Roots of Creole Structures: Weighing the contribution of substrates and superstrates (Creole Language Library)

Roots of Creole Structures

Creole Language Library (CLL) A book series presenting descriptive and theoretical studies designed to add significantly to the data available on pidgin and creole languages.

Editors Miriam Meyerhoff

University of Edinburgh

Umberto Ansaldo

University of Amsterdam

Editorial Advisory Board Mervyn C. Alleyne

Pieter Muysken

Marlyse Baptista

Peter Mühlhäusler

George L. Huttar

Shobha Satyanath

John Holm

John Victor Singler

Silvia Kouwenberg

Norval Smith

Susanne Michaelis

Sarah G. Thomason

Salikoko S. Mufwene

Tonjes Veenstra

Kingston, Jamaica Ann Arbor, USA Dallas, USA

Coimbra, Portugal Kingston, Jamaica Leipzig, Germany Chicago, USA

Nijmegen, The Netherlands Adelaide, Australia Delhi, India

New York, USA

Amsterdam, The Netherlands Ann Arbor, USA Berlin, Germany

Volume 33 Roots of Creole Structures. Weighing the contribution of substrates and superstrates Edited by Susanne Michaelis

Roots of Creole Structures Weighing the contribution of substrates and superstrates

Edited by

Susanne Michaelis Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology / Justus-Liebig University, Giessen

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

8

TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Roots of Creole structures : weighing the contribution of substrates and superstrates / edited by Susanne Michaelis.        p. cm. (Creole Language Library, issn 0920-9026 ; v. 33) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1.  Creole dialects--Grammar. 2.  Substratum (Linguistics) 3.  Languages in contact.  I. Michaelis, Suzanne. PM76831.R66    2008 417'.2--dc22 isbn 978 90 272 5255 5 (Hb; alk. paper)

2008019875

© 2008 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

Table of contents

List of contributors

vii

List of standard abbreviations

ix

Preface

xi

1.

The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole Silvia Kouwenberg

2.

The superstrate is not always the lexifier:  Lingua Franca in the Barbary Coast 1530–1830 Rachel Selbach

29

3.

In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole Jeff Siegel

59

4.

Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles  Ana R. Luís

83

5.

Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure  Christian Uffmann

123

6.

The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan:  Implications for sociohistory Norval Smith

153

7.

Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri:  Problems of language contact Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

169

8.

On the principled nature of the respective contributions of  substrate and superstrate languages to a creole’s lexicon Claire Lefebvre

197

9.

Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from?  Susanne Michaelis

225

10.

A first step towards the analysis of tone in Santomense  Philippe Maurer

253

1

 Table of contents

11.

Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese:  A comparison of the noun phrase Incanha Intumbo

263

12.

Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode  Carl Rubino

279

13.

Between contact and internal development: Towards a multi-layered  explanation for the development of the TMA system in the creoles of Suriname Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

301

14.

The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole: Morpho-phonological and morpho-syntactic processes Paula Prescod

333

15.

A la recherche du “superstrat”: What North American  French can and cannot tell us about the input to creolization Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

357

Personal name index

385

Language index

391

Places and Peoples index

405

Subject index

411

List of contributors Goury, Laurence Centre d’Etudes des Langues Indigènes d’Amérique (CELIA) BP 8 – 7 rue Guy Moquet 94801 Villejuif Cedex, France [email protected] Henri, Fabiola Laboratoire de Linguistique Formelle Université Paris 7, Denis Diderot Case Postale 7031 – 2, place Jussieu F-75251 Paris Cedex 05 France [email protected] Intumbo, Incanha Post-Graduate studies in Descriptive Linguistics Universidade de Coimbra Rua Coelho da Rocha 250, 1ª -Trás 3040-193 Coimbra Portugal [email protected]

Ludwig, Ralph Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg, Philosophische Fakultät, Fachbereich Sprach-und Literaturwissenschaften, Institut für Romanistik D-06099 Halle (Saale), Germany [email protected] Luís, Ana R. Grupo de Estudos Anglo-Americanos Faculdade de Letras Universidade de Coimbra 3004-530 Coimbra, Portugal [email protected] Maurer, Philippe University of Zurich Guyer-Zeller-Strasse 35 CH-8620 Wetzikon Switzerland [email protected]

Kouwenberg, Silvia The University of the West Indies, Mona Department of Language, Linguistics & Philosophy Kingston 7 Jamaica, W.I. [email protected]

Michaelis, Susanne Max-Planck-Institut für evolutionäre Anthropologie, Deutscher Platz 6 D-04103 Leipzig Germany [email protected]

Kriegel, Sibylle Laboratoire Parole et Langage UMR 6057, CNRS Université de Provence 29 av. R. Schuman F-13621 Aix-en-Provence Cedex 1 France [email protected]

and

Lefebvre, Claire Université du Québec à Montréal Case postale 8888 Montréal (Québec) H3C 3P8 Canada [email protected]

Justus-Liebig-Universität Gießen English Linguistics and History of English FB 05, Institut für Anglistik Otto-Behaghel-Str. 10 B D-35394 Gießen, Germany Migge, Bettina University College Dublin Department of Linguistics Belfield, Dublin 4 Ireland [email protected]

 Split possession: An areal-linguistic study in the languages of Europe Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid Institut für Romanistik Universität Regensburg D-93040 Regensburg Germany ingrid.neumann-holzschuh@sprachlit. uni-regensburg.de

Siegel, Jeff University of New England School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics Armidale NSW 2351 Australia [email protected]

Prescod, Paula Université Paris III 81 rue Vascosan F-80000 Amiens France [email protected]

Smith, Norval Universiteit van Amsterdam Spuistraat 210 1012 VT Amsterdam The Netherlands [email protected]

Rubino, Carl tagalog.org 4304 Oaktree Road Rockville, MD 20853 USA [email protected]

Uffmann, Christian Det humanistiske fakultet Universitetet i Tromsø N-9037 Tromsø Norway [email protected]

Selbach, Rachel Universiteit van Amsterdam Spuistraat 210 1012 VT Amsterdam The Netherlands [email protected]

Standard abbreviations The following abbreviations of grammatical categories are fairly standard in linguistics (they are also codified in the Leipzig Glossing Rules). Special abbreviations are listed after each article. 1 2 3 abl all art aux clf com comp compl cond cop def dem det f foc fut gen imp incl ind indf inf ins intr ipfv irr loc m n neg

first person second person third person ablative allatives article auxiliary classifier comitative complementizer completive conditional copula definite demonstrative determiner feminine focus future genitive imperative inclusive indicative indefinite infinitive instrumental intransitive imperfective irrealis locative masculine neuter negation, negative

nom nominative obj object obl oblique p patient-like argument of canonical transitive verb passive pass pfv perfective pl plural poss possessive pred predicative prf perfect prs present prog progressive proh prohibitive prox proximal/proximate pst past ptcp participle purp purposive q question particle/marker quot quotative recp reciprocal refl reflexive rel relative res resultative s single argument of canonical intransitive verb subject sbj sbjv subjunctive sg singular top topic tr transitive voc vocative

Preface Susanne Michaelis The articles published in this volume represent a selection of papers which were given at the Conference “Creole Language Structures between Substrates and Superstrates”, held at the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology, Leipzig, in June 2005. For many readers, the title of this book, Roots of Creole Structures, will evoke Bickerton’s Roots of Language (1981). This similarity is not entirely unintentional. The roots of human societies and languages have always fascinated scientists and lay people alike. Bickerton’s inspiring view of creoles as a window on the human capacity of language was highly influential, and it provoked many new insightful studies on creole and pidgin languages around the world. However, it has turned out that much of the subsequent research on creole universals and creole genesis did not confirm Bickerton’s picture. This book shifts the emphasis back to the precise roles of the contributing languages, the substrates and superstrates, about we now know a great deal more than a few decades ago. The current view, as largely represented at the Leipzig conference and in the contributions to this volume, differs from the well-known Bickertonian approach in mainly four ways: i. Sociohistorical information: The groundbreaking work by the late Jacques Arends and subsequent work along the same lines has opened a whole new avenue on our understanding of the social history of creole languages. Plantation societies were much more complex than the earlier simplistic picture implied. Fine-grained sociohistorical studies asserted the view that each creolizing setting had its own ecology. Yet we still seem far away from a typology of sociohistorical contexts yielding specific language contact phenomena (in the vein of Thomason & Kaufman 1988). ii. The role of first and second language acquisition: Bickerton’s view of the crucial role of children who creolized the chaotic pidgin of their parents’ generation proved to be highly problematic in the face of the social situations.The early plantation societies consisted primarily of adult slaves, and the creole languages were mostly shaped by adults who drew on superstrate languages to create a language of their own that would allow them to communicate with others and to ­identify with.

 Susanne Michaelis

iii. The attested history of creoles: Many creoles are quite different now from the stage when they first arose as separate languages. Like all other languages, creoles undergo normal language change processes, and these can be studied where early records are available. Again Jacques Arends was one of the pioneers of tracing the different stages of creolizing varieties by meticulously studying the old texts (Arends 1996). Early texts are being used increasingly also outside of the Caribbean (see, e.g., Baker & Fon Sing 2007 for early Mauritian Creole texts and analyses). iv. Creole language structures: Creole languages show much more diversity than we would expect from Bickerton’s predictions. Over the past quarter century, we have seen many descriptions of creole languages which do not conform at all to Bickerton’s creole prototype. Also the more recent approach by John McWhorter (1998, 2005), who tries to define creole languages in terms of a synchronic type (“the simplest grammars in the world”), cannot capture the complex reality of creole languages. In the introduction to their important collection Substrata versus Universals in Creole Genesis, Pieter Muysken and Norval Smith refer to Bickerton’s Language Bioprogram Hypothesis as something that a creolist has to take into account: (...) it is there as a well-defined hypothesis, and as such cannot be ignored. Because of its presence the burden of proof for substratists has become more demanding whether they like it or not. (Muysken & Smith 1986: 11)

But today, the debate surrounding Bickerton has become fairly marginal, and the papers in this book reflect this change. (Only Jeff Siegel clearly refers to Bickerton’s ideas). Along similar lines, the rather simple Chomskyan Principle and Parameters model of the 1980s, which had the vision of a few dozen parameters determining the core grammars of all languages, has lost much of its appeal as it has proven largely illusory (cf. Haspelmath 2008). Bickerton’s Language Bioprogram, which became very influential also outside of creolistics, made a lot of sense to many scholars then, but the field has moved on, both in creolistics and in general linguistics. Creole languages, like all other languages, are the outcomes of their individual unique historical settings and contact situations, nothing more and nothing less. But to get a better idea of the mechanisms of individual language changes and their potential regularities, we are in need of good sociohistorical and linguistic data. Therefore the articles in this volume place the diverse creoles and pidgins in the historical contexts of their evolution, paying particular attention to very specific substrate and superstrate information. In the 1980s, it was still possible for Bickerton to base his far-reaching theories on creoles mirroring the Language Bioprogram on just a few suggestive data from a few creole languages, while at the same time largely ignoring and even ridiculing the potential influence of substrate languages.



Preface 

I do not share Muysken & Smith’s optimistic assessment of the empirical situation in 1986 compared to the situation of the fore-fathers of creole studies in the 18th and 19th centuries, e.g., Van Name, Coelho, Schuchardt:1 Of course, the debate today is much more informed – and therefore potentially resolvable – as present creolists do not labour under the difficulties of their counterparts of a hundred years ago, who lacked both the data and the techniques for a satisfactory resolution of the question. We feel therefore that it is now time for a new approach to the study of creole languages (...) Universalist and Substratist approaches are complementary. (Muysken & Smith 1986: 11)

Even today, more than twenty years later, we are still woefully lacking systematic cross-creole data, and we are still in need of more fine-grained data-based studies of the various structural aspects of different creole languages. The present papers are a modest contribution to the further piecemeal accumulation of data which is the conditio sine qua non for us to test our hypotheses about the nature of creole languages and creolization. The ongoing project of The Atlas of Pidgin and Creole Language Structures (APiCS)2 will be a first step towards the build up of a comprehensive comparative database of creole language structures (see also Holm & Patrick 2007 for a collection of readily comparable syntactic sketches of creoles). The APiCS project, which was first conceived during discussions at the Leipzig conference in 2005, was inspired by The World Atlas of Language ­Structures (WALS, Haspelmath et al. 2005), which was about to appear by the time of the conference and which was presented to the conference participants as a preview. WALS offers new possibilities of placing creole languages in the worldwide context of language variation and of comparing them with superstrates and potential substrates. Without the worldwide context, it is hard to know what is special about creoles and how cogent a proposed substrate explanation is. Let us now come back to the four aspects of Bickerton’s approach which have undergone a thorough revision in the course of the last quarter century. I will present the chapters of this book by correlating them with these four aspects:

i. Sociohistorical information:

Silvia Kouwenberg looks at the situation of seventeenth-century Jamaica. From the sociohistorical sources available, she concludes that contrary to earlier claims,

1.  Cf. Holm, John & Michaelis, Susanne (Eds.) 2008. Contact Languages (Critical Concepts in Linguistics), London: Routledge (to appear), a collection of key articles in the field of creole studies, including especially early texts which are otherwise hard to get. 2.  To be edited by Susanne Michaelis, Magnus Huber, Philippe Maurer and Martin Haspelmath.

 Susanne Michaelis

J­ amaica was characterized by multilingualism with no evidence for a single dominant substrate language. For such situations of multiple substrates, Kouwenberg suggests a new typological-comparative research method which would not start off from a hypothesized uniformity across the substrate language family, here Niger-Congo, but would look carefully at possible different alignments of the c­ reole with its substrates. In her article on the Lingua Franca (the only article on a pidgin in this book), Rachel Selbach analyzes the historical accounts of this pidgin as they were ­reported from the slave colonies of the North African “Barbary Coast”(present-day Algeria and Tunisia). Selbach’s meticulous study supports Peter Bakker’s generalization that pidgins often do not use the lexicon of the socially dominant group. In the case of the Lingua Franca, the politically dominant “superstrate” languages Arabic and Turkish are not the lexifiers, but it is the Romance languages, mother tongues of the slave population, from which the majority of the lexicon is drawn. Selbach puts forward possible different social ecologies to account for this crucial difference with creolizing speech communities.

ii. The role of first and second language acquisition:

In his article on Hawai’i Creole, Jeff Siegel argues in favour of the so-called “cafeteria principle”. Contrary to Bickerton, he defends the view that several ­aspects of Hawai’i Creole morphosyntax have been modelled on features of different substrate languages. He cites ample linguistic evidence to support his claim, and he appeals to two mechanisms which are operating in the contact situation: language transfer in second language use, and substrate reinforcement of diffused features. Ana R. Luís offers a fascinating view on patterns of verbal inflectional morphology in three Indo-Portuguese creoles. Verbs in these languages retain a fair amount of suffixes from the Portuguese superstrate. The most striking case is the retention and partially new development of theme vowels, a phenomenon that has not been described for any other creole language. Luís argues in favour of the decisive role of adult substrate speakers. These speakers were encouraged to shift to the superstrate, Portuguese, because of social and religious factors. This specific attitude towards the target language led the shifting speakers to acquire more aspects of the inflectional paradigms of Portuguese than are observed in other creolization situations under different social conditions.

iii. The attested history of creoles:

Three articles look at specific aspects of the history of Sranan (Uffmann), ­Saramaccan (Smith), and Mauritian Creole (Kriegel, Ludwig, and Henri), the first two dealing with phonological aspects, the last one with syntactic aspects. Christian Uffmann analyzes the phenomenon of vowel epenthesis (and subsequent vowel harmony of the epenthetic vowel) in early and modern Sranan,



Preface 

which he ­argues to be largely substrate-motivated. Following an Optimality Theory ­approach, ­Uffmann broadens his view to other creole phonologies and identifies three types of processes which come together to produce the results that we see: substrate transfer, substrate levelling, and superstrate influence in L2 acquisition. Norval Smith traces the source of a phonological change in Saramaccan that applies only in the Portuguese-derived lexicon of this creole language (g > k). He identifies a Bantu substrate (Kikongo-dominated or Kimbundu-dominated) as responsible for that change, and he then explores the complex geographical and historical conditions for this change and suggests various transfer scenarios. Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig and Fabiola Henri look at an instance of ­language contact between Mauritian Creole and one of its major adstrates, the Indo-Aryan language Bhojpuri. They describe the use of depi (‘‘from’’, French depuis) as an ablative marker in terms of Bhojpuri influence, basing themselves on ­synchronic data from two sociolects of the language, and on diachronic data from old Mauritian texts.

iv. Creole language structures:

In the next six papers, the authors place grammatical features of creole languages in relation to their respective superstrates and substrates. They try to pin down one single substrate or a group of related substrates as the source of various grammatical phenomena in the creole language. Claire Lefebvre claims that the contribution of substrate and superstrate made to the creoles are not random, but principled. This claim results from her assumption that the main cognitive process at work in creolization is relexification or relabelling. Her strong claim is supported by ample examples from a fine-grained comparison between Haitian Creole, its superstrate French and one of its main substrates, the West African language Fongbe. In her article on valency patterns in Seychelles Creole, Susanne Michaelis argues for Eastern Bantu substrate influence in this part of creole grammar. On the basis of the new sources of typological data on the worldwide distribution of certain grammatical structures, she advocates a new methodological approach in creole studies: Creoles and their substrates (and superstrates) should be studied within the context of the world’s languages. Incanha Intumbo analyzes several noun phrase phenomena in Guiné-Bissau Creole and compares them rigorously with one of the most relevant substrate and adstrate languages, Balanta (an Atlantic language), and Portuguese, its superstrate. He detects seven areas where Guiné-Bissau Creole patterns with its substrate or adstrate Balanta. Philippe Maurer studies tone in Santomense. Contrary to the ­received opinion on this creole, he claims that Santomense is a tone language, despite its Portuguese superstrate, and that the origin of its tone lies in its West African substrate languages, especially Edo and Kikongo.

 Susanne Michaelis

Carl Rubino presents a grammatical feature which is rare to creole languages ­outside the Austronesian language area, the so-called potentive mode in Zamboangueño Chavacano. He shows that neighboring Visayan languages also have this same grammatical feature, and that the creole has taken over the semantics of this construction, expressed by the grammaticalizing abilitive verb puede, from its ­Philippine substrate. Bettina Migge and Laurence Goury give a broad overview of the tensemood-aspect systems of four Surinamese creoles and of varieties of the West ­African language Gbe, and go on to discuss the precise roles of substrate influence, ­internal change from a substrate calque, superstrate influence, and shift of form and ­category correlated with innovation. Paula Prescod deals with word formation processes in Vincentian Creole, which, contrary to widespread views on creole morphology, are not necessarily transparent. Vincentian exhibits derivational patterns which make use of the material of the English superstrate, but which go far beyond the English patterns. Only one article focuses its attention fully on the peculiarities of the ­superstrate that gave rise to the creoles: Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh provides detailed information on North American French varieties which can shed light on the nature of the colonial French varieties which formed the input of the feature pool for the plantation societies in the Caribbean and elsewhere. The author shows that North American French is similar in many forms and structures to the French creoles. She nevertheless stresses the fact that the creolization involved restructuring ­processes which go far beyond those in North American French. The terms superstrate and substrate are used in this book in a sense that is familiar in creole studies, but is at variance with the sense of these terms outside of creolistics, e.g., in Romance linguistics, where the term pair originated in the 19th century (see also n. 1 in Neumann-Holzschuh’s paper). Originally, substrate and superstrate both referred to languages whose speakers adopted another language as L2 speakers and thereby influenced the structure of their new language, especially in phonology and syntax. The difference between them is that a substrate language is a language spoken by a socially subordinate group that shifted to the language of the dominant group, whereas a superstrate language is a language spoken by a socially dominant group that shifted to the language of the subordinate group because of its numerical predominance. For example, Gaulish influenced French as a substrate language, and Franconian influenced it as a superstrate language. In creole studies, the term substrate has long been used for the languages of the African slaves which had a strong influence in phonology and lexicon on the resulting creoles. This usage is still in line with the earlier sense of the term. ­However, the term superstrate is generally used for the European lexifier, which is similar to the earlier sense of the term only in that the speakers of the lexifier are the socially dominant group. But if there is language shift in creolization, it is to the superstrate,



Preface 

not from the superstrate.Thus, the non-creole and creole superstrates are similar in social terms, but not at all with respect to the outcome of the language contact. This needs to be borne in mind when comparing creole with non-creole language contact situations.

Acknowledgments I am grateful to the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology (Leipzig), and especially Bernard Comrie, director of the Department of Linguistics, for financial support of the 2005 conference. I also thank the MPI staff, especially Claudia Schmidt, for very efficient help with the practical organization of the conference. I hope that some of the special spirit of the conference is reflected in the pages of this book. A number of people have helped make this book possible. I thank the external referees, who often sent very detailed comments that have led to many improvements of the papers, and I also thank the authors for providing comments on other papers of this volume. Several student assistants in Leipzig worked with me on the bibliographies and the indexes. I am particularly endebted to Martin Haspelmath for his invaluable help at various stages of the project. Finally, I thank the series editors of the Creole Language Library, Umberto Ansaldo and Miriam Meyerhoff, for accepting this book in their series and for providing some useful comments.

References Arends, Jacques (Ed.), 1996. The early stages of creolization. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Baker, Philip and Fon Sing, Guillaume (Eds), 2007. The making of Mauritian Creole. London: Battlebridge. Bickerton, Derek. 1981. Roots of language. Ann Arbor: Karoma. Haspelmath, Martin, Dryer, Matthew S., Gil, David & Comrie, Bernard (Eds), 2005. The World Atlas of Language Structures. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Haspelmath, Martin. 2008. Parametric versus functional explanations of syntactic universals. To appear in: Theresa Biberauer (Ed.) The limits of syntactic variation. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Holm, John & Patrick, Peter L. (Eds), 2007. Comparative creole syntax: Parallel outlines of 18 creole grammars. London: Battlebridge. McWhorter, John. 1998. Defining the creole prototype: vindicating a typological class. Language 74 (4): 788–818. McWhorter, John. 2005. Defining creole. New York: Oxford ­University Press. Muysken, Pieter and Smith, Norval. 1986. Introduction: Problems in the Identification of Substratum Features. In: Muysken, Pieter & Smith, Norval (Eds), Substrata versus universals in creole genesis. (Creole Language Library, 1.) Amsterdam: Benjamins, 1–14. Thomason, Sarah & Kaufman, Terrence. 1988. Language contact, creolization, and genetic linguistics. Berkeley: University of California Press.

The problem of multiple substrates The case of Jamaican Creole* Silvia Kouwenberg

University of the West Indies In this paper, I argue that the late seventeenth-century context in which Jamaican Creole emerged was one of multilingualism within the slave population, with no evidence for a dominant substrate language. This finding goes against established scholarship, which has claimed Akan as the dominant substrate for Jamaican Creole. A creolization context involving multiple substrates calls for a different substratist research methodology than that applied to cases where dominant substrates can be shown to exist. I will argue that a comparative typological research methodology is called for.

1.  Introduction Creolist researchers of the 1980s and 1990s who pursued a substratist research agenda viewed Niger-Congo as being characterized by deep typological unity. This view made substratist research relatively simple: it allowed for generalizations

*The research on which this article was based was supported by fellowships awarded by the

Mona Campus Research Fellowship Committee (2004–2006), the Warwick University’s Caribbean Studies Centre (February 2005), the UQAM’s linguistics department (October-November 2004), and the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology (May 2005). Parts of the material presented here was presented in seminars at the Warwick University’s Caribbean Studies Centre (1 March 2005) and in the Creole Conference Leipzig (3–5 June 2005). I thank the audiences at these venues for their feedback. I also wish to thank Trevor Burnard for his willingness to discuss some of his research findings, and to express my appreciation to Ken Bilby, Laura Downing, Gad Heuman, Greg O’Malley, Patrick Manning, Salikoko Mufwene, Nicole Plummer, James Robertson, Robert Stewart, and an anonymous reviewer for feedback liberally given, challenges raised, and materials shared.



Silvia Kouwenberg

over the entire family of Niger-Congo, and for the use of any language within the family to represent the entire family. Today, we cannot get around the fact that Niger-Congo is typologically diverse, and the substratist approach that characterizes previous work is now considered methodologically unsound (Mufwene 1993: 194). The first task of the substratist creole researcher today is to identify the substrate languages which (potentially) contributed to the formation of a given creole language. This leads us to the study of the historical demographics of plantation societies, which may throw light on the ethnic and linguistic backgrounds of the Africans who were the agents of creole formation.1 Ideally, we hope to find clear and incontrovertible linguistic evidence for a particular substrate, supported by the historical record. To date, the case that best exemplifies this is that of the Suriname Creole languages. Thus, Arends (1995) argues, based on a combination of historical demographic and lexical evidence, that “the primary candidates for substrate influence on Sranan and the other Surinam creoles are Kikongo and Gbe”, while “secondary influence” may have been exerted by Kwa languages from the Gold Coast (268). Subsequent work has established the dominant influence of the Gbe substrate in the formation of the Suriname creoles, and has even allowed for detailed comparison with individual Gbe lects (Migge 1998, 2007).2 Historical demographic evidence is not always available, however. Take, for instance, the fate of the privately owned Dutch colony in Berbice (South America), which was established in 1627. There are no known records of slave voyages destined for Berbice for the entire seventeenth century. Nonetheless, irrefutable linguistic evidence (found in lexicon and further supported by some aspects of morphosyntax) points to Eastern Ijo as the sole significant substrate (Smith, Robertson & Williamson 1987; Kouwenberg 1992). In such rare cases, where the

.  One pioneer of the study of the historical demographics of slave societies is Jacques Arends, who passed away prematurely in 2005. His innovative work in the historical demographics of Suriname stands as a monument to his memory. .  Ken Bilby (p.c.) points out that our knowledge of the total lexicons of the Suriname creoles is still limited. Further work is likely to turn up many more African-derived forms, and may well alter our current understanding of the contributions made by different African substrates, at least as far as the lexical component is concerned. Be that as it may, work such as that cited here points to significant parallels between the Suriname creoles and Gbe languages in different areas of grammar, and the historical record shows Gbe speakers to have been an important early presence in Suriname.



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole

linguistic evidence suffices to identify a single dominant substrate, the fact that the historical record is mute does not detract from the substratist claims.3 Here, I will consider the Jamaican case in some detail. First, I will look briefly at the way in which work by historians and creolists has served to modify and refine our views of the slave trade and of plantation life, hence of the context of creole genesis. This sets the stage for a discussion of the pertinent historical record for early English Jamaica (1655–1700). We will see that no dominant substrate emerges from that record. One consequence of these findings is to challenge the received view that Akan constitutes Jamaican Creole’s (JC) main substrate. I will consider the historical and linguistic evidence put forward for that view, to argue that neither is convincing.

2.  The historical context of creole genesis The traditional image of the plantation as the context for creole genesis is that of a “total institution”4 within the confines of which a large number of mainly male field slaves of randomly mixed ethnolinguistic backgrounds were unable to communicate either with their colonial masters or with each other, thus creating the crisis of communication which is thought to have given rise to creole languages. This image has been challenged in a number of ways, both with regards to the isolation of plantation populations, their social organization, and their ethnic diversity; as a consequence, the question of what motivated creole genesis has also been thrown wide open. I will consider these different challenges here. Slave ships generally drew their entire cargo from only one or perhaps two ports in Africa (Thornton 1998: 192f). European factors were located only in some ports (most notably in the forts along the Gold Coast), but where available, they were surprisingly inept at securing slaves for their company traders.5

.  Smith (1999) argues strongly in favor of the primacy of linguistic evidence, a position which I endorse. .  The term “total institution” is owed to the work of Goffman (e.g., 1984). It denotes institutions where a large number of individuals are cut off from the wider society to lead an enclosed, formally administered life. In a total institution, the different aspects of life which are normally carried out in different places (work, sleep, etc.) instead are conducted in one and the same place and under a single authority. Freedom of movement is, obviously, severely restricted if not completely absent in such an institution. Goffman’s list of total institutions includes care institutions, penitentiaries, concentration camps, boarding schools, army barracks, colonial compounds, cloisters, inter alia. .  European interest in the Gold Coast during the seventeenth century was based on the trade in gold. In fact, the Gold Coast was a recipient of slaves for most of the seventeenth century;



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Silvia Kouwenberg

Thus, ship captains normally had to make their own arrangements (Davies 1957: 121). Captains usually preferred to wait in a port on the promise of slaves, even if this meant a lengthy period of inactivity, over an uncertain and possibly hazardous journey along several ports on the off-chance that cargo might be available.6 Although slaves purchased at a single port may have been drawn from different hinterland sources, Thornton argues that those enslaved on board a ship would have been drawn from a restricted and culturally quite homogeneous zone (1998: 194f) – a point supported by Manning (1982) for the Bight of Benin – and that slave ships unloaded their cargo in large lots of as many as 200–1,000 in the Americas (1998: 121f). All this has challenged the idea that ships carried ethnically diverse groups of enslaved. This means that, with regards to ethnic backgrounds, relatively homogeneous groups of enslaved Africans arrived in the West Indies, and that the trans-Atlantic slave trade was not responsible for randomization of slaves to the extent previously thought. On the other hand, randomization would have obtained where a single territory was supplied by slave shipments originating in different regions of the African continent; this was especially true where colonies circumvented their national monopolies and purchased slaves from so-called interlopers. The intra Caribbean transshipment trade, whereby slaves sold in one territory were transshipped in smaller numbers to other territories–again frequently violating the monopolies–may similarly have contributed to randomization. Finally, frequent change of ownership within an unstable population of colonizers may also have had the effect of randomization, as ethnolinguistic groups could be broken up in resale (Burnard, p.c.). We will see below that randomization, caused by the combined effects of these factors, appears to have obtained in early English Jamaica. The issue of randomization is especially pertinent to the question of the maintenance and subsequent transmission of African languages, which would have been favored by the existence of homogeneous ethnolinguistic groups. Also ­relevant in this regard is the presumed isolation of plantation populations from each other, as isolation would have hampered contact between enslaved of the same ethnolinguistic groups. Arends’s (2001) work shows us that enslaved Africans in Suriname networked between plantations in various ways, contra the view of the plantation

slaves became the dominant exportable commodity at the end of the seventeenth century (Daaku 1970). .  Bosman (1967: 363 [1705]) already describes the practice at Whydah whereby, if there happens to be no stock of slaves, the factor must trust the inhabitants with goods to the value of 100–200 slaves, which they send in-land, “in order to buy with them Slaves at all Markets.”



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole

as a total institution from which there was no escape. This appears to be true also of English Jamaica, in particular of the early period of colonization when systems controlling the movements of slaves were not yet in place. As an example, John Taylor, who lived in Jamaica during 1686, describes the weekend as follows: On Saturday at noon they leave off work (unless at sugar-boyling time) and their master gives to each Negro man and his family a quart of rum and mollasas to make merry withall; this part of the day they spend in their own plantations and on the Sundays these slaves gather together in great companys, going to visit their countrymen in other plantations (Buisseret 2001: 3).

“Petit marronage” (the practice whereby slaves disappeared for short periods of time) also appears to have been fairly prevalent, and may have provided opportunities for slaves to reinforce bonds with others of the same background.7 Moreover, according to Thornton (1998: 198ff), estate inventories point to grouping of slaves into “national blocks,” and he quotes Hans Sloane, who, when visiting Jamaica in 1688, noted that “when they die their country people make lamentations and mourning” (Thornton 1998: 200, quoting Sloane 1707–25, 1: slviii). Contemporary observations such as those of Taylor and Sloane signal the efforts of enslaved Africans to maintain ethnic and linguistic bonds. Finally, it should also be noted that women constituted nearly half of the slave force in the seventeenth century,8 and that plantation slaves often lived in households consisting of several adults and children (Thornton 1998: 171f). All this points to the fact that enslaved Africans were able to sustain a cultural and social life (see also the discussion in Morgan 1998: 473f), and that maintenance and transmission of African cultures and languages was possible.

.  Craton (1997: 188 [1994]) mentions “the multiform phenomenon of short-term, shortdistance running away by individuals and very small groups (petite marronage)” and claims that “perhaps two percent of slaves were absent at any one time, and up to ten per cent were absent at some time in their lives.” .  According to Manning (1996: 71), during 1663–1700, 58.9% of slaves transported to the Americas were men; that proportion rises to 64% in the eighteenth century. Dunn (1993: 51, 2000 [1972]: 315ff) points out that any preponderance of males on the slave ships was quickly modified in Jamaica: half the children born on the island were girls, and among the adult slaves the women lived longer than the men. A sample of the inventoried slave gangs on 21 sugar estates during 1674–1701 shows that the sexes were almost evenly balanced on these estates, with 105 working males for every 100 working females (ibid.) – but he too notes that this changes during the eighteenth century. Geggus (1989) points to region of origin as a strongly determining factor for sex ratio. Thus, the English’ increased reliance on the Bight of Biafra during the eighteenth century accounts for much of the skewed male-female ratio during that period, as a greater proportion of males were shipped from that region than from any other.

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Silvia Kouwenberg

3.  Early English Jamaica I will restrict my discussion of early English Jamaica to the seventeenth-century period, i.e., the period 1655–1700. This restriction is based on the view, to which I subscribe, that creole languages were formed abruptly rather than gradually, within decades of the start of the plantation economy. Evidence in support of this view can be found in the well-studied case of the Suriname Creoles. Thus, Smith (1999) argues convincingly that Proto-Sranan had creolized prior to the exodus of English planters between 1668–1675, and prior to the mass escapes which led to the establishment of the Saramaccan and Ndyuka maroon societies in 1690 and 1712, respectively; this puts the emergence of such a variety within decades of initial colonization in 1651. The English took Jamaica from a small Spanish force in 1655. Spanish resistance occupied the English until 1660, when the Spaniards finally abandoned Jamaica. In the mean time, more than half the English soldiers had perished as a result of chronic food shortages, and the small numbers of colonists who began to trickle in from the land-scarce colonies of Barbados and Nevis hardly fared any better. The English took Jamaica at a time when sugar was already established in the English Caribbean, but financial and other constraints delayed the start of a significant sugar economy in Jamaica by 15 to 20 years, during which time the economy was largely driven by the proceeds of privateering. This made initially for a white population which was predominantly male, diverse in nationality and language, and frequently absent (because in pursuit of plunder). This situation also made for a relatively small black population; in fact, the servile population during this period consisted predominantly of indentured whites.9 Although much land was parcelled out, most of it lay unused. Zahedieh (1986) argues that the proceeds of privateering financed the plantation economy which began to emerge in earnest during the final quarter of the seventeenth century. Creole genesis is likely to have been delayed until the start of the sugar economy (Smith 1999), which signaled a rapid increase in the population of enslaved Africans. In Kouwenberg (forthc.), I argue that the demographic changes during this period provide a

.  In 1662, the white population of Jamaica consisted of 2,600 men, 645 women, 408 children. The black population numbered 552 in the same year (Dunn 2000: 155 [1972]). Zahedieh (1986: 212) estimates that an additional 1,500 privateers were in the island. The white population was still far in excess of the black population in 1670 (Zahedieh 1986: 212), but in the early 1670s, the white and black populations reached numerical parity. In 1673, whites consisted of 4,050 men, 2,006 women, 1,712 children, while the black population numbered 9,504 (Dunn 2000: 155 [1972]).



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole

favorable context for creolization – understood in the sense of the development of a viable means of communication, not necessarily involving nativization. While it is quite possible that JC as we know it today was not fully formed during the seventeenth century, I consider changes which may have obtained during later periods to be post-formative rather than formative. The critical period for the emergence of a stable contact variety, i.e., early Jamaican Creole, is, then, the final quarter of the seventeenth century.10 4.  Sources of slaves in early English Jamaica Turning to the ethnicity of Africans in seventeenth-century English Jamaica, I will first consider the recorded trans-Atlantic slave trade to Jamaica. I will then turn to the gaps in our knowledge of the slave trade, by considering the unrecorded slave trade to Jamaica. Although it is possible that Spanish ex-slaves remained in the island, nothing is reliably known of their subsequent fate and I will not speculate about their potential role.11 4.1  Th  e recorded trade: Trans-Atlantic slave voyages to early English Jamaica The majority of enslaved Africans arrived in Jamaica through the trans-Atlantic trade. Stewart (2003: 97) provides the figures in Table 1 for recorded slave voyages .  Singler (1986) argues that the process of creole formation in Jamaica was slow, mainly because of a lack of children in the population of slaves. Although he does not commit himself to a time period, there is a strong suggestion that this process continued well into the eighteenth century. He claims that a similar situation obtained in Suriname. It appears, however, that creole formation or, if you will, the emergence of a stable contact variety, may come about through the agency of adults and does not depend on a minimum number of children in a population. For instance, Smith’s (1999) time table shows that Proto-Sranan emerged at a time when the slave population was not only predominantly adult but also in a state of flux due to the exodus of English planters. I take it as highly unlikely that the formation of a stable early form of Jamaican Creole was delayed beyond the late seventeenth century. I also reject, therefore, Mufwene’s (2002) claim that no geographically-uniform variety could have emerged in the eighteenth century that was spoken by African slaves all over Jamaica, and that the spread of a plantation creole did not take place until the nineteenth century. The geographical spread of plantations and settlements of the late seventeenth century was limited, and, as we have seen, slaves still enjoyed a certain freedom of movement. Thus, the conditions at that time were favorable for the development of a relatively geographically uniform variety (Kouwenberg forthc.). .  It has been suggested that Spanish ex-slaves formed the basis for the maroon communities in eastern Jamaica which became known as the Windward Maroons (Craton 1980: 4; Patterson 1996: 259 [1979]).



1656 to 1660

1661 to 1665

1666 to 1670

1671 to 1675

1676 to 1680

1681 to 1685

1686 to 1690

1691 to 1695

1696 to 1700 total

Bight of Benin 606 433 1,832 6,572 5,169 3,552 764 18,928 13.2 13.6 19.8 33.5 38.8 30.1 4.55 23.4 Percentage (%) West-Central Africa 617 1,424 3,491 4,731 3,499 701 14,463 Percentage (%) 13.5 15.4 17.8 35.5 29.6 4.2 17.9 Bight of Biafra 195 2,290 480 594 2,184 2,006 1,284 416 1,565 10,933 Percentage (%) 100 48.2 21.2 18.7 23.6 10.2 9.6 3.5 9.3 13.5 Gold Coast 479 2,550 850 546 85 1,383 5,893 Percentage (%) 15.1 27.5 4.3 4.1 0.7 8.2 7.3 Senegambia 189 666 400 1,079 561 2,895 Percentage (%) 2.04 3.4 3 9.13 3.34 3.6 Sierra Leone 243 243 120 606 Percentage (%) 1.24 2.06 0.71 0.7 South-Eastern Africa 159 26 185 Percentage (%) 1.7 0.2 0.2 Windward Coast – Percentage (%) Africa Unspecified 1,155 1,783 1,672 920 5,770 1,176 2,945 11,690 27,111 Percentage (%) 25.2 78.8 52.6 9.9 29.4 8.8 24.9 69.6 33.5 total embarked 195 4,587 2,263 3,178 9,258 19,598 13,332 11,819 16,784 81,014 Middle-Passage Mortality 110 833 443 575 2,265 4,393 2,644 2,433 3,280 16,976 Percentage (%) 56.4 18.2 19.6 18.9 24.5 22.4 19.8 20.6 19.5 15.4 total disembarked 85 3,754 1,820 2,603 6,993 15,205 10,688 9,386 13,504 64,038

regions

0%

0.3%

1.1%

5.4%

10.9%

20.3%

26.8%

35.1%

Distribution w/o Africa Unspecified

Table 1.  Estimates of Jamaica’s gross slave imports from West and West-Central Africa, 1656–1700 (based on Stewart 2003: 96–97)

 Silvia Kouwenberg



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole

to Jamaica between 1656 and 1700.12 The data for his study of slave voyages are drawn from the Eltis et al. (1999) database of the trans-Atlantic slave trade.13 The regions of origin are those of Eltis et al. (1999).14 Taking the entire period 1656–1700 we see that the figures for enslaved ­Africans originating from ports in the Senegambia, Sierra Leone, Windward Coast and South-Eastern Africa are insignificant and can be disregarded for our purposes. The Bight of Biafra appears to constitute the earliest region of relevance for the trans-Atlantic slave trade to Jamaica, and it is the single most important one for the initial 25 years, after which it is overshadowed by other ports, most notably those of the Bight of Benin and to a somewhat lesser extent those of West-Central Africa. The final quarter of the century sees a sharp rise in slave imports, marking the definitive start of an economy dominated by sugar, hence dependent on slave labor. Despite a peak during 1676–1680, Gold Coast ports are clearly less important than those of the Bights and of West-Central Africa over the period. This is an important observation, because it has long been assumed that Gold Coast slaves

.  The percentages in the “total” column have been recalculated and differ from those of Stewart (2003). Numerically largest region of origin is marked in bold for each quinquennium. The final column provides a recalculation of the percentage contributions of each region without “Africa Unspecified”, in other words, as if known regions of origin are fully representative for the trade over this period. .  In considering these data, one needs to keep in mind that information on the numbers of slaves at departure or “embarkation” and at final destination or “disembarkation” does not exist for all slaving voyages; for quite a few voyages, such numbers are imputed, therefore. Where information is available on the number of enslaved Africans at either “embarkation” or “disembarkation” but not both, the corresponding number at the other end of the voyage can be imputed based on the average mortality rates on the Middle Passage for the region and time period. Where no figures are available but a vessel’s tonnage is known, the number of enslaved Africans carried by the vessel can be estimated based on the average numbers carried for a ship of that size and at that time. Thus, the figures of the Eltis et al. database are only partly based on actual documentation. .  The regions are identified as follows (with their modern equivalents in brackets): the Bight of Benin covers the Rio Volta to Rio Nun (Togo, Benin, Nigeria up to the Niger Delta), and the Bight of Biafra east of the Nun to Cape Lopez inclusive (Nigeria from the Niger Delta­Cameroon-Equitorial Guinea-Gabon northern part); West-Central Africa is defined as the rest of the western coast of the continent south of this point (southern part of Gabon-Congo-Angola); the Gold Coast runs east of here up to and including the Volta River (Ghana); Senegambia is anywhere north of the Rio Nunez (Senegal-Gambia-Guinea Bissau); Sierra Leone comprises the Rio Nunez to just west of Cape Mount inclusive (Sierra Leone-Liberia, more or less up to Monrovia); South-east Africa is anywhere east of the Cape of Good Hope; the Windward Coast is defined as Cape Mount up to and including the Assini River (Liberia-Ivory Coast).

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 Silvia Kouwenberg

were a dominant presence in early English Jamaica – so much so that they exerted a formative influence on Jamaican language and culture. But it should be noted here that the Eltis et al. database is not without its problems. Possibly the biggest problem is the fact that many voyages lack information on port of origin. As a result, the single largest regional category for the period is that of “Africa Unspecified”. Only in a few of the five-year periods do the figures for Africa Unspecified come out below those of specific regions. This is worrisome, and raises the question whether the data are not skewed towards regions for which better documentation happens to be available. However, an argument can be made that the distribution of voyages for which ports of embarkation is known is representative for the overall trade to Jamaica: with very few exceptions, slave voyages to Jamaica have English owners (either Company or private). Comparing Jamaica’s trade with the overall English trade shows that distribution over documented ports of origin is comparable. For instance, considering the overall English trade, the Bight of Biafra accounts for as many English ships in the Eltis et al. database during 1650–1675 as does the rest of Africa put together (considering specified regions only).15 It is unlikely that Jamaica’s trade would be very different from the overall English trade, and indeed, this distribution is in accordance with Stewart’s findings for the trade to Jamaica for the period 1656–1675. During the last quarter of the seventeenth century, the Bight of Benin supplies over a third of enslaved Africans embarked unto English ships; the Bight of Biafra, West-Central Africa, and the Gold Coast together account for about half of all slaves embarked during this period (once again, not including Africa Unspecified).16 Stewart’s findings

.  This result was obtained by searching the database for records pertaining to ships ­registered as English in the 25-year period 1651–1675. This search produced 177 records, representing a total of 43,511 slaves recorded or imputed as having embarked in Africa. Of these, 44 records pertain to shipments listed as having embarked the greatest number of slaves in “Africa ­Unspecified” (12,501 slaves). For 57 voyages the greatest number of slaves embarked in the Bight of Biafra (representing 14,358 slaves). This can be compared to 26 voyages (7,104 slaves) in the Gold Coast, 21 (6,649) in the Bight of Benin, 7 (1,323) Senegambia, 2 (988) West-Central Africa, 2 (335) South-East Africa, 2 (253) Sierra Leone, 60 voyages in all. Several voyages ended prematurely, hence these numbers do not add up to 177 voyages. .  This result was obtained by searching the database for records pertaining to ships registered as English in the 25-year period 1676–1700. This search produced 769 records, representing a total of 214,292 slaves recorded or imputed as having embarked in Africa. Of these, 251 records (63,365 slaves) pertain to shipments having embarked the greatest number of slaves in “Africa Unspecified.” For 136 voyages (53,333 slaves), the greatest number of slaves embarked in the Bight of Benin. Other regions of significance include the Bight of Biafra (114 voyages, 26,837 slaves), West-Central Africa (66 voyages, 25,572 slaves), Gold Coast (83 voyages, 23,652 slaves), Senegambia (69 voyages, 12,625 slaves). Finally, South-East Africa and Sierra Leone account



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole

for the trade to Jamaica mainly diverge from these figures in the role played by West-Central Africa, which emerges as less significant in the overall trade. In all, relying on documentation for the overall English slave trade during this period does not substantially alter the distribution over regions of embarkation, suggesting that the distribution over known regions of origin, as provided in the final column of table 1, can indeed be taken as representative of the English trade to Jamaica. The very small numbers for the four periods from 1656 to 1675 constitute another problem. What this illustrates is the fact that reliable documentation of slave shipments is essentially unavailable for the first twenty years of English Jamaica. This is further underscored when we consider the growth of the slave population from 552 persons in 1662 to 9,504 in 1673 (Dunn 2000: 155 [1972]). Stewart (2003) records total imports of 8,262 over the period 1656–1675 (see table 1). Clearly, recorded imports do not keep pace with the growth in the slave population. Moreover, we must also take into account the fact that slave populations typically display negative growth.17 Also, around 25% of slaves were intended for resale to Spanish America (Zahedieh 1986: 218), taking at least a further 2,000 out of the equation.18 Moreover, small numbers of enslaved Africans were exported to North American colonies (O’Malley 2006). In short, the figures obtained from the recorded transAtlantic slave voyages cannot fully account for the growth in the slave population over this period. 4.2  The unrecorded trade The “gap” between the documented figures and the actual figures is due to the unrecorded trade, both trans-Atlantic and intra-Caribbean. Where the former is concerned, I will assume that the unrecorded trans-Atlantic trade shows a ­distribution over ports of origin similar to that of the recorded trade. This is a for 24 and 15 voyages (6,740 and 2,168 slaves), respectively. Again, prematurely ended voyages account for the remaining voyages. .  Sheridan’s (1975: 289) “crude” calculations for Jamaica, computed by relating net slave import figures to unofficial census returns, give an annual rate of population decrease of 3.1% over 1676–1700. .  Despite perennial conflict between the English and the Spanish, care was taken to ensure the safety of ships involved in the transport of slaves between Jamaica and the Spanish possessions and/or the transport of payment for such purchases. Although the Spanish were active in the Port Royal slave market during the 1660s and 1670s, there was a significant increase in that activity beginning in 1680 (Davies 1957; Klooster 1998; Osborne 1971; Palmer 1981). Davies (1957: 329) notes that the Spaniards had a buyer permanently stationed in Jamaica during the 1680s, and that the trade seems to have been “on a considerable scale,” although it appears that it waned rapidly in the latter half of the 1680s.



 Silvia Kouwenberg

r­ easonable assumption, given the fact that the direct trade to Jamaica is, by and large, restricted to English (Company and non-Company) traders; to the extent that Jamaica was supplied by English vessels, it is hardly likely that its unrecorded arrivals would have differed very much from that of the general trade (Curtin 1969; Stewart 2003). The main competitors in the trans-Atlantic slave trade at this time were the Dutch, who knew better than to land slaves directly in Jamaica: they ran great risk of seeing their vessels and cargo condemned by the actions of ­privateers based in Port Royal (Postma 1990). The Company trade is well documented in the database: The Royal African Company kept meticulous books, and quite a bit is known also of shipments consigned by its predecessor, the Company of Royal Adventurers Trading Into Africa.19 The English non-Company trade is also at least partly recorded in the Eltis et al. (1999) database, and increases in volume at the same time as the Company trade does. Thus, nearly half of slave voyages in the Eltis et al. (1999) database disembarking slaves in Jamaica during the final quarter of the seventeenth century are non-Company voyages – i.e., interlopers, as they flouted the Company’s ­monopoly. This is in keeping with Zahedieh’s (1986: 212) and Eltis’s (1996: 186) estimates that legal arrival figures during some years have to be doubled to allow for illegal deliveries. Similarly, speaking of the trans-Atlantic trade between 1672 (the establishment of the Royal African Company) to 1698 (the introduction of the “Ten Percent trade,” which authorized private merchants to participate in the slave trade at a fee equivalent to 10% of the export’s cargo value), Davies (1957: 113) states that it seems likely that while the interlopers were delivering fewer slaves to the plantations than did the Royal African Company, the margin between them at this time “was not as great as might be supposed.” I assume, based on all this, that the unrecorded direct non-Company trade is unlikely to change the overall picture of the direct trade very much from that in Table 1, either in volume or in the distribution over ports of origin. This means that the “gap” must be due less to unrecorded direct trade than to other sources of slaves. The main alternative source is considered to be the intra-Caribbean nonCompany trade in slaves, in particular that which was carried out through Curaçao. Since that trade not only took place in violation of Company monopoly, but also involved trade with a competing European nation with which England was intermittently at war, it is hardly surprising that it went largely unrecorded.

.  We should note though that the practice of underreporting was widespread. Davies (1957: 109ff) notes that ships’ captains carried goods and slaves on private account and points also to the practice of writing off slaves as dead in ship’s journals and landing them at the West Indian islands before the Company’s agents came aboard.



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

One measure of the extent of the intra-Caribbean interloper trade can be found in the shipping lists recording arrivals in Jamaica’s main port, that of Port Royal.20 Thus, 26 ships are listed as arriving from Curaçao during the three years 1686– 1688 (Zahedieh 1986: 217).21 Many of these vessels are “plantation-built,” i.e., built in Jamaica and operated by Jamaican owners. Incredibly, many are recorded as arriving from Curaçao with “no lading.” Curaçao functioned at this time as the Dutch West India Company’s slave market.22 It is not unreasonable to suppose that these vessels partook in the interloper trade and that their illegal “lading” was either disembarked at a minor port, disembarked at Port Royal out of port or under cover of night, or that some other way was found to keep the true nature of the cargo out of the books. Additionally, Postma (1990: 50) points to the practice of capture and confiscation of Dutch ships by English privateers, who took these vessels to Jamaica. Although these were mostly small ships, carrying dozens rather than hundreds of slaves, the numbers do add up. According to Postma, by the spring of 1704, the English had confiscated twenty-one such Dutch West India Company vessels and taken them to Jamaica (ibid.). 4.3  Other sources of slaves Additional sources of slaves in early English Jamaica include Barbados, Suriname, and Spanish America. Around 1,500 enslaved are thought to have come from ­Barbados during the 1670s, with Barbadian planters resettling in Jamaica. English planters leaving Suriname after it was taken by the Dutch came to Jamaica with around 1,230 slaves in the early 1670s.23 (See Kouwenberg (forthc.) for a discussion of the significance of these numbers.) Finally, unknown but probably small

.  National Archives, CO 142/13. .  By way of comparison, during that same period 1686–88, the Eltis et al. database lists 31 trans-Atlantic voyages as having disembarked slaves in Jamaica. Note, however, that vessels involved in the trans-Atlantic trade were considerably larger than those which operated exclusively in the Americas. The latter carried slaves by the dozens rather than the hundreds. However, the numbers add up. Moreover, it is likely that there is considerable underreporting in the number such vessels recorded in the shipping lists. .  The Dutch West India Company granted Curaçao the status of free port in 1675, after which time private traders from all countries were allowed to come to Willemstad and purchase slaves (Klooster 1998: 39). .  The possibility of a relationship between early Suriname Creole and Maroon creole of Jamaica (the so-called “deep language”, see Bilby 1983) is rejected by Smith (1999: 162ff) – a position which I endorse. His phonological evidence also does not support the view that Suriname slaves exerted an influence in the formation of JC (163f).

 Silvia Kouwenberg

numbers of slaves may have come to Jamaica from Spanish America, as part of the bounty of the raids on Spanish possessions for which successive governors of Jamaica so readily issued letters of marque. Occasional raids on French and Dutch colonies also brought in small numbers of slaves. 4.4  Ethnolinguistic origins of enslaved Africans in early English Jamaica In the preceding, we noted a shift in dominance in the direct trade from the Bight of Biafra to the Bight of Benin over the period under consideration. We also noted that no single region of embarkation emerges as absolutely dominant over this period. In other words, the direct trade was responsible for some amount of randomization of enslaved Africans in Jamaica. The enslaved which came to Jamaica by way of Barbados or other West Indian territories can similarly be assumed to reflect the regional mix of the overall English trade. Much of the interloper trade took the form of intra-Caribbean trade, which carried less risk than did the trans-Atlantic trade. Considering that the Dutch are reputed to have been the source of much of the illicit trade–as supported perhaps by the Port Royal shipping lists–their slaving efforts merit looking into. According to Postma (1975: 37), half their consignments at this time were for the Slave Coast, more than a quarter for Angola, and the remainder divided over other West African ports; the Gold Coast was insignificant as a source of slaves for the Dutch during 1675–1699. Taking the Dutch trade into account thus strengthens the contributions of the trade from ports in the Bight of Benin and West-Central Africa.24 The enslaved Africans which arrived with English planters from Suriname were either supplied by the English trade or by the Dutch trade. The ethnicities of the (probably small numbers of) Spanish-American slaves taken to Jamaica are most likely to reflect the Dutch slave trading efforts. In all, then, the overall English

.  Postma (1990: 32ff), discussing the Dutch West India Company’s slave trade in the second half of the seventeenth century, points out that Dutch ships landed slaves at various destinations in the Caribbean region, including English Caribbean islands; although Dutch-traded slaves were largely destined for the Spanish colonies, fluctuations in the asiento trade meant that “surplus” slaves were generally disposed of elsewhere, in part through a system of open bidding. The volume of the Dutch trade in the Americas rose rapidly in the 1660s. Postma (1992: 287) calculates that the Dutch Company’s trade rose from a mere 2,029 slaves over the period 1658–62, to 23,466 slaves transported to Curaçao and another 10,273 slaves to unspecified destinations during 1662–1674. Over the period 1675–1688, the Company’s trade to Curaçao amounted to 17,748 slaves, 7,245 to unspecified destinations. The last ten years of the seventeenth century saw a decline in the Dutch trade, with 8,231 slaves destined for Curaçao, and 2,660 for unspecified destinations.



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

and Dutch trade directions are clearly relevant, but do not significantly alter the picture of Table 1. In conclusion, despite its limitations, the figures drawn from the Eltis et al. database establish a fairly accurate demographic profile of seventeenth-century Jamaica, suggesting that enslaved Africans in early English Jamaica were of diverse origin. Dominance of the Bight of Biafra in the first decades has to be weighed against the contributions of the illicit trade, where the Bight of Benin and WestCentral Africa may have predominated. The Bight of Benin and West-Central Africa dominated the final quarter of the seventeenth century, which, I have argued, constitutes the formative period of creole language in Jamaica.

5.  The myth of Akan dominance Previous creolist work has assumed the dominant presence of Akan speakers in early English Jamaica, pointing to the importance of the Akan legacy in Jamaica. Examples include the culturally iconic practice of Anancy stories, the survival of remnant Akan among Jamaica’s maroons, and their strong identification with “Kromanti” ancestry, etc. In short, the impact of the Akan seems indisputable – although Bilby (2006) also points to non-Akan elements in Kromanti tradition,25 and Kopytoff (1976: 35) warns that the “Coromantee” “were not all Ashanti,” and quotes Edward Long, who in 1774, pointed out that “we remain uncertain whether they [the “Coromantee”] are natives of that tract of Guiney, or receive their several names of Akims, Fantins, Ashantees, Quanboos, &c from the town so called, at whose markets they are bought.” As should be obvious from the preceding account of current scholarship on the seventeenth-century slave trade, Akan dominance did not begin in the .  Bilby (2006: 451, fn.15) notes “the inadequacy of the common view that Jamaican Maroons are almost exclusively of Akan (Ashanti/Fanti) origin.” He goes on to claim that there is “a good deal of evidence, both historical and contemporary, suggesting that the early Maroons were more ethnically diverse than generally thought”. Thus, he points to Central African elements in a Kromanti song (ibid.), and he points out that Jamaican Windward Maroons identify a number of African “nations” from which they claim descent, including Papa (Gbe), Mandinga, Ibo, Mongala (Bantu), i.a. (79ff). The Kromanti “nation” is seen as overarching the entire Maroon “nation”: “While membership in the Kromanti tribe is shared by all Maroons, it is thought that only a portion can claim to be, for instance, Ibo (with all Ibos theoretically being descended through male links from the same Ibo founding leader); and this Ibo segment is believed to be distinct from other such segments composed of Papa, Mandinga, or Mongala descendants” (80). This approach to tribal affiliation allows some insight into the diverse origins of Maroon cultural traditions, while also showing the privileged status of Akan cultural influence.

 Silvia Kouwenberg

s­ eventeenth century. I suggest instead that the Akan exerted their influence much later, in what I consider to be the post-formative eighteenth century. The best known proponent of the Akan-dominance view is Alleyne (1971, 1988), although Le Page (1960) is probably the earliest publication to posit the dominance of Akan speakers. Le Page treats the seventeenth century as privileged, in the sense of representing the founding period of Jamaican language and culture. He estimates that over 1655–1701, Senegambia and Sierra Leone, Windward Coast, Gold Coast, and Whydah each contributed roughly a quarter of the slaves (74). Noticeably absent in this list are the Bight of Biafra and the Loango coast, and based on the data currently available, we can say that the contribution of the Gold Coast was overstated. But perhaps most striking is the fact that Le Page considers Gold Coast slaves to have been dominant in Jamaica, even though, as he points out, they did not constitute the major part of slave imports. He cites several factors which account for this presumed dominance. First is what he calls “the character of the Cormantins” (75) – unfortunately without explanation, but I take this to mean something similar to Alleyne’s view (e.g., 1971) that the Akan were culturally dominant (see below); he also points to linguistic homogeneity among the Akan slaves, to the early leadership of the Akan among Jamaican slaves, and, finally, he points to Akan dominance among the Jamaican Maroons, whose settlements he considers to have acted as centres of linguistic and cultural conservation for a large part of the island (76). Writing around the same time, Cassidy (1971 [1961]) treats the Akan as important, but not necessarily dominant. After a consideration of the provenance of enslaved Africans in eighteenth-century Jamaica (see Table 2), he claims that “we may safely conclude that at the time when the basis of Jamaican folk speech was laid, the largest number of slaves came from the area of the Gold Coast and Nigeria” (p17). While admitting that the first slaves brought in by the English had come a century before, Cassidy posits that these figures are “probably typical” (p17). However, considering our findings for the 1655–1700 period makes it clear that this is not the case. More generally, the assumption that one period can be considered representative of another is methodologically unsound. The seventeenth century in fact presents a very different picture from the eighteenth century. Note that Cassidy includes the Bight of Biafra, but, like Le Page, fails to mention the Loango coast. Table 2.  Cassidy’s “chief origins of the Jamaican Negroes”; figures are for the third quarter of the eighteenth century (adapted from Cassidy, 1971[1961]: 16) Gold Coast (14,274) Benin (2,569) unidentified (6,039)

Southern Nigeria (13,877) Angola (1,894)

Liberia (2,679) Gambia (95)



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

Ten years later, Alleyne (1971: 176) excludes Nigerian sources when he says that it seems “that as far as language is concerned, the Akan and Ewe groups were predominantly responsible for many of the structural similarities found within the English-based “creoles” and within French-based “creoles’’.” He goes on to claim a “predominance of the Akan culture in the English contact areas in the West Indies,” taking a position similar to Le Page’s. By 1988, Alleyne no longer makes reference to Gbe languages:26 It is quite likely that Twi-Asante was learned as a second (or third) language by Africans in Jamaica, for as we have seen, the Twi-Asante people were dominant in Jamaica at the start of plantation society, when differences between African ethnic groups were still sharp. (Alleyne 1988: 122)

For his demographic data, Alleyne consults Curtin (1969), which, for the 1655–1701 period, yields the figures presented here in table 3. Like Le Page before him, Alleyne has to deal with the fact that his figures do not show Gold Coast slaves becoming a dominant presence until the eighteenth century: for the seventeenth century, Alleyne has Gold Coast slaves making up a mere 6.3% of slave imports. Table 3.  Alleyne’s (1988: 40) seventeenth century data Central Africa 34,800 (39.5%) Windward Coast 11,400 (12.9%) Gold Coast 5,500 (6.3%) Sierra Leone 800 (0.9%)

Bight of Benin 24,300 (27.6%) Bight of Biafra 6,800 (7.7%) Senegambia 4,200 (4.8%) Unknown and other 200 (0.2%)

Like Le Page, Alleyne relies on a non-demographic view of dominance. He in fact refers to “certain psychological and cultural traits possessed by the Coromanti” (1971: 176) which put them in leadership positions.27 He also says: “They certainly seem to have been everywhere leaders of slave revolts” (ibid.; see also Alleyne 1993: 170f). The main problem with Alleyne’s and Le Page’s claim of early Akan leadership is that contemporary observations of such leadership among Jamaican Maroons and in rebellions, such as Dallas (1803), refer to the second half of the eighteenth

.  The older designation used by Alleyne is “Twi-Asante”. This privileges one variety over others, and for this reason, the designation has been changed to Akan. .  The designation “Coromantee” (also Coromanti, Kromanti) was applied to slaves shipped through the Gold Coast port of Cormantin. It appears that Alleyne takes it for granted that these slaves were Akan. Although this may well be true for the majority, the designation Coromantee does not guarantee Akan ethnicity.

 Silvia Kouwenberg

century. There are few early references to rebellions by or led by Kromanti slaves. Patterson (1996: 256–258 [1979]) reports a 1673 rebellion on a plantation in the parish of St Ann’s by 200 slaves claimed to have been nearly all Coromantee,28 and another rebellion in 1690 by 400 slaves on a plantation in the parish of Clarendon, “again mainly from the Gold Coast” (p. 258). However, Patterson fails to provide archival references for these claims – a fatal flaw in historical work. We will see shortly that slave purchasing patterns suggest that it is unlikely that such concentrations of Akan slaves were found on any one plantation.29 In short, neither demographics nor contemporary observations support the idea of Akan dominance and/or leadership in seventeenth-century English Jamaica. This is not to detract from the very clear evidence for Akan leadership in the eighteenth century. Thus, Stewart (2003: 88ff) points to a suggestive correlation between the rise in Gold Coast imports during the first three decades of the eighteenth century, the number of slave rebellions during those decades, and the dramatic drop in Gold Coast imports as the English are engaged in an all-out campaign against the Jamaican maroons (the First Maroon War), and apparently think it safer not to import any more Gold Coast slaves. According to Stewart, it was only after the Peace Treaty of 1739 that Jamaica emerged as “the predominant importer of Gold Coast captives” (94).30 I now turn to the work of Burnard (1996) and Burnard & Morgan (2001), whose research on seventeenth-century slave purchases further supports the view that ethnic diversity was characteristic of English Jamaica’s slave population from the start. Both publications describe the slave-purchasing practices of some of the wealthiest planters in late seventeenth-century Jamaica, using the accounts of the sale of slaves from the Royal African Company’s shipments. By tracing the shipments to their ports of embarkation and by tracing the purchasers to the plantations which they represent, it is possible to draw conclusions about the origins of enslaved Africans bought for particular plantations, at least to the extent that they were purchased in recorded Royal African Company sales, and to the extent that ports of lading can be traced for individual shipments. Burnard (p.c.) stresses

.  Schuler (1991) also refers to this rebellion, but inflates the number to 300. She consistently refers to the rebels as “Akan slaves.” This practice is in fact misleading (see fn. 27). .  A rebel group led by an Akan speaker named Kofi raided plantations from 1685 to 1686, but was quashed in 1686 when he was killed by government troops (Hart 1985: 15f, Patterson 1996: 257 [1979]). .  But recall that Bilby (2006) notes contemporary evidence of considerable ethnolinguistic variety among the early Windward Maroons.



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

that their findings are not fully representative of general slave purchasing patterns in Jamaica. This is because the largest plantations at that time were still able to buy directly from ships and make demands of the sellers. As a result, large planters were better able to act on their preferences than smaller purchasers, who did not have the same opportunities. According to Burnard & Morgan, Colonel Peter Beckford I (the wealthiest planter in Jamaica at that time), bought 189 slaves from the Royal African Company between 1674 and 1704 in fourteen separate shipments. He bought 75 slaves from the Gold Coast, 66 from the Bight of Benin, 25 from West Central Africa, and 22 from the Bight of Biafra. Another wealthy planter, Dr. Fulke Rose, bought 131 slaves from five separate regions; 42 percent of the slaves came from the Bight of Benin and 32 percent from the Gold Coast. The eleven largest slaveholders listed in a St. John Parish census bought 299 slaves from five African regions. Relatively few slaves came from West Central Africa (17) and Senegambia (19). The greatest number (128) came from the Gold Coast, with a further 81 from the Bight of Biafra and 54 from the Bight of Benin. Burnard & Morgan conclude that none of the five largest slave buyers bought all their slaves from just one region. Moreover, it seems that purchasing patterns varied considerably from one planter to a next. Thus, nearly two-thirds of Lieutenant Colonel Whitgift Aylmer’s 49 slaves came from the Gold Coast, but none of Colonel John Cope’s or Captain William Bragg’s did. Cope’s slaves came mostly from the Bight of Biafra, and Bragg’s were from the Bight of Benin. Major Richard Guy’s 79 slaves came almost equally from the Bight of Biafra and the Gold Coast. The most diverse slave population was that of Major Thomas Ayscough. He purchased 24 Gold Coast Africans, 12 slaves from the Bight of Benin, 13 Senegambians, and 6 from the Bight of Biafra. Burnard & Morgan conclude that heterogeneity of ethnic origins is a conspicuous feature of African migration to Jamaica (see also Burnard 1996, 2001). In sum, the diversity of slave origins in early English Jamaica is well supported by the slave purchasing patterns documented by Burnard & Morgan. Whether these patterns are also reliable in identifying the proportion of slaves of different ethnicities remains to be seen, however. Since the data source is the Royal African Company’s account books, which ultimately also constitute the main source for the figures of Table 1, the large planters’ apparent tendency to favor particular ethnicities simply meant that smaller planters which may have shared that preference had little or no opportunity to act on it. In sum, randomization of slaves was a characteristic of early plantation society in English Jamaica. Although the Akan dominance view is unsupported, no other ethnic group emerges to take its place.

 Silvia Kouwenberg

6.  The linguistic evidence Before we discard the idea of Akan dominance, we will briefly consider the linguistic evidence which has been put forward in support of it. Alleyne (1988: 122) refers to two types of such evidence: He claims that the Maroon language of Jamaica is based almost exclusively on Akan (which he refers to by an older name as Twi-Asante), and that the vast majority of words of African origin in the Jamaican language come from Akan. Table 4.  Approximate numbers of words in the Dictionary of Jamaican English for which African etymologies are suggested JC words for which only an Akan etymology is suggested: – Words reported to be in use by maroons; Akan etymology fairly well established – Words in general use; Akan etymology fairly well established (including about a dozen day-names) – Words in maroon or general use for which the suggested Akan etymology is doubtful at best JC words for which multiple etymologies (i.e., European and African or several   possible African etymologies) are suggested JC words for which a single non-Akan African source is suggested (including   Gbe/Ewe, Yoruba, Igbo, Efik, Bantu, Mandingo, Bambara, Mende, Kimbundu,   Fulani, Hausa) JC words which are claimed to be “probably African” TOTAL

10 40 50 60

60 50 270

Let us first consider the second claim, that the vast majority of words of African origin in JC come from Akan. The Cassidy & Le Page Dictionary of Jamaican English (DJE) contains several hundred words for which African etymologies are suggested. Cassidy & Le Page suggest single Akan etymologies for around one hundred of these. Considering a close formal and semantic match as a prerequisite for a credible etymology, I have found only fifty forms with a well-established Akan etymology (Table 4). In other words, the forms listed in the DJE do not show the overwhelming preponderance of reliably Akan-derived forms which one is led to expect.31 .  Taking into account the fact that Cassidy & Le Page compiled the DJE in the early to mid 1960s, it seems opportune to reconsider the etymologies which they proposed, making use of the vastly increased number of dictionaries and wordlists of relevant West African languages now available. Such work is currently being undertaken by Joseph Farquharson (University of the West Indies/Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology). His preliminary findings point to a substantial Bantu contribution to the JC lexicon, almost equal to the Akan contribution. In this regard, it is worth noting that Cassidy & Le Page apparently did not have access to useful Bantu sources at the time (Kouwenberg in prep.).



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

Turning to Alleyne’s claim that Jamaican Maroon language is “based almost exclusively on Twi-Asante,” we refer to Dallas (1803, I: 33), who reports that the “Coromantee” language was in general use among the Maroons during the eighteenth century. No such claim has been made for the seventeenth century. As with the historical data, we note an assumption – one that has gone unquestioned by other authors – that the situation as reported for the eighteenth century can be considered representative of earlier periods. More generally, Alleyne’s work on African continuities in Caribbean creole languages is based on the premise that African retentions represent the most conservative, earliest layer of language use in the Caribbean. This forces him to assign any African retentions to the earliest period of slave society. As it turns out, however, African lexical retentions can be quite recent. For instance, African-derived vocabulary used in the Jamaican religious cult known as Kumina has a Kongo source, representing the influence of African contract laborers recruited directly after the abolition of slavery in the mid-nineteenth century (Carter 1996a,b). Another example is that of the hundred or so words which Akan contributed to the vocabulary of the Suriname maroon creole languages (Huttar 1985), which postdates foundational Gbe influence.32 The different impact of Gbe and Akan is easily accounted for by the earlier dominant presence of Gbe-speakers (Arends 1995). Similarly, Manning (1982) has pointed to the late but significant Yoruba contribution to cultural practices in Brazil. Thus, the weight of African lexical retentions has to be evaluated within the larger sociohistorical context. A further point to be made regarding the significance of Jamaican Maroon language pertains to the issue of its relation to JC. For this, we need to consider Maroon linguistic practices in a little more detail. Bilby (1983) distinguishes between the Kromanti of the Maroons and so-called “deep language,” an English-lexicon creole formerly used by Jamaican Maroons, which is much more basilectal in appearance than is JC. Typically, “deep language” has vowel-final forms where JC has consonant-final forms, e.g., “deep language” waka, luku, dede, aksi, dago etc. vs. JC waak, luk, ded, aks, daag ‘walk, look’, dead, ask, dog.’’ Despite claims by Alleyne and other authors that JC consonant-final forms represent the decreolizing influence of English on an earlier more basilectal creole

.  It should be noted, though, that these languages are still only partly described, and that we are not in a position now to make a definitive statement on the lexical contributions made by different African substrates. Thus, Bilby’s work on lexical Africanisms in Aluku (in progress) has so far yielded 181 Gbe forms, 149 Kongo forms, and 215 Akan forms. The latter figure, in particular, is much higher than that of any published work.

 Silvia Kouwenberg

which had vowel-final forms throughout, the evidence in support of this view has not been forthcoming. The earliest JC sources only contain very few such vowel-final forms: wanee ‘want’, habee ‘have’, luku ‘look’ (see D’Costa & Lalla 1989; Lalla & D’Costa 1990). There are now two possibilities as regards the relation between Maroon language and the language of Jamaican plantation society: either Kromanti and “deep language” represent survivals of linguistic practices that were once wide-spread in Jamaica, or Maroon linguistic practices developed at least partially independently of Jamaican plantation society. We would need the former to be the case to allow for the idea that Akan exerted an influence on JC disproportionate to the numbers of speakers. However, in that case we would be hard-pressed to explain the complete lack of references in historical sources to Kromanti language outside of Maroon contexts, the near-complete absence of basilectal vowel-final forms in historical sources which represent plantation speech, the complete absence of other “deep language” forms in such sources, and of course their complete absence in modern JC. None of these problems arise if we adopt the second position, which has Maroon linguistic practices–and by extension, Maroon cultural practices–as partially autonomous developments, not unlike the Suriname situation in this respect.33 To sum up, the idea of Akan dominance in early Jamaican plantation society is based on false assumptions about the demographic profile of the period, as noted by Burnard (2001: 15): Students of Jamaican culture history who emphasise the formative influence of the Akan peoples from the Gold Coast in shaping Jamaica in the early eighteenth century overstate their case. Slaves from the Bight of Biafra outnumbered Akan slaves both in the formative period of Jamaican history in the 1660s and 1670s and also from the second quarter of the eighteenth century onwards. Moreover, no one area was so dominant an area of slave importation that slaves from one area could exert cultural dominance over the rest. Jamaica was very much a melting pot of African culture in the New World.

