力》维护人民利益！

Le

t us attack the “Three Forces” and protect the interests of the people!

ۋەتەنپەرۋەرلىك ۋە مىللەتلەر ئىتتىپاقلىقى ئۇلۇغ بايرىقىنى ئىگىز كۆتۈرەيلى!

Wetenperwerlik we milletler ittipaqliqi ulugh bayriqini igiz kötüreyli!

高举爱国主义和民族团结的伟大旗帜

Let us raise high the flag of patriotism and ethnic unity!

Trite Party slogans are a great way to learn the first person plural imperative mood in Uyghur grammar. Usually, one is introduced to the imperative mood in the form of second-person commands, as in, “[You,] come [here!],” kéling!. When you start applying imperative to first-person plural, it signifies, “Let’s [do something],” as in, “Let’s go!”, mangayli!, or “Let’s eat!”, yeyli!. In Uyghur, the verb always comes at the end, so if you ever hear a Uyghur talk at you in the usual native machine-gun pace and it ends in “-ayli” or “-eyli,” the speaker is suggesting you guys go do something together. In the above case, the speaker is the Municipal Ministry of Propaganda (市宣传部, sheherlik teshwiqat bölümi-seen in the lower-right corner of the first sign) and Miniprop is kindly suggesting that you, the reader, join him (her? it?) in “moving forward” (iligirilimek), “defending” (qoghdimaq), and “raising” (kötürmek).

It’s amazing how quickly you learn propaganda terms, both in Mandarin and in Uyghur, when living in Xinjiang – even before the riots. It’s hard to overemphasize the scale at which these signs and slogans saturate the city; when studying at one of Urumqi’s three major universities, before the riots, I eventually got jaded to the white-on-red “big character” banners that were strung up all over a campus that otherwise would’ve been quite attractive. Even my Uyghur textbook’s lessons telegraphed these political sentiments. I’m probably not entirely lying when I say I learned terms like “milli bölgünchilik,” ethnic separatism, and “üchxil küch,” the “Three Forces,” before I learned the Uyghur word for toilet paper.

I’ve said, many times, both here and elsewhere, that one of the goals of this blog is to serve as a counterbalance to the cumulative image of China that’s being sewn together by both other China blogs and by media voices on the PRC. Issues like development, economic advancement, and ideological freedom tend to be spoken of as if they are spread evenly across China. They’re not. And while your average sophisticated Shanghai expat may think that hamfisted, goofy slogans are a thing of the Cultural Revolution and are an unfair portrayal of China’s current intellectual atmosphere, I’d beg to differ. And, even if, by my anecdotal experience, most people roll their eyes when asked about the banners they see every day at work and at school, I still believe that there is a significant an intimidating abstract weight that comes out of the sum influence of these ubiquitous signs. Like CCTV surveillance in London, even if the efficacy of their intent, on paper, is questioned and scrutinized, it’s less about capturing crimes on tape or encouraging people to read and comply with slogans; ultimately it’s about signaling the omnipresence of the authorities and hint at its dominance. The content on the sign, perhaps, is less important than the fact that the signs are being hung in the first place.

Two things of note:

First, I invite readers to observe the increasing ridiculousness of the verbs, which will in all these examples by the last word in the Uyghur sentence. Even those not studying Uyghur will appreciate the goofiness of a verb with 5+ syllables. Perhaps learners of German or Finnish can emit a comradely groan or two.

Second, notice how Zakir must increasingly resort to parenthetical additions in his English translations to capture the full meaning of the Uyghur sentence. This is illustrative and useful in showing how much *junk* is embedded in the verb. Enjoy!

Apamning éytishiche, men küzning béshida tughuluptimen.

According to what my mother said, I was born in early autumn.

Since the subject doesn’t remember being born, he has to go by what his mother tells him and so prudently uses the indirect statement mood.

Chüshümde, men qoylirimni tapalmaywétiptimen.

I dreamed that I was not able to find my sheep.

I absolutely love that when describing what happened in a dream, you use the indirect statement mood. Even though you were you in your dream, it’s still as if “the dream” told you what you were doing. Here, the abilitative mood (indicating one is or is not able to do something) and the continuous state (meaning an action is on going) is also crammed into this 7-syllable monster.

Qoyumning putini shu ikki déhqan sunduruptiken.

(As I found out later) these two peasants have broken the leg of my sheep.

