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.

I am pleased to have my very own copy of Invisible China, a remarkable travelogue just recently published. The authors, Colin Legerton and Jacob Rawson, both current postgraduate students, have produced a worthwhile and very readable narrative of their journeys through China’s minority ethnic communities. This informative but entertaining and accessible book recounts their journeys in 2006 and 2007 while providing valuable and accurate background information to the lay reader and remaining sensitive to the realities of life for the people they met along the way. The book consists primarily of a series of mini-ethnographies, eleven in all covering fourteen contemporary minority groups, plus two narratives of visits to peculiar sites of ethnic tourism. Legerton and Rawson spent more time than most travel writers among their communities of interest, but they have distilled their visits into short and easily digestible snapshots of minority life accompanied by insightful commentary on wisely-chosen topics. Here, as this is The New Dominion, I will focus on their pieces on China’s Northwest, including their two chapters on Xinjiang.

The book opens with a scene familiar to almost anyone who has lived in China since the 1980s: On a busy street corner under a hazy night sky, as a swirling mass of superficial human sameness throngs in and out of Mr. Li’s and KFC, a lone Xinjiang Uyghur man, doppa and all, tends his kebabs as they sizzle on a smoky and jerry-rigged grill. Here, the authors make an awful fuss about the man’s skin color and that of the Han Chinese around him. At first blush, this seems almost racist, as the authors use the man’s physical differences to emphasize the invisible cultural wall between him and his customers. In fact, this is an honest depiction of a moment shared by many Westerners who venture beyond the Green Zones in Beijing and Shanghai: This is the instant when, in some smoky and anonymous town, you meet someone who looks different, whose Chinese is almost as bad as yours, and who feels isolated and homesick – just like you! The outside Other and the inside Other share a secret wink, and sometimes a career is born. Kudos to the authors for communicating this sense of alienation, achieved elsewhere in the movie “Lost in Translation,” and of the discovery of an imagined new chosen people. This self-consciousness, perhaps the mark of a new generation of writers on Asia, pervades the book and lends it both a measured sensitivity to the voices of the “natives” and a self-reflective honesty about the author’s own perspective. Appropriately for a book about people who inhabit a nationalizing state and who only find a political voice through a system of regional autonomy, Legerton and Rawson set the tone by bringing into focus the truth of the awkward and the disjointed.

Legerton and Rawson’s work, as a travelogue, is a work of journalism. They achieve, however, much that most journalists writing in English do not or cannot when reporting on China by informing their assertions and observations with their educated understanding of the country and of the issues at hand and sensitivity born of experience. Before beginning their journeys, both authors spoke good Chinese, as well as Uyghur and Korean, and both boast backgrounds in China studies. As such, they are far more qualified commentators than most journalists or even diplomatic staff. They have also done their homework, as is apparent from the very accessible potted histories of each region they visit and group they encounter. These gloss over messy details, but do not oversimplify or misrepresent. Each chapter is careful and deliberate and avoids factual error, which shows both respect for the subject and a disciplined approach to research and writing.

This preparation allows them to better protect the identities of their informants and also to tell effective stories. Most journalists, turning a brief visit and a half-dozen conversations into a lengthy piece, depict the story of today’s Xinjiang simply as one of conflict between ethnic monoliths, one backed by the new Evil Empire. It is relatively easy to identify their few informants, who are naturally depicted as angry young separatists or unquestioning tools of the state. In contrast, the characters who appear in Invisible China are rarely caricatures, certainly no more so than some very real people. Legerton and Rawson may too readily project onto the people they met their desire to find the individuals in the machine. They describe one old and loquacious man as someone with “individual” opinions all his own (a social and psychological impossibility) in a country with claims to homogeneity.

Invisible China‘s chapters, although bite-sized, are each based on at least several days of intensive interaction in a given community. The chapters are divided roughly into two parts: The first hooks the reader in, while the second seeks to make a more nuanced polemical point about minority life through a narrative of encounters and conversations. The authors cram nothing down the reader’s throat, but instead try to stay out of the way of their interviewees’ stories, editorializing sparingly and appropriately.