The evidence for the Akan contribution to JC lexicon, claimed to constitute the “vast majority” of words of African origin, turns out to be unimpressive. Also, the modern use of remnant Akan in Jamaican Maroon society, and its documented use in eighteenth century Maroon contexts, cannot be taken to mean that it was used in the seventeenth century, or that it was used outside of Maroon contexts. Finally, it is worth noting that despite the claims of Akan substrate influence, no

.  Mufwene (2002) reaches the same conclusion, although on different grounds.



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

substantial research has been done which considers aspects of JC grammar in comparison with Akan, or any other West African languages of relevance.34

7.  Conclusion The slave population of Jamaica is ethnically and linguistically diverse from the start of English Jamaica in the seventeenth century. We have seen that this is supported by our current state of knowledge of the slave trade (both licit and illicit) and by research on slave purchasing patterns. The view that a single ethnolinguistic group, such as the Akan, were dominant in early English Jamaica is not supported. This makes it unlikely that a single substrate language exerted a formative influence on JC to the exclusion of other substrates. In this regard, we have also seen that the linguistic evidence for such a formative Akan influence is unconvincing. Where do we go from here? It is clear that substratist research must be solidly based in the relevant historical demographic context. We have seen that there is no single region of slave provenance which emerges as dominant in the seventeenthcentury slave trade to Jamaica. This also means that no language emerges as the most likely source of substrate properties of JC grammar. Stewart (2003) points in particular to the Bights of Biafra and Benin as significant seventeenth-century ports for Jamaica’s slave supply, and to Angola and the Gold Coast as substantial but more minor ports. This yields a list of multiple substrates – at minimum those of Table 5, and possibly others–making it unlikely that substratist research methodologies which have been applied in the Suriname Creole, Haitian, and Berbice Dutch cases are applicable also in the JC case. A situation of multiple substrates calls for a different research methodology. Table 5.  Ethnolinguistic origins of enslaved Africans in seventeenth-century Jamaica Region

Language(s)

Bight of Biafra Bight of Benin Angola Gold Coast

Igboid (Lower) Cross River Gbe KiKongo and related languages Akan, Gã

.  This point is also made by Mufwene (1993: 193), who comments that Alleyne has only addressed “the cataloging aspect of language (i.e., the lexicon)”, not the grammatical structure of language.

 Silvia Kouwenberg

I propose the development of a substrate research methodology which capitalizes on the typological diversity found within Niger-Congo. Rather than assume typological uniformity across Niger-Congo, as has been the tendency in traditional substratist research, this methodology exploits the typological range. The presence of the languages of table 5 in seventeenth-century Jamaica defines the competing typologies in the language contact situation that gave rise to JC. The idea that I propose to pursue is that the typological range of these languages can be defined in some amount of detail, and that this allows for Jamaican Creole to be placed within that typological range.35 In short, the context of creole genesis in Jamaica involved multiple substrates. Substratist research in such a context needs to take a typological-comparative approach, which aligns the creole with the distribution of typological characteristics evidenced in different branches of Niger-Congo.

References Alleyne, Mervyn C. 1971. Acculturation and the cultural matrix of creolization. In Hymes, Dell (Ed.), Pidginization and creolization of languages. Cambridge: CUP. 169–186. Alleyne, Mervyn C. 1988. Roots of Jamaican culture. London: Pluto Press. Alleyne, Mervyn C. 1993. Continuity versus creativity in Afro-American language and culture. In Mufwene, Salikoko S. (Ed.), Africanisms in Afro-American Language Varieties. Athens/ London: University of Georgia Press. 167–181. Arends, Jacques. 1995. Demographic factors in the formation of Sranan. In Arends, Jacques (Ed.), The early stages of creolization. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 233–285. Arends, Jacques. 2001. Social stratification and network relations in the formation of Sranan. In Smith, Norval & Veenstra, Tonjes (Eds), Creolization and contact. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 291–307. Bilby, Kenneth. 1983. How the “older heads” talk: A Jamaican maroon spirit possession language and its relationship to the creoles of Surinam and Sierra Leone. New West Indian Guide 57: 37–88. Bilby, Kenneth M. 2006. True-Born Maroons. Kingston/Miami: Ian Randle Publishers. Bosman, Willem. 1967 [1705]. A new and accurate description of the coast of Guinea. Facsimile, with annotations, by John D Fage & Ray Bradbury, London [Dutch original Utrecht, 1704; first English translation 1705]. Buisseret, David. 2001. John Taylor’s ideas about seventeenth century Jamaican slavery. The Jamaican Historical Review 21: 1–7, 56. Burnard, Trevor. 1996. Who bought slaves in early Jamaica? Purchasers of slaves from the Royal African Company in Jamaica, 1674–1708. Slavery and Abolition 17: 68–92.

.  Kouwenberg & LaCharité (2004) provides an example of such a methodology. There, the typological properties of a range of reduplicative processes in Caribbean Creole languages are considered in comparison to such processes in Niger-Congo languages.



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

Burnard, Trevor. 2001. E pluribus plures: African ethnicities in seventeenth and eighteenthcentury Jamaica. Jamaican Historical Review 21: 8–22, 56–59. Burnard, Trevor & Morgan, Kenneth. 2001. The dynamics of the slave market and slave purchasing patterns in Jamaica, 1655–1788. The William and Mary Quarterly 58: 205–228. Carter, Hazel. 1996a. The language of Kumina and Beele play. In Warner-Lewis, Maureen (Ed.) African continuities in the linguistic heritage of Jamaica. ACIJ Research Review 3: 66–83. Carter, Hazel. 1996b. Annotated Kumina lexicon. In Warner-Lewis, Maureen (Ed.) African continuities in the linguistic heritage of Jamaica. ACIJ Research Review 3: 84–129. Cassidy, Frederick G. 1971 [1961]. Jamaica Talk. Three hundred years of the English language in Jamaica. London: MacMillan. Cassidy, Frederick G. & Le Page, Robert B. 1980 [1967]. Dictionary of Jamaican English. Cambridge: CUP. Craton, Michael. 1980. The passion to exist. Slave rebellions in the British West Indies 1650–1832. Journal of Caribbean History 13: 1–20. Craton, Michael. 1997 [1994]. The rope and the cutlass. Slave resistance in plantation America. In Craton, Michael. Empire, enslavement and freedom in the Caribbean. Kingston: Ian Randle. 185–202. (Published first in 1994 in: Indian Historical Review 18, 1–19). Curtin, Philip D. 1969. The Atlantic slave trade: A census. Madison WI: University of Wisconsin. Daaku, Kwame Y. 1970. Trade and politics on the Gold Coast, 1600–1700. A study of the African reaction to European trade. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Dallas, Robert C. 1803. The history of the Maroons. London: Strahan. Davies, Kenneth G. 1957. The Royal African Company. London: Longmans, Green and Co. D’Costa, Jean & Lalla, Barbara. 1989. Voices in exile: Jamaican texts of the 18th and 19th centuries. Tuscaloosa AL: University of Alabama Press. Dunn, Richard S. 1993. Sugar production and slave women in Jamaica. In Berlin, Ira and Morgan, Philip D. (Eds). Cultivation and culture. Labor and the shaping of slave life in the Americas. Charlottesville VA: University Press of Virginia. 49–72. Dunn, Richard S. 2000 [1972]. Sugar and slaves. The rise of the planter class in the English West Indies, 1624–1713. Chapel Hill NC: University of North Carolina Press. Eltis, David. 1996. The British transatlantic slave trade before 1714. Annual estimates of volume and direction. In Paquette, Robert & Engerman, Stanley L. (Eds), The Lesser Antilles in the age of European expansion. Gainesville FL: University Press of Florida. 182–205. Eltis, David, Behrendt, Stephen D., Richardson, David & Klein, Herbert S. (Eds). 1999. The transatlantic slave trade. A database on CD-Rom. Cambridge: CUP. Geggus, David. 1989. Sex ratio, age and ethnicity in the Atlantic slave trade: Data from French shipping and plantation records. The Journal of African History 30 (1): 23–44. Goffman, Erving. 1984. Characteristics of total institutions. In Kelly, Delos (Ed.), Deviant behavior. New York NY: St. Martin’s Press. 464–477. Hart, Richard. 1985. Slaves who abolished slavery. Vol. 2: Blacks in rebellion. Kingston: Institute of Social and Economic Research, University of the West Indies. Huttar, George. 1985. Sources of Ndjuka African vocabulary. New West Indian Guide 59: 45–71. Klooster, Wim. 1998. Illicit riches: Dutch trade in the Caribbean, 1648–1795. Leiden: KITLV. Kopytoff, Barbara. 1976. The development of Jamaican Maroon ethnicity. Caribbean Quarterly 22: 2/3. 33–50. Kouwenberg, Silvia. 1992. From OV to VO. Linguistic negotiation in the development of Berbice Dutch Creole. Lingua 88: 263–299.

 Silvia Kouwenberg Kouwenberg, Silvia. Forthcoming. The demographic context of creolization in early English Jamaica, 1655–1700. In Cardoso, Hugo, van den Berg, Margot & Selbach, Rachel (Eds), Gradualist approaches to Creole genesis: Memorial volume for Jacques Arends. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Kouwenberg, Silvia. In prep. Africans in early English Jamaica: The Akan-dominance myth. Kouwenberg, Silvia & LaCharité, Darlene. 2004. Echoes of Africa. Reduplication in Caribbean Creole and Niger-Congo languages. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 19 (2): 285–331. Lalla, Barbara & D’Costa, Jean. 1990. Language in exile: Three hundred years of Jamaican Creole. Tuscaloosa AL: University of Alabama Press. Le Page, Robert B. 1960. Jamaican Creole. An historical introduction to Jamaican Creole. London: MacMillan. Manning, Patrick. 1982. Slavery, colonialism and economic growth in Dahomey, 1640–1960. Cambridge: CUP. Manning, Patrick. 1996. Migrations of Africans to the Americas. The impact on Africans, Africa, and the New World. In Manning, Patrick (Ed.), Slave trades, 1500–1800. ­Globalization of forced labour. Aldershot: Variorum. 65–82. Migge, Bettina. 1998. Substrate influence in the formation of the Surinamese Plantation Creole: A consideration of sociohistorical data and linguistic data from Ndyuka and Gbe. Ph.D. Dissertation, Ohio State University. Migge, Bettina. 2007. Substrate influence in creole formation. Special issue of the Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 22 (1): 1–15. Morgan, Philip D. 1998. The black experience in the British empire 1680–1810. In Marshall, P.J. (Ed.), The Oxford history of the British empire. Vol 2: The eighteenth century. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 465–486. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 1993. African substratum: Possibility and evidence. A discussion of Alleyne’s and Hancock’s papers. In Mufwene, Salikoko S. (Ed.), Africanisms in Afro-American Language Varieties. Athens GA: University of Georgia Press. 192–208. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 2002. Socio-economic historical arguments for a gradual and heterogeneous development of patois in Jamaica. Paper presented at the Society for Caribbean Linguistics Biennual Meeting. St. Augustine, Trinidad. O’Malley, Greg. 2006. The intra-American slave trade: Forced African migrations within the Caribbean and from islands to the mainland. Paper presented at the 120th Annual Meeting of the American Historical Association, Philadelphia, January 5–8. Osborne, F.J. 1971. James Castillo – Asiento agent. The Jamaican Historical Review, 8: 9–18. Palmer, Colin. 1981. Human cargoes. The British slave trade to Spanish America, 1700–1739. Urbana IL: University of Illinois Press. Patterson, Orlando. 1996 [1979]. Slavery and slave revolts: A sociohistorical analysis of the first Maroon War, 1655–1740. In Price, Richard (Ed.), Maroon societies. Rebel slave communities in the Americas. Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. 246–292. Postma, Johannes. 1975. The origin of African slaves: The Dutch activities on the Guinea coast. In Engerman, Stanley & Genovese, Eugene (Eds). Race and slavery in the western hemisphere: quantitative studies. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press. 33–49. Postma, Johannes. 1990. The Dutch in the Atlantic slave trade 1600–1815. Cambridge: CUP. Postma, Johannes. 1992. The dispersal of African slaves in the West by Dutch slave traders, 1630–1803. In Inikori, Joseph E. & Engerman, Stanley L. (Eds). The Atlantic slave trade. Effects on economies, societies, and peoples in Africa, the Americas, and Europe. Durham NC: Duke University Press. 283–299.



The problem of multiple substrates: The case of Jamaican Creole 

Schuler, Monica. 1991. Akan slave rebellions in the British Caribbean. In Beckles, Hilary & Shepherd, Verene (Eds), Caribbean slave society and economy. Kingston: Ian Randle & James Currey. 373–386. Sheridan, Richard B. 1975. Mortality and the medical treatment of slaves in the British West Indies. In Engerman, Stanley & Genovese, Eugene (Eds). Race and slavery in the western hemisphere: Quantitative studies. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press. 285–307. Singler, John V. 1986. Short note. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 1: 141–145. Sloane, Hans. 1707–25. A voyage to the Islands Madera, Barbados, Neives, S. Christopher and Jamaica, 2 Vols. London. Smith, Norval. 1999. Pernambuco to Surinam 1654–1665? The Jewish slave controversy. In Huber, Magnus & Parkvall, Mikael (Eds). Spreading the word: The issue of diffusion among the Atlantic Creoles [Westminster Creolistics Series 6]. London: University of Westminster Press. 251–298. Smith, Norval, Robertson, Ian E. & Williamson, Kay. 1987. The Ijo element in Berbice Dutch. Language in Society 16: 49–90. Stewart, Robert P. 2003. Akan ethnicity in Jamaica: A re-examination of Jamaica’s slave imports from the Gold Coast, 1655–1807. The Maryland Historian 28: 69–107. Thornton, John. 1998. Africa and Africans in the making of the Atlantic world, 1400–1800 (2nd Edn). Cambridge: CUP. Zahedieh, Nuala. 1986. Trade, plunder, and economic development in Early English Jamaica, 1655–89. The Economic History Review, New Series 39: 205–222.

The superstrate is not always the lexifier Lingua Franca in the Barbary Coast 1530–1830* Rachel Selbach

University of Amsterdam The terms superstrate and substrate seem to lose some of their predictive force in the earliest documented European contact language. While Lingua Franca (LF) is best known for its purported origins as a trade pidgin used across all areas of the Mediterranean, the vast majority of actually available LF documents come from slave colonies on North Africa’s “Barbary Coast’’. Here, the social and the linguistic data do not synchronically coincide according to the usual creolist framework, where lexifier and superstrate are largely treated as being synonymous. Algiers held the largest prison colony where, according to contemporary reports (Haedo 1612), some 25,000 people lived, all of them speaking LF with different proficiencies. Masters in these prisons were Arab and Turkish Moslems; slaves were the captured European Christians. Most of the lexicon of LF is derived from Romance languages, therefore the bulk of the lexifier is that of the oppressed, not of the oppressor. This situation is shown in the major documents of LF, such as the 1830 Dictionnaire de la Langue Franque ou Petit Mauresque. Bakker’s principle – pidgins often do not use the lexicon of the dominant group – being borne out by available LF data, the possible (social) causes for this difference to the majority of the well-known contact languages coming out of slavery contexts will be discussed.

Depuis les années 1970, les créolistes anglophones ont développé une préférence particulière pour le terme _lexifier_, […] mettant ainsi l’accent sur le côté le moins controversé du développement des créoles: le vocabulaire. Mufwene (2005: 31) It is often said that pidgins use the language of the dominant group in the contacts. Upon scrutiny, this appears rarely to be the case, so this constitutes another important difference between pidgins and creoles. Creole languages indeed often use the lexicon of the dominant group […] Pidgins, however, often show the opposite.  Bakker (1995: 36)

* I am indebted to Peter Bakker, Christine Jourdan and Norval Smith for their kind and very detailed feedback on an earlier version of this paper. The paper is dedicated to Jacques Arends.

 Rachel Selbach

1.  Introduction The vocabulary of pidgins and creoles has indeed been one of the least controversial aspect of creolistics (Mufwene 2005: 31). If one pays more heed to detail however, such as highlighted by Bakker (1995; 2008), discussion – or controversy in creole circles – appears to be long outstanding. I highlight the interesting mismatch of assumed links between lexification and social dominance in some contact languages, through the example of the Lingua Franca (LF) spoken in Algiers’s slave colonies. Like Fanagalo, Chinook Jargon, Mobilian, Delaware Pidgin, and Hiri Motu, LF does not have a superstrate lexicon (Bakker 1995). I try to provide an Algiers-specific reason for Bakker’s observation that pidgins often do not conform to the creole pattern. In Algiers, the lexifier was the language of the dominated group, the European slaves. This paper first recapitulates some of the current generalizations about – superstrate – lexification. It then examines the sociolinguistic structures of Barbary coast slavery, and introduces some of the features of the lexicon of the LF spoken there, based on primary sources from European reporters 1612–1830. The aim is to provide an exploration of the possible links between linguistic structures (lexicon) and slavery-based societies. I conclude that the terms superstrate and lexifier again need to be explicitly divorced if we want to make the most of the available terminology.

2.  The lexifier and the superstrate: The problem It is usually assumed that pidgins and creoles inherit their lexicon from the superstrate. While the typology and sources of grammar, phonology and morphology of pidgins and creoles continue to be hotly debated, the lexicon has until quite recently received comparatively little attention from serious scholarship.1 The ­affinity for the term lexifier that Mufwene refers to in the quote above arguably grew more out of a desire to be politically correct than in response to a question of linguistic accuracy. Perhaps, superstrate was not the best choice of label, but a term that should be replaced with the less metaphorical – (though not innocuous regarding the evacuation of power, see Jourdan in preparation) – term lexifier. With creoles dominating the field of pidgin and creole studies, and specifically those emerging from European colonialism, lexifier and superstrate came to be largely interchangeable, synonymous terms.

.  Important recent exceptions are coming to light, where creolists used to “hide these things in their basements” (Norval Smith, p.c.) or relegate it to an appendix of a dissertation.



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

The division of a creole’s components into a substrate-derived grammar, and a superstrate-derived lexicon dates back to at least the late 19th century (Adam 1883). The substrate framework that spells out this distribution most explicitly is that of relexification as described by Lefebvre (1998), but is an implicit cornerstone heuristic for many other classical approaches (e.g., Keesing 1988). The opposing superstratist view is also clear regarding the identity of superstrate and lexifier: as a dialect of the superstrate language, the lexicon is naturally also inherited from the language the creole is in essence a descendant of. Here, one also often finds more highly committal terms such as base language in lieu of lexifier (cf. Chaudenson and his school). While debating sources of grammar, creolists of all classical persuasions nevertheless generally concur on the source of the lexicon.2 Time after time, from Atlantic to Pacific, the slave holders of the French, English, Dutch and Portuguese nations created colonies where creoles lexified by the rulers’ languages were left behind. Providing the lexicon was often the prerogative of those in power, not of those deprived of liberty laboring for them.3 Imposing their language, or at least their words, was often seen as a prime tool of domination, which the subordinate group is forced to come to terms with. Subtle but crucial differences exist in whether this is ascribed to imposition by the colonial rulers, or to active appropriation by the ruled. How one will describe the exact mechanism of the incorporation of lexemes into contact languages clearly depends on one’s view of the social historical context of pidginization and creolization. But by whatever mechanism and via whatever strategies this happens (relexification, reduced access, reduced input, L2 acquisition, active appropriation, etc), the (political)4 superstrate, i.e., the dominant group, as the source of the lexicon is very

.  It would not be the field of creolistics if there were unanimous consent on even the most basic assumptions, as lively on train discussion with Enoch Aboh, Norval Smith and Hans den Besten upon returning from Leipzig revealed. Nevertheless, I here treat the lexifier-is-superstrate equation as a basic cornerstone insight of creolistics. Exceptions to the rule should be brought to light and discussed as such, thereby refining the validity of the equation rather than assuming that in fact, anything goes. I attempt to move towards this goal here. .  Those providing the labor may contribute the more covert aspects of the language: grammar, semantic categories, phonology. .  The detailed discussion of the term superstrate in its own right, despite its centrality, is considered beyond the scope of this paper. It has been strongly critiqued by e.g., Thomason & Kaufman (1988); Thomason (2001) does not use the terms substrate and superstrate anymore. Despite a broad intuitive consensus by creolists who have appropriated the term (avowedly different from the use by historical linguists), flexibility remains in form (superstratum, superstrate) and meaning. See Goodman (1993) for discussion. For now, I leave the concept vague; superstrate refers to the

 Rachel Selbach

generally treated as a given. In the case of our best studied pidgins and creoles, it is usually the words of the rulers that prevail. This does not apply to Lingua Franca (LF), a Romance-lexified contact language spoken in the setting of Europeans’ enslavement by the North African extensions of the Turkish empire. LF is most famous for its origins as a trade pidgin used across all areas of the Mediterranean, but a majority of available LF documents, those discussed in this paper, actually come from 300 years of slave colonies located on the North African shores of the Mediterranean. This area was then known as the Barbary Coast, and geographically overlaps to a large extent with today’s Maghreb. In these trade and slave centers of the Barbary Coast (most importantly Tunis, Tripoli and Algiers, during the 16th – 19th centuries), the social and the linguistic do not coincide according to the usual creolist framework: the superstrate is not the lexifier. A Romance-lexified contact language, Lingua Franca, was used in Algiers by the representatives of the Turkish/Arabic rulers to communicate orders to their Christian slaves and hostages. LF was also used by those captured to communicate with each other, as well as amongst renegades and also their children. It was useful for all peoples of European, Turkish or African descent. This reversal is not only stunning because LF was for a long time seen as the “ur-pidgin”, the mother of all European pidgins (e.g., Whinnom 1965); it is interesting also because this is a rare case where the Europeans were the slaves and not the masters. So much the stranger that their languages still seem to provide the bulk of the lexicon. 3.  Lingua Franca in Algiers 3.1  Historical background In synchrony with the 1492 completion of the Spanish reconquista, the gradual and eventually complete expulsion of all non-Christians from the Spanish mainland and islands helped feed into the growth of powerful regencies on the Barbary coast. In 1519 Khair-ed Din Barbarossa placed Algiers under protection of the Ottoman Sultan in Constantinople, remaining too far away for close control, but close enough for obtaining support in the continued struggle against Spain. A short strip of Mediterranean sea now kept apart Christians and Muslims, or Spaniards and Turks,5 and

language of the group of people that have overpowered another group (often, as masters over slaves) in a language contact situation. .  The term Turk in the historical documents is used in a very general sense to refer to the agents of the Ottoman Empire; it seems to have encompassed anyone wearing a turban, clothes being a strong (i.e., near obligatory) marker of identity.



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

on these waves waged “a curious war, interrupted by truce, by simple inaction, by failure of both parties to find the funds needed to continue” (Wolf 1978: 31). Along the northwestern coast of Africa thus lay the dominion of Turkish rulers, who functioned here with semi-independent vassal states or “pirate nations”. From 1534, these enclaves were ruled by Beis, Pashas and then Deys sanctioned by the Ottoman empire. The dominions on the Barbary Coast largely worked on their own terms, even before attaining greater official autonomy in the 17th and 18th centuries. Their economy was to an important extent based upon free enterprising on the seas, where the booty of captured ships included not only material riches, but valuable crews and passengers. This ensured a regular flow of both slaves and hostages6 on which the regencies depended. When that flow of manpower became insufficient, large land raids were carried out, especially important numerically until the mid 17th century (Davis 2004, also Wolf 1978). Large slave colonies blossomed in Tunis, Tripoli and Algiers. In Algiers, slaves (hostages) held until sold for ransom usually left within five years though the average appears to have been a considerably shorter time span (Davis 2004). Those with lesser families or greater skills were kept in the colonies, often for life. Algiers was the largest colony, with, at its height in 1660, as many as eight large prison complexes called bagnos. An estimated total number of 20,000 Christian slaves were held there, as well as in private homes (Haedo 1612).7 Since the economy and functioning of Algiers was dependent on the revenue of slave taking, selling and use, Algiers could be seen as both a slave center, and a trade center. While the sea battles and land raids for slave capture between Christians and Muslims were often small and local, and were carried out increasingly under the free enterprise of individual corsairs and renegades, the war was nevertheless one between great empires and their great religions, Christian Hapsburgs and Muslim Ottomans.8 Both empires were actively engaged in capturing slaves from the other religion in the 16th and 17th centuries. The practice lasted longer, trickling on until French conquest in 1830, in the Barbary coast, where

.  Both were referred to in the captives’ reports as “slaves”, and the practice continues throughout this paper. Slave is then defined as a person deprived of his or her liberty, forcefully removed from home and living in a different society. .  There may have been more until a sharp drop in the 18th century; 35,000 according Davis (2004), who interprets all data to maximize the plight of Christian slaves; ca. 25,000 according to Wolf (1979). Both concur that it was enough to drain the coastal populations of the northern Mediterranean shore. .  I simplify matters here, as especially Ottoman alliances with Christian enemies of Spain were common (treaties with France 1536, also with Britain and Holland by the early 17th century (Jensen 1985). No doubt that a similar simplification was at work in earlier ­centuries to fuel each side’s cause.

 Rachel Selbach

slavery formed an important base of the economy. European slaves supplied the cities with necessary skilled labour such as shipbuilding, and supplied the high numbers necessary for hard labor, such as quarry and construction work, or worse, typically fatal galley work (Davis 2004; Wolf 1978). Those slaves up for ransom supplied, apart from political points of leverage, hard currency through their ransoming fees. Algiers, a Berber settlement taken by the Arab invasions of the 8th century, rapidly grew into a multicultural urban center, helped along dramatically by religious refugees from Europe, both Jewish and Moslem. Turkish rulers determined the infrastructure, laws and courts, but made up a numerical minority in the population. Renegades, i.e., Christians who converted to Islam and crossed over to new job opportunities in the Ottoman empire, made up around half of the captains and corsairs working for the regencies. Christian slaves, who became either private or public (i.e., government) property, composed a crucial remainder, estimated at roughly a quarter of the population. Publicly owned slaves worked in the day at various locations, and had free time to gather money to pay for their lodging (for instance by selling water, or begging) during an hour of free time in the evening, before the bagnos locked down at sunset. Privately owned slaves who typically worked in the gardens and performed some household tasks were also sometimes lodged in a bagno. These bagnos contained hospitals and chapels; they featured slave-run, slave-owned inns which also attracted Muslims, all of this producing a multicultural universe where enterprising was possible and often rewarded in improved living conditions or ­accumulation of wealth (Davis 2004; Wolf 1978). While deprived of their freedom of movement, the slaves and hostages were not deprived of religion or language or creativity for self-advancement. In all contexts where Christian slaves were involved, and these were many, the default language of communication appears to have been LF (see Haedo (1612) below). LF is cited in both documentary and literary sources as spoken not only by Christian slaves, but across the population from private estate owners to prison guards, and by people in the streets. Even the highest officials of the regime, such as Dey Mahomed, would have mastered LF – though he preferred addressing free Christians through a translator, since he considered LF beneath his dignity (Rehbinder 1798).9 Miguel Cervantes, himself captured and held hostage for up to seven years, describes Algiers slavery in several pieces of his work. In Don Quixote,

.  “Der zu meiner Zeit regierende Dey Mahomed sprach und verstand sehr wohl die Lingua franca, glaubte aber seiner Würde etwas zu vergeben, wenn er directe mit den freyen Christen sprach” (Cifoletti 2004: 226).



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

he describes LF and at the same time provides a definition of a lingua franca par excellence:10 […] lengua que en toda la Berbería y aun en Constantinopla se halla entre cautivos y moros, que ni es morisca ni castellana ni de otra nación alguna, sino una mezcla de todas las lenguas, con la qual todos nos entendemos, […]11  Cervantes (1605) Don Quixote, Part I, Chapt.41

3.2  The Lingua Franca corpus: Available evidence The Barbary coast reports introduced below constitute the single most coherent available group of texts on LF.12 Both documentary and literary genres, often united in the popular Captivity Narrative (Snader 2000), abound. The corpus has recently been carefully re-assembled by Cifoletti (2004), thus considerably extending Schuchardt’s (1909) seminal piece on LF. Wealthier and more educated slaves were often lucky enough to be freed by ransom paid by their families or religious order, and sometimes lived to tell the tale of their days (sometimes as few as two, Pananti) and years (ca five, Haedo) in the Algiers bagnos. Further, there are tales of diplomacy, and from Trinitarian priests on their redemptive and ransoming missions. Former slaves, priests, noblemen of interest and education and priests thus contribute to the corpus of Barbary coast Lingua Franca.13 Given that the witnesses are Europeans, and are largely writing for a European audience, it should be clear that we are dealing with a Eurocentric and one-sided

.  In fact, a good amount of scholarly review of late 16th century Algiers seems to be based on the works of Cervantes. Many studies of Barbary appear to base themselves in good part on the three chapters of the Historia del Cautivo of the Don Quixote, whether acknowledged or not (cf. Davis (2004)?). .  “the language that all over Barbary and even in Constantinople is the medium between captives and Moors, and is neither Morisco nor Castilian, nor of any other nation, but a mixture of all languages, by means of which we can all understand one another.” (English translation by John Ormsby, accessed from the Proyecto Cervantes website, http://cervantes.tamu.edu/). .  The entire available corpus on LF spans across time from 1353, and the vast space of the Mediterranean, through numerous literary and some documentary genres. See Schuchardt (1909) for the core texts studied. .  Cifoletti (2004) has usefully labeled the language represented in these texts as “Lingua Franca Barbaresca”. I hesitate to take recourse to this label here as it might imply strong belief in the existence of an earlier, distinct and coherent version of non-Barbary LF. As there is no danger of confusion here with another LF, for the purposes of this paper that shorter label is sufficient.

 Rachel Selbach

view of LF as spoken in Algiers. The description here will therefore concern only that subgroup of – typically well situated – captured Europeans.14 Due to their documentary focus, many of these samples attest to both the use and function of LF, not just providing text samples, but perhaps more importantly, careful descriptions as well as random anecdotes of the language situation in these regencies. The same documents will therefore serve as sources for internal and external data on LF, if one can make that distinction. These are the two tightly interwoven dimensions that will be examined here, with focus on the “external” description due in part to limited space, but also because the authors’ metalinguistic assessments must be considered just as valuable as their attempts to replicate bits and pieces of the language itself, most often many years later. The crucial question is whether a sociolinguistic motivation can be discerned that will predict a contact language’s lexifier. Haedo’s 1612 text “dialogues” will set the stage with a bit of LF wisdom, given by a prison guard to a slave hoping or scheming to leave Algiers. Dio grande no pigllar fantesia, Mundo cosi cosi. Si estar scripto in testa, andar, andar. Si no aca morir. (“God is great, don’t be stubborn, the world is now this way, now that. If it is written that you will go, you will go. If not, you will die here.”)15

3.3  Lingua Franca sources: Barbary Coast overview The following table shows the corpus of available sources of Barbary Coast Lingua Franca, compiled largely from Cifoletti (2004). Data from Hark Olufs is from Rheinheimer (2001); data from Dapper was expanded through Italiaander’s (1964) edition. I refrain from citing directly from the primary sources as this fine, meticulous collection is publicly accessible and conveniently condensed. It contains a full glossary of LF, and merits full attention from all those interested in LF (and do not live within walking distance of the British Library). A selection of the sources in Table 1 will be cited and discussed in section 4 below.16 .  One cannot therefore exclude the possibility that other groups of LF speakers may have produced a different type of LF. .  Translation by Jacques Arends, whose fascination for Lingua Franca I am only beginning to understand in full depth. .  This list is surely non-exhaustive; the popularity of the so-called Captivity narrative was great, and the literature on the Barbary coast is vast (for excellent bibliographies see Wolf (1979) and Rheinheimer (2001); also Davis (2004)). Published collections on Barbary captives from a German province (Rheinheimer 1999), from British citizens (Snader 2000), as well as the rich literature from other Northern European nations and anthologies of captured U.S. citizens, illustrate how



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

Table 1.  Available known sources of LF in Algiers and Barbary (expanded from Cifoletti 2004) Year

Piece

Author

Place

1612 Topographia de Argel Haedo Algiers [1596] 1637 Histoire de la Barbarie Pierre Dan Algiers and et de ses corsaires Tunis 1642 Relation de la captivite Aranda Algiers et liberte […] 1644 fragment dialogue with Tamayo Algiers Jesuit 1665 Memoires du Chevalier D’Arvieux Tunis d’Arvieux 1668 Umbstaendliche und Dapper Barbary/ eigentliche Beschreibung Algiers von Afrika 1670 Diccionario Trinitario: Serrano Algiers missionary reports 1675 […] Moeurs et De Algiers gouvernement des Rocqueville Turcs d’Alger 1675 Un Academicien Vaillant Algiers captif a Alger 1675 Journal d’un voyage a Hees Algiers Alger 1738 Travels […] Barbary Shaw Barbary, Levant and Levant 1747 Hark Olufs […] Olufs Algiers to Besynderlige Avantures Constantinople 1785 Voyage en Barbarie Poiret Barbary 1789 [selected manuscripts] Venture Algiers de Paradis 1800 Nachrichten […] Rehbinder Algiers Algierschen Staat 1800 Alger. Tableau […] Renaudot Algiers 1810 Six years residence Broughton, Algiers in Algiers (Elizabeth) 1817 Avventure ed Pananti Algiers osservazioni sopra la coste di Barberia 1830 Dictionnaire de la anonymous (for invasion Langue Franque (ed. Marseilles) of) Algiers

Type report of capture report of slave redemption report of capture reported fragment report of diplomacy scholarly description (compiled from secondary sources) Word list gathered on redemptive mission travel report

report of capture travel report travel report report of capture/ autobiography travel report diplomatic reports travel report/ popular description travel report/ popular description report/diary of diplomat’s wife reported fragment

LF-French dictionary and dialogue samples

 Rachel Selbach

4.  Sociolinguistic evidence 4.1  Metalinguistic commentary by eyewitnesses in Algiers 1596–183017 The following is a series of excerpts in chronological order that portray some of the characterizations of LF, by slaves, a priest, scholars, and a diplomat’s wife. I have italicized the related names given to Lingua Franca in the different sources of various languages, and the most relevant linguistic (concerning source languages) and some sociolinguistic (on the role and need for LF, and its perception) commentary has been highlighted in bold. 4.1.1  Haedo (Spain 1612) The earliest and perhaps best source on LF in Algiers is the Topographia e historia general de Argel, edited by Fray Diego de Haedo and published in Madrid in 1612. Haedo himself is not the author of the detailed 3-volume account, but refers in the preface to the adventures written down by his uncle some decades earlier. This source is coveted due to the detailed description of late 16th century Algiers. It has also sparked interest because Haedo refers to a fellow inmate, Cervantes, who had also been captured and enslaved in the bagnos by the Turks during the same period, and whose literary evidence appears to corroborate Haedo’s documentation.18 Haedo gives a complete and detailed insider description of life in the prison quarters for a ca 5-year period around 1575–80, overlapping with the period of Cervantes’ imprisonment. He frequently comments on the language called franca, or hablar franco. It is one of the three languages spoken in the city, besides Arabic and Turkish. LF is not [based on] any specific Christian [European] language; rather, its vocabulary comes from various Christian languages, mostly Italian, Spanish, and some Portuguese. Hablar franco is pervasive; not a household is found where it is not spoken (or where there is no Christian slave). Haedo cites several examples of LF text in other passages. Haedo (1612) Topographia e historia general de Argel Tres son las lenguas que ordinariamente se hablan en Argel. [1. turquesca; 2. morisca] La tercera lengua que en Argel se usa es la que los moros y turcos llaman franca

far the range of origin of those captured spread out. It may well be that some LF words will surface in some of these linguistically unexamined sources. Notable is the fact that some of the reports of years of enslavement in the Barbary coast make no mention of LF at all. Those narratives that are known to discuss LF in the Barbary coast are included in the summary in Table 1. .  All the excerpts are taken from Cifoletti (2004), except for Hark Olufs, taken from Rheinheimer (2001). .  Eisenberg (1996) proposes the idea that Haedo and Cervantes may have been identical.



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

o hablar franco, llamando ansi a la lengua y modo de hablar cristiano, no porque ellos hablen toda la lengua y manera de hablar de cristiano o porque este hablar (aquellos llaman franco) sea de alguna particular nación cristiana que lo use, mas porque mediante este modo de hablar, que esta entre ellos en uso, se entienden con los cristianos, siendo todo él una mezcla de varias lenguas cristianas y de ­vocablos, que por la mayor parte son Italianos y Espanoles y algunos Portugueses […] Este hablar franco es tan general que no ay casa do no se use, y porque tampoco no hay ninguna do no tengan christiano […] Book 1, Capitulo XXIX (Haedo 1927: pp. 114–116) (“Three languages are commonly spoken in Algiers. [1. Turkish; 2. Arabic] The third language used in Algiers is the one the Moors and Turks call franca or hablar franco, thus calling the language and way of speaking of the Christians; not because they all manage to speak the language of the Christians or because this language (they call franco) would be that used by any particular Christian nation, but rather because by means of this way of speaking, that is in use between them, they make themselves understood with the Christians, and it is a mixture of various Christian languages and words, which for the most part are Italian and Spanish and some Portuguese. This hablar franco is so widespread that there is no house in which it is not used, and that is also because there is not a single one that doesn’t have Christians in them.”)

4.1.2  Dan (France 1637) Pierre Dan was a French priest of the Trinitarian redemptive order who was on a regular redemptive mission of paying slave ransom fees in Algiers and Tunis. While much less of an open-minded observer of the doings in Algiers, aiming his polemic mostly at reinforcing the enmity between Christians and Moors, he does comment favorably – albeit expectedly haughtily – on what he says is referred to as le franc. Dan refers to the same three languages being spoken in Algiers: Arabic (presumably including Arabic and Berber: “Arabesque ou Mauresque”) Turkish, and “Franc”. He characterizes le franc as being “a simple and pleasant [jargon], composed of French, Italian and Spanish”. It is used “to make oneself understood”. Dan is not as refined as Haedo in distinguishing the words (bocablos) from the entirety of the language; he has omitted Portuguese as one of the possible sources in the barragouin (“jargon’’); and he has placed French on top of the list of the donor languages. Was he simply being characteristically chauvinistic, had the language changed, or did he truly perceive it thus? Dan (1637) Histoire de la Barbarie et de ses corsaires Et la troisieme [langue parlee ordinairement en Alger, after ‘‘Arabesque ou Mauresque” and “Turque’’], celle qu’ils appellent le franc, dont on use communement pour se faire entendre; ce qui est un barragouin facile et plaisant, composé de Francois, d’Italien et d’Espagnol. (“And the third [language…], which they call le franc, one uses commonly to make oneself understood; which is a mixture simple and pleasant, composed of French, Italian and Spanish.”)

 Rachel Selbach

4.1.3  Dapper (Holland 1668) Olfert Dapper never travelled to Africa himself. His is therefore an essentially ­secondary account, albeit old. A short excerpt from the German translation (purportedly effected by himself, two years after the 1668 original Dutch publication) is nevertheless included here, as it provides another variant of the proposed imput languages to LF. Spanish, French and Italian (W˝alsch) are cited. (Italiaander (1964)) Dapper (1668) Umbst˝andliche und eigentliche Beschreibung von Afrika Ja es ist auch nicht allein in diesem Landstriche, sondern auch anderw˝arts in den Mohrenlaendern unter den Christen und Mohammedanern die sogennante Frankensprache, welche man aus der franzősischen, w˝alschen und am allermeisten aus der spanischen zusammenfuegt, gebr˝auchlich: und hierdurch koennen sie alle diese drei Sprachen genug verstehen. (“Indeed not alone on this strip of land, but also elsewhere in the lands of the moors amongst the Christians and the Muslims, the so-called Frankensprache, which one combines from French, Italian and mostly Spanish, is in use: and with it, they can understand all three languages sufficiently.”)

4.1.4  Olufs (Denmark 1747) Hark Olufs (1708–1754) was a sailor from Amrum (Danish North Frisia) who was captured at age 16 at the Scilly Islands Southwest of England, was taken to Algiers and subsequently spent 12 years of his life in the service of the Ottoman empire. As many others captured with little hope of ransom payment from their less wealthy families or communities, and their lives ahead of them to their own making, he almost certainly chose to convert to Islam. Olufs led a successful and integrated life, before he returned home a wealthy man in 1736 and wrote his memoirs. In these he refers to Lingva Franca, the first Danish name citation of LF. Hark claims having learnt all three of the languages repeatedly cited for Algiers: LF, Turkish and Arabic. LF is first in the list, rather than the usual third (Haedo, Dan), and it is not unlikely that it was the first tongue he learned. Yet, he also asserts that his knowledge of Turkish pleased the Dey of Constantinople and therefore won him favours and career opportunities. (Rheinheimer (2001)) Hark Olufs (1747) [Avantures] … og som jeg i den Tiid lærdte Lingva Franca, saavelsom ogsaa det Tyrkiske og Arabiske Sprog (“also around this time I learned Lingva Franca, as well as the Turkish and Arabic language.”)

4.1.5  Rehbinder (Germany 1798) Rehbinder travels to Algeria coming from a Germany of the enlightenment. His­ 5-volume report is detailed and “scientific”, outlining the belief systems and customs of the people of North Africa. As typical of such a gentleman scholar,



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

he travels around the area with a guide and interpreter, and of course other staff. His need for LF or other North African languages is therefore less urgent than for a captured slave having to obey orders and manage to survive; nevertheless, he comes across this “so-called Lingua franca”. He characterizes it as “an imperfect dialect or language that has as its main ingredients bad Italian, mixed with some Spanish, and a few Arabic words and turns of phrases.” This is thus the first mention of Arabic words in LF. Rehbinder (1798) Nachrichten und Bemerkungen uber den Algierschen Staat “die sogenannte Lingua franca’’: Ein schlechtes Italienisch, mit etwas Spanisch, und mit einigen arabischen Worten und Wendungen vermischt, sind als Hauptingredienzen dieser unvolkommenen Mundart oder Sprache anzusehen. (“on “the so-called Lingua franca’’: bad Italian, with some Spanish, and several Arabic words and turns, are the main ingredients of this imperfect dialect or language”)

4.1.6  Pananti (Italy 1817) Pananti is one of the few Italian travelers who makes mention of LF, though he does perceive it as a corrupted Italian dialect. Upon speaking of the Dey, Pananti gives lingua franca an individual and therefore idiosyncratic status by adding the pronoun sua “his” (the Dey’s) LF. The Dey on the contrary values the buona lingua “good language’’, of his latest captive. Italian is here clearly the prestige language, a valuable commodity. LF is implicitly portrayed as the corrupted version of that target by the Italian captive. Pananti thus reveals a typical lexifier attitude towards LF, which is easily associated with a socially dominant group. Perhaps it is his stay of merely two days in Algerian imprisonment that makes him a bit haughtier towards LF than other slaves, but it is also true that by the 19th century the balance of power has shifted in favor of the European side, his individual and passing imprisonment being a mere matter of amusement. Pananti (1817) Avventure e osservazioni sopra le coste di Barberia …[Dey] disse infine con un poco d’impazienza e con la sua lingua franca, […] “Ti aver buona lingua: star buono acquisito per noi; ti poter far l’interprete e il segretario del Dey…” (“…said with some impatience and in his lingua franca “You have good language; be good acquisition for us; be able to make interpreter and secretary of the Dey””)

4.1.7  Broughton (England 1839) Elizabeth Broughton spent six years living as an English diplomat’s wife in Algiers, during its demise and just before its fall to the French. She represents the upper class foreigner’s experience, and writes an expatriate’s story (published a decade later).

 Rachel Selbach

Broughton is not free of prejudice or sarcasm regarding the language that draws her attention. Nevertheless, her view of LF as both a useful, integral part of daily life, and as an independent entity – regardless of its relatively unpure nature – is in stark contrast with that of the two-day Italian hostage Pananti. Broughton’s ambivalence towards LF – an arbitrary makeshift jargon, yet a useful, somehow charming way of communicating – is found in nearly all of the texts, certainly in the more modern ones. Broughton (1839) Six years residence in Algiers …as [the father-in-law of the Dey] speaks Lingua Franca perfectly, and I begin to understand it very well, he acted as my interpreter; Lingua Franca, the language by which all communication was carried on by the Turks and Moors with Europeans of all nations. It is a sort of Olla Podrida, of all the different languages spoken in the various countries surrounding the Mediterranean. Captain – considered himself a good Italian scholar, and therefore dispensed with the aid of an interpreter, as did my father also, for Sidi Yussuf, the Minister of Marine, spoke Lingua Franca perfectly in all its eloquent and terse abruptness. … Buono amigo el Rey Giorgi [Nota: Let it be remembered that it is Lingua Franca that I quote, and not any one of the score of purer languages, out of which it is to[sic] arbitrarily compiled.]”

4.1.8  The Dictionnaire (French conquest from 1830) The Dictionnaire de la langue franque ou petit mauresque […] was published 1830 in Marseilles, with anonymous authorship, as a handbook for the French troops that were to invade and occupy Algiers later the same year. It consists of three parts (which are not free of internal contradictions): An introductory grammar; sample dialogues; and a word list. The word list is of special interest here as it is divided into two parts: a large LF-French part, followed by a short Arab-French list. Implicitly, Arabic is sorted out of LF. The version of LF spoken in Algiers is said to have a higher affinity with Spanish, in contrast with the more strongly Italian influenced LF of Tunis. Anonymous (1830) Dictionnaire de la langue franque ou petit mauresque suivi de quelques dialogues familiers et d’un vocabulaire des mots arabes les plus usuels à l’usage des Français en Afrique La langue franque ou petit mauresque, très-répandue dans les états Barbaresques, lorsque les corsaires de Tunis et d’Alger rapportaient de leurs courses un grand nombre d’esclaves Chrétiens, est encore employée par les habitans des villes maritimes, dans leurs rapports avec les Européens. Cet idiome, qui ne sert guère qu’aux usages familiers de la vie, et aux rapports commerciaux les moins compliqués, n’a ni orthographe, ni règles grammaticales bien établies; il diffère même sur plusieurs points, suivant les villes où il est parlé, et le petit mauresque en usage à Tunis, n’est pas tout-à-fait le même que celui qu’on emploie à Alger; tirant beaucoup de l’italien dans la première de ces régences, il se rapproche au contraire de l’espagnol dans celle d’Alger.



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

(“The langue franque or petit mauresque, very widespread in the Barbary states when the corsairs of Tunis and Algiers captured large numbers of Christian slaves, is still used by the inhabitants of the maritime cities, in their dealings with the Europeans. This idiom, which serves for nothing but the ordinary purposes of daily life and for the least complicated commercial exchange has neither orthography nor well-established grammatical rules; it even differs in several respects according to the cities in which it is spoken, and the petit mauresque of Tunis is not exactly the same as the one used in Algiers; drawing a lot from Italian in the first of the regencies, it comes closer to Spanish in that of Algiers.”)

4.2  Observations on eyewitness commentaries The above excerpts leave little doubt about the important role of the Romance lexified Lingua Franca in Algiers from the late 16th to early 19th century. Though associated with the Christians, it served as a neutral language for interethnic communication throughout the city. It belonged to no one (no born Christian) and everyone (every born Christian, renegade, etc), yet it was entrenched in the tradition of several centuries. Clearly, the status of LF in the Barbary coast during its threehundred year era as a slave colony can be described, in conformity with most definitions (Bakker, Mühlhäusler, etc.) as that of a robust and well entrenched pidgin, at the very least.19 Moreover, the Lingua Franca (LF) was also a perfect example of a generic lingua franca.20 The sociolinguistic makeup of Algiers was as varied as its population. Adventurers of all European nations travelled to the Barbary coast, and reported on LF. Together with Arabic21 and Turkish, LF was one of the three main available codes used within an impressive mix of languages. Elsewhere, sources show that Turkish was the language of law, Arabic that of religion (Dapper 1668/1964); but it is not clear to what extent each language was used outside of these realms. Berber speakers constitute an important adstrate, situated in terms of power between the European slaves and the Turkish rulers. It can be assumed that both Turkish and

.  Arends & Muusse (in press) suggest LF may have creolized in Algiers. This possibility cannot be ruled out. Unfortunately, the sources we have available are not written by those most likely to have acquired such a version, if indeed there could have been said to have been two varieties, one pidgin and one creole. While there was a relatively stable population in Algiers (relatively because movement seems to have been a rule for renegades, Turks, Christians, Jews), the excerpts available are from those who left. .  Cf. the citation from Cervantes in §3.1. Thanks to Peter Bakker for discussion of the earliest mentions and meanings of the term lingua franca in a world-wide context, a topic remaining to be explored. .  Maghreb Arabic is hypothetically what is meant by Haedo, Dan, etc by Morisco, Mauresque. It is not clear whether Berber played a perceptible role for these reporters.

 Rachel Selbach

Berber speakers were fluent in Arabic. This non-uniformity of the superstrate may also have contributed to the lexicon of the pidgin, in favoring lexification through a more uniform substrate; but this alone cannot be seen as the sole determining factor. Among the main characteristics of Algiers were its widespread multilingualism and multiculturalism. Cultures were actively maintained even within slave prisons (§3.1). LF would have been a crucial tool for maneuvering between cultures, as no one’s and everyone’s language. The perception of LF is as ambivalent as that of other pidgins the world over and all the deprecating characterizations typical for a pidgin apply here as well, especially in the later texts. LF is described as a (barbarian) mix, a jargon, barragouin, Olla Podrida, or as an imperfect dialect. With time, and the gradual creation and rise of nation states throughout Europe, it is seen increasingly as a corrupted version of a (lexifier) target which is a standard national, or pure, language (cf. Rehbinder (1798); Pananti (1817); Broughton (1839); Dictionnaire (1830)). Yet it is handy and easily learnt and therefore retains its crucial central function (Broughton 1839, Dictionnaire 1830). Typological distance also plays a role in the perception of the language. Italians were least likely to refer to “lingua franca” as an autonomous language, despite providing samples thereof. Rather, the Italian language, identified as an asset (cf. Pananti reporting on the Dey (§4.1.6)), bears more prestige. The speakers least familiar with the Romance lexifiers on the other hand (here apparently Broughton, who appears to have but vague knowledge of the “score of purer languages spoken in the various countries surrounding the Mediterranean”) are generally more positively inclined towards LF.22 Note, then, that this principle of lexifier speakers’ disdain also holds here, where we are not speaking of any political superstrate. The known languages of the reporters not only influenced their perception of the status of LF, but also their perception and assessment of the source of the lexicon. Haedo lists Italian, Spanish and Portuguese; Dan lists French, Italian and Spanish; Dapper lists mostly Spanish, French and Italian; Rehbinder hears Italian with some Spanish and a few Arabic words; Pananti perceives corrupted Italian; and Broughton, quite unaware of the specifics of the “score of purer languages”, does not single out any of the donor languages.

.  This is reminiscent of the status accorded to pidgins and the world over: it is often the speakers of the lexifier that look down on the pidgin or creole the most. Furthermore, nonspeakers of the lexifier may often be the more acute observers of the contact variety. Compare Keesing (1988: 101) on Melanesian Pidgin English: “[…] we learn more about the way Islanders fluent in pidgin actually spoke from the few observers who were not English speakers […]”.



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

LF is thus described by these European sources as a Romance-lexified code, with all the usual characteristics of and attitudes towards a pidgin. It is a language option among others, and its perception is very similar to that of a new language in colonial settings. Why, then, the important difference in the source of the lexemes, deriving from the political substrate? 5.  Lexicon We have now identified a Romance lexicon for LF, but not a Romance lexifier. The vast majority of lexemes in the Algiers sources have Romance origins, but what is the Romance lexifier, Italian,23 Spanish, French or Portuguese; Provençal or Catalan; Venetian or Genoese? It is certainly not just one of these, and it is difficult to argue for the preponderance of one rather than the other on the basis of the phonologically altered LF lexicon. As seen in the reports above, allocation to a specific language source also often depends on the observer’s point of view. Too much vocabulary is shared by the Latin descendants. Furthermore, even in those cases where for instance an Italian or Iberian source of a lexeme can be distinguished, such as in lavorar or trabajar (‘work’ in Italian and Spanish, respectively), LF does not have a single lexical source, and simply features both. Schuchardt (1909), Whinnom (1965), and Arends & Muusse (in press) have written on the existence of doublets in LF. Below, I focus on their insights and etymological work, and try to put it into theoretical perspective. The following brief survey of some particular aspects of the lexicon begins with a discussion of Romance doublets, then shows that doublets also existed across language families, highlights some Arabic and Turkish items in the LF corpora (from Cifoletti 2004), and finally emphasizes the importance of phonological congruence in deriving a useful and efficient vocabulary for this contact language. 5.1  Romance doublets Almost all verbs in the LF sources are Romance-derived; furthermore, all forms are streamlined to end in –r. Where frequent or basic verbs have different roots in two languages, both are often found side by side in LF. For instance, ‘to speak’ parlar (Dictionnaire, Haedo) co-exists with (h)ablar (Dictionnaire, Haedo).

.  Despite frequent claims that LF was an Italian-lexified language (e.g., Thomason 2001: 162), even if such a claim were true, the diversity of Italian dialects would beg the question of “Which lexifier?” once again. Venetian has held the favored position in the literature in that respect (e.g., Kahane & Kahane 1976), but again, is insufficient as a single lexifier.

 Rachel Selbach

‘To have’ is tenir and tener (in Dictionnaire, Haedo, Dan, Broughton) but also avir and aver (Dictionnaire, Tamayo, Caronni, and Pananti). Dar is used in Dictionnaire and Pananti for ‘to give’, but donar is found in Dictionnaire, Haedo, Tamayo, and Pananti. Counchar, counchiar/contehar ‘to do’ are found in Dictionnaire, Aranda, and Rehbinder, but fasir, fazer, and fazir appear in Dictionnaire, Haedo, Tamayo, and Calligaris. On a broader scope, there are also variant derivations; e.g., ‘work’ related terms appear as travajar (verb ‘work’; Haedo), but also as lavoro and lavorador (nouns ‘work’, ‘worker’; both Dictionnaire). Romance-derived nouns also appear in doublets but pattern differently in that they are often used side by side as a stylistic device for reinforcement. Thus the abusive expression Perro, cane, is found repeatedly throughout the centuries (e.g., in Haedo, Dan, Hees) and drives home the message to the slave thus adressed. Apart from cane, cani (Dictionnaire, Haedo, Dan, Aranda, Hees, Broughton, and Pananti) and perro, pierro (Haedo, Dan, Hees, Broughton) ‘dog’, there are testa (Dictionnaire, Haedo, Pananti) and cabeza, cabessa (Dictionnaire, Haedo, Pananti) ‘head’, and dio (Haedo, Aranda) and dios (Dictionnaire, Dan, Renaudot) ‘god’. In many other cases, it is not clear whether to distinguish between tokens that typically have alternate spellings. For instance bagnos, bagnes, baños or cazeria, casseries, cachareas or bon, bono, bonou, bouno, bouonou, and bueno might either have different immediate etymological origins or mainly be reflections of the various authors’ spelling preferences. Most likely, some of these represent different pronunciations all in simultaneous circulation in the city of Algiers. 5.2  Cross-family doublets Non-Romance words also enter into doublet relationships with Romance words, and with each other. ‘Crazy’ appears in the Dictionnaire both as maboul (from Arabic mahbu:l, Cifoletti 2004: 62), and as locou (related to Spanish loco). A particularly poignant example of the flourishing of doublets in Algiers can be found in doublets of proper names. Muslims named individual bagnos after owners or founders, while Christians often referred to the same prisons by the name of the chapels within, often patron saints. Compare the paired names for the same prison centers: Ali Pegelin or Saint Roche, Bagno Pasha or Trinity, Bagno Beylic or St. Catherine (Davis 2004: 111). As not much is gained on a purely communicative level with alternate proper names, this is good evidence that doublets strongly served the purpose of marking the speakers’ retained identities as members of larger separate groups, religious or political in this case. If proper naming may appear to be an unspectacular aspect of language, it also clearly indicates that LF, though a stable fixture of multi-ethnic Algiers, allowed for much room to manoeuver, and for speakers to mark their religious, political and cultural identity.



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

Another non-Romance doublet is found in the Lingua Franca proverb cited in a German and a French source. It predicts the end of the Algerian pestilence season for June 24th, the day of the Christian Saint, St. John the Baptist. It also nicely illustrates the cultural mix springing from North African-European contacts. Poiret (1785): Saint Jean venir, Gandouf andar Rehbinder (1800): Saint Jean venir, buba andar

‘St. John comes, the plague leaves’ ‘St. John comes, the plague leaves’

Both mean that come the day of St. Jean, in high summer, the danger of the plague subsides. The Dictionnaire lists abouba and gandouf as translations for ‘plague’. According to Schuchardt (1909: 446), both (a)buba and gandouf can be traced back to Arabic, but may have found reinforcement from phonologically similar terms in Romance. Surprisingly it is Rehbinder and not Poiret who leans towards chosing the lexeme buba, since it overlaps with French la peste bubonique, characterized by the presence of bubons, skin boils filled with phlegm, particularly in the area of the lower belly.24 Says Schuchardt: “Many [forms] give the impression that they were introduced due to similarity with corresponding Romance forms” (Schuchardt (1909) in translation by Markey 1979: 30). I elaborate on the importance of conflation and the communication possibilities it provides below. 5.3  Non-Romance lexemes Other lexemes are clearly non-Romance derived, and judging from the available sources can be seen as quantitatively on a par with foreign borrowings into any Romance language; Schuchardt (1909: 446) thus likens the proportion of Arabic words in LF to those borrowed by Spanish. As a borrowability perspective predicts should happen first, even with merely casual contact (Thomason & Kaufman 1988: 74ff), many of these Arabic and Turkish terms are nouns, which typically denote objects foreign to Romance speakers; names for things non-European.25 Thus, the Turkish jannissaries (soldiers of the Turkish army) are called yoldach (Turkish yoldas), and titles such as Dey, Pasha, Effendi are used within LF. There are, however, also non-Romance terms in LF for more universal concepts which are slightly lower on a borrowability scale, and could as easily have found Romance labels. Some of these salient adjectives and adverbs are (in addition

.  Thanks to Christine Jourdan for the juicy details. .  This echoes what is said about Austronesian words in Solomon Islands Pijin (Jourdan (in press)) and about Amerindian and African etyma in Ndyuka (Huttar 1985: 48).

 Rachel Selbach

to maboul which in fact has a Romance doublet, see above) marfuz ‘bad’ and bezzef ‘very’.26 Despite the Arabic- and Turkish-derived vocabulary admixture, our LF sources often feature separate Arabic word lists. The Dictionnaire as the wealthiest linguistic ressource has a special section at the end, called Maniere de compter et quelques mots arabes (‘How to count and some Arabic words’). Only Serrano’s (1670) nombres de las cosas en Argel (‘Names of things in Algiers’) is set off from this pattern in that the word list he provides contains fewer Romance than Arabic derived terms. Most items here resemble poorly transcribed Arabic (e.g., abelma ‘water’, cherop ‘wine’, salamelic ‘God be with you’, suba aja alico ‘good day’), with several Romance (mostly resembling Italian) terms scattered throughout (e.g., aspero ‘asper’ (coin), matina ‘morning’, manchar ‘eat’). Serrano also includes numbers which appear as Arabic in Roman transcription. Romance-derived numbers (other than oun, ouno, ouna, uno, una) are documented by no sources except the Dictionnaire, which features largely Italian derived numerals in French orthography for LF, not as a list but within the main dictionary section (ouno, doué, tré, quatro, …). In general, there is a tendency for writers to tease out Arabic forms from what is to be considered LF.27 Given the Arabic borrowings and separated word-lists, indicating a need for these non-Romance words, we may assume that non-Romance was also at the (differentially limited) disposal of the Algiers speakers. 5.4  Blends There are also a number of words that are shared by both Arabic and Romance languages, due to the preceding centuries of Arab-Christian contacts in the Mediterranean area. When these terms enter LF, pinpointing a single lexical donor becomes even more difficult. Lingua Franca captan taoula fondouk 

Arabic qabt.a:n t.a:wila funduq

Italian capitano ‘captain’ tavola ‘table’ fondaco ‘market’ (Examples from Cifoletti 2004: 60–64, “Arabismi”)

Other LF items such as magazino ‘shop’, harem ‘harem’ are “Arabisms” that had already entered Italian by the time they were adopted into LF (Cifoletti 2004). Rather than settling on a single derivation, the point of lexifier origin here becomes

.  Christine Jourdan informs me that some of these words are also found in modern-day colloquial French, e.g., Il est complètement mabul (“He is totally crazy’’) and Il n’y en a pas bezzef (“He does not have much of it’’). .  This tendency is continued to date, for instance in the work of Cifoletti (2004).



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

moot; the terms were found throughout the Mediterranean and are best treated as part of an areal lexicon. Schuchardt (1909: 446) discusses further “blends”, which created LF terms such as meschin (‘poor, miserable’), cassana (‘cupboard’), marei (‘mirror’), etc. Individual LF speakers will have created terms (and perhaps folketymologies) based on what they knew, regardless of diachronic factors. Here the accidental surface similarity, there the chance shared etymology through earlier borrowing, may be another key to understanding the successful functioning of LF. 5.5  Congruence, feature pool or koiné LF seems to have possessed a crucial openness of lexicon. Doublets were tolerated, as multiple ways of saying and labeling things. Choosing a lexeme from a set of equivalent (though not uniformly accessible) forms could have meant for LF speakers a tolerated act of identity (cf. Le Page & Tabouret-Keller 1985). This choice is eased considerably in cases of phonological congruence in the items on offer. Available terms could be metaphorized either as a feature pool (Mufwene 2005), or as on offer at a “word cafeteria” (for praise of the grammatical cafeteria, see Siegel this volume). Lexemes that are phonologically congruent are more easily or frequently selected, they may even conflate in the minds of some speakers with phonologically closely resembling ones,28 optimizing the possibilities of a communicative “hit” rather than a “miss”. Did LF not have to level (cf. Siegel 1987, 1999)? There was no need for a single lexifier in Algiers because large number of the participants came to the encounter with an overlapping inventory of words. However, as Romance speakers had to communicate with Turkish, Berber and Arabic speakers, as well as with speakers of other European languages, more than a simple internal koiné function was required. Furthermore, the lexical variability of LF contrasts also with what is expected from a stable, levelled koiné. Yet, in order to narrow down the number of lexifiers, we could posit a Romance pre-koiné (Siegel 1987: 201) that fed into LF, and call it the lexifier. Siegel (1987) examines the social and structural differences between koineization and pidginization. The former is based on free social interaction, while the latter results from restricted social interaction (Siegel 1987: 200). LF speakers in Algiers found themselves in both types of contexts, and koineization may well have played a part in pidginization (Siegel 1987: 200). Further research is needed to fully explore the process of koineization and the role it played in LF. Nevertheless, the question remains: why did (the lexicon of) LF not level? .  Lefebvre & Therrien (2007) define phonological conflation: “When forms of substrate and superstrate lexical entries associated in relexification/relabeling are phonologically/phonetically similar, a compromise form often emerges in the creole.”

 Rachel Selbach

For LF, lexical variants were as much a part of the language as variant lexifiers were. LF apparently did not have to level, and we do not need to isolate a single lexifer. There is no reason to separate available terms into language groups as though they were kept in containers (for an item-based approach see Enfield 2005); neither LF speakers nor hearers would have to pinpoint the source of a word in order to understand it. Although many of the primary and secondary LF sources do this, it is also quite clear that all terms in circulation in Algiers were available to speakers of LF. This was possible in part due to the shared ancestry of Romance languages, and in part due to the widespread, long-lived areal contacts on both sides of the Mediterranean. When terms resembled each other, they were recognizable in a context where intelligibility was an important concern. It would have made little difference why words were phonologically congruent – whether due to borrowing and diffusion, or to inheritance, or even to a superficial chance similarity. Congruent terms could have conflated into one LF form for some speakers, but, given the postulated openness of the lexicon, evidenced in unrelated doublets, did not have to. This is not to say that LF was, or would have for ever stayed, immune to levelling. Arends & Muusse (in press) interpret LF lexical variability as diachronic and diastratic change, positing a partial relexification process from Italian to Spanish as the center of LF moved from the Eastern Mediterranean, the Levant (the supposed cradle of LF in their view), to the Western Mediterranean, i.e., the Barbary coast, around the 16th century. Within the Barbary coast, the same geographic variation is also documented: the introduction to the 1830 Dictionnaire (cf. §4.1.8) describes the LF of Tunis as drawing more from Italian, and that of Algiers resembling Spanish. LF in the Barbary slave colonies was more than a loose collection of idiolects not tied together by social cohesion. The vast occurrence of cognates in the various languages, due to both to historical (‘‘genetic’’) origins, as well as to diffusion of terms throughout the history of Mediterranean contacts, provided a means of escape from tight lexical sets linked to a specific language. Apparently little damage was done either to comprehension, or to the idea of a single code called Lingua Franca.

6.  Discussion 6.1  A diachronic solution A lingua franca was necessary in multi-cultural, movemented Algiers. Why was the Lingua Franca the contact language of choice? In my view it is not a sufficient explanation to claim that LF was used for three centuries in the Algiers slave colonies because it had pre-existed as a Mediterranean trade language. Such an approach nevertheless does have the power to solve the issue



The superstrate is not always the lexifier

of non-superstrate lexification by simply according a history to LF, a desirable result from all views. Assuming that the LF of Algiers was an unbroken continuation of that of earlier LF described in scattered literary texts, LF was created prior to its employment in the Barbary coast slaving context as a crusading or trade language, at times when Italian city states (crucially Genoa, then Venice) were largely in control of the Mediterranean sea (e.g., Schuchardt (1909); Whinnom (1965); Arends & Muusse (in press), Bakker (1995); Cifoletti (2004); etc.). The LF Romance lexifier then was indeed the superstrate in the times of its creation. Basing oneself on the “Founder Principle” (Mufwene 1996), whereby the initial members of a community are crucial in shaping the make-up of the contact language for the future, then satisfies the requirements of our initial working assumption, that the superstrate should normally be the lexifier. A seductive hypothesis indeed, and moreover with a strong tradition. However, I will here remain agnostic towards this simple solution on offer, as it brings along at least two other problems. Firstly, a heavy burden is then placed on having stability of LF across different contexts over vast amounts of time and space. In the absence of “normal transmission”, nativization or creolization, such stability is more than we typically expect of a pidgin. Secondly, and crucially, regardless of the validity of such expectations or generalizations, in proposing LF pre-existence we will still not have found an explanation of why LF was so successfully adopted in Algiers. I would like to make the strong claim that even if LF did exist previously, we would still need to find a reason why it was not just adopted, but managed to thrive in Algiers throughout 300 years with the same basic Romance lexification. That is to say, either with or without a stable pre-existence of LF, we have to explain how the society in Algiers could have nourished LF throughout the following three centuries.29 6.2  S ynchronic analysis of Lingua Franca in Algiers (social and linguistic factors) The following analysis is based on the assumption that people adapting to a new language contact situation will create a language best suited for their needs (cf. e.g., Baker (1990); Jourdan (1991), (in press); Smith 2006). Below I attempt to identify specific social factors in Algiers that made LF the most efficient solution to serving both communicative and social identity functions for its speakers.

.  Why, for instance, was LF not relexified by Turkish or Arabic? In fact the question regarding pre-existence matters very little to the arguments here. Clearly, the concept of LF as a Romance-lexified contact language predates the Barbary sources by at least two centuries. At this point we simply do not know how stable that code was (do Couto 2002) and how much it had in common with the LF we discuss here.



 Rachel Selbach

Of course, one could facetiously blame the Europeans for an incapacity to learn foreign languages, whether in the position of oppressor or oppressed. Another Eurocentric angle focuses on the Europeans’ habits not as language learners but as colonizers, setting them and their methods apart from the rest of the world. This will lead us back to a certain exceptionality of pidgins and creoles arising from European colonialism (Mufwene 2005). One could venture further, making a case that Christianization employed different strategies, and had different goals than Arabicization. Such broad socio-religious approaches are thought-provoking but tend to supply unsatisfactory answers. There are simply too many factors to consider objectively. One can venture to enumerate some specific factors that may have contributed to the continued presence of Romance lexification in the contacts of the Barbary coast. One of these is the relatively short length of time spent in captivity by the subset of slaves that we have reported data from, the premature deaths of others, and the successful escape of some. From the standpoint of the masters, it would have been more efficient to have the fixed employees (Arabs, Berbers, Turks, renegades) using the words of the European temps, so that no time was lost for integration. A similar argument applies to the initial days in captivity, when the newly acquired slaves were sent to the docks for sorting and partitioning of the human resources (Davis 2004). On the other hand, high turnovers through high death rates are not unheard of in slavery contexts. The initial sorting of captives that was carried out to allocate them to their wide variety of new functions (including ransomability, special skill, etc) could have alternatively been carried out by a staff of interpreters. To reach a proper understanding of why contact languages developed the way they did, in-depth investigations of the motivations and the power relations such as provided recently by Jourdan (in press) for Melanesia and Smith (2006) for Surinam are needed. If “Being enlanguaged means being in the world, being part of the cultural environment that sustains the symbolic systems of human beings” (Jourdan (in press)), then we can search for the structural reasons for lexification not just in the structures of Algiers society, but in the motivation of the group of individuals. One key factor that characterizes the Christian slaves in Algiers that we have data from is their often realistic hope for return. The motivation and the permission to retain their Christian identity fed into LF, and vice versa. 6.3  Algiers as a place of multilingual contacts LF served two broad functions: (i) that of interethnic, interreligious communication between Muslims, Jews and Christians, and (ii) that of intraethnic cohesion



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

among various Europeans, where national and religious differences (e.g. Catholics vs. Protestants) would have been smoothed away under the Romance, Christian scope. It must be kept in mind that even our European sources provide evidence that LF was not the only language spoken in Algiers (cf. Haedo 1612; Dan 1637), but only third next to Turkish and Arabic. Nor was it necessarily the only contact language; there are indications of an Arabic koiné los Alarbes de Arabia […] con la communicacion y mezcla de tantas naciones conquistadas, corrompieran su propria lengua, entanto que la lengua de los Alarbes, que hoy se usa en Barbaria, no es Arabiga propriamente  (Haedo (1612) cited in Cifoletti 2004: 197) (“The Arabs of Arabia, with the communication and the mix of so many conquered nations, corrupt their own language, such that the language of the Arabs that is used in Barbary today, is not Arabic properly speaking.”)

Certainly, there were next to Turkish and Arabic a wide range of adstrates, most importantly the Berber languages. Hebrew was in use by large numbers of Jewish settlers who had also fled from Europe. Germanic languages will have been spoken by the northern Europeans, of which there were a considerable number judging from the literature on captivity and the letters sent home (cf. Rheinheimer 1999). Non-Christian dwellers of Algiers who had mother tongue knowledge of Romance languages included large numbers of “moriscos”, the displaced Arabs of Spain, as well as the displaced Sephardim. The renegades, Christian born Italians, Spaniards, etc. who converted to Islam and worked for the Ottoman empire were numerous and in positions of giving orders to slaves. Significant numbers of members of the subordinate group had already sided with the superordinate group. The power in Algiers was always only locally tipped in the favour of the rulers, and these were furthermore very often represented by their foreign employees. The Turkish superordination on the Barbary front was very real, but was neither immediate, nor absolute on the larger scale of battling empires. When those in power are not at an absolute advantage, further, if they depend on foreign cooperation and negotiation with members of the subordinate group, can we still refer to a superstrate? Slavery in the Barbary coast was but one of the features of a complex interplay of war, diplomacy, and trade. The organization of the slave colony depended also on the larger context and cultural goals. The annihilation or subjugation of a culture was not an aim of the rulers of the Barbary Coast. In fact, keeping Arabic, the language of Allah, away from the infidels may well have been a specific desire of those in power (Maarten Mous, p.c.). The goals of the Arab regime in Algiers were not those of European colonialism. Barbary slaves were certainly abused and deprived of freedom, yet they were allowed to hold on to practices and beliefs, and were also expected to function

 Rachel Selbach

a­ utonomously – and to bring in money won through personal enterprising in order to pay for lodging, etc. Furthermore, there was always, at least for a considerable part of the slave population, a situation of hope of returning home. Things had changed by their capture, but not necessarily for ever. Cultural reality could be put on hold in Algiers, but had to be maintained for later. Slaves needed to integrate, but they needed to keep up their roots.30 The type of regime allowed them to do this openly (e.g., lexically), rather than just in a covert way (e.g., grammatically). The bagnos constituted a contact room for neutral manoeuvering, conducted in LF.31 It is unlikely that these experiences, in bagnos and elsewhere, dissolved all cultural ties, beliefs and rules that people may have had. Rather, they had the obligation (and occasion)32 to put them aside for a while. Though stripped of their clothes (a salient event to all reporters held captive, also see Davis (2004) for a description), slaves were not forced to abandon the words of their language.33 Their cultural perturbation may have been profound, but as long as the hope for return was kept alive, slaves and hostages clung openly to their identities. Their letters home illustrate the fight they put up to not stray from these, a fight kept alive by the hope of one day returning (Rheinheimer 1999). The level of negotiability of power relations is one explanation for why pidgins are so much less predictable than creoles. At least in Algiers, there was more surface room for overt differentiation and negotiation of meaning. As culture and religion were permitted to be conserved, so was a large and symbolic part of language, the lexicon. 7.  Conclusion and implications This investigation of LF and Barbary Coast slavery deepens part of the broad ­empirical evidence Bakker (1995) provides for a very rare instance of a linguistic split between pidgins and creoles. After asserting that the superstrate was not the

.  Though some people did decide to go for conversion and make the most of the moment (as Hark Olufs likely did; Rheinheimer 2001). These individuals were prone to learn Arabic, as well as Turkish in the case of Olufs, but would have found LF particularly useful to carry out business with their former co-religionists. There, LF could have created the appropriate distance or proximity. .  A floor plan of a bagno in Tunis includes shops, a distillery, and lodgings reserved for Muslim tenants (Sacerdoti (1948) in Davis (2004: 119). .  Bending the rules in the bagnos involved ia. the practice of Muslims indulging in alcohol, and in Christian men, also free travellers, seeking the company of boys (Davis 2004). .  There is, however, one slave reporter who recounts that galley slaves were forbidden to converse in any language other than LF (Marott (1677) in Davis (2004: 114)).