Ikki déhqan méning paxlinimni soyuwetiptiken.

(As I see) the two peasants were slaughtering my lamb.

Ikki déhqan méning paxlinimni soyghiliwétiptiken.

(I found that) the two peasants were about to slaughter my lamb.

The suffix -dek and the copula -mish join the fun to cloud up things further.

Qoyumning putini özüm sunduruptimenmish.

(I am told that) I broke the leg of my sheep. (How can it be possible?)

Qoylirimni shu ikki déhqan béqiwétiptimish.

(I am told that) the two peasants were looking after my sheep. (Impossible!)

Men ulargha ikki paxlan bergiliwétiptimishmen.

(I am told that) I was going to give two of the lambs to them. (Would I?)

Qoyumning putini özüm sunduruptidekmen.

(I am told that) I broke my sheep’s leg myself. (Isn’t it ridiculous?)

Men ularning her birige birdin qoy bergüdekmishmen.

(I am asked that) I give each one of them a sheep. (Nonsense!)

Ular méning qoylirimni körmeptidekmish.

(They said that) they have not seen my sheep. (How is that possible?)

Two things to learn here: number one, Uyghurs love to pack all sorts of extra nuance, mood, and contextual information straight into the verb, a single word. It’s awesome. Two, if you go to Xinjiang, never let two peasants anywhere near your sheep.

—

Zakir, H. (2007). Introduction to Modern Uighur. Urumqi: Xinjiang University Press.

There are people with linguistic training that are far more qualified than I am to write about Uyghur grammar, but I think my complete lack of grammar knowledge actually will help underscore the point I’m making here about the delightful experience of being stumped by, struggling through, and then coming to love what is known as the “Mood Category” (Meyl Katégoriyisi) of the Uyghur language. I’ll use my own layman’s terms to try (awkwardly) to explain what exactly this is.’

You’ve probably been to a Wikipedia article littered with [citation needed] all over the place. Whenever it’s placed into an article by a conscientious Wikipedia editor, what’s really happening is that someone is asking the question, “Where did you get this information?” The “real meaning” of [citation needed] has, in fact, attained a life of its own, becoming quite like scare quotes where usage is just as much meant to convey a sharp skepticism of the statement-maker’s qualifications – xkcd has captured this sentiment quite well in a comic.

The Uyghur language – not just “Uyghurs,” mind you, but the Uyghur language – like Wikipedia has an intense occupation with the question “Where did you get this information?” As such, an explanation of where the information came from, or how the conclusion was reached, is actually built into the grammar of the verb in the sentence. Time to take a look at some examples. I’m not saying, of course, that in other languages the source of the information is incapable of being conveyed. In Chinese, we have useful qualifiers like ting1shuo1 (听说) “I heard that” or hao3xiang4 (好像), “It looks/seems like.” In English, we could simply “Bob told me that…” or “Apparently he…” But imagine instead of actual clauses that, in a humdrum, literal manner, explains the source of the information, these qualifiers were simply built into the form of the verb.

Take for, example, a first-week, first-semester Uyghur statement like: Exmet bardi. Ahmad went.

The Uyghur sentence, like in English, is very simple, the subject, Ahmad, followed by the verb “to go” conjugated in the third-person past tense – went. However, the Uyghur statement here can say far much more than the English statement, because this standard, commonly used form is in the Direct Statement Mood, which means the person who is saying “Ahmad went” knows from first-hand experience that Ahmad went. Someone who is able to say “Exmet bardi” saw with and experienced with his own senses that Ahmad went. Our existence being a primarily experiential one, the Direct Statement Mood pretty much is the “standard” or most common form that you’ll see verbs in. The hamburgers at In-and-Out are delicious. That women is absolutely beautiful. AP Calculus is hard. If you experienced these statements firsthand, if your senses gave you this knowledge, then you can use the Direct Statement Mood.

However, if you imagine all the other ways you could get information about it, you can be pretty sure that Uyghur has an entirely separate mood category, and hence entirely different form, for it.

Imagine, then, that you gained information indirectly, simply because someone else told you. If Memet told you, Exmet bardi, and later in the day Irade asks you about Ahmad, you’d probably use the Indirect Statement Mood, since you have learned this on the basis of certain facts or the information of others.

You’d say: Exmet bériptu. Here, translation gets sticky, because what’s embedded in the form of the verb is expressed through descriptive clauses or adverbs in English. “Apparently, Ahmad went.” or “I was told that Ahmad went.”