Take, for example, Legerton and Rawson’s lengthy interactions with a pair of Tajik restaurateurs in Chapter 11. Here, the authors build up an honest and sympathetic depiction of their newfound friends, then draw on their own understanding to relate these individuals’ lives to questions of place, culture, and language in a believable and uncaricatured way. When interviewees are quoted in relation to more sensitive political problems, as in Chapter 10 on Uyghurs in Xinjiang, the authors wisely obscure their personal information and focus more on what those people say than how they can be classified or which side they are on. In Invisible China, people may be members of minority groups, but they do not simply represent them. This, and the authors’ clear concern for their interlocutors, as expressed in the afterword, demonstrate that Invisible China is informed by more than a thirst for adventure or profit or a well-intentioned Western concern for the rights of the oppressed Other.

Of course, a travel writer has the freedom to create composite characters or even fashion them out of whole cloth. As such, travelogues have a problem of credibility, and there is really no telling the degree to which Legerton and Rawson’s characters, who are in any case depicted very believably, actually exist. This is not academic work, and so the authors were not fettered in their research by those constraints placed upon scholars. This gave them the freedom to pursue, however superficially, topics otherwise unavailable to research, such as Arabic literacy and the central role of Mosque culture (and even the Old and New Teachings!) among the Dongxiang in Chapter 8. This piece acts as an interesting commentary on Chinese measures of literacy. In my opinion, Legerton and Rawson’s insistence on inserting parenthetical facts at appropriate moments in their narratives gives their work a certain credibility, as well as a scope beyond the strictly nominalist, and I look forward to the results of both authors’ current postgraduate work.

Invisible China is not free from tired tropes of the exotic. As with any old piece of Xinjiang travel writing, for example, exotic smells and colors abound, and cute little kids feature prominently. They compare Tashkurghan and its inhabitants to Europe and the Europeans. Mostly, however, the authors concentrate on lampooning or deflating the depictions of minorities found in Chinese media, as in Chapter 3, which focuses on the Mongols, and Chapter 6, on the Naxi. To their credit, they seem consciously to try to avoid making use of those same representations. Indeed, when a group exhibits some peculiarity, they usually leave it up to the members of that group to explain or comment upon it. Actually, the authors try very hard to avoid adopting anything like “flexible positional superiority,” with regard to anything but the PRC government and its representatives.

Invisible China closes with a thoughtful afterword, composed after the Beijing Olympics in 2008. Legerton and Rawson’s journeys in 2006 and 2007 had shown them China, and especially Xinjiang and Tibet, before the riots of 2008 and before the attacks in Xinjiang. I agree with their final conclusion that, for all of the talk of ethnic unity and the image of far-reaching state control, Beijing has yet to really approach its minority problems in a well-informed and constructive way, and that they might even lack the understanding and wherewithal to begin to do so. Throughout the book, the reader sees China in its odd little pockets, where the foreigner’s feeling of oppressive sameness begins to seem trivial and new old worlds flourish. Legerton and Rawson have chosen to focus on something that could easily be facilely political. They could have written a screed about minority oppression. They could have depicted the billboards and the propaganda as the ubiquitous signs of the omnipotent and malevolent state, but, in the villages on China’s borderlands, they seem like the laughable gestures of a distant power no longer interested in its neediest subjects. Of course, this is not the whole story – one need only look at Eric Mueggler’s The Age of Wild Ghosts, for one example, to see the hand of the state in borderland life – but the authors’ moderate and considered point is well-taken. There is more to minorities than ethnic conflict, and the state is often more blundering than it is malicious.

Translation:

“On the Pakistani and Chinese media full of nonsense”

Abdullah Mansur

29/4/2009

[Arabic]

In the Name of God the Most Merciful, the Most Kind

Praise be to God, and Prayers and Salutations to the Prophet of God. But now,

[Uyghur]

In order to achieve its own political goals, the Chinese government, a habitual braggart who is always making up ridiculous things, has in recent times changed its methods, and having taught this game to Pakistan and other of its lackeys, has begun to play it together.

To people of sound mind, this is not something secret.