The superstrate is not always the lexifier 

lexifier in Algiers, and providing evidence and arguments to account for this, we had to turn and ask: What was the lexifier for LF? Can we refer to a superstrate? A decade and a half ago, Goodman (1993) pointed out the lack of a proper definition of superstratum and substratum, and to date, the concepts are still largely used intuitively. To be sure, attempts have been made at re-defining what exactly is meant by superstrate. I provide only a redefinition by do Couto (2002) here, as he, like us, is faced with the problem of explaining LF lexification. Do Couto removes superstrate terminology and replaces it with “dominant language”, which is defined by “prestige”. Romance, he argues, held this prestige. He concludes that with this definition, the dominant language, the prestige language, remains the lexifier. It is the speakers of the prestige languages, carriers of superior technologies, who displaced themselves onto the land of the substrate speakers. The strange thing in this case is that the speakers of the prestige languages were the slaves and renegades, who formed the lower ranks of the community from which LF emerged. (do Couto 2002: 195)34

Do Couto’s elegant redefinition salvages uniformity across contact languages (at the very least least where LF is concerned), and should be seriously considered. For several reasons, I prefer to offer another option for a lesson to be drawn from these data. Firstly, prestige is also a term that is notoriously difficult to define properly and uniformly. Secondly, if we do not toss out these terms that have carried us through the past decades (see Goodman (1993) on their relatively late rise in creolistics), then we may gain an insight by applying them: Creoles have superstrate lexification, pidgins do not necessarily. The solution offered here is therefore more pragmatic and perhaps more preliminary: that is, to cut loose the terms superstrate and lexifier. Both terms are useful ones, but need to be investigated in their own right. If we do that, we can generate typological insights into the differences among contact languages (cf. Bakker 2008). In pidgins, – as indeed anywhere – social relations may be astoundingly complex, and the lexification outcome is less predictable. This is indeed a structural result of the sociolinguistic reality that superstrate and substrate are useful labels that apply best to radical European creoles – they are not arbitrary labels in situations of European colonialism where there was such a clear imbalance of power, one that

.  My translation of original: “São os falantes de línguas prestigiadas, portadores de uma tecnologia superior, que se deslocaram para a terra dos falantes de línguas de substrato. O curioso no caso é que, como vimos, os falantes de línguas de prestígio eram escravos, renegados, enfim, constituíam a camada inferior da comunidade em que a LF estava emergindo.” (do Couto 2002: 195)

 Rachel Selbach

rarely pertained elsewhere. The term superstrate applies less well to the sociolinguistic ecologies of pidgins. In Algiers, as in many pidgin-speaking contexts, we do not have a superstrate in the same sense as the contexts of creole genesis do. Perhaps this is why we cannot extend the structural divide of grammar vs lexicon to pidgins in the same way; here would be a structural (lexical) corrolary to the social-historically motivated definition of creoles as contact languages arising in colonial settings (Mufwene 2005). Some of the basic equations (superstrate is lexifier) do not extend from creoles to pidgins, and we have to make sure our terminology is able to reflect that. The more we come to know about individual pidgins and creoles, the more we come to realize that the stories of their genesis and history are diverse (Jourdan 1991). Room must be given to these extralinguistic data, which are crucial in any interesting definition of contact languages. The term lexifier has to be teased out and clearly defined. A contact language theory of the lexicon is needed, and proper room must be given to the study of the lexicon (Arends 2002). Taken together with its social history, this may feed into refining existing concepts and formulating general typologies; it must contribute to the growth of the field. If the lexicon has so far been uncontroversial, then only because its study has often been neglected.

References Adam, Lucien. 1883. Les idiomes négro-aryens et malayo-aryens: essai d’hybridologie linguistique. Paris: Maisonneuve. Arends, Jacques. 1998. A bibliography of Lingua Franca. The Carrier Pidgin 26(4–5): 33–35. Arends, Jacques. 1999. Lingua Franca en de ‘Europese’ creooltalen. Gramma/TTT 7: 173–90. Arends, Jacques. 2002. The historical study of creoles and the future of creole studies. In Gilbert, Glenn (Ed.), Pidgin and creole linguistics in the 21st century. Frankfurt: Peter Lang. 49–68. Arends, Jacques & Muusse, Esther. (in press). Inflectional morphology in Lingua Franca. In Den Besten, Hans, Parkvall, Mikael & Baker, Philip (Eds), Starting from scratch. London: Battlebridge Press. Baker, Philip. 1990. Off target? Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 5(1): 107–20. Bakker, Peter. 1995. Pidgins. In Arends, Jacques, Muysken, Pieter & Smith, Norval (Eds). Pidgins and creoles: An introduction. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Bakker, Peter. 2008. The case for pidgins as a separate class of languages: Pidgins versus other contact languages. In Kouwenberg, Silvia & Singler, John (Eds), Handbook of pidgin and creole linguistics. Oxford: Blackwell. Broughton, Elizabeth B. 1839. Six years residence in Algiers. London: Saunders and Otley. Cervantes, Miguel de. 1605. Don Quijote de la Mancha. Madrid: Real Academia Española. Cervantes, Miguel de. 1605. Don Quixote. English translation by John Ormsby. (13 December 2007).



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Cifoletti, Guido. 2004. La lingua franca barbaresca. Roma: Il Calamo. Couto, Hildo H. do. 2002. A língua franca mediterrânea: Histórico, textos e interpretação. Brasilia: Oficina/Editora Plano. Dan, Pierre. 1637. Histoire de Barbarie et de ses corsairs. Paris. Dapper, Olfert. 1964 (1668). Umbstaendliche und eigentliche Beschreibung von Africa, anno 1668. Ed. by Italiaander, Rolf. Stuttgart: Steingrüben. Davis, Robert C. 2004. Christian slaves, Muslim masters: White slavery in the Mediterranean, the Barbary Coast, and Italy, 1500–1800. New York NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Dictionnaire (Anonymous author). 1830. Dictionnaire de la langue Franque. Marseille: Feissat et Demoudry. Eisenberg, Daniel. 1996. Cervantes, autor de la Topographia e historia general de Argel publicada por Diego de Haedo. Cervantes: Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America 16: 1. 32–53. Enfield, Nicholas J. 2005. Areal linguistics in mainland Southeast Asia. Annual Review of ­Anthropology 34: 181–206. Goodman, Morris. 1993. African substratum: Some cautionary words. In Mufwene, Salikoko S. (Ed.). Africanisms in Afro-American language varieties. Athens GA: University of Georgia Press. Haedo, Diego de. 1612. Topografía e historia general de Argel. Valladolid. Haedo, Diego de. 1927. Topografía e historia general de Argel. Madrid: Sociedad de Bibliofílos Españoles. Huttar, George L. 1985. Sources of Ndjuka African vocabulary. Nieuwe West-Indische Gids/ New West Indian Guide 59: 45–71. Jensen, De Lamar. 1985. The Ottoman Turks in sixteenth century French diplomacy. Sixteenth Century Journal 16.4: 451–70. Jourdan, C. 1991. Pidgins and creoles: The blurring of categories. Annual Review of Anthropology 20: 187–209. Jourdan, Christine. Forthcoming 2008. The cultural in pidgin genesis. In Kouwenberg, Silvia & Singler, John (Eds). Handbook of pidgin and creole linguistics. Oxford: Blackwell. Jourdan, Christine. In preparation. An anthropology of pidgin and creole languages. Cambridge: CUP. Kahane, Henry & Kahane, Renee. 1976. Lingua Franca: The story of a term. Romance Philology 30: 25–41. Keesing, Roger M. 1988. Melanesian pidgin and the Oceanic substrate. Stanford CA: Stanford University Press. Lefebvre, Claire. 1998. Creole genesis and the acquisition of grammar: The case of Haitian creole. [Cambridge Studies in Linguistics 88]. Cambridge: CUP. Lefebvre, Claire & Therrien, Isabelle. 2007. The multiple facets of Papiamentu ku. Creolica 2007–01–29. Le Page, Robert B. & Tabouret-Keller, Andrée. 1985. Acts of identity: Creole-based approaches to language and ethnicity. Cambridge: CUP. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 1996. The founder principle in creole genesis. Diachronica 13: 1. 83–134. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 2005. Créoles, écologie sociale, évolution linguistique. Paris: L’Harmattan. Pananti, Filippo. 1817. Avventure e osservazioni sopra le coste di Barberia. Milaño. Rehbinder, J. von. 1798–1800. Nachrichten und Bemerkungen ueber den Algierschen Staat, 3 Vols. Altona: J. F. Hammerich. Rheinheimer, Martin. 1999. Identität und Kulturkonflikt: Selbstzeugnisse schleswig-holsteinischer Sklaven in den Barbareskenstaaten. Historische Zeitschrift 269: 2. 317–69.

 Rachel Selbach Rheinheimer, Martin. 2001. Der fremde Sohn: Hark Olufs’ Wiederkehr aus der Sklaverei. Neumünster: Wachholtz. Serrano, Bartolomé. 1670. Nombres de las cosas en Argel. Schuchardt, Hugo. 1909. Die Lingua franca. Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie 33: 441–61. Schuchardt, Hugo. 1979. On lingua franca. (Translation by Markey, Thomas L.). In Markey, Thomas L. (Ed.), The ethnography of variation: Selected writings on pidgins and creoles. Ann Arbor MI: Karoma. Siegel, Jeff. 1987. Language contact in a plantation environment: A sociolinguistic history of Fiji. Cambridge: CUP. Siegel, Jeff. 1999. Transfer constraints and substrate influence in Melanesian Pidgin. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 14: 1. 1–44. Smith, Norval. 2006. Very rapid creolization in the framework of the restricted motivation hypothesis. In Lefebvre, Claire, White, Lydia & Jourdan, Christine (Eds), L2 acquisition and creole genesis. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 49–65. Snader, Joe. 2000. Caught between worlds: British captivity narratives in fact and fiction. ­Lexington KY: University Press of Kentucky. Thomason, Sarah G. & Kaufman, Terrence. 1988. Language contact, creolization, and genetic linguistics. Berkeley CA: University of California Press. Thomason, Sarah G. 2001. Language contact: An introduction. Edinburgh: EUP. Whinnom, Keith. 1965. The origin of the European-based creoles and pidgins. Orbis 14: 2. 509–27. Wolf, John B. 1979. The Barbary Coast: Algeria under the Turks 1500–1830. New York NY: Norton.

In praise of the cafeteria principle Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole Jeff Siegel

University of New England (Australia) & University of Hawai‘i Bickerton (1981) argues against the influence of substrate languages in creoles, using the term “cafeteria principle” to ridicule the idea that a language could select features from various sources like items chosen for lunch at a cafeteria. However, this chapter demonstrates that several aspects of the morphosyntax of Hawai‘i Creole have been modeled on features of different substrate languages, and therefore that a certain degree of mixing has occurred. On the other hand, the cafeteria principle that is demonstrated is not without certain principles and constraints. Two mechanisms are described that account for the features of one language ending up in another: language transfer in second language use and substrate reinforcement of diffused features. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the availability constraints and reinforcement principles that go some way in explaining why some substrate features end up in a creole while others do not.

1.  Introduction In arguing against substrate influence in creoles, Bickerton (1981: 22) dismisses the notion that a language could be made up of a mixture of features from other languages. He claims that “the implicit supposition that all languages are like erector sets which can be dismantled, cannibalized, and put back together again in new combinations lies at the heart of all substratum arguments” (p. 30). More famously, Bickerton uses the term “cafeteria principle” (attributed to Dillard 1970) to ridicule the idea of language mixing by creating an image of a language selecting features from various sources like a person choosing items for lunch at a cafeteria (1981: 49). This view, of course, has been challenged by several linguists (Siegel 1997: 118, 2000: 209; Mufwene 2001: 57), and mixed languages clearly do exist – for example, Michif (Bakker 1997). In this chapter, I present evidence supporting the cafeteria principle by showing that in order to account for certain grammatical structures

 Jeff Siegel

in Hawai‘i Creole, one has to invoke the kind of language mixing that Bickerton ridicules. In other words, I will show that certain features must be attributed to several substrate languages, rather than to language universals. But I will also show that the Cafeteria Principle is not so unconstrained as Bickerton implies. I start out by giving some historical background about the origins of Hawai‘i Creole. Then I illustrate mixing in the language in relativization, the marking of aspect, and other grammatical areas. This is followed by a more general ­discussion – first an explanation of how substrate features from different substrate languages get into creoles, and then a description of some of the constraints on substrate influence.

2.  Historical background 2.1  The development of Hawai‘i Creole Hawai‘i was first visited by Europeans in 1778, and it quickly became an important stopover for ships involved in whaling and trading with Asia. Various forms of pidginized English were introduced to the islands at this time, including Chinese Pidgin English and Pacific Pidgin English. The first sugarcane plantation was ­established in 1835. Since indigenous Hawaiians initially provided the labor, Hawaiian or Pidgin Hawaiian (Roberts 1995) became the language used to run the plantations. About 2,000 Chinese plantation laborers were later imported into Hawai‘i from 1852 to 1876, and they mostly learned Pidgin Hawaiian. The sugar industry expanded rapidly in the last quarter of the 19th century. An additional 37,000 Chinese laborers were imported from 1877 to 1897 and more than 10,000 Portuguese were brought in from 1878 to 1887. In the early 1880s, smaller numbers of laborers also came from other Pacific islands, Norway, Germany, and Japan (see Siegel 2000: 199). In 1884, there were approximately 40,000 Hawaiians, 4,200 “Part-hawaiians”, 18,200 Chinese, 10,000 Portuguese, 6,600 “other Caucasians”, 100 Japanese, and 1,400 others living in Hawai‘i ­(Reinecke 1969: 42). Pidgin Hawaiian continued to dominate on the plantations at this time, but varieties of pidginized English were used in Honolulu and other urban areas, and a distinct Hawai‘i Pidgin English (HPE) began to stabilize. However, while pidgin languages were used for plantation work, the immigrants (G1) continued to maintain their own languages (Roberts 1999, 2000). Because the different ethnic groups were segregated on the plantations, the locally born children of immigrants (G2) acquired their parents’ language and did not socialize with other children until they started school. There they learned the languages of their classmates from other ethnic groups, including (Pidgin) Hawaiian, as well as some English (Roberts 2000).



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

In the following decades, however, things began to change. Widespread immigration from Japan had begun in the late 1880s; by 1890 there were over 12,600 Japanese in Hawai‘i, and after 1900, a large number of G2 children of Japanese ethnicity entered the schools. In addition, in the first decade of the 20th century there was an influx of laborers from Korea, Puerto Rico, Spain and the Philippines (see Table 1). When the immigrant population was speaking a dozen or more mutually unintelligible languages, the English-lexified pidgin, HPE, came to be used more widely as the language of interethnic communication, especially among the G2, many of whom had left the plantations.

Table 1.  Importation of indentured labourers in Hawai‘i Group Chinese (mostly Cantonese-speaking) Other Pacific Islanders Portuguese Scandinavian (mostly Norwegian) German Japanese Puerto Rican Korean Russian Spanish Filipino (mainly Ilocano and Visayan)

Years 1852–1876 1877–1897 1877–1887 1878–1887 1906–1913 1881 1882–1885 1884–1924 1900–1901 1903–1905 1906–1912 1907–1913 1907–1930

Approximate numbers 2, 000 37, 000 2, 450 10, 000 13, 000 600 1, 050 200, 000 5, 200 7, 850 3, 000 2, 000 100, 000

From 1900 through the 1910s, HPE stabilized further and began to expand grammatically as many older G2 children or adults, as well as large numbers of ethnic Hawaiians, shifted from their parents’ languages to use HPE as their primary language. Soon after, substantial numbers of the second locally born generation (G3) began to appear on the scene. As Roberts (2000: 293) points out, “their parents were bilingual speakers of [H]PE who were probably more at home in it than their AL [ancestral languages]”, and therefore they used HPE in speaking to their children. Thus, it was the second locally born generation (G3), as well as children of HPE-speaking Hawaiians, who acquired HPE as their first language, and were the first speakers of Hawai‘i Creole. This occurred from approximately 1905 to 1920, although the language continued to expand through the 1920s. (For further details, see Roberts 2005.)

 Jeff Siegel

2.2  The substrate languages From Table 1, it appears that Japanese and the Filipino languages would have had the most speakers among the immigrant population in Hawai‘i, and therefore would have had the greatest influence on the creole. Indeed, these are the languages that Bickerton (1981, 1984) compared HC to, but found no evidence of substrate influence. However, the work of Roberts (1998, 2000, 2005) demonstrates that the most influential substrate languages were the ones that were dominant when HPE was expanding (1890–1905) and when HC emerged (1905–1920). First of all, the locally born population (G2) was most significant in the expansion of HPE. Of the 11 key grammatical features that Roberts (2000) examined in historical texts, 7 occurred in the speech of locally born speakers (including Hawaiians) but not foreign born. Among the immigrant population and their ­children at this time, the Chinese and Portuguese were clearly dominant, as shown in Table 2 (Roberts 2000: 265):

Table 2.  Locally born population whose parents were immigrants (G2)

1890

1896

1900

Chinese Portuguese Japanese

1,451 4,117 250

2,234 6,959 2,078

4,026 10,604 4,877

Second, as mentioned above, Roberts (1998, 2000) has shown that HC first emerged among the second locally born generation (G3) whose parents were ­bilingual in their ancestral language and HPE. Population figures for the G3 between 1905 and 1920 are not available, but we know that on average their parents were born in Hawai‘i at least 15 years earlier. Therefore, from Table 2 it can be assumed that the majority of the first HC speakers who were descendants of immigrants had parents who were bilingual in HPE and either Cantonese or Portuguese. Of course, the original HC speakers also included a large number whose parents were bilingual in HPE and Hawaiian. Additional evidence has to do with language maintenance and shift. Sociolinguistic information presented by Kaapu (1937) and Roberts (2000) illustrates that by the late 1920s, the Portuguese had the lowest level of traditional language maintenance and the greatest dominance of English in the homes, followed by the Hawaiians and then the Chinese. Thus, most of the first monolingual HC speakers had parents who spoke Portuguese, Hawaiian or Cantonese, rather than Japanese or any Filipino language.



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

In summary, it seems clear that Portuguese, Hawaiian and Cantonese were the dominant languages when HPE was expanding and when HC emerged, and therefore these languages are examined here as potential contributors to HC grammar. 3.  Relative clauses The first area of Hawai‘i Creole (HC) grammar to be examined is relativization. I start by presenting data from HC illustrating the various relativization strategies used in the language, and then look at the contributing substrate languages The HC examples given here are mostly from published sources and a few from recordings from my recent research project.1 Examples from published sources are given in the original etymological orthography. Forms mentioned in the text and examples from my own data are given in the phonemic Odo orthography (Bickerton & Odo 1976), and then with an etymological orthography for ease of understanding. 3.1  Data from Hawai‘i Creole HC uses several different relativization strategies, both postnominal and prenominal. 3.1.1  Postnominal relative clauses First we look at subject relative clauses, where the Head NP is the subject of the relative clause. In most dialects of English, a relative pronoun coreferential with the Head NP occurs in the relative clause. HC is sometimes similar to English, with the same relative pronouns: hu (who) and dæt (dat, that): (1) Hawai‘i Creole (Lum 1999: 22; Lum 1998a: 71) a. He coach everybody who come in da weightroom. ‘He coached everybody who came to the weightroom.’ b. Dey even had da funny kine gun dat was fat at da end. ‘They even had the funny gun that was fat at the end.’

However, HC differs from most dialects of English in two ways. First, the subject relative clause frequently occurs without a relative pronoun: (2) Hawai‘i Creole (Pak 1998a: 116; Cataluna 2002: 6) a. You dah one wen show us dah map. ‘You’re the one who showed us the map.’

.  This research was supported by the National Science Foundation (award number BCS0345959).

 Jeff Siegel

b. I don’t know anybody study as much as you. ‘I don’t know anybody who studies as much as you.’

This “gapping” or “obliteration” strategy is crosslinguistically much more common in prenominal clauses rather than in the postnominal clauses we find in HC (Song 2001: 217). While this strategy does occur in postnominal clauses in vernacular varieties of English, especially dialects of northern Britain (Hermann 2005; ­Tagliamonte, Smith & Lawrence 2005), it is not as common as in HC. Second, we look at object relative clauses, where the Head NP is an object of the relative clause. HC and English are similar in allowing the absence of the relative pronoun. But in HC, the relative pronoun is normally not used in object relative clauses. (3) Hawai‘i Creole (Kearns 2000: 4; Pak 1998a: 115) a. More betta you study dat SAT prep book Auntie K wen loan you. ‘It’s better if you study that SAT prep book Auntie K loaned you.’ b. Dis is dah bridge we standing on right now. ‘This is the bridge we’re standing on right now.’

Next are genitive relative clauses, where the Head NP is the possessor in the relative clause. In English, a relative pronoun, whose, marks the possessor that is coreferential with the Head NP, where it is the subject or an object (direct or prepositional) of the relative clause: (4) English a. subject: I know the guy whose mother saw the UFO. [i.e., the guy’s mother saw the UFO] b. direct object: I know the guy whose mother the aliens abducted. [i.e., the aliens abducted the guy’s mother] c.

prepositional object: I know the guy whose garage the UFO parked in. [i.e., the UFO parked in the guy’s garage]

In HC, the possessor is marked by either a possessive pronoun or, if the context makes it clear, simply by the determiner da (examples from Cabral 2004): i. Possessor of the subject of the relative clause: (5) Hawai‘i Creole a. …da girl her mother stay work Walmart. ‘…the girl whose mother works at Walmart.’ b. …da one da boy went go Iraq. ‘…the one whose son went to Iraq.’



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

ii. Possessor of an object in the relative clause: (6) Hawai‘i Creole a. …da one you went buy their furniture. ‘…the ones whose furniture you bought.’ b. Das da girl I neva like the brother. ‘That’s the girl whose brother I didn’t like.’

3.1.2  Prenominal relative clauses In all the preceding examples, HC relative clauses are the postnominal type (where the relative clause follows the Head NP), typically found in European VO ­languages. But HC also has prenominal relative clauses (i.e., preceding the Head Noun). This is typologically extremely rare in VO languages such as HC (Song 2001: 244), but commonly found in Asian languages (Comrie 1996; Matthews & Yip 2003). Both subject and object prenominal relative clauses are found in HC. In both, kain (kine) occurs before the head noun (examples from Kent Sakoda): (7) Hawai‘i Creole a. Das wan ai gatta tel mai frenz abaut kain muvi. (Dass one I gotta tell my friends about kine movie.) ‘That’s a movie (that) I’ve got to tell my friends about.’ b. De wen bai enikain no nid kain stafs. (Dey wen buy anykine no need kine stuffs.) ‘They bought many kinds of things (that) they don’t need.’

3.2  Contributing languages How can we account for this wide range of relativization strategies? Linguistic universals do not seem to be at work because some of the strategies are typologically marked (e.g., prenominal relative clauses in an SVO language). Therefore, we look at the contributing languages. Some strategies are similar to those commonly found in the superstrate, English: e.g., postnominal subject relative clauses with the relative pronouns dæt and hu. But others are not, and so we move to the dominant substrate languages. 3.2.1  Hawaiian In Hawaiian, there is no relative pronoun, and both subject and object relative clauses are unmarked: (8) Hawaiian (Hawkins 1979: 54) a. Ua make ka manu i ‘aihue i ke kaula pfv die def bird pfv steal prep def string [analytical translation: The bird stole the string died.] ‘The bird that stole the string died.’

 Jeff Siegel

b.

Pa‘a ke kaula i ‘aihue ‘ai e ka manu stuck det string pfv steal pass prep def bird [The string was stolen by the bird stuck.] ‘The string that was stolen by the bird is stuck.’

As previously noted, this gapping strategy is rare in languages with postnominal relative clauses, although it is found in non-standard dialects of English. However, its consistent use in Hawaiian could have reinforced its use in HC (see §6.2.1). The structure of genitive relative clauses in HC could also result from the influence of Hawaiian. In Hawaiian, the possessor (coreferential with the Head NP) is marked either by a possessive determiner or by a normal determiner (definite article). The following examples, provided by Cabral (2004), are from 1902 and 1906, the period when HC was emerging. First, the genitive of the Head NP is the possessor of the subject of the relative clause: (9) Hawaiian (Cabral 2004) a. ke keiki i kū iho kā ia ala ‘ōlelo det boy pst stand downward det.poss 3sg distant language

i ka hōhī… in det cowardly



[the boy his language stands in cowardliness…] ‘ the boy whose words were cowardly…’

b. A ‘O au wale nō ka mea and equation marker 1sg only indeed det one

i hapa ka ‘ike… pst fraction det knowledge



[And only I was the one the knowledge was fractional…] ‘And I was the only one whose knowledge was fractional…’ (or ‘And I was the only one who didn’t know everything…’)

Second, the genitive of the Head NP is the possessor of an object (here prepositional) of the relative clause: (10) Hawaiian (Cabral 2004) ka i‘a e komo pū ana ka puhi i loko o det fish nonpst enter together cont det eel in inside of kona inoa… det.poss.3sg name [the fish the eel enters into its name…] ‘the fish whose name the eel enters into’ (i.e., ‘the fish whose name has puhi in it’)



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

Thus, in genitive relative clauses, HC again appears to follow the pattern of Hawaiian.2 3.2.2  Cantonese In Cantonese, the relative clause precedes the Head Noun, which itself is preceded by either the linking particle (lp) ge or a classifier (clf) dī: (11) Cantonese (Matthews & Yip 1994: 88; 111) a. jā-chē fāan hohk ge hohksāang drive-car return school lp students ‘students who drive to school’ b. Ngóhdeih hái Faatgwok sihk dī yéh géi hóu-sihk ga. 1pl in France eat clf food quite good-eat prt ‘The food we ate in France was pretty good.’

Thus the prenominal relative clauses in HC seem to follow this pattern, with kain (kine) serving the role of the linking particle. Furthermore, in a study of the speech of children simultaneously acquiring Cantonese and English, Matthews and Yip (2003: 75) observe: “Despite the crosslinguistically marked status of prenominal relative clauses in SVO languages, they readily lend themselves to transfer from Cantonese to English.” In summary, relativization strategies in HC appear to be modeled on those of the lexifier, English, as well as those of two of the key substrate languages, Hawaiian and Cantonese. 4.  Perfect aspect The next area of grammar examined here is perfect aspect.3

.  One might argue that HC does not really follow the pattern of Hawaiian because Hawaiian is a verb-initial language whereas HC is SVO. But it has been pointed out that basic word order is a very salient structural characteristic (Odlin 1990: 110; Comrie 1997: 369), and therefore the rules for the ordering of verb and object are quickly learned, unless there are a large number of rules involving structural detail (as in German and Dutch). This explains why the basic word order of the superstrate is most often found in creoles, rather than that of the substrate languages. Word order within phrases, however, often retains substrate patterns (see Siegel 2003). This is also relevant to §4.2.2 below. .  Here, following Comrie (1976, 1985) and Dahl (1985), I use “perfect” aspect to refer to the completion of an event or the attainment of a state, as opposed to “perfective” aspect, referring to situations presented as a whole, with no internal structure (as distinct from imperfective). However, in Chinese linguistics and some some studies of language contact, the term perfective is often used in place of perfect (see Youssef 2003).

 Jeff Siegel

4.1  Data from Hawai‘i Creole HC has three different ways of marking perfect aspect: a postverbal marker and two preverbal markers. 4.1.1  Postverbal marker awredi (already) (12) Hawai‘i Creole a. Dah buggah dead already. ‘The poor guy’s dead.’ (Pak 1998b: 321) b. Shi ste sheim awredi. (She stay all shame already) ‘She was ashamed.’ (speaker KK01) c.

Da tako no come in already Olowalu-side. ‘The octopus doesn’t come to the Olowalu area anymore.’ (Masuda 1998: 232)

Examples 12b and 12c demonstrate that awredi (already) is differently used to the adverb already in English. 4.1.2  Preverbal marker pau This marker comes from a lexical item in Hawaiian, meaning ‘finished or ended’. (13) Hawai‘i Creole (Lum 1998b: 224; Da Jesus Book 2000: 43 [Matt.13: 53]) a. You supposed to burn da Daruma dolls aftah you pau get your wish… ‘You’re supposed to burn the Daruma dolls after you’ve got your wish.’ b. Jesus pau teach all dis kine story. ‘Jesus finished teaching all these kinds of stories.’

4.1.3  Preverbal marker ste (stay)4 (14) Hawai‘i Creole (Sakoda & Siegel 2003: 61; Kearns 2000: 26) a. Ai ste kuk da stu awredi. (I stay cook da stew already.) ‘I already cooked the stew.’ b. Aevribadi ste finish. (Everybody stay finish.) ‘Everyone is finished.’ c.

When I stay come one old man… ‘When I’ve become an old man…’

.  Note that ste (stay) is also used as a copula and a progressive marker (see §4.2.3 below).



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

4.2  Contributing languages Why does any language need three different perfect markers and what is their origin? As none of the three patterns matches that of the superstrate, the substrate languages may again provide the answers. 4.2.1  Cantonese Aspect rather than tense is marked grammatically in Chinese languages. Perfect aspect in Cantonese (usually referred to as perfective) is marked optionally with verbal suffix jó or post verbal particle dóu: (15) Cantonese (Matthews & Yip 1994: 204, 211) a. Ngóh ga chē waaih-jó. 1sg clf car broken-pfv ‘My car’s broken down.’ b. Ngóh ngām-ngām sāu-jó chin. 1sg just-just receive-pfv money ‘I’ve just received the money.’ c.

Ngóh ngām-ngām sāu dóu chin. 1sg just-just receive pfv money ‘I’ve just received the money.’

There is some supporting evidence that the awredi perfect is the result of the influence of Cantonese. Singapore Colloquial English, which also has Chinese substrate languages, has the same marker: (16) Singapore Colloquial English (Platt & Weber 1980: 66; Bao 1995: 182) a. I only went there once or twice already. b. I work about four months already.

These and other aspectual categories in Singapore Colloquial English have striking parallels with the Sinitic substrate (Ansaldo 2004: 136). For example, Platt and Weber (1980: 66) show that the use of already is analogous to the use of the particle liaú in Hokkien: (17)

Hokkien (Platt & Weber 1980: 66) Gún tháùke tn˙g chhù liaú. our boss return home already [prf] ‘Our boss has returned home.’

Bao (1995: 185) does the same with the particle le in Mandarin: (18)

Mandarin (Bao 1995: 185) ta qu niuyue le. 3sg go New York le [prf] ‘He went to New York.’

 Jeff Siegel

Thus, there seems to be strong evidence that the English word already was grammaticalized as a postverbal perfect marker following that pattern in Cantonese and other Chinese languages. 4.2.2  Hawaiian Aspect rather than tense is also normally marked in Hawaiian, but preverbally rather than postverbally. The perfect aspect marker in Hawaiian is ua: (19) Hawaiian (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 58; Hawkins 1979: 24) a. Ua loa’a ke kālā ia’u. prf get def money 1sg ‘I got the money.’ b. Ua lohe ka luahine i na manu. prf hear def old.lady prep def.pl bird ‘The old lady heard the birds.’

As mentioned earlier, the form of the preverbal perfect marker pau in HC is derived from a Hawaiian word meaning ‘finished or ended’. A lexical item with the same meaning also came into HPE and HC. It appears that this word was grammaticalized to function as a preverbal aspect marker corresponding to ua in Hawaiian. 4.2.3  Portuguese The origin of the other preverbal perfect marker ste (stay) is more complex. This form is more frequently used as a copula in HC and there is general agreement that this use was inspired by the Portuguese verb estar ‘to be’ (Reinecke & Tokimasa 1934: 57, 123; Carr 1972: 150; Bickerton 1981: 73). In fact, range of functions of ste in HC seems to closely match those of estar (in its various conjugations): i. copula in locative sentences: (20) Hawai‘i Creole (Lum 1990: 93) Everyting stay on top one doily. ‘Everything was on a doily.’ (21) Portuguese (Prista 1966: 75) O livro está sobre a mesa. ‘The book is on the table.’

ii.  copula with adjectives denoting non-permanent or non-intrinsic characteristics: (22) Hawai‘i Creole (Sakoda & Siegel 2003: 77) Shi stei sik. ‘She’s sick.’



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

(23) Portuguese (Dunn 1928: 370) João está alegre. ‘John is happy.’

iii.  preverbal progressive marker: (24) Hawai‘i Creole (Kearns 2000: 16) Sizzler stay sleeping. ‘Sizzler is sleeping.’ (25) Portuguese (Prista 1966: 52) O combio está chegando. ‘The train is arriving.’

This seems similar to the English be + V-ing construction, but in contrast to English, neither ste + V nor estar + V is commonly used to refer to future events, as in He is leaving tomorrow.5 The perfect use of ste in HC has not been noticed by most observers of HC, but it is common, and dates back to the earliest days of the language (Siegel 2000). It too has parallels with another use of estar in Portuguese. When estar occurs with the participle of the verb, the construction denotes “the resultant state or condition of the subject” (Dunn 1928: 371) or “states that result from actions” (Azevedo 2005: 120) – for example: (26) Portuguese (Dunn 1928: 371; Willis 1965: 362) a. A casa está construida. ‘The house is finished [lit. constructed].’ b. As árvores estão cortadas. ‘The trees are (= have been) cut.’

Thus, it appears that the word stay has become grammaticalized in HC to have the same range of functions as Portuguese estar, including indicating the perfect in some contexts. In summary, each of the three ways of marking perfect aspect in HC appears to be modeled on that found in one of the main substrate languages.

.  An anonymous reviewer points out that estar + V can be used to refer to future events in ­Portuguese if they are within a stated time frame – for example in Brazilian Portuguese: Ele está partindo amanhã entre as oito e as nove horas. [‘He is leaving tomorrow between eight and nine o’clock.’]

 Jeff Siegel

5.  Substrate influence in other areas There are many other grammatical areas with less variability in HC that differ from the superstrate and are not common across other languages (including other creoles). This section looks at three of these. 5.1  Adjectival predication In HC the adjectival phrase can precede the NP as well as follow it (as in English), with neither being marked in any way: (27) Hawai‘i Creole a. Big da house. b. Da house big. ‘The house is big.’

The AdjP NP ordering appears to be the result of the influence of Hawaiian, for example: (28)

Hawaiian Nui ka hale. big det house ‘The house is big.’

The use of adjectives with an article in exclamations in HC can also be attributed to Hawaiian – for example: (29) Hawai‘i Creole Oh, da pretty! Oh, how pretty!’ (30)

Hawaiian Auwē, ka nani! oh det pretty ‘Oh, how pretty!’

5.2  Negative possessive/existential marker Like many other creoles, HC has a single lexical item (get in HC) to express both possessives (‘have’) and existentials (‘there is’) (see §6.1.2). However, HC also has a single lexical item to express both negative possessives and negative existentials – nomo(a) (no more), which is related to the preverbal negator no: (31) Hawai‘i Creole (Chock 1998: 29; Sakoda & Siegel 2003: 83) a. How come I no more one real glove? ‘Why don’t I have a real glove?’ b. Nomo kaukau in da haus. ‘There’s no food in the house.’



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

As Roberts (2005: 256) points out, Cantonese has a functionally similar form móuh, derivationally related to the negator mh: (32) Cantonese (Matthews & Yip 1994: 138, 283) a. Móuh yàhn gaau ngóh Jūgmán. neg.have person teach 1sg Chinese ‘There’s no one to teach me Chinese.’ b. Ngóh móuh saai chín la wo. 1sg neg.have all money prt prt ‘I’m out of money.’ [‘I don’t have any money.’]

Again, there is a strong possibility that this feature in HC is modeled on the Cantonese substrate. 5.3  Clausal complements Like other creoles, HC introduces clausal complements with a complementizer derived from the word meaning ‘for’ in the superstrate – in HC fo – for example: (33) Hawai‘i Creole (Lum 1990: 92) Everybody come fo see dat house. ‘Everybody comes to see that house.’

But unlike in other creoles (and unlike in most dialects of English), when the subject is included in a clausal complement in HC, it can occur in the nominative case rather than in the accusative (Roberts 1998; Siegel 2000)6 – for example: (34) Hawai‘i Creole (Roberts 1998: 31) My mother tell for I stop home. ‘My mother told me to stay home.’

An explanation for the existence of this feature in HC again appears to be substrate influence – in this case from Portuguese, which has the same construction, for example: (35) Portuguese (Holm 1988: 169) Eles pediram para eu voltar. ‘They asked me to return.’ [lit. ‘They asked for I return.]

.  As all of the available examples occur in historical texts, this feature may have disappeared in modern HC because of pressure from English.

 Jeff Siegel

6.  Cafeteria principle revisited The data on HC presented here illustrates: a. that a creole’s grammar can include a mixture of features found in typologically diverse languages; b. that these features most probably result from the influence of different ­languages that were in the environment when the creole and its pidgin predecessor were developing; and c. that the resultant mixture does not conform to common cross-linguistic ­typological patterns (e.g., having either prenominal or postnominal subject relative clauses, but not both). Consequently, the cafeteria principle seems worthy of support insofar as it allows for a selection of linguistic features from different sources. But of course even if we adopt such a principle, we are still left with some important questions: First, what are the mechanisms that can explain how features from one language get into another – here from the substrate languages into the creole. Second, what are the constraints on the selection of features? 6.1  Mechanisms 6.1.1  Language transfer As pointed out before (Siegel 1997, 1999, 2003), one way that features get from one language to another is via the process of language transfer – where speakers use grammatical patterns from one language (L1) in speaking another (L2). This includes what I have called “functional transfer” – the use of L2 forms with L1 grammatical properties (Siegel 2004, 2006). Evidence of functional transfer from the substrate languages can be seen in HC in the perfect markers (§4.2), the adjective marker in exclamations (5.1), the negative existential/possessive marker (5.2), and the VP complementizer (5.3). In the past, it has been thought that functional transfer is the result of targeted learning of a second language (L2). However, close examination of studies of L2 learning (Siegel 2004, 2006) reveals that this is not really the case. On the other hand, studies show that functional transfer does occur as a compensatory strategy in the use of a second language, especially when there is pressure to communicate more explicitly and about new topics (e.g., Helms-Park 2003).7 There is also e­ vidence of functional transfer in L2 use from indigenized varieties of English (Siegel 2006). .  For a discussion of the differences between L2 acquisition or learning and L2 use, see Ellis (1994: 13); Kasper (1997: 310); Gass (1998: 84).



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

With regard to pidgin/creole development, the speaker’s first language (a substrate language) is the L1. In the initial L2 learning that leads to the formation of the pidgin, the L2 is the superstrate language. But later, when speakers start using the pidgin in wider contexts, the superstrate is no longer a target, and the L2 is the pidgin itself (Becker & Veenstra 2003). While a pidgin with few grammatical resources may be fine for speakers to use for intermittent basic communication, when they need to use it more frequently for wider purposes, they may feel subconsciously that it lacks certain basic structures, especially compared to their first languages. This may lead them to expand or elaborate the grammar of the pidgin on the model of their first language – in other words, it leads to functional transfer. While transfer is an individual psycholinguistic process, some of the transferred features may become accepted and used by the wider pidgin-speaking community. Thus, transfer by individuals in using a pidgin more extensively as an L2 may eventually lead to the grammatical expansion and elaboration that is typical of an expanded pidgin. In the case of HC, this is clearly what took place. HPE began to expand when it started to be used more widely in the late 19th and early 20th century by older children or adult speakers born in Hawai‘i. These speakers were bilingual in the pidgin and their first language – primarily Portuguese, Hawaiian or Cantonese. At that time, they began to use some existing grammatical structures of the pidgin more regularly, such as bin (been) as a preverbal past tense marker. Also, they were responsible for some grammatical innovations, such as the use of ste (stay) as a copula. From the evidence presented above, these and other structures were modeled on structures in one substrate language or another, and thus were likely to be the result of language transfer. But what about the first creole speakers? The greatest extension of use is, of course, when speakers shift to the expanded pidgin as their primary language, which they then pass on to their children. Therefore, one would expect that a high degree of transfer occurred among the parents of the first generation of children who acquired the expanded pidgin as their first language. Roberts (1998, 2000) shows that some HC features – for example, ste (stay) used as a progressive marker and fo introducing clausal complements – first appear in published texts in the early 1920s and are attributed to the speech of the locally born children who were monolingual speakers of the creole. This appears to lead to the conclusion that these features were innovations of the children. However, as shown above, these features also have striking parallels with one of the substrate languages, Portuguese. Furthermore the Portuguese were numerically dominant among the locally born immigrants and the first immigrant group to shift from their ancestral language to HPE. Therefore, it was likely that these grammatical innovations were also the result of transfer by bilingual adults, not the inventions of the children.

 Jeff Siegel

The reason these innovations did not appear in published texts before the 1920s may have been that when they first occurred, they were the result of individual communication strategies and not firmly established in the grammars of all adult speakers of HPE. Nevertheless, the innovations were added to the pool of variants that were used for communication and perhaps would have been incorporated into the pidgin over a long period of leveling (Siegel 1997). However, leveling was accelerated when children rapidly regularized these innovations and integrated them into the grammar of their language. As these features occurred more regularly in the speech of the children, they were more noticeable to onlookers and were subsequently recorded in published texts. 6.1.2  Substrate reinforcement Another way that features can get from one language to another is by diffusion (Parkvall 1999). In the context of language contact, features of an existing pidgin or creole can spread from one population to another. If a prominent substrate language has a feature that is analogous to a diffused feature, then the use of this feature will be reinforced and there is a greater chance of it remaining in the ­expanding pidgin and eventually ending up in the creole. This is referred to as “substrate reinforcement”. For example, as mentioned above, HC uses a single lexical item get to indicate both possessives and existentials – for example: (36) Hawai‘i Creole (Bickerton 1981: 67) get wan wahine shi get wan data ‘there is a woman who has a daughter’

As pointed out before (Siegel 2000: 213–14), Cantonese similarly uses a single lexical item yáuh for both possessives and existentials: (37) Cantonese (Matthews & Yip 1994: 279; 89) a. Kéuihdeih yáuh sāam go jái. 3pl have three clf son ‘They have three sons.’ b. Yáuh (yāt) ga chē jó-jyuh go chēut-háu. have (one) clf car block-cont clf exit-mouth ‘There’s a car blocking the exit.’

Thus, it may seem that this feature, like others described above, originated in HPE via transfer and ultimately ended up in HC. However, both Chinese Pidgin English (CPE) and Pacific Pidgin English (PPE) already had a similar feature: the use of got (or alternatively in CPE, habgot) to indicate both possessive and existential. Therefore, a better explanation is that instead of this feature of Cantonese ­providing a model for a similar feature to develop in HPE, its presence in Cantonese reinforced



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

an already existing feature of pidgins that had spread to Hawai‘i via trading and Chinese immigration (see §2.1). This feature may have been further reinforced by the other prominent substrate languages. Portuguese ter and haver are also used to indicate both possessive and existential (Siegel 2000: 214; Roberts 2005: 254), as well as Hawaiian loa‘a (Roberts 2005: 255–6). Substrate reinforcement can actually occur for any grammatical variant used in the contact environment, if one or more of the dominant substrate languages has a feature parallel to the variant – i.e., a feature in the same surface syntactic position that can be interpreted as having the same or a closely related function. For instance, a variant that has originated via transfer from one substrate language may be reinforced by a parallel feature in another substrate language. One possible example is that the transfer of the functions of Portuguese estar as a locative marker to ste (stay) in Hawai‘i Creole may have been reinforced by the similar functions of Cantonese hái/háidouh (Siegel 2000: 214; Roberts 2005: 258). In addition, some superstrate features may be reinforced by parallel features in one of the dominant substrate languages. For example, the gapping strategy or use of a zero relative marker in subject relative clauses that occurs in some nonstandard English dialects may have been heard in Hawai‘i and reinforced by the similar pattern in Hawaiian. 6.2  Constraints Just as every dish in a cafeteria does not end up on the tray, clearly not every feature from the substrate languages or the superstrate ends up in an expanding pidgin or creole. There must be certain constraints determining which linguistic features are available for selection. These are with regard to, first, the specific languages whose features become available (1 in Figure 1 below), second, the particular features from these languages that are available (2), and third, the particular features that are selected from those that are available (3).

1

2 3 Figure 1.  Subset of available linguistic features that end up in a creole.

 Jeff Siegel

With regard to the specific languages involved, the languages of the speakers who first shift to the expanded pidgin are the most likely to provide features that get transferred. As shown above, in Hawai‘i, these languages were Portuguese, ­Hawaiian and Cantonese – not Japanese or Ilocano, even though there were eventually more speakers of these languages. This is a variation on Mufwene’s “Founder Principle” (1996, 2001) – which we may call the “Shifter Principle”. Of the features of the languages shifted from, only some end up in the creole. For example, Cantonese has several postverbal aspect markers, but only the one marking perfect seems to have been transferred into HPE to end up in HC. (Other aspectual categories that are marked postverbally in Cantonese are marked in HC by preverbal particles.) The most important factor appears to be semantic and morphosyntactic congruence (Siegel 1999). For a substrate feature to be transferred, it must have “somewhere to transfer to” (Andersen 1983) – i.e., there must be a lexical item or morpheme in the L2 (here, the expanding pidgin) that can be assigned the functions of a grammatical morpheme in the L1 (here, one of the substrate languages). This L2 form must have a function or meaning related to that of the corresponding L1 morpheme and have the same surface syntactic position with the phrase. And in situations where the expanding pidgin remains in contact with the superstrate, the substrate morpheme must be syntactically congruent, at least superficially, with the superstrate form from which the pidgin item originated.8 The absence of such a form in the L2 or the lack of structural congruence will constrain transfer, and thus the availability of the particular substrate feature. In the case of Cantonese influence, the adverb already coming after the verb was somewhere to transfer perfect aspect marking to. But there was no common postverbal adverb in English or the pidgin that could be interpreted as indicating other aspectual categories such as progressive and habitual. For example, adverbs such as always and usually come before the verb. Finally, out of all the substrate features that are potentially available because of lack of constraints on their being transferred, only a subset of these actually end up in the creole. Others are eliminated during the leveling process mentioned above that occurs when the creole emerges (Siegel 1997). Frequency of a particular transferred feature in the linguistic environment would reinforce its use, and increase its chances for eventual selection (Siegel 1999).9 A transferred feature would be expected to occur

.  Note that the characterization of this availability constraint presented here differs from that of earlier work (Siegel 1999) because functional transfer now is seen as a process occurring in L2 use rather than L2 learning. Thus the L2 here is the expanding pidgin not the superstrate. .  Of course, social factors may also play a part, such the power or prestige of speakers of particular varieties (see Siegel 1997).



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

more frequently if the language on which it is modeled has a majority of speakers in the environment or if a similar feature is found in several substrate languages.

7.  Concluding discussion This chapter has shown that the notion of a creole having linguistic features from various typologically distinct languages is not so laughable after all. Hawai‘i Creole clearly has many features modeled on features from the diverse substrate languages that were prominent when it emerged: Portuguese, Hawaiian and Cantonese. Although the term “cafeteria principle” has been used to make fun of the notion, it does seem to capture the idea that a language can have grammatical elements from a variety of sources. This chapter has also described two of the mechanisms that account for the features of the substrate languages ending up in an expanded pidgin and ultimately a creole: transfer and substrate reinforcement. Although the “cafeteria principle” is supposed to imply a certain randomness in the selection of features, even the choice of items for lunch at a cafeteria has some constraints: what’s available at the time, how hungry one is, how much room there is on the tray, what items one recognizes, what goes with what, etc. So the proposition that there are particular mechanisms and constraints affecting the selection of linguistic features does not necessarily conflict with the cafeteria principle. However, HC poses one problem for the picture of transfer, reinforcement and leveling presented here: the variation that occurs in grammatical areas such as relativization and perfect aspect marking, with different variants traceable to different substrate languages. Thus, it seems that leveling has not really occurred with regard to these features. Here HC appears to be different to other creoles – in both the amount of variation and the typological diversity of the variants. Why is this so? One possibility is that in other creoles, the substrate languages were more ­typologically homogeneous – e.g., the Eastern Oceanic languages for Melanesian Pidgin and the West African languages for Atlantic creoles. But then HC would seem to contradict the generally accepted view that large-scale substrate influence depends on typological similarity among the substrate languages, (see, e.g., Singler 1988). It could also be that there is more typological variation in other creoles than currently recognized, but in the search for common creole features that has dominated the field over the past few decades, this has been overlooked. Or it could be simply that HC is a special case. Clearly, more research is needed to find the answer. But now that those studying substrate influence in creoles are no longer called “substratomaniacs”, we can move on to discover why particular substrate features and not others end up in a creole.

 Jeff Siegel

Special abbreviations lp part

linking particle particle

References Andersen, Roger W. 1983. Transfer to somewhere. In Gass, Susan M. & Selinker, Larry (Eds), Language transfer in language learning: Issues in second language research. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. 177–201. Ansaldo, Umberto. 2004. The evolution of Singapore English: Finding the matrix. In Lim, Lisa (Ed). Singapore English: A grammatical description. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 127–49. Azevedo, Milton m. 2005. Portuguese: A linguistic introduction. Cambridge: CUP. Bakker, Peter. 1997. A language of our own: The genesis of Michif, the mixed Cree-French language of the Canadian Métis. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bao Zhiming. 1995. Already in Singapore English. World Englishes 14: 181–88. Becker, Angelika & Veenstra, Tonjes. 2003. The survival of inflectional morphology in ­Frenchrelated creoles. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 25. 283–306. Bickerton, Derek & Odo, Carol. 1976. Change and variation in Hawaiian English, Vol. 1: ­General phonology and pidgin syntax (Final report on National Science Foundation grant no. GS-39748). Honolulu HI: Social Sciences and Linguistics Institute, University of Hawaii. Bickerton, Derek. 1981. Roots of language. Ann Arbor MI: Karoma. Bickerton, Derek. 1984. The language bioprogram hypothesis. Behavioral and Brain Sciences 7. 173–221. Cabral, Jason D. 2004. An analysis of relative clauses where the head noun is coreferential with a possessor in the modifying clause. Paper presented at Sixth Annual Conference on Oceanic Linguistics, Port Vila, Vanuatu. Carr, Elizabeth B. 1972. Da kine talk: From Pidgin to standard English in Hawaii. Honolulu HI: University of Hawaii Press. Cataluna, Lee. 2002. Super secret squad. Honolulu HI: Kumu Kahua Theatre. Chock, Eric. 1998. Da glove. In Chock, Eric, Harstad, James R., Lum, Darrell H.Y. & Teter, Bill (Eds). Growing up local: An anthology of poetry and prose from Hawai‘i. Honolulu HI: ­Bamboo Ridge. 28–9. Comrie, Bernard. 1976. Aspect: An introduction to verbal aspect and related problems. ­Cambridge: CUP. Comrie, Bernard. 1985. Tense. Cambridge: CUP. Comrie, Bernard. 1996. The unity of noun-modifying clauses in Asian languages. Pan-Asiatic linguistics: Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium of Languages and Linguistics, January 8–10, 1996. Vol. III, Ed. Salaya: Institute of Language and Culture for Rural ­Development, Mahidol University. 1077–88. Comrie, Bernard. 1997. On the origin of the Basic Variety. Second Language Research 13: 367–373. Dahl, Östen. 1985. Tense and aspect systems. Oxford: Blackwell. Da Jesus Book. 2000. Da Jesus book. Orlando: Wycliffe Bible Translators. Dillard, Joey L. 1970. Principles in the history of American English: Paradox, virginity, cafeteria. Florida FL Reporter 7: 32–3.



In praise of the cafeteria principle: Language mixing in Hawai‘i Creole 

Dunn, Joseph. 1928. A grammar of the Portuguese language. Washington DC: National Capital Press. Elbert, Samuel H. & Pukui, Mary K. 1979. Hawaiian grammar. Honolulu HI: University of Hawaii Press. Ellis, Rod. 1994. The study of second language acquisition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gass, Susan. 1998. Apples and oranges: Or, why apples are not orange and don’t need to be. A response to Firth and Wagner. Modern Language Journal 82: 83–90. Hawkins, Emily A. 1979. Hawaiian sentence structures [Pacific Linguistics B-61]. Canberra: ­Australian National University. Helms-Park, Rena. 2003. Transfer in SLA and creoles: The implications of causative serial verbs in the interlanguage of Vietnamese ESL learners. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 25: 211–44. Hermann, Tanja. 2005. Relative clauses in English dialects of the British Isles. In Kortmann, Berndt, Hermann, Tanja, Pietsch, Lukas & Wagner, Susanne (Eds), A comparative grammar of British English dialects: Agreement, gender, relative clauses. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 21–123. Holm, John. 1988. Pidgins and creoles. Vol. 1: Theory and structure. Cambridge: CUP. Kaapu, Myrtle K. 1937. A study of the influence of Japanese syntax and idiom upon the spoken and written English of a group of ninth grade pupils. MA thesis, University of Hawaii. Kasper, Gabriele. 1997. “A” stands for acquisition: A response to Firth and Wagner. Modern Language Journal 81: 307–12. Kearns, Yokanaan. 2000. Pidg Latin and how Kitty got her Pidgin back. Honolulu HI: Honolulu Theatre for Youth & Kumu Kahua Theatre. Lum, Darrell H.Y. 1990. Pass on, no Pass back! Honolulu HI: Bamboo Ridge Press. Lum, Darrell H.Y. 1998a. Orphan Annie: Coloring in the eyes. In Chock, Eric, Harstad, James R., Lum, Darrell H.Y. & Teter, Bill (Eds). Growing up local: An anthology of poetry and prose from Hawai‘i. Honolulu HI: Bamboo Ridge. 222–31. Lum, Darrell H.Y. 1998b. Giving tanks. In Chock, Eric, Harstad, James R., Lum, Darrell H.Y. & Teter, Bill (Eds). Growing up local: An anthology of poetry and prose from Hawai‘i. Honolulu HI: Bamboo Ridge. 71–4. Lum, Darrell H.Y. 1999. YMCA: The weightroom. In Rickford, John R. & Romaine, ­Suzanne (Eds). Creole genesis, attitudes and discourse: Studies celebrating Charlene J. Sato. ­Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 19–27. Masuda, Barry. 1998. No mo’ fish on Maui. In Chock, Eric, Harstad, James R., Lum, Darrell H.Y. & Teter, Bill (Eds). Growing up local: An anthology of poetry and prose from Hawai‘i. Honolulu HI: Bamboo Ridge. 232. Matthews, Stephen & Yip, Virginia. 1994. Cantonese: A comprehensive grammar. London: ­Routledge. Matthews, Stephen & Yip, Virginia. 2003. Relative clauses in early bilingual development: ­Transfers and universals. In Giacalone Ramat, Anna (Ed.), Typology and second language acquisition. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 39–81. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 1996. The Founder Principle in creole genesis. Diachronica 13: 83–134. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 2001. The ecology of language evolution. Cambridge: CUP. Odlin, Terence. 1990. Word-order transfer, metalinguistic awareness and constraints on foreign language learning. In Van Patten, Bill & Lee, James F. (Eds). Second language acquisition – foreign language learning. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. 95–117. Pak, Gary. 1998a. The gift. In Chock, Eric, Harstad, James R., Lum, Darrell H.Y. & Teter, Bill (Eds). Growing up local: An anthology of poetry and prose from Hawai‘i. Honolulu HI: Bamboo Ridge. 98–119.

 Jeff Siegel Pak, Gary. 1998b. The valley of the dead air. In Chock, Eric, Harstad, James R., Lum, Darrell H.Y. & Teter, Bill (Eds). Growing up local: An anthology of poetry and prose from Hawai‘i. Honolulu HI: Bamboo Ridge. 319–27. Parkvall, Mikael. 1999. Feature selection and genetic relationships among Atlantic creoles. In Huber, Magnus & Parkvall, Mikael. (Eds). Spreading the word: The issue of diffusion among Atlantic creoles [Westminster Creolistics Series 6]. London: University of Westminster. Platt, John & Weber, Heidi. 1980. English in Singapore and Malaysia: Status, features, functions. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Prista, Alexander da R. 1966. Essential Portuguese grammar. New York NY: Dover. Reinecke, John E. & Tokimasa, Aiko. 1934. The English dialect of Hawaii. American Speech 9. 48–58, 122–31. Reinecke, John E. 1969 (1935). Language and dialect in Hawaii: A sociolinguistic history to 1935. Honolulu HI: University of Hawaii Press. Roberts, Julian m. 1995. Pidgin Hawaiian: A sociohistorical study. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 10: 1–56. Roberts, Sarah J. 1998. The role of diffusion in the genesis of Hawaiian creole. Language 74: 1–39. Roberts, Sarah J. 1999. The TMA system of Hawaiian creole and diffusion. In Rickford, John R. and Romaine, Suzanne (Eds), Creole genesis, attitudes and discourse: Studies celebrating Charlene J. Sato. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 45–70. Roberts, Sarah J. 2000. Nativization and genesis of Hawaiian creole. In McWhorter, John H. (Ed.), Language change and language contact in pidgins and creoles. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 257–300. Roberts, Sarah J. 2005. The emergence of Hawai‘i Creole English in the early 20th century: The sociohistorical context of creole genesis. Ph.D. Dissertation, Stanford University. Sakoda, Kent & Siegel, Jeff. 2003. Pidgin grammar: An introduction to the creole language of Hawai‘i. Honolulu HI: Bess Press. Siegel, Jeff. 1997. Mixing, leveling and pidgin/creole development. In Spears, Arthur K. & Winford, Donald (Eds), The structure and status of pidgins and creoles. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 111–49. Siegel, Jeff. 1999. Transfer constraints and substrate influence in Melanesian Pidgin. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 14. 1–44. Siegel, Jeff. 2000. Substrate influence in Hawai‘i Creole English. Language in Society 29: 197–236. Siegel, Jeff. 2003. Substrate influence in creoles and the role of transfer in second language acquisition. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 25: 185–209. Siegel, Jeff. 2004. Morphological elaboration. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 19: 333–62. Siegel, Jeff. 2006. Links between SLA and creole studies: Past and present. In Lefebvre, Claire, White, Lydia & Jourdan, Christine (Eds). L2 acquisition and creole genesis. Amsterdam: Benjamins. 15–49. Singler, John v. 1988. The homogenity of the substrate as a factor in pidgin/creole genesis. Language 64: 27–51. Song, Jae Jung. 2001. Linguistic typology: Morphology and syntax. Harlow: Pearson Education. Tagliamonte, Sali, Smith, Jennifer & Lawrence, Helen. 2005. No taming the vernacular! Insights from the relatives in northern Britain. Language Variation and Change 17: 75–112. Youssef, Valerie. 2003. How perfect is perfective marking? An analysis of terminological problems in the description of some tense-aspect categories in creoles. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 18: 81–105. Willis, R. Clive. 1965. An essential course in modern Portuguese. London: George G. Harrap.

Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles* Ana R. Luís

Universidade de Coimbra Some Indo-Portuguese creoles exhibit morphological patterns that are characteristic of inflecting languages such as Latin or Portuguese. Verb forms contain not only overt tense and aspect suffixes but also theme vowels which identify the conjugation class of the verb. The genuine theme vowels are meaningless inflectional units which make no contribution to the overall meaning of the verb. They are however an inherent part of the verbal paradigm and determine the shape of inflected verb forms. Because of the presence of genuine theme vowels, the inflectional paradigms of Indo-Portuguese make a clear distinction between roots, stems and suffixes. Both stems and suffixes also exhibit allomorphic shape alternations that are triggered solely by conjugation class distinctions. The question as to why verbal inflection survived in this small group of IndoPortuguese creoles will be tentatively explored from the perspective of naturalistic adult second language learning. Based on the growing consensus that creole formation involves substantial L2 acquisition by adults, we examine the extent to which sociocultural and attitudinal factors may have had an effect on the L2 grammars that emerged in the early stages of contact between Portuguese and the substrate languages. It will be argued that Indo-Portuguese creoles were shaped by substrate speakers who, as a result of their favourable attitude towards the Target Language community, acquired a L2 variety with overt verbal inflection (or “Post-Basic Variety”).

1.  Introduction The traditional claim that creoles are morphologically impoverished languages has recently been under close scrutiny. A growing number of studies have attested

*I would like to thank Clancy Clements, Hugo Cardoso, Susanne Michaelis, Ingo Plag, Jeff

Siegel and an anonymous reviewer for constructive comments on earlier drafts of this paper. Thanks also to Andrew Koontz-Garboden, John Holm and Ian Smith, who made helpful suggestions at different stages of this study. All errors are, of course, my own.

 Ana R. Luís

the existence of morphological processes such as derivation, reduplication, compounding and conversion (Dijkhoff 1993; DeGraff 2001; Braun & Plag 2003; Steinkrüger 2003; among others) as well as overt inflectional marking on nominal, verbal and adjectival categories (Good 2003; Kouwenberg 2003; Bakker 2003; Baptista 2003; Kihm 2003; Veenstra 2003; Holm & Luís 2005; Arends et al. 2006). While the presence of morphology in creoles is no longer under dispute, numerous questions about its nature and origin remain largely unaddressed. The goal of this paper will be to shed light on some of these issues by examining the inflectional properties of verbal paradigms in Indo-Portuguese creoles and by discussing the forces that may have determined their survival. The creole varieties ­examined in this paper are Korlai Creole Portuguese (henceforth KP), Daman Creole Portuguese (henceforth DP) and Diu Creole Portuguese (henceforth DIP), spoken along the west coast of India.1 In this section, we provide a survey of the main issues addressed in this study and offer a short outline of the empirical data. 1.1  The nature of inflectional morphology Research on creole morphology has largely focussed on the nature and origin of meaningful affixes and examined the effects of language contact on the formmeaning relationship. Within the context of creolization, examining the relationship between form and meaning has revealed, for example, that there is a tendency for creoles to develop different or related meanings (e.g., the long/short alternation encoding argument structure alternations in Mauritian Creole French, Veenstra 2003). In this paper, however, we show that affixation in creoles may not necessarily express morphosyntactic or lexico-semantic meaning. Purely formal (or meaningless) affixes, such as conjugation class markers or declension markers, are a defining property of inflectional paradigms (Matthews 1991; Spencer 1991; Aronoff 1994). However, because of the overall focus on semantically transparent or communicatively relevant affixes, they have received little attention in the creole literature. Our study will show that Indo-Portuguese creoles contain affixes which make no contribution to the overall meaning of the word. Rather than restricting ourselves to the form-meaning relationship, we examine the relationship between form and function. We argue that verbal suffixes have preserved both the form and function of their superstrate counterparts and that superstrate functions have been extended to newly developed affixes. .  We use the term “Indo-Portuguese” as a cover term for the three Portuguese-based creoles examined in this paper. However, technically, the term includes all Portuguese-based creoles that emerged along the coasts of India and Sri-Lanka (see Holm 1988).



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

1.2  Brief outline of the data The Indo-Portuguese creoles of Korlai, Daman and Diu exhibit inflectional distinctions that are widely assumed to be absent from creoles, such as the distinction between roots, stems and inflected verb forms. In KP, DP and DIP, (a) roots are monomorphemic units, (b) verbal stems are morphologically complex because they comprise both the root and the theme vowel, and (c) inflected verb forms combine stems with tense/aspect suffixes. Crucially, roots, stems and inflected verb forms are non-homophonous and, hence, non-identical.2 The distinction between roots and stems is entirely the result of the survival of the superstrate theme vowels -a, -e and -i. Unlike standard suffixes, theme vowels are conjugation class markers which lack morphosyntactic meaning (Aronoff 1994; Stump 2001). They are thus purely formal units that are inherent to the verbal paradigms of inflecting languages. Theme vowels behave like stem-forming units and combine with the verb root to form the base to which tense/aspect suffixes attach. A preliminary survey of the Indo-Portuguese verbal paradigms is provided in (1).

(1) Daman Portuguese inflected verb forms3





Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

unmarked form past form progressive form completive form

kant-a ‘sing’ kant-o ‘sang’ kant-a-n ‘singing’ kant-a-d ‘sung’

kum-e ‘eat’ kum-e-w ‘ate’ kum-e-n ‘eating’ kum-i-d ‘eaten’

sub-i ‘go up’ sub-i-w ‘went up’ sub-i-n ‘going up’ sub-i-d ‘gone up’

We also find suffix-allomorphs and stem-allomorphs in Indo-Portuguese creoles. While the progressive suffix and the completive suffix are invariable, the

.  Most creoles do not make the distinction between roots and stems because theme vowels have lexicalized (cf. Kihm 1994). In these languages, inflectional affixes tend to attach to a stem which is structurally identical to the root. See data in footnote 17. .  We use hyphens to signal the boundary between roots, stems and tense/aspect suffixes. Hyphens allow us to highlight the morphological structure of inflected verbs and, thereby, to draw attention to the presence of genuine theme vowels. This segmentation therefore serves a purely descriptive purpose and is not aimed at making any theoretical claims about the nature of affixes or affixation.

 Ana R. Luís

past tense marker is sensitive to the conjugation class of the verb and exhibits three allomorphs. Stem-allomorphy is found in the first and second conjugation classes as a result of theme vowel deletion (e.g., kant-o ‘sing’) and theme vowel replacement (e.g., kum-i-d not *kum-e-d). Finally, the verbal paradigms of KP and DP have developed a fourth conjugation class which accommodates verbs of substrate origin (Clements 1996). Verbs belonging to this class take the theme vowel -u and a different past tense allomorph. 1.3  The survival of verbal inflection in creoles This paper also attempts to investigate the forces that have triggered the survival of overt verbal inflection in Indo-Portuguese. The genesis of Indo-­Portuguese creoles has been examined in detail in Clements (1996) and Clements & KoontzGarboden (2002) who emphasize the socio-linguistic and socio-cultural context within which KP and DP emerged. In this paper, we also favour a ­multidimensional approach, but we will explore the idea that creole formation involves substantial L2 acquisition by adults and that socio-cultural factors play a crucial role in shaping the adult L2 varieties of the substrate speakers. Following recent claims about the relationship between creolization and naturalistic Second Language Acquisition (SLA) (Siegel 2004, 2003; Plag 2005, 2008), our paper offers a tentative explanation for the retention of overt verbal inflection by exploring the role of adult substrate speakers. In particular, it will be assumed that the acquisition of a more elaborate interlanguage in adult language learners is largely dependent on the receptive attitude of substrate speakers towards the Target Language (TL) (Thomason & Kaufman 1988; Clements 1992; Siegel 2004). In the case of Indo-Portuguese creoles, evidence suggests that substrate speakers were encouraged to shift from their native language to the TL because of specific social and religious factors which isolated them from the native community and triggered the development of a new Christian identity (Clements 1996). Based on this evidence, we will assume that, as a result of such language shift, substrate speakers acquired more than just a rudimentary version of the Portuguese contact variety. To support our proposal, we draw on recent findings about adult SLA by Klein & Perdue (1992, 1997) who show that overt inflectional morphology is present in more elaborate L2 varieties or “Post-Basic L2 varieties” (Becker & Veenstra 2003; Veenstra 2003; Siegel 2004). We therefore argue that some Indo-Portuguese creoles derived from adult L2 varieties which already contained inflectional paradigms. 1.4  Overall structure of the paper §2 offers a short survey of the socio-historic and socio-linguistic context within which KP, DP and DIP developed. §3 examines the formal properties



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

of inflectional morphology in typically inflecting languages such as Latin and Portuguese. The aim of this section will be to survey the role of conjugation classes in verbal paradigms. In §4, we address the paradigmatic organization of Indo-Portuguese verbal inflection and highlight its similarities with the superstrate. §5 makes an attempt at explaining the causes that may have determined the survival of overt verbal inflection in Indo-Portuguese creoles. §6 examines the emergence of the fourth conjugation class and argues that it constitutes a case of paradigm-internal innovation. §7 offers a brief summary of the main findings.

2.  The historical, social and linguistic background Korlai, Daman and Diu are situated along the west-coast of India and were settled by the Portuguese during the 16th century as part of a permanent settling policy that began in 1505, shortly after the Portuguese reached the southwest of India.4 Interracial mixing existed from early on between soldiers and lower caste Indians. The documented existence of Eurasian offspring, mostly orphans, in 1516, indicates that interracial mixing started quite soon after the arrival of the Portuguese. The soldiers arrived in India mostly as unmarried young men (also known as “soldados”) and many chose to either marry native women or lived in harems. Conversion of lower caste Indians and their offspring to Christianity was common practice in Portuguese India. An important fact about Portuguese settlements in India, as noted by Clements (1992, 1996), is the fact that two caste systems existed in parallel: the Indian and the Christian. The Christian caste system, which emerged under the influence of the Portuguese, introduced rigid social barriers between the Christian population. Conversion to Christianity had a huge impact on the relationship between lower caste Indians and their native community. Whereas before conversion, lower caste Indians were isolated from Indians belonging to other castes, after conversion they were isolated from Hindus of equal caste due to religion. In addition, converted Indians had little contact with the Portuguese Christians belonging to other castes (due to social constraints). So, as noted by Clements, lower caste Christian Indians were doubly isolated, and it was largely because of such isolation that the

.  For detailed studies on the socio-historical and socio-linguistic context of Indo-Portuguese, see Clements (1992, 1996), Clements & Koontz-Garboden (2002) and Cardoso (2006a, b, c).

 Ana R. Luís

creoles survived.5 Clements (1996) argues that an abrupt language shift may have taken place when Indian servants adopted their new Christian identity. The isolation from their native Hindu community, as a result of conversion, seems to have ­provided the necessary motivation for converted Indians to abandon their native language and to show a favourable attitude towards the target language (TL). Finally, creole formation may have begun when Eurasian offspring picked up the interlanguage used by converted Indians and nativized it. In the case of Daman, for example, Eurasian orphans of Portuguese descent are reported in 1581, only 20 years after the area had been brought under Portuguese control. This suggests that the creole may have emerged shortly after the arrival of the Portuguese, within less than a generation. During the 18th and 19th centuries, the influence of Portuguese in the northern settlements decreased continuously. Korlai has been isolated from Portuguese influence since 1740, when Hindu Marathas took the Korlai fort. In exchange, the Portuguese were allowed to keep Goa, Diu and Daman. Here the Portuguese presence was felt until 1961, when all three areas were taken over by the Indian government. Daman remained a cultural and commercial center during most of 18th and 19th centuries (Clements 1996; Clements & KoontzGarboden 2002). 3.  Formal aspects of verbal inflection Before examining the inflectional patterns of Indo-Portuguese creoles, we briefly survey the formal properties of verbal inflection in Latin and Portuguese. We discuss salient inflectional properties such as conjugation classes, theme vowels, and allomorphic alternations on stems and suffixes. 3.1  Conjugation classes, theme vowels and verbal endings In (2), each one of the morphological segments, namely canta-, -va and -s, conveys either lexico-semantic or morphosyntactic meaning: canta- expresses the meaning of the lexeme, while -va and -s encode tense and agreement, respectively. (2) (preliminary) canta-va-s (Ptg.) sing-ipfv-2sg ‘you.sg sang’

.  The role of non-converted Hindus and Muslims may have also played a relevant role in the survival of Indo-Portuguese, especially in settlements where the Christian community was small (Hugo Cardoso, p.c.). Based on written sources, Cardoso (2006c) shows, for example, that in the late 19th century (Indo-)Portuguese was not exclusively spoken by Christians.