It really gets worse from here.

You have the Hearsay Mood,  which means that the statement was heard from others. If it sounds too similar to the Indirect Statement Mood, you’re right, it is, but the Hearsay Mood tends to be for vaguer, broader “People say that” or “They say that,” or, more importantly, for statements that are made with doubt as to whether or not it’s true. For example:

Exmet bériptimish. You could translate this as “They (being people in general) say that Ahmad has gone,” or, depending on context, it could be “So apparently Ahmad has gone (but I don’t really believe that since he didn’t have the money/I just saw him recently/Ahmad is an agoraphobe).” In English, we frequently use the intonation of the sentence to convey our doubt about the statement, for example, we’d say with a singsong tone, “Aaaa-paaaaraaantly Ahmad has ‘gone.’” The Uyghurs, though, have their own form for it.

You also have the Subjective Assessment Mood. You use this form if you have an mishmash of facts and hearsay and you have a hunch that the statement is true.

Exmet bardighu deymen. Hm, in English, I’d render this as “I gueeeeesss that Ahmad has gone.”

Then there’s the Objective Assessment Mood! You use this form if you have a set of facts and you can make a reasonable, educated guess-style statement about something.

Exmet barghan oxshaydu. In English, “It looks like Ahmad has gone,” or “Ahmad should have gone (by now).” If, for example, everything indicated that he was planning on having left at that time, or if you go to Ahmad’s house and see that someone apparently left in a hurry.

These are what I would call the most basic moods, but as you can probably see by now, it gets completely ridiculous from here on out. There’s the Hope-Polite Request Mood: Exmet barsiken (Would Ahmad please go?), the Wish Mood: Exmet barsidi (I wish Ahmad would go), the Regret Mood: Exmet barsa boptiken (If only Ahmad had gone!), and the Entreaty Mood: Exmet barsunchu (Please, let Ahmad go), the Worry Mood: Exmet barmighiydi (I do hope Ahmad hasn’t gone [because I’m worried if he did]). And more. But I think I’ve made my point.

Incorporating the Mood Category intelligently and smoothly into my spoken Uyghur has been and continues to be a frustrating thorn in my side. As a native English speaker, I’ve frequently found myself speaking incredibly slowly, or choppily, as I slow down to figure out where the hell I learned the information I’m about to state. But while it’s irritating, over time, I also have come to love this aspect of Uyghur grammar, particularly as an unambiguous example of another language actually forcing you to change the way you think. There’s something stunningly elegant about a language that incorporates these considerations straight into its grammar, rather an incidental aside clause or a tweaked intonation as is frequently the case in English or Chinese. Speaking everyday Uyghur, to the sage professor at an Urumqi university or to the kebob-seller down the street turns out to be a minefield of [citation needed] as you carefully consider each statement and whether or not you’re really sure it’s true.

From this learning experience, I’ve frequently wondered what this admirable obsession with information sources means for Uyghur culture in general, particularly among a people who bear an intense skepticism and distrust of standard information sources in Xinjiang, like newspapers and CCTV, and among a people where storytelling, with frequent embellishments, is essentially a traditional social institution where people draw laughs, amazement, sorrows, and news. But that’s a topic for another post.

Source: Tömür, H. (2003). Modern Uyghur Grammar (A. Lee, Trans.). Istanbul: Yildiz.

However, just the other day I ran into a Firefox extension called IETab, which opens webpages with Internet Explorer right there inside Firefox. After installing it, you can right-click a link and select open in IE tab inside Firefox, or you can press an icon in the lower right corner to send the page you’re browsing to an IE tab. There are some rare and oddball situations where you just have to open a page in good ole’ Internet Explorer. This happens a lot when you’re browsing poorly designed pages based in and mostly accessed from China. Unfortunately, this pretty much includes almost all non-diasporic Uyghur sites. And so it is a must have for Uyghur language browsers using Firefox. Here’s what it looks like, inside an IE Tab that is inside Firefox:

Beats opening up a whole new window and starting a separate browsing session, in my opinion.

Oh, and the little sample clips above are taken from Salkin Web’s news site and show the site’s discussion of a 13 year old British kid who apparently fathered a child with his 15 year old girlfriend. Jumpin’ Jehosaphat! This is quite a shocker even for us in the debauched West; I’m sure the shock value is twenty times bigger for the Uyghur readers of Salkin.