In this unsightly political game, where the second list of terrorism suspects came to nothing, the Chinese government had conducted itself in a way not befitting the government of a state, and had been disgraced before the people of the world.

In Afghanistan, the American government, in need of help in today’s difficult circumstances where they cannot do without a crutch, made China happy by labeling the Turkistan Islamic Party as terrorists and obtained China’s economic, political, and some military assistance.

In this situation, the Chinese government happily stained its lips and once again set about playing with the government of Pakistan internationally. According to what is known of this game, nine Uyghur members of the Turkistan Islamic Party, which has organized attacks on the Pakistani Security Forces, were supposedly arrested and handed over to China.

The Chinese government, which has all the time been imprisoning the people of Eastern Turkistan without reason, making false accusations and deceiving people, had in recent months, through the hands of its concubine Pakistan, arrested several Eastern Turkistanis occupied with their own private studies and business in Lahore and other cities.

In this way, the Chinese government has sought to show that it is a powerful country can challenge the Turkistan Islamic Party and to
break the spirit of pious Muslims living inside and outside the motherland. The Pakistani government has made this empty disclosure aiming to show its collaboration with the Chinese government against the Turkistan Islamic Party through concrete actions, and that it is reducing the pressure on both sides by blocking the flow of Eastern Turkistani Muslims to the jihad region of Pakistan and Afghanistan with the goal of preparing for jihad.

In recent times, the Pakistan government has not captured or handed over to China a single member of the Turkistan Islamic Party.

A state with the slightest sense of honor would of course not take pride in such falsification. Thus it would be best for the Pakistan and Chinese governments to tidy up this foolish propaganda which is now exposed. Likewise, the world’s news agencies would save themselves embarrassment if they more carefully relayed the propaganda of these states who go around making atom bombs out of “hot air.”

We would like to openly warn you: If any country captures a member of the Turkistan Islamic Party and hands them over to China, they will definitely receive a concrete response. This response, of course, will not be something for them to hear, but to see.

It will be most beneficial for the people of the world, among them the people of Eastern Turkistan, to clearly comprehend that, in the view of the Chinese, each
Eastern Turkistani living abroad, no matter who they are, is an enemy and terrorist. Their strongest desire is to seize them one by one, or group by group if possible, not leaving a single one, and imprison them and their land Eastern Turkistan.

For this reason, we honestly recommend that all the oppressed people of Eastern Turkistan living in exile stand alert on full guard against this viciousness of the Chinese government.

Commentary:

I feel very strongly that the speaker has Yarkand accent. The “r”s are a giveaway, as they are sometimes American and sometimes palatal glides. Note also his raised vowels and some odd moments where he seems to palatalize what would be a stop consonant in standard Uyghur, i.e. äjiship instead of ägiship. This may be immaterial. The last time we saw a video like this was when TIP spokesman Sayfullah threatened the Olympic Games. It was difficult to make much out, but he certainly rolled his “r”s.

On another linguistic note, this video uses, for the first time in my experience, the term hijrät to refer to the Uyghur diaspora. Hijrät, from Arabic, means “flight,” as in the hijra, when Muhammed fled from Mecca to Medina. This is an interesting cue, doubtless employed self-consciously, to emphasize Islamic, rather than ethnic or national, kinship. A brief, unscientific survey of secular Uyghurs shows me that this usage is highly marked, creative, and clearly charged with Islamic symbolism.

Similarly, the speaker only uses the word “Uyghur” once, preferring “East Turkestani.” As I noted in a recent post on an interview with Rabiyä Qadir, this is language that makes the problems in Xinjiang more than Uyghur issues. While Rabiyä Qadir reaches beyond Uyghurs to anyone living in the region, emphasizing cooperation with non-Muslims for the sake of national self-determination, the TIP plays up the Muslim angle. This is more likely to inspire violence within Xinjiang, but Islam could be a much better catalyst for action in Xinjiang, especially among rural Turkic Muslims who have not completely internalized the idea of an ethnonational identity.

Finally, catch the last line of the speech. “…stand alert on full guard…” If you’re a terrorist, scaring the people for whom you claim to struggle, putting them on “alert,” is a great way to get them to do your job for you.