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

The representation in (3), however, leaves out an important additional inflectional unit, namely the theme vowel, which occurs immediately after the root cant- ‘‘sing” and immediately before the tense/aspect suffix -va.6 (3) cant-a-va-s (Ptg.) sing-cl1-ipfv-2sg ‘you.sg sang’

The theme vowel -a identifies the conjugation class of the lexeme cantar7 and makes therefore no semantic contribution to the overall meaning of the verb. In effect, theme vowels cannot be associated to any kind of morphosyntactic meaning, unlike the verbal endings -va and -s. They are therefore purely formal and, hence, meaningless units. Nonetheless they constitute genuine inflectional elements and play a crucial role in defining the properties of inflectional paradigms: as conjugation vowels they tell us “which inflectional affixes will realize the various morphosyntactic properties that the verb bears in a particular instance” (Aronoff 1994: 46). In Latin, verb forms exhibit a theme vowel. As in the Romance languages, it follows the root and precedes the verbal endings:

(4) (Aronoff 1994: 45) Infinitive



am-ā-re love-cl1-inf mon-ē-re advise-cl2-inf leg-e-re pick-cl3-inf aud-ī-re hear-cl4-inf

Theme vowel

Conjugation class

Gloss

ā

first

‘love’

ē

second

‘advise’

e

third

‘pick’

ī

fourth

‘hear’

Similarly, the shape of inflected verb forms can be predicted from the verb’s conjugation class. For example, in the future indicative, the first person singular is realized through the suffix -o in the first and second conjugation classes (cf. 5a–b), but through the suffix -m in the third and fourth classes (cf. 5c–d). Similarly, the future is expressed through the suffix -b in the first and second conjugation classes

.  See footnote 3. .  Following standard practice, lexemes are represented in capitals (Matthews 1991). We also assume, for the sake of simplicity, that conjugation classes are a propriety of lexemes. However, see Aronoff (1994) for evidence which suggests that conjugation classes should be regarded as a property of stems.

 Ana R. Luís

(cf. 5a–b) and through the suffix -a in the third and fourth conjugation classes (cf. 5c–d). (5) a.

am-ā-b-ō love-cl1-fut-1sg ‘(I) will love’

b. mon-ē-b-ō advise-cl2-fut-1sg ‘(I) will advise’ c. leg-a-m pick-fut-1sg ‘(I) will pick’ d. aud-i-a-m hear-cl4-fut-1sg ‘(I) will hear’

Thus, suffix-allomorphy in Latin verbal paradigms can be triggered by a purely formal property of Latin verbs, namely their belonging to a conjugation class. Latin conjugation classes also trigger stem-allomorphy. Stems constitute the morphological base to which verbal endings attach and, by default, they comprise both a root and a theme vowel as in (5). However, if the theme vowel is absent, as in (6), stems are identical to the root. (6) a.

am-ō love-prs.1sg ‘(I) love’

b. leg-ō pick-fut.1sg ‘(I) pick’

In Latin, a given lexeme may take more than one stem. How many stems a given lexeme takes is purely dependent on the conjugation class it belongs to. For example, lexemes belonging to the first conjugation class take two stems, as shown diagrammatically in (7): stem1 comprises solely the root and is found in verb forms such as am-ō ‘(I) love’; stem2 contains both the root and the theme vowel -a as in am-ā-b-ō ‘(I) will love’.8

.  For a detailed inflectional treatment of Latin stems, see Aronoff (1994).



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

(7) a. stem1 = root (cf. (6a)) b. stem2 = root + theme vowelclass1 (cf. (5a))

Stem-allomorphy is also present in the third conjugation class. A partial illustration of the heterogeneous nature of stems is given below: (8) a. stem1: root (cf. (5c) and (6b)) b. stem2: root+theme vowelclass3 (e.g., legebam ‘(I) picked’) c. stem3: root+theme vowelclass4 (e.g., legis ‘(you.sg) pick’)

The allomorphy illustrated in (6) and (7) is entirely predictable, given that regular verbs belonging to the same conjugation class exhibit exactly the same type of allomorphic alternations. 3.2  Verbal paradigms in Portuguese In this section, we return to Portuguese and discuss the effect of conjugation class distinctions on both stem and suffix allomorphs. In (9–12), we provide four verbal paradigms which illustrate the inflected forms of the lexemes lavar ‘wash’, beber ‘drink’ and mentir ‘lie’ for the following tense/aspect ­combinations: present indicative in (9), perfect preterite in (10), progressive in (11) and past participle in (12).

(9) Present indicative paradigm





Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

1sg 2sg 3sg 1pl 3pl

cant-o sing-prs.1sg ‘(I) sing’ cant-a-s sing-cl1-prs.2sg ‘(you) sing’ cant-a sing-cl1.prs.3sg ‘(s/he) sings’ cant-a-mos sing-cl1-prs.1pl ‘(we) sing’ cant-a-m sing-cl1-prs.3pl ‘(they) sing’

beb-o drink-prs.1sg ‘(I) drink’ beb-e-s drink-cl2-prs.2sg ‘(you) drink’ beb-e drink-cl2.prs.3sg ‘(s/he) drinks’ beb-e-mos drink-cl2-prs.1pl ‘(we) drink’ beb-e-m drink-cl2-prs.3pl ‘(they) drink’

sint-o feel-prs.1sg ‘(I) feel’ sent-e-s feel-cl3-prs.2sg ‘(you) feel’ sent-e feel-cl3.prs.2sg ‘(s/he) feels’ sent-i-mos feel-cl3-prs.1pl ‘(we) feel’ sent-e-m feel-cl3-prs.3pl ‘(they) feel’

 Ana R. Luís

(10) Perfect preterite paradigm





Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

1sg 2sg 3sg 1sg 3pl

cant-ei sing-pfv.1sg ‘(I) sang’ cant-a-ste sing-cl1-pfv.2sg ‘(you) sang’ cant-ou sing-pfv.3sg ‘(s/he) sang’ cant-á-mos sing-cl1.pfv-1pl ‘(we) sang’ cant-a-ra-m sing-cl1-pfv-3pl ‘(they) sang’

beb-i drink-cl2.pfv.1sg ‘(I) drank’ beb-e-ste drink-cl2-pfv.2sg ‘(you) drank’ beb-e-u drink-cl2-pfv.3sg ‘(s/he) drank’ beb-e-mos drink-cl2-pfv.1pl ‘(we) drank’ beb-e-ra-m drink-cl2-pfv-3pl ‘(they) drank’

sent-i feel-cl3.pfv.1sg ‘(I) felt’ sent-i-ste feel-cl3-pfv.2sg ‘(you) felt’ sent-i-u feel-cl3-pfv.3sg ‘(s/he) felt’ sent-i-mos feel-cl3-pfv.1pl ‘(we) felt’ sent-i-ra-m feel-cl3-pfv-3pl ‘(they) felt’

(11) Progressive paradigm Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 1

cant-a-ndo sing-cl1-prog

beb-e-ndo drink-cl2-prog

sent-i-ndo feel-cl3-prog

Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 1

cant-a-do sing-cl1-compl

beb-i-do drink-cl2-compl

sent-i-do feel-cl3-compl

(12) Participle paradigm



As in Latin, Portuguese theme vowels are stem-forming units: they combine with the root to form the base to which verbal endings attach. Each conjugation class is signalled by one of the following theme vowels: (13)

Theme vowel

Conjugation Class



a e i

first second third



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

The tables in (9–12) show that verbs belonging to the first conjugation class take two different stems: the default stem with the theme vowel -a (e.g., canta-mos ‘(we) sing’) and the theme-less stem (e.g., cant-o ‘(I) sing’). In the second conjugation class, verbs take three stems: the default stem with the -e vowel (e.g., beb-e-ste ‘(you) drank’), the -i stem in all past participle verb forms (e.g., bebi-do ‘drunk’) and the bare root (or theme-less stem) in the first singular present indicative form (e.g., beb-o ‘(I) drank’). Finally, verbs belonging to the third conjugation class take three stems: the default stem with the theme vowel -i (e.g., sent-i-mos ‘(we) feel’), the e-stem (e.g., sent-e-s ‘you.sg feel’) and the theme-less stem in the present indicative first singular forms (e.g., sint-o ‘(I) feel’). A summary of the stems that characterize each one of the Portuguese conjugation classes is given in (14). (14) Conjugation class 1 Conjugation class 2 Conjugation class 3

stem1: root stem2: root + tvclass1 stem1: root stem2: root + tvclass2 stem3: root + tvclass3 stem1: root stem2: root + tvclass3 stem3: root + tvclass2

Conjugation classes determine the shape of verbal endings. As the examples in (15) show, there are two suffix allomorphs for imperfect verb forms, namely the suffix -va and the suffix -ia. The former surfaces in the first conjugation while the latter occurs only in the second and third conjugations. Similarly, as shown in (16), there are two present subjunctive allomorphs: the suffix -a and the suffix -e. The second and third conjugation classes take the suffix -a whereas the suffix -e is taken by the first conjugation class.9 Among the tense markers that are not affected by conjugation class distinctions are both the participle marker -do and the gerund marker -ndo as shown in (11) and (12). (15) a.

cant-a-va-s (Ptg.) sing-cl1-ipfv-2sg ‘(you.sg) sang’

.  The segmentation and analysis of subjunctive verb forms is rather controversial. However, regardless of which segmentation one adopts, the shape of these verb forms can only be accounted for by making reference to the verb’s conjugation class.

 Ana R. Luís

b. beb-ia-s (Ptg.) drink-ipfv-2sg ‘(you.sg) drank’ c.

sent-ia-s (Ptg.) feel-ipfv-2sg ‘(you.sg) felt’

(16) a.

cant-e-s (Ptg.) sing-sbjv-2sg ‘(you.sg) sing’

b. beb-a-s (Ptg.) drink-sbjv-2sg ‘(you.sg) drink’ c. sint-a-s (Ptg.) feel-sbjv-2sg ‘(you.sg) feel’

Also agreement markers can be sensitive to conjugation class distinctions. For example, in the perfect preterite paradigm illustrated in (17) the first person singular suffix is expressed through the diphthong -ei in the first conjugation class. However, in the second and third conjugation classes it is expressed through the suffix -i.10 Similarly, the third person singular suffix is also sensitive to the lexeme’s conjugation class. As shown in (18), it is expressed through the suffix [-o] in the first class, and through the suffix [-w] in the second and third classes.11 (17) Agreement allomorphy in the perfect preterit



Tense

Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

perfect preterite

cant-ei sing-prf.1sg ‘(I) sang’

beb-i drink-cl2.prf.1sg ‘(I) drank’

sent-i feel-cl3.prf.1sg ‘(I) felt’

.  Our segmentation of cantei ‘(I) sang’ is based on the assumption that there are only two types of stem in the first conjugation class, as illustrated in (14). An alternative segmentation would be possible, provided one assumes that first conjugation class lexemes also take a stem ending in -e (i.e., stem3: root + tvclass 2). Under this assumption, one could analyze the -ei sequence as comprising two separate units (i.e., the theme vowel -e and the agreement suffix -i). .  The suffix -ou is pronounced as the monophthong [-o] in colloquial European Portuguese. In some varieties, the monophthong is replaced by the falling diphthong [-ow]. It remains a matter of dispute whether the diphthong contains two segments (i.e., the theme vowel allomorph [-o] and the tense marker [-w]) or whether it should be analyzed as a single suffix (with the same morphosyntactic meaning as the monophthong [-o]).



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

(18) Agreement allomorphy in the perfect preterite: Tense

Conjugation class 1

perfect preterite

cant-ou [-o] sing.cl1-prf.3sg ‘(s/he) sang’

Conjugation class 2 beb-e-u [-w] drink-cl2-prf.3sg ‘(s/he) drank’

Conjugation class 3 sent-i-u [-w] feel-cl3-prf.3sg ‘(s/he) felt’



For the sake of completeness, it is worth noting that allomorphic alternations in Portuguese may also be triggered by morphosyntactic features. For example, agreement suffixes may depend on the tense properties of the verb rather than on the conjugation class. In this paper, however, we will have very little to say about such morphosyntactically conditioned allomorphy. 3.3  Summary Theme vowels differ from other verbal endings in that they carry absolutely no morphosyntactic meaning. Despite being purely formal and, hence, ­meaningless, they play a crucial role in the organization of verbal paradigms. In Latin and Portuguese, if one knows the conjugation class of a (regular) lexeme, one can predict the inflected forms of that lexeme. In the next section, it will be shown that similar inflectional patterns have survived in the verbal paradigms of some Indo-Portuguese creoles. Challenging the long-standing assumption that creoles have no overt verbal inflection, we provide evidence which shows that some Indo-Portuguese creoles have not only verbal suffixes but also purely formal theme vowels. 4.  Verbal inflection in Indo-Portuguese creoles This section examines the presence of overt verbal inflection in three Indo­Portuguese creoles, namely KP, DP and DIP. Contradicting the traditional idea that creoles are affix-less languages, we show that some Indo-Portuguese verbal paradigms display the following typically inflectional properties: (a) verbal paradigms are organized into conjugation classes, (b) theme vowels combine with roots to form complex stems, (c) tense features are expressed synthetically through overt suffixes and (d) stems and tense suffixes undergo allomorphic alternations triggered by the lexeme’s conjugation class. The data examined in this section also weakens one further traditional claim, namely the idea that only semantically transparent and communicatively salient morphology can survive creolization. §4.1 examines the morphological structure of inflected verb forms in Indo-Portuguese.

 Ana R. Luís

§4.2 returns to the more formal aspects of verbal paradigms and examines the form-function relationship of Indo-Portuguese theme vowels.12 4.1  Empirical data 4.1.1  Overview Inflected verb forms in KP, DP and DIP show numerous properties that have been taken over from the superstrate. The verb root, which expresses the lexical meaning, preserves both the form and meaning of the superstrate counterpart:13 (19) a.

kant-a sing-cl1 ‘sing’

(DP < Ptg. cantar ‘sing’)

b. ve˜d-e-w sell-cl2-pst ‘sold’

(DIP < Ptg. vender ‘sell’)

c. sub-i-n (KP < Ptg. subir ‘go up’) go up-cl3-prog ‘going up’

Attached to the root is the theme vowel. Theme vowels have inherited both the shape and function of the Portuguese theme vowels -a, -e and -i: (20) a.

fall-a-d speak-cl1-compl ‘spoken’

b. kum-e-w eat-cl2-pst ‘ate’ c.

sint-i-n feel-cl3-prog ‘feeling’

(DIP < Ptg. falar ‘speak’ )

(DP/KP < Ptg. comer ‘eat’)

(DP < Ptg. sentir ‘feel’)

.  Our data has been drawn form the following sources: Clements (1992, 1996) and Clements & Koontz-Garboden (2002), for data on KP and DP; Schuchardt (1883), Clements (1992) and Cardoso (2006a) for data on DIP. .  In addition to verbs of Portuguese origin, there are also verbs that have been taken over from the substrate/adstrate (see §6). In the present section, however, we will only be concerned with verbs of superstrate origin.



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

One of the crucial claims made in this paper is that theme vowels in Indo­Portuguese constitute genuine conjugation class markers and, hence, stem-forming units. As alluded to before, they combine with the verb root to form the verbal base (i.e., stem) to which tense/aspect suffixes attach. Given the presence of such genuine theme vowels, Indo-Portuguese creoles make the inflectional distinction between roots and stems. We will have more to say about the inflectional status of Indo-Portuguese theme vowels in §4.2. Immediately after the theme vowel, we may find one of the following tense/ aspect endings: (21)

Indo-Portuguese tense/aspect suffixes a. Progressive suffix: -n b. Completive suffix: -d c. Past suffixes: -o/ -w

As to their origin, the progressive marker in (21a) has its origin in the ­ ortuguese gerund marker -ndo (cf. 11), and the completive marker in (21b) P has been taken over from the Portuguese participle marker -do (cf. 12). Both past suffixes in (21c) have derived from the 3rd person singular perfect endings in the lexifier (cf. 10). The fact that Indo-Portuguese creoles provide more than one past suffix is an important piece of evidence which shows that creoles can express a given morphosyntactic feature through inflectional allomorphs. As will be illustrated below, both past allomorphs are entirely triggered by the conjugation class of the lexemes.14 These are typical properties of inflecting languages which we will return to in §4.2. Phonologically, tense/aspect endings are very similar to the superstrate counterparts: the past suffixes exhibit exactly the same phonotactic structure; only the completive and the progressive suffixes have suffered some segmental reduction. 4.1.2  Indo-Portuguese verbal paradigms Overall, there are four verb forms in Indo-Portuguese: the progressive form in (22), the completive form in (23), the past form in (24) and the unmarked form in (25). As shown in (19) and (20), Indo-Portuguese inflected verbs comprise three morphological units: a root, a theme vowel and a tense/aspect suffix. Two of these units may be absent, namely the theme vowel and the tense/aspect suffix. So, while the ­progressive verb forms in (22) and the completive verb forms in (23) conform

.  An additional past form has developed in KP and DP for verbs of substrate/adstrate origin, as discussed in §6.

 Ana R. Luís

to the template in (26), the past forms in (24) surface without the theme vowel in the first conjugation class, and the unmarked verb forms in (25) tend to surface without the suffix -r.15 (22) Progressive forms: Root-TV-n





Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

KP DP DIP

kat-a-n sing-cl1-prog ‘singing’ kant-a-n sing-cl1-prog ‘singing’ fall-a-nd say-cl1-prog ‘saying’

beb-e-n drink-cl2-prog ‘drinking’ fәz-e-n do-cl2-prog ‘doing’ faz-e-nd do-cl2-prog ‘doing’

sub-i-n go.up-cl3-prog ‘going up’ sint-i-n feel-cl3-prog ‘feeling’ sub-i-nd go.up-cl3-prog ‘going up’

(23) Completive forms: Root-TV-d





Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

KP DP DIP

kat-a-d sing-cl1-compl ‘sung’ karg-a-d carry-cl1-compl ‘carried’ and-a-d walk-cl1-compl ‘walked’

beb-i-d sing-cl2-compl ‘drunk’ perd-i-d sing-cl2-compl ‘lost’ pod-i-d can-cl2-compl ‘could’

sub-i-d go up-cl3-compl ‘gone up’ sint-i-d feel-cl3-compl ‘felt’ par-i-d give birth-cl3-compl ‘given birth’

.  A caveat is in order here: in (22) and (24), we assume that all three creoles have the same verbal endings and that the variation between -n vs. -nd and -o vs. -ow results from the different orthographic criteria adopted by the various authors (i.e., Clements 1992, 1996; Clements & Koontz-Garboden 2002; Schuchardt 1883; Cardoso 2006a). Unfortunately, insufficient evidence prevents us from investigating whether such differences reflect instead the existence of inflectional variation within Indo-Portuguese.



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

(24) Past forms: Root-(TV)-Past

Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

KP DP DIP

kat-o sing- pst ‘sang’ kant-o sing- pst ‘sang’ fall-ow say-pst ‘said’

kum-e-w eat-cl2- pst ‘ate’ kum-e-w eat-cl2- pst ‘ate’ ve˜d-e-w sell-cl2-pst ‘sold’

sub-i-w go up-cl3-pst ‘went up’ sub-i-w go up-cl3-pst ‘went up’ sah-i-w leave-cl3-pst ‘left’

(25) Unmarked forms: Root-TV-(r)

KP

DP

DIP



Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

kat-a sing-cl1 ‘sing’ kant-a sing-cl1 ‘sing’ fal-a say-cl1 ‘say’

kum-e eat-cl2 ‘eat’ kum-e eat-cl2 ‘eat’ ve˜d-e sell-cl2 ‘sell’

sub-i go up-cl3 ‘go up’ sub-i go up-cl3 ‘go up’ vist-i dress-cl3 ‘dress’

(26) Indo-Portuguese verbal template Root



kat kat kat

Theme vowel

Tense/aspect suffix

Verb form

-a – -a

-n -o –

katan ‘singing’ kato ’sang’ kata ‘sing’

4.1.3  The loss of suffixes in Indo-Portuguese Despite the remarkable presence of overt inflection in Indo-Portuguese, inflectional paradigms have fewer verbal suffixes than the inflectional paradigms of the superstrate and, consequently, fewer inflected verb forms. If we compare the Portuguese paradigms in (9–12) with the Indo-Portuguese paradigms in (22–25), we see that Indo-Portuguese creoles lack agreement suffixes entirely. As a result of

 Ana R. Luís

this inflectional reduction, each conjugation class provides only one single verb form for each tense/aspect combination. a. Agreement markers It can be argued that the reason why Indo-Portuguese creoles have no agreement endings is due to the fact that these endings encode features that are already expressed lexically in the clause. Under this view, agreement suffixes are not essential items in the utterance and, therefore, “functionally expendable” (McWhorter 1998). Indo-Portuguese creoles however seriously weaken the idea that the survival of inflection is determined by its communicative relevance. There is a whole class of inflectional affixes, such as conjugation class markers, which have survived creolization even though they are deprived of any meaning. Assuming then that creole grammars are not driven exclusively by communicative goals, we must ask the question as to why theme vowels have survived creole formation while agreement endings have been discarded. After all, agreement markers express meaning, while conjugation class markers are completely meaningless. The reason for such outcome seems to lie in the tendency for creoles to discard contextual inflection, i.e., inflection that can be retrieved from other elements in the clause (Plag 2008). Even though both agreement markers and conjugation class markers surface on verbs, only the former encodes contextual features while conjugation class markers express an inherent property. The Indo-Portuguese data, then, allows us to draw an interesting generalization, namely that the survival of inflection is not triggered by semantic transparency or communicative relevance, but by the contextual or inherent status of inflection features. Under this generalization we can provide an account for both the survival of “meaningless” (inherent) features and the loss of “meaningful” (contextual) features in Indo-Portuguese.

b. Tense/aspect distinctions Compared to the Portuguese verbal paradigms (cf. Cunha & Cintra 1998), IndoPortuguese verbs also encode fewer tense/aspect distinctions. As shown above, these creoles have only four synthetic verb forms, namely the progressive, the completive, the past and the unmarked forms16. Despite the substantial loss of

.  Additional verb forms have been attested in the literature: imperfect forms in DIP (Cardoso 2006a) and subjunctive forms in DP (Clements & Koontz-Garboden 2002).



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

superstrate suffixes, it is important to emphasize the fact that Indo-Portuguese creoles have developed linguistic means for expressing a complex range of tense/ mood/aspect distinctions (cf. Clements & Koontz-Garboden 2002). In particular, they have developed new ways of encoding TMA distinctions by combining suffixed verbs with preverbal particles. It would therefore be incorrect to claim that creoles have a simplified TMA system. So, if a suffixed verb occurs on its own in the clause, it forms a synthetic tense. In (27a), the Present Perfect of ‘stay’ is expressed through a verb form carrying the participle suffix -d, and in (27b) the Past meaning of ‘leave’ is expressed through a verb from carrying the past suffix -w. (27) (Clements & Koontz-Garboden 2002: 219, 213) a. Ku Lwidz difludz hikad. obj Lwidz cold become.cl1.compl ‘Lwidz has gotten a cold.’ b. әntãw, rrey saiw pәrt dә vәran …  so king go out.cl3.pst near gen veranda ‘So, the king went out onto the veranda.’

(KP)

(DP)

On the contrary, in multi-word sequences (i.e., periphrastic tenses), the suffixed verb is preceded by a particle. The future of ‘stay’ is expressed through an unmarked form and the future particle le, as in (28a). The perfect of ‘load’ is obtained from the combination of a completive verb form and the particle te, as in (28b). (28) (Clements & Koontz-Garboden 2002: 221, 219) a. Chu shi kaiw, no le hika aki. rain if fell 1pl fut remain.cl1 here ‘If it rains, we’ll stay here.’

(KP)

b. Yo nu sab kwãnt te kargad tud ai dent … (DP) 1sg neg know how-much pres load.cl1.compl all there inside ‘I don’t know how much I’ve put inside …’

Even though all three creoles seem to share a similar number of synthetic verb forms, the linguistic means adopted by each one of the creoles may differ quite strongly. While one creole may use a single suffixed verb form, another creole may express the same tense through a multi-word sequence. An example of this type of variation is given in (27a) and (28b), where the perfect tense is expressed through a particle+verb combination in DP (cf. 28b), but expressed through a single participle verb form in KP (cf. 27a). Note also that while verb + particle combinations are attested in all three creoles, different preverbal particles are found in each one them. In KP, for example, the future particle is le (from

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Portuguese logo ‘at once’), as in (28a), but it is a in DP (from Ptg. há-de ‘has to’), as in (29). Differences such as these suggest to Clements & Koontz-Garboden (2002) that Indo-Portuguese creoles may have developed independently, even though they may have had a common TL. (29)

(Clements & Koontz-Garboden 2002: 221 fragment) a manda mata (DP) fut order.cl1 kill ‘will have killed’

In what follows, we will return to the more formal nature of verbal paradigms and highlight the genuine inflectional status of Indo-Portuguese theme vowels. It is standardly assumed that superstrate theme vowels have lexicalized and lost their inflectional status. This assumption largely explains why very little attention has been paid to the fate of theme vowels in creole languages. As the next section will show, Indo-Portuguese creoles theme vowels behave exactly like conjugation class markers in typically inflecting languages (cf. §3). 4.2  The grammatical status of Indo-Portuguese theme vowels The borrowing of morphologically complex word forms often involves the loss of internal morphological structure through the loss of morpheme boundaries. In most Portuguese-based creoles, theme vowels have been integrated into the sound structure of the verb root and constitute phonemes. As Kihm (1994) points out, unlike Portuguese, Kriyol has lost the internal inflectional boundary between the root and the theme vowel and cannot make the distinction between roots and stems. About the theme vowels in Kriyol he claims: “in no case could these vowels be analysed as affixes or thematic vowels as in Portuguese”. In Indo-Portuguese, however, roots and stems are not always phonologically identical and must therefore be distinguished.17 As we argue next, the numerous

.  Even though verb forms in Portuguese-based creoles also contain the vowels a, e and i, there is no empirical evidence indicating that these vowels constitute genuine theme vowels. In the examples in (i), we find the vowels a, e and i, however they behave merely as phonological segments of the root because Kriyol verbs are invariable. These vowels therefore have lost their inflectional status. (i)

Kriyol (Kihm 2003) a. seta ‘accept’ b. kume ‘eat’

c. bibi ‘drink’

The same is true for Sotavento Kabuverdianu. Although lexemes in this creole seem to have two verb forms – namely one bare form and one past form, as shown in (ii)- the base to which



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

inflectional patterns found in Indo-Portuguese verbal paradigms can only be insightfully captured if theme vowels are assigned inflectional status and analyzed as stem-forming units.

4.2.1  Preliminary discussion If theme vowels in Indo-Portuguese are treated as lexicalized (rather than as inflectional) units, then sequences such as kanta- or kume- have to be analyzed as roots: (30) (provisional)





Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

unmarked form past form progressive form completive form

kanta kant-o kanta-n kanta-d

kume kume-w kume-n kumi-d

subi subi-w subi-n subi-d

The problem with (30) however is that roots constitute minimal (or monomorphemic) units which cannot be further segmented into smaller meaningful units. They are primitives (Haspelmath 2002, Spencer 1991). In English, the minimal unit that is common to the verb forms walks, walking, walked and walk is the sequence walk-. In Indo-Portuguese, the minimal unit that is common to kanta, kantad, kantan and, crucially, to kanto is kant-. Likewise, the minimal unit that is common to kume, kumew, kumen and kumid is kum-. Therefore, the sequences kanta- and kume- in (30) cannot be analyzed as roots. Alternatively, it could also be argued that theme vowels in Indo-Portuguese have integrated into the verbal suffixes as phonological segments of the tense/aspect

the suffix -ba attaches is also invariable and monomorphemic. Crucially, monomorphemic and invariable sequences such as falta-, kore- and parti- constitute both the root and the stem of the past verb forms. As such, the presence of the vowels a, e and i is irrelevant to the realization of the past verb forms.



(ii)

Sotavento Kabuverdianu (Baptista 2003, Baptista et al. 2008) a. falta ‘miss’ b. kore ‘run’ c. parti ‘break’ a’. faltaba ‘miss + ant’ b’. koreba ‘run + ant’ c’. partiba ‘break + ant’

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endings. Under this view, Indo-Portuguese would have three distinct ­progressive markers and three completive markers: (31) (provisional)

Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

unmarked form past form progressive form completive form

kant-a kant-o kant-an kant-ad

kum-e kum-ew kum-en kum-id

sub-i sub-iw sub-in sub-id



It seems obvious that the segmentation in (31) would lead to an ­unintuitive proliferation of non-minimal verbal endings, failing to observe that all three ­progressive markers share the minimal sequence -n and that all three completive markers share the sequence -d. Instead, what we need to say is that recurrent ­segments such as -d, -n and -w constitute single morphological units which follow the theme vowel. 4.2.2  Genuine theme vowels in Indo-Portuguese Contrary to the lexicalization hypothesis examined in §4.2.1, we take the view that Indo-Portuguese theme vowels constitute bona fide theme vowels. As genuine inflectional elements, they behave like stem-forming units and play a crucial role in determining the shape of inflected verb forms. (32)

Conjugation class 1

Conjugation class 2

Conjugation class 3

unmarked form past form progressive form completive form

kant-a kant-o kant-a-n kant-a-d

kum-e kum-e-w kum-e-n kum-i-d

sub-i sub-i-w sub-i-n sub-i-d



As the table in (32) illustrates, theme vowels combine with the verb root to form the stem to which tense/aspect suffixes attach. Underlying the verb forms subi, subiw, subin and subid is the stem subi- which comprises both the root sub- and the theme vowel -i. However, lexemes such as KUME, which belong to the second conjugation class, have two different stems: kume-, the default stem, and kumi-, the participle stem. In this case, the root kum- may combine either with the theme vowel -e or with the theme vowel -i.



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

Once we regard Indo-Portuguese theme vowels as stem-forming units, alternations such as kume- and kumi- can correctly be analyzed as instances of stem-allomorphy. The ability for a given lexeme to take more than one stem is an entirely predictable property of verbal paradigms. In Indo-Portuguese, therefore, knowing the conjugation class of a given lexeme enables us to predict the number of stems and their distribution within that lexeme’s paradigm. We know, from the table in (32), that all (regular) lexemes belonging to the second conjugation class take a default stem ending in -e and a completive stem ending in -i. Depending on both the morphosyntactic features of the verb and the lexeme’s conjugation class, theme vowels may either be replaced (cf. kume- vs. kumi-) or they may be absent. In the latter case, roots and stems are phonologically exactly identical. In Indo-Portuguese, such homophony is attested in the first conjugation class with lexemes such as KANTA which take a default stem kanta- and a past stem kant-. Stem-alternations also show that theme vowels and stems interact in interesting ways with tense/aspect suffixes. In the second conjugation class, we find that suffixes select the stem they attach to. In particular, the completive marker -d selects -i final stems in the second conjugation class, rather than the default -e final stem.18 In the first conjugation, we have seen that the past allomorph -o selects a theme-less stem rather than a stem carrying the default vowel -a. This interaction between verbal endings and stems clearly shows that theme vowels in IndoPortuguese are visible to inflectional rules. 4.3  Summary Summarizing, the organizing principle underlying Indo-Portuguese verbal paradigms is the tripartite distinction between the first, second and third conjugation classes. This distinction is encoded through genuine theme vowels which combine

.  Similarly, no phonological factors can explain why the completive forms *kumed ‘eaten’, *perded ‘lost’ and *bebed ‘drunk’ are systematically ruled out and replaced by the forms kumid, perdid and bebid, respectively. It could be argued that phonological co-occurrence restrictions prevent word-internal vowel sequences such as [e-e] in perded and bebed or [u-e] in kumed. However, that hypothesis is not born out, because both vowel sequences surface word-internally in related verbs forms (e.g., bebe ‘drink’ and kume ‘eat’, etc.). The evidence, thus, shows that forms like *kumed and *bebed are not determined by the sound structure of DP and KP, but by morphological factors such as the conjugation class of the verbs and the tense/aspect properties realized by verb forms. The same generalization holds for Portuguese where the replacement of the theme vowel -e cannot be attributed to phonological co-occurrence restrictions either. The word-internal vowel sequence [u-e-u] is ruled out in *comedu ‘eaten’, but it surfaces in Portuguese words such as modelo ‘model’, borrego ‘lamb’, etc. Likewise the vowel sequence [ә-e-u] is ruled out in *perdedo ‘lost’ although it is found in bezerro ‘calf ’, segredo ‘secret’, etc.

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with roots to form stems. As a result of the survival of theme vowels, verb forms such as kumew comprise three distinct morphological units: the root kum-, the stem kume- and the verbal ending -w. This type of internal morphological structure is, to the best of our knowledge, unattested in other Portuguese-based creoles. Conjugation classes may also select more than one stem, giving rise to stemallomorphy. The survival of theme vowels is largely responsible for the presence of stem alternations in the first and the second conjugation classes. In these classes, theme vowels may be either replaced or left out. In the latter case, the base to which the past tense marker attaches to is phonologically identical to the root. As is typical of inflecting languages, conjugation class distinctions have an effect on the shape of the tense and aspect suffixes. While both the progressive and the completive markers remain invariable throughout the entire paradigm, the past marker exhibits two allomorphs (of superstrate origin) which are entirely triggered by the lexeme’s conjugation class. In §6, we argue that there is in effect one further past allomorph. We also return to the morphological structure of suffixed verbs in §6 to show that an additional conjugation class has emerged, presumably as a result of the increasing contact between Indo-Portuguese creoles and the adstrate languages. 5.  Accounting for the survival of overt verbal inflection We will now discuss the origins of overt verbal inflection and examine the causes that may have led to the retention of superstrate suffixes in KP, DP and DIP. Given the lack of empirical data on the early stages of Indo-Portuguese, we formulate only tentative claims about the forces that may have shaped these languages. In §5.1, we put forward arguments which suggest that affix survival should neither be seen as the result of decreolization nor be regarded as the outcome of expansion. In §5.2, we propose an account based on the surface similarities between creoles and adult L2 varieties, drawing on recent research, by Klein & Perdue (1992, 1997), on untutored SLA. Finally, in §5.3 we return to the idea that the inflectional shape of verbs has been taken over entirely from the superstrate and that no evidence of morphological transfer from the substrate seems to exist. 5.1  D  ecreolization, creole expansion or adult second language acquisition? The presence of inflectional affixes in creoles is generally used as evidence that creoles are undergoing a decreolization process as a result of the contact between the creole and the superstrate. In the case of Indo-Portuguese creoles, however, historical facts indicate that such an account is untenable. Even though decolonization in 1961 did not entirely break off the cultural ties with Portugal (Cardoso 2006c), the contact



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

between Portugal and India was already in decline in the second half of the 17th century, when most of the Portuguese possessions in India were lost to the Dutch and British (Holm 1988). The area of Korlai, for example, was abandoned by most Portuguese in the mid-18th century, leaving it “largely ­isolated from Portuguese influence” (Clements 1996). Even Daman and Diu, which were part of the Portuguese empire until 1961, have been under minimal political control from Portugal since 1740. We therefore take with Clements (1996) the view that the survival of overt verbal inflection in Indo-Portuguese could not have been the result of decreolization. Assuming, then, that Indo-Portuguese creoles have not decreolized, the question remains as to whether affix survival was triggered by a process of expansion of the creole or by adult SLA strategies. We will argue in favour of the latter view, based on socio-cultural and attitudinal factors which suggest that verbal inflection emerged in the L2 varieties that developed in the early stages of language contact. As we will claim, a privileged context existed for the development of an elaborate L2 variety which served as input to the creole. Thus, verbal suffixes were present in the creole from early on. However, before presenting our account, we will briefly explain why we have ruled out the hypothesis of creole expansion. The fact that Indo-Portuguese verbal suffixes preserve not only the form but also both the meaning and function of the corresponding superstrate suffixes indicates that they emerged at a time when there was still access to the TL. Recent research shows that when substrate speakers have deficient access to the TL, superstrate affixes may preserve the form but tend to develop a related or entirely different meaning (e.g., the long/short alternation encoding argument structure alternations in Mauritian Creole French (Veenstra 2003)). In Indo-Portuguese however suffixes have preserved both the form and function of their superstrate counterparts. The fact that Portuguese control was already in decline in the 2nd half of the 17th century suggests that the contact between creole speakers and the TL decreased after creole formation. Especially, the second and third generation of creole speakers may not have had direct access to the TL, unlike the substrate speakers in the early stages of contact. In the reminder of this section, we will highlight the role played by adult substrate speakers in shaping the structural properties of creoles (Siegel 2004; Plag 2005, 2008). In particular, it is argued that Indo-Portuguese creoles derived from L2 varieties which already contained verbal suffixes. These L2 varieties were acquired by the converted Indians who first had contact with Portuguese sailors and soldiers. Our SLA-based proposal is entirely compatible with recent evidence, provided by Bakker (2003) and Siegel (2004) and DeGraff (2001), which shows that affixes can be present in non-native contact varieties such as pidgins. As to the reason why overt verbal inflection survived in these L2 varieties, the claim will be that the favourable attitude of substrate speakers towards the TL may have played a crucial role. Research on language contact shows that adult language learners who

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want to identify with the TL community acquire a more native-like version of the TL (Siegel 2004; Thomason & Kaufman 1988). As we will show below, the sociocultural context which characterized the genesis of Indo-Portuguese creoles seems to have encouraged substrate speakers to learn a more elaborate L2 variety.19 5.2  Adult second language acquisition In the literature on creole genesis, a renewed attempt has been made at exploring the relationship between SLA and early stages of language contact (Plag 2008 and references therein). The crucial difference between contact induced language change and other kinds of language change resides in the role played by adult speakers: “adults rather than children or adolescents are ultimately responsible for the changes as a result of second language learning” (Siegel 2004: 154). Children within the creole community pick up these interlanguages, nativize them and turn them into stabilized or conventionalized interlanguages (Plag 2008). Lending empirical support to an SLA-perspective of creolization is the striking surface similarity between adult interlanguages and creoles. For example, absence of overt inflection is not only a typical property of creoles but also of adult L2 varieties (DeGraff 1999, 2001; Prévost & White 2000). 5.2.1  The absence of overt inflection in the basic variety With respect to the linguistic properties of adult L2 varieties, inflectional impoverishment is characteristic of one particular learner variety, namely the so-called “basic” L2 variety. Klein & Perdue (1992, 1997) have observed untutored SLA in immigrant communities during a thirty-month period and have shown that, regardless of the degree of exposure to the TL, adult immigrants developed a specific kind of interlanguage that had virtually no bound grammatical morphemes. The utterances that are characteristic of this “basic” learner variety consist largely of invariable lexical items which carry no inflectional affixes. Verbs exhibit no functional morphemes and therefore information about temporality is expressed lexically. The Basic Variety is defined by Klein & Perdue (1997) as highly efficient for most communicative purposes and with a strong tendency to fossilize. Most adults

.  The genesis of Indo-Portuguese grammar has been previously examined in Clements (1992, 1996) and Clements & Koontz-Garboden (2002). These authors argue in favour of a combination of various factors: the isolation of substrate speakers, the non-dislocation of substrate speakers from their geographical place of origin, the relatively homogeneous contact-situation (with only two languages in contact), and the presence of tense/aspect suffixes in the substrate. In this paper, however, we restrict our attention to the influence of both socio-cultural and attitudinal forces on adult SLA.



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

therefore never learn a more native-like version of the TL, regardless of the degree of exposure. Given the surface similarity between creoles and L2 varieties, it has been argued that adult substrate speakers play a crucial role in shaping the grammar of creoles and that the scantiness of inflectional morphology is due to the difficulty of adult substrate speakers in learning the inflectional paradigms of the TL (Veenstra 2003; Siegel 2004; Plag 2008). Under an SLA-based approach to creolization, creoles derive from (a mixture of) such “basic” L2 varieties because adult substrate speakers felt no communicative need to achieve a more proficient level of the superstrate language (Siegel 2004). These L2 varieties are communicatively efficient but inflectionally poor. 5.2.2  The “Post-Basic Variety” Since most research has focussed on the inflectional impoverishment of creoles, creoles which do have superstrate inflection have received little attention. In what follows, we will therefore examine the factors that may have triggered affix survival in Indo-Portuguese and explore an SLA-based account. Our claim that Indo-Portuguese verbal inflection has been the result of adult SLA processes finds empirical and theoretical support in Klein & Perdue’s research on naturalistic SLA. Even though adult immigrants, within a two-language context, tend to fossilize their affix-less L2 variety, as alluded to above, Klein & Perdue also revealed that some language learners go past the Basic Variety and develop a more elaborate (“Post-Basic”) L2 variety. The linguistic features that characterize a “Post-basic L2 variety” include, among other, bound inflectional morphemes (Klein & Perdue 1992, 1997; Veenstra 2003; Becker & Veenstra 2003). Evidence indicates that adults do after all have the ability to acquire inflectional paradigms. Based on such insight, it will be crucial to understand the forces that trigger the acquisition of a more native-like version of the TL and investigate whether such forces have been at work in the formation of Indo-Portuguese. It seems that the emergence of a “Post-Basic Variety” is not dependent on the exposure of adults to the TL. Speakers of the Basic Variety can have the same access than speakers of the “Post-Basic Variety”. Shedding light on this issue, Siegel (2004) notes that: “although limited second language acquisition may result from outside limitations, such as restricted access to the target language, it may also be a consequence of limits learners impose on themselves due to factors relating to identity or resistance” (2004: 149). Thus, adults language learners who do not want to identify with the TL community tend to learn an L2 variety only for basic communicative purposes. This is what happens in language contact situations in which substrate communities fail to become bilingual despite their continuous access to

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the TL (e.g., indigeneous Fijians learning Hindi). Here the resistance of substrate speakers towards the TL appears to be more decisive than the degree of exposure to it. Further evidence supporting the role played by attitudinal factors in adult L2 learning can be found in Thomason & Kaufman (1988). Assuming then that adult SLA strategies are influenced by the receptive attitude of adult language learners, we would like to propose that Indo-Portuguese creoles have derived from a “Post-Basic L2 variety” of the TL which must have emerged in the early stages of language contact. In particular, we argue that the survival of overt verbal inflection may have been triggered by the socio-cultural context within which Indo-Portuguese emerged. As mentioned in §2, the rigid Indian caste system had a significant impact on the language contact situation because substrate speakers were cut off from their native community and language. As a result of their Christian identity, converted Indians may have shifted from their native language to the TL. It therefore seems plausible to assume that the rigid social and religious barriers triggered a favourable attitude towards the TL and encouraged substrate speakers to go past the Basic Variety. Under our proposal, then, the interaction between socio-cultural and attitudinal forces served as the main triggers for the development of elaborate L2 varieties and the survival of overt verbal inflection.20 Finally, which TL did substrate speakers have access to? It could not have been standard Portuguese, because of the rigid social barriers imposed by the Christian caste system (see §2). Thus, substrate speakers must have had access to a non-standard variety of Portuguese, presumably a contact-variety or pidgin used by sailors, traders and soldiers in Asia. Assuming then that this Portuguese pidgin variety provided the L2 input, our account of affix survival finds support in the recent claims by Bakker (2003) that inflectional morphology can be present in nonnativized languages (cf. Holm 1988; Clements 2000, 2005, for discussion about the origins of the TL in Asia).21

.  Although we would like to support our claims with empirical evidence from adult L2 varieties of Portuguese, we did not find any data. We therefore formulate our SLA-based account of Indo-Portuguese creoles by referring to research by Klein & Perdue (1992, 1997) on adult L2 varieties of French and by Veenstra (2003) and Becker & Veenstra (2003) on surface similarities between French-based creoles and French L2 varieties. .  On the other hand, Hugo Cardoso (p.c.) points out that, given such a significant amount of overt inflection, the hypothesis that substrate speakers had access to a non-simplified variety of Portuguese (e.g., at religious ceremonies), during creole formation, should not be ruled out. Also, the fact that Portuguese settlers took African slaves to India (Hugo Cardoso p.c.) suggests that converted Indians were not treated as typical slaves and may therefore have enjoyed a more integrated life within the Christian community with some access to standard Portuguese.



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

5.3  Superstrate influence We have so far argued that creole formation involves substantial L2 acquisition by adults (Plag 2005, 2008; Siegel 1999, 2003; Thomason & Kaufman 1988). This section will now show that there is very little evidence of transfer from the substrate to the emergent inflectional patterns of Indo-Portuguese creoles, despite the widely-shared consensus that adult L2 learners transfer features from their native grammar to their interlanguage (Clements 1996; DeGraff 1999; Siegel 1999; Thomason & Kaufman 1988). Substrate influence can indeed account for various linguistic properties of Indo-Portuguese creoles (e.g., stress assignment, syllable structure, phoneme inventory, derivational morphology, usage of both function words and suffixed verbs22). But the inflectional patterns reveal the overwhelming influence of the superstrate. Although both Marathi and Gujarati encode tense and aspect distinctions through verbal suffixes (Masica 1993), the shape of tense and aspect suffixes in Indo-Portuguese are of Portuguese origin, as illustrated in (22), (23), (24) and (25). Similarly, although shape alternations such as stem allomorphy and suffix allomorphy are not completely absent from the substrate languages (Clements 1996), Indo-Portuguese creoles have taken all their allomorphs from the Portuguese verbal paradigm. Finally, the shape of theme vowels and the structure of suffixed verbs in (33) is also of Portuguese origin, since neither Marathi nor Gujarati make conjugation classes distinctions. (33) Default structure of suffixed verb forms in KP, DP and DIP root theme vowel tense/aspect suffix beb- -i -d

Thus, contrary to strict relexification or substratist approaches, substrate speakers escaped their native grammars and adopted the inflectional patterns of the TL. In addition to verb roots and suffixes, creoles have also inherited purely formal phenomena such as shape alternations and conjugation class distinctions.23

.  See Clements (1996) for discussion about the difficulty in determining whether the substrate features emerged in the early stages of creole formation as a result of language shift or through structural borrowing from the adstrate languages as a result of long-time contact. .  In this section we address the formal aspects of the inflectional patterns, such as the shape of inflectional suffixes and the structure of suffixed verb forms. No claims are being made about the meaning and usage of tense and aspect distinctions (on this topic, see Clements 1996; Cardoso 2006a).

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5.4  Cross-linguistic evidence Having shown that there is a strong influence of the superstrate on IndoPortuguese suffixed verbs, we will now argue that the presence of verbal suffixes in both contributing languages did not play a decisive role in the survival of verbal suffixes. Even though it is frequently claimed that the structural similarity between the superstrate and the substrate favours the retention of common linguistic features (Clements 1992, 1996; Singler 1998), Siegel (2004) and Plag (2008) point out that not all features shared by the contributing languages survive in a given creole. Also, research by Klein & Perdue (1992, 1997) suggests that the development of a “Post-Basic Variety” is not dependent on the similarity between the L1 and the TL. With or without the presence of suffixes, then, adult language learners go through the same stages of L2 acquisition. The crucial trigger seems to be attitudinal (Thomason & Kaufman 1988; Siegel 2004), as alluded to in §5.2.2. A succinct comparison between Indo-Portuguese and Batticaloa Creole Portuguese, spoken in Sri Lanka, also suggest that, at least with respect to inflectional morphology, attitudinal factors take precedence over the structural similarity between L1 and L2. Both Indo-Portuguese and Batticaloa Creole Portuguese are among the few Portuguese-based creoles whose contributing languages express tense and aspect features through verbal suffixes.24 However, while Indo-­Portuguese creole such as KP, DP and DIP have a number of superstrate affixes, Batticaloa Creole Portuguese has retained hardly any (Smith 1979). The loss of verbal inflection in Batticaloa Creole Portuguese is especially intriguing given the fact that one of its substrate languages, namely Sinhala, in both its formal and colloquial variety, contains theme vowels and stem allomorphs (Gair 2003). On the contrary, neither Marathi nor Gujarati have conjugation classes and very few allomorphic alternations (Clements 1996). Based alone on the properties of the substrate languages, Batticaloa Creole Portuguese would be an optimal candidate for suffix retention. The fact that suffixes did not survive lends further support to the idea that features that are shared by the contributing languages do not necessarily survive in the emergent creole. In our view, overt verbal inflection has not survived in Batticaloa Creole Portuguese because this creole derived from a Basic Variety, unlike KP, DP and DIP. We formulate our hypothesis by drawing on Smith (1998: 14) who notes that the creole communities in Sri Lanka “may have been bilingual, speaking a creolized variety of Indo-Portuguese and one of the local languages (either Tamil or Sinhala) (…)” (my

.  KP, DP and DIP have Indo-Aryan substrate languages: Marathi for KP and Gujarati for DP and DIP. Batticaloa Creole Portuguese has two substrate languages: Sinhala (Indo-Aryan) and Tamil (Dravidian).



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

translation).25 Crucially, then, as bilingual speakers, the substrate community preserved its native language. This fact suggests that, unlike in Indo-Portuguese, substrate speakers were not cut off from their native community after their conversion to Christianity and, hence, did not feel the necessity to shift from their L1 to the TL. Batticaloa Creole Portuguese therefore may have derived from a Basic Variety, i.e., an adult interlanguage without overt inflection (Klein & Perdue 1997).26 5.5  Summary This section offered an account of suffix retention in Indo-Portuguese creoles based on the relationship between creolization and SLA. Given the growing consensus that creole formation involves substantial L2 acquisition by adults, we have argued that verbal suffixes were already present in the L2 varieties that developed in IndoPortuguese settlements prior to the emergence of the creoles. Overall, we claim that Indo-Portuguese creoles derived from more elaborate (or “post-basic”) adult interlanguages which already contained inflectional paradigms. We have motivated the existence of such “post-basic” L2 varieties with insights by Clements (1996) about the rigid social and religious barriers that characterized the Indian caste system and which may have encouraged Catholic lower caste Indians to shift from their native language to the TL. Finally, we have also argued that there is little evidence of inflectional transfer from the substrate: both the shape and structure of inflected verbs have been taken over from the superstrate. Contrary to strict relexification or substratist approaches, substrate speakers escaped their native grammars and adopted the inflectional patterns of the TL. 6.  New developments This final section examines the fourth conjugation class27 which emerged in KP and DP as a result of the paradigmatic organization of verbal inflection inherited from the superstrate. In effect, the emergence of this new piece of linguistic ­structure clearly shows that Indo-Portuguese creoles have not only taken over the conjugation class principle from the superstrate (see §4), but they have also extended that

.  “Estas comunidades [crioulas] teriam sido bilingues, dominando uma forma crioulizada de indo-português e uma das línguas locais (cingalês ou tamil) (…).” (Smith 1998: 14) .  For an alternative account, see Clements (1992) who suggests that the loss of verbal inflection in Batticaloa Creole Portuguese may have been triggered by the non-homogeneity of the substrate, following Singler (1988). .  The data used in this section has been drawn from Clements (1996) and Clements & Koontz-Garboden (2002).

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purely inflectional principle to verbs of substrate/adstrate origin. In §6.1 we discuss the etymological and morphological properties of this new conjugation class, and in §6.2 we investigate the origin(s) of the conjugation class marker -u. 6.1  The fourth conjugation class As alluded to before, an additional conjugation class has emerged in KP and DP which accommodates verbs of substrate/adstrate origin such as badlu ‘change’, pislu ‘get angry’ and samdzu ‘understand’, from KP, given in (34), which have been borrowed from Marathi. Despite some phonotactic and phonological changes, there are clear similarities between the KP and Marathi verb forms (see Clements 1996 for discussion). (34) (Clements 1996: 137) a. badlu (KP < Marathi bәdәlu) ‘change’ b. pislu ’get angry’

(KP < Marathi pisәly)

c. samdzu (KP < Marathi sәmәdzu) ‘understand’

Verbs belonging to the fourth conjugation class exhibit morphological properties that are absent from the three conjugation classes examined in §4. For example, the tense and aspect markers are only partly identical to the markers found on verbs belonging to the other three conjugation classes. The complete set of verbal endings is given in (35). While the completive form carries the -d suffix and the progressive suffix is marked through the suffix -n, both the base form and the past form are unmarked. The past form and the base form are therefore syncretic, that is, they share the same form, but express different morphosyntactic features. (35) Tense/aspect marking in KP and DP



Conjugation classes 1, 2 and 3 Conjugation class 4

unmarked form

past form progressive form

completive form

–

-o/-w

-n

-d

–

–

-n

-d

There are common aspects to all four conjugation classes: the completive suffix, the progressive suffix and the unmarked form. But there is also one crucial difference with important implications for the overall organization of the verbal paradigms: the fourth conjugation class has no overt past marker. This fact clearly indicates that



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

there are effectively three ways of expressing the past feature in KP and DP, rather than two as assumed so far. In particular, verbs of Portuguese origin take either the suffix -o or the suffix -w (cf. (35)), and verbs of substrate/adstrate origin take a zero allomorph, as in badlu ‘changed’ and pislu ‘got angry’ in KP. 28, 29 Finally, verbs belonging to the fourth conjugation class exhibit one further distinctive morphological property, namely the theme vowel -u. We will discuss the origin(s) and the grammatical status of this purely formal inflectional unit in more detail in the following sections. 6.2  The theme vowel -u Verbs of substrate/adstrate origin carry the theme vowel -u. The question as to why these verb forms bear the vowel -u, rather than any one of the other superstrate theme vowels, raises interesting issues about the ability for creoles to a) develop a purely formal inflectional unit and b) adopt inflectional means for the distinction between borrowed roots and superstrate roots. 6.2.1  Origin(s) While there is no doubt that the verbs that belong to this class have been taken over from Marathi or Gujarati (Clements 1996), it is far from clear which factors determined the selection of the theme vowel -u given that neither Portuguese nor the substrate languages have such theme vowel. Assuming then that the theme vowel -u could not have been inherited from any of the contributing languages, Clements (1996) and Clements & KoontzGarboden (2002) suggest that it has been derived from negative imperative verb forms in Marathi (Clements 1996: 137) and from infinitival verb forms in Gujarati. The problem with this view however is that each one of these verb forms exhibits varying degrees of frequency and markedness. So, whereas the infinitive .  We refer to the concept of zero allomorphy, but there are other ways of analyzing the unmarked past verb form without adopting a morpheme-based approach to inflection (see Matthews 1991; Stump 2001). Crucial, however, is our claim that the inflectional morphology of KP and DP provides three ways of expressing the past feature. .  It is far from obvious why the past form is unmarked. However, it seems that, for different reasons, neither the default past suffix -w nor the suffix -o would have made good candidates for the realization of the past feature on borrowed verbs. The -w suffix may have been excluded because of the phonetic similarity between the -w suffix which would produce an unpronounceable verbal ending (i.e., -uw). The -o suffix was not selected because it would have replaced the stem-final vowel -u as in *tep-o (from tep(u) + o ‘heat up + past’), in analogy with kant(a)-o ‘sing + past’. The problem with a past form such as *tep-o is that it no longer contains the identifying feature of borrowed verbs, namely the theme vowel -u which ensures the maximum differentiation between borrowed verb roots and superstrate verb roots (see §6.1).

 Ana R. Luís

form in Gujarati is highly unmarked and more frequent, the negative imperative in Marathi is highly marked and less frequent. We will therefore explore an alternative approach based on universal principles of acoustic differentiation. Following insights by Crothers (1978) on phonetic universals, we propose that the -u vowel has been selected for its phonetic properties rather than its status as a substrate/adstrate suffix. The conjugation classes surveyed in §4 are signalled by three perceptually distinct theme vowels, namely -a, -e and -i. These theme vowels have been taken over from the superstrate and are, phonetically speaking, maximally distant. With the addition of the -u theme vowel, the three-vowel system has been expanded into a four-vowel system. Crucially, however, the new conjugation class preserves maximum phonetic distance between all four theme vowels. This theme vowel therefore serves two purposes: to encode conjugation class and to differentiate between superstrate roots and borrowed roots. 6.2.2  Grammatical status The question we will ask in this section is whether the -u vowel constitutes effectively a morphological unit, as assumed so far in this paper, or whether it should instead be simply regarded as a phonological segment. If it is argued that the vowel constitutes a phonological segment, then it must be shown that it has absolutely no morphological function within the verbal paradigm. In what follows, we will try to lay out the problems raised by this view. At this point it is crucial to understand the paradigmatic organization of verbal inflection. Within a given language, if the verbal paradigm encodes conjugation class distinctions through theme vowels, then “all” lexemes in that language must be assigned to one conjugation class and “all” its inflected forms must carry a conjugation class marker. The presence of conjugation class features is a property of the whole paradigm (Stump 2001), and the absence of theme vowels on a particular set of verb forms constitutes itself a meaningful absence (see theme-less stems in Latin and Portuguese). So, if we assume that the vowels -a, -e and -i in KP and DP encode conjugation class distinctions, then we must also assume that verbs which contain the vowel -u belong to a different conjugation class. A closer analysis of the inflectional properties of borrowed verbs in KP and DP lends empirical support to this claim. Of special relevance is the fact that borrowed verbs take a past allomorph (i.e., a zero allomorph) which is never found on verbs belonging to the other three conjugation classes. Morphologically, then, this zero allomorph is triggered by an inflectional context which excludes the two other past allomorphs. This context has to be explicitly defined, just as it has been necessary to define the contexts triggering the -o past suffix as opposed to the -w past suffix. An elegant account of the data should indeed be able to treat all three allomorphs as mutually ­exclusive realizations of the past tense. In other words, it should be able to capture the



Tense marking and inflectional morphology in Indo-Portuguese creoles 

fact that all three allomorphs are in paradigmatic opposition. However, we argue, that this opposition can only be accomplished if the zero allomorph is associated to a different conjugation class. Under our view, then, the invariable -u vowel which appears on all borrowed verb forms, regardless of their lexical or morphosyntactic meaning, falls out nicely as a formal (inflectional) property of this fourth conjugation class. 6.3  Summary KP and DP developed a fourth inflectional sub-paradigm in which verbs of Marathi and Gujarati origin take a distinct theme vowel and exhibit four specific inflected forms. Among these verb forms, the past form is expressed through a zero allomorph. It has therefore been shown that conjugation classes can be extended through language contact and that new formal affixes, such as conjugation class markers, can develop under contact. 7.  Final summary and conclusion In this paper, we have examined the nature and origin of overt verbal inflection in three Indo-Portuguese creoles, based on empirical data by Schuchardt (1883), Clements (1992, 1996) and Cardoso (2006a,b). We have focussed on the paradigmatic organisation of verbal inflection and highlighted the ability for creoles to encode meaningless distinctions and exhibit redundant shape alternations. It has been shown that Indo-Portuguese creoles have taken over from the superstrate a number of inflectional distinctions which, to the best of our knowledge, have so far not been found in creole languages. The observed phenomena include tense marking, conjugation class distinctions, stem allomorphs and suffix allomorphs. We have also tried to answer the question as to why Indo-Portuguese creoles retained these inflectional properties which, as is well-known, are highly marked for creoles. To account for the forces that determined the survival of the inflectional paradigm in Indo-Portuguese, we have drawn on socio-cultural information provided by Clements (1996) and Clements & Koontz-Garboden (2002), and on recent research by Klein & Perdue (1997) on adult SLA in a naturalistic context. Based on the assumption that adult SLA strategies play a crucial role in the early stage of language contact, we have tentatively argued that adult SLA strategies can be influenced by socio-cultural and attitudinal forces. More precisely, we have taken the view that substrate speakers showed a favourable attitude towards the TL which encouraged them to abandon their native language and to shift to the TL. As a result of this abrupt language shift, substrate speakers acquired a more elaborate L2 variety, (Siegel 2004). Klein & Perdue (1997) define elaborate L2 varieties or “Post-Basic Varieties” as interlanguages

 Ana R. Luís

which contain both lexical items and bound inflectional morphemes. Under our account, then, Indo-Portuguese creoles derived from a “Post-Basic Variety” which emerged in the early stages of contact between Portuguese contact varieties (or pidgins) and the substrate languages. Another important piece of empirical evidence addressed in this paper has been the development of the fourth conjugation class. This piece of linguistic structure has not been inherited from the superstrate, but has clearly emerged from the pressure exerted by the paradigmatic organization of verbal inflection taken over from the substrate. The emergence of this new conjugation class has reinforced the claim made in this paper that Indo-Portuguese verbal paradigms encode purely formal distinctions. As an inflectional innovation, this new class has extended the “conjugation class principle” to verbs of Marathi or Gujarati origin. It is not clear whether this piece of linguistic structure emerged during creole formation or whether it is simply the result of the contact between a fully formed creole and its adstrate languages (Clements 1996). Overall, then, the empirical data examined in this paper has put a couple of traditional claims under scrutiny. First, while it is frequently assumed that inflectional morphology in creoles is restricted to the nominal domain (Kihm 2003), Indo-Portuguese make abundant use of verbal inflection, including theme vowels, tense suffixes, stem allomorphs and suffix allomorphs. Second, even though it has recently been argued that creoles discard linguistic features that are “expendable” to basic communication (McWhorter 1998), we have shown that Indo-Portuguese creoles have retained a large number of genuinely inflectional elements which are neither semantically transparent nor communicatively relevant; instead they encode purely formal distinctions (such as theme vowels) and participate in redundant shape alternations (such as stem allomorphs and suffix allomorphs).

References Arends, Jacques, Verhagen, Josje, van Lier, Eva, Dikker, Suzanne & Cardoso, Hugo. 2006. On the presence versus absence of morphological marking in four Romance-based Creoles. In Bhatt, Parth & Plag, Ingo (Eds), The structure of creole words: Segmental, syllabic and morphological aspects. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Aronoff, Mark. 1994. Morphology by itself. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. Bakker, Peter. 2003. Pidgin inflectional morphology. In Booij, Geert & van Marle, Jaap (Eds). Yearbook of Morphology 2002. Dordrecht: Kluwer. 3–33. Baptista, Marlyse. 2003. Inflectional plural marking in pidgins and creoles: A comparative study. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.), Phonology and morphology of creole languages [Linguistische Arbeiten 478]. Tübingen: Niemeyer. 315–32. Baptista, Marlyse, Mello, Heliana & Suzuki, Miki. 2008. Cape Verdean Creole and ­Guinea-Bissau Creole. In Holm, John A. & Patrick, Peter L. (Eds), Comparative creole syntax. London: Battlebridge.



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Becker, Angelika & Veenstra, Tonjes. 2003. The survival of inflectional morphology in Frenchrelated Creoles. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 25: 283–306. Braun, Maria & Plag, Ingo. 2003. How transparent is creole morphology? A study of Early ­Sranan word formation. In Booij, Geert & van Marle, Jaap (Eds). Yearbook of Morphology 2002. Dordrecht: Kluwer. 81–104. Boxer, Charles. 1963. Race relations in Portuguese Colonial Empire. Oxford: Clarendon. Cardoso, Hugo. 2006a. Diu Indo-Portuguese: Change and continuity since 1882. Paper presented at the Associação de Crioulos de Base Lexical Portuguesae Espanhola. Coimbra, 30 June 2006. Cardoso, Hugo. 2006b. Diu Indo-Portuguese at present: Short note. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 21(2): 399–410. Cardoso, Hugo. 2006c. Linguistic traces of colonial structure. Trans: Internet Journal for Cultural Sciences 16. (www.inst.at/trans/). Clements, J. Clancy. 1992. Elements of resistance in contact-induced language change. In Davis, Garry W. & Iverson, Gregory K. (Eds), Explanation in historical linguistics. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 41–58. Clements, J. Clancy. 1996. The genesis of a language: The formation and development of Korlai Portuguese. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Clements, J. Clancy. 2000. Evidência para a existência dum pidgin português asiático. In D’Andrade, Ernesto et al. (Eds), Actas do colóquio sobre crioulos de base lexical portuguesa. Braga: Associação Portuguesa de Linguística. 185–200. Clements, J. Clancy. 2005. Immigrant speech, creoles, and the ‘basic variety’: A usage-based account of some traits in the Portuguese-based creoles. Journal of Portuguese Linguistics 4: 149–65. Clements, J. Clancy & Koontz-Garboden, Andrew. 2002. Two Indo-Portuguese creoles in contrast. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 17(2): 191–236. Crothers, John. 1978. Typology and universals of vowel systems. In Greenberg, Joseph H. (Ed.). Universals of human language. Vol. 2. Stanford CA: Stanford University Press. 93–152. Cunha, Celso & Cintra, Luís F.L. 1998. Nova gramática do Português contemporâneo. Lisboa: Edições Sá da Costa. DeGraff, Michel. 1999. Creolization, language change and language acquisition: A prolegomenon. In DeGraff, Michel (Ed.). Language creation and language change. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. 1–46. DeGraff, Michel. 2001. Morphology in creole genesis. In Kenstowicz, Michael (Ed.), A life in language. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. Dijkhoff, Marta Good. 1993. Papiamentu word-formation. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Amsterdam. Gair, James W. 2003. Sinhala. In Cardona, George & Jain, Dhanesh. (Eds). The Indo-Aryan languages. London: Routledge. Good, Jeff. 2003. Morphosyntactic tone raising in Saramacan: The reanalysis of substrate phonology as tonal morphology. In Booij, Geert & van Marle, Jaap (Eds), Yearbook of Morphology 2003. Dordrecht: Kluwer. 105–34. Haspelmath, Martin. 2002. Understanding morphology. London: Arnold. Holm, John. 1988. Pidgins and creoles. Vol. 2. Cambridge: CUP. Holm, John & Luís, Ana R. 2005. Superstrate inflections in the Portuguese-based creoles and the nature of creolization. Paper presented at the Conference on Creole Language Structure between Substrates and Superstrates. Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology. Leipzig, 3 June 2005.

 Ana R. Luís Kihm, Alain. 1994. Kriyol Syntax. The Portuguese-based Creole Language of Guiné-Bissau. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Kihm, Alain. 2003. Inflectional categories in creole languages. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.). Phonology and morphology of creole languages [Linguistische Arbeiten 478]. Tübingen: Niemeyer. 333–63. Klein, Wolfgang & Perdue, Clive. 1992. Utterance structure: Developing grammars again. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Klein, Wolfgang & Perdue, Clive. 1997. The basic variety (or: Couldn’t natural languages be much simpler?). Second Language Research 13(4): 301–47. Kouwenberg, Silvia (Ed.) 2003. Twice as meaningful: Reduplication in pidgins, creoles and other contact languages. London: Battlebridge. Masica, Colin P. 1993. The Indo-Aryan languages. Cambridge: CUP. Matthews, Peter H. 1991. Morpholog, 2nd edn [Cambridge Textbooks in Linguistics]. Cambridge: Cambridge University. McWhorter, John. 1998. Identifying the creole prototype: Vindicating a typological class. Language 74: 788–818. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 2001. The ecology of language evolution. Cambridge: CUP. Plag, Ingo. 2005. Creoles as Interlanguages: Old fallacies and new insights concerning the role of substrate and superstrate in creole genesis. Paper presented at the conference Creole language structure between substrates and superstrates. Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology. Leipzig, 3–5 June 2005. Plag, Ingo. 2008. Creoles as interlanguages: Inflectional morphology. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 23(1): 109–130. Prévost, Philippe & White, Lydia. 2000. Missing surface inflection or impairment in second language acquisition? Evidence from tense and agreement. Second Language Research 16:2. 103–33. Schuchardt, Hugo. 1883. Kreolische Studien III: Ueber das Indoportugiesische von Diu. Sitzungsberichte der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Wien (philosophischhistorische Klasse) 103: 3–18. Siegel, Jeff. 1999. Transfer constraints and substrate influence in Melanesian Pidgin. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 14: 1–44. Siegel, Jeff. 2003. Substrate influence in creoles and the role of transfer in second language acquisition. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 25: 185–209. Siegel, Jeff. 2004. Morphological simplicity in pidgins and creoles. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 19: 1. 139–62. Singler, John V. 1998. Homogeneity of the substrate as a factor in pidgin/creole genesis. Language 64: 27–51. Smith, Ian. 1979. Substrata versus universals in the foundations of Sri Lanka Portuguese. Papers in Pidgin and Creole Linguistics 2. Canberra: Australian National University. 183–200. Smith, Ian. 1998. Introdução. In Dalgado, Sebastião R. Dialecto Indo-Português de Ceilão. Lisboa: Comissão Nacional para os Descobrimentos. 13–37. Spencer, Andrew. 1991. Morphological theory. Oxford: Blackwell. Steinkrüger, Patrick. 2003. Morphological processes of word-formation in Chabacano. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.), Phonology and morphology of creole languages [Linguistische Arbeiten 478]. Tübingen: Niemeyer. 253–68. Stump, Gregory T. 2001. Inflectional morphology: A theory of paradigm structure. Cambridge: CUP.



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Thomason, Sarah. 2002. Which route(s) to creole genesis? Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 17(2): 265–71. Thomason, Sarah and Kaufman, Terrence. 1988. Language contact, creolization and genetic inguistics. Berkeley CA: University of California Press. Veenstra, Tonjes. 2003. What verbal morphology can tell us about creole genesis. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.), Phonology and morphology of creole languages [Linguistische Arbeiten 478]. ­Tübingen: Niemeyer. 293–313.

Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure Christian Uffmann

CASTL, Universitetet i Tromsø This paper investigates the development of syllable structure in creoles. Most importantly, an analysis of vowel epenthesis in Sranan, both synchronic and diachronic, will be provided, and it will be shown that the present vowel harmony system evolved gradually from a default vowel system. The results are formalized in an optimality-theoretic analysis, and we argue that the epenthesis system is largely substrate-motivated, by comparing constraint rankings. Syllable structure constraints in other creole languages will also be discussed, and it will be shown that less radical creoles have syllable structure systems of intermediate complexity, similar to interlanguage systems. An optimality-theoretic approach to language acquisition as constraint reranking is employed to explain how such intermediate systems develop.

1.  Introduction Despite recent renewed interest in the field (see e.g., Plag 2003), there is still ­relatively little research into creole phonology. This paper therefore has two major goals. First, I want to provide a synchronic and diachronic analysis of vowel epenthesis in the Surinamese creole language Sranan, thus contributing to the ­description and analysis of creole phonologies. Second, I want to evaluate the influence of substrate and superstrate on creole phonology, taking syllable structure as a case study. In order to do so, I will first investigate to which extent the Sranan epenthesis patterns are substrate-induced but in a second step also extend my analytic base and suggest a principled way of assessing the relative contribution of substrate and superstrate to the shaping of syllable structure constraints in creoles. Crucially, this will include a formalization of syllable structure constraints in the framework of Optimality Theory (OT; Prince & Smolensky 2004; McCarthy 2002). I will argue that substrate influence in creole phonology is best not understood by comparing surface structures and looking for convergence here but by comparing the constraint rankings which underlie those structures.

 Christian Uffmann

Such comparison reveals that processes which look dissimilar on the surface can nonetheless be traced back to the same basic ranking of constraints. As a case in point, the Sranan epenthesis patterns, while being unattested in the substrate, follow from the constraint ranking found in those substrate languages which have vowel harmony. Finally, I wish to show that areas in which creole phonologies seem to be a compromise between substrate and superstrate phonologies, can best be analyzed by making recourse to theories of language acquisition in OT. In this respect, creoles resemble interlanguages closely in that the constraint rankings found are imperfect rerankings of a substrate grammar which stopped at some point of the acquisition trajectory towards the target (superstrate) grammar. The paper is organized as follows. §2 will analyze vowel epenthesis in Modern Sranan, based on a dictionary corpus (Wilner 1994), and argue that the major strategy found there is one of back/round vowel harmony. §3 provides a diachronic view, analysing three Early Sranan corpora (Herlein 1718; van Dyk 1765; Schumann 1783), which show that the synchronic pattern emerged gradually from an earlier system of default vowel insertion. §4 analyzes the development in an optimality-theoretic framework as the gradual demotion of constraints against feature spreading. §5 argues that the present-day system constitutes a case of substrate transfer as constraint transfer, despite some surface dissimilarities between Sranan and its substrate languages, and proposes that some of the changes Sranan underwent are explicable by concomitant changes in the demographic make-up of the slave population. In §6, less radical creoles will be taken into account, and the intermediate character of their syllable structure constraints between substrate and superstrate will be analyzed optimality-theoretically as well. Patterns which are found neither in the substrate nor in the superstrate follow from universal markedness hierarchies and subset relations between constraints, and are thus expected under this approach. §7 concludes.

2.  Epenthesis in Modern Sranan To begin with, the patterns of vowel epenthesis in Modern Sranan will be ­established through a thorough statistical analysis of a Modern Sranan corpus, collected from Wilner’s (1994) dictionary of Sranan. Sranan allows only nasal consonants in word-final coda position; all other syllables are open although sonorant wordmedial clusters are tolerated. If a lexifier word contains a final (coda) consonant, this illicit structure is repaired through epenthesis of a vowel which syllabifies the input-final consonant into onset position, a so-called paragogic (word-final epenthetic) vowel. In other positions, consonant deletion ensures syllabic well-formedness (see Alber & Plag 2001 for a discussion of deletion versus epenthesis in Sranan).



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

This paper will focus on epenthesis, pursuing the question of which vowel is inserted. Impressionistically, all five vowels of Sranan can occur as epenthetic vowels, as the examples in (1) show.