Survival Uyghur

From The New Dominion

Lesson Nine: Go and Come Back

Introduction

Salam! and welcome to “Survival Uyghur”, The New Dominion’s series on speaking practical Uyghur. Last time, we began to look at the third person (he, she, it!). We also dealt with a basic question of transport: Does this bus go to Nanmen?

In this lesson, we will use more of the third person to talk about travel. In Uyghur, when you travel somewhere, you have to go there and come back.

But first, here’s your useful word for the day: Ärzimäydu! This means “You’re welcome!” and you say it in response to Rähmät! “Thanks!” Remember, the r in Uyghur drops out, as in a Boston accent. So, this sounds like ääzimäydu!

Try it out! Rähmät! Ärzimäydu!

Dialogue

At your university in Xinjiang, winter break has begun! (This will happen in January.) Your teacher asks you, Ricardo, where you are going on vacation, then asks about other students.

Adil: Ricardo, siz nägä berip kelisiz? Ricardo, where are you traveling to?

Ricardo: Bejinggha berip kelimän. I’m traveling to Beijing.

Adil: Luisa-chu? U nägä berip kelidu? And Luisa? Where is she traveling to?

Ricardo: Luisa Ghuljigha berip kelidu. Luisa’s traveling to Ghulja. [Note: gh in Uyghur is pronounced way back in the throat. See Lesson Six.]

Adil: Yuki-chu? Nägä berip kelidu? And Yuki? Where is he traveling to?

Ricardo: Yuki Yaponiyigä berip kelidu. Yuki is traveling to Japan.

Grammar

män, siz, u…: Let’s look at pronouns in Uyghur. The ones covered in Survival Uyghur so far are män “I,” siz “you,” and islar “you (plural).” The new pronoun, u, means “he,” she,” or “it.”

U takes the ending -du on verbs in the present-future tense: U mangidu. “She walks.” U ichidu. “He drinks.” U chay quyidu. “She pours tea.” U somyän yäydu. “It eats somyän.”

Really, it’s that simple. Let’s look again at last lesson’s verb table, this time with the pronouns written in:

berip kelimän: There a few ways your could approach the berip kelimän construction.

You could take it as a single verb: berip käl- “to go and come back, to travel.” It conjugates thus: män berip kelimän, siz berip kelisiz, islar berip kelisilär, u berip kelidu.

Really, though, we are combining two verbs: bar- “to go” and käl- “to come.”

To connect two nouns, we use wä. But, to connect two verbs, we add the suffix -ip to a verb stem, then follow it with another verb: V-ip V. This is like one of the uses of the “て form” of Japanese verbs. It’s also commonly found in other Central Asian languages. We will discuss this grammar in depth later on; for now, just get a taste of it!

Be careful with pronouncing berip kelimän! As a beginner, I always separated the words: Män berip… kelimän. Really, you should run them together, but keep the stress on the last syllable of each word: Män beripkelimän!

e’s and i’s: You may have noticed that the letters e and i are popping up where you might not expect them: käl- “to come” makes män kelimän, not män kälimän; bar- turns into berip, not barip, when you add the -ip suffix. Look for a special supplementary lesson on this soon.

Survival Uyghur

From The New Dominion

Lesson Eight: Does this bus go to Nanmen?

Introduction

Salam! and welcome to “Survival Uyghur”, The New Dominion’s series on speaking practical Uyghur. Last time, we asked our friends where they were going.

In this lesson, we will ask where others are going. In particular, we will ask about transportation.

Before we get started, here is your useful word for the day: Maqul! Unlike many Uyghur words, the stress is on the first syllable, which is often elongated: Máqul! It means “Okay.” Keep in mind, maqul is not an all-purpose “okay” as in American English. It has a conciliatory tone. When you say maqul, it sounds as though you are saying, “Okay, then.” People use this a lot on the phone: “Maqul… Maqul, xosh…”

Dialogue One

You are standing at one of Ürümchi’s many bus stops, trying to get from Döngköwrük (Chinese èrdàoqiáo 二道橋) to Nanmen (Chinese nánmén 南門). The best buses for these, if I recall correctly, are in the 100 series: 101, 102, 103. However, let’s say you’re not sure, and you want to ask the man next to you. He tells you the bus does, indeed, go to Nanmen.

You: Kechürüng, äpändim… Bu aptobus [aptos] Nanmengha mangamdu? Excuse me, sir… Does this bus go to Nanmen?