In the autumn of 2004, upon the implementation of this program, which required all teachers to have attained a certain level of proficiency in Mandarin, many minority teachers lost their jobs. At the time, Xinjiang already had a shortage of teachers, and there have never been enough qualified teachers of Mandarin. These are problems reported in Chinese academic journals and books and the Xinjiang Daily. Late in 2005, and especially since 2006, the Xinjiang and national governments have made efforts to train non-Chinese teachers in Mandarin, usually by sending teachers selected by local ministries of education to major universities for 18-month courses and teaching practica. In light of this, the report on Xinhua’s site announcing plans to train 16,000 more “bilingual” teachers
over the next six years seems slightly disingenuous, since it emphasizes the preservation of “culture” along with the promotion of Mandarin as a national standard. However, the acknowledgement that this policy has a long way to go before it can be implemented properly is refreshing and shows a certain realism. The government is clearly interested in establishing Mandarin proficiency among the next generation of non-Han Xinjiang people, and the renewed investment in this program demonstrates that they are dedicated to a more permanent implementation to what was basically a poorly-considered, political policy.

Xinhua further report plans for 1,237 new bilingual kindergartens in accordance with the “National ethnic minority ‘bilingual’ kindergarten construction project”. Under this project, the government has also raised rural bilingual kindergarten teachers’ salaries to 800 RMB/month. The PRC has dedicated 3.8 billion RMB to this project, with 1.7 billion RMB going to bilingual kindergarten teacher training. The goal is to have 80% of Xinjiang kindergarten-age children in bilingual schools by 2012.

The bilingual education program will make a special effort in southern Xinjiang, where 1,111 pre-school teachers and 575 students are already in two-year programs, as part of the “Xinjiang Poor Areas Pre-School ‘Bilingual’ Teacher Cultivation and Training Plan”. It is estimated that 5,600 teachers will be trained under this plan over the next three years.

Late in January, Tianshan.net also published a lengthy article concerning a visit to a bilingual school in a village near Kashgar. The author’s observations, although strongly colored by clear political leanings and a sickly-sweet adulation for bilingual education, make for interesting reading. Among points of interest: Teachers of Mandarin include local teachers who have studied the language themselves, graduates of Mandarin courses, and students sent from universities for practica. In bilingual kindergarten classes for children with the least Mandarin language, there are two teachers, one who speaks in Mandarin, and another who translates. The article pays special attention to the opportunity some Xinjiang students have to study in high schools in the interior of the country, an experience that many find more alienating than enlightening. (For more on Xinjiang students in the Interior, see a recent book by a Chinese author… the title escapes me.)

Set in Xinjiang during the Cultural Revolution, English, which has found popularity in China, follows a young Han man’s journey through life, love, and language.

The book will be released 2 April 2009.  I look forward to reading it.  In the meantime, the Chinese version is out there on the Web!

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.’”

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!

]]> http://www.thenewdominion.net/131/survival-uyghur-%e2%80%93-lesson-6-could-i-have-a-napkin/feed/ 5 http://www.thenewdominion.net/119/survival-uyghur-lesson-5-%e2%80%93-strength-in-numbers/ http://www.thenewdominion.net/119/survival-uyghur-lesson-5-%e2%80%93-strength-in-numbers/#comments Wed, 02 Apr 2008 16:09:21 +0000 Tewpiq http://www.thenewdominion.net/?p=119

Survival Uyghur

From The New Dominion

Lesson Five: Strength in Numbers

Introduction

Salam! and welcome to “Survival Uyghur”, The New Dominion’s series on speaking practical Uyghur. Last week, we asked if something was (bar) or was not (yoq) available. Today, we’re going to build learn to respond to simple questions. This is going to take place in the context of a dinner out on a warm evening.

First, though, I’m going to teach you two more very important, very simple words. Last week, you learned rähmät – “Thank you”. Now, you will learn “yes” and “no”.

“Yes” will surprise you, because it sounds a bit like “Uh-huh.” You say it like this: hä’ä! Remember that ä is like the a in “cat”. The ‘ you see in the middle of the word means that, right there, there should be a “gap”. Say hä… then stop for a split-second before jumping on ä! This word has several variations, so, if you say something like hää, you will be understood.