(1) Sranan words with word-final epenthesis (paragoge) bedi ‘bed’ buku ‘book’ dede ‘dead, to die’ sribi ‘to sleep’ gado ‘God’ waka ‘to walk’

The question is whether there is a clear pattern behind the choice of the epenthetic vowel. Smith (1977) was first to suggest a set of rules for the insertion of a specific vowel. The proposed rules can be summarized as in (2).

(2) Rules for epenthesis (Smith 1977) /e/ is inserted after /et, ed/ /u/ is inserted after /u/ + labial C /a/ is inserted after /a/ + dorsal C /o/ is inserted after /o/ /i/ is inserted elsewhere

This section will investigate whether Smith’s rules hold up to closer scrutiny in a statistical analysis of a Sranan corpus. This analysis is based on a word-list of 503 forms exhibiting paragoge, from Wilner (1994). Of these 503 forms, about two thirds are of English origin, one third is of Dutch origin (and two are from Spanish). Raw frequencies of vowels are given in (3). Notice that /i/ is the most frequent epenthetic vowel, accounting for more than half of all forms, followed by /u/, accounting for over one quarter of forms. /a/ and /o/ are found less frequently; the occurrence of /e/ is marginal (only 5 forms), casting some doubt on Smith’s generalizations in (2).

(3) Paragogic vowels in Sranan: frequencies

vowel frequency

/i/ 287 57.1%

/e/ 5 1.0%

/a/ 35 7.0%

/o/ 42 8.3%

/u/ 134 26.6%

total 503 100%

The data were further analyzed using the SPSS™ package, in order to search for independent (predictor) variables which may have a significant effect on the selection of the epenthetic vowel (the dependent variable). These variables were the quality of the preceding (stem) vowel and the quality of the directly preceding consonant (place and manner of articulation). Thus, for a form like buku ‘book’ it was recorded that the epenthetic vowel is /u/, preceded by /u/ and by a consonant which is (a) dorsal/velar and (b) a stop. The data were then subjected to a CHAID classification analysis.

 Christian Uffmann

CHAID (chi-square automatic interaction detection) is a classification ­algorithm which recursively divides a dataset up into subsets which significantly differ from one another with respect to the effect of some predictor variable. Classification is based upon a chi-square test performed on all independent variables. The most significant one is then selected and used to divide the set up into differently patterning subsets. On each subset, the routine is repeated until there are no more variables which interact significantly with the dependent variable. Thus, a tree-like structure is generated which allows for a more precise statement as to which factors (preceding vowel, preceding consonant) influence the choice of the vowel. For Modern Sranan, the tree structure in (4) is obtained.

(4) Classification tree: paragoge in Modern Sranan paragoge /i/ 57.1% /e/ 1.0% /a/ 7.0% /o/ 8.3% /u/ 26.6% n = 503 stem vowel stem /i,e/ /i/ 93.6% /e/ 2.5% /a/ 3.0% /o/ — /u/ 1.0% n = 202

stem /a/ /i/ 55.6% /e/ — /a/ 21.8% /o/ — /u/ 21.8% n = 133

stem /o/ /i/ 19.8% /e/ — /a/ — /o/ 36.9% /u/ 43.2% n = 111

stem /u/ /i/ 3.5% /e/ — /a/ — /o/ — /u/ 96.5% n = 57

consonant place labial /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ /u/ n =

4.3% — — — 95.7% 23

coronal /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ /u/ n =

80.3% — 11.5% 1.6% 6.6% 61

dorsal/liquid /i/ 49.0% /e/ — /a/ 44.9% /o/ — /u/ 6.1% n = 49

The tree reads as follows. The top node contains the whole dataset, is thus identical with the frequency table in (3). The best predictor variable for splitting this set up is the quality of the preceding vowel. Just by looking at the second row, we see that /i/ is inserted almost invariably after stem /i/ and /e/, that /u/ is inserted after /u/, and that /u/ is also inserted most frequently after /o/, although epenthetic /o/ is also found here. Disregarding stem /a/ for the moment, I interpret this as a



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

back/round vowel harmony system: After front vowels, front (or [coronal]1) /i/ is inserted (see (a, b) in (5) below), after back/round vowels, back/round (or [labial]) /u/ is inserted (see (c, d), disregarding the occurrence of epenthetic /o/ for the moment, whose origin will be explained and discussed in §3.3. (5) Vowel harmony in Modern Sranan a. bigi ‘big’ b. bergi ‘hill’ < Dutch berg c. luku ‘to look’ d. wortu ‘word’ < Dutch wort

sribi presi udu lontu

‘sleep’ ‘place’ ‘wood’ ‘round’

Low (or [pharyngeal]) /a/ does not seem to participate in this harmony; it is inert. Instead, the preceding consonant plays a decisive role in determining which vowel exactly is inserted (the bottom row in (4)), in that the epenthetic vowel assimilates to this consonant in place of articulation: Labial /u/ is inserted after labial consonants, coronal /i/ is inserted after coronal consonants. Note that one finds both /i/ and /a/ as epenthetic vowels after dorsal consonants and liquids, which pattern alike. They thus do not trigger assimilation, presumably because liquids are placeless while dorsal consonants do not propagate place features (see also Rose & Demuth 2006). As assimilation is blocked, two alternative strategies are found, which account for the even distribution of epenthetic /a/ and /i/. First, /a/, which is normally inert, can harmonize (but only in this limited context); second, /i/ is inserted as the default/unmarked vowel of Sranan (for the status of /i/ as the unmarked epenthetic vowel, see e.g., Lombardi 2003; Uffmann 2004). (6) provides examples of epenthesis after /a/: (a) lists forms with epenthetic /i/ following a coronal consonant, (b) shows epenthetic /u/ after labial consonants. (c, d) give examples of variable epenthesis of /i/ and /a/ after dorsals (c) and liquids (d). (6) Epenthesis after /a/ a. ati b. lafu c. waka taki d. ala kari

‘hot’ ‘laugh’ ‘walk’ ‘talk’ ‘all’ ‘call’

grasi grabu tranga lagi tara yari

‘glass/grass’ ‘to grab’ ‘strong’ ‘low’ < Dutch laag ‘tar’ ‘year’ < Dutch jaar

My analysis thus largely confirms but also modifies Smith’s (1977) original analysis, in the light of a more thorough statistical exploration of the data. First, we find that /i/ is not just an elsewhere case vowel but that its distribution can be described

.  Throughout this paper, I will assume the feature specifications of Unified Feature Theory (Clements & Hume 1995), which classifies front vowels as [coronal], round vowels as [labial] and low vowels as [pharyngeal]. See §4 for more discussion and analysis.

 Christian Uffmann

naturally; it occurs after front vowels and after /a/ plus a coronal consonant. In one limited context, after /a/ and a dorsal or liquid consonant, it occurs as a contextfree epenthetic vowel, though. Second, there is no evidence for /e/ appearing with any regularity; there are only a few instances of it which moreover do not pattern statistically significantly (for the source of /e/, see the following section). Third, /a/ is not just inserted after dorsals but only as a harmonic vowel after dorsals, and liquids. While /o/ often does occur after /o/, its appearance is not regular. The source of epenthetic /o/ will become clearer in the discussion of the Schumann (1783) corpus below. Finally, the distribution of /u/ is also more general than originally suggested in Smith (1977); it occurs after all back/round vowels. The next section will investigate the emergence and the development of this system. 3.  The development of epenthesis in Sranan An investigation of historical sources shows a gradual development from default vowel epenthesis to the present-day system. The sources consulted for this study are Herlein (1718), the oldest (and very short) source available, van Dyk (1765) and Schumann (1783). Herlein (1718) is a short Sranan phrasebook, aimed at the traveller to Surinam. Van Dyk (1765) is an extended phrasebook and grammar and also contains a short play depicting life on a plantation; only the play has been analyzed here. Schumann (1783) is the first Sranan dictionary. These sources were already analyzed previously (Plag & Uffmann 2000; Lappe & Plag 2003; Uffmann 2004) but a comprehensive comparison of all sources and a formalization of the systems found have not been attempted so far. The three sources will now be discussed in turn before a formal analysis will be proposed in §4. 3.1  Herlein 1718: Epenthesis of a context-free default vowel The earliest available corpus is very small, yielding only 24 types with epenthetic vowels. Still a statement about preferred patterns is possible. The table in (7) shows that /e/ is by far the most frequent vowel, inserted context-independently. There are also sporadic occurrences of /i/ as the epenthetic vowel, but there is no pattern (yet) behind the occurrence of this vowel.

(7) Paragogic vowels in Herlein (1718): frequencies vowel /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ /u/ frequency 4 20 — — — 16.7% 83.3%

total 24 100%

The main process in the Herlein (1718) corpus thus is insertion of a default vowel, /e/. Examples are given in (8), where in (a) some words with epenthetic /e/ are



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

listed, and in (b) all four exceptions to the rule are listed; it is obvious that there is no pattern behind the variant choice of /i/ as an epenthetic vowel. (8) Paragoge in the Herlein corpus: examples a. forte ‘fort’ tappe ‘top’ b. jary ‘yard’ moussie ‘must’

loeke sliepe misisi liewy

‘look’ ‘sleep’ ‘mistress’ ‘to love’ < Dutch lieven

3.2  Van Dyk 1765: Emergent vowel harmony The situation is different in the next available corpus, van Dyk (1765). The frequency count in (9) shows that two vowels are predominantly found, /i/ and /e/.

(9) Paragogic vowels in van Dyk (1765): frequencies vowel /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ /u/ frequency 135 96 7 3 — 56.0% 39.8% 2.9% 1.2%

total 241 100%

The distribution of the two vowels has puzzled researchers (for a discussion, see Plag & Uffmann 2000). The classification tree in (10) also seems far from straightforward in its interpretation. It reveals that /i/ is epenthesized after front vowels /i/ and /e/, and that /e/ is preferably epenthesized after back vowels /o/ and /u/, and after an /e/ + liquid sequence. There is no signifcant pattern for epenthesis after /a/. (10) Classification tree: paragoge in van Dyk (c.1765) paragoge /i/ 56.0% /e/ 39.8% /a/ 2.9% /o/ 1.2% n = 241 stem vowel stem /i/ /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ n =

81.1% 15.1% 1.9% 1.9% 53

stem /e/ /i/ 61.6% /e/ 38.4% /a/ — /o/ — n = 73

stem /a/ /i/ 51.0% /e/ 36.7% /a/ 8.2% /o/ 4.1% n = 49

consonant manner non-liquids /i/ 83.7% /e/ 16.3% n = 43

liquids /i/ 30.0% /e/ 70.0% n = 30

stem /o,u/ /i/ 33.3% /e/ 63.6% /a/ 3.0% /o/ — n = 66

 Christian Uffmann

I suggest the following interpretation of the distribution of epenthetic vowels in the van Dyk corpus. The insertion of /i/ after front vowels is the effect of vowel harmony, as in Modern Sranan (for examples, see (11a)). The predominant insertion of /e/ in other contexts, however, still is an effect of default vowel insertion (11b). Hence, harmony starts to apply, but only in one limited context, with front/ coronal vowels (for other examples of such “defective” harmony, see Uffmann 2004). After /a/, the present-day pattern starts to show up in an embryonic stage, but not significantly yet. One can thus see an ongoing change in the distribution of epenthetic vowels, with a significant amount of variation still present, as is also witnessed by the large number of doublets found in the corpus (for an extended discussion, see Uffmann 2004: 345 ff.). The van Dyk corpus also displays a second ongoing change: The default vowel is beginning to change from /e/ to /i/ in this period, witnessed as well by the large number of doublets (11c). Thus, in those contexts in which default vowel insertion still applies, one finds a distribution of approximately two thirds /e/ and one third /i/. Additional evidence for this type of analysis comes from the Schumann (1783) corpus, in which /i/ has already become the default vowel. Intermediate behaviour should thus be expected in a chronologically intermediate corpus. (11) Paragoge in the van Dyk corpus: examples a. breki ‘break’ helpi ‘help’ b. foete ‘foot’ boote ‘boat’ c. habe ~ habi ‘have’

pletti libi loeke morre moese ~ moesi

‘plate’ ‘leave’ ‘look’ ‘more’ ‘must’

3.3  Schumann 1783: Towards the present-day system The third historical corpus under investigation already shows a pattern which is fairly similar to the present-day one. Consider the frequency table in (12) first. /o/ and /u/, virtually absent as epenthetic vowels from the van Dyk corpus, now appear at notable frequencies. With the exception of /e/, which is still relatively frequent, the overall pattern therefore already resembles the Modern Sranan pattern (compare (3)). (12) Paragogic vowels in Schumann (1783): frequencies vowel /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ frequency 235 46 32 41 57.5% 11.3% 7.8% 10.0%

/u/ 55 13.5%

total 409 100%

This observation is confirmed by the CHAID classification analysis. The classification tree (see (13)) already resembles the Modern Sranan tree. /i/ is inserted after front /i/ and /e/. /u/ is inserted after /u/; after /o/, /o/ is the most frequently



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

selected vowel (a difference to today), and we also find the familiar pattern of consonantal assimilation after stem /a/, with some minor differences, though. First, /o/ (not /u/) is inserted after labials, moreover less frequently (at about 50 percent). Second, harmony after dorsals and liquids is somewhat more frequent than default insertion of /i/. (13) Classification tree: Paragoge in Schumann (1783) paragoge /i/ 57.5% /e/ 11.3% /a/ 7.8% /o/ 10.0% /u/ 15.5% n = 409 stem vowel stem /i,e/ /i/ 86.4% /e/ 10.3% /a/ 3.3% /o/ — /u/ — n = 184

stem /a/ /i/ 49.0% /e/ 6.0% /a/ 25.0% /o/ 13.0% /u/ 7.0% n = 100

stem /o/ /i/ 31.8% /e/ 14.3% /a/ — /o/ 44.4% /u/ 9.5% n = 63

stem /u/ /i/ 11.3% /e/ 19.4% /a/ 1.6% /o/ — /u/ 67.7% n = 62

consonant place labial /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ /u/ n =

10.0% 20.0% 5.0% 50.0% 15.0% 20

coronal /i/ /e/ /a/ /o/ /u/ n =

81.4% 2.3% 4.6% 2.3% 9.3% 43

dorsal/liquid /i/ 32.4% /e/ 2.7% /a/ 59.5% /o/ 5.4% /u/ — n = 37

I interpret (13) as a further developing vowel harmony system. Front/coronal /i/ is inserted after front vowels /i, e/ (as today, see examples in 14a), round/labial /u/ is inserted after /u/ (as today, see 14b). The behaviour of /o/ is still different. Here, either /o/ is inserted as a case of total harmony, or there is still default vowel insertion (mostly /i/, some /e/) (see 14c). I conclude that harmony with /o/ is developing at that time but has yet to affect all words. I also suggest that this late development of harmony is responsible for the relatively high number of /o/ in Modern Sranan. They are lexicalized remnants of an earlier productive pattern. Further evidence for this assumption comes from a comparison of Dutch and English etyma. Since Dutch etyma are generally more recent than the English ones (as Surinam was first an English colony, then Dutch), we would expect a higher number of epenthetic /u/

 Christian Uffmann

after /o/ in words of Dutch origin, a prediction that is borne out by the data: While in English etyma, /o/ is epenthesized in 52 percent of all items with preceding /o/, /u/ is found in 77 percent of Dutch etyma (Uffmann 2004: 332). (14) Paragoge in the Schumann corpus: examples a. kikki ‘kick’ hipi blessi ‘bless’ meki b. pussu ‘push’ munu c. boto ‘boat’ smoko fossi ‘first’ forke

‘heap’ ‘make’ ‘moon’ ‘smoke’ ‘fork’

Epenthesis after /a/ also shows an emergent system which approximates the present-day one but has yet to develop fully. The examples in (15) show that the system is already very similar to Modern Sranan, with spreading of [coronal] (a) and [labial] (b), and variable epenthesis after dorsals and laterals (c). (15) Paragoge after /a/ in the Schumann corpus a. wani ‘want’ strati b. tappo ‘top’ haffo c. taki ‘talk’ kali blakka ‘black’ falla

‘road’ < Dutch straat ‘half ’ ‘call’ ‘fall’

3.4  The development: Summary The foregoing discussion has shown how the present day system of epenthesis in Sranan has developed. From an early default epenthesis system the current complex system of vowel harmony, supported by consonantal assimilation (after low vowels) has developed, leaving default epenthesis to only one very limited context. The table in (16) shows the frequencies of epenthetic vowels in direct comparison. Note how the number of epenthetic /e/ diminishes over time, leaving only a handful of lexicalized remnant forms in Modern Sranan. At the same time, the number of epenthetic /i/ increases but stabilizes early (van Dyk corpus) once vowel harmony in the front vowel set is established. Last to appear on the scene is epenthetic /u/, generalizing back vowel harmony quickly, making it the second most frequent epenthetic vowel, while the number of epenthetic /o/, a productive pattern in the Schumann corpus, now mostly lexicalized, drops again. (16) Paragoge in Sranan: frequencies across corpora Paragogic V /i/ /e/ /a/ Herlein 1718 16.7% 83.3% — van Dyk 1765 56.0% 39.8% 2.9% Schumann 1783 57.5% 11.3% 7.8% Wilner 1994 57.1% 1.0% 7.0%

/o/ — 1.2% 10.0% 8.3%

/u/ — — 13.5% 26.6%

n 24 241 409 503



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

(17) lists some words which are attested across all four corpora, demonstrating how the present-day pattern emerged on the basis of individual etyma. Sleeptype words with a front vowel harmonize earliest, the present-day pattern already present in the van Dyk corpus, while look/must-type words with a back/round vowel only start harmonizing in the Schumann corpus (the further delayed change in musu might be an effect of the high lexical frequency of this word). The last two words illustrate the emergence of the low-vowel pattern, with labiality spreading from the preceding consonant in top-type words, yielding first /o/, later /u/, and restricted harmony after dorsals in walk-type words. (17) Paragoge in Sranan: examples across corpora Etymon sleep look must Herlein 1718 sliepe loeke moussie van Dyk 1765 slibi loeke moese/moesi Schumann 1783 slibi/sribi luku musse Wilner 1994 sribi luku musu

top tappe tappe tappo tapu

walk wakke wakke/wakki wakka waka

Finally, the diminishing scope of default vowel epenthesis is depicted in (18). Applying across the board in the Herlein corpus, it is found in increasingly fewer contexts, the closer we come to contemporary Sranan, remaining only as an alternative choice in one limited context, after /a/ and a dorsal or liquid consonant. (18) Default paragoge in Sranan: development over corpora default V after /i, e/ /u/ /o/ /a/ Herlein 1718 yes yes yes yes van Dyk 1765 no yes yes 50% Schumann 1783 no no 50% (no)2 Wilner 1994 no no no no

/a/+dor yes yes 50% 50%

In sum then, the Modern Sranan epenthesis system developed gradually from a default insertion system. Vowel harmony emerges over time, applying in an increasing number of contexts, while a different spreading strategy develops after inert low vowels. §4 will analyze the present-day system in an Optimality-­theoretic framework and outline the historical development in this framework as well. The results of this analysis will then feed into a discussion of the role the substrate played in the development of this system. First, however, I would like to comment briefly on a recurrent issue in the diachronic analysis of the Surinamese creoles, the reliability of the early sources.

.  There are still remnants of default epenthesis in the context of /a/ plus a labial consonant; after coronals, there is no default epenthesis anymore.

 Christian Uffmann

3.5  A truly historical development? A new take on the question of reliability can be adopted (as one of the reviewers suggested) by pointing out that the earliest sources are heavily influenced by bakra tongro, the (second language) variety of Sranan spoken by Europeans. What looks like a diachronic development then might only apparently be one; instead, later sources have more nengre tongro forms – in other words, later sources give more accurate renditions of the language actually spoken by the slaves, not European approximations of it. While the influence of bakra forms in early sources has been shown succinctly in the area of morphosyntax (for example, tense and aspect, Goury 2006), I believe that the criticism does not hold for the topic of vowel ­epenthesis. The question of the reliability of the sources is dealt with extensively in Plag & Uffmann (2000) (and confirmed again, for example, in Plag & Schramm 2006), to which I refer the reader for additional discussion; I will recapitulate some of their arguments as they pertain to the question here and adduce additional evidence that the development in epenthesis patterns is not just a switch from bakra to nengre forms. Discussing the reliability of the Early Sranan sources, Plag & Uffmann (2000) point out that the reconstruction of segmental phonology in Smith (1987) is corroborated by the early sources; with respect to segmental phonology, the sources thus appear to be accurate. It would be odd if one aspect of the phonology was less accurately captured. As we have seen, the development of paragoge in the Early Sranan sources follows a clear path, despite some variation which can be accounted for. This development moreover follows a universal path, as argued in Uffmann (2004) on the basis of crosslinguistic evidence, which suggests universal markedness scales on spreading (for which also see §4 below). If the early sources were contaminated by bakra forms to varying degrees, such a path would be much less clearly visible; in addition, variation would be much more random, given that bakra tongo is an imperfectly learned second language variety. There is also a more conceptual argument against viewing the patterns of epenthesis in the early sources as being European-based. Typically, bakra speech seems to involve the transfer of functions to forms which are recognized, e.g., in the use of TMA markers (Goury 2006). For epenthesis, however, there is no L1 model which is available to the speaker. Transfer in this case would mean that the European speaker simply does not epenthesize at all. Indeed, such cases of superstrate influence are found in the early sources; Plag & Uffmann (2000) report up to 20 percent (in the Herlein corpus) non-epenthetic types. If there is epenthesis, though, there is no motivation to posit unnecessary (from the perspective of the superstrate) epenthesis rules. The Sranan lexical forms have to be learned anyway, and would thus be acquired with a lexical final vowel.



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

Finally, there is direct evidence that both the different patterns in earlier sources, and the variation found, accurately reflect the variety spoken by the slaves themselves. First note that the Schumann corpus is generally accepted as being an accurate rendition of nengre tongo. If default epenthesis and epenthetic /e/ in the van Dyk corpus were just shibboleths of bakra speech, their remnants in the Schumann corpus would be inexplicable. Instead, the pattern of epenthesis in the Schumann corpus forms a natural link between the van Dyk pattern and the one found in the modern language, as we have seen above. Moreover, Wullschlägel (1856) explicitly notices variation in the choice of the paragogic vowel, including older /e/, as a nengre phenomenon, as pointed out by Plag & Uffmann (2000).3 There is thus a historical source which confirms that both the variation and the choice of epenthetic vowels not found in Modern Sranan are indeed properties of earlier native varieties of Sranan. In conclusion, I see no evidence to view the development found in the corpora as being due to a shift from bakra to nengre tongo but see it as an actual historical development instead.

4.  The optimality-theoretic formalization It is not just an exercise in formal grammar to develop an optimality-­theoretic4 analysis of the epenthesis patterns. Rather, an optimality-theoretic view of ­phonology enables us to understand the nature of substrate influence better. In particular, I believe that conceptualizing a grammar as consisting of a languagespecific ranking of a universal set of violable constraints can help us understand which elements of a (phonological) grammar can be attributed to substrate transfer, to superstrate influence, or to independent developments. In line with some previous research (Alber & Plag 2001; Uffmann 2003), I hold that transfer is not just manifest in identical surface structures. By conceiving of transfer as the transfer of a specific constraint ranking, we can also account for structures that may look different on the surface but that can be traced back to the same underlying constraint ranking. Given different inputs, the same constraint ranking can therefore

.  “The unstressed final vowels are often pronounced differently and are often confused by the negroes. Thus, one time they may say zwaka, the next time zwake or zwaki. In particular, e and i; o and oe are often used one for the other.” (Wullschlägel 1856: viii, translation from Plag & Uffmann 2000) .  For an introduction to the principles of Optimality Theory and an outline of the model, see Prince & Smolensky (2004), McCarthy (2002), and Kager (1999).

 Christian Uffmann

produce hitherto unattested surface phenomena, an idea which I will discuss in greater detail in §5. 4.1  An autosegmental model of OT The model of OT applied in this paper is the model proposed in Uffmann (2004, 2005), which combines constraint interaction with autosegmental phonology, ­proposing a set of constraints on autosegmental structure. I will additionally assume the Unified Feature Theory model of Feature Geometry (Clements & Hume 1995), which classifies vowels according to consonantal place features. The three strategies found in Sranan (vowel harmony, consonantal assimilation and default epenthesis) are found crosslinguistically in loanword adaptation and L2 acquisition (Uffmann 2004). They can be described autosegmentally as insertion or spreading processes, as in (19): (a) describes default vowel insertion – a feature F which is not underlyingly present links to the epenthetic vowel; (b) and (c) both show spreading, either non-locally, from the preceding vowel, as in (b), or locally from the consonant (c). (19) a.

(F)

V C (V)

b.

F

c.

V C (V)

F

V C (V)

Constraints on representations can evaluate each configuration. Different ­constraints militate against different aspects of the representations in (19). These constraints, adapted from Uffmann (2004, 2005) are given in (20) to (23). (20) Dep(F) Output features have a correspondent in the input (no insertion of features) (21) *Multiple Nodes are dominated by one other node exclusively (no multiple linkage) (22) *Skip Intervening material is not skipped in spreading (interaction is local) (23) *Link(C, V) Place features should not link to a C-Place node and a V-Place node simultaneously (Mother Node Attraction Principle, Hume 1996)

The configurations in (19) satisfy these constraints to varying degrees. None is per se optimal; all can only satisfy some constraints at the expense of others. The violations are listed in (24) for each type of representation.



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

Epenthesis strategies and constraint violations (24)

a.

F

b.

V C (V) Default vowel D(F) *M *S *L (C,V)

F

c.

V C (V) V-harmony D(F) *M *S *L (C,V)

* ✓ ✓ ✓

✓ * * ✓

F

V C (V) C-spreading D(F) *M *S *L (C,V)

✓ * ✓ *

Default vowel epenthesis satisfies constraints on multiple feature association but violates the anti-insertion constraint Dep(F), which in turn is satisfied by the configurations in (b) and (c). These candidates, however, violate *Multiple, the constraint against multiple linkage, or spreading. The relative ranking of Dep(F) and *Multiple thus decides which of the two strategies, spreading or default insertion, will win in a language: (25) *Multiple » Dep(F) insertion is preferred over spreading (26) Dep(F) » *Multiple spreading is preferred over insertion

If spreading is preferred (if Dep(F) outranks *Multiple), the relative ranking of *Link(C,V) and *Skip decides which type of spreading is preferred; vowel harmony violates *Skip, the constraint against non-local interaction ((b) in (24)), while local linkage violates *Link(C, V), the constraint against place feature sharing between consonants and vowels. Again, the language-specific ranking decides, and three possible grammars are thus generated, corresponding to each of the three strategies. (27) *Skip » *Link(C, V)

Spreading is local, also between dissimilar segments

(28) *Link(C, V) » *Skip

Spreading is non-local, between vowels only

I will now analyze how the Modern Sranan pattern can be captured with this system of constraints. 4.2  Modern Sranan rankings In Sranan, vowel harmony is the prevalent strategy. Hence, the two rankings in (25) and (27) apply, repeated here as (29): *Multiple is low-ranked, allowing for spreading, and *Link(C,V) outranks *Skip, thus rendering vowel harmony (non-local linkage) more harmonious than local assimilation between consonant and vowel. (29) Vowel harmony: Dep(F) » *Multiple and *Link(C, V) » *Skip

The tableau in (30) illustrates how this ranking selects the vowel-harmonic candidate (b). Default epenthesis (candidates (a)) is non-optimal; it violates

 Christian Uffmann

high-ranked Dep(F). Among the spreading candidates, the one with vowel harmony is selected because local spreading (candidates (c)) violates *Link(C, V) which is ranked above *Skip. (30) a.

must

Dep(F)

[cor]

*!

\

*Link(C, V)

*Skip

*Multiple

*

*

musi b.

[lab]   musu

c.

[cor]

*!

ß

*

musi sleep

Dep(F)

a.

[cor] \ sribi

*!

b.

[cor]  sribi

 c.

[lab]

ß

*Link(C, V)

*!

*Skip

*Multiple

*

* *

sribu

Note that this ranking will always predict vowel harmony to occur. The above discussion has shown, however, that /a/ is inert in the harmony system. I propose that this is an effect of the universal place markedness scale (31) *Pharyngeal » *Dorsal » *Labial » *Coronal

Combined with *Multiple, the following scale can thus be derived for vowel harmony: (32) *Multiple(a) » *Multiple(u, o) » *Multiple(i, e)

This scale supposes Unified Feature Theory (Clements & Hume 1995, Hume 1996) in which /a/ is a pharyngeal = low vowel, /u, o/ are labial = round, /i, e/ are coronal = front. Thus, the inertia of /a/ is explained as a prohibition against spreading ­[pharyngeal], *Multiple(pharyngeal) or *Multiple(a) for short. Ranked high, this constraint blocks vowel harmony. Local assimilation to the consonant is chosen as the second best strategy, as shown by the tableau in (33).



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

(33)

hot a.

[cor] \ hati

b.

[phar]  hata

c.

[cor]

Dep(F)

*Mult(a)

*Link(C, V)

*Skip

*! *!

* *

ß

hati



The default insertion candidate is still not optimal, owing to high-ranked Dep(F), but neither is the vowel-harmonic candidate in (b), because it violates *Multiple(pharyngeal). Although ranking of *Link(C, V) above *Skip normally renders a vowel-harmonic candidate more harmonious than a locally assimilating one, this preference is reversed in this specific case. Violation of *Link(C, V) is tolerated in order to satisfy *Multiple(pharyngeal). After low vowels (and low vowels only), consonantal spreading is thus preferred over vowel harmony. Recall that dorsals never participate in this local consonantal assimilation. This can be seen as an effect of a top-ranked constraint *Link(C, V)/dorsal – linkage between a consonant and a vowel is especially marked if this linkage involves the feature [dorsal] (in line with the universal markedness scale in (31)).5 As *Multiple(a) and Dep(F) rank on one stratum below *Link(C, V)/dorsal, both strategies, default insertion and harmony of marked /a/ are equally optimal.6 Candidate (c), however, is eliminated first, because it fatally violates highest-ranked *Link(C, V)/dorsal.

(34)

/ak/ *Link/dor [cor] \  aki b. [phar]   aka

*Mult(a)

a.

c.

[dor]

ß

dep(F)

*Link(C,v)

*Skip

* * *!

* *

ako

.  For discussion of the role universal place markedness hierarchies play in spreading, see Uffmann (2004, 2006). .  This analysis assumes partial orderings in the sense of Anttila (1997). Constraints on one stratum are crucially unranked with respect to each other; each time the grammar is activated, it imposes a random order on the constraints.

 Christian Uffmann

The Modern Sranan epenthesis pattern can thus be understood as one of vowel harmony where higher-ranked constraints against marked types of harmony or spreading (spreading of marked features) trigger additional processes, consonantal spreading if [pharyngeal] were to spread, or default vowel epenthesis if [dorsal] were to spread from a consonant. We will now take a look at how the present-day pattern emerged by providing a brief sketch of the development, which can be understood as gradual constraint demotion. 4.3  The historical development The emergence of the present-day pattern can be understood as the gradual ­demotion of the constraint against feature spreading, *Multiple. This demotion is gradual in the sense that it is demoted piecemeal, feature by feature, ­according to the general place markedness hierarchy in (31). In order to make the argument more transparent, I will assume a variant of *Multiple for each vowel, thus *Multiple (i, e, a, o, u). These can be understood as shorthand for (a) *Multiple constraints on different places (the hierarchy in (32)) and (b) *Multiple constraints on height, *Multiple(hi) and *Multiple(mid), whose ranking is also universally fixed, following the insight that mid vowels are crosslinguistically more marked than high vowels (see e.g., Beckman 1998). We thus expect front vowels to spread more easily than back/round vowels, but we also expect high vowels to spread more easily than mid vowels, a prediction which is confirmed for several languages in Uffmann (2004). The development is presented schematically in (35) and will now be discussed chronologically. First, one finds in the Herlein (1718) corpus default vowel epenthesis across the board. Hence, all constraints against multiple linkage are ranked above the anti-insertion constraint Dep(F), which is italicized in (35) to highlight how its position in the overall ranking changes over time. In the van Dyk (1765) corpus, vowel harmony is beginning to emerge but found only with front (coronal) vowels. Thus, *Multiple(coronal) is relatively low ranked, while in the Schumann (1783) corpus vowel harmony is developing further – more *Multiple constraints are demoted, *Multiple(u) (i.e., *Multiple(lab/high)) is demoted below Dep(F), while *Multiple(o) (i.e., *Multiple(lab/mid)) ranks on the same stratum, yielding variation. Finally, in Modern Sranan (the Wilner 1994 corpus) only /a/ fails to harmonize – almost all *Multiple constraints have thus been demoted below Dep(F), only *Multiple(pharyngeal) still ranks on the same stratum as Dep(F). (35) Epenthesis in Sranan: the diachronic development Herlein (1718) *Multiple(i, e, u, o, a) » Dep(F) van Dyk (1765) *Multiple(u, o, a) » Dep(F) » *Multiple(ie) Schumann (1783) *Multiple(a) » Dep(F) *Multiple(o) » *Multiple(i, e, u) Wilner (1984) Dep(F) *Multiple(a) » *Multiple(i, e, o, u)



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

The historical development can thus be seen as a gradual demotion of *Multiple constraints (or the gradual promotion of Dep(F)), and this demotion follows the order dictated by the universal vowel place and height markedness hierarchies. The question I would like to address in the following section is whether this development can in any way be motivated from the substrate, or whether it constitutes an independent development.

5.  Substrate influence in Sranan epenthesis In investigating the potential substrate influence on epenthesis patterns in Sranan, three questions have to be addressed. First, there is the question of where the syllable structure constraints of Sranan originate. Second, the choice of the default vowel must be explained. Third, the developing harmony pattern should also be examined with respect to the question of whether the substrate languages play a decisive role in shaping this system. The first two questions have already been discussed in the literature and will therefore only be summed up briefly in §5.1. 5.1  The origin of Sranan’s syllable structure constraints and default vowel With respect to syllable structure constraints, Plag & Uffmann (2000) and Alber & Plag (2001) argue that the predominance of open syllables in Sranan (allowing only nasals in word-final coda position) is a clear substrate effect. Their analysis of the major substrate languages of Sranan, Gbe, Kikongo and Twi (Akan), shows that all three languages have similar – or even tighter – syllable structure constraints. Gbe and Kikongo allow only open syllables, while Twi also allows nasal codas. Under this analysis, Sranan syllable structure would be like Twi in allowing nasal codas and thus be more permissive than Gbe and Kikongo, which have a ban on all codas. This would beg the question why Sranan syllable structure is like Twi, given that the influence of Twi as a substrate language of Sranan is generally considered rather marginal, since sizeable numbers of Twi speakers entered the stage only relatively late. In the earlier, formative stages the major substrate languages were Gbe and Kikongo, and Gbe in particular has been identified as having made a significant impact on the development of the Surinamese creoles (for an assessment of substrate influence in the Surinamese creoles and a general discussion of the sociohistorical situation, see Arends 1995 and especially Migge 2003). However, syllable structure constraints in Gbe and Kikongo can actually be analyzed as being more Twi-like than a superficial view might suggest. Gbe has nasalized vowels which can be analyzed as deriving from underlying vowel+nasal sequences. Kikongo has prenasalized consonants which can also be analyzed as

 Christian Uffmann

underlying coda-onset clusters. Rose & Walker (2004) argue for a coda analysis of nasal+consonant sequences in Kikongo, and Downing (2005) presents a general argument in favour of treating such sequences as coda-onset clusters across Bantu languages. On such a view, syllable structure constraints – regarding the permissibility of codas – are almost identical in Twi, Gbe and Kikongo in allowing maximally a nasal element postvocalically, a restriction that we also find in Sranan. A condition for this analysis is that we do not restrict ourselves to analyses of surface patterns but take into account arguments for underlying representations as well. On this level of representation, Sranan, Gbe, Kikongo and Twi pattern almost identically, an exception being word-internal non-nasal codas which are allowed in Sranan (for an explanation for why substrate constraints can be relaxed, see §6). The second question to be addressed here concerns the choice of the default vowel in Sranan. I will keep the argument brief here; the interested reader is referred to Uffmann (2003, 2004) for a more detailed discussion. Recall that the earliest sources have a default vowel /e/, with some variation with /i/, while Modern Sranan has /i/. Uffmann (2003) argues that this shift is explicable as a substrate effect, induced by a demographic shift in the slave population that had an impact on default vowel selection. Default /e/ is found in Twi and several Gbe lects (Abaglo & Archangeli 1989; Plag & Uffmann 2000). Kikongo and most other West African languages (among them other Gbe lects) on the other hand have default /i/. The demographic analysis of Surinam slave populations in Arends (1995) indicates that between 1700 and 1750, most slaves came from the Slave and Gold Coasts, probably speaking Gbe and Twi (Arends 1995: 243) whereas after 1750, major slaving grounds shifted to the Windward Coast and the Loango region (Kikongo speakers). This demographic shift is paralleled by the shift in default vowel selection, which is emergent in the van Dyk (1765) corpus and almost completed (with lexicalized pockets of resistance) in the Schumann (1783) corpus. A phonological change can therefore be traced back to a change in the ethnolinguistic make-up of the substrate. To avoid misunderstanding of this point, it should be stressed that in the formative years before 1700, Gbe and Kikongo already were dominant substrate languages (Arends 1995; Migge 2003). This suggests variation in the default vowel from the earliest stages on, depending on the linguistic background of speakers, variation which is, in varying degrees, found also in the Herlein and van Dyk corpora (we cannot say anything about the possible degree of variation at earlier stages). My point is thus not that Kikongo made a late impact. Rather, the predominance of Gbe and Twi speakers in one specific time period (in the first half of the 18th century) led to the predominance of one default vowel in the same time period. Their absence in later periods led to the demise of epenthetic /e/ and an establishment of a fixed default vowel /i/, possibly reinforced



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

by the universally unmarked status of this vowel (see e.g., Lombardi (2003) for arguments why /i/ is considered universally unmarked).7 5.2  The development of vowel harmony A hitherto unanswered question concerns the origin of the vowel harmony system found in Sranan. Crucially, the Sranan system of back/round harmony is not found in West African languages, although many of them do have vowel harmony. However, this is typically height or ATR (“advanced tongue root”, tenseness/laxness) harmony. Height harmony is a common Bantu feature, found e.g., in Kikongo (Bentley 1887; Rose & Walker 2004), where high vowels form one harmony domain and mid vowels another. More typical of West African languages are ATR ­harmonies in which the vowels within the harmony domain agree in [±ATR], e.g., Twi (Hess 1992), Yoruba (Bakovic 2000; Krämer 2003), Wolof (Goldrick 1998). Generally, Gbe has no vowel harmony, although there are two Gbe lects (Maxí and Agbóme) which have rounding harmony (the Sranan-type) in a very restricted ­environment (that is, in reduplication; Capo 1991). A typical West African harmony system is given in (36) – note that many languages also have a harmonizing high vowel set (/i-u/ and /I-~/), e.g., Twi, adding up to a total of 9 or 10 vowels. (36) West African Vowel harmony (e.g., Yoruba, Wolof; Archangeli & Pulleyblank 1989; Bakovic 2000) i u transparent (Wolof) or opaque (Yoruba)

e ε

o f a

[+ATR] [–ATR] opaque

The question then is why one does not find transfer of height harmony in Sranan (or in fact other creoles). Clearly, ATR harmony is out of the question since Sranan only has a 5-vowel system. Height harmony (where mid vowels and high vowels form separate harmonic domains), as found in Kikongo, would be possible, however. Two answers can be given to this question. First, height harmony would

.  An optimality-theoretic analysis for determining the quality of the default epenthetic vowel would go too far. For an analysis explaining the insertion of /i/ as a maximally unmarked vowel (because high vowels are less marked than mid vowels and front vowels are less marked than back vowels), see e.g., Lombardi (2003) and Uffmann (2004). Insertion of /e/ could be explained on representational grounds; in a language which marks high vowels with a privative feature [high], insertion of a mid vowel would avoid insertion of a height feature. Although the resulting vowel is more marked, it fares better on faithfulness. I will leave the details of such a proposal up to future research.

 Christian Uffmann

not solve the problem that the epenthetic vowel must be specified for place. Height harmony systems therefore cannot provide the epenthetic vowel with necessary featural content (a place feature). Something else is still needed in order to determine whether the epenthetic vowel is coronal/front or labial/round. Still, substrate transfer probably had an influence on the development of Sranan harmony. I want to propose here that the substrate constraint ranking which yields height harmony can also trigger other harmony types. More precisely, low-ranked *Multiple can trigger harmony in general. Consider the following ranking which yields ATR harmony: (37) *[±ATR], Dep(F) » *Multiple, *Skip

Crucially, the faithfulness constraint Dep(F) (no insertion of features) must be ranked above *Multiple. Additionally, there is a high-ranked markedness ­constraint which militates against [±ATR] autosegments, thus forcing the grammar to reduce the number of [±ATR] specifications in the word – by multiple linking of a minimum number of specifications to a maximum number of vowels. The partial ranking Dep(F) » *Multiple is the one also found in Sranan but used here to spread place features. Transfer thus is not transfer of a specific vowel harmony system but rather the possibility for harmony. A high-ranked markedness constraint (in Yoruba or Twi: *[±ATR], in Sranan: NoCoda) can then activate the ranking and cause vowel harmony to occur in the output. Note that the Sranan ranking does not need a high-ranked prohibition against different place features, in contrast to an ATR harmony ranking, because input specifications for place are not replaced by a spreading feature (unlike in “real” harmony); Sranan harmony does not affect lexical vowels in roots but only epenthetic vowels. The general ranking necessary for (any kind of) vowel harmony to occur thus predicts the Sranan harmony pattern on epenthetic vowels. Note also that the opacity of /a/ in Sranan harmony is also motivated by the substrate languages involved. /a/ is also opaque in many height and ATR harmony systems.8 There is one additional point which supports the idea that the Sranan pattern results from the transfer of a specific ranking. Although there is relatively little research available, it seems that the epenthesis pattern found in Sranan is also found in loanword adaptation in the pertinent substrate languages. Plag & Uffmann (2000) argue that in both Twi and Kikongo vowel harmony seems to be the general strategy in loanword adaptation, while a mix of consonantal spreading and vowel

.  To qualify, it must be said that in some languages (e.g., Yoruba; Bakovic 2000) /a/ can trigger [–ATR] harmony but is never an undergoer and blocks harmony across it. In Bantu height harmony, though, /a/ is typically inert, in the same way we saw in Sranan.



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

harmony can be found in Gbe, a point also confirmed in Gbéto (2000) for Fongbe. Vowel harmony in loanword adaptation is thus also found in a language with no vowel harmony in the native phonology, although it is less general than in Sranan or Twi. A first preliminary study of a small loanword corpus of Akan suggests that the Sranan pattern is in fact surprisingly similar to current-day Akan loanword epenthesis, but more research is needed to confirm this. It is striking, then, that very similar patterns of epenthesis developed independently (since large-scale borrowing is a fairly recent phenomenon) in the substrate languages of Sranan. A second, more trivial explanation for the lack of height harmony in Sranan (or other creoles) lies in the analytic morphology of these languages. Hence, roots have no affixes (or clitics) to spread their vowel specifications to. The absence of harmony in creoles thus follows from the absence of concatenative morphology which could provide a harmony domain. 5.3  Default vowel and harmony unified Closer inspection of the diachronic corpora reveals an intriguing synchronicity of events – the development of vowel harmony roughly coincides with the change in the default vowel. In the van Dyk (1765) corpus, both are emergent, and in the Schumann (1783) corpus both changes are almost completed. I hold that this parallelism is not due to chance. I argued above that the change in default vowel correlates with the diminished influence of Gbe speakers in the slave population. Now Gbe also does not have vowel harmony (or only marginally so). It is therefore possible that the two changes are instantiated by the same demographic shift which diminished the influence of Gbe speakers and increased the proportion of speakers who have some type of vowel harmony in their L1 phonological system (and moreover /i/ as a default vowel). This is not to say that vowel harmony was absent from the substrate languages before it starts showing in Sranan; the high number of Twi speakers before 1750 and of Kikongo speakers in the early Surinam slave population (before 1700) shows that it was not. Mere presence in the substrate is not enough for a feature to survive in the substrate, though. For a marked feature to survive, it has to be common across substrate languages, as argued by Uffmann (2003), because substrate levelling will be levelling to the unmarked. Thus, the near-absence of non-harmonizing languages in the substrate in the period after 1750 allowed for this relatively marked feature to prevail. In addition, there is another reason for why Sranan did not display harmony from the beginning: Uffmann’s (2004) discussion of epenthesis in loanword phonology indicates that vowel harmony systems emerge gradually, across corpora investigated, although the borrowing languages may have vowel harmony themselves. The relatively late appearance of vowel harmony in Sranan thus has a second source of explanation.

 Christian Uffmann

Note that the temporary “overapplication” of harmony in the Schumann corpus, where /o/ is epenthesized after /o/, rather than /u/ (and the spurious appearance of /e/ after /e/), might also be due to the transfer of a height harmony system. Height harmony, so common in the substrate, does show, and in the context of mid vowels, total vowel copy occurs (as harmony of both place and height). Since total copy is presumably marked, however, the system was subsequently reduced to a plain place harmony system. In sum, then, Sranan round/back harmony in epenthesis can to a large extent be explained as substrate-driven.

6.  Superstrate influence in creole syllable structure This section will address the influence of the superstrate on creole syllable ­structure. For this purpose, I will broaden my analytic scope and move away from Sranan. Being so radical, the Surinamese creoles arguably contain relatively little superstrate influence. As we move along the continuum to less radical creoles, superstrate influence becomes more observable, though. This superstrate influence is somewhat trivial; most creoles are not as radical as the Surinamese creoles in their retention of strict CV structure, allowing only open syllables or nasal codas, which we saw is identical to their substrates. In fact, most Atlantic English-lexifier creoles allow codas, as has been pointed out in much previous research, although there are generally tighter restrictions on coda clusters (for detailed studies see Plag & Schramm 2006 and especially the typological survey by Klein to appear). It has been argued that creole phonologies typically show a compromise between the substrate and the superstrate in that certain segments or segment sequences which are found in the superstrate are not allowed in the creole but that the system as such is more permissive than the substrate system (see e.g., Brousseau 2003). A case like Sranan which faithfully preserves substrate phonology at least with respect to syllable structure is thus not the norm. The question I want to pursue admittedly briefly in this section is how such compromise systems emerge and propose a formal optimality-theoretic model of these systems. As noted above, the compromise situation in the domain of syllable structure is that many creoles do allow codas but no coda clusters or only a restricted set thereof. This results in cluster simplification, see e.g., Jamaican Creole tan ‘stand’, fas ‘fast’, cris ‘crisp’ (Cassidy & Le Page 1980) or Tok Pisin wol ‘world’, bihain ‘behind’ (examples from the text collection in Mühlhäusler, Dalton & Romaine 2003). Patrick’s (1999) analysis of cluster reduction in Jamaican Creole reveals that /t, d/ are deleted variably in coda clusters but at a high overall rate of 75 percent, and especially frequently after sibilants and stops where reduction is near-categorical (Patrick 1999: 142).



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

Such systems, which show an intermediate degree of markedness (or complexity) between substrate and superstrate are hard to account for in traditional rule-based approaches to phonology, since the rules that generate those structures are found neither in the substrate nor in the superstrate. The problem is not encountered in a constraint-based optimality-theoretic approach. Two types of relation between constraints are of special interest here, universal markedness hierarchies and special-to-general constraint relations. In these relations, a special case constraint is vacuously satisfied if the general case constraint is also satisfied. It is thus inactive in a grammar which does not allow violation of the general case constraint but becomes active if violation of the general case constraint is permitted. Such relations thus encode markedness hierarchies. For syllable structure, the NoCoda constraint (general case) and ­NoComplexCoda (special case) stand in such a special-to-general relation. Since language acquisition in OT is understood as gradual constraint demotion (Tesar & Smolensky 2000; Hayes 2004), intermediate forms are expected to occur along the learning path. In this case, successful demotion of NoCoda below faithfulness ­activates the constraint NoComplexCoda, which never played an active, visible role in the substrate languages, since codas were not permitted anyway. This constraint remains high-ranked, however, yielding a grammar allowing for an intermediate degree of markedness. The rankings are given in (38), again italicizing the faithfulness constraint which is gradually promoted in the ranking. (38)

Coda complexity: rankings Substrate: NoComplexCoda, NoCoda » Faith Creole: NoComplexCoda » Faith » NoCoda Superstrate: Faith » NoComplexCoda, NoCoda

Such effects are well-known from L2 acquisition research. Broselow et al. (1998) and Grijzenhout & van Rooij (2001) discuss interlanguage final devoicing as a case in point: Learners whose L1 does not allow any codas will devoice codas once they acquire them. The analysis is essentially identical to the one proposed here for coda complexity: A constraint against coda voicing becomes activated upon demotion of NoCoda. The parallelism between L2 acquisition and creole formation in the formal analysis corroborates frequent claims about the similarity of the two, a point I shall return to below. Even in those creoles which allow complex codas, an additional restriction is observable, since only some types of codas are allowed. Patrick (1999) already notices that /t, d/ in coda clusters seem to be particularly prone to deletion. Shinohara (2006) suggests universal markedness scales on complex codas which are grounded in ­perceptual salience. Constraints in such scales do not stand in a subset (special-to-general)

 Christian Uffmann

relation. Rather, they are constraints on non-intersecting sets of phonological elements, which are ranked identically across languages. The place markedness hierarchy in (31) above, which holds that coronals are least marked and dorsals and pharyngeals are most marked, is one such universal markedness scale. Shinohara (2006) now suggests such scales for types of clusters.9 I will not lay out her proposal in detail here but briefly discuss one specific scale she proposes, viz. a markedness scale on sequences of a nasal and an obstruent (like /ns, mb/ etc.). This scale is presented in (39). Note that it is not a constraint ranking but a markedness scale, “ > ” meaning “more marked than”. It thus states that a sequence of a nasal and a voiced stop is more marked than a sequence of a nasal and a voiceless stop, a sequence of a nasal and a fricative being perceptually least marked. It thus predicts that nasal-fricative ­sequences in coda clusters are more likely to be preserved than nasal-stop sequences. (39) nasal + voiced stop > nasal + voiceless stop > nasal + fricative

Belizean Creole (data from Greene 1999) illustrates this (for additional ­examples from Early Jamaican and St. Kitts, see Plag & Schramm 2006). In this language, the two less marked clusters are kept intact (see (40)) but marked clusters of a nasal and a voiced stop are simplified (40b). Belizean Creole thus accepts complex codas, but only certain types thereof. Marked clusters are still prohibited. This prohibition again is not directly motivated from either substrate or superstrate. It is motivated by the acquisition trajectory from substrate to superstrate, which follows universally fixed constraint hierarchies. (40) Belizean Creole nasal + obstruent clusters (Greene 1999) a. dronk ‘drunk’ sins ‘since’ b. grayn ‘grind’ lan ‘land’

To mention an example of a creole with a different superstrate language, Frenchbased Haitian Creole (Tinelli 1981; Shinohara 2006) displays a similar asymmetry. It preserves voiceless stops in nasal-stop clusters but not voiced ones. The ­difference to Belizean Creole is that there is always cluster simplification resulting in a singleton coda but the nasal is treated differently in the two types of clusters – will it surface faithfully (and will therefore the voiced consonant be deleted), or will it show up only as nasalization of the preceding vowel? In (41), there are examples of both. In (a), the voiceless stop survives faithfully, while the nasal only survives as nasalization, whereas in (b), the voiced stop deletes and the nasal ­surfaces as a full consonantal segment.

.  Her scales are based primarily on evidence from loanwords but she also includes cases of diachronic change and has a brief section on creoles.



Vowel epenthesis and creole syllable structure 

(41) Haitian Creole nasal + obstruent clusters (Shinohara 2006; Tinelli 1981) a. pf«p ‘pump’ < pompe bãk ‘bank’ < banque b. õãm ‘leg’ < jambe bãn ‘group’ < bande

A detailed study of other languages and cluster types is outside the scope of this paper (see e.g., Klein to appear and Plag & Schramm 2006 for more examples). What these brief analyses show, however, is that cluster simplification exists, and that it seems to follow a uniform path which is dictated by universal markedness scales and special-to-general constraint relations. In order to understand the simplification, it is therefore still necessary to examine the substrate languages, ­although there is no direct transfer involved. However, the substrate determines the learning trajectory towards the superstrate (target) structures. The creole structures are found along this trajectory. The “compromise” in creole phonologies can thus be understood as the imperfect reranking of a substrate grammar towards the superstrate. In that respect, creole phonologies are remarkably similar to interlanguage phonologies whose intermediate character between the L1 and L2 phonological systems can also be understood as imperfect rerankings of an L1 grammar towards the L2 target system, with novel properties (properties found neither in the L1 nor the L2) resulting from the effect of universal markedness hierarchies or special-to-general constraint relations. Since interlanguages are usually not called “compromises”, though, I suggest to not use this term with reference to creoles either. I rather wish to point out the great similarity between creole phonology and interlanguage phonology which should also call for uniform terminology. 7.  Conclusion Creole syllable structure is to a large part determined by substrate structures. In a radical creole like Sranan we have seen that the system with its tendency towards open syllables is largely explicable by transfer from the substrate (barring the permissibility of word-internal codas). However, one does not find transfer on the level of surface processes but rather more abstractly transfer of underlying constraint rankings, which may give rise to processes not found in the substrate languages. Here, back/round harmony, although not found in the substrate languages, has been argued to be nevertheless an effect of the substrate constraint ranking which allows for vowel harmony in general. Additionally, substrate influence is also mediated through special-to-general constraint relations and universal markedness hierarchies, which make an impact in the development of vowel harmony in Sranan epenthesis and also determine the acquisition path from substrate to superstrate structures. So even when the creole displays structures that are intermediate between substrate and superstrate, the substrate plays an important

 Christian Uffmann

role because these intermediate structures result from earlier substrate transfer and then partial reranking of the transferred grammar towards the superstrate ranking. In this respect, approximation to superstrate structures finds a direct parallel in theories of L2 acquisition, for which similar analyses have been proposed. Drawing upon the OT analysis of substrate levelling proposed in Uffmann (2003), we can thus identify three factors in the shaping of creole phonologies and relate them to formal optimality-theoretic processes: first, substrate transfer as transfer of a constraint ranking; second, substrate levelling as levelling of transferred grammars converging upon unmarked rankings; and third, superstrate influence in L2 acquisition as the partial reranking of constraints towards the L2 target. The oft-observed emergence of unmarked structures in creole formation finds its explanation then in the retention of unmarked substrate grammars (or parts thereof), in levelling, and in the influence exerted by universal markedness hierarchies and special-to-general constraint relations in L2 acquisition. How the different factors interface will be an intriguing subject for future research.

References Abaglo, Poovi & Archangeli, Diana. 1989. Language-particular underspecification: Gengbe /e/ and Yoruba /i/. Linguistic Inquiry 20: 457–80. Alber, Birgit & Plag, Ingo. 2001. Epenthesis, deletion and the emergence of the optimal syllable in creole. Lingua 111: 811–40. Anttila, Arto. 1997. Deriving variation from grammar: A study on Finnish genitives. In Hinskens, Frans, van Hout, Roeland & Wetzels, Leo (Eds). Variation, change and phonological theory. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 35–68. Archangeli, Diana & Pulleyblank, Douglas. 1989. Yoruba Vowel Harmony. Linguistic Inquiry 20: 173–217. Arends, Jacques. 1995. Demographic factors in the formation of Sranan. In Arends, Jacques (Ed.), The early stages of creolization. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 233–85. Bakovic, Eric. 2000. Harmony, dominance and control. Ph.D. Dissertation, Rutgers University. Beckman, Jill. 1998. Positional faithfulness. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Bentley, W. Holman. 1887. Dictionary and grammar of the Kongo language, as spoken at San Salvador, the ancient capital of the old Kongo empire, west Africa. London: Baptist ­Missionary Society (reprinted 1967 by Gregg, Ridgewood). Broselow, Ellen, Chen, Su-I & Wang, Chilin. 1998. The emergence of the unmarked in second language phonology. Studies in Second Language Acquisition 20: 261–80. Brousseau, Anne-Marie. 2003. The accentual system of Haitian Creole: The role of transfer and markedness values. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.), 123–46. Capo, Hounkpati. 1991. A comparative phonology of Gbe. Dordrecht: Foris and Gwome. Cassidy, Frederic G. & Le Page, Robert B. 1980. Dictionary of Jamaican English. London: Cambridge University Press.



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Clements, George N. & Hume, Elizabeth. 1995. The internal organization of speech sounds. In Goldsmith, John (Ed.), Handbook of phonological theory. Oxford: Blackwell. 245–306. Downing, Laura. 2005. On the ambiguous segmental status of nasals in homorganic NC sequences. In van Oostendorp, Marc & van de Weijer, Jeroen (Eds), The internal organization of phonological segments. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 183–216. Gbéto, Flavien. 2000. Les emprunts linguistiques d’origine européenne en Fon (Nouveau Kwa, Gbe: Benin). Cologne: Köppe. Goldrick, Matt. 1998. Optimal opacity: Covert structure in phonology. Manuscript, Johns Hopkins University. Goury, Laurence. 2006. Mise en place du système de TMA dans les créoles du Surinam: Développement interne ou contact de langue? Unpublished ms. Greene, Laurie A. 1999. A grammar of Belizean Creole. Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Grijzenhout, Janet & van Rooij, Bertus. 2001. Second language phonology: Acquisition through gradual constraint demotion. Theorie des Lexikons 119. Universität Düsseldorf. Hayes, Bruce. 2004. Phonological acquisition in Optimality Theory: The early stages. In Kager, René, Pater, Joe & Zonneveld, Wim (Eds), Fixing priorities: Constraints in phonological acquisition. Cambridge: CUP. Herlein, J.D. 1718. Beschrijvinge van de volksplantige Zuriname. Leeuwarden: Injema. Hess, Susan. 1992. Assimilatory effects in a vowel harmony system: An acoustic analysis of ­advanced tongue root in Akan. Journal of Phonetics 20: 475–92. Hume, Elizabeth. 1996. Coronal consonant, front vowel parallels in Maltese. Natural Language and Linguistic Theory 14: 163–203. Kager, René. 1999. Optimality theory. Cambridge: CUP. Klein, Thomas. To appear. Diversity and complexity in the typology of syllables in Creole languages. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Studies. Krämer, Martin. 2003. Vowel harmony and Correspondence Theory. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Lappe, Sabine & Plag, Ingo. 2003. Rules vs. analogy: Modeling variation in word-final epenthesis in Sranan. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.), 71–90. Lombardi, Linda. 2003. Markedness and the typology of epenthetic vowels. Ms. University of Maryland. McCarthy, John J. 2002. A thematic guide to Optimality Theory. [Research Surveys in Linguistics]. Cambridge: CUP. Migge, Bettina. 2003. Creole formation as language contact: The case of the Suriname creoles. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Mühlhäusler, Peter, Dalton, Thomas E. & Romaine, Suzanne (Eds), 2003. Tok Pisin texts: From the beginning to the present. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Patrick, Peter. 1999. Urban Jamaican creole: Variation in the mesolect. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Plag, Ingo (Ed.). 2003. The phonology and morphology of creole languages. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Plag, Ingo & Schramm, Mareile. 2006. Early creole syllable structure: A cross-linguistic survey of the earliest attested varieties of Saramaccan, Sranan, St. Kitts and Jamaican. In Bhatt, Parth & Plag, Ingo (Eds), The structure of creole words: Segmental, syllabic and morphological aspects. Tübingen: Niemeyer. 131–50. Plag, Ingo & Uffmann, Christian. 2000. Phonological restructuring in creole: The development of paragoge in Sranan. In Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid & Schneider, Edgar (Eds), Degrees of restructuring in creole languages. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 310–36.

 Christian Uffmann Prince, Alan & Smolensky, Paul. 2004. Optimality Theory: Constraint interaction in generative grammar. Malden MA: Blackwell. Rose, Sharon & Walker, Rachel. 2004. A typology of consonant agreement as correspondence. Language 80: 475–531. Rose, Yvan & Demuth, Katherine. 2006. Vowel epenthesis in loanword adaptation: Representational and phonetic considerations. Lingua 116. (Special issue Loanword phonology: Current issues. Ed. by Kenstowicz, Michael & Uffmann, Christian). 1112–39. Schumann, Christian L. 1783. Neger-Englisches Wörterbuch. Editio tertia. Utrecht and Paramaribo: Ms. Paramaribo / Moravian Archives. Shinohara, Shigeko. 2006. Perceptual effects in final cluster reduction patterns. Lingua 116. (Special issue Loanword phonology: Current issues. Ed. by Kenstowicz, Michael & Uffmann, Christian). 1046–78. Smith, Norval. 1977. Vowel epithesis in the Surinam creoles. Amsterdam Creole Studies 1: 1–54. Smith, Norval. 1987. The genesis of the creole languages of Surinam. Ph.D. Dissertation, Universiteit van Amsterdam. Tesar, Bruce & Smolensky, Paul. 2000. Learnability in Optimality Theory. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. Tinelli, Henri. 1981. Creole phonology. The Hague: Mouton. Uffmann, Christian. 2003. Markedness, faithfulness, and creolization: The retention of the unmarked. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.), 3–23. Uffmann, Christian. 2004. Vowel epenthesis in loanword phonology. Ph.D. Dissertation, Universität Marburg. Uffmann, Christian. 2005. Optimal geometries. In van Oostendorp, Marc & van de Weijer, Jeroen (Eds), The internal organization of phonological segments. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 27–62. Uffmann, Christian. 2006. Epenthetic vowel quality in loanwords: Formal and empirical issues. Lingua 116. (Special issue Loanword phonology: Current issues. Ed. by Kenstowicz, Michael & Uffmann, Christian). 1079–111. Van Dyk, Pieter. 1765. Nieuwe en nooit bevoorens geziene onderwyzinge in het Bastert Engels, of Neeger Engels, zoo als het in de Hollandsze colonien gebruikt word. Amsterdam: van Egmont. Wilner, John (Ed.). 1994. Wortubuku fu Sranan Tongo. Paramaribo: SIL. Wullschlägel, H.R. 1856. Deutsch-Negerenglisches Wörterbuch. Löbau: T.U. Duroldt. Republished 1965. Amsterdam: Emmering.

The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan Implications for sociohistory Norval Smith

ACLC, University of Amsterdam The aim of this article is to try and trace the source of a phonological change that applies only in the Portuguese-derived lexicon in Saramaccan. Saramaccan is a mainly English-lexifier maroon creole language with a very substantial Portuguese element in its vocabulary. This phonological change, from /g/ to /k/, cannot have taken place in Surinam, as none of the other contributory languages to Saramaccan shows any sign of it. I identify the change as one that occurs in Kikongo-dominated or Kimbundu-dominated contexts. I then try to identify the particular geographical and historical context of this change. I work back along a number of possible transfer paths: (1) Cayenne–Surinam; (2) Dutch Pernambuco–Cayenne; (3) Pre-Dutch Pernambuco–Dutch Pernambuco, and conclude that all three paths are involved in the transference of the phonological change. I try, finally, to identify Jewish individuals and families who could have been involved in both Pre-Dutch Paramaribo and Surinam, i.e., both ends of the path.

1.  Introduction There are three creole “languages” spoken in the South American country of Surinam – Sranan, Ndyuka and Saramaccan. Sranan is the language of the former plantation area on the coast and on the lower reaches of some main rivers, and of the capital Paramaribo. Ndyuka, or better, Eastern Maroon Creole, is closely related to Sranan, and is the language of four tribes of Maroons, or runaway slaves. These are the Ndyuka proper, the Paramaccan, the Aluku, and the Kwinti. All these tribes were formed in the 18th century. Saramaccan or Western Maroon Creole, which is the language I will be dealing with here, is distinguished by the presence of a sizable Portuguese component in

 Norval Smith

its vocabulary (nearly 400 items according to Smith & Cardoso 2004). It is spoken by the Saramaccan and Matawai tribes. These two tribes owe their existence to marronnage in the period roughly 1690–1710 (Price 1983). It is fairly certain that Saramaccan owes the presence of its Portuguese component to the fact that in the late 17th century Portuguese Jewish immigrants from Cayenne (later French Guiana) settled particularly on the middle reaches of the Suriname River, where they came to own most of the plantations in this area. The principal language of this group, which arrived in two waves in the 1660s, may be assumed to have been a variety of Portuguese. The precise course of development of these three creole languages is the source of considerable debate, a debate to which I want to contribute in this article. ­Saramaccan is perhaps the most controversial of all. I will examine here the ­unexpected reflex of one sound in one etymologically definable group of lexical items in Saramaccan. I will search for a linguistic context in which this sound could have been introduced by reason of linguistic contact. In other words I will make the reasonable assumption that sounds do not under normal circumstances undergo unexpected changes in etymologically definable subsets of the words in the lexicon of a language, without the same sounds in other etymologically definable subsets following suit. If we find such a subset of words undergoing such a change, then the only obvious explanation is that this group of words has a d ­ ifferent history from the rest of the words containing the same etymological source sound in the same environment in the same language.

2.  Sociolinguistic context For a variety of reasons, the sociolinguistic situation in which Saramaccan ­developed provides one of the most fascinating and challenging problems facing creole studies. On the one hand, Saramaccan offers us an unusual glimpse into the history of early creolization processes. This it does for two reasons. Firstly, it formed part of the early creolization setting in Surinam, within which not just Saramaccan, but also Sranan and Ndyuka developed. In a loose sense, all three could basically be described as English-lexifier creoles, in the sense that English is by and large the majority lexifier language involved, although to different extents in the three creoles. The English colonization of Surinam was short-lived, lasting only from 1651 to 1667. Most of the English had apparently left by 1685 (see Smith 2001: 54; Smith forthcoming). This means that we get a rare chance of examining what Englishlexifier creoles look like when quickly deprived of their lexifier language.



The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan 

The only other cases of anything resembling this in the Atlantic region are the creole languages of the Jamaican Maroons. The language of the Eastern Maroons in Jamaica is only used now to communicate with the spirits of ancestors born in Jamaica, and is (therefore) imperfectly known (see Bilby 1983 for further details). The language of the Trelawny Western Maroons may well be reflected in Krio and its various daughter languages. For an argument to this effect see Smith & van de Vate (2006). But this is still a matter of controversy. The Surinam creoles provide us with our clearest case. Secondly, Saramaccan in particular can be regarded as a very mixed-up ­language indeed. Rather than the archetypical deep creole, evocative of language universals that Bickerton once claimed it to be (Bickerton 1981), it is a thricemixed cocktail. The first mixture has been thoroughly described by Good in a number of publications (Good 2004, 2005). This involves the prosodic systems of Saramaccan. Good demonstrates very clearly that there are two co-existent systems, a stress-cum-pitch accent system for (most) European-derived words in Saramaccan, whether of English, Portuguese or Dutch origin, while the numerous words of African origin retain a pattern of tone-specification on every mora, and are totally lacking in stress-related effects. The second mixture involves the relatively large number of lexical items of Portuguese origin as compared to those of English origin. Particularly relevant is the greater number of verbs of Portuguese origin, while nouns are English-derived in majority. This disproportion in the numbers of nouns and verbs is reminiscent of other mixed languages like the Okrika-Igbo language (Kirikeni-Igbonaye) ­described by Williamson & Wakama (2001), and Berbice Dutch (Kouwenberg 1994). There are very many fewer Portuguese lexical items in Sranan and Ndyuka for reasons which will be explained later. The third mixture involves the two main African substrate languages Fon and Kikongo. There is phonological evidence (Smith 2004) that where the two languages could leave separate reflexes of their phonological behaviour – the representation of nasalization, for example – by reason of the different types of structures they donated to Saramaccan and the other Surinam creoles, they did so. The degree of this intermixture is unusual, in that it does not just affect the lexicon, but extends to phonology, and morphology at least. The temporal relationships of these three acts of mixture are not simple to tease out, so that there remains much work to be done on this topic. But that they took place at an early period there seems little doubt. The subject of this article concerns a particular phonological aspect of the Portuguese lexical element, which I will claim is ultimately of West Central Bantu linguistic origin. Whether this is of the same provenance as the Kikongo feature referred to above is not clear.

 Norval Smith

3.  How did the Portuguese words get into Saramaccan? If one thing is certain, it is that the relatively high number of Portuguese-derived words in Saramaccan has to do with the arrival in Surinam of two groups of ­Portuguese Jews in 1665 and 1667, just before the takeover of the English colony by the Dutch. There were two factors which increased the importance of this (largely) Portuguese-speaking element in the population of Surinam. The first of these has to do with the proportion of the European population formed by the Jews. The arrival of the Jews and the following period coincided with a period of significant change in the demographic make-up of the European population (for more on this, see Smith forthcoming). The English population, which had been significantly reduced by an epidemic in 1664, was encouraged to leave Surinam, and a large number did during the subsequent decade. It has been pointed out in Arends (1995) that this exodus was not so nearly complete as has generally been assumed, but it remains the case that it was substantial. The influx of Dutchmen was also slow to get off the ground. These demographic factors resulted in the Portuguese Jewish part of the European population forming a more significant proportion of the European population than beforehand or subsequently. In the early 1680s there is reason to think that it formed a third of this population. A second factor that is of importance for the significance of the Portuguesespeaking population is the concentration of this group in the middle reaches of the Suriname River. Here the Jews formed virtually a state within a state, with their capital at Joden Savannah (“Jews’ Savannah”) with its synagogue. Here it was inevitable that the concentration of Portuguese-speaking Jews, who had conceivably brought some Portuguese Creole-speaking slaves with them to Surinam (see Smith 1999), would have linguistic consequences for the language of their slaves. Sranan and Ndyuka were much less exposed to the influence of Portuguese.

4.  The problem The particular set of words I will be concerned with here is then a group of words of Portuguese origin in Saramaccan. These words all contain intervocalic /g/ in their Portuguese form, but when we examine the congeners of these words in Saramaccan, we find /k/ replacing this /g/ in most of them. This basically does not happen in words of other provenance. So, our problem is then to find a linguistic context in which this could have been effected. Clearly we require a context that either lacks /g/ completely, or at least does not permit that sound in certain environments. But first we have to



The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan 

demonstrate that words of other origins either share this feature, or do not. The second condition appears to be true, as I will demonstrate. Let us look now at the Portuguese words at issue. I give a complete listing from Smith & Cardoso (2004) of all words which have an intervocalic reflex of Portuguese /g/. The words are listed in Table 1. Table 1.  Words with Portuguese /g/ exhibiting intervocalic /k/ in Saramaccan (words with /k/ are shown in boldface) Saramaccan

1778

Portuguese

Gloss (Saramaccan)

buuká koogá tjiká

brukà krokka

esburgar escorregar chegar chegar esfregar pagar pagamentu cagar pegar chaga barriga gago jangada prego agulha fogo salgar

‘peel’ ‘slip’ ‘be enough’ ‘come’ ‘rub’ ‘pay’ ‘payment’ ‘defecate’ ‘stick to’ ‘pustules’ ‘belly’ ‘stutter’ ‘part of raft’ ‘nail’ ‘needle’ ‘watch the fire!’ ‘salt’

feegá paká pakamέntu kaká peká, peeká tjaka baíka ngáku njaká peégu agúja fóógo saagá

zikka frigà, frikà pakka paggamentu kakkà pekka   barika gáku pregu agúja

Why is this interesting? We might just be observing a sound-change from /g/ to /k/ in progress. As we can see there are some forms that do preserve /g/. However, 13 out of 17 forms exhibit a form with /k/, either in the 18th century word-list (Schumann 1778), or in modern Saramaccan, or both. Clearly some variant forms existed, at least in the past. Apart from the four forms displaying only /g/, we have three others that seem to demonstrate the existence of variation in voicing. This variation is unsurprising, as there is no reason to assume that the Portuguese spoken by the Jewish plantation-owners did not possess /g/ in their renditions of these words, so that we could maybe expect some influence on Saramaccan from their Standard Portuguese. Compare the plantation name Susego (< Portuguese sossego ‘quiet’) for an example directly reflecting the language of the Jewish plantation owners. Other Portuguese-derived etyma exhibit dual reflexes in Saramaccan as well. For example, Portuguese /v/ appears both as /v/ and as /b/.