Polat: Hä’ä, mangidu. Yes, it does.

You: Rähmät.

Dialogue Two

You are at the long-distance bus station in Ürümchi, preparing to go to Turpan for the weekend. You buy a ticket for Turpan. (See Lesson Nine for more on this.)
When you get out to the bus yard behind the station, you are not sure which bus goes to Turpan.

You: Kechürüng, xanim… Bu aptobus [aptos] Turpangha baramdu? Excuse me, ma’am… Does this bus go to Turpan?

Qälbnur: Yaq, barmaydu. Awu aptobus [aptos] Turphangha baridu. No, it doesn’t. That bus goes to Turpan.

You: Ahh… Rähmät. Ahh… Thank you.

Qälbnur: Hazir mangidu! It’s going now!

You: Maqul, rähmät! Okay, thanks!

Vocabulary

aptobus: bus. Colloquially pronounced aptos.

äpändi: sir, Mr.. This can be a title or a polite form of address. As a title, it appears after the individual’s given name, as in Mämtili Äpändi “Mr. Mämtili.” Äpändim is used for addressing gentlemen older than the speaker.

xanim: ma’am, Madam. Like äpändi, this is a title or a form of address. You may see in the news the name Rebiye Kadeer Xanim, “Madam Rabiyä Qadir.” Use this to politely address ladies older than you.

awu: that. This is a demonstrative article – it points out a specific thing, namely one a ways away from the speaker. To practice, point out the window, your arm outstretched, to imagine a bus rolling down the road. Say, Aaaaaaaaaawu aptos! “Thaaaaaaat bus over there!”

bar-: to go. This is another verb, rather like mang-. It functions in much the same way. However, whereas mang- refers concretely to walking and, more abstractly, to leaving, bar- refers more generally to going somewhere. In the present-future tense: män barimän, siz baramsiz? You can use it as you did mang- to ask where someone is going: Nägä bardingiz?

Grammar

The third person: We now have verbs not only in the first and second persons, but in the third. You can see two examples in the dialogues: mangidu “it goes/leave” and baridu “it goes.” The same works for “he” and “she”: quyidu “he pours, she pours, it pours”

Even better, -du covers the plural forms, as well: alidu “they take”

As you can tell, the third person suffix is -du. This is the structure for a third-person present-future verb: ichidu -> ich-i-du.

Let’s look at some tables for the verbs we know, including the third person.

In the affirmative:

In the interrogative:

A couple of example sentences:

Ärkin polo yäydu. Ärkin eats polo.

Mahirä chay ichämdu? Does Mahirä drink tea?

And, for you language nerds who want to peek ahead:

Änwär Nisagülgä pul beridu.

Survival Uyghur

From The New Dominion

Lesson Seven: Where are you going?

Introduction

Salam! and welcome to “Survival Uyghur”, The New Dominion’s series on speaking practical Uyghur. Quite some time ago, we formed questions and asked for various items found at restaurants.

This week, we enter the realm of movement. Our simple dialogue asks, “Where are you going?” This is a good casual way to converse with a friend on the street.

But first, here’s your useful phrase of the week: Xosh! This is a quick way to say “Goodbye!”

Dialogue One

It is a warm autumn day in Ürümchi. You run into your friend Adil on the sidewalk outside the grocery store. He’s walking down the road, but you want to say hello and ask what he’s up to.

You: Ässalam äläykum!

Adil: Wä äläykum ässalum.

You: Nägä mangdingiz? Where are you going?

Adil: Mäktäpkä mangdim. I’m going to school.

You: “Mäktäp” nemä? What’s a “mäktäp?”

Adil: “School.” A “school.”

Vocabulary, pronunciation, and grammar

1. mang- –
This is a verb meaning “to walk” or, colloquially, “to go.” In the present tense, it forms: män mangimän, siz mangisiz, biz mangimiz, etc. In the present interrogative, we have: siz mangamsiz?, etc.

Pronunciation note: The letters ng are the sound of ng in the middle of the words “singing” and “singer.” As in the English words “singing” and “singer,” there is no hard g between ng and the following vowel in mangamsiz. (Note: Some varieties of English do have a hard g in that position… No comment.)

The same goes for the verb as we see it in the dialogue: mangdingiz. Technically, this is the past tense: mang-di-ngiz, where -di- denotes past action, and -ngiz denotes the siz form.