“No” is like “there isn’t” (yoq). You say it like this: yaq! Remember that q is like a k way in the back of your mouth, where the uvula (dangly bit) dangles down. It’s a happy, poppy sound: yaq!

Dialogues

These are some common and simple dialogues that will appear regularly when you are out to eat. I’ve highlighted the new words.

A. Server:Nimä yäysiz? What will you eat?

You: Bäsh kawap yäymän! I’ll eat five kebabs!

B. Server: Nimä ichisilär? What will you (plural) drink?

You: Chay ichimiz. We’ll drink tea.

C. Server: Nimä yäysilär? What will you (plural) eat?

You: Polodin birni wä ikki chöchürä yäymiz. We’ll eat one polo and two chöchürä.

Grammar

I. We, You, and Y’all We’re worked with verbs before. You remember yäymän “I eat”. Well, now it’s time for yäymiz – “We eat”! As in, “Somyän yäymiz,” “Laghman yäymiz,” “Suyuq ash yäymiz,” etc.

We know -siz, as well. It showed up when we asked our friends, Siz-chu? “And what about you?” It works just like -män “I” on the end of verbs. yäysiz “you eat”, alisiz “you take”: “Bir nan alisiz,” “Yerim kilo tort alisiz,” “Bäsh kawap yäysiz.”

And so we turn to its plural form, as well: you (plural), you.plural, all of you, y’all, you’uns. We express this with a similar suffix: -silär. This is pronounced “slä”. Polo yäysilär “You (plural) eat polo.” More example: “Bir kilo tort alisilär,” “Ikki laghman yäysilär.”

Let’s make a chart to keep these straight.

II. to drink: ich-

You may have figured out from the dialogues that the stem of “to drink” is ich-. Nothing to worry about here! It works just like “to eat” yä-.

Let’s look at an example. ichisiz means “you drink”. It’s made up of three parts: the verb stem ich-, the “present-future” suffix -i-, and the person -siz. ich-i-siz “drink-present-you”.

Here’s how yäymiz works: the verb stem yä-, the “present-future suffix” -i- (or -y-), and the person -miz. yä-y-miz “eat-present-we”.

So, we can begin to see that Uyghur words are really very straightforward. Let’s look at charts of both verbs.

III. and: wä

It’s time for “and”. “And” is wä. That’s all, really.

Example: polo wä laghman “polo and laghman”

IV. what: nimä

nimä “what” is also pretty straightforward.

Instead of saying, for example, laghman yäymän “I eat laghman”, you switch out laghman for nimä: Nimä yäymän? “What am I eating?” or “What will I eat?”

The same goes for drinking. Nimä ichisilär? “What’ll y’all have to drink?”

(As one astute reader pointed out, this word is often spelled or pronounced nemä. I’ve honestly never gotten a straight answer on which it is, but I suspect that nemä, which is the dictionary form, is used more by more educated people.)

Dialogue Combination

Work with these dialogues, preferably with a partner, to get some more practice using these words. Then, as soon as you can, go out and try them yourself!

A. Gülnar (the server): Tinchliqmu?

You: Tinchliq! Rähmät. Siz-chu?

Gülnar: Tinchliq. Nimä yäysilär?

You: Suyuq ash barmu?

Gülnar: Hä’ä, suyuq ash bar.

You: Bir polo wä üch suyuq ash yäymiz.

Gülnar: Polodin bir wä suyuq ashtin üch.

You: Hä’ä.

Gülnar: Nimä ichisilär?

You: Chay ichimiz.

B. You: Ässalam äläykum.

Ärkin (the server): Wä äläykum ässalam. Nimä yäysilär?

You: Somyän barmu?

Ärkin: Yaq. Somyän yoq.

You: Nimä bar?

Ärkin: Laghman wä polo bar.

You: Ikki laghman wä bir polo yäymiz.

Ärkin: Ikki polomu?

You: Yaq, bir polo.

Ärkin: Nimä ichisilär?

You: Chay ichimiz.