 Norval Smith

There is in addition a category of words where intervocalic /g/, or /g/ ­following a liquid, is replaced by /ng/. I will deal with this below. Note that /g/ does freely occur in two other contexts: initially – sometimes replaced by /ng/ – and in the nasal cluster /ng/. We do not find any tendency to replace /g/ with /k/ here. The initial occurrence of /g/ is illustrated in Table 2: Table 2.  The reflexes of Portuguese initial /g/ in Saramaccan Saramaccan

1778

Portuguese

Gloss

ngáku ngátu (n)gŏtò góma gabián ganján gafá gangáa

gaku

gago gatuno esgoto goma gavião enganhar [Galician] gabar garganta

‘to stutter’ ‘thief ’ ‘ditch’ ‘paste’ ‘hawk’ ‘to pretend, trick’ ‘praise, boast’ ‘neck’

goto goma gabiàm gaija gawwà grangánda

The lack of a nasal in the Saramaccan form correlates with the subsequent ­presence of nasality in most cases, but I will not go into this here. Note that the 18th century records of Saramaccan do not record initial nasal clusters in any Portuguese-derived item. In general, Schumann was not very good at transcribing unfamiliar sounds. Next, the occurrence of /g/ in an internal nasal cluster is seen in Table 3: Table 3.  Saramaccan /ng/ in Portuguese-derived lexical items Saramaccan

1778

Portuguese

Gloss

niingá muunga mangú bíngo biingá fúngu domíngo

ninga munga mangru bíngo bringà fúngu dimíngo

negar amolgar magro umbigo brigar fungo Domingo

‘to refuse’ ‘to hurt oneself ’ ‘thin’ ‘navel’ ‘to strive, hurry’ ‘fungus’ ‘Friday’*

* The Saramaccans apparently lost some days during their travels.

Note here that nasality is frequently transferred from elsewhere in the original Portuguese etymon – the first four cases, or was absent – the fifth word. Only the last two items represent an etymological nasal-stop cluster.



The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan 

And we certainly are not looking at a general change of /g/ to /k/ in ­Saramaccan. There are many cases of intervocalic /g/ in Saramaccan in words from other sources, and there is no sign of any such change in progress. How about these words then? What happens to them? Let us look first at English-derived words, in Table 4. Table 4.  The reflexes of intervocalic /g/ in English-derived words Saramaccan

1778

English

Gloss (if different)

(w)ógi dágu (h)águ bégi bígi potigé bigí djógu fεεkέtε díki báíki

ougri – hagu bêgi biggi – begìnn djoggu vergêti diki barki

ugly dog hog beg big Portugee begin jug forget dig bargain

‘bad’

‘Portuguese’

(Sranan frigíti) (Sranan díki) (Sranan bárki)

The only forms consistently displaying voiceless stop reflexes are the last two. The first of these, /díki/, however, is perhaps a “crossing” with the word ditch. We see the same irregular development in Sranan, the creole language of the original plantation area. Precisely in the plantation context, digging drainage ditches, or ditching, must have been a very frequent occupation. The normal reflex is however with plain intervocalic /g/. We do find /k/ for /g/ in Saramaccan in a number of cases initially in an unstressed syllable preceding the accent. But this is clearly a completely different context from the intervocalic replacement of /g/ by /k/ in words of Portuguese origin, and is moreover shared with Sranan, as can be seen in Table 5.

Table 5.  Initial /k/ as the reflex of English initial /g/ in unstressed syllbles Saramaccan

Sranan

English

Gloss (if different)

kiibói kumáa – –

kribóy, krobóy kumára kunéti kadámi

goodbye good-morrow goodnight Goddamn (it)

‘the last’

 Norval Smith

This does not apply in the case of /g/ functioning as onset to a stressed vowel in English. Cf. Table 6: Table 6.  The reflex of English initial /g/ in stressed syllables Saramaccan

Sranan

English

góni gó gádu giíi goón goó

góni go gádo grídi gron gro

gun go god greedy ground grow

Let us now turn to the main African substrate language of Saramaccan, either Fon or very closely related Gbe languages of Benin. Here we find that both initial and intervocalic /g/ are preserved. In one case, we find transference of final n ­ asality to the syllable preceding /g/, resulting in a nasal cluster /ng/. This is illustrated in Table 7. Table 7.  The reflexes of Fon /g/ Saramaccan

Fon

gloss

agása logoso gogó gan [Papá ritual language] gidigidi adingò

agàsá logozò gogó gã gidigidi degon

‘land crab’ ‘tortoise’ ‘buttock’ ‘gong’ ‘violently’ ‘shrimp’

From this table we see that neither intervocalically nor initially does any change occur in words containing /g/ of Fon origin. Now let us compare the most frequent reflexes occurring in the different ­contexts in the three etymological sources of Saramaccan vocabulary illustrated so far. The reflexes are summarized in Table 8. Table 8.  Major reflexes of /g/ in various contexts in English, Fon, and Portuguese Context

Post-nasal

Intervocalic (nasal influence)

Intervocalic (elsewehere)

g g

ng –

ng ng

g g

g/ng

ng

ng

k

Language

Initial (non-stress)

Initial (stress)

English Fon

k g

Portuguese

g



The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan 

The problem is then how to explain the Portuguese reflexes. The /k/ we see in most intervocalic cases is unexpected from a Portuguese point of view, as is the minority onset reflex /ng/, preceding a stressed vowel. How can these two anomalous reflexes be explained? As I have demonstrated, the other two languages I have considered, English and Fon, do not exhibit parallel reflexes.

5.  The Kikongo factor As I mentioned above, Kikongo is also an important substrate language for ­Saramaccan. Its influence is certainly not as pervasive as that of Fon (and closely related Gbe languages), but in terms of both lexicon and phonology at least, it is still a significant factor. One important factor about the consonant system of Kikongo that is ­immediately obvious is the skewed distribution of /g/ in that language. In many forms of Kikongo, both initial and intervocalic /g/ are lacking. /ng/, however, does occur. Portuguese loans are frequent in Kikongo. Let us examine in what form Portuguese /g/ is internalized in the Kishikongo dialect (Bentley 1887) – Table 9. Table 9.  Kishikongo reflexes of Portuguese /g/ Portuguese

Kishikongo

Gloss

goma guava agulha Portugues purgante

ngoma ngwava nguya (ki)mputulukezo pulukante

‘gum’ ‘guava’ ‘needle’ ‘Portuguese’ ‘purgative’

Initial /g/ is integrated as /ng/; intervocalic /g/ as /k/. Kikongo’s neighbour language to the south – Kimbundu – has a similar distribution of /g/. We have a parallel for the Kikongo vocabulary in Saramaccan in the Kimbundu vocabulary in Angolar, a Portuguese-lexifier creole spoken by a maroon group on the island of São Tomé in the Gulf of Guinea. But first, let us look at some Portuguese lexical items containing /g/ in Angolar (Maurer 1995) – Table 10. Here we see that initial Portuguese /g/ is consistently replaced by /ng/, and that /NVg/ becomes /NVng/. This last development is shared with words of all sources in Saramaccan, and so is not of any diagnostic value. Kimbundu /g/, which is restricted in occurrence to the context following a homorganic nasal, /ng/, unsurprisingly has the same distribution in Kimbundu items in Angolar, as can be seen in Table 11.

 Norval Smith

Table 10.  Angolar reflexes of Portuguese /g/ Portuguese

Context

Angolar

Gloss

gabar gago garfu galinha barriga jogar fregar amigo

initial (stress) “ “ initial (non-stress) intervocalic “ “ intervocalic: nasal to left post-nasal

ngaba ngagu ngalufu nganha beégá ðuga fega mingu

‘to praise’ ‘stammerer’ ‘fork’ ‘hen’ ‘stomach’ ‘to throw’ ‘to rub’ ‘friend’

mingwa

‘to reduce’

minguar

Table 11.  Angolar reflexes of Kimbundu /g/ Kimbundu

Angolar

Gloss

ngandu ngoloxi nguba rikanga muxinga nhonga

ngandu ngosi nguba kanga singa nhonga

‘shark’ ‘evening’ ‘peanut’ ‘place’ ‘fishing line’ ‘peanut’

We can sum up these results in the Table 12: It is now fairly clear that the fact that the Portuguese words in Saramaccan exhibit deviant reflexes of source language /g/ as compared to /g/ in words from the other source languages. What has now to be considered is what the sociohistorical conditions were that resulted in this fact. Table 12.  The G-Story Languages context

Kimbundu Portuguese Portuguese Portuguese English in Fon in in Angolar in Angolar in Kikongo in Saramac. Saramac. Saramac.

initial

–

ng

ng

g/ng

g

g

intervocalic: nasal context – post-nasal ng

ng ng

? ng

ng ng

ng ng

ng –

intervocalic: elsewhere

g

k

k (g)

g

g

–



The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan 

What is also fairly clear is that a Kikongo/Kimbundu-dominant social context is necessary to explain this. Only the context of a language lacking /g/ could provide such a context. A language which does lack intervocalic /g/ is Dutch, which in fact until very recently did not admit /g/ at all. But this is irrelevant for the case at issue. In fact, many Dutch loans in Saramaccan have intervocalic /g/, demonstrating that the variety of Dutch spoken in 17th century Surinam possessed voiced velar fricatives, which were re-interpreted as voiced velar stops in all the Surinam creole languages. These are now largely lacking in Western Standard Dutch. In any case, the lack of a voiced velar stop in the Dutch system, if it had ­influenced things at all, would not have resulted in the differential replacement of Portuguese /g/ by /k/ that we observe in Saramaccan. In the next section I will consider various scenarios which might have resulted in this phenomenon.

6.  S  earching for a Kikongo-dominated or Kimbundu-dominated social context 6.1  Surinam? The null-hypothesis would of course be a context located in Surinam itself. However, this is difficult to sustain. As I stated above, Surinam was colonized by the English in 1651. In 1665 and 1667 two groups of Jews entered the country (Smith 1999). There had been an epidemic among the English population, which affected sugar production adversely. The Jews had experience of sugar-manufacturing in Cayenne or Brazil (Smith 1999), and this experience was sorely needed in Surinam. This was presumably the motive behind the migration, and the ­favourable treatment meted out to them. The Jews, as stated above, came to own a sizeable number of plantations on the middle reaches of the Suriname River. As Price (1983) demonstrates, there are clear historical connections between certain Jewish plantations and a number of the Saramaccan clans, several of which are even called after Jewish plantationowners. This is a strong indication of the basic origin of these clans in the same plantations. There is reference to a Dju-tongo (‘‘Jew language’’) in 18th and 19th century documents, as having been formerly spoken on Jewish-owned plantations. According to Smith (see Smith 1999 for a detailed discussion), this must be seen as the immediate precursor of Saramaccan, and little different from it. Since the Jews arrived in Surinam in 1665 (mostly), and the first major escape of a Saramaccan group took place in 1690 (Price 1983), this precursor to the Saramaccan

 Norval Smith

language must have been formed around 1680. I will not here go into the alternative hypothesis that Dju-tongo represents a Portuguese creole brought with slaves of the Jews. This thesis is untenable because of the presence of English-derived words in the small corpus of words identified in the Sranan dictionary of Schumann (1783) as being Dju-tongo. Let us now turn to a consideration of the importation of slaves to Surinam. For this examine Table 13. Table 13.  Slave imports to Surinam per half-decade (1658–1714) Slave imports to Surinam 1658-1674 [general Dutch trade] 1675–1679 1680–1684 1685–1689 1690–1694 1695–1699 1700–1704 1705–1709 1710–1714

Slave Coast [largely Fon or other Gbe]

Central Africa [largely Kikongo]

28.0% ? [49.5% excluding slaves of unknown provenance]

13.9% ? [24.6% excluding slaves of unknown provenance] 61.2% 710 25.0% 679 54.9% 3882 29.6% 615 45.2% 2384 16.3% 568 12.9% 579 34.1% 705

47.8% 24.3% 45.8% 41.7% 68.6% 72.4% 65.9%

1289 1721 950 2197 2397 3250 1360

The percentages in the first row of Table 13 are of the general Dutch slave trade. In all succeeding rows the figures are derived from Arends (1995). Half-decade periods were chosen in order to smooth out yearly fluctuations, but still capture short-term trends in the traffic. As can be seen from the trade statistics prior to 1675 the numbers emanating from the Slave Coast were on average twice as large as the numbers from Central Africa. There were two short periods when Central African slaves were in the large majority, 1675–1679 and, in particular, 1685–1689. The period from 1695–1699, finally, had a very slight majority of Central African imports. While one might think that the second period might be critical in the formation of Saramaccan, just preceding as it does the beginning of period of escapes that resulted in the formation of the Saramaccan tribe, it is clear that this cannot explain the phonological effects seen in Saramaccan. As I noted above, only the words of Portuguese origin show intervocalic substitution of /g/ by /k/, and a partial replacement of inital /g/ by /ng/. The older layer of English words shows no such pattern. We must look elsewhere for an explanation for these changes.



The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan 

6.2  Cayenne? The Jews who came to Surinam in 1665 and 1667 came from the then Dutch Cayenne. There they lived at the farming settlement of Rémire, founded by Jews who fled in 1654 from the Dutch colony in northeast Brazil – Pernambuco, when it was surrendered to the Portuguese in that year. According to Jennings, slaves who were imported here (in 1660) had been brought from the Slave Coast (Jennings 1995). The colony was taken over by the French in 1664. It is probable that some slaves had been brought from Pernambuco by their Jewish owners (Smith 1999). Slaves were valuable, and there were parallels for such movements of slaves. Whatever, the situation was, Cayenne itself was clearly not a promising context for a replacement of Portuguese /g/ by /k/. Any new slaves came from the Slave Coast, and were thus speakers of Fon or other Gbe languages. Any others would have come from Pernambuco. 6.3  Dutch Pernambuco? Smith (1999) has developed a scenario by which Jewish-owned slaves could have been brought from Pernambuco via Cayenne to Surinam. It remains controversial what the extent of plantation-owning by Jews was in Pernambuco. Unfortunately, we only have records pertaining to the beginnings of the Dutch colony (1630–), and not the period in the mid 1640’s when it was at its maximum expansion. The total recorded slave imports to Pernambuco during the Dutch period reveal a rough parity between Guinean (Slave Coast) and Angolan slaves. The former predominated during the earlier years, and the latter during the later years, when the Dutch briefly managed to capture the slave-exporting port of Luanda (Angola) from the Portuguese. However, the very fact that the majority of slaves came from Guinea (largely the Slave Coast) during the greater period of Dutch control over Pernambuco, speaks against Dutch Pernambuco providing the Kikongo/Kimbundu-dominated context in which our phonological substitutions could have manifested themselves. 6.4  Pre-Dutch Pernambuco? A manuscript dating from the Dutch period (1638), and known as the Sommier Discourse contains an interesting observation relating to the fact that Angolan slaves could communicate with the “old negroes”. This implies that the pre-Dutch slave labour force was largely of Kimbundu or Kikongo origin. Both languages are spoken in northern Angola. This is potentially of great significance, although the size and proportion of the population represented by “old negroes” is unknown. With the Dutch invasion of Pernambuco in 1630, large-scale marronnage took place, most slaves fleeing to the embryonic maroon settlement of Palmares

 Norval Smith

(de Bivar M. Marquese 2006). This became a full-fledged maroon state, the largest that existed in the Americas, with a population of tens of thousands. What is known of the ethnicity of the population – which represents the “old slaves” of Pernambuco, suggests West-Central Africa, in particular, Angola, as a major contributor (de Bivar M. Marquese 2006; Thornton 2005). 6.5  Provisional conclusions Let us list the conclusions we have just reached in our examinations of possible contexts, in tabular form. Central African context likelihood Surinam impossible Cayenne unlikely to impossible Dutch Pernambuco unlikely, but possible during the final years of the colony pre-Dutch Pernambuco likeliest 6.6  Additional evidence from continuity of Jewish families One final relevant question remains to be asked. Is there any evidence of Jewish individuals or families identifiable in Dutch Pernambuco making their appearance in Surinam? This is of some importance as any relationship between the two colonies in terms of individuals has been denied. The answer to this question is however positive – there are at least two such families. The first is the well-known Nassy family of Surinam, who Cohen Nassy (1788: I, 11) describes as leaving Recife (Pernambuco) around the mid-17th century. He describes his ancestor David Nassy as being involved in agriculture in Pernambuco. Later various members of this family owned plantations in the neighbourhood of Joden Savannah on the Suriname River, and David Cohen Nassy was a leading figure in the Jewish community. The second case concerns the family of David Senior Coronel, who is claimed to have been one of the main financial backers of the Dutch colonial adventure in Pernambuco. He supposedly came to Recife in 1635 (Böhm 1992). He was a major owner of plantations and sugar-mills in Pernambuco. His grandson, another David Senior Coronel was involved in slave purchases in 1644 in Pernambuco, and left in 1654 for Amsterdam. A third David Senior Coronel is recorded in 1737 as owning the plantation Klein Amsterdam in Surinam (see De Lavaux’s map in Bubberman et al. (1973)). The migration history of neither family is known is detail, but there must be a presumption of some continuity as far as both are concerned. However, further



The origin of the Portuguese words in Saramaccan 

research on possible links between Jewish involvement in Pernambuco and that in Surinam is certainly required. 7.  Conclusion My conclusion is that there is linguistic evidence regarding possible contact between Portuguese and Kikongo and/or Kimbundu being responsible for the devoicing of Portuguese /g/ in Saramaccan. I have examined possible socio-­historical contexts for this contact, and suggest that this most likely took place in Pernambuco, either at the end of the Dutch period, or more likely prior to it. I would suggest that more use could profitably be made of the phonological methodology used in this article, exploiting gaps and asymmetries in the phonological systems of contributory languages in order to identify possible strata in the lexicons of creole languages. Another case, also exploiting an asymmetry in the Saramaccan consonant system, is to be found in Smith & Haabo (2007).

References Arends, Jacques. 1995. Demographic factors in the formation of Sranan. In Arends, Jacques (Ed.), The early stages of creolization [Creole Language Library 13]. Amsterdam: John ­Benjamins. 233–85. Bentley, William H. 1887. Dictionary and grammar of the Kongo language, as spoken at San ­Salvador, the ancient capital of the old Kongo Empire, West Africa. London: Trübner. Bickerton, Derek. 1981. Roots of language. Ann Arbor MI: Karoma. Bilby, Kenneth M. 1983. How the “older heads” talk: A Jamaican Maroon spirit possession ­language and its relationship to the creoles of Surinam and Sierra Leone. New West Indian Guide 57: 37–88. Böhm, Günter. 1992. Los sefardíes en los dominios holandeses de América del Sur y del Caribe. 1630–1750 [Bibliotheca Ibero-Americana 44]. Frankfurt: Vervuert Verlag. Bubberman, F.C., Loor, A.H., Nelemans, B. & Koeman, C. 1973. Links with the past: The history of the cartography of Suriname, 1500‑1971. Amsterdam: Theatrum Orbis Terrarum. Cohen Nassy & De Ishak, David. 1788. Essai historique sur la colonie de Suriname. Paramaribo. Good, Jeff. 2004. Tone and accent in Saramaccan: Charting a deep split in the phonology of a language. Lingua 114: 575–619. Good, Jeff. 2005. Split prosody and creole simplicity: The case of Saramaccan. Journal of ­Portuguese Linguistics 3: 11–30. Jennings, William. 1995. The first generation of a creole society: Cayenne 1660–1700. In Baker, Philip (Ed.), From contact to creole and beyond. London: University of Westminster Press. 21–40. Kouwenberg, Silvia. 1994. A grammar of Berbice Dutch creole. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Marquese, Rafael de Bivar. 2006. The dynamics of slavery in Brazil: Resistance, the slave trade and manumission in the 17th to 19th centuries. Novos estudos. – CEBRAP. vol. 2, Special Edition [cited 1 February 2007]. (socialsciences.scielo.org).

 Norval Smith Maurer, Philippe. 1995. L’angolar: Un créole afro-portugais parlé à São Tomé. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Price, Richard. 1983. First time. Baltimore MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Schumann, Christian L. 1778. Saramaccan-Deutsches Wörter-Buch. (Ms, Moravian Brethren, Bambey, Surinam). Schumann, Christian L. 1783. Neger-Englisches Wörter-Buch. (Ms, Moravian Brethren, ­Paramaribo, Surinam. Reproduced in Kramp, André A., Early creole lexicography: A study of C. L. Schumann‘s manuscript dictionary of Sranan. Unpublished D.Litt. dissertation, State University of Leiden). Smith, Norval. 1999. Pernambuco to Surinam 1654–1665? The Jewish slave controversy. In ­Huber, Magnus & Parkvall, Mikael (Eds), Spreading the word: Papers on the issue of ­diffusion of Atlantic creoles. London: University of Westminster Press. 251–298. Smith, Norval. 2001. Voodoo Chile: Differential substrate effects in Saramaccan and Haitian. In Smith, Norval & Veenstra, Tonjes (Eds), Creolization and contact [Creole Language Library 23]. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 42–80. Smith, Norval. 2004. A case of creole substrate allophony 350 years on: Nasality in Saramaccan. (Paper given at the Society for Pidgin and Creole Linguistics meeting, Boston). Smith, Norval. Forthcoming. English-speaking in early Surinam? In Van den Berg, Margot, ­Cardoso, Hugo & Selbach, Rachel (Eds), On gradual creolization: Studies celebrating Jacques Arends [Creole Language Library]. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Smith, Norval & Cardoso, Hugo. 2004. A new look at the Portuguese element in Saramaccan. Journal of Portuguese Linguistics 3: 115–147. (Special issue on Portuguese creoles edited by Norval Smith). Smith, Norval & Haabo, Vinije. 2007. The Saramaccan implosives: Tools for linguistic ­archaeology? Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 22.1:101–122. Smith, Norval & van de Vate, Marleen. 2006. Population movements, colonial control and vowel systems. In Plag, Ingo & Bhatt, Parth (Eds), The structure of creole words: Segmental, syllabic and morphological aspects [Linguistische Arbeiten 505]. Tübingen: Niemeyer. 59–82. Sommier Discours. 1638. Sommier Discours over den Staet (…) van Brasil. [14/1/1638.] [Edited by S. Carpentier, Bijdragen en Mededelingen van het Historisch Genootschap te Utrecht 1979: 257–317.] Thornton, John. 2005. Not Imbangala. The Angolan background of early Palmares, 1579–1648. (Paper delivered at the conference Slavery from within: Comparative perspectives and ­legacies in the Atlantic world. Roosevelt Study Center, Middelburg, Netherlands). Williamson, Kay & Wakama, Carol. 2001. A slightly mixed language in Okrika. Paper presented at the 30th Colloquium on African Languages and Linguistics, Leiden University.

Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri Problems of language contact* Sibylle Kriegel

Laboratoire Parole et Langage, CNRS Université Aix-Marseille 1

Ralph Ludwig

Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg

Fabiola Henri

Université Paris 7 This article explores the question of language contact between Mauritian Creole and the Indo-Aryan language Bhojpuri. Historically, contact between these two languages came about as a result of the massive immigration of Indians to Mauritius, dating from the second half of the 19th century, after the abolition of slavery. This contact situation has lasted up until present times, since Bhojpuri remains, after Mauritian Creole, the most widely used spoken language in Mauritius. Diachronically, there are at least two stages of influence: (i) Bhojpuri had some influence on Creole from the 1830s onwards, and (ii) the two languages continue to interact until today, the result of which is the possibility of even more evident diversification in the diastratic and diatopic architecture of the creole. The more general issue is narrowed down to an analysis of a particular semantic-grammatical category: ablative Path expression. In this article, we defend the hypothesis that the use of depi as an ablative marker is essentially due to Bhojpuri influence. Additionally, certain kinds of uses of depi as an ablative marker function as distinctive markers of the variety of Mauritian Creole spoken by Indians. This study draws on data from recent research carried out in Mauritius, as well as the analysis of a corpus of written texts and spoken discourse, recorded and transcribed by the authors.

*We are grateful to Shelly Ann Meade for very useful comments on this paper and help in translation. We also would like to thank our Bhojpuri speaking friends Mme Gajadhur, M Ramdhanee and Mme Shibduth for thorough discussion of our examples.

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

1.  Introduction In this paper, we will examine the interaction between the expression of the notion of path, notably the ablative relation, and certain tendencies which characterize the linguistic ecosystem on the island of Mauritius. This is a multilingual environment where French-lexified Mauritian Creole is the main spoken language, and exists alongside various other languages. The present paper will focus on one variety of Mauritian Creole which is heavily influenced by Mauritian Bhojpuri, an Indo-Aryan language.

2.  The ecosystem: Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 2.1  Multilingualism in Mauritius Legally, the official status of languages is not stipulated in the Mauritian Constitution. But Article 49 of the 1992 Constitution treats the language of Parliament and specifies that “the official language of the Assembly is English, but all members may address the presidency in French” (Leclerc 2007). It should be noted that both written and spoken English are largely restricted to the political arena, and that English plays only a minor role in the everyday life of Mauritians. According to an official census in 2000 (Atchia-Emmerich 2005: II, Appendix), the main language spoken at home is Mauritian Creole with 826,152 speakers (70.08%) and Bhojpuri with 142,387 speakers (12.07%), out of a total of 1,178,848 people (100%). If one takes into account those people who declare that they have two “home languages”, the figures are 949,270 (80.52%) Creole speakers and 150,032 (12.72%) ­Bhojpuri speakers. The Ethnologue (Gordon 2005) gives a figure of 336,000 Bhojpuri speakers, apparently based on less recent data. According to the similar figures in Neerputh (1986) and Baker & Ramnah (1985), approximately a third of the population speaks Bhojpuri.1 Although, according to the 2000 census, Bhojpuri is losing importance, it still plays an important role in the spoken register. In this article, we focus on the interaction between Creole and Bhojpuri, the main languages used in the spoken register.

.  These accounts do not specify whether Bhojpuri is spoken as L1 or as L2. The lack of distinction between L1 and L2 concerns all the quoted figures and may be due to the fact that the distinction is not specified in the official censuses in which people were simply asked to specify (1) the language usually spoken at home, and (2) the language of their forefathers. Concerning the difficulties of interpreting the official censuses, see Baker & Ramnah 1988.



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

But first, we wish to make some observations on the Creole spoken by all or the majority of Mauritians on a day-to-day basis: Recent developments reveal that the status of Creole has changed as compared to a decade ago. We are observing an increased use of Creole in formal contexts: a marked increase in the use of Creole in television programmes and daily newspapers, as well as a change in attitudes towards the introduction of Creole in education.2 However, the use of written Creole remains problematic: the writing system (in itself) presents an obstacle. The use of Creole in the written medium would seem to be considered by the majority of the language users as going beyond a cultural taboo. Nevertheless, the “Grafi-larmoni” (harmonized writing system) proposed by Vinesh Hookoomsing upon request by the Ministry of Education and Scientific Research, was approved by the government in September 2004 and may prove to be the solution to this problem (Hookoomsing 2004). 2.2  Bhojpuri, its varieties, and its relation to other Indian languages Bhojpuri3 is an Indo-Aryan language of the Eastern Zone (Shukla 1981)4 and is in no way a dialect or corrupted form of Hindi, as is often believed. It is mainly spoken in the western part of the state of Bihar, in the eastern part of Uttar Pradesh and in some regions of Nepal. In India alone, there are approximately 25 million speakers (Gordon 2005). Mesthrie (1991: 242) points out the “immense regional variation, the absence of a standard form of the language, and the constant influence from closely related varieties like Awadhi in the west, Magahi and Maithili in the east, and more importantly, standard and regional Hindi”. Bhojpuri was exported to different parts of the world from the 1830s onwards through the emigration of Indian workers as indentured labourers, first to Mauritius (from 1834), then to Guyana (from 1839), Trinidad (from 1845), South Africa (from 1860), Surinam (from 1873) and Fiji (from 1879). Thus indentured labourers who embarked mainly in the port of Calcutta, but also Bombay and Madras, arrived in masses in Mauritius from 1835, the

.  See Ludwig & Henri & Bruneau-Ludwig, forthcoming. .  “The name Bhojpuri is derived from Bhojpūr, once an important old town in western Bihar. Bhoj denotes the warrior clan of rulers of the city in earlier times – the Ujjaini Bhojas, while pūr is the word for ‘town’, common throughout the country.” (Mesthrie 1991: 29ff). .  Bhojpuri is often classified in the Magadhan group of Indo-Aryan (Domingue 1971: 24, Neerputh 1986: 6, for a summary of classification criteria of the Indic languages, see Mesthrie 1991: 9ff).

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

official year of the abolition of slavery.5 Toussaint (1974) writes that the effect of this movement was a definitive Indianization of Mauritius. He underlines that up until the end of Indian immigration in 1909, the island received almost 450,000 indentured labourers, the majority of whom did not return to India. These indentured labourers were mostly Bhojpuri speakers (Neerputh 1986: 9ff; see also Mesthrie 1991: 26), which explains the importance of this language in Mauritius. However, it should be emphasized that there was a considerable population of speakers of other languages from South Asia, including Dravidian languages like Tamil and Telugu, languages which a minority of today’s speakers still declare as being their “language usually spoken at home”,6 sometimes alongside Bhojpuri (see the Population Census of the Republic of Mauritius 2000).7 As far as the relationship between Indian Bhojpuri and the variety spoken in Mauritius is concerned, Baker & Ramnah (1988) carry out a detailed comparison between modern Mauritian Bhojpuri and texts of twelve different geographical varieties of Indian Bhojpuri published by Grierson (1903), concluding that the “standard Magahi” variety comes closest to Mauritian Bhojpuri overall but that it is apparent that Mauritian Bhojpuri does not derive from this alone but is a “blend” of several varieties of Indian Bhojpuri. Domingue (1981) lists grammatical features where simplification is evident, namely the system of honorifics (see below) and the notion of gender. The feminine marker on the verb only continues to exist in the second person singular past tense of certain archaic registers of Mauritian Bhojpuri. Moreover, according to Domingue (1981: 7) Mauritian Bhojpuri has lost the optional adjective agreement which exists in Indian Bhojpuri. Domingue claims, moreover, that these processes of simplification are not a result of contact with Creole, but “they appear to be due to the “move” itself, to the geographical and historical distances which have severed the links between the transplanted variety and its origins” (1981: 52). Baker & Ramnah (1985: 230) conclude that “Mauritian Bhojpuri is not a radically

.  For details concerning the immigration of populations from the Indian sub-continent to Mauritius in the 18th century (thus before the arrival of indentured labourers), see Vaughan (2005). .  Although Tamil, Telugu and various other languages of India are returned as “language usually spoken in the home” in the Mauritian censuses, this does not necessarily mean that there are any homes in which these are “usually spoken” (Philip Baker, personal communication). .  According to Atchia-Emmerich (2005), nowadays Bhojpuri is spoken by the majority of Indians in Mauritius, even those who in the census indicate that they have kept their ancestral languages, like the Tamils, the Marathis and the Telugus.



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

restructured form of Indian Bhojpuri and has certainly not undergone anything comparable to the process of creolization.”8 It seems that Mauritian Bhojpuri, to speak in terms of markedness theory, is affected by certain processes of markedness reduction. Let us consider an example on the morphological level: the system of personal pronouns in Indian and Mauritian Bhojpuri (as part of the system of honorifics). The simplification processes become evident if one compares both varieties of Bhojpuri: (1) System of personal pronouns Indian Bhojpuri9 Mauritian Bhojpuri10 1 sg ham ham 2 sg formal: a:p tou informal: tu: familiar: tæ 3 sg formal: wan ou informal: u: 1 pl hamman (ke) hamni 2 pl formal: a:p lo:g tou informal: tuhan (ke) 3 pl formal: u: lo:g holog informal: onnhan (ke)

Mauritian Creole mo ou to li nu zot zot

When compared to Indian Bhojpuri, Mauritian Bhojpuri is characterized by a system in which forms of the 2nd person and the 3rd person singular and plural are reduced. We will return to this point in §2.3.2. Mauritian Bhojpuri is also distinguished from Indian Bhojpuri by various phonetic and morphophonological processes/modifications.

.  See also Mesthrie (1991: 93ff) who speaks of simplification in the transplanted varieties. Like Baker & Ramnah (1985) for Mauritian Bhojpuri, he underlines that the structural simplification processes in the South African variety are not evidence of pidginization and creolization (1991: 104). .  See Shukla (1981: 76). Where several forms are noted, the first one indicates the formal form, the second the informal and the third, familiar. .  The information in this column was compiled using data from our own studies, where we transcribed Mauritian Bhojpuri using the writing conventions proposed by Hookoomsing (2004). It corresponds largely to Neerputh’s (1986: 27) table, apart from some divergences in the spelling.

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

Concerning the question of mutual intelligibility between Hindi and Mauritian Bhojpuri,11 it is important to specify that many Mauritian Bhojpuri speakers are also speakers of or have a (passive) competence in Hindi,12 especially since younger generations learn Hindi as heritage language at school and a majority of Mauritian Bhojpuri speakers have access to televised programs in Hindustani (Hindi/Urdu). Thus, there is mutual comprehension, at least among certain speakers, and equally a permanent contact between Hindi and Bhojpuri in Mauritius. 2.3  Contact between Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri

2.3.1  Creole influences on Bhojpuri Generally speaking, the tendency to replace marked features by unmarked ones (mentioned above) can be attributed either to the influence of Creole or to the laws of orality which show a tendency towards generalizing the unmarked form and which also govern (historical) creolization and the use of Bhojpuri in Mauritius.13 However, the influence of Creole on Bhojpuri is clearly evident in the area of lexis. As will be shown in the following examples, Mauritian Bhojpuri makes use of several Creole borrowings.14 (2) a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri15 Bazaar se pom anye. market abl apple bring

.  Cf. Domingue’s (1981: 52) comment concerning linguistic awareness: “Mauritian Bhojpuri is so different from Continental Bhojpuri that its speakers are not really sure that they are, indeed, speaking that language. In fact, most of them believe that they speak some patois of Hindi, very much like Mauritian Creole speakers believe that they speak a patois of French”. If this analysis remains true for many older speakers, the attitudes of younger generations of speakers have nevertheless changed insofar as they draw a distinction between Bhojpuri “language of the older generation” for many, and Hindi, prestige language learnt at school. .  Our informants clarify that those who studied Hindi at school up to CPE (end of primary education) have passive competence, i.e., they understand but do not speak Hindi. Those who study Hindi in high school have an active competence. .  Thus Baker & Ramnah (1985: 219 ff) mention that the function of the unmarked form of the noun in Mauritian Bhojpuri corresponds exactly to that of the Creole Prototype. However they are unable to determine whether this parallel is truly due to a Creole influence. .  Baker & Ramnah (1985: 226) estimate some 1000 Creole words in Mauritian Bhojpuri, cf. also Neerputh (1986: 11). Mesthrie (1991: 153) reports examples of the transfer of Creole lexemes to South African Bhojpuri via Mauritian Bhojpuri. 15.  Another possible influence from Bhojpuri is discussed in Kriegel & Michaelis (2007): The polyvalent item ar in modern Mauritian Creole may be a trace of the conjunction marker ar/aur in Bhojpuri (Kriegel & Michaelis 2007: 121f).



b.

Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

Mauritian Creole Amenn enn pom depi bazar. bring indf apple abl market ‘Bring an apple from the market.’

These processes of borrowing include the use of entire phrases which seem to become complex lexical items in Bhojpuri: (3)16 a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri Ham danbwa se nikla thain. 1sg forest abl come.from aux.asp.1sg

b.

Mauritian Creole Mo sorti dan bwa. 1sg come.from loc forest. ‘I come from the forest.’

However, in the area of lexis, the extent to which Bhojpuri words are replaced by Creole equivalents varies according to geographical (urban versus rural areas) and age differences. Evidently, urban and younger speakers use Creole words more frequently than rural or older speakers. Thus, two sociolinguistic factors are shown to be important when considering the evolution of the linguistic ecosystem of Mauritius: urbanization and diagenerational variation.17 Here, we will merely make reference to these few examples concerning lexis and will return to the possible reciprocal influences on morphosyntax in the following paragraph, as well as in §3.

2.3.2  Bhojpuri influence on Creole It has been shown that Bhojpuri has, for its part, left several lexical traces on Creole. Baker & Ramnah (1985: 226) cite a figure of more than 300 words of Indo-Aryan origin in Mauritian Creole, of which the majority are probably from Bhojpuri (Kriegel & Ludwig & Henri forthcoming). During our surveys, informants brought to light the fact that certain Bhojpuri words have been integrated into Creole, some examples being: 18 karay (‘frying

16.  We are grateful to Kumari Issur, who provided us with this example and who also drew our attention to the fact that dan-bwa as a single word translates as “forest” and can even be replaced by lafore where Bhojpuri is used in contexts calling for a higher register. It would seem, then, that Bhojpuri borrows lexical items (lexemes) from various Creole registers. 17.  For more detailed analysis of these factors, see Díaz & Ludwig & Pfänder (2002). 18.  See Baker (1982: 314 ff.) for a methodical summary in which some of these words are found.

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

pan’), deksi (‘cooking pot’), pagla (‘crazy/mad’), douk (‘problem’), gounga (‘mute/ dumb’), tamasa (‘party’). According to Thomason & Kaufman (1988), influence on morphosyntax is only found in cases of relatively intense language contact. More specifically, the pronominal system of Mauritian Creole shows, even though indirectly, a possible piece of evidence of Bhojpuri influence.19 Mauritian Creole differentiates between the polite and informal forms of the 2nd person singular, i.e. the opposition ou vs. to (see (1)). The French pronoun vous did not become the generalized form, expressing both distance (“vous”) and proximity (“tu”), as it did in several French-based Creoles.20 (4)

Mauritian Creole a. To/ou pou vini demin? 2  come tomorrow ‘Will you come tomorrow?’ b.

Ki ou/to kone ou/twa? ou/to pe rakont mwa zistwar! what 2 know 2. 2  tell 1. story ‘What do you know about this? You’re joking!’ (Lit. “you are telling me stories’)

c.

To/ou pran sa sime la to/ou al drwat mem. 2 take  way  2 go straight ‘Turn on this street and go straight ahead.’

In the context of language contact in Mauritius, the preservation of this opposition from French could be related to Bhojpuri. At first it would seem that this observation is paradoxical since, as has been shown in (1), Mauritian Bhojpuri has lost the formal/informal distinction in the 2nd person singular personal pronoun.

. Another possible influence from Bhojpuri is discussed in Kriegel & Michaelis (2007): The polyvalent item ar in modern Mauritian Creole may be a trace of the conjunction marker ar/ aur in Bhojpuri (Kriegel & Michaelis 2007: 121f). According to Corne (1983: 77 ff ), certain processes of reduplication in Mauritian Creole could be indicative of another Bhojpuri trace. Corne demonstrates that, where reduplication of numerals as in (i) is concerned, it is more likely that this resembles Bhojpuri and Hindi strategies (see also Baker & Corne 1987: 80f), but not a result of Malagasy influence or Bantu languages (see Baissac 1880: 90).

(i)

Li don en broke dilo kat-kat dimun. ‘He gives a jar of water to each of four people.’

Additionally, this should not be likened to the universally widespread strategy of using reduplicated numbers adverbially. . It should however be pointed out that this opposition is not always attributable to Bhojpuri influence: it also exists in other French-lexified Creoles e.g., Louisiana Creole or Guyanese Creole and is attested in Antillean and Haitian Creole up to the early 19th century.



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

In fact, Mauritian Bhojpuri has the pronoun tou for the 2nd person singular, 21 used in informal as well as formal registers. Therefore phonetic proximity between tou and to does not constitute a satisfactory explanation: If Mauritian Creole had generalized to (< French tu) while eliminating ou (< French vous), then this explanation would be plausible. However, Mauritian Creole is one of the few creoles that preserved the opposition between the two. How should there be any relationship with Bhojpuri given that this language eliminated this very opposition? We suggest, nonetheless, that there is a possible connection: Upon closer examination, one finds that Bhojpuri did lose the formal pronominal form of the 2nd person singular, but the formal-informal opposition is perfectly maintained in the verbal system: (5) Mauritian Bhojpuri a. Tou kahan djat hawe? 2sg prep go.asp aux.2sg.informal ‘Where are you going?’ (informal) b. Tou kahan djat hawa? 2sg prep go.asp aux.2sg.formal ‘Where are you going?’ (formal/polite)

as well as for possessives: (6) Mauritian Bhojpuri a. Tora sak ha? poss.informal bag dem ‘Is this your bag?’ (informal) b. Tohala sak ha? poss.formal bag dem ‘Is this your bag?’ (formal/polite)

The distinction between formal and informal is still marked, not on personal pronouns, but on the verb, where a final -e is used for informal register and -a for formal (see Neerputh 1986: 27ff and 50ff; Sewtohul 1990: 126 ff). For a more detailed conjugation table, see Baker & Ramnah 1985: 223). This distinction also occurs with possessives, referred to as the genitive pronoun in the literature (Shukla 1981: 168). To sum up, one could state that the two languages maintain the distinction between formal and informal forms although, in terms of morphology, this is expressed at different levels.

21.  Neerputh (1986: 27). This form also exists in Indian Bhojpuri, see Shukla’s (1981) table.

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

We have already mentioned the fact that several French-lexified Creoles, notably Seychelles Creole, which is similar to Mauritian Creole in many respects, 22 generalized the form derived from French vous to formal and informal registers. We could also consider a noteworthy observation concerning another variety of “exported” Bhojpuri from the context of indentured labour: according to Mesthrie (1991: 100), South African Bhojpuri lost the distinction between formal and informal both on the verb and on the pronoun. Thus, two varieties (other Frenchlexified creoles and South African Bhojpuri) which are similar to the two Mauritian languages lost the formal/informal distinction. If the distinction is maintained in Mauritian Creole as well as in Mauritian Bhojpuri, although this is manifested at different levels, we propose that this could be due to the reciprocal influence and interaction between Mauritian Creole and Mauritian Bhojpuri. We therefore hypothesize that this is a case of convergence between Mauritian Creole and Mauritian Bhojpuri. 3.  The expression of Path 3.2  The semantic categories: Ablative, allative and essive Let us first examine the semantic categories involved in a local situation. For this purpose, we will adopt the conceptual and terminological suggestions of Lehmann (1992) and Talmy (1985). A local situation presents, according to Lehmann (1992), the following structure (see also Michaelis (this volume) for its application to creole languages): A moving or located object or Figure 23 is involved in a situation and locally related or oriented with respect to a local region of a reference object, which can also be called Ground. It is important to distinguish between the local region or place of the reference object and the orientation or Path (Talmy 1985). In this paper, we are particularly interested in the coding of Path. 24 We distinguish the following types of Path: essive (at rest, “to be at”), allative (motion-to, “to go to”) and ablative (motion-from, “to come from”) and will pay special attention to the coding of the ablative relation in intransitive movement. 22.  The separation of Seychelles Creole from Mauritian Creole predates large-scale Indian immigration in Mauritius. 23.  Concerning this point, we follow Talmy (1985: 61) who gives the following definitions: “The terms “Figure” and “Ground” are taken from Gestalt psychology but we give them a distinct semantic interpretation here: the Figure is a moving or conceptually movable object whose path or site is at issue; the Ground is a reference frame, or a reference point stationary within a reference-frame with respect to which the Figure’s path or site is characterized.” 24.  The “Path” (with a capital P) is the course followed or site occupied by the Figure object with respect to the Ground object.



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

3.2  The unmarked expression In French, the preposition de normally encodes the ablative relation and the preposition à encodes the allative (and essive) relation. These two prepositions have been lost during creolization and have not been replaced by other prepositions in most varieties of Mauritian Creole. In ablative and allative contexts, the verb combines with the Ground without any Path-denoting preposition: Examples for the ablative relation: (7) Mauritian Creole a. Mo sorti Vakwa. 1sg come.from Vacoas ‘I’m coming from Vacoas.’ b. Dadi sort lakanpagn. Grandma come.from countryside ‘Grandma comes from the countryside’. c.

Zak sorti kot Pol. Jacques come.from loc Paul ‘Jacques is coming from Paul’s (place).’

Examples for the allative relation: (8) Mauritian Creole a. Mo pe al Vakwa. 1sg asp go Vacoas ‘I am going to Vacoas.’ b. Zak pe al kot Pol. Jacques asp go loc Paul ‘Jacques is going to Paul’s (place).’

The zero-expression of ablative and allative in Mauritian Creole corresponds to the strategy employed by other French-lexified creoles. Here we will limit our comparison to Lesser Antillean Creole, especially Guadeloupean Creole and Dominican Creole. Examples for the ablative relation: (9) a.

Dominican Creole (Ludwig & Telchid & Bruneau-Ludwig 2001: 39) Sété bagay ki té sòti lòt pèyi kòmisyon foc.pst thing rel pst come.from other country goods



ki sòti lòt pèyi. rel come.from other country

‘These were things which came from other countries, goods which came from other countries.’ b.

Guadeloupean Creole (Ludwig & Montbrand & Poullet & Telchid 2002: 296) Ou sòti lwen. 2sg come.from far ‘You’ve come from far.’

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

Examples for the allative relation: (10)

Guadeloupean Creole (G. Hazaël-Massieux 1989: 207) Mwen kalé Paris. 1sg ipfv.go Paris ‘I am going to Paris.’

We also refer the reader to Michaelis (this volume), who works with examples from Seychelles Creole corresponding to our examples of unmarked expressions in (7)–(10) from Mauritian Creole and Lesser Antillean Creole. In Seychelles Creole, as in our examples (7)–(10), the ablative relation and the distinction between ablative and allative relation is not grammatically encoded. Seychelles Creole (11) Mon al dan bwa. 1sg go in forest ‘I’m going into the forest.’ (12) Mon sorti dan 25 bwa. 1sg come.from in forest ‘I’m coming from the forest.’

According to Michaelis (this volume), many creoles behave like Seychelles Creole in that they do not express Path overtly; the appropriate interpretation has to be inferred from the semantics of the verb. Even if we suggest, for instance, that in Lesser Antillean Creole serial verb constructions must be considered in the expression of Path (see §3.3), Michaelis’s main hypothesis is of great significance to our paper: She claims that those constructions not conforming to the encoding strategies in the European base languages are attributable to substrate influence. In this paper, we will not be looking at the possible substrate languages of Mauritian Creole but we will focus on a construction type current in some varieties of Mauritian Creole which are influenced by Bhojpuri, which can be qualified as being an adstrate language for Mauritian Creole. Our results will point to the same trend as that suggested by Michaelis (this volume) and Essegbey (2005). In the domain of expressing Path, language contact seems to play a crucial role. 3.3  The marked expression: Comparison with Lesser Antillean Creole When it comes to the more explicit expression of directionality (Path), we observe that Mauritian Creole favours different strategies from Lesser Antillean Creole which, once more, is used here as a point of comparison. 25.  Note that dan refers to the local region of the reference object or Ground and does not express Path.



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

Lesser Antillean Creole can make use of prepositions, as shown by the following examples from Guadeloupean Creole and Dominican Creole. (13) Guadeloupean Creole (Ludwig & Telchid & Bruneau-Ludwig 2001: 78) Manman-y té ka voyé-y fè konmisyon mother-3sg.poss pst ipfv send-3sg.obj do errands a pyé jous Twarivyè. on foot to Trois-Rivières ‘His mother used to send him to run errands on foot all the way to Trois-Rivières.’ (14)

Dominican Creole (Ludwig & Telchid & Bruneau-Ludwig 2001: 40) Épi yo ay monté jik anho koté mouché James. and.then 3pl go ascend to at.the.top loc Mister James ‘And they went right (all the way) up to Mr James’s house…’

In addition, a widespread method of expressing directionality in traditional basilectal Lesser Antillean Creole is the predicative serial construction, as in (15) (allative touché) and (16) (ablative + allative) (this construction does not really form part of younger generations’ competence nowadays): (15)

Guadeloupean Creole (Ludwig 1996: 248) I pwan vwati, touché Lapwent. 3sg take car touch La Pointe ‘He went (all the way to) La Pointe by car.’

(16) I pati Bastè rivé Lapwent. 3sg leave Basse-Terre arrive La Pointe ‘He left Basse-Terre and got to/got as far as La Pointe.’

Serial constructions in Guadeloupean Creole and Dominican Creole may also express directionality in relation to the speaker’s perspective, without including a (different or explicit) point of departure or arrival. 26 An example is (17): (17)

Guadeloupean Creole (Ludwig & Montbrand & Poullet & Telchid 2002: 257) I ka pléré, menné-y alé! 3sg ipfv weep lead-3sg.obj go ‘He/She is crying, take him/her away!’

In Mauritian Creole, serial constructions only play a minimal role (see Kriegel & Ludwig & Henri, forthcoming), whereas they play an important role in several basi­lectal varieties of French-lexified Creoles. As for prepositional markers, the relation­ ship is reversed: they play an important role in Mauritian Creole. Particularly noteworthy 26.  One could argue that Ablative includes this explicit expression of the point of departure; nevertheless, it is clear that constructions like (17) semantically include the idea of a – nonspecified – reference point which constitutes the point of departure for an intentional directional movement (in this case, the situation of communication).

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

is the frequency of occurrence of depi ‘from’, which especially characterizes the Bhojpuri-influenced variety, as has already been mentioned by Baker (1972: 112, 117). 3.4  Different functions and uses of depi (< depuis) in Mauritian Creole We will now focus on the Mauritian Creole preposition depi, derived from French depuis. It is undoubtedly the most frequently used explicit path marker in Mauritian Creole, serving a variety of functions which sometimes seem incomprehensible if one is unaware of the contact situation between Mauritian Creole and Mauritian Bhojpuri. We will first list the principal functions:

3.4.1  Local point of departure (ablative) The examples in (18)–(21) illustrate the most basic local use of depi, the simple ablative (‘from’) use. (18) Mo papa sort depi Sesel, li ’nn vini pu travay dan Moris. poss father come.from abl Seychelles 3sg asp come for work loc Mauritius ‘My father comes from the Seychelles, he came to work in Mauritius (…)’. (Bord la Mer 82) (19)

Kot to pou ale depi isi? where 2sg mod go abl here ‘Where will you go from here?’ (Dev Virahsawmy Hamlet 2, http://pages.intnet.mu/develog/)

(20) Pyer finn zet so bann vye soulye depi enn pon. Pyer compl throw poss.3sg pl old shoe abl indf bridge ‘Pyer threw his old shoes off a bridge.’ (21) Mo kapav tir sa depi la? 1sg can remove dem abl here ‘Can I (re)move this from there?’

Depi ‘from’ and dan ‘in’ may also occur together, as illustrated in (22)–(24). (22) Mo ’nn tir mo lakle depi dan mo sak. 1sg compl take.out poss.1sg key abl loc poss.1sg bag ‘I took the key out of my bag.’ (23) Mo sorti depi dan lafore. 1sg come.from abl loc forest ‘I am coming out of the forest.’ (24)

Li tir so linet depi dan so pos. 3sg take.out poss glasses abl loc poss pocket. ‘He took his glasses out of his pocket.’ (Virahsawmy, Dev: Linconnsing Finalay, http://pages.intnet.mu/develog/teatmlfl.htm)



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

These combinations of depi and dan match the conceptual structure of a local situation perfectly: The preposition dan refers to the local region of the reference object or Ground, and the preposition depi refers to the Path. But language contact may also have played a determining role in creating these patterns, as we will see in §4.2.2. 3.4.2  Local point of departure and arrival (ablative + allative) As expected, the preposition depi may occur together with an allative expression marked by ziska ‘to’, to express the beginning and end of a path, as seen in (25)–(27). Again, both depi and ziska can combine with dan ‘in’ (see 25). (25)

Depi dan kan lao li vini ziska dan kan anba. abl loc camp top 3sg come all loc camp bottom ‘He’s going from the higher camp right down to the one at the bottom.’ (Bord La Mer 82)

(26) Depi Vakwa ziska Maybour Pol inn dormi dan loto. abl Vacoas all Mahébourg Paul compl sleep loc car ‘Paul has been sleeping in the car from Vacoas to Mahébourg.’ (27) Li nn get mwa depi lao ziska anba. 3sg compl look.at 1sg.obj abl top all bottom ‘He looked at me from head to toe.’ (He looked at me from top to bottom.)

But it is less expected that depi should also be used to code the allative relation in such patterns: (28) a.

Depi lao depi anba, ena bokou pou marse. abl top all bottom aux much to walk ‘(To go) from top to bottom, there’s a lot of walking to do.’

b. Depi sannmars depi lagar ena trafik. abl champs.de.mars all gare aux traffic ‘From Champs de Mars up to the station, the traffic is jammed.’

This rather interesting use of depi instead of ziska to mark the allative, which is especially characteristic of the Indo-Mauritian variety of the Creole, was already noted by Baissac (1880): Depuis, dipis. Depuis ici jusque-là, Dipis ici zousqu’à-là; mais le créole disait avant qu’il connût zousqu’à ou zisquà, jusque, au lieu de: J’ai sauté depuis ici jusque là, Mo té sauté 27 dipis là, dipis là, ce qui était plus original. (Baissac 1880: 78)

In Baissac’s old texts we find an attestation of this use, see example (42). 27.  “From, dipis. From here to there, Dipis ici zousquà-là; but the Creole would say before he knew zousqu’à or zisquà, ‘to’, instead of: I jumped from here to there, Mo té sauté dipis là, dipis là, which was in fact more original.”

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

3.4.3  Temporal beginning Like its French source word depuis, depi may express a temporal beginning. (29) Depi katrer granmatin gardyen vinn tap laport ek abl four.o’clock morning watchman come knock door with so gro dibwa. poss big wood ‘Since four o’clock this morning, the watchman came knocking at the door with his big stick.’ (Bord La Mer, 82) (30) Depi yer li ’nn al Porlwi. abl yesterday 3sg compl go Port-Louis ‘Since yesterday he left for Port-Louis.’

3.4.4  Temporal beginning and endpoint The combinations depi-ziska and depi-depi, which we saw in §3.4.2, can also express temporal beginning and endpoint: (31) depi sizer ziska witer abl six.o’clock all eight.o’clock ‘from six o’clock to eight o’clock’ (32) depi sizer depi witer abl six.o’clock all eight.o’clock ‘from six o’clock to eight o’clock’

3.4.5  Temporal endpoint Depi may also express a temporal endpoint in the absence of an expression for a starting point: (33) Sa trin la pou gouvernman sa, li ed depi ler. dem train def to government dem 3sg help all hour ‘This train belongs to the government, it has been useful up to today.’

3.4.6  Extended uses Like ablative markers of other languages, depi may be used in a range of more abstract (nonspatial, nontemporal) functions. One is a human source: (34) Me anmemtan nou pe truv osi bann priz de pozisyon but same.time 1pl asp find too pl statement of opinion eklere dan lapres ki kapav amenn inpe progre pu langaz enlightened loc press rel can lead some progress for language



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

Kreol – ki li depi Gilbert Ahnee, J.Claude de Lestrac, (…) e lezot. Creole rel 3sg abl Gilbert Ahnee J. Claude de Lestrac and other ‘But similarly/at the same time we are witnessing enlightened statements of opinion in the press which could mean progress for the Creole language – be it from Gilbert Ahnee, J.Claude de Lestrac, Mme. Alfred, (…) and others.’ (Lalit 17/02/2004 http://www.lalitmauritius.com/) (35) Nou ’nn gagn enn papye depi gouvernman. 1pl compl get indf papier from government ‘We (have) received a document from the government.’

Another use is the delimitation of an extension of patients (this is similar to “local function”): (36) Depi twa, depi to mama zot tou pou kone ar mwa. from 2sg.obj from poss.2sg mother 2pl all mod know with 1sg.obj ‘You and your mother, you’re going to get a good beating.’ (lit. “From you to your mother…’)

In (37), we see a more abstract point of departure, and in (38) depi denotes a partitive relation or origin. (37) Mo byen satisfe pou truv li disparet depi mo lavi (…) 1sg very satisfied mod find 3sg.obj disappear from poss life ‘I’m content to see him disappear from my life…’ (38) Dimoun sorti depi diferan klas sosial, diferan group etnik people come.from from different class social different group ethnic ek kars, diferan okipasion pe monte-desan. with caste different occupation asp go.up-go.down ‘People from different social classes, different ethnic groups and castes, different occupations, go and come.’ (Virahsawmy Dev: Prezidan Otelo, http://pages. intnet.mu/develog/index2.htm)

3.4.7  Depi in old texts Except perhaps the extended uses, all the functions of depi, depi-ziska, and even depidepi are attested in older texts. We will only cite a few examples of the local function: (39) Lher la foul conne ça, zot sivré li a pié when def crowd know this 3pl follow 3sg.obj by foot dipi tou zot la vil. abl all 3pl.poss town ‘The people heard about it, and so they left their towns and followed him by land.’ (Matthew 14, 13, translation by Anderson 1885)

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

(40) (…) soley va vine noar, la line na pa va soleil fut become black moon neg fut donne so clarté, é zétoal va tombé dipi dan lé ciel (…) give poss clarté and star fut fall abl loc heaven ‘Soon after the trouble of those days, the sun will grow dark, the moon will no longer shine, the stars will fall from heaven…’ (Matthew 24, 29, translation by Anderson 1885) (41) Avla ki lherla mem, voal dan le tampl ti décir an dé, voilà rel moment int veil prep temple pst tear prep two dipi laho ziska anba, (…) abl top all bottom ‘Then the curtain hanging in the temple was torn in two from top to bottom…’ (Matthew 27, 51, translation by Anderson 1885) (42) Mais so cloisons laçambe là napas dibois napas plances: dipis but poss partition room def neg wood neg planks abl

en

haut, dipis en bas toute loison nèque éne grand grand laglace même. top all bottom all partition just indf big big mirror même ‘But the partition in his/her room is not made of wood or boards: from top to bottom the partition is a big, big mirror.’ (Baissac 1880: 56)

4.  Th  e contribution of French and Bhojpuri to Mauritian Creole Path expressions 4.1  French influence French draws upon two main prepositional formulas to express Path or directionality (point of departure and point of arrival): de … à and depuis … jusqu’à. The depuis … jusqu’à construction marks duration, extent and continuity in a local, temporal or more abstract sense. It should, however, be stressed that the temporal uses of depuis are much more frequent in contemporary French. It was found that in the oral corpus CORPAIX, only 5 out of 234 occurrences of depuis are used in a local sense (Berthille Pallaud, personal communication). However, from a diachronic perspective, the primary use is the local one (see Haspelmath 1997: 139). Thus, French, as the lexifier language during creolization and as a current adstrate, explains: •  the basic semantic value of depi, even though depi seems unmarked when compared to French



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

•  some extensions of meaning of depi-ziska (semantic contiguity in general) •  the uses of (a form of) depi for the partitive and possessive (French as an adstrate) The influence of French, however, does not explain: •  the frequent use of depi as an ablative marker in Mauritian Creole; French also acted as a lexifier language for other creoles in which, however, this marker did not undergo extension of meaning and where serial constructions are used more predominantly (cf. the example of Guadeloupean Creole) •  the neutralization of depi-ziska to depi-depi •  uses like depi dan •  the almost exclusive use of certain functions of depi in the Indo-Mauritian variety of Creole (cf. §4.2) 4.2  Bhojpuri influence

4.2.1  The hypothesis – marking at the lectal level We propose that Bhojpuri played a critical role in the generalization of depi as an ablative and sometimes allative marker. Proof of the plausibility of this hypothesis may first be sought in lectal usages of depi: i.  Depi used as an ablative marker, side by side with the zero marker (cf. example 18: Mo papa sort depi Sesel vs. Mo papa sort Ø Sesel) is a peculiarity of the Indo-Mauritian variety of the Creole. ii.  As we briefly mentioned in §3.4, the tendency to replace ziska ‘until’ by depi is characteristic of the Indo-Mauritian variety of Creole, many of whose speakers are also Bhojpuri speakers (see examples (28–b) and (32)). We will revisit this hypothesis of lectal marking in §4.2.3 after examining data which would explain the transmission of structural features from Bhojpuri to Creole.

4.2.2  The particle se in Bhojpuri: contact with Creole In Mauritian Bhojpuri, the postposition se (see examples (2) and (3)) is used as an ablative marker; it is the range of functions and the frequency of use of this postposition which were the determining factors for the generalization of depi in Creole. The postposition se is a feature of Indian Bhojpuri and also appears in other Bhojpuri varieties, for example South African Bhojpuri. 28 We will confine our examples to cases where depi is used as an ablative marker. 28.  For Indian Bhojpuri se, Mesthrie (1991: 262) shows a range of functions which cover a relatively large semantic domain. However, illustrations are lacking: “The main postpositions are: (…) (b) se – covering the roles “source”, “comitative”, “instrument” and “force” (to be designated “abl”).”

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

(43)

Indian Bhojpuri (Shukla 1981: 161) Lalit pulh se ku: d-i:. Lalit bridge from jump-2sg.m.fut ‘Lalit will jump from the bridge.’

(44)

South African Bhojpuri (Mesthrie 1991: 257) Bāgh jangal se nikral. tiger jungle abl emerge.3sg.pst ‘The tiger emerged from the jungle.’

(45)

Indian Bhojpuri Ham bharat se ayal hai. 1sg India abl come aux ‘I come from India.’

(46)

Indian Bhojpuri Perre se ghir gal ba. tree abl escape.3sg.above go aux ‘He fell from the tree.’

(47) Indian Bhojpuri Bharat se ham Mauritius ayli. India abl 1sg Maurice go.1sg.fem.past ‘I went from India to Mauritius Island.’

The marker se plays a central role in the Mauritian Bhojpuri system, and the Creole translations (the b sentences in the following examples) clearly show the functional equivalence with depi. (48) a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri Ham ghar se awa thain. 1sg house abl come aux.asp.1sg

b.

Mauritian Creole Mo pe vini depi lakaz. 1sg asp come abl house ‘I’m coming from the house.’

(49)29 a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri Bazaar se pom anye. market abl apple bring

b.

Mauritian Creole Amenn enn pom depi bazar. bring indf apple abl market ‘Bring an apple from the market.’

29.  Example (49) repeats example (2).



(50) a.

Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

Mauritian Bhojpuri Hai sab informasion hamni ke internet se milal ba. dem all information 1pl obl internet abl get aux

b. Mauritian Creole Tou sa bann linformasion la, nou ’nn gagn all dem pl information dem 1pl compl get

li depi internet. 3sg.obj abl internet ‘All this information we found on the internet.’

The followiing examples show point of departure and point of arrival in a single sentence. Point of arrival may be expressed by the postposition le, whose use is optional. (51) a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri Ham ego taksi leni Vacoas se sahar (le). 1sg indf taxi take.1sg Vacoas abl Port-Louis all

b.

Mauritian Creole Mo ’nn pran enn taksi depi Vakwa ziska Porlwi. 1sg compl take indf taxi abl Vacoas all Port-Louis ‘I took a taxi (to go from) Vacoas to Port-Louis.’

(52) a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri Ronpwen se lagar (le) trafik ba. roundabout abl station (all) traffic aux

b.

Mauritian Creole Depi ronpwin ziska lagar ena trafik. abl roundabout all station aux traffic ‘From the roundabout up to the station, the traffic is jammed.’

Baker’s (1996) observations about the frequent confusion between depi and ziska among Bhojpuri speakers concur with ours. Baker concludes: “Bhojpuri, in common with Hindi and other languages of northern India, has a single morpheme corresponding to both depuis and jusqu’à. I thus think that the modern confusion between these two words results primarily from interference with Bhojpuri.” Our data, however, (see examples (51) and (52)) do not correspond exactly with this statement, given that our informants use the marker le for allative. We propose that the confusion between depi and ziska is attributable to a much more indirect influence from Bhojpuri: le is phonetically similar to se and moreover, its use is optional. These two factors could explain the frequent replacement of ziska by depi, the equivalent of se, in the Indo-Mauritian varieties of Mauritian Creole. Mauritian Bhojpuri also allows the combination of the ablative postposition se with the locative postposition me, providing a parallel to the combination of depi

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

and dan that we saw in §3.4.1 (53b is very similar to 24). Here the local region is expressed by me, and the ablative Path by se. (53) a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri Ham apan sak me se lakle nikalni. 1sg poss.1sg bag loc abl key take.out.asp

b.

Mauritian Creole Mo ’nn tir mo lakle depi dan mo sak. 1sg compl take.out poss.1sg key abl loc poss.1sg bag ‘I took the key out of my bag.’

In §3.4.1, we explained the combined uses of depi dan in Mauritian Creole by the conceptual structure, noting that dan refers to the local region of the reference object and depi to path. However, this type of use does not exist in French or, as far as we know, in any other French-lexified creole. Again, the combination depi dan seems to be due to Mauritian Bhojpuri influence. Moreover, it can be shown, that se is also used for time reference, and that le is optional, as when used in local contexts. Again, Bhojpuri se is completely parallel to Creole depi. (54) a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri age se long.time abl

b.

Mauritian Creole depi lontan abl long.time ‘for a long time’

(55) a.

Mauritian Bhojpuri chau baje se aat baje (le) six hours abl eight hours (all)

b.

Mauritian Creole depi sizer ziska witer abl six.o’clock all eight.o’clock ‘from six o’ clock to eight o’ clock’

4.2.3  Testing our hypothesis: the use of depi in Creole not influenced by Bhojpuri In order to test our hypothesis, we carried out a small survey in La Gaulette, a village known for its “creoleness” in all senses of the word. 30 We recorded discussions 30.  In Mauritius, “Creole” in the social sense, refers to people of racially mixed or exclusively African descent, as distinguished from the Indo-Mauritians.



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

of about an hour’s length, and got data containing the examples in (56–63) of this variety of Creole, in which influence from Bhojpuri is minimal. When referring to ablative contexts, the speakers from La Gaulette employ almost exclusively the unmarked form: 31 (56) Mo sipoze sa bann zanfan la sorti Kaznwayal 1sg suppose dem pl child def come.from Case-Noyale sorti Lagolet, sorti Tirivier Nwar eksetera. come.from La.Gaulette come.from Petite.Rivière.Noire etc. ‘I imagine that these children come from Case Noyale, from La Gaulette, from Petite Riviere Noire etc.’

The equivalent in an Indo-Mauritian Creole variety would be sorti depi Kaznwayal, sorti depi Lagolet, sorti depi Tirivier Nwar. We do not find occurrences of depi used instead of ziska, as illustrated in (57–59). (57) Mem ziska aster nou trouv tou tou tou les parties politiques … even all now 1pl find all def party political ‘Even up to now, uh, we see uh all, all all the political parties (…).’ (58) Zanfan bizin al lekol ziska sezan. child must go school all sixteen.years ‘Children must attend school up to the age of sixteen.’ (59) Si ou gete langazman pe ankor kontinie ziska ler. if 2sg.formal look campaigning asp still continue all now ‘If you look more closely at it, the campaigning is still going on to this day.’

In Indo-Mauritian Creole, we would often find depi aster ‘up to now’, depi sezan ‘up to the age of sixteen’, depi ler ‘up to now’. Otherwise, speakers from La Gaulette employ depi when it is functionally similar to French. In (60), depi expresses local point of departure: (60) Mo papa li kouma li ’nn gagn sa ti kas poss father 3sg like 3sg compl get dem small cash bisron la ou tour li inn fini depans tou woodcutter def 2sg find 3sg.obj compl finish spend all kot laboutik, li pe sante depi kot laboutik loc shop 3sg asp sing abl loc shop

31.  In our recordings, we did not find a contradicting example. However, we certainly cannot exclude the occurrence of a depi as an ablative marker; on the other hand, an occurrence of this would not be representative of this variety.

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

laba mem li pe vini. here int 3sg asp come ‘My father, once he gets his wages as a woodcutter, you’d see him spend it all in the shop, he sings from the shop over there, he arrives.’

Depi may also express a temporal point of departure/beginning: (61) ki li gagn sa depi so nesans li rel 3sg get dem abl poss.3sg naissance 3sg gagn li, li ne avek sa. get 3sg.obj 3sg born with dem ‘(…) that he has it from birth, he has it, he was born with it’ (62) ou ’nn konn enn sanzman ki ’nn, ki 2sg compl know indf change rel compl

’nn

koul pei la net depi lindepandans drown country def completely abl independence ‘(It’s as if) you had realized a change which, which completely ruined the country since Independence.’

Depi may also have extended uses, such as point of departure and point of arrival in a semantic continuum: (63) Li fel depi fers segonn trwaziem ziska siziem li fel mem. 3sg fail abl first second third all sixth 3sg fail int ‘He failed from first, second, third, up to the sixth he failed.’

It is clear that in these examples, paralleling French, we do not find any trace of influence from Bhojpuri, either diachronically or structurally. As (63) shows, this group of speakers seems to be more influenced by the French adstrate. Moreover, it seems that they use lectal marking of their particular variety in a very conscious way; in the same discussion, they complain (in a spontaneous manner) about the insufficient social and political recognition of the group of Creoles in Mauritius.

5.  Conclusions and hypotheses In light of the foregoing, the following conclusions can be formulated while affording us an attempt at certain theoretical perspectives. 5.1  The structural level It has often been claimed that it is atypical for creole languages to maintain prepositions from their lexifier, and that instead, – in a “compensatory” or functionally



Encoding path in Mauritian Creole and Bhojpuri 

complementary manner, creoles employ other techniques, for example serial constructions, to express certain semantic notions. Thus, in Antillean Creole the ablative denotation is either morphologically unmarked or expressed by serial constructions. The use of prepositions in Antillean Creole would seem to be either a more recent phenomenon, due to French influence, or a further step in the grammaticalization of serial constructions (as for example is the case of ba in Guadeloupean Creole, derived from the verb bailler, but now interpreted as a preposition). In Mauritian Creole, however, the preposition depi has been an integral part of the creole system since the 19th century at least, while serial constructions are rather rare. If, therefore, a complementary relationship exists between serial and prepositional expression of the ablative, Mauritian Creole would be closer to the French model, a fact which means that it is thus distinguished from the “creole prototype” (leaving aside the potentially problematic nature of this notion). In Mauritian Creole, and above all in Indo-Mauritian varieties, there is a tendency to replace the prepositional sequence depi-ziska, which marks points of departure and arrival, by depi-depi. 5.2  The sociolinguistic level Certain uses of depi (notably depi as an ablative marker when used with verbs of movement, as well as the tendency towards the neutralization of depi-depi) are essentially characteristic of Indo-Mauritian speakers. It is clear that Mauritian Creole shows distinctions at the sociolectal level, and that the Indo-Mauritian variety serves as an identity marker of a particular social group. In the case of the neutralization which interests us, it would seem that this is viewed as a lectal identifier of Indo-Mauritian; this explanation only allows one to really explain the non-occurrence of the sequence depi-depi in the variety spoken by this social group. 5.3  The interpretive level: explaining language contact in oral contextuality We hope to have demonstrated that the two structural characteristics considered here are to a large extent or entirely due to the influence of Bhojpuri: i.  the generalization of the preposition depi to express ablative relations (corresponding to se in Bhojpuri) ii.  semantic neutralization which is evidenced by the sequence depi-depi (corresponding to the sequence se-le in Bhojpuri, where the second element is optional and phonetically close to the first)

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri

However, this explanation based on language contact cannot be attributed to a single cause: i.  The generalization of depi as an ablative marker (as compared to the unmarked strategy, employed, for instance, in Seychelles Creole) would seem to be due to the following processes: a disruption of unmarking and (subsequent) creolization by/ through a structural analogy between spoken French and Bhojpuri, an analogy which affects not only this Creole, but also Mauritian Bhojpuri. ii.  Although, the explanation for the pattern depi-depi, based on Bhojpuri contact, is plausible, it nevertheless does not suffice as a satisfactory explanation. The neutralization of a binary opposition which results in the generalization of one of the two expressions is – following Trubetzkoy’s observations – a frequentlyoccurring process of unmarking in the context of oral speech; it is not necessarily explained by language contact phenomena. We therefore suggest that it is a matter of convergence, governed in this case of Mauritian Creole by the social functions of the language: it is sociolectal needs of identity and alterity marking which seems to prevent the generalization of this sequence to all speakers. This also applies to non-Bhojpuri speakers.

Special abbreviations asp int mod

aspect intensifier modality

References Anderson, S.H. 1885. L’évangile sélon S. Matthié (dan langaz créol maurice) (The Gospel according to St. Matthew (in Mauritian Creole)). London: British and Foreign Bible Society. Atchia-Emmerich, Bilkiss. 2005. La situation linguistique à l’Ile Maurice: Les développements récents à la lumière d’une enquête empirique. Ph.D. Dissertation Universität Erlangen. Baissac, Charles. 1880. Étude sur le patois créole mauricien. Reprinted 1976. Genève: Slatkine Reprints. Baker, Philip. 1972. Kreol: A description of Mauritian Creole. London: C. Hurst. Baker, Philip. 1982. The contribution of non-Francophone immigrants to the lexicon of Mauritian Creole. Ph.D. Dissertation, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. Baker, Philip. 1996. On the development of certain prepositional forms in Mauritian and other French Creoles. In Véronique, Daniel (ed.), Matériaux pour l’étude des classes grammaticales dans les langues creoles. Aix-en-Provence: PUP. 41–59.