The män form also shows up: mangdim. This breaks down as mang-di-m, where -m indicates the män form. We will work more with this grammar later on. For now, siz mangdingiz means “you are going” and män mangdim means “I am going.”

2. nä – This means “where.”

When we add the suffix -gä “to,” we get nägä “to where, whither.” -gä is one of the forms of what we call the “dative” suffix, -GA. It indicates the direction of an action, often of motion.

When -GA follows mäktäp “school,” it appears as mäktäp-kä “to a school.” Nägä? Mäktäpkä. “To where?” “To the school.”

Let’s combine -GA with a few other places you might want to go:

I will discuss the dative suffix -GA further in a special supplementary lesson.

3. nemä – As we have learned, this means “what.” Following a noun, it asks, “What is…?” For example, Mäktäp nemä? “What is a mäktäp?”

Dialogue Two

Mahirä: Salam, Sarah!

Sarah: Salam, Mahirä! Tinchliqmu?

Mahirä: Tinchliq. Siz-chu?

Sarah: Tinchliq. Nägä mangdingiz?

Mahirä: Bazargha mangdim.

Sarah: Bazar nemä?

Mahirä: “Market.” Siz-chu? Nägä mangdingiz?

Sarah: Universitetqa mangdim. Xosh!

Mahirä: Xosh!

For language nerds

Adil or Mahirä could have responded to “Mäktäp” nemä? and “Bazar” nemä? with another phrase: “Mäktäp” degän “school.” or “Bazar” degän “market.”

This is more colloquial and natural. Literally, it means “A mäktäp is called a ‘school.’” and “A bazar is called a ‘market.’”

Incidentally, the Ürümchi Kechlik Géziti, or Urumqi Evening Newspaper, is a good source for this. Being a Uyghur language publication this newspaper isn’t as elaborate or extensive as the Mandarin language publications of Xinjiang, but for us that’s a good thing because the “international news” section has extremely brief coverage that fits the purpose of this new little TND feature – to give readers an infrequent taste of Uyghur readings from Xinjiang.

Before we begin, I just want to let readers know that for converting Arab characters to Latin ones, I go with the Latin-Script Uyghur Alphabet, or Uyghur Latin Yéziqi, drawn up by Xinjiang Unversity in 2001 to be the official, unified Latin alphabet for the Uyghur language.

Today’s story: The Future Possibility of Theft and Usage of Nuclear Weapons will Increase. I’d like to emphasize here that my level of Uyghur is definitely around beginner so I encourage any readers to make this feature a wiki-sort of process by pointing out any errors or better translations.

Kelgüside Yadro Qorali Oghrilash we Ishlitish Mumkinchiliki Zoriyidu

Shinxua Agéntliqi, Washington, 21-Noyabir Télégrammisi

Amérikining axbarat apparati tünügün élan qilghan doklatta mundaq déyildi: 2025-yiligha barghanda yer sharida yadro qorali ishlitish mumkinchiliki zor derijide éship, dunya téximu köp muqimsizliq amillirining tesirige uchraydu. Kelgüside yadro qorali ishlitish téxnikisimu tereqqiy qilip, kölimi kichik téximu köp urushlarning yüz bérishige sewebchi bolidu. Eger yadro qorali bar döletler köpeyse, bashqa döletlerge yaki térrorchilargha iqtisadiy jehettin yardem bérish mumkinchilikimu éship kétidu. Yadro qorali oghrilash we yötkesh qilmishlirimu köpiyidu.

The Future Possibility of Theft and Usage of Nuclear Weapons will Increase

November 21, from the Xinhua Correspondent in Washington:

Yesterday an American information agency issued a report stating as the year 2025 approaches the global possibility of the use of nuclear weapons will increase to a significant level and the world will come under the influence of even more destabilizing factors. In the future nuclear weapons technology will develop further and small scale nuclear weapons will become responsible for the occurrence of more conflicts. An increase in countries with nuclear weapons will heighten the possibility of providing nuclear assistance to other countries or terrorist organizations and increase the theft and smuggling of nuclear weapons.

Survival Uyghur

From The New Dominion

Lesson Six: Could I have a napkin?

Introduction

Salam! and welcome to “Survival Uyghur”, The New Dominion’s series on speaking practical Uyghur. Last week, we learned to talk about “we” and “y’all”, as well as “I” and “you”. This week, we will learn to form questions with the verbs you know. We’re finishing up with restaurant language, at least for now, and we’ll start on more everyday language next week.