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Baker, Philip & Corne, Chris. 1987. Histoire sociale et créolisation à La Réunion et à Maurice. Revue québécoise de linguistique théorique et appliquée 6(2): 71–87. Baker, Philip & Ramnah, P. 1988. Recognizing Mauritian Bhojpuri. In Barz, Richard K. & Siegel, Jeff (eds). Language transplanted: The development of overseas Hindi. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Baker, Philip & Ramnah, Amarnath. 1985. Mauritian Bhojpuri: An Indo-Aryan language spoken in a predominantly creolophone society. Papers in pidgin and creole linguistics: Pacific Linguistics A-72(4): 215–38. Corne, Chris. 1983. Substratal reflections: The completive aspect and the distributive numerals in Isle de France Creole. Te Reo 26: 65–80. Díaz, Norma, Ludwig, Ralph & Pfänder, Stefan. 2002. Procesos lingüísticos en situaciones de contacto: Parámetros y perspectivas. In Díaz, Norma, Ludwig, Ralph & Pfänder, Stefan (Eds), La Romania americana: Procesos lingüísticos en situaciones de contacto. Frankfurt: Vervuert. 389–441. Domingue, Nicole. 1971. Bhojpuri and Creole in Mauritius: A study of linguistic interference and its consequences in regard to synchronic variation and language change. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Texas. Domingue, Nicole. 1981. Internal change in a transplanted language. Studies in the Linguistic Sciences 11(2): 151–60. Essegbey, James. 2005. The basic locative construction in Gbe languages and Surinamese creoles. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 20(2): 229–67. Gordon, Raymond G.J., Jr. (ed.). 2005. Ethnologue: Languages of the world, 15th edn. Dallas TX: SIL International. Haspelmath, Martin. 1997. From space to time: Temporal adverbials in the world’s languages [Lincom Studies in Theoretical Linguistics 3]. Munich: Lincom. Hazaël-Massieux, Guy. 1989. La grammaticalisation des connexions. In Ludwig, Ralph (ed.), Les créoles français entre l’oral et l’écrit. Tübingen: Gunter Narr. 201–12. Hookoomsing, Vinesh Y. 1986. Langue et identité ethnique: Les langues ancestrales à Maurice. Journal of Mauritian Studies 1: 117–37. Hookoomsing, Vinesh Y. 2004. A harmonized writing system for the Mauritian Creole Language: Grafi-larmoni. (16 December 2007). Hookoomsing, Vinesh, Ludwig, Ralph & Schnepel, Burkhard (Eds). Forthcoming. Multiple Identities in Action: Mauritius and some Antillean Parallelisms. Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang. Kriegel, Sibylle, Michaelis, Susanne. 2007. Conjunction and ditransitives : some functional domains covered by avec, et, and ensemble. In Baker, Philip, Fon Sing, Guillaume (eds), The making of Mauritian Creole. Analyses diachroniques à partir des textes anciens. United Kingdom and Sri Lanka : Westminster Creolistics Series – 9. 113–132. Kriegel, Sibylle, Ludwig, Ralph & Henri, Fabiola. Forthcoming. Les rapports entre créole et bhojpouri à Maurice: Contact de langues et actes identitaires. In Hookoomsing, Vinesh Y., Ludwig, Ralph & Schnepel, Burkhard (Eds). Leclerc, Jacques. 2007. Île Maurice. In Leclerc, Jacques. L’ aménagement linguistique dans le monde. Published online: http://www.tlfq.ulaval.ca/axl/. Lehmann, Christian. 1992. Yukatekische lokale Relatoren in typologischer Perspektive. Zeitschrift für Phonetik, Sprachwissenschaft und Kommunikationsforschung 45: 626–41. Lehmann, Christian. 1995. Thoughts on grammaticalization. München: Lincom. (First publication: 1982. akup 48. University of Cologne).

 Sibylle Kriegel, Ralph Ludwig & Fabiola Henri Ludwig, Ralph, Telchid, Sylviane & Bruneau-Ludwig, Florence (eds). 2001. Corpus créole: Textes oraux dominicais, guadeloupéens, guyanais, haitiens, mauriciens et seychellois. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Ludwig, Ralph, Montbrand, Danièle, Poullet, Hector & Telchid, Sylviane. 1990/2002. Dictionnaire créole. 2nd, revised edn. Paris: Servedit-Maisonneuve and Éditions Jasor. �������������������� linguisLudwig, Ralph, Henri, Fabiola & Bruneau-Ludwig, Florence. Forthcoming. Hybridation tique et fonctions sociales – aspects des contacts entre créole, français et anglais à Maurice. In Hookoomsing, Vinesh, Ludwig, Ralph & Schnepel, Burkhard (Eds). Forthcoming. Mesthrie, Rajend. 1991. Language in indenture: A sociolinguistic history of Bhojpuri-Hindi in South Africa. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press. Neerputh, Naving C. 1986. Le système verbal du Bhojpuri de L’Ile Maurice. Paris: L’Harmattan. Population Census of the Republic of Mauritius 2000. URL: http://www.gov.mu/portal/ sites/ ncb/cso/methodo.htm Sewtohul, Goswami K. 1990. Diksyoner Kreol Bhojpuri. port Louis: Ledikasyon pu Travayer. Shukla, Shaligram. 1981. Bhojpuri Grammar: Washington DC: Georgetown University Press. Talmy, Leonard. 1985. Lexicalization patterns: Semantic structure in lexical forms. In Shopen, Timothy (ed.). Grammatical categories and the lexicon, Vol. 3. Cambridge: CUP. 57–149. Thomason, Sarah G. & Kaufman, Terrence. 1988. Language contact, creolization, and genetic linguistics. Berkeley CA: University of California Press. Toussaint, Auguste. 1974. Histoire de Maurice. Paris: PUF. [Collection “Que sais-je?”]. Vaughan, Megan. 2005. Creating the Creole island. slavery in eighteenth-century Mauritius. Durham NC: Duke University Press.

Corpus and websites: http://www.lalitmauritius.com/ http://pages.intnet.mu/develog/ Bord la Mer PLHDWU, île Maurice CorpAix, research group DELIC, Aix-en-Provence. Old texts of Mauritian Creole by Philip Baker, electronic version.

On the principled nature of the respective contributions of substrate and superstrate languages to a creole’s lexicon Claire Lefebvre

Université du Québec à Montréal and Max-Planck-Institut für Evolutionäre Anthropologie This paper argues that the respective contributions made to creoles by their substrate and superstrate languages are principled, and that they can be derived from a sound theory of creole genesis. More specifically, it is shown that the division can be derived from the nature and extent of the main cognitive process at work in creole formation, relexification/ relabelling, and from how this process applies in the contexts where creole languages emerge.

1.  Introduction Because they have limited access to the superstrate language, the creators of radical creoles – those that are closest to their substrate languages – tend to use their knowledge of their own language in interpreting what they hear from the

.  This paper is part of my long-term research program on the genesis of creole languages. The research on which this paper is based was funded by SSHRCC. The content of the paper was presented at the Creole Language Structure Between Substrates and Superstrates Conference held in Leipzig (Germany), June 3–5, 2005. I am grateful to Susanne Michaelis for inviting me to present my views on the topic, and to the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology for its financial contribution to this enterprise. I would like to thank the participants in the conference for their comments and questions about my presentation, and three reviewers for their comments and questions on an earlier version of this paper. Finally, many thanks to Isabelle Therrien for helping put the material together, and to Andrée Bélanger for formatting the manuscript.

 Claire Lefebvre

superstrate language. Within a modular approach to grammar, this means that they interpret the phonetic matrices of the superstrate language through the filter of their own phonological systems;2 they basically use the properties of their own lexicons in creating the creole lexicon; they use the rules of their native languages in concatenating roots and affixes into words, and words into compounds; they use the semantic rules of interpretation of their own language in establishing the subsystems of the creole grammar, and consequently, phrases and clauses; and they use the parametric options of their own grammar in establishing those of the creole (Lefebvre 1998). The cognitive process that allows speakers to use their knowledge of their own grammars and lexicons (L1) in interpreting what they hear from another language (L2) in order to create a third language (L3) has been referred to as relexification. The aim of this paper is to show that, if we assume this process to play a major role in the make-up of a radical creole, it is possible do derive in a principled way the respective contributions made to creoles by their substrate and superstrate languages. The scope of this paper is limited to exploring the predictions that the nature of the process of relexification makes with respect to the respective contributions of substrate and superstrate languages to a creole. This paper does not argue for a relexification account of creole genesis or compare the merits of such an account with other views. I have done this elsewhere.3 Further, in discussing the predictions made by relexification, I present data that illustrate them. Extensive analyses of these data may be found in Lefebvre (1998) and related work. I refer the reader to these analyses as they cannot be reproduced here. With this methodological proviso, I will now turn to the definition of relexification and how it is hypothesized to apply in creole genesis contexts.

.  See Steele & Brousseau (2006). .  In Lefebvre (1998), I argued for a relexification account of a radical creole, Haitian Creole, on the basis of a detailed comparison of Haitian Creole, 17th-/18th-century French and Fongbe, one of the important substratum languages of Haitian (see below). In Lefebvre (2004c), I compared the various approaches to creole genesis with respect to a number of features. In several instances, I also showed that relexification cannot be the only process in creole genesis and that grammaticalization, reanalysis, levelling and diffusion also play a role in the further development of a creole (see Lefebvre 1993, 1998, 2001, 2004a, 2004b, 2004c, 2006). In Lefebvre (1998), it is also shown that, as is the case in other languages, innovation may also play a role in a creole’s development. Although processes other than relexification may play a role in a creole’s development, cases of relexification are generally easily identifiable, as the data reported in Lefebvre (1998) show. Cases of levelling can easily be identified when several substratum languages are considered (Lefebvre & Therrien 2007), as can cases of grammaticalization (Lefebvre 2006).



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

Relexification is a cognitive process that essentially consists in assigning a lexical entry from a language L1 a new label drawn from a language L2. The process of relexification thus reduces to relabelling. This process is represented in (1). Given the lexical entry in (1a) from L1, speakers assign this lexical entry a second phonological representation drawn from another language, L2, yielding (1b), and eventually abandon the original phonological representation. The resulting lexical entry in L3, (1c), has the semantic and syntactic properties of the original lexical entry in L1, and a phonological representation derived from a phonetic string in L2. (1)

a.

/phonology/i [semantics]i [syntax]i

b.

/phonology/i /phonology/j' [semantics]i [syntax]i

c.

/phonology/j' [semantics]i





[syntax]i

By definition, relabelling produces hybrid lexical entries that have the semantic and syntactic properties of the original ones and phonological representations that are derived from phonetic sequences from another language. The result of relabelling is exemplified in (2), showing that the Haitian noun vyann has a phonological representation derived from French viande, but other properties derived from the corresponding Fongbe substratum entry làn. (2)

Haitian French vyann viande ‘meat’ ‘meat’ ‘edible animals’ (complement of the verb ‘to kill’)

Fongbe làn ‘meat’ ‘edible animals’ (complement of the verb ‘to kill’) (from Lefebvre 1998: 71)

Relabelling is semantically driven in that the semantics of the two forms that are associated in the process must overlap (Lefebvre 1998: 17; Muysken 1981: 62). For example, in (2), the French and Fongbe lexical entries that are associated in relabelling have the core meaning ‘meat’. As a consequence of this requirement, lexical entries that have some semantic content (e.g., functional as well as lexical

 Claire Lefebvre

category items) may be relabelled, but those that do not have semantic content (e.g., case markers, wh-operators4) cannot be relabelled when massive relabelling takes place in an incipient creole. Furthermore, since relabelling proceeds on the basis of superstrate forms, it is constrained by what the superstrate language has to offer in terms of an appropriate form to provide a new label for a substrate lexical entry. For lexical categories, an appropriate form is one that shares some semantics with the original lexical entry. For functional categories, according to Lefebvre & Lumsden (1994), an appropriate form has the following characteristics: (1) it is a lexical category item,5 (2) that shares some semantics, and possibly some phonological/phonetic properties, with the original lexical entry, and (3) that occurs in more or less the same surface position as the original lexical entry. A substrate lexical entry that cannot be relabelled, either because it has no semantic content or because there is no appropriate form in the superstrate language to relabel it, is assigned a phonologically null form at relabelling. This amounts to saying that, in the incipient creole, this lexical entry remains covert. It may eventually acquire a label through grammaticalization or it may be abandoned in the development of the creole (see Lefebvre 1998: 37, 38; 41–46; 375–381). Relabelling has been shown to play a major role in creole genesis (Lefebvre 1998 and the references therein). The nature of this process makes a general prediction concerning the respective contributions to a creole of its substrate and superstrate languages: while the substrate languages are predicted to provide the semantic and syntactic properties of the creole’s lexical entries, the superstrate language is predicted to provide the phonetic strings for establishing the phonological representations of these lexical entries. This general prediction can be reformulated as five more specific ones. First, relabelling predicts that creole lexical entries will have the semantic and syntactic properties of corresponding lexical items in their substrate languages and labels derived from the superstrate language. Second, ­relabelling makes the prediction that superstrate lexical entries that have no corresponding entries in the substrate languages will not make their way into the creole. Third, since the process is constrained by the availability of an appropriate form in the superstrate language, the prediction is that, in cases where the superstrate has no appropriate form to offer, the substrate entry will not be ­relabelled. .  Within the Chomskian tradition, a wh-operator is a null form that has the properties of wh-words. In some languages (e.g., the Gbe languages), wh-operators are overt. Whether they are overt or covert, wh-operators are required for the interpretation of some syntactic structures such as relative and factive clauses. .  In contexts where radical creoles are formed, speakers of the substrate languages do not have enough exposure to the superstrate language to identify its functional categories (Lefebvre 1998: 63–65). They therefore have to relexify/relabel the functional categories of their own language on the basis of lexical categories of the superstrate language. See also Mufwene (1991).



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

Fourth, since parametric options are formulated in terms of correlations between the availability of x (a given construction) and that of y (a functional category) in a given grammar and lexicon (Chomsky 1989), and since functional categories may undergo relabelling, this process predicts that the substrate languages should determine the parametric options of a creole. Finally, the way relabelling is hypothesized to apply in creole genesis predicts the respective contributions of the substrate and superstrate languages to a creole’s word order. These five predictions provide this paper with its general structure. The bulk of the data presented in this paper are drawn from Haitian Creole. According to Singler (1996), Haitian Creole was created by adult speakers of Niger-Congo languages between 1680 and 1740. The beginning of this period was marked by a shift from a tobacco and cotton economy to a sugar economy. As a result of this shift, the number of slaves exploded and the number of Frenchspeaking people declined; this had the effect of reducing day-to-day contacts between French speakers and the Haitian African population. Furthermore, the Africans in Haiti spoke languages from several families: Atlantic, Mande, Kwa, Gur, Benue-Congo, Ijoid, Bantu and Arabic. This situation created a favourable context for a creole language to emerge. Singler also shows that, at the time Haitian Creole was formed, Gbe speakers made up more than 50 percent of the French Caribbean slave-export population. In this paper, the substrate data that are presented come from Fongbe, a language of the Gbe dialect cluster (Capo 1984). The motivations for this choice are fully discussed in Lefebvre (1998: 65–68). Finally, at the time Haitian Creole developed, African languages were still in use in Haiti and they continued to be used for approximately a hundred years (Hilaire 1993: 255; Singler 1988: 28). A more detailed discussion of the historical context in which Haitian Creole developed may be found in Lefebvre (1998: 52–58), mainly based on the work of Singler (1993a, 1993b, 1996). I will now discuss the specific predictions made by a relabelling account of creole genesis.

2.  F  irst prediction of relabelling: Principled division of properties of a creole’s lexical entries between its source languages The nature of the process of relabelling predicts a principled division of the ­properties of a creole’s lexical entries between its source languages. Lexical entries produced by this process are predicted to have the semantic and syntactic properties of the original lexical entries and phonological representations derived from a phonetic string in the superstrate language. This section provides examples showing the principled contributions of substrate and superstrate languages to creole lexical entries that follow from the process of relabelling. In all cases, it is

 Claire Lefebvre

shown that, while the substrate languages provided the semantic and syntactic properties of the creole lexical entries, the superstrate language provided the phonetic material from which the creole labels are derived. Based on a number of creole languages, several authors have reported cases of lexical category entries that manifest this division of properties between their source languages (for Ndjuka, see Huttar 1975 and Migge 1998; for Solomons Pidgin, see Keesing 1988; for Haitian Creole, see Koopman 1986, Lefebvre 1998 and the references therein, and Lumsden 1999; for Sranan, see Voorhoeve 1973; for Saramaccan, see Smith 1987, and Lefebvre & Loranger 2006, to appear). Relabelling of lexical category entries is no longer a matter for debate in the literature. There is, however, a debate on whether functional categories can undergo relabelling. As stated in the introduction, and contrary to Muysken (1988) and Lumsden (1999), I take the view that functional categories may indeed be relabelled provided that they have some semantic content. Given this general situation, with a few exceptions, the examples below will focus on functional, rather than lexical, categories. A first example is provided by the inventories of personal pronominal forms in two creoles. As shown in (3), Haitian Creole has only five personal pronouns, with the form nou being used to refer to both first and second person plural. As is also shown in (3), the forms of these five pronouns are derived from those of French pronouns (e.g., mwen < French moi “me”, etc.). French, however, has eight forms, including two that distinguish first and second person plural, and four that are marked for gender in the third person.6 So, why does Haitian have only five terms? The answer to this question is to be found in its substrate languages. For example, as shown in (3), Fongbe has only five personal pronouns. Interestingly enough, and as is the case in Haitian, the same form is used to refer to both first and second person plural, as Brousseau (1995) shows. (3) Personal pronouns – Haitian Creole Haitian French Fongbe mwen ‘I, me’ moi ‘I, me’ nyὲ ‘I, me’ ou/[wu] ‘you (sg.)’ toi ‘you (sg.)’ hwὲ ‘you (sg.)’ li ‘he/she/it/him/her’ lui/elle ‘he/she/it’ é(yὲ) ‘he/she/it/him/her’ nou ‘we/us/you (pl.)’ nous ‘we/us’ mí ‘we/us/you (pl.)’ vous ‘you (pl.)’ yo ‘they/them’ eux/elles ‘they/them’ yé ‘they/them’ (from Valdman et al. 1981) (= (18) in Brousseau 1995)

.  Gender may have been neutralised in the third person plural of the variety of French the creators of Haitian were exposed to (e.g., Gougenheim 1973). For a discussion of these facts, see Lefebvre (1998: 86).



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

The properties of the creole lexical entries in (3) follow in a straightforward way from relabelling. Confirmation that this conclusion is fundamentally correct is provided by data drawn from Solomon Pidgin. As can be seen in (4), the pronominal system of ­Solomon Pidgin distinguishes between dual and plural pronouns, and furthermore, between first person plural inclusive and exclusive. These forms are all constructed on the basis of English pronominal forms (e.g., mi < me, iu < you, etc.), or on some combination of these (e.g., iumi < you+me, etc.). However, English, the superstrate of Solomon Pidgin, has only five pronominal forms, one of which, you, is used for both second person singular and plural. The semantic distinctions found in the inventory of Solomon Pidgin personal pronouns, as well as the size of this inventory, correspond to those of the substrate languages, exemplified in (4) on the basis of Kwaio. (4) Personal pronouns – Solomon Pidgin Solomon Pidgin Singular 1 mi 2 iu 3 hem Dual 1  inc. iumi (tufala) 1  exc. mitufala 2 iutufala 3 tufala Paucal 1  inc. 1  exc. 2 3 Plural 1 iumi 1 mifala 2 iufala 3 olgeta (from Keesing 1988: 80)

Kwaio (i)nau (i)’oo ngai(a) (’i)da’a (’e)me’e (’o)mo’o (’i)ga’a (’i)dauru (’e)meeru (’o)mooru (’i)gauru gia (’i)mani (’a)miu gila (from Keesing 1988: 80)

The properties of the creole lexical entries in (4) follow straightforwardly from relabelling. (The fact that the paucal has not been reproduced in the creole is a topic for further research.)7

.  My first hypothesis was that there were probably no appropriate forms available to relabel the substrate paucal forms. A reviewer pointed out, however, that there are terms in English such as little, some or few that have a paucal interpretation. Whether these terms are appropriate for relabelling a pronominal form remains to be seen. Another hypothesis to explain the lack of paucal in the creole, suggested by the same reviewer, has to do with frequency. According to this reviewer, paucal is less frequent than singular, dual or plural. These avenues of research need to be further explored.

 Claire Lefebvre

The functional categories involved in the nominal structure of Haitian manifest a similar division of properties. Consider the nominal structure of French in (5), and that of Haitian and Fongbe in (6). (5) a. *le mon def poss

ce dem

{ }

crabe crab

b. le/les mon/mes ce/ces

{

French crabe(s)

}

‘ the crab(s)’ my this/these/those  (6) krab [mwen ø] sa a àsfn [nyὲ t�n] él� � crab me gen dem def ‘these/those crabs of mine’ (in question/that we know of)

French

French (= (2) in Lefebvre 1998: 78) yo lέ pl

Haitian Fongbe

(= (1) in Lefebvre 1998: 78)

There are two striking facts about these nominal structures. First, in French, the functional categories precede the noun, whereas in Haitian and Fongbe, they follow it. Second, in French, there can be only one determiner per structure, but in Haitian and Fongbe, the possessor, the demonstrative, the definite determiner and the plural marker may all co-occur within the same structure. The dissimilarity between the nominal structures of French and Haitian is obvious; the similarity between the nominal structures of Haitian and Fongbe is equally obvious. Furthermore, the details of the properties of each of the functional categories of Haitian and Fongbe in (6) are quite similar. For example, the properties of the definite determiner in Haitian and Fongbe are the same, and they contrast in the same way with those of the definite determiner in French, as is summarized in (7) (from Lefebvre 1998). (7) French Haitian/Fongbe [+ definite] determiner [+ definite] determiner – pre-nominal – post-nominal – marked for gender – unmarked for gender and   and number   number – allomorphs: le/la/les/l’ – allomorphs: la, a, an, nan, lan/f, fn – anaphoric and cataphoric – anaphoric – partitive du/des – no partitive forms – obligatory with generic – impossible with generic   or mass nouns   or mass nouns



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

– no bare nps – *Det [relative clause] N 

– bare nps – N [relative clause] Det (= (71) in Lefebvre 2004a: 90)

Furthermore, the definite determiners involved in the Haitian and Fongbe nominal structures also play a crucial role in the clause structures of these two languages, as shown in (8).8 (8) a. Li rive a. b. É wá �. ‘He has arrived.’ (as expected/as we knew he would)

Haitian Fongbe

The detailed properties of the plural marker in Haitian and of those in the substrate languages are also quite similar (Lefebvre 1998: 86–87; Lefebvre 2001). For example, in nominal structures, Haitian yo serves both as a third person ­personal pronoun and as a plural marker. This parallels the situation in several West African languages: Ewegbe woˇ (see Westermann 1930: 45, 57), Yoruba and Mandingo (Goodman 1964: 46–47), Vai (Mufwene 1986: 138), etc. Furthermore, in both Haitian and Gbe languages, speakers vary with respect to the possibility of co-occurrence of the definite determiner and the plural marker. Crucially, the patterns of variation are the same in both Haitian and Gbe, as is illustrated on the basis of Fongbe in (9) (where G = grammar).

(9) G1

Haitian where la and yo can co-occur (d’Ans 1968: 105; Faine 1937: 83; Fournier 1977: 43; Goodman 1964: 45; Joseph 1988: 201; Lefebvre & Massam 1988: 215; Ritter 1992:  207–209; Sylvain 1936: 55; Valdman 1978: 1994–1995)

G2 

where la and yo cannot co-occur (DeGraff 1992a: 107; Joseph 1988: 201; Lumsden 1989: 65)

Fongbe where � and lέ can co-occur (Brousseau & Lumsden 1992: 22; Lefebvre 1998: 85)

where � and lέ cannot co-occur (Agbidinoukoun 1991: 149) (= (76) in Lefebvre 2004a: 91)

The details of the properties of the deictic terms are also quite striking. While French has eleven deictic terms (ce(t), cette, ces, ça, cela, ceci, celui, ceux, celle, là, ci),

.  The facts involving the distribution of the determiner in the clause are extremely complex. Nevertheless, the Haitian and Fongbe data are extremely similar, as is shown in Lefebvre (1998: 219–248; 357–360).

 Claire Lefebvre

Haitian, like Fongbe, has only two.9 As is argued at some length in Lefebvre (1998: 89–101) the labels of the two terms are derived from French ça and cela or celui-là yielding Haitian sa and sila, respectively, but the properties of the Haitian terms differ from those of the French. The syntactic and distributional properties of the two Haitian terms are exactly the same as those of the corresponding terms in Fongbe. Furthermore, in both languages, three semantic interpretation patterns coexist for the two deictic terms. These semantic patterns are reproduced in (10) as G1, G2, G3, where alpha is a variable that ranges over + or –. (10) G1 G2 G3 

Haitian / Fongbe sa / (é)l� [+ proximate] sa / (é)l� [α proximate] sa / (é)l� [α proximate]

Haitian / Fongbe sila / (é)nέ [– proximate] sila / (é)nέ [– proximate] sila / (é)nέ [α proximate] (from Lefebvre 2001; 2004a: 94)

Sources for Haitian: G1: Goodman (1964: 51), Tinelli (1970: 28). G2: Lefebvre (1997) [see also data in Étienne (1974) and in Sylvain (1936)]. G3: Férère (1974: 103), Joseph (1988), Valdman (1978: 194), Valdman et al. (1981) and my own field notes. Sources for Fongbe: G1: Anonymous (1983), Segurola (1963) and my own field notes. G2: Lefebvre (1997). G3: My own field notes.

Finally, while French encodes possession by means of a possessive determiner (see (5)), both Haitian and Fongbe lack a paradigm of possessive determiners (see Lefebvre 1998: 143–147). Both languages encode possession by means of a personal pronoun followed by a case marker, as is shown in (6). According to the analysis in Brousseau & Lumsden (1992), the Fongbe case marker t�n in (6) has the properties of a genitive, as opposed to an objective, case marker. Likewise, according to Lumsden (1991), the Haitian phonologically null case marker in (6) also has the properties of a genitive, rather than an objective, case marker. The details of this analysis are provided in Lefebvre (1998: 143–147). The properties of the functional categories involved in the creole nominal structure in (6) follow in a straightforward way from relabelling. As is extensively discussed in Lefebvre (1998: 78–110), the substrate definite determiner has been relabelled as la on the basis of the French final constituent adverbial form là; the substrate lexical entry encoding both the third person plural pronoun and the plural marker in nominal structure has been relabelled on the basis of the French strong pronominal form eux, yielding yo in Haitian Creole; and the two ­substrate deictic terms have been relabelled on the basis of French ça and cela/celui-là, yielding .  For a discussion of speakers who show signs of speaking another dialect, in both Haitian and its substrate languages, see Lefebvre (1998: 89–101).



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

sa and sila, respectively. Finally, since case markers do not undergo ­relabelling because they do not have semantic content, the genitive case marker has been assigned a null form at relabelling. Thus, it is covert in Haitian Creole.10 Whereas French encodes tense, mood, and aspect by means of affixes on verbs or auxiliaries, both Haitian and Fongbe lack such affixes and auxiliaries. Rather, they have Tense, Mood, and Aspect markers that occur between the subject and the verb. As Lefebvre (1996) shows in detail, the tense-mood-aspect (TMA) systems of both languages present the same semantic divisions, as both languages have a similar inventory of morphemes.11 The inventories of TMA markers in Haitian and in Fongbe are shown in (11). (11) The inventories of TMA markers in Haitian and Fongbe anterior irrealis non-complete Past / Past perfect Definite future Habitual Imperfective h f h f h f h f te kò ap ná — nf´ ap ɖò…wὲ Indefinite future h f a-va ná-wá Subjunctive h f pou ní  (= (115) in Lefebvre 1996)

Furthermore, the Fongbe and Haitian morphemes in (11) combine in similar ways to form complex tenses. As Lefebvre (1996) argues at length, the bulk of the properties of the Haitian TMA markers follows from relabelling. The properties of the Haitian and Fongbe conjunctions are also quite similar and contrast with those of French (Lefebvre 2004b). Fongbe has a conjunction b� that best translates as ‘and then’. This conjunction is used only to conjoin tensed clauses. Likewise, Haitian has a conjunction (e)pi that best translates as ‘and then’ and is also used only to conjoin tensed clauses. These are illustrated in (12) a and b, respectively.

.  While determiners do have semantic content (e.g., Larson & Segal 1995; Lyons 1999), and thus may undergo relabelling, case markers do not. I make a distinction here between case markers and adpositions. Case markers essentially mark grammatical relations; since they may be associated with nouns bearing various thematic roles, they have little, if any, semantic content. And since they do not have semantic content, they cannot undergo relabelling. This contrasts with adpositions, which do have semantic content and consequently may undergo relabelling. Tests distinguishing between case markers and adpositions can be found in Lefebvre & Muysken (1988), and Lefebvre & Brousseau (2002) and the references therein. .  Note that Haitian lacks a habitual marker, which Fongbe has.

 Claire Lefebvre

(12) a.

Kfkú wá b� Àsíbá yì Fongbe Koku arrive conj Asiba leave ‘Koku arrived and-then Asiba left.’ (= (1) in Lefebvre & Brousseau 2002: 113)

b. Jan pati (e)pi mari rive. John leave conj Mary arrive ‘John left and-then Mary arrived.’

Haitian (= (70) in Lefebvre 1993)

The Haitian conjunction (e)pi ‘and then’ is phonologically derived from French et puis, ‘and then’ > epi ‘and’, but the two forms do not have the same distribution. For example, while French epi may conjoin both clauses and NPs, Haitian (e)pi may not conjoin NPs. Like Fongbe b�, Haitian (e)pi is restricted to conjoining tensed clauses. Both b� and (e)pi are therefore excluded from NPs. In both languages, NPs are conjoined, so to speak, by means of the preposition meaning ‘with’, as is exemplified in (13). (13) a. Kfkú kpó(ɖ ó) Àsíbá kpó/kpá Koku with Asiba with/with ‘Koku and Asiba’ b. Jan (kòl)ak Mari John with Mary ‘John and Mary’

Fongbe (= (9) in Lefebvre 2004b: 127) Haitian (= (80) in Lefebvre 2004b: 157)

While Haitian and Fongbe use different lexical items to conjoin clauses and NPs, French uses et or epi ‘and’ to conjoin either clauses or NPs. Again, the properties of Haitian (e)pi ‘and then’ and (kòl)ak ‘with’ follow from relabelling (see Lefebvre 1998: 205–206; 2004b). The complementizer system of a radical creole may also be quite similar to the substrate system and contrast with that of the superstrate. For example, in Saramaccan, the form of the [+T] complementizer selected by verbs of the say-class is táa (< English tell) (Lefebvre & Loranger to appear). While English tell only acts as a speech verb, Saramaccan táa is a multifunctional lexical item which also serves as a verb meaning ‘to say, to tell’, as a quotative marker meaning ‘saying’, and as a marker conveying similarity or manner ‘as if, like’. The multifunctionality of táa is paralleled in the substrate data, as is shown in (14), on the basis of Fongbe. (14) táa:

verb: ‘say’ [+T] complementizer: ‘that’ quotative marker: ‘saying’ marker conveying similarity or manner: ‘as if, like’

ɖf: 

verb: ‘say’ Fongbe [+T] complementizer: ‘that’ quotative marker: ‘saying’ marker conveying similarity or manner: ‘as if, like’ (from Lefebvre & Loranger to appear)

Saramaccan



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

As Lefebvre & Loranger (to appear) explain in detail, the properties of Saramaccan táa follow from the relabelling of corresponding substrate lexical entries.12 In Saramaccan, the complementizer selected by verbs of the want-class is fu. While the form of this creole lexical entry is derived from English for (e.g., McWhorter 1997), the bulk of its semantic and syntactic properties are derived from those of the corresponding substrate lexical entries. In this case, however, two different substrate lexical entries (Fongbe: nú, preposition and complementizer, and ní, mood marker and complementizer) appear to have been relabelled on the basis of the single superstrate form for, yielding the creole lexical entry fu, which cumulates the functions of the two substrate entries (Lefebvre & Loranger in press). Again, the Saramaccan data follow straightforwardly from relabelling. To sum up, as a result of relabelling, a creole lexical entry is predicted to manifest the semantic and syntactic properties of a substrate entry, with a label drawn from the superstrate language. The data presented throughout this section constitute only but a few examples that clearly illustrate this prediction for lexical, functional and multifunctional lexical entries.13

3.  S  econd prediction of relabelling: Superstrate lexical entries that have no corresponding entries in the substrate languages will not make their way into the creole Given that it is the substrate lexical entries that are relabelled, superstrate lexical entries that have no corresponding entries in the substrate languages are predicted not to make their way into the creole. This prediction is borne out. An initial example is provided by Haitian data involving nominal compounds that correspond to French simplexes. Such cases are illustrated in (15). (15) Simplex versus compound French Haitian lèvre po-bouch ‘skin-mouth’

Fongbe nù-fló ‘mouth-skin’

‘lip’

.  While several Caribbean English-based creoles follow the Saramaccan pattern in having a multifunctional item that serves as a complementizer, Caribbean French-based creoles tend to have a null complementiser. The reason for this discrepancy between English- and French-based creoles is a topic for future research. .  An evaluation of the extent of relabelling in the genesis of Haitian Creole may be found in Chapter 13 of Lefebvre (1998).

 Claire Lefebvre

narine cil nuque crâne

twou-ne ‘hole-nose’ plim-je ‘hair-eye’ dèyè-kou ‘back-neck’ kalbas-tèt ‘calabash-head’ or tèt-kalbas

àfntín-dó ‘nostril’ ‘nose-hole’ wùn-ɖà ‘eyelash’ ‘eye-hair’ k�-gùdó ‘nape’ ‘neck-back’ tà-ká ‘skull’ ‘head-calabash’ (from Brousseau 1989)

Why did the French simplexes referring to body parts not make their way into Haitian? The answer to this question follows from relabelling: since the substrate speakers did not have corresponding simplexes to relabel, as can be seen in (15), the French simplexes did not enter the creole. Furthermore, and as can be seen in (15), the creators of the creole used the principles of their own language in concatenating words into compounds.14 Another example involves the paradigm of wh-words. As shown in (16), French has eight or nine wh-words. In contrast, Haitian has only four. (16) 

French lequel/laquelle/ lesquels/lesquelles ‘which one(s)’ qui ‘who’ que/quoi ‘what’ où ‘where’ quand ‘when’ comment ‘how’ combien ‘how much, how many’ pourquoi ‘why’

Haitian ki-lès

‘which one’

(ki-)sa

‘what’

kouman ‘how’ konbyen ‘how much, how many’ (= (5) in Brousseau 1995)

This situation raises three questions. First, why have the other simplexes of French not made their way into Haitian? Second, why has Haitian Creole ended up with four wh-words? Third, why has it ended up with these particular four wh-words rather than a different set? Again, the answers to these questions follow from relabelling. Consider the inventories of wh-words and wh-phrases in both Haitian and Fongbe shown in (17). (Tests distinguishing wh-words from wh-phrases are discussed at length in Lefebvre 1998: 171–181, based on Brousseau 1995. For a

.  For a discussion of the differences in word order within the compounds, see Lefebvre (1998: 339–342).



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

discussion on the difference in word order in wh-phrases, see Lefebvre 1998: 480. Morphemes in parentheses are optionally pronounced.)15 (17) a. wh-words:

Haitian ki-lès (ki-)sa kouman konbyen

Fongbe ɖè-tέ (é-)tέ/àní n�gbf´n nàbí

‘which one’ ‘what’ ‘how’ ‘how many/much’

b. wh-phrases: ki moun mὲ tέ ‘which person/who’ ki bagay nú tέ ‘which thing/what’ (ki) kote/ki bò fí (tέ) ‘which place/where’ ki jan àl� tέ ‘which manner/how’ ki kalite àl�kpà tέ ‘which kind/how’ ki lè hwènù tέ ‘which moment/     time/when’ pu ki(-sa) (é)tέ (w)ú(tú)/ ‘what, cause/why’ àní (w)ú(tú)  (= (93) in Lefebvre 1998: 178)

As can be seen in (17), Fongbe also has only four simplex wh-words and uses wh-phrases otherwise. The reason why four or five of the French simplexes did not become part of the creole is that the substrate speakers did not have corresponding simplexes to relabel. The four wh-words in Haitian correspond to the four wh-words that exist in Fongbe. For the rest, Haitian uses wh-phrases, similarly to Fongbe. As is extensively discussed in Lefebvre (1998: 171–182), this distribution follows from relabelling. Possessive adjectives constitute yet another example. As is shown in (18), French has a paradigm of possessive adjectives that make gender and number distinctions. (18) French 1st sg 2nd sg 3rd sg 1st pl 2nd pl 3rd pl

Possessed singular masculine feminine mon ma ton ta son sa notre votre leur

Possessed plural mes tes ses nos vos leurs

‘my’ ‘your’ ‘his/her’ ‘our’ ‘your’ ‘their’

.  Haitian (ki) kote is analysed as a phrase rather than as a wh-word on the basis of the syntactic tests referred to in the text. The word kan ‘when’, mentioned by a reviewer, does not figure in our list of wh-words as it does not exist in the repertoire of our informants, nor is it in the Valdman et al. (1981, 1996) dictionaries. For a thorough discussion of the research methodology and data sources for the wh-pronouns, see Lefebvre (1998: 58–78).

 Claire Lefebvre

These adjectives do not exist in Haitian. As we saw in (6), Haitian encodes ­possession by means of a personal pronoun and a covert genitive case marker. Why does this situation obtain? Again, the answer to this question follows from the nature of relabelling. As Hazoumê (1990) pointed out, no Gbe dialect has a complete paradigm of possessive adjectives. For example, Fongbe and Gungbe have two terms, shown in (19). (19) xwé cè / tòwè house my / your ‘my/your house’

(= (31) in Brousseau 1995)

Ajagbe and Gengbe have one term (first person singular), Tofingbe one term (second person singular), and other Gbe dialects have no possessive adjectives at all. We can therefore hypothesize that the reason why French possessive adjectives did not make their way into Haitian is that the creators of Haitian did not have such lexical entries to relabel. Presumably, the one or two terms that were part of a defective paradigm in a few Gbe dialects were abandoned. Several other examples of the same type are described in Lefebvre (1998). Briefly, the superstrate forms that have no corresponding forms in the substrate lexicons do not make their way into the creole. This shows that the substrate lexicon acts as a filter on the inclusion of superstrate lexical forms in the creole.

4.  Th  ird prediction of relabelling: Only substrate lexical entries for which there is an available “appropriate” superstrate form can be relabelled Since relabelling proceeds on the basis of the superstrate data, the process is constrained by what the superstrate language has to offer in terms of an appropriate form, as defined in the introduction to this paper, to relabel a substrate lexical entry. As we saw in (6), (7) and (8), the properties of the Haitian and Fongbe definite determiners are extremely similar. This similarity was attributed to the fact that the substrate determiner must have been relabelled on the basis of a French form, resulting in a Haitian determiner with the same syntactic and semantic properties. In this case, French had an appropriate form to relabel the substrate definite determiner: là (Faine 1937; Fournier 1977; Goodman 1964; Lefebvre 1993, 1998; Valdman 1978). In addition to its use as a locative adverb meaning ‘there’, French là may appear following the noun in a noun phrase as an emphatic deictic marker, as in (20a), or as a discourse marker (Vincent 1984) after a noun phrase or a clause, as in (20b–d).



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

(20) a. Cet homme-là vient d’arriver. dem man [+deic] come arrive ‘This / that man just arrived.’

French

b. L’ homme là vient det man dem come ‘The man [there] just arrived.’

d’arriver. arrive

Popular French

c. Un homme là vient det man dem come ‘A man [there] just arrived.’

d’arriver. arrive

Popular French

d. Un/l’ homme là, qui vient d’arriver là… det man dem who come arrive dm ‘A / the man [there] who just arrived [there]…’

Popular French (= (30) in Lefebvre 1994)

The substrate definite determiners and French là share some semantics, as both have anaphoric properties. They also share distributional properties: both occur at the end of constituents, either nominal or clausal (compare the data (6) and (8) with those in (20)). For some substrate speakers, the forms involved are also phonetically similar. For example, while in Fongbe the form of the definite determiner is f´, in Ewe, the definite determiner is lá. So, it appears that French là was a good candidate to relabel the Gbe definite determiner, although, as Lefebvre (1998: 78–79) points out, the substrate definite determiners and French là differ in many ways. The relabelling of the substrate definite determiner on the basis of French là yielded a Haitian determiner that has the properties of the substrate determiners, as shown in (6) and (7). Caribbean English-based creoles present different facts. For example, Saramaccan has the same pool of substrate languages as Haitian, including the Gbe languages (Arends 1995; Migge 1998; Smith 1987). While Haitian is a French-based creole, Saramaccan is English-based. And while Haitian has a post-nominal definite determiner, as we saw above, Saramaccan has a pre-nominal definite determiner, illustrated in (21). (21) Di míi pikí. def child be.small ‘The child is small’

Why should this be? Aboh (2004) claims that English there is comparable to French là in (20). However, he does not provide any data supporting his claim. My conclusion is that English there does not have the same distribution as French là, and that therefore, in contrast to French, English did not offer an appropriate form to relabel the constituent-final determiner of the substrate languages. As a consequence, it could not be relabelled. Most probably, the post-nominal determiner of the substrate language was simply abandoned in the early creole since there is no sign of a post-nominal determiner in modern Saramaccan. In this case, a pre-nominal definite determiner

 Claire Lefebvre

was created. I suggest a scenario along the following lines. The form disi (< English ‘this’) was introduced in the creole as a free morpheme used as a pre-nominal modifier. This form was eventually reduced to di and became the definite determiner in Saramaccan. As Bally (in preparation) shows, like the substrate definite determiner, di is anaphoric, and it plays a role in the structure of the clause. However, because it was created through the grammaticalization of a pre-nominal lexical item, it does not have the syntactic properties of the substrate post-nominal definite determiner. The contrast between the properties of the definite determiners in Saramaccan and Haitian clearly illustrates the fact that relabelling is constrained by what is available in the superstrate in terms of an appropriate form to relabel a substrate lexical entry. Another example of the constraint imposed on relabelling by the superstrate language is provided by data involving the self-anaphor. Gbe languages have a self-anaphor, illustrated in (22) on the basis of Fongbe (Kinyalolo 1994). (22)

F NP pronoun



N

-ɖ éè (from Kinyalolo 1994)

Under a relabelling account of creole genesis, we would expect creole languages with a Gbe substrate component to have a self-anaphor. This prediction is borne out, as is shown in Lefebvre (1998: 159–171), on the basis of Caribbean Dutch-/ English- and French-based creoles. The difference between these creoles, however, is that, in Dutch-/English-based creoles, the self-anaphor is overt (see Robertson 1993, for Berbice Dutch; Mufwene 1992, for Gullah), whereas in French-based creoles, it is covert, that is, phonologically null.16 This is illustrated in (23). (23)

E-  D  NP pronoun

N -selfu/-self/seéi





H NP pronoun

N

Ø (from Lefebvre 1998)

.  The proposal that the self-anaphor is phonologically null in Haitian was made by John Lumsden at a research seminar held at UQAM in 1993.



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

Lefebvre (1998) shows that this discrepancy between English-based and French-based creole lexicons is attributable to a discrepancy between English and French lexicons. English has an overt self-anaphor, shown in (24), whereas French does not.17 (24)

E NP pronoun





N

-self (from Chomsky 1981)

So, the Gbe speakers who were relabelling their lexicon on the basis of English or Dutch produced an overt self-anaphor, while the ones who were relabelling their lexicon on the basis of French produced a covert self-anaphor (see (23)). Again, these data illustrate the fact that relabelling is constrained by what the superstrate contains in terms of an appropriate form to relabel a substrate lexical entry. Another type of example showing the constraint imposed on relabelling by the superstrate language (or access to it) has to do with verbs of cutting (discussed in Lefebvre 1989). In Fongbe, there are several verbs of cutting. The examples in (25) show that the semantics of these verbs includes manner. (25)

sὲn gàn mà kwíkwí vlf wf kàn làn já làn gbó àtín kpá ɖà zὲ nàkí

‘cut iron’ ‘cut/slice banana’ ‘cut/separate paste’ ‘cut meat’ (animal or human) ‘cut meat (in pieces)’ ‘cut tree’ ‘cut hair’ ‘cut/chop wood’

fongbe

(= (54) in Lefebvre 1989: 335)

In Haitian Creole, all these verbs may be translated by koupe ‘to cut’ (< French couper ‘to cut’). In contrast to Fongbe, the Haitian verb appears to lack the manner component of the Fongbe verbs of cutting. Ameka & Essegbey (2003) discuss similar data on the basis of Surinamese creoles. They show that in these English-based creoles, the manner component of the substrate verbs of cutting is also lacking.

.  A reviewer proposes that French même could be a likely candidate to relabel a self-anaphor. On the basis of an extensive review of the literature (see Lefebvre 1998: 160–167), I concluded that French même does not have the appropriate properties to relabel the substrate languages’ self-anaphor. Furthermore, the function of Haitian mèm < French même is to convey emphasis (see also DeGraff 1992b).

 Claire Lefebvre

They conclude that, in these cases, relexification/relabelling has failed to apply. As a result, they challenge the importance of the role of relexification/relabelling in creole genesis. In Lefebvre (1989), another view is advocated. Two hypotheses are considered to account for the discrepancy between the creole and the substrate data within the framework of a relabelling account. First, it is theoretically possible that the superstrate language may have fewer verbs of cutting than the substrate languages. In this case, the creators of the creole would not have found in the superstrate language the number of forms they needed in order to relabel each pertinent lexical item in their own lexicons. Consequently, several substrate verbs of cutting would have been relabelled on the basis of a single superstrate form. The result would be exactly what the data show: the creole has fewer verbs of cutting than the substrate lexicons. Second, it is also theoretically possible that, regardless of the number of verbs of cutting that the superstrate language has, the creators of a creole might have been exposed to only one or two such verbs. As a consequence, more than one substrate verb of cutting would have been relexified on the basis of the same superstrate form. The result would be exactly the same as in the first case: the creole would contain fewer verbs of cutting than the substrate lexicons do. To sum up, the examples discussed in this section all show, in various ways, how the superstrate language (or access to it) imposes a constraint on relabelling. If no appropriate form is found in the superstrate language to relabel a substrate entry, a new category may be created through grammaticalization (e.g., the Saramaccan definite determiner), a category may remain covert (e.g., the Haitian self-anaphor), or several lexical items may be relabelled on the basis of a single superstrate form yielding a creole lexical entry that is less specified in some way than the substrate forms (e.g., verbs of cutting).

5.  F  ourth prediction of relabelling: The substrate languages will determine the parametric options of a creole In a framework where parametric options are formulated in terms of correlations between the availability of x (a parametric option) and that of y (a functional category) in a given grammar and lexicon, and given that functional categories may be relabelled, it follows that the substrate languages will determine the parametric options of a creole. With one exception, this prediction is borne out by the Haitian Creole data summarized in (26), from Lefebvre (1998: 387).18 Note that the correlations hold true even in cases where the functional category is covert in Haitian, as in (C).

.  For additional correlations of the same type, see Koopman (1986).



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

(26) Availability of fongbe haitian french (A) Verb raising to INFL (correlates with inflectional – – + morphology on the verb) (Pollock 1989) (B) Serial verbs (correlates with lack of derivational + + – and inflectional morphology) (Baker 1991; Muysken 1988) (C) Double-object constructions (correlates with + + – availability of Genitive Case in nominal structures) (Johnson 1991) (D) Negative quantifiers as NPs (correlates with + + – availability of bare NPs)(Déprez 1999) (E) Verb-doubling phenomena (correlates with the + + – properties of the determiner system) (Lefebvre 1998: 387)

There is one exception to this general pattern and it concerns the null subject parameter. Assuming that availability of syntactic clitics defines a language as a null subject language (e.g., Hulk 1986; Jaeggli 1984; Roberge 1990), both French and Fongbe are null subject languages because they have syntactic clitics.19 Unlike both its source languages, Haitian is not a null subject language because it does not have syntactic clitics (e.g., Cadely 1994; Déprez 1992; Law 1992; contra DeGraff 1992a).20 According to the analysis in Brousseau (1995), however, the fact that Haitian does not have syntactic clitics is not a counterexample to the relabelling account. Rather, it follows from the way functional categories are relabelled in creole genesis. Brousseau’s account is summarized in Lefebvre (1998: 155–157).

6.  F  ifth prediction of relabelling: The respective contributions of the substrate and superstrate languages to a creole’s word order Both the substrate and the superstrate languages contribute to a creole’s word order. According to the proposal in Lefebvre & Lumsden (1992), the respective contribution of each source language is principled: While lexical categories of the creole tend to follow the word order of the superstrate language (e.g., adjectives, adpositions, etc.), the creole’s functional categories tend to follow that of the .  Arguments supporting the analysis of French and Fongbe pronominal clitics as syntactic clitics may be found in Lefebvre (1998: 148–157). .  The debate concerning the syntactic, as opposed to phonological, status of Haitian clitics is reported in detail in Lefebvre (1998: 148–157).

 Claire Lefebvre

substrate languages (e.g., determiners, TMA markers, etc.). This general state of affairs is derivable from the way the creators of a creole are hypothesized to process the superstrate data. On the one hand, as is pointed out in Lefebvre & Lumsden (1992), since the creators of a creole identify the lexical categories of the superstrate language they are exposed to, they acquire the word order of the superstrate lexical categories. For example, in French, wh-modifiers precede the noun (e.g., quelle personne ‘which person’). The word order of Haitian wh-phrases follows the French order, as can be seen in (17b). On the other hand, since the creators of a creole do not identify the functional categories of the superstrate language as such because they do not have enough access to this language, they try to relabel their own functional categories. If they succeed, the creole’s functional categories will have the same order as the corresponding categories in the substrate language. The Haitian determiner system in (6) is a case in point. Note, however, that there appear to be some exceptions to this tendency. For example, Martinican Creole has a pre-nominal plural marker (Bernabé 1983) and Seychelles Creole has a preposed possessive determiner (reviewer’s comment); such cases call for an explanation. However, as we saw in the case of the Saramaccan determiner, some of these “wrong word order cases” may be explained by the fact that the functional category has been created by the grammaticalization of a pre-nominal lexical item rather than by relabelling. (For a more detailed discussion of this topic, see ­Lefebvre 1998: 38–40, 78, 89, 180, 184–246, 293–297, 339–342, 388–390.)

7.  Conclusion The aim of this paper was to explore the predictions that the nature of the process of relexification/relabelling makes with respect to the respective contributions of substrate and superstrate languages to a radical creole. The relexification/relabelling account of creole genesis makes at least five such predictions. Each of them was shown to be borne out by the data. The contribution of this paper thus resides in the fact that, with a relexification/relabelling account of creole genesis, it can be shown that the respective contributions to creoles of their substrate and superstrate are principled. Whether other theories of creole genesis are able to predict the data with equal accuracy remains to be seen. Since this paper is concerned only with radical creoles, it did not take into account the variable degree of exposure of the creators of a creole to the superstratum languages. As has been pointed out in the literature, radical creoles present fewer examples of acquisition of superstrate features than less radical creoles do (e.g., Haitian Creole or Saramaccan, see Muysken 1994, versus Louisiana Creole, see Valdman 1978). Possibly, if this variable were taken into account, it would



The principled nature of substrate and superstrate contributions 

solve the word order problems discussed in §6. Here we have yet another avenue for future research.

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Lefebvre, Claire. 1993. The role of relexification in creole genesis: The case of functional ­categories. Travaux de recherche sur le créole haïtien 14: 23–52. Lefebvre, Claire. 1994. Functional categories and relexification. In Lefebvre, Claire & Lumsden, John S. (Eds), The central role of relexification in Creole genesis: The case of Haitian Creole. Research report prepared for SSHRCC on the project La genèse du créole haïtien: Un cas particulier d’investigation sur la forme de la grammaire universelle. Université du Québec à Montréal, Montreal. Lefebvre, Claire. 1996. The tense, mood and aspect system of Haitian Creole and the problem of transmission of grammar in creole genesis. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 11. 231–13. Lefebvre, Claire. 1997. Relexification in creole genesis: The case of demonstrative terms in ­Haitian Creole. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 12(2): 181–201. Lefebvre, Claire. 1998. Creole genesis and the acquisition of grammar: The Case of Haitian Creole [Cambridge Studies in Linguistics 88]. Cambridge: CUP. Lefebvre, Claire. 2001. The interplay of relexification and levelling in creole genesis and ­development. Linguistics 39(2): 371–408. Lefebvre, Claire. 2004a. Issues in the study of pidgin and creole languages. Amsterdam: John ­Benjamins. Lefebvre, Claire. 2004b. Coordinating constructions in Fongbe with reference to Haitian Creole. In Haspelmath, Martin. (Ed.), Coordinating constructions. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 123–65. Lefebvre, Claire. 2004c. Creole genesis: A state of the art. In Lefebvre, Claire. (2004a). Lefebvre, Claire. 2006. The contribution of relexification, grammaticalisation, reanalysis, and diffusion in contact-induced language change. Paper presented at the LSA meeting. Albuquerque, New Mexico, January. Lefebvre, Claire & Brousseau, Anne-Marie. 2002. The structure of Fongbe [Mouton Grammar Library 25]. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Lefebvre, Claire and Loranger, Virginie. 2006. On the properties of Saramaccan fu: Synchronic and diachronic perspectives. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 21(2): 275–335. Lefebvre, Claire & Loranger, Virginie. To appear. A diachronic and synchronic account of the multifunctionality of Saramaccan táa. Submitted to Linguistics. Lefebvre, Claire & Lumsden, John S. 1992. On word order in relexification. Travaux de recherche sur le créole haïtien 10: 1–22. Lefebvre, Claire & Lumsden, John S. 1994. Relexification in creole genesis. In Lefebvre, Claire & Lumsden, John S. (Eds), MIT symposium on the central role of relexification in Creole genesis: The case of Haitian Creole. Research report prepared for SSHRCC on the project La genèse du créole haïtien: Un cas particulier d’investigation sur la forme de la grammaire universelle. Université du Québec à Montréal, Montreal. Lefebvre, Claire & Massam, Diane. 1988. Haitian Creole syntax: A case for DET as head. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 3: 213–43. Lefebvre, Claire & Muysken, Pieter C. 1988. Mixed categories: Nominalisations in Quechua [Studies in Natural Language and Linguistic Theory]. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Lefebvre, Claire & Therrien, Isabelle. 2007. The multiple facets of Papiamentu ku. Creolica 2007–01–29. Lumsden, John S. 1989. On the distribution of determiners in Haitian Creole. In Lefebvre, Claire & Lumsden, John S. (Eds). Le créole haïtien. Special issue of the Revue québécoise de linguistique 18(2): 64–93.

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Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole Where do they come from?* Susanne Michaelis

Max-Planck-Institut für evolutionäre Anthropologie Leipzig & Justus-Liebig-Universität Gießen In this article, I argue that with respect to five valency patterns Seychelles Creole clearly mirrors Eastern Bantu substrate patterns. These findings are particularly interesting since the received view on French Indian Ocean creoles has been so far that there has been virtually no significant substrate influence in their grammatical structures. In order to detect substrate influence, I advocate a new methodological approach in creole studies. Thanks to a bulk of typological data on the worldwide distribution of certain grammatical structures, creolists should not restrict themselves to compare one creole language to one or more potential substrate languages, but they should study creole and substrate features in the context of the worldwide distribution of these features. Only if these creole and substrate features turn out to be cross-linguistically unusual are we in a safe position to claim substrate influence.

1.  Introduction In this article, I will show that a significant part of Seychelles Creole valency syntax reflects substrate patterns, i.e., East African Bantu patterns. This state of affairs is quite striking given the often cited view that the French creoles, especially those of the Indian Ocean, tend to be less radical, where “radicalness” seems to be ­impressionistically defined in terms of a maximal deviation from the European superstrate and a maximal closeness to the non-European substrate language(s). I will look at five valency patterns, and I will compare the Seychelles Creole patterns to the substrate patterns and to the patterns of its French superstrate.

* I am very grateful to Martin Haspelmath, Miriam Meyerhoff, and Paula Prescod for helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper.

 Susanne Michaelis

I will show that the Seychelles Creole patterns are best characterized as retentions of Eastern Bantu patterns. The paper is organized as follows: In §2, I will give a brief outline of the sociohistorical setting which offers a view of the specific language contact situation in which Seychelles Creole arose and developed. In §§ 4–8, the core of my paper, I will discuss five grammatical construction types and compare the Seychelles Creole data to the corresponding superstrate and substrate data. The five construction types are the following: Ditransitive verb constructions (§4), experiencer constructions (§5), simple path constructions (§6), caused-path constructions (§7), and constructions with the polysemous marker (av)ek (§8). I will use the new methodology of placing the creole constructions into a worldwide cross-linguistic perspective, and I argue that only against this background can solid claims about substrate influence be made. §9 will summarize and discuss the findings of this paper.

2.  Socio-historical background1 The uninhabited islands of the Seychelles were the last of the Indian Ocean islands to be settled in 1770 by the French, mainly from Mauritius (settled in 1721), but also from Reunion Island (settled in 1664). The French settlers brought their slaves along with them to this new subcolony, which was ruled from Mauritius. During the first two decades, the colony was faced with various difficulties, but a ­demographic boom began around the late 1780s, when under Malavois, the ­Governor-General for ­Mauritius and the Seychelles, the economy changed from the mere exploitation of the natural resources to profitable agriculture (cotton, coffee, spices) (Nwulia 1981: 27). By 1791, there were 572 inhabitants in the islands: 65 Europeans, 20 free “coloured” people, and 487 slaves (Chaudenson 1979: 225). Due to a constant demand for servile labor, the population grew constantly, and by 1810 there were 317 European settlers, 135 free “coloured” people and 3,015 slaves in the islands, as is shown in Table 1. After the Napoleonic Wars, with the Treaty of Paris in 1814, the Seychelles and Mauri­tius came under the rule of Britain, whereas Reunion remained under French rule. After 1807 the slave trade was illegal in all British territories, but the ­colonial authorities found it difficult to implement this ban in the Seychelles and

.  If not mentioned otherwise I draw on information in Allen 2001, Bollée 1977, Chaudenson 1979, Lionnet 1972, and Nwulia 1981.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

Table 1.  Population numbers for the Seychelles (1770–1817)

Europeans

free “coloured” people

slaves

1770: start of settlement 1791: Malavois 1810: start of illegal slave trade 1817: peak of illegal slave trade

15 65 317 no information

6 20 135 no information

7 487 3,015 7,323

­ auritius.2 As a consequence, an illegal slave trade started to flourish in the Indian M Ocean (Allen 2001: 93, 110). It is estimated that between 1811 and 1827 about 60,000 slaves were exported from Madagascar and East Africa to Mauritius and to the Seychelles (Allen 2001: 111). So it is not the case, as Baker & Corne (1986) assumed, that from 1810 onwards there were no more regular supplies of slaves into the Mascarenes (i.e., Reunion and Mauritius) and the Seychelles: There were regular supplies, but illegal ones.3 After the abolition of slavery in 1835 the British Navy captured French ships still continuing in the slave trade and set the slaves “free” in the Seychelles. This led to a con­siderable further influx of Bantu-speaking East Africans in the 19th century. In 1976, the Seychelles became independent, and since 1978 there have been three official languages: English, French and Seychelles Creole (Kreol seselwa). Creole is the native language of about 95% of the population. In 1982 it was ­introduced as a language of instruction in primary schools and has been used in different formal communica­tion contexts, e.g., television, radio, court, newspaper. But during the last 15 years, the use of written varieties of Seychelles Creole has lost a lot of its former signifi­cance. For the purposes of this paper, I would like to stress two important points: Firstly, when the French colonists, who mainly came from Mauritius, settled the Seychelles, they and their slaves brought some kind of stabilized Mauritian Creole along with them. Baker & Corne (1986) hypothesize that it was around 1770 that the different varieties spoken in Mauritius “jelled” into a stable creole. The most important substrate languages for Mauritian Creole during this ­formative period seem to

.  “A powerful Franco-Mauritian community’s willingness to protect its vested interests, coupled with the continuing demand for servile labor, the proximity of familiar and established markets capable of satisfying that demand, and the colonial government’s dependence upon intermittent Royal Navy support meant that any such undertaking would be a difficult one even under the best of circumstances” (Allen 2001: 110). .  However, it is far from clear from where exactly these slaves came. Allen (2001: 111) suggests that three quarters of them came from Madagascar, whereas only one quarter came from East Africa.

 Susanne Michaelis

have been Bantu languages from East Africa. This historical fact is the reason why Seychelles Creole can be characterized as an offshoot of Mauritian Creole.4 Secondly, the composition of the slave population during the colonization of Mauritius was as follows: during the first decades Malagasy slaves made up the majority except for the short period between 1735 and 1740, when most of the slaves came from Senegambia and the Slave Coast. It is only from the late 1760s onwards that more slaves were brought to Mauritius from East Africa than from Madagascar. By the time of the colonization of the Seychelles (1770), the slave trade with East Africa provided the great majority of the slaves taken to the Seychelles and the Mascarenes (i.e., Réunion and Mauritius), and this continued until the end of the century. Thus, Seychelles Creole is a continuation of stable varieties of Mauritian Creole exported to the islands in the 1770s. The slaves who were taken to the Seychelles seem to have come overwhelmingly from the East African coast. The possible substrate and adstrate languages would have been spoken from an area from Zanzibar to the South of Mozambique. It also seems that the slavers took their slaves from places quite far inside the country. Therefore some of the most probable substrate/ adstrate languages for Seychelles Creole are Swahili, Mwera, Makonde, Yao, and Makua. Since the spread of Bantu languages into eastern and southern Africa is a recent phenomenon (during the last 1,500 years), these languages show a high degree of uniformity compared to the great typological diversity of e.g., West African languages. Therefore, when I cite examples from different Eastern Bantu languages (Swahili, Makua, Ngoni), these should be regarded as prototypical examples for Eastern Bantu languages of this region. The reader should not infer that for a particular linguistic phenomenon only the cited Bantu language could count as possible substrate language. 3.  Superstrate, convergence and substrates5 There are a lot of cases in the syntax of Seychelles Creole where the inherited French patterns are continued contrasting with different patterns in the Bantu languages.

.  The two languages are nowadays mutually intelligible. .  The data for the different languages cited come from different sources. For Seychelles Creole I rely on different spoken and written corpora, on grammars, dictionaries and elicitation from a native speaker, Marcel Rosalie. For Swahili, I will take my examples from grammars, dictionaries, a Bible translation, and elicitation from a L2 Swahili/L1 Kikuyu speaker, Alice Wangui. If not mentioned otherwise, examples from Seychelles Creole, English, and French were made up by myself and checked with native speakers.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

Examples include the possessive pronouns and numerals which are preposed in Seychelles Creole as in French, whereas they are postposed in Bantu: 3.1  Possessive pronouns (1) Seychelles Creole mon lakaz ‘my house’ (2) French ma maison

‘my house’

(3) Makua (Woodward 1926: 283) inupa-aka house my ‘my house’

3.2  Numerals (4) Seychelles Creole en lakaz ‘one house’ (5) French une maison

‘one house’

(6) Makua (Woodward 1926: 279) inupa imoka house one ‘one house’

There are other cases which might be best described as ‘convergence’, where ­Seychelles Creole shows the same pattern as French and Bantu, e.g., SVO word order. Here both languages are likely to have influenced the resulting patterns. In addition, there are constructions in the syntax of Seychelles Creole that are the result of internal changes within Seychelles Creole, e.g., the ongoing grammaticalization of the plural marker bann from French une bande de ‘a bunch of ’: en lakaz (‘a house’) vs. bann lakaz (‘houses’). However, the focus of the present investigation is on syntactic patterns that cannot be traced back either to the superstrate patterns of French or to universal tendencies of language change. I would like to argue that the following construction types of Seychelles Creole are the result of a language contact situation where speakers of Eastern Bantu languages retained their syntactic patterns in the new speech varieties that were created by the first and/or later generations of creole speakers. I will look at the four following construction types and the polysemous relator (av)ek: i. ditransitive verb constructions (§4) ii. experiencer constructions (§5) iii. simple path constructions (§6)

 Susanne Michaelis

iv. caused-path constructions (§7) v. polysemous relator (av)ek (§8) 4.  Ditransitive verb constructions6 4.1  Ditransitive construction types By ditransitive constructions, I mean constructions with verbs of transfer like ‘give’, ‘send’, and ‘show’ which require two objects, a Recipient (or receiver) and a Theme (or patient), i.e., the entity that is transferred.7 Thus the class of ditransitive verbs does not comprise verbs like ‘put’, ‘fill’ or ‘load’, which in addition to a Theme role also have a Location role. In this paper I will concentrate on the verb ‘give’, which is by far the most frequent ditransitive verb in all languages. There are three major constructions for expressing the Recipient and Theme of ditransitive verbs in creole languages. Firstly, there is the Double-Object Construction in which Recipient and Theme are equally zero-marked. Example (7) from English illustrates this construction: Double-Object Construction (7) Lea gave Teresa a mango.

A second option is the Indirect-Object Construction in which the Recipient is marked by a special preposition. An example is given in (8). Indirect-Object Construction (8) Lea gave the mango to Teresa.

There is yet another possibility to link the two objects in question, the Serial Verb Construction. As can be seen in example (9) from Nigerian Pidgin, in this case the Recipient is preceded by a “serial verb”, here giv. Serial Verb Construction (9) Nigerian Pidgin (Faraclas 1996: 75) À tek nayf giv yù. 1sg.sbj take knife give 2 sg.obj ‘I gave you the knife.’

.  See Michaelis & Haspelmath (2003) for a detailed investigation of creole ditransitive construc­tions in a cross-linguistic perspective. .  “Theme” in this sense is not to be confused with “theme” in the (information-structural) theme/rheme-distinction.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

4.2  Ditransitives in Seychelles Creole Let us now look at ditransitive constructions in Seychelles Creole. Before I show examples with ditransitive constructions, I should mention that in spontaneous spoken texts – and this is not only the case in Seychelles Creole – one has to look hard to find constructions with two overtly expressed objects. By far the most frequently, we find constructions with only one overtly expressed object argument in which the other object is topical and can be inferred from the context. Another possibility is illustrated by (10) where the three-place event is split up into two two-place subparts, so that every verb has just one object argument. (10)

Seychelles Creole Mon pran en lit mon donn Napoleon. 1sg.sbj take one liter 1sg.sbj give Napoleon ‘I took one liter and gave (it) to Napoleon.’

(Bollée & Rosalie 1994: 76)

In (10) we have a quasi–serial verb construction with a single intonation contour8 (cf. Michaelis & Haspelmath 2003). However, even though ditransitive constructions with three overt arguments are rare in real texts, we still find some of them and they can be readily elicited, so they are surely part of the grammar of ­Seychelles Creole. Thus, if in a construction with the verb donn-en ‘give’9 both arguments, Recipient and Theme, are expressed, we find the following construction. (11)

Seychelles Creole Mon `n donn Marcel en mang. 1sg.sbj compl give Marcel a mango ‘I gave Marcel a mango.’

As example (11) shows, neither Recipient nor Theme are marked, so we are dealing with a Double-Object Construction. Example (12) is another instance of the Double-Object Construction with the verb ‘give’: (12) (…) ou donn li morso disik. 2sg.sbj give 3sg.obj piece sugar ‘You gave him a piece of sugar.’10

(Bollée & Rosalie 1994: 80)

.  We normally do not find constructions without a second subject pronoun in the second clause (*Mon pran en lit donn Napoleon). In this regard, the construction is not a typical serial verb construc­tion. See Michaelis (1994: 45ff.) for detailed discussion. .  The majority of verbs in Seychelles Creole have a so-called long and short form of the verb, e.g., donn (short form) vs donnen (long form). The use of one or the other roughly depends on whether there is an object argument to the right of the verb (short form), or not (long form). .  With verbs of saying (dir, demann, rakont etc.) and some other ditransitive verbs like vann ‘to sell’, Seychelles Creole can alternatively have an Indirect Object Construction with the ­Recipient marked by ek, e.g., mon dir ek li ‘I say to him’.

 Susanne Michaelis

When comparing Seychelles Creole to its French superstrate, one observes a sharp difference in construction. In French, the Double-Object Construction in (13) is completely ungrammatical (and this also holds for dialectal or other nonstandard varieties). (13) French *J’ai donné Marcel une mangue.

One has to choose the Indirect-Object Construction, in which the recipient is marked. (14) French J`ai donné une mangue à Marcel. 1sg.have given a mango prep Marcel

However, if we compare the Seychelles Creole construction with two possible ­substrate languages, Swahili and Ngoni (a Bantu language of Southern Tanzania), we see that in these languages, as in most other Bantu languages, the verb ‘give’ also employs the Double-Object Construction:11 the recipients follow the verb directly without any argument marking (Yusufu ‘Joseph’, kuku ‘granpa’). (15)

Swahili  A-li-mpa Yusufu yule maiti. 3sg-pst-give Joseph that corpse ‘He gave the corpse to Joseph.’

(Bantu; New Testament Mark 15.45)

(16)

Ngoni (Bantu; Ngonyani 2003: 77) Va-songolo va-m-pel-ili kuku li-hona. pl.cl2-boy subj.cl2-obj.cl1-give-prf grandpa cl5-tobacco12 ‘The boys gave grandpa some tobacco.’

Thus, one immediately suspects substrate influence from Eastern Bantu. 4.3  Ditransitive constructions in other creoles This suspicion is confirmed when we look at other creole languages. It has been claimed that virtually all creole languages show Double-Object Constructions and that the Double-Object Construction is one of the preferred universal structures associated with ditransitive verbs (cf. Adone 2004; Bickerton 1995; Bruyn et al. 1999). My claim, by contrast, is that the presence or absence of Double-Object Constructions depends on the relevant substrate patterns. This is not only true for

.  Cf. Haspelmath (2005) for a cross-linguistic survey of the syntax of the ditransitive verb ‘give’. .  The numbers refer to different class markers in Ngoni.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

Seychelles Creole but, as Michaelis & Haspelmath (2003) have shown, the same holds for a large number of creoles with different European superstrate bases in very different areas of the world.13 Now one might object that Germanic superstrate languages like English and Dutch do allow the Double-Object Construction with many verbs under certain conditions: (17) I gave Lea the book.

besides

I gave the book to Lea.

However, in Romance superstrate languages like French (cf. 13), Portuguese, and Spanish the Double-Object Construction is ungrammatical. One has to choose an Indirect-Object Construction, i.e., the Recipient is overtly marked. So if ditransitive constructions were based on the lexifier constructions, one would expect Germanic lexifier creoles to behave differently from Romance ­lexifier creoles in a systematic way. However, as one can see in Table 2, independently of their base languages creole languages show the Double-Object Construction/­IndirectObject Construction pattern in correlation with specific geographical areas of the world, i.e., apparently in correlation with relevant substrate language(s). Table 2.  Existence of Double-Object Constructions in various creoles Germanic lexifier creoles (English, Dutch) Atlantic yes Indian Ocean India Indonesia/Malaysia Melanesia no (yes)

Romance lexifier creoles (Portuguese/Spanish, French) yes yes no no no

The substrate languages of Atlantic and Indian Ocean creoles, i.e., West African and Bantu languages, happen to show Double-Object Constructions overwhelmingly, whereas substrate languages of Indian, Indonesian, and Melanesian creoles show the Indirect-Object Construction (cf. Haspelmath 2005). For a more detailed discussion and relevant examples I refer the reader to Michaelis & Haspelmath (2003). We can conclude that it is not the case that virtually all creole languages show the Double-Object Construction and that the Double-Object Construction is one of the preferred universal structures associated with ditransitive verbs. That this

.  In Michaelis & Haspelmath (2003), we investigated ditransitive constructions in twenty creole languages, concentrating mainly on the verb ‘give’.

 Susanne Michaelis

misconception could survive even till Adone (2004) seems to be due to a narrow focus on Atlantic and Indian Ocean creoles. If one considers creoles of other areas of the world and if one studies the worldwide distribution of ditransitive constructions, it becomes apparent that the distribution of Double-Object Construction and Indirect-Object Construction in creoles depends on the relevant substrate languages. Thus, the Double-Object Construction in Seychelles Creole is not due to some universal preferred strategy, but is due to influence from the substrate language(s). The discussion of ditransitive constructions in Seychelles Creole and creoles in general shows that the field of creole studies needs more systematic comparable data of creole languages, but also systematic comparison with superstrates and substrates. Claims about potential universal features of creole languages have often been too hastily formulated, and at the same time suffered from too little crosslinguistic comparative evidence. As I was able to show, a wider perspective enables us to get much deeper insight into the nature of creole languages (see also §9). In the next section, I will investigate experiencer constructions in Seychelles Creole and show that they also pattern with the relevant substrate constructions.

5.  Experiencer constructions We can distinguish three classes of experiencer verbs: i. cognition (e.g., ‘see’, ‘know’, ‘forget’, ‘remember’) ii. physical sensation (e.g., ‘be hungry’, ‘be thirsty’, ‘be cold’, ‘have a headache’) iii. emotion (e.g., ‘be glad’, ‘be sorry’, ‘like’) In this section, I will mainly concentrate on experiencer verbs expressing emotion. There are three semantic constituents involved in an experiencer construction, as illustrated in example (18). (18) English I like the book. experiencer experience stimulus

The construction in (18) consists of the following three parts: i.

an experiencer: a human or animate participant that can have physical or mental experiences ii. a stimulus: the phenomenon or participant that brings about an experience iii. an experience: a physical or mental experiential situation, e.g., hunger, pain, love, fear, jealousy etc.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

If we now turn to Seychelles Creole experiencer constructions, we see that compared to French prepositional constructions such as avoir peur de ‘to be afraid of ’, or être jaloux de ‘to be jealous of ’ the corresponding Seychelles Creole constructions are grammatically transitive. While in the French example (19) the stimulus is marked by means of an oblique preposition (de cet homme), in example (20) from ­Seychelles Creole the stimulus is not marked (sa zonm): (19)

French: intransitive construction, stimulus is marked J’ai peur de cet homme. 1sg.have fear prep dem man ‘I am afraid of this man.’

(20)

Seychelles Creole: transitive construction, stimulus is not marked Mon per sa zonm. 1sg.sbj fear dem man ‘I am afraid of this man.’

Here again – as we saw for the ditransitive constructions – the Seychelles Creole pattern diverges from the French one. When looking at the substrate data, we see that in Swahili the stimulus in an experiencer construction is also not marked, so we are dealing with a grammatically transitive construction. (21)

Swahili (elicited, Alice Wangui): transitive construction, stimulus is not marked A-na-mw-ogopa nyoka. 3sg-pres-3obj-fear snake ‘He is afraid of the snake.’

This pattern seems to extend to quite a few other experiencer verbs. Table 3 shows a number of transitive/intransitive matches between Swahili and Seychelles Creole versus French. The variable x represents the stimulus. Table 3.  Transitive/intransitive matches Swahili ogopa x penda x tamani x hitaji x

Transitive Seychelles Creole pe x kontan x anvi x bezwen x

Intransitive French avoir peur de x être content de x/aimer x avoir envie de x/désirer x avoir besoin de x

English gloss ‘be afraid of x’ ‘like x/love x’ ‘to long for x, desire x’ ‘need x’

It is interesting to compare these experiencer constructions to what we saw in the previous section on ditransitive constructions: Swahili shows Double-Object Constructions, i.e., recipients in Swahili are also treated as direct objects, at least for the most frequent ditransitive verb ‘give’.

 Susanne Michaelis

Thus, it is plausible to hypothesize that Seychelles Creole speakers’ predilection for transitive patterns is due to Eastern Bantu substrate. As one can see from the examples, Swahili speakers prefer a direct-object stimulus. Besides the mentioned transitive experiencer constructions in Seychelles Creole, there are also intransitive constructions marked by prepositions, as shown in Table 4. Table 4.  Prepositional experiencer constructions in Seychelles Creole with their French source constructions and the English equivalents Seychelles Creole

(Non-standard) French

English

mon trakase pour Peter mon ankoler avek Peter mon pran pitye avek zot mon onte pour zot mon enterese dan kalkil

je me tracasse pour Pierre je suis en colère avec lui j’ai pitié de/avec eux j’ai honte de/pour eux je m’intéresse à l’algèbre

‘I worry about Peter’ ‘I am angry about Peter’ ‘I have mercy for them’ ‘I am ashamed of them’ ‘I am interested in algebra’

Here, the French pattern seems to be continued in that the experiencer is marked by an overt preposition: pour, avek, dan.14 Experiencer constructions seem to be a good diagnostic for measuring the degree of grammatical transitivity of a language, because they do not easily lend themselves to a prototypical transitive causation pattern: Experiencers are not good agents, nor good patients, nor good recipients; they are something in between (Croft 1991, 1993). In Table 5, one can see that experiencers share specific properties with other prominent semantic roles, e.g., they are [+animate] like agents, and [+involved] like recipients, but also [+affected] like patients: Table 5.  Properties of different semantic roles agent [+animate] [+volitional] [+aware] patient [+affected] recipient [+animate] [+aware] experiencer [+animate] [+aware] [+affected]

[+involved] [+involved]

Therefore firstly, experiencer constructions differ widely within and across ­languages (cf. Bossong 1998; Haspelmath 2001), and secondly, – interesting for our purposes here – it seems to be cross-linguistically rare to find the stimulus of an experiencer construction coded as a direct object. Normally the stimulus is

.  The last construction enterese dan kalkil could have been copied from English I am ­interested in algebra.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

marked as an oblique argument by special cases or prepositions (like about, for, in in English). This is the reason one can make a good case for substrate influence in this part of Seychelles Creole syntax. Seychelles Creole seems to have retained the transitive pattern from its Eastern Bantu substrate languages. But on the other hand, a fair amount of Seychelles Creole experiencer predicates follow the French model or a more universal strategy of coding the stimulus not transitively, but with a preposition (cf. Table 4 above). Thus, in Seychelles Creole we see a mixture of patterns retained by speakers of Eastern Bantu substrate languages and patterns inherited from French. This kind of mixture seems to be very widespread in a language contact ­situation like creolization. We often do not observe an exact copy of the substrate patterns (cf. Essegbey 2005 for locative constructions in the Surinamese Creoles and their substrates). Here, token and type frequency might play a significant role. More frequently used and heard and therefore entrenched constructions in the L1 of East African slaves, such as ‘be afraid of ’, ‘like, love’, and ‘need’, may constitute a construction type which the East Africans might have unconsciously relied on when communicating under the special circumstances of the stressful day-to-day survival in these colonial societies. By contrast, the less frequent and less entrenched construction types in the L1 of East Africans, e.g., ‘have mercy for’, ‘worry about’ might have lent themselves to be modeled on a more L2 French-like pattern. But here much more empirical evidence from diachronic text corpora of welldocumented language contact situations is needed to get a clearer sense of why certain construction types tend to mirror substrate patterns, whereas others mirror superstrate patterns, and still others stem from universal patterns of language change under the specific conditions of second language use during creolization scenarios (cf. Siegel, this volume for the notion of “second language use”). One possible objection to the claim that Seychelles Creole experiencer constructions are modeled on similar Bantu patterns is that the Bantu-like transitive structures in Seychelles Creole could simply be due to a phonological reduction process that eliminated French de because of its perceptual weakness (and semantic vacuousness) during the creolization process. Indeed, all traces of French de have been lost in Seychelles Creole except for fossilized de in noun compounding, e.g.,: (23) dezer-d-tan

< French deux heures de temps ‘two hours time’

But what happened to other instances of French de in Seychelles Creole valency patterns? I will answer this question by first looking at simple path constructions (§6), secondly at caused-path constructions (§7), and finally at the polysemous relator (av)ek (§ 8).

 Susanne Michaelis

6.  Simple path constructions (‘to go to’, ‘to come from’)15 One prominent instance of French de is the marking of ablative in intransitive self-movement constructions as in example (24). (24)   ablative

French Je sors de la forêt. 1sg come.out from the forest ‘I come out of the forest.’

In the following discussion, the notions ablative (or motion from) and allative (or motion to) are understood as semantic categories and not as morpho-syntactic language-specific cases, and therefore I represent them in small capitals. If during the creolization process French ablative-marking de had been simply lost for phonological reasons, one would expect a Seychelles Creole construction as in (25). (25) Seychelles Creole *mon sorti lafore 1sg come forest

However, this sentence is not grammatical.16 The French example (24) is ­translated as (26). (26)   ablative

Seychelles Creole (elicited, Marcel Rosalie) Mon sorti dan bwa. 1sg.sbj come.from in forest ‘I come out of the forest.’

This construction (literally ‘I exit in the forest’) seems strange from a European perspective. To better understand the Seychelles Creole pattern, we need to examine the expression of allative and ablative in English, French, Seychelles Creole, and Swahili. Before comparing the different construction types, it is helpful to take a closer look at the semantic structure of a local situation. Figure 1 makes use of notions proposed by Jackendoff (1983) and Lehmann (1992).

.  For a comparative study of 15 creoles, their superstrates and substrates see Michaelis (2004); for a comparison of the Surinamese Creoles and their substrates see Essegbey (2005). .  There are constructions like mon sorti Sesel ‘I come from the Seychelles’. But here the reference object has to be a named place, e.g., a country, a town etc.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

moving or located object

involved in situation

oriented with respect to

local region of

reference object







in

forest

I

go

to

je

sors

de

la forêt

Figure 1.  Structure of a local situation (Jackendoff 1983: 161ff.; Lehmann 1992: 629).

A moving or located object (I) is involved in a situation (go) which is oriented (to) with respect to a local region (in) of a reference object (forest). In English, the two semantic components “oriented with respect to” (path) and “local region of ” (place) are fused into one lexeme into (which shows a somewhat unexpected linearization, first place in- and then path -to). Within the path segment, the allative and ablative concepts are marked differently, into vs. out of. (27) English   allative I go into the forest.   ablative I come from/out of the forest.

French has a different construction type with a split between allative marking and ablative marking: Only the ablative is marked overtly (by de), whereas the notion of place is expressed through the semantics of the verb sortir (‘go/come out of ’). In contrast to the ablative, the allative is not marked overtly because location (be-at) is marked by the same preposition à, dans, chez (cf. examples in (28)). These prepositions therefore only refer to place. (28)   location   allative   ablative

French Je suis dans la forêt. Je vais dans la forêt. Je sors de la forêt.

Thus, in French the ablative is marked overtly against the non-marked allative. If one now compares the corresponding examples from Seychelles Creole to the English and French ones, it becomes obvious that in this language allative and ablative are not marked differently:   Seychelles Creole (29) allative Mon al dan bwa. 1sg.sbj go loc.in forest ‘I go into the forest.’

 Susanne Michaelis

(30) ablative Mon sorti dan bwa. 1sg.sbj come.from loc.in forest ‘I come out of the forest.’

Both examples contain the preposition dan, which marks the region of the reference object, here ‘the forest’, but clearly dan does not refer to path, because it is unaffected by the allative and ablative contrast. The appropriate path sense is included in the semantics of the verb.17 Again, if we look at Eastern Bantu, here Swahili, we see the same system at work as in Seychelles Creole. As examples (31) and (32) from Swahili illustrate, allative and ablative are not marked differently. Corresponding to the place marker dan in (29)–(30) there is a postnominal locative case marker –ni in Swahili:   Swahili (New Testament Mark 1, 11; 19) (31) allative a-ka-enda bahari-ni 3sg-seq-go sea-loc.in ‘He went to the sea’. (32) ablative sauti i-ka-toka mbingu-ni voice 3sg-seq-come.from heaven-loc.in ‘A voice came from heaven’.

To better illustrate the differences between English and French on the one hand, and Seychelles Creole and Swahili on the other hand, Figure 2 places the examples from the four different languages in correspondence to the semantic notions ­mentioned above. moving or located object

oriented with respect to

involved in situation



local region of



reference object



I

come

from

the forest

je

sors

de

la forêt

mon

sorti

dan

bwa

sauti

i-ka-toka

-ni

mbingu-

Figure 2.  Mapping of different languages onto semantic notions involved in a local situation.

.  A further pair of examples is given in (29´) and (30´). Here, a different place (lakour ‘one’s home’) and a different preposition (kot ‘at’) are used. The important point is that the ­preposition kot occurs equally in both constructions: (29´) allative Mon al 1sg.sbj go

kot lakour. ‘I go home’. loc.at home

(30´) ablative Mon sorti kot lakour. 1sg.sbj come.from loc.at home

‘I come from home’.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

Here we see clearly that English and French mark path by prepositions (neglecting place to some extent), whereas Seychelles Creole and Swahili mark place by an overt marker and express path only in the verb. To sum up, it is not the case that the French ablative-marker de simply got lost during the creolization process. Evidently, in Seychelles Creole there is a totally different system at work which clearly mirrors the Eastern Bantu pattern in that allative and ablative are not marked differently. In this context, it is interesting to mention that most Atlantic and Indian Ocean creoles behave like Seychelles Creole because of typologically similar substrates;18 at least the following African languages among others do not mark path overtly: Bambara, Ewe, Twi, Ijo, Efik, Swahili, Zulu ­(Bernhard Wälchli p.c.), and probably the pattern is very widespread throughout Africa. However, there is a major difference with Pacific creoles, e.g., Tayo, which overtly marks ablative (using de) and which, besides the French superstrate, has substrates that also mark path overtly (cf. Ehrhart 1993; Michaelis 2004). Let us now look at related transitive constructions, where a patient or theme is localized with respect to a reference object (caused-path constructions).

7.  Caused-path constructions 7.1  Verbs of putting and removal Caused-path constructions are another construction type where French uses de. As one can see from examples (33) and (34), the ablative in (34) is marked by the preposition de, whereas there is no special allative marking in (33), since sur can be used in both the allative and the locative (be-at) contexts (la tasse est sur la table ‘the cup is on the table’).   French (33) allative Marcel a mis la tasse sur la table. Marcel has put the cup loc.on the table ‘Marcel put a cup on the table.’ (34) ablative Marcel a enlevé la tasse de la table. Marcel has removed the cup path the table ‘Marcel removed a cup from the table.’

Seychelles Creole exhibits constructions similar to those we saw in the last section on simple path-constructions. Compare examples (35) and (36).

.  See Wälchli & Zúñiga (2006), who have studied the (in)difference of path (Source/Goal) in 117 languages worldwide.

 Susanne Michaelis

  Seychelles Creole (elicited, Marcel Rosalie) (35) allative Marcel in met tas lo latab. Marcel prf put cup loc.on table ‘Marcel put a cup on the table.’ (36) ablative Marcel in tir tas lo latab. Marcel prf remove cup loc.on table ‘Marcel removed a cup from the table.’

Here again, I would argue that if French ablative-marking de (cf. example 34) were simply lost during the process of creolization, the Seychelles Creole sentence should be something like that given in (36´). (36´) * Marcel in tir tas latab.

However, (36´) is an ungrammatical sentence in Seychelles Creole. Again, if we look at the corresponding constructions in Swahili, we see that here, too, path is not marked differently (compare examples (37) and (38)).   Swahili (elicited, Alice Wangui) (37) allative Marcel a-li-weka kikombe meza-ni. Marcel 3sg-pst-put cup table-loc.on ‘Marcel put a cup on the table.’ (38) ablative Marcel a-li-ondoa kikombe meza-ni. Marcel 3sg-pst-remove cup table-loc.on ‘Marcel removed a cup from the table.’

To conclude this subsection, verbs of putting and removal in Caused-path ­constructions in Seychelles Creole show the same pattern as the simple path constructions: path is not overtly marked, but has to be ­inferred from the semantics of the verb. The prepositions (e.g., lo, dan) express only the local region (loc), not path. This construction type is clearly not inherited from the French superstrate. As with the previous grammatical constructions, the Eastern Bantu substrate pattern seems to be the source for the Seychelles Creole caused-path constructions. 7.2  Verbs of pushing and pulling There is another group of verbs within the domain of caused-path constructions, verbs of pushing and pulling, which are interesting to look at. Here again, we see French de-marking in the ablative member of the construction (cf. 40).   French (39) allative Marcel a poussé Pierre dans le trou. Marcel has pushed Pierre path+loc the hole ‘Marcel pushed Pierre into the hole.’



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

(40) ablative Marcel a retiré Pierre du trou. Marcel has pulled Pierre path hole ‘Marcel pulled Peter out of the hole.’

Again, if French ablative-marking de/du had been simply lost during the creo­ lization process, the Seychelles Creole pattern should be something like (41). (41) * Marcel ti redi Pierre trou.

However, this is definitely not the Seychelles Creole equivalent of the French sentence in (40). The examples (42) and (43) from Seychelles Creole show that again the appropriate concept of path is not overtly expressed, but has to be inferred from the semantics of the verbs pous ‘push’ and redi ‘pull’.   Seychelles Creole (elicited, Marcel Rosalie) (42) allative Marcel ti pous Peter dan trou. Marcel pst push Peter loc.in hole ‘Marcel pushed Peter into the hole’. (43) ablative Marcel ti redi Peter dan trou. Marcel pst pull Peter loc.in hole ‘Marcel pulled Peter out of the hole.’19

It is again interesting to compare Seychelles Creole to Swahili examples in (44) and (45).   Swahili (elicited, Alice Wangui) (44) allative Marcel a-li-m-sukuma Peter shimo-ni. Marcel 3sg-pst-3obj-push Peter hole-loc.in ‘Marcel pushed Peter into the hole’. (45) ablative Marcel a-li-m-vuta Peter kutoka shimo-ni. Marcel 3sg-pst-3obj-pull Peter path.from hole-loc.in ‘Marcel pulled Peter out of the hole.’

In this pair of allative and ablative constructions with verbs of pushing and pulling, Swahili does apparently mark the ablative overtly by the quasi­grammaticalized preposition kutoka (from the infinitive marker ku- combined with -toka ‘to come out’). In this special construction, the Seychelles Creole system seems to diverge from the Swahili system in that speakers of Seychelles Creole, as we see in example (43), do not mark ablative overtly.

.  Example (43) could also mean ‘Marcel has pulled Peter into the hole’ (if Marcel is in the hole).

 Susanne Michaelis

It should be noted that this construction type is not restricted to spontaneous spoken discourse, but is also found in very elaborate, written varieties of Seychelles Creole, as examples (46) through (49) illustrate. As could be seen in the previous examples from Seychelles Creole, allative and ablative constructions are not marked differently. In all four examples we just find the preposition dan which only expresses the local region of the reference object. Here again the correct interpretation has to be inferred from the semantics of the verbs.   Seychelles Creole (elicited, Marcel Rosalie) (46) allative Prezidan ti apwent Pat dan pos minis lasante. President pst appoint Pat loc.in position minister health ‘The President appointed Pat as Minister of Health.’ (47) ablative Prezidan ti deboulonn Pat dan pos minis lasante. President pst push.out Pat loc.in position minister health ‘The President pushed Pat out of his position as Minister of Health.’ (48) allative Molekil ti ganny entrodwi dan lekor. molecules pst pass.get introduce loc.in body ‘Molecules are introduced into the body.’ (49) ablative Molekil ti ganny eliminen dan lekor. molecules pst pass.get eliminate loc.in body ‘Molecules are eliminated from the body.’

In conclusion to this section, we have seen that caused-path constructions in ­Seychelles Creole show the same pattern as the simple path constructions: path is not overtly marked, but has to be inferred from the semantics of the verb. The prepositions (e.g., lo, dan) refer only to the local region (loc) of the reference object, not to path. Therefore, it is not the case that the French ablative-marker de simply got lost during creolization; instead, we see a totally different system in Seychelles Creole which mirrors the Eastern Bantu pattern in that allative and ablative are not marked differently. We did see some minor differences in some uses of ablative marking in Seychelles Creole and Swahili, but we should not expect exact copying of syntactic constructions during creolization or language contact in general, as we have already seen for experiencer constructions earlier on (§5). On the contrary, I think that it is much more likely that we should find similar, but not identical patterns in creoles and their substrates (and their superstrates, for that matter) because of the social and linguistic complexity of the contact situation and potential, constant changes operating in any language at any time.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

8.  O  ther similarities between Seychelles Creole and Bantu syntax: The polysemous relator (av)ek ‘with, and’20 Let us finally look at the polysemous relator (av)ek (derived from French avec ‘with’) in Seychelles Creole with respect to its French and Swahili counterparts. There are at least three construction types where Seychelles Creole (av)ek and Swahili na ‘with, and’ behave alike, contrasting with French, where different prepositions and/or conjunctions are used. 8.1  Conjunctive noun phrase construction (‘A and B’) I will begin with the conjunctive function: two noun phrases are symmetrically linked by an overt marker (A and B). In French, there is the conjunction et which conveys this function. (50) French Marie et Pierre

‘Marie and Pierre’

In Seychelles Creole, this function is expressed by the marker (av)ek, which is also used for the comitative function ‘with’.   Seychelles Creole    conjunctive (51) Mari ek Pyer Mari with Pyer

‘Mari and Pyer’

  comitative (52) Mon ‘n travay (…) avek Sye Raim. 1sg prf work (…) with M. Rahim ‘I have worked (…) with M. Rahim.’ (Bollée & Rosalie 1994: 14f.)

This coincidence of comitative and conjunctive marking does not exist in French (*Mari avec Pierre ‘Marie and Pierre’). However, the Seychelles Creole pattern is well attested in the Bantu languages, e.g., in Swahili. (53) Swahili (Ashton 1947: 102) mimi na Hamisi me with Hamisi ‘me and Hamisi’

.  See Michaelis & Rosalie (2000) for a more detailed analysis of the Seychelles Creole marker (av)ek and a comparison with twenty other creoles and non-creoles. In that article, we use a semantic map approach to interpret the data synchronically and diachronically.

 Susanne Michaelis

Thus, for conjunctive marking with (av)ek, we can fairly safely assume Bantu ­substrate influence. Indeed, the distribution of this polysemy (‘and/with’) ­constitutes an areal pattern which extends to large parts of sub-Saharan Africa (cf. Stassen 2005). Therefore it does not come as a surprise that many Atlantic creoles, which have West African and Bantu substrates, also show this pattern of ­conjunctive marking. 8.2  Passive agent (‘A was hit by B’) Another function which is expressed by Seychelles Creole ek is the passive agent function. Here again, Seychelles Creole patterns with Swahili (na) against French, which marks this syntactic function by the special preposition par. (54)

French Il a été mordu par un chien. 3sg has been bitten by a dog ‘He was bitten by a dog’.

(55)

Seychelles Creole21 Pyer in ganny morde ek lisyen. Pyer prf pass.get bite with dog ‘Pyer was bitten by a dog.’

(56)

Swahili (Ashton 1947: 267) A-li-pig-wa na askari. 3sg-pst-strike-pass with soldier ‘He was struck by a soldier.’22

I do not have typological data at hand which would show how widespread this polysemy of the comitative and passive agent functions is and whether it clusters in certain areas of the world. Therefore the argument for a substrate origin of this construction is less strong. 8.3  Expression of distance (‘close to’, ‘far from’) Yet another semantic notion, namely distance, is expressed by Seychelles Creole (av)ek: being close to or far from a location. Standard French requires the ­preposition de in these contexts whereas Swahili shows exactly the same use of na in comitative and distance marking.

.  However, in written text genres, the passive agent marker par, borrowed from French, is very widespread. .  Compare the similar use of na for the passive agent in Ngoni (Ngonyani 2003: 69).



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

  French (57) Les Seychelles sont proche de l’Afrique. art Seychelles 3pl.be near of Africa ‘The Seychelles are close to Africa.’ (58) Les Seychelles sont loin de l’Inde. art Seychelles 3pl.be far.away of India ‘The Seychelles are far away from India.’   Seychelles Creole (elicited, Marcel Rosalie) (59) Sesel i pros ek Lafrik. Seychelles pm close with Africa ‘The Seychelles are near to Africa.’ (60) Sesel i lwen ek Lenn. Seychelles pm far.away with India ‘The Seychelles are far away from India.’   Swahili (elicited, Alice Wangui; see also Ashton 1947: 195) (61) Visiwa vya Shelisheli viko karibu na Afrika. islands of Seychelles 3pl.there close with Africa ‘The Seychelles are close to Africa.’ (62) Visiwa vya Shelisheli viko mbali na India. islands of Seychelles 3pl.there far with India ‘The Seychelles are far away from India.’

Again, there is no cross-linguistic study available to tell us whether this pattern of marking comitative and distance with the same marker is widespread or rare in the languages of the world. So here again, the evidence for a Bantu substrate influence is less strong than in §8.1. However, it is still remarkable that for all three construction types Seychelles Creole and Swahili use one and the same relator ((av)ek and na respectively) whereas in French there are three different relators (et, par, de) for expressing the various semantic relations. 9.  Discussion and conclusion In this paper, I have shown that with respect to five valency patterns, Seychelles Creole clearly mirrors Eastern Bantu substrate patterns. These findings are important because they contradict the widely held view that the Indian Ocean French creoles do not show any significant substrate influences and are mostly the outcome of heavy restructuring of French. I do not want to downplay the fact that many aspects of Seychelles Creole syntax are inherited from colonial overseas varieties of French. However, the present paper should be a starting point for a

 Susanne Michaelis

thorough and systematic comparison between French-based creoles and Eastern Bantu syntax, which will eventually lead to better founded judgements rather than merely impressionistic assessments of potential substrate influences.23 But how can we tell whether a linguistic feature is due to retention from the substrate languages or not? As this paper has demonstrated, it is worth pursuing a new methodology within creole studies. We should no longer restrict ourselves to just comparing one creole language (or several related creole languages) to one or more potential substrate languages, but we should study creole and substrate features in the context of the worldwide distribution of these features. Just looking at one creole language and one substrate language is insufficient, because it could be that the feature is very widespread in the world’s languages. In such cases, a substrate account is not necessary (see also Parkvall 2000; Plag 2002). Therefore, the first step to take if we want to detect substrate influence is to look at the worldwide cross-linguistic distribution of the creole feature that we are interested in. If there are typological studies on this feature, there are two possible situations: (i) The feature is cross-linguistically rare. In this case we still have to rule out the superstrate as a source for the feature under investigation. If the substrate happens to show the same structural feature, we can be quite sure that we are dealing with substrate influence. This seems to be the case for Seychelles Creole experiencer constructions (§5), even though more systematic typological studies are needed here. (ii) On the contrary, if the feature we are studying is cross-linguistically widespread, we have to broaden our perspective to include more creoles with their potential substrate languages into our sample. An important point here is that we should also try to look at creoles which have substrates that behave typologically differently. Only if the creoles pattern systematically with their typologically different substrates can we be sure of substrate influence, even if the linguistic feature is widespread in the world’s languages. This is the method which I chose while discussing Double-Object Constructions (§4), simple path Constructions (§6), and the coincidence of comitative and conjunctive marking (§8.1). Here, the systematic patterning of creoles and their substrates speak clearly in favour of substrate influence. If, on the other hand, little or nothing is known about the worldwide distribution, we have to rely on a direct one-to-one comparison between the creole and its substrate(s). This situation is exemplified by the coincidence of c ­ omitative and passive agent (§8.2), and comitative and distance (§8.3) marking. Against the

.  The role of Malagasy as substrate language especially for Réunion Creole and Mauritian Creole has not been fully studied. Much more research is needed here.



Valency patterns in Seychelles Creole: Where do they come from? 

background of the coincidence of comitative and conjunctive marking (§8.1), which is a clear case of substrate influence, it is legitimate to propose that the two other coincidences are also due to Bantu influence. However, this argumentation for substrate influence admittedly lacks the explanatory power of the two other situations under (i) and (ii). The importance of the worldwide cross-linguistic approach also extends to claims about creole universals. As we saw in §4 on ditransitive constructions, the Double-Object construction is not the unmarked construction worldwide. An even more striking example is Bickerton’s (1995) claim that the non-coincidence of the relative marker and the interrogative pronoun is an interesting creole universal. But in fact, as Comrie & Kuteva (2005) show, the English pattern of relative/interrogative pronoun coincidence (who/which) is extremely rare in the world’s languages. The worldwide typological approach to creole structures implies the need for new alliances. Firstly, we need to systematize the enormous knowledge which exists in the creolist community. As language specialists, creolists should make their knowledge on creole languages readily available for systematic comparison. This is precisely the aim of the ongoing project of the Atlas of Pidgin and Creole Language Structures (APiCS).24 Secondly, creolists should be open to typologists’ research. There are a lot of important cross-linguistic studies on different linguistic topics which are also relevant for creolists. Conversely, typologists should feel challenged by questions which creolists raise: despite the milestone marked by the publication of the World Atlas of Language Structures (WALS) (2005) we need much more finegrained typological work on issues which are of great interest for scholars of creole languages.

List of special abbreviations cl loc pm prep seq

class marker local region predicate marker preposition sequential marker

.  Atlas of Pidgin and Creole Language Structures (APiCS), coordinated by Susanne Michaelis, Philippe Maurer, Magnus Huber & Martin Haspelmath. About 70 pidgins and creoles will be investigated according to a questionnaire of 120 structural features.

 Susanne Michaelis

References Adone, Dany. 2004. Double-object constructions in two French-based creoles (Morisyen and Seselwa). In Escure, Geneviève & Schwegler, Armin (Eds), Creoles, contact, and language change: Linguistic and social implications. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 189–208. Allen, Richard B. 2001. Licentious and unbridled proceedings: The illegal slave trade to ­Mauritius and the Seychelles during the early nineteenth century. Journal of African History 42: 91–116. Ashton, Ethel O. 1947. Swahili Grammar (including intonation). London: Longmans. Baker, Philip & Corne, Chris. 1986. Universals, substrata and the Indian Ocean Creoles. In Muysken, Pieter & Smith, Norval (Eds), Substrata versus universals in Creole genesis. ­Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 163–83. Bickerton, Derek. 1995. The syntax of creole languages. In Jacobs, Joachim, von Stechow, Arnim, Sternefeld, Wolfgang & Vennemann, Theo (Eds). Syntax: An international handbook of ­contemporary research, 2 Vols. Berlin: de Gruyter. 1451–62. Bollée, Annegret. 1977. Le créole français des Seychelles: Esquisse d’une grammaire – textes – vocabulaire. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Bollée, Annegret. 1982. Die Rolle der Konvergenz bei der Kreolisierung. In Ureland, P. Sture (Ed.), Die Leistung der Strataforschung und der Kreolistik. Tübingen: Niemeyer. 391–405. Bollée, Annegret & Rosalie, Marcel. 1994. Parol ek memwar: Récits de vie des Seychelles. ­Hamburg: Buske. Bossong, Georg. 1998. Le marquage de l’expérient dans les langues d’Europe. In Feuillet, Jack (Ed.), Actance et valence dans les langues d’Europe. Berlin: Mouton de Gryuter. 259–94. Bruyn, Adrienne, Muysken, Pieter & Verrips, Maaike. 1999. Double-object constructions in the creole languages: Development and acquisition. In DeGraff, Michel (Ed.), Language ­creation and language change. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. 329–73. Chaudenson, Robert. 1979. Créoles français de l’océan Indien et langues africaines. In Hancock, Ian F. (Ed.), Readings in creole studies. Ghent: E. Story-Scientia. 217–37. Comrie, Bernard & Kuteva, Tania. 2005. Relativization strategies. In WALS. 494–501. Croft, William. 1991. Syntactic categories and grammatical relations: The cognitive organization of information. Chicago IL: The University of Chicago Press. Croft, William. 1993. Case marking and the semantics of mental verbs. In Pustejovsky, James (Ed.), Semantics and the lexicon. Dordrecht: Kluwer. 55–72. Ehrhart, Sabine. 1993. Le créole français de St-Louis (le tayo) en Nouvelle-Calédonie. Hamburg: Buske. Essegbey, James. 2005. The basic locative construction in Gbe languages and Surinamese ­Creoles. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 20 (2): 229–67. Faraclas, Nicholas G. 1996. Nigerian pidgin. London: Routledge. Haspelmath, Martin. 2001. Non-canonical marking of core arguments in European languages. In Aikhenvald, Alexandra Y., Dixon, Robert M.W. & Onishi, Masayuki (Eds), Non-­canonical marking of subjects and objects. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 53–83. Haspelmath, Martin. 2005. Ditransitive constructions: The verb give. In WALS. 426–29. Haspelmath, Martin, Dryer, Matthew S., Gil, David & Comrie, Bernard (Eds). 2005. The World Atlas of Language Structures. Oxford: OUP. Jackendoff, Ray. 1983. Semantics and cognition. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. Lehmann, Christian. 1992. Yukatekische lokale Relatoren in typologischer Sicht. Zeitschrift für Phonetik, Sprachwissenschaft und Kommunikationsforschung (ZPSK) 45: 626–41.



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Lionnet, Guy. 1972. The Seychelles. Harrisburg: Newton Abbot. Michaelis, Susanne. 1994. Komplexe Syntax im Seychellen-Kreol. Tübingen: Narr. Michaelis, Susanne & Rosalie, Marcel. 2000. Polysémie et cartes sémantiques: Le relateur (av)ek en créole seychellois. Etudes Créoles 23 (2): 79–100. Michaelis, Susanne & Haspelmath, Martin. 2003. Ditransitive constructions: Creoles in a crosslinguistic perspective. Creolica (www.creolica.net). Michaelis, Susanne. 2004. Encoding path in creole languages. Paper read at the Westminster Creolistics Workshop, London April 2004. Ngonyani, Deo. 2003. A grammar of Chingoni. München: Lincom. Nwulia, Moses. 1981. The history of slavery in Mauritius and the Seychelles, 1810–1875. Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickenson University Press. Parkvall, Mikael. 2000. Out of Africa. London: Battlebridge. Plag, Ingo. 2002. On the role of grammaticalization in creolization: A reassessment. In Gilbert, Glenn (Ed.), Pidgin and creole linguistics in the 21st century: Essays at millennium’s end. New York NY: Peter Lang. 229–46. Pustejovsky, James (Ed.). 1993. Semantics and the lexicon. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Stassen, Leon. 2005. Noun phrase conjunction. In WALS. 258–61. Wälchli, Bernhard & Zúñiga, Fernando. 2006. Source-goal (in)difference and the typology of motion events in the clause. STUF (Sprachtypologie und Universalienforschung) 59: 284–303. WALS: see Haspelmath et al. (Eds). 2005. Woodward, Herbert W. 1926. An outline of Makua grammar. Bantu Studies 2: 269–325.

A first step towards the analysis of tone in Santomense* Philippe Maurer

University of Zurich Santomense originated on the island of São Tomé (Gulf of Guinea) at the beginning of the 16th century out of the contact between Portuguese and West African languages, especially from Nigeria and Angola. Contrarily to what has been claimed until now, I believe that Santomense is a tonal language with two tones, H and L, whereby some low tones might be better defined as neutral. In Santomense, tone is used for lexical distinctions, but also for grammatical purposes, especially for the distinction between nouns and verbs. As all of the known substrate languages of Santomense are tonal, there is no doubt that the origin of the tonal system of Santomense lies in the substrate languages. However, more research is needed in order to find out how Santomense’s tonal system functions and how this system is related to the system of one or more of its substrate languages.

1.  Introduction: Previous views on Santomense tone The few linguists who have worked on Santomense claim that this language is not a tone language. According to Ferraz (1979: 25), “there is no phonologically significant tone in Santomense.” Ferraz observes, however, that “as a stylistic or emphatic device, a high tone may be placed on the nucleus of a monosyllabic word or on the last two nuclei of a word of more than one syllable”. This is illustrated by the following examples: e na bwá fa it neg1 good neg2 ‘It is not good.’ e ‘futa íné kwa se? he steal them things dem ‘Did he steal them?’

* I would like to thank my main informant, Adriano Neto (Salzburg), for his invaluable help and his unlimited patience. I am also indebted to the two anonymous reviewers who made very insightful comments on an earlier draft of this paper.

 Philippe Maurer

‘lfza sa lóngó Rose be tall ‘Rose is tall.’ e sa ku diž’góstó he be with disgust ‘He is annoyed.’

And Schang (2003: 87–88) claims that Si L. Ferraz n’a jamais prouvé qu’il n’y a pas d’opposition tonale en forro, c’est bien, il nous semble, parce qu’il n’y a pas à prouver qu’il n’y a pas de tons une fois qu’on a montré que le système fonctionne avec une accen­tuation.1

In my opinion, both Ferraz and Schang are wrong, and in this paper I will try to show that Santomense is indeed a tone language.

2.  Four tone patterns in disyllabic nouns The focus of this paper will be disyllabic nouns and monosyllabic pronouns. So far, I have only worked with one native speaker of Santomense and checked some of the most important results with two more informants.2 As is well known, tones are not necessarily constant in speech; this holds for Santomense as well. In Santomense, disyllabic nouns in isolation do not differ substantially from each other, except for nouns with a HL tone pattern, as plôkô ‘pig’ in (2):

(1) mwala ‘woman’ (HH)



200 180 160 140 120 100 80

.  “If L. Ferraz has never proved that there is no tonal opposition in Forro, this is, it seems to me, because one does not have to prove that there are no tones once one has shown that the system functions with stress.” .  The data collected from Santomense are very similar to those I collected from Principense, which have been checked with much more informants (cf. Maurer forthcoming); therefore I am sure that the Santomense data presented here are not idiolectal.





A first step towards the analysis of tone in Santomense 

(2) plôkô ‘pig’ (HL)



(3) kasô ‘dog’ (LH)



200 180 160 140 120 100 80

200 180 160 140 120 100 80

(4) alê ‘king’ (LL)



200 180 160 140 120 100 80

But there is at least one frame, the N+V frame, where these four nouns appear with four different tone patterns. In this frame, the bare noun appears in subject position and the disyllabic verb is zero-marked. Examples (5)–(8) show the nouns of (1)–(4) in subject position, and the verb kume ‘eat’.

(5) Mwala kume. ‘The woman ate’. (HH)





260 230 200 170 140 110 80

(6) Plôkô kume. ‘The pig ate’. (HL)



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

 Philippe Maurer



(7) Kasô kume. ‘The dog ate’. (LH)



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

(8) Alê kume. ‘The king ate’. (LL)



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

Notice that in (8), the first syllable of the verb is pronounced with a higher pitch than the second syllable of alê ‘king’; this is not the case with the other nouns in (5) to (7), where the first syllable of the verb always has a lower pitch than the second syllable of the noun, whether this syllable is high, as in (5) and (7), or low, as in (6). In other frames, for instance in a frame where the noun is followed by the demonstrative se ‘this’ (N+se), mwala ‘woman’, plôkô ‘pig’ and kasô ‘dog’ behave the same way as in (5)–(7); however, alê ‘king’ surfaces, not as LL as in (8), but as LH, i.e., like kasô ‘dog’ in (7). This may be due to some rule which does not allow certain sequences of low tone words. When the bare nouns function as direct objects (e.g., of the verb klaga ‘carry’) and are put in sentence-final position, still other patterns appear (Pron+V+N). An example of this frame is Bô klaga mwala. ‘You carried the woman’. In this frame, mwala surfaces as LL, plôkô ‘pig’ as HL, kasô ‘dog’ and alê ‘king’ as HL as well, whereby the L of these two is pronounced on a significantly higher pitch than the L of plôkô ‘pig’. If in the same position the noun is preceded by the numeral or article ũa ‘one, a’, as in Bô klaga ũa mwala ‘You carried a woman’ (Pron+V+ũa+N), the patterns are again different: mwala ‘woman’ LL, plôkô ‘pig’ HL, kasô ‘dog’ LH, alê ‘king’ HL. In other words, only the HL pattern as in plôkô ‘pig’ appears unchanged in isolation and in the frames presented here. This is probably so because the HL pattern offers the strongest contrast in terms of tones, and – in contrast to LH – corresponds to the natural tendency of intonation whereby a sentence ends on a lower pitch than it starts.



A first step towards the analysis of tone in Santomense 

The following overview presents the realization of the tones in the four frames mentioned so far:3 N+V N+se Pron+V+N Pron+V+ũa+N

mwala HH HH LL LL

plôkô HL HL HL HL

kasô LH LH HL LH

alê LL LH HL HL

For the sake of this analysis, I will assume that underlyingly the four nouns possess the tones displayed in the first frame (N + V), because it is in this frame that the full range of tonological contrasts appears. The most frequent tonal patterns of disyllabic nouns are HH and LH; HL is relatively rare and LL is the rarest pattern in my corpus. HL nouns often have an etymological liquid (Portuguese porco ‘pig’ > Santomense plôkô), and it cannot be excluded that these words were once trisyllabic (porco > *pôlôkô > plôkô), exhibiting the tonal pattern HHL, which is relatively frequent among trisyllabic nouns, and which then was reduced to HL.

3.  Minimal pairs The N+V frame examplified in (5) to (8) shows no minimal pairs. As a matter of fact, in my corpus there are very few minimal pairs of words belonging to the same syntactic category; therefore, tonal distinctions are not very important in communication, in the sense that there are not many misunderstand­ings if the tones are not pronounced correctly. This is probably one of the reasons why linguists work­ing on Santomense did not pay enough attention to the possibility of this language being tonal. The paucity of minimal pairs is due to the fact that most Santomense words are of Portuguese origin, which is not regarded as a tone language. Two minimal

.  According to Creissels (1994: 223), the fluctuation of tones is typical of two-tone languages: Et généralement, les langues qui opposent plus de deux registres tonals ont une combinatoire tonale relativement simple; dans ces langues, le contour tonal des unités lexicales ne présente jamais des variations contextuelles d’une ampleur comparable à ce qu’on peut trouver dans les langues à opposition tonale binaire.

 Philippe Maurer

pairs will be presented in what follows. The first pair opposes two nouns, and the second one two adjectives:

(9) bôbô se ‘this idiot’ (HH)



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

(10) bôbô se ‘this mulatto’ (LH)



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

(11) Bana se sa kulu. ‘This plantain is not ripe.’ (HL)



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

(12) Ose sa kulu. ‘Heaven is dark.’ (HH)



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

4.  Grammatical tone What seems to be more frequent, although not as a general rule, is a tonal opposition between nouns and verbs. Most disyllabic verbs are to be interpreted as LL

A first step towards the analysis of tone in Santomense 

(or as tonologically neutral), and where there is a corresponding noun, this noun shows a HH tonal pattern, as for instance lala “grate” or “grater”: (13)

lala ‘grater’ (HH); lala ‘grate’ (LL)

200 180 160 140 120 100 80

(14)

lala se ‘this grater’

260 230 200 170 140 110 80

Thus, this means that Santomense has lexical as well as grammatical tone, and that the system consists of a high and a low (or neutral) tone.

. Tone in monosyllabic pronouns Monosyllabic nouns are relatively rare in Santomense, but differences in tonal behaviour can be found in the monosyllabic subject pronouns bô ‘you (.)’ and ê ‘he/she/it’: (15)

Bô klaga mwala. ‘You carried the woman.”

260 230 200 170 140 110 80

 Philippe Maurer

(16) Ê klaga mwala. ‘He carrried the woman.’



260 230 200 170 140 110 80

In this frame, bô appears with a high pitch, whereas ê is realized on a low pitch; the verb in (15) is realized as LL, as it is in (5) to (7), whereas in (16) the verb is realized as HL, as in (8) with alê ‘king’ (LL) in subject position. In other words, the same rising of the first syllable of the verb after elements with only low tones occurs. But if the tense-aspect particle ka (referring to ongoing states, to habitual and to future situations) precedes the verb, both pronouns are realized on a low tone: (17) Bô ka klaga ũa mwala. ‘You will carry the woman.’



200 180 160 140 120 100 80

(18) Ê ka klaga ũa mwala. ‘He will carry the woman.’

200 180 160 140 120 100 80



As in the case of the disyllabic nouns, the tones of these two monosyllables show variation according to context. The fluctuation of the tones, especially the low tones, raises the question of whether these tones have to be considered as real low tones, or whether they are better defined as neutral tones. This question can only be answered when the



A first step towards the analysis of tone in Santomense 

whole suprasegmental system of Santomense is well understood. This holds for the tone sandhi rules as well.

6.  Origins of Santomense tones As was already mentioned, the preceding observations about tone in Santomense are incomplete and much more research is needed. Still, these observations make clear that Santomense is a tone language. As for the theory of creolization, it is important to notice that Santomense is tonal in spite of more than 90% of its lexicon being of Portuguese origin, which is not a tonal language. Another important point is the fact that many disyllabic nouns of Portuguese origin which are stressed on the first syllable in Portuguese exhibit a HH tonal pattern in Santomense. This is unexpected, as in a contact situation between tonal and non-tonal languages, a disyllabic word of the non tonal language stressed on the first syllable would get a HL tonal pattern in the tonal language. The question that arises is how this tonal system originated. An independent development is not likely, because all of the known substrate languages of Santomense are tonal; moreover, the two major substrate languages – Edo and Kikongo – are described as having a two-tone system (Agheyisi 1990: 18ff., Swartenbroeckx 1973: viii–ix), as Santomense does. However, it is not clear how the Edo and Kikongo tones function in context. The substrate hypothesis would gain more support if it could be shown that the rules governing especially the realization of the low (or neutral) tones are similar in Santomense and Edo or Kikongo.

References Agheyisi, Rebecca. 1990. A grammar of Edo. Unesco. Creissels, Denis. 1994. Aperçu sur les structures phonologiques des langues négro-africaines. Deuxième édition. Grenoble: Ellug. Ferraz, Luís Ivens. 1979. The Creole of São Tomé. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press. (Reprinted from African Studies 37 (1–2) 1978). Maurer, Philippe. Forthcoming. Lung’ie: The Afroportuguese Creole of Principe Island (Gulf of Guinea). Grammar – Texts – Vocabulary. London: Battlebridge. Schang, Emmanuel. 2003. L’émergence des créoles portugais du golfe de Guinée. Thèse de Doctorat en Sciences du Langage, Université Nancy 2. Atelier national de reproduction des thèses. Swartenbroeckx, Pierre. 1973. Dictionnaire kikongo et kituba – français. Bandundu : CEEBA.

Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese A comparison of the noun phrase Incanha Intumbo

Universidade de Coimbra This paper describes aspects of noun phrase structure in Portuguese, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Balanta, an Atlantic language of Guiné-Bissau that is an important substrate and current adstrate for the Creole. I examine definite and indefinite determiners, gender and number in nouns and adjectives, and the forms and syntactic properties of personal pronouns. I identify seven different ways in which Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese patterns like Balanta, and thus appears to show influence from this substrate (or adstrate) language.

1.  Introduction The object of this study is a systematic comparison of one area of syntax in three languages (Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese). I would like to compare the structure of the noun phrase in Portuguese with its structure in my two first languages, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese (CP) and Balanta. Guiné-Bissau CP is a lingua franca spoken in the westernmost part of the Guinea Coast of Africa, the source of many people taken in slavery. The Portuguese reached the coast of what is today Guiné-Bissau around 1446. They began trading in slaves by around 1510, and by 1570 they had established a feitoria or outpost at Cacheu. During this period contact between the Portuguese and local Africans increased due to the lançados, adventurers arriving by way of Cape Verde and working at the margins of the law, who penetrated deeper into the interior to get slaves in exchange for cloth, alcoholic beverages and other products of lesser value. According to Naro (1978), the Creole Portuguese language arrived in Guiné after evolving in Portugal (although this point is disputed) via these lançados. They married African women and their descendants spoke restructured Portuguese as one of their first languages (Holm 1989).

 Incanha Intumbo

It is important to note that Balanta, a language of the Atlantic family, is one of the most relevant substrate and adstrate languages of Guiné-Bissau CP in terms of its historical influence on the formation of the creole and in terms of the modern influence of bilingual speakers. This group took its originally pejorative name from the Mandinka term balantó meaning ‘he who refuses’ because of their refusal to convert to Islam. Having been subjugated and enslaved by the army of Koli Tinguela, some fled between 1490 and 1500 from their original location in Fouta Djalon in what is today Guiné-Conakry to the region of Gabú in what is now Guiné-Bissau (Handem 1986). There the survivors adopted the name Brassa. A new Fula invasion drove them to Dugal, also in Guiné-Bissau, between 1500 and 1514, according to D’Almada, a Portuguese traveler who in 1578 attested to the presence of the Balanta/Brassa along the Geba River, which he called “the Balanta estuary” (Handem 1986: 15). Today the Balanta make up about a quarter of the country’s population as one of the most influential ethnic groups in the society in general, in the armed forces, in politics and in public administration. As in the Guiné-Bissau CP spoken by other ethnic groups, there are distinctive features in the phonology and structure of the Creole spoken by Balantas living in the country’s principal urban centers due to interference from their ethnic language. For example, in Balanta there is no phonemic opposition between GuinéBissau CP /k/ and /g/: (1) Guiné-Bissau CP spoken by Balantas kaliña ‘chicken’ (2) standard Guiné-Bissau CP galiña ‘chicken’

(cf. Portuguese galinha)

Moreover, the Balanta pluralizing prefix bi- can be attached to Creole nouns in the variety spoken by the Balantas:

(3) Ø-mininu bi-ninu sg-child pl-child

In this paper, I examine three aspects of noun phrase structure in the three languages: determiners (§2), nouns and modifiers (§3), and personal pronouns (§4). Table 1 is intended to provide an overview of the main features of the NP discussed in this study rather than an exhaustive inventory of such features for each language. Thus, “modifier” refers to modifiers in general, including adjectives and determiners in Balanta, and adjectives in Guiné-Bissau CP and Portuguese.

Balanta

Guiné-Bissua CP

Portuguese

other

article

interr

k/kil

e/es un, utru

um(-a) uns umas indf

o(-s) a(-s)

dem interr

indefinite

definite

determiners

Pre-nominal modifiers

+

−

−

prefix

Table 1.  The noun phrase in Portuguese, Guiné-Bissau CP, and Balanta

+

+

+

stem

Noun

–

(-s)

-s

suffix

+

–

–

prefix

+

+

+

stem

–

(-s)

-s

suffix

Post-nominal modifiers

Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese 

 Incanha Intumbo

2.  Determiners 2.1  Determiners in Portuguese The use of a determiner in Portuguese is usually obligatory. It may be a definite or indefinite article, a demonstrative, a possessive, an interrogative (wh-word), a quantifier, or an optional element placed before or after the modified structure, i.e., a pre-determiner or a post-determiner (cf. Charlier & Leeman 1981: 107). 2.1.1  Articles Definite and indefinite articles inflect for gender and number, as illustrated in Table 2. Table 2.  Articles in Portuguese

Definite

Indefinite



Singular

Plural

Singular

Plural

masculine feminine

o homem ‘the man’ a mulher ‘the woman’

os homens ‘the men’ as mulheres ‘the women’

um homem ‘a man’ uma mulher ‘a woman’

uns homens ‘some men’ umas mulheres ‘some women’

Definite articles indicate that the noun to which they refer is known to the hearer (Cunha & Cintra 1984: 207). They precede nouns (4, 5 and 6) and are in complementary distribution with demonstratives, as seen in (7) (cf. Mira Mateus et al. 2003): (4) o correio def mail ‘the mail’

(Charlier & Leeman 1981: 106)

(5) Vi a Maria. saw def Mary ‘I saw Mary.’ (6) a-s féria-s def-pl vacation-pl ‘the vacations’ (ibid) (7) {a-s/ esta-s} carta-s def(f)-pl dem(f)-pl letter(f)-pl ‘{the/these} letters’

(Mira Mateus et al. 2003: 347(b))

Indefinite articles indicate that the noun to which they refer is a representative of a kind to which no previous mention has been made ((8), cf. Cunha & Cintra



Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese 

1984: 207). They normally cannot precede a person’s name or follow todos and ambos (10). (8) um carteiro indef mailman ‘a mailman’ (9) Vi *uma Maria. saw indf Mary ‘I saw a Mary.’

(Charlier & Leeman 1981: 106)

(Mira Mateus et al. 2003: 347)

2.1.2  Other determiners The determiner constituent can also consist of other elements, such as demonstratives indicating relative positions (10), indefinites conveying a generic idea (11), or “a syntactic unit consisting of a head and its modifiers” (Charlier & Leeman 1981: 107), as in (12): (10) este amigo dem friend ‘this friend’

(Charlier & Leeman 1981: 109)

(11) algum amigo indf friend ‘some friend’ (ibid.) (12) [alguns desses mesmos dez] anos det years ‘[some of these same ten] years’ (ibid.)

Possessives can co-occur with definite articles, following them (13), or with demonstratives (14) and some kinds of quantifiers (15): (13) os nossos amigos franceses det poss friends french ‘our French friends’ (ibid.) (14) esses teus defeitos dem poss defects ‘these your defects’ 

(Mira Mateus et al. 2003, 349)

(15) todos os nossos amigos q det poss friends ‘all our friends’ (ibid.)

2.1.3  Omission of the determiner However, under specific circumstances (especially in proverbs), both articles and indefinite determiners can be omitted to express vague or generic ideas or

 Incanha Intumbo

due to the existence of another determining element (Cunha & Cintra 1984: 237–8, 242–5): (16) __ Foi acusado de ___ crime. (he) was accused of det crime ‘He was accused of a crime.’ (ibid. 237) (17) ___ Amigo fiel e prudente é melhor que parente. det friend true and prudent is better than relative ‘A true and prudent friend is better than a relative.’ (ibid. 242)

2.2  Determiners in Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese 2.2.1  Definite markers Guiné-Bissau CP uses the demonstrative e (or es) ‘this/these’ (cf. Portuguese esse ‘this [one]’) or the demonstrative kil (or ki) ‘that/those’ (cf. Portuguese aquele ‘that [one]’ ) as definite markers much like definite articles: (18)

e [es] omi kil [ki] omi man def ‘the man’

In other words, a noun thus marked is understood to have already occurred in the discourse or to be known to one of the speakers: it is a specific one and not just any one of a kind. While the above determiners do not vary for number, the noun can take an optional plural inflection -s, especially if it is [+human]: (19)

e omi -s kil omi -s def man -pl ‘the men’

2.2.2  Indefinite article The indefinite article in Guiné-Bissau CP is un: (20) un omi Musulmanu indf man Muslim ‘a muslim man’ or ‘one muslim man’

(Kihm 1994: 137)

Note that the indefinite article un is invariable for gender and number and can also be interpreted as a numeral (‘one’). As an indefinite article, it indicates that the noun it modifies cannot be identified by the hearer. Guiné-Bissau CP utru (cf. Portuguese outro ‘other’) functions similarly, and can be used with nouns with plural marking (cf. the similar use of Balanta oolo ‘other’ in (27)).



Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese 

(21) utru omi -s indf man -pl ‘some men’

2.2.3  Omission of the determiner Nouns also occur with empty determiners, which can be interpreted as definite or indefinite according to context: (22) ___ omi Musulmanu det man Muslim ‘a muslim man’ or ‘the muslim man’

However, the determiner position is coming to be more frequently filled, either by the indefinite article as in (20) above, or the definite article / demonstrative as in (18–19). 2.3  Determiners in Balanta 2.3.1  Interrogative and definite determiners Contrasting with the prenominal position of the determiner in many European and creole languages (e.g., Portuguese, Guiné-Bissau CP and Cape Verdean CP), in Balanta determiners usually occupy a postnominal position, including the interrogative ola ‘which’: (23) f- rafu f- ola sg- bottle sg- interr ‘which bottle?’

As (23) shows, both the noun and its modifier take a number/noun class prefix (in this case f-), and the determiner shows agreement with the noun in number (in this case singular) and noun class. As Wilson (1961) notes, “[i]n Balanta, as in all the non-Mande languages of Portuguese Guinea, there operates a system of concord whereby certain grammatical relationships between words are indicated by their morphology, the initial element of one word being conditioned by that of others in the same concord series”. In (23) f- is the prefix in question, which indicates that the noun (rafu) is singular. Nouns and their modifiers take different prefixes depending on the noun’s class, which is based on semantic categories. For example, the prefix fi-(or its allomorph f-) is used for certain kinds of domestic tools and furniture: (24) fi- luth fi- ndan sg- chair sg- big ‘a big chair’ or ‘the big chair’

 Incanha Intumbo

As in Guiné-Bissau CP, the demonstrative dee ‘that’ can serve the function of a definite article; note its concord with the preceding noun which it modifies, indicated by the prefix fi- or its allomorph f-:1 (25) fi- luth fi- ndan fi- dee sg- chair sg- big sg- dem ‘that big chair’ or ‘the big chair’

Prefix concord can also fill a grammatical function by indicating plural number. The head of the noun phrase takes the plural morpheme for a particular class (g- in the case of certain kinds of domestic tools and furniture, corresponding to the singular prefix fi-), as do any following modifiers (such as the demonstrative dee): (26) g- luth g- dee pl- dem pl- dem ‘those chairs’ or ‘the chairs’

2.3.2  Indefinite determiner The indefinite article oolo ‘a, an; other’ follows the above rules: (27) f- luth f- oolo sg- chair sg- other ‘a chair’ (28) g- luth g- oolo pl- chair pl- other ‘chairs’ or ‘some chairs’

2.3.3  Omission of the determiner In Balanta the omission of the determiner indicates that the noun is generic or indefinite (cf. 24).

3.  Nouns and adjectives 3.1  Gender In Portuguese the noun always has either masculine or feminine gender. This is not the case with adjectives, which vary to agree with the noun they modify in

.  Note that Wilson (1959: 601) doubled certain vowels and consonants because of vowel quantity and tone (hence the spelling dee for the demonstrative).



Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese 

gender and number (see §3.2). Typically masculine words in Portuguese end in –o, while feminine words end in -a: (29) um carr-o lind -o a car-m nice -m ‘a nice car’ (30) um -a cas-a lind -a a f house-f nice -f ‘a nice house’

However, neither Guiné-Bissau CP nor Balanta nouns have inflectional morphemes indicating gender, so there can be no agreement in gender between head nouns and their modifiers.These languages also lack morphological marking of natural gender in nouns denoting persons, as in Portuguese irmão/irmã, ‘brother’/‘sister’ or lindo/linda ‘beautiful’ (marked as masculine and feminine respectively). Instead they indicate natural gender lexically by placing a word meaning ‘male’ or ‘female’ after the person-denoting noun (note that in Balanta, lante ‘man’ and nin ‘woman’ are used for adult siblings, whereas lufu ‘boy’ and fula ‘girl’ are used for young siblings): (31) Guiné-Bissau CP Balanta

ermon maco bia iada lante/lufu sibling male ‘brother’

ermon femia bia iada nin/fula sibling female ‘sister’

3.2  Number In general, Portuguese nouns and their modifiers are marked for plural by the suffix -s. (32) o aluno estudioso the student(sg) studious(sg) ‘the studious student’ (33) o -s aluno -s estudioso -s the -pl student -pl studious -pl ‘the studious students’

Guiné-Bissau CP has preserved the plural inflection -s from Portuguese, but in noun phrases only [+human] head nouns (and certain personal pronouns; see §4) are marked for number, and modifiers remain invariable. In Balanta, as noted regarding examples (23)–(28) above, plurality is indicated by class-marking prefixes that are distinct from the corresponding singular forms. The plural forms undergo a variety of complex phonological processes,

 Incanha Intumbo

including the addition, insertion, substitution, gemination or deletion of the initial segmental phoneme, the last of which is illustrated in (34): (34) p- karu ___ karu sg- car pl- car ‘car’ ‘cars’

3.3  Adjectives In addition to determiners (§2.1), the NP can include complements and modifiers (see Mira Mateus et al. 2003: 329 for Portuguese). Modifiers are constituents of diverse semantic value that can agree with nouns. Here only adjectival modifiers will be examined since this is not an exhaustive study. 3.3.1  Adjectives in Portuguese The adjective in a Portuguese NP can follow or precede the noun it modifies, with which it agrees in gender and number: (35) algun-s livro-s antig-o-s det.m-pl book-pl old-m-pl ‘some old books’

3.3.2  Adjectives in Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese In Guiné-Bissau CP, adjectives always follow the nouns they modify, with which they can optionally agree in gender and number by taking the suffix -s in the mesolect and acrolect. In these lects, gender and number agreement is becoming more regular, indicating the strong influence of the superstrate, which is associated with prestige. (36) bajuda bonit -a girl beautiful -f ‘beautiful girl’ (37) mininu bonitu boy handsome ‘handsome boy’ (38) mininu -s bonitu (-s) boy -pl handsome -pl ‘beautiful boys’

In the basilect, there is no agreement in either number or gender between the modifiers and the nouns to which they refer: (39) bajuda bonitu girl beautiful ‘beautiful girl’



Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese 

(40) rapaz bonitu boy handsome ‘handsome boy’ (41) bajuda -s bonitu (-s) girl -pl beautiful (-pl) ‘beautiful girls’

3.3.3  Adjectives in Balanta In Balanta, adjectives also follow the nouns they refer to, with which they agree in number and class (but not in gender). As noted, class markers have corresponding singular and plural forms. However, when a class marker does not have a corresponding plural form, the general plural marker bi-(equivalent in forms to the third person plural subject pronoun ‘they’, §4) can be prefixed to the noun, especially if it is [−human]. (42) Ø-ñare Ø-ndan sg-cow sg-big ‘big cow’ (43) n- ñare bi- ndan pl- cow pl- big ‘big cows’

4.  Personal pronouns Table 3 lists the forms of the personal pronouns of the three languages under discussion (sources: Cunhae Cintra 1984: 279 for Portuguese, Scantamburlo 1981: 49 for Guiné-Bissau CP, Wilson 1961: 146 for Balanta). In Guiné-Bissau CP and Balanta, in many cases the subject and object pronouns are identical, but those object pronouns that differ from the corresponding subject pronoun are given in bold. In Portuguese, which is a pro-drop language, the use of the subject pronoun is in itself emphatic (44). However, Guiné-Bissau CP and Balanta distinguish between formally distinct emphatic and non-emphatic subject pronouns. The emphatic forms are used to stress or insist, or as a vocative. As subjects, the emphatic forms do not occur alone but rather precede non-emphatic forms (46 and 49), much like French disjunctive pronouns (Moi, je… ‘As for me, I…’), but non-emphatic forms can occur alone (45 and 48). Portuguese: (44) Eu tenho um carro. I have a car ‘It’s me who has a car.’

 Incanha Intumbo

Table 3.  Personal pronouns in Portuguese, Guiné Bissau CP and Balanta Portuguese emphatic subject object of preposition 1sg 2sg 3sg 1pl 2pl 3pl

eu tu ele, ela nós vós (vocês) eles, elas

mim ti ele, ela nós vós (vocês) eles, elas

non-emphatic object me te o, a/lhe nos vos (vocês) os, as/ lhes

Guiné-Bissau CP

emphatic subject

non-emphatic subject

object

1sg 2sg 3sg 1pl 2pl 3pl

ami abo el anos abos elis

ŋ bu i nô bô ê

ŋ u l nu bós elis



emphatic subject

Balanta non-emphatic subject

object

1sg 2sg 3sg 1pl 2pl 3pl

ñi u in ba ba ba

ŋ a ___ bi ba bi

ni va ma ba ba ba

Guiné-Bissau CP: (45) ŋ tene un karu. I have a car ‘I have a car.’ (46) Ami ŋ tene un karu. emph n-emph have a car ‘It´s me who has a car.’ (47) *Ami tene un karu. emph have a car ‘Me have a car.’



Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese 

Balanta: (48) ŋ ten p- karu. n-emph have pref car ‘I have a car.’ (49) Ñi ŋ ten p- karu. emph n-emph have pref car ‘It’s me who has a car.’ (50) *Ñi ten p- karu. emph have pref car ‘It’s me who has a car.’

The lexical source of the creole emphatic forms seems to be the Portuguese construction with the preposition a plus the prepositional object pronoun, e.g., A mim ensinou-me tudo ‘He taught me everything’ (as opposed to ‘You he ignored’) (Holm 1988: 203). However, Schuchardt (1882: 906) points out that there may have been convergence with partially similar forms in some African languages, and certainly the existence of the morphosyntactic category of emphatic pronouns in these languages (including Balanta, see below) is very relevant to the existence of the distinction between emphatic and non-emphatic pronouns in a number of Portuguese-based creoles such as Príncipe and Cape Verdean. Some of the singular creole pronouns form the corresponding plural with a pluralizing morpheme: Guiné-Bissau CP abo ‘you sg’, abós ‘you pl’; el ‘he/ she/it’, elis (emphatic) ‘they’ (cf. Portuguese você, vocês; ele; eles respectively). In Balanta some of the personal pronouns seem to be homophonous in Table 3, but in fact they are distinguished by different tones. The first person singular subject pronoun is ŋ (a velar nasal) in both Guiné-Bissau CP and Balanta, as well as in other neighbouring languages (Papel, Manjaco, Mancanha), a straightforward instance of substrate/adstrate influence.

5.  Conclusions This comparison of the noun phrase in Portuguese, Guinea-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Balanta has identified several ways in which Guiné-Bissau CP and Balanta (one of its most relevant substrate/adstrate languages) are similar and differ from Portuguese (the creole superstrate): 1. Guiné-Bissau CP has determiners (e and kil, derived from Portuguese demonstratives esse and aquele ‘that’) that are used both as demonstratives and definite articles; similarly, the Balanta demonstrative dee ‘that’ can also

 Incanha Intumbo

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

serve the same definitizing function of a definite article (§2.2).2 Portuguese, by contrast, has clearly different determiners for article and demonstrative function (§2.1). When a noun phrase has no determiner, it may be interpreted as either definite or indefinite (§2.2.3, §2.3.3). In Portuguese, absence of a determiner is possible only under highly specific circumstances (§2.1.3). Guiné-Bissau CP utru ‘other’ is used as a singular or plural indefinite article, like Balanta oolo (§2.2.2, §2.3.2): Portuguese outro, by contrast, is not used as an indefinite article. While Guiné-Bissau CP and Balanta use the same word formation device to indicate the natural gender of the nouns, Portuguese uses the co-occurrence of a noun with a determiner marked for gender to indicate the gender of the noun (§3.1). In both Guiné-Bissau CP and Balanta, adjectives always follow the noun (§3.3.2–3); in Portuguese, they may also precede it under certain conditions (§3.3.1). The first person singular subject pronoun is ŋ in Balanta as well as in Mancanha, Manjaco and Papel, like the first person singular subject pronoun in Guiné-Bissau CP (§4). Finally, both Guiné-Bissau CP and Balanta distinguish between emphatic and non-emphatic subject pronouns and use these in similar ways, while Portuguese only has emphatic subject pronouns (§4).

Thus, while the claim that Guiné-Bissau CP is genetically related with Portuguese or Balanta is debatable (Thomason & Kaufman 1988), it is clear that Guiné-Bissau CP owes many of its structural features to its substrate in the Niger-Congo family of languages, and that this family’s Atlantic subgroup (which includes Balanta) played a particularly important role in the formation and development of Guiné-Bissau CP, with its continuing adstrate influence. There can be no doubt that the structural similarities that Guiné-Bissau CP shares with its substrate go beyond mere coincidence.

.  The fact that Guiné-Bissau CP e and kil are only now being systematized seems likely to be connected to the recent spread of the creole, which gained a new impetus with the independence of Guiné-Bissau from Portugal in 1974 with the migration of rural speakers into the principal urban centers, bringing with them their linguistic norms influenced by their indigenous first languages. Similarly, urban speakers moving into the countryside have also brought their differing urban norms into rural areas.



Balanta, Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese and Portuguese 

There is also one aspect of Guiné-Bissau CP that it shares with Portuguese but that can nevertheless be attributed to substrate influence. As we saw in §3.2, Guiné-Bissau CP has kept the Portuguese plural morpheme -s (although modifying the rules for its use), which is suffixed only to [+human] nouns forming the head of the NP. A number distinction is made by the majority of Guinea-Bissau African languages, which mark the plural of nouns with distinctive forms of class prefixes. This seems likely to have influenced the maintenance of number distinction in Guiné-Bissau CP.

List of special abbreviations emph hl interr mod n-emph num pn pref q

emphatic highlighter interrogative modifier non-emphatic numeral proper noun prefix quantifier

Symbols (…) optional use of the feature; {…} ‘either x or y (but not both)’.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Dr. Susanne Michaelis and the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology for their financial support, which enabled me to attend the conference at which I presented this paper. I am also grateful to Professor John Holm and my colleague Dominika Swolkien for their critical reading of this paper, although responsibility for any remaining shortcomings is solely my own. Finally, I want to thank Michael Pye for providing the computer equipment that enabled me to prepare this paper.

 Incanha Intumbo

References Charlier, Françoise Dubois & Leeman, Danielle. 1981. Bases de análise linguística. Coimbra: Livraria Almedina. Cunha, Celso & Cintra, Lindley. 1984. Nova gramática do Português contemporâneo. Lisboa: Edições João Sá da Costa. Handem, Diana L. 1986. Nature et fonctionnement DU pouvoir chez les Balanta Brassa. Bissau, Guiné-Bissau: INEP. Holm, John. 1988–89. Pidgins and creoles. Vols 1 and 2. Cambridge: CUP. Kihm, Alain. 1994. Kriyol Syntax: The Portuguese-based creole language of Guinea-Bissau. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Mira Mateus, Maria H., Brito, Ana M., Duarte, Inês & Hub Faria, Isabel. 2003. Gramática da língua Portuguesa. Lisboa: Editorial Caminho SA, Lisboa. Naro, Anthony. 1978. A study on the origins of pidginization. Language 54: 314–47. Scantamburlo, Luigi. 1981. Gramática e dicionário da língua Criol da Guiné-Bissau (Gcr). Bologna: Editrice Missionaria Italiana. Schuchardt, Hugo. 1882. Kreolische Studien I. Ueber das Negerportugiesische von S. Thomé (Westafrika). Sitzungsberichte der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Wien 101: 2. 889–917. Thomason, Sarah G. & Kaufman, Terrence. 1988. Language contact, creolization and genetic linguistics. Berkeley CA: University of California Press. Wilson, William A.A. 1959. Uma volta linguística na Guiné 1959. Boletim Cultural da Guiné Portuguesa, Vol XIV, nº 53, 1959 – Bissau – Centro de Estudos da Guiné Portuguesa (pp. 569–601) Lisbon: Edições João Sá da Costa. Wilson, William A.A. 1961. Outline of the Balanta language. African Language Studies 2 (London: School of Oriental and African Studies). 139–160.

Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode* Carl Rubino

This paper presents a feature of Zamboangueño unfamiliar to creole languages outside the Austronesian language area, the potentive mode. The potentive mode is a verbal mode common to neighboring indigenous languages that is used to designate abilitative actions and actions that are brought about accidentally, coincidentally, or without volition or instigation. The paper details the morphology associated with the stative and potentive modes in neighbouring Visayan languages, and illustrates the restricted uses of the same affixes in Zamboangueño. Finally, it gives a detailed account of a periphrastic construction, involving the abilitative verb puede ‘can, able to’ to show how this unique creole language has faithfully preserved the semantics of the potentive mode by a rather innovative means.

1.  Zamboangueño Chavacano With 358,729 people claiming Zamboangueño Chavacano (ZC) as their mother tongue in the 2000 Philippine census, ZC is the most vibrant of the Philippine Creole Spanish varieties spoken in the Philippines and largest Spanish creole in the world.1 It is the dominant language of the Christians of Southwestern Mindanao and Basilan Island, used as a lingua franca between the Muslim and Christian communities in the region and thus has spread westward to communities in Basilan and Jolo Islands, eastward to Cotabato and Davao in Mindanao, and southward to one village in Sabah, Malaysia. ZC has a considerable presence in the media with

*I am indebted to the many consultants who patiently shared their language knowledge with

me, especially to Glenn Veloso and Myrna Gamiao (Cebuano); Ricardo Apostol and Nur-Ainie Idjilani (Tausug); and Aireen Barrios, Day Tardo, Maritoni Gultiano-Destua, and Precious Mazo (Chavacano). None of them are responsible for any mistakes herein. .  I apologize to my Chavacano consultants for my phonetic rendition of their language. I spell the language Chavacano, instead of Chabacano or Chabakano, following the Ethnologue.

 Carl Rubino

regular radio and television programming in Zamboanga City. Unless otherwise noted, all Chavacano examples in this paper are taken from a natural corpus of spoken Zamboangueño recorded by native Chavacano students at the Ateneo de Zamboanga University between 2004 and 2006. The origin and formation of the Creole is a matter of debate. Some scholars believe that Zamboangueño Creole developed from a military pidgin which evolved to meet the communicative needs of the residents of the Spanish military base at the tip of the Zamboanga Peninsula referred to as Sambuwangan by the local inhabitants (Whinnom 1956: 14). The base was established to protect the narrow strait between the Zamboanga Peninsula and the Island of Basilan from the ravishing raids from hostile pirates and slave traders. Warren (1981: 235) postulates the language evolved among fugitive slaves (degradados) who lived on the margins of the Spanish presidio as social outcasts (See also Worcester (1930: 512)). ZC most likely creolized after 1719, when the Spanish reestablished a garrison composed of Mexican soldiers, and indigenous constituents speaking mostly Visayan languages (Cebuano, Hiligaynon and others), and Tagalog where an earlier base, Fort Pilar had been built in 1636 (Riego de Dios 1976). There has been some speculation that the language did not develop as a true Creole but as a natural common intersection of grammatically cognate Philippine languages which had already incorporated a substantial Spanish lexicon (Lipski 1992). It is undisputable that modern ZC has not only incorporated many Visayan ­elements from the waves of Visayan immigration at the turn of the 20th century, but now continues to incorporate English and Tagalog structures, attributed to the increasing use of these two official languages in the school system. Prior to the arrival of the Spanish, the area of the Zamboanga peninsula was populated by speakers of Subanon and Samalan languages. However, these languages had little influence in the development of Zamboangueño. Lipski (1992: 205) relates the origin of indigenous lexical items in ZC coming from, in descending order (i) regional Visayan, intelligible with Cebuano, which has become a lingua franca of much of Northern Mindanao, (ii) Hiligaynon/Ilongo, a geographically non-contiguous language hailing from the islands of Panay and Negros, and (iii) occasionally Tagalog, the national language. Zamboangueño Chavacano shares many grammatical similarities with other Ibero-Romance creoles spoken throughout the world. Tense and aspect are denoted by three preverbal particles, ya for past/perfective, ta for imperfective (present, progressive, habitual or iterative actions), and ay2 for future actions.

.  The preverbal particle el used as the future marker in Manila Spanish Creole varieties is used in ZC as an article and phrase nominalizer, e.g., el abla sila ‘what they said.’



(1) a.

Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

Aki ta enterra