First, though, here’s your weekly useful phrase! Kächürüng. This means “Excuse me” or “I’m sorry.” Use it when you bump into someone. Use it to get someone’s attention in a polite way. Use it when you’ve overslept for class again. Remember to roll your r’s! Remember also that ü indicates a sound you make with your lips rounded and poking out in front of you. You can form it by making an iiii with your lips spread wide and tight, then drawing them into the position for a u. For those of you who’ve studied Chinese, this is the sound in jun, qu, or xu. So: Kächürüng!

Dialogues

A. Server: Chay ichämsiz? Will you drink tea?

You: Hä’ä, chay ichimän. Yes, I’ll drink tea.

B. Server: Polo yämsiz? Will you eat polo?

You: Yaq, suyuq ash ichimän. No, I’ll drink suyuq ash. (Suyuq ash is a watery dish, so we “drink” it.)

C. You: Qäghäz berämsiz? Will you bring (tissue) paper?

Server: Hazir! Yes, right away!

D. You: Chay quyamsiz? Will you pour some tea?

Server: Hazir! Yes, right away!

Vocabulary and Pronunciation

qäghäz – This is a generic word for “paper”. In the restaurant context, it means “tissue paper”, the kind you use to wipe your face and clean up your immediate environment. In China, you’re meant to carry this around with you constantly. I’m constantly running out, so it’s a good thing that any respectable eating establishment has a supply on hand. Now, remember that q is a kind of “k” sound made in the very back of your mouth, where it meets your throat and the uvula (dangly bit). gh is made in the same place. gh, however, is a “fricative”, meaning you hold it out and let the air through. It’s like the “r” sound in French or German and not unlike when you get a hair caught in your throat and need to eject it. Combined with the vowel ä, which is like the “a” in “cat”, this makes for a very funny-sounding word. Try it out – qäghäz.

hazir – This means “now”. In this context, though, it’s a way for a server to indicate “Yes, right away!”

bär- – This is a verb meaning “to give”. For reasons we’ll discuss in a later lesson, it comes out as ber- in the present-future tense, which we’ve seen a lot of in the past few lessons. Let’s look at a chart, like the ones we saw last week for yä- “to eat” and ich- “to drink”:

quy- – This is a verb meaning “to pour”. In this context, we’re talking about chay qoy-, serving (or “pouring”) tea. You can use this phrase when you want the server to bring some tea or add some to your pot. Chay quyimän means “I’ll serve tea.”

Grammar – Forming Questions

All of the verbs above are statements. Polo yäymiz. “We eat polo.” Qähwä ichisilär. “You drink coffee.”

They are formed in the same basic way: STEM + i + PERSON, or, for example, quy- + i + miz, “we pour”.

Questions are formed very similarly: STEM + am/äm + PERSON, or, for example, quy + am + siz, “will/do you pour?” and ich + äm + silär, “will/do you drink”? -am-/-äm- is a question suffix.

Where the stem ends in a vowel, it blends into the question suffix -am-/-äm-. For now, the only verb that does that is yä- “to eat”: yämsiz? yämsilär?

In Uyghur, you ask questions of yourself differently from the way you ask questions of others. We may work on that in a later lesson. For now, just learn to ask a siz or silär what they will eat, drink, bring, place, or take.

These questions can often be used as a polite request, as in the dialogues above. (We’ll work on imperatives later.) Of course, they are often simple inquiries.

Dialogue Combination

Server: Nimä yäysilär? What’ll you have?

You: Ikki polo wä bir laghman yäymiz. We’ll have two polos and one laghman.

Server: Kawap yämsilär? Will you have kebabs?

You: Hä’ä, bäsh kawap yäymiz. Yes, we’ll have five kebabs.

Server: Chay ichämsilär? Will you drink tea?

You: Hä’ä, chay ichimiz. Yes, we’ll drink tea.

Five minutes later, your hands are greasy, and you’re in need of tissue paper…

You: Kächürüng! Qäghäz berämsiz? Excuse me! Would you bring us tissue paper?

Server: Hazir berimän. I’ll bring it now.

Ten minutes later, your teapot is empty…

You: Kächürüng! Chay quyamsiz? Excuse me! Would you pour some tea?

Server: Hazir quyimän. I’ll pour it now.

You: Rähmät! Thank you!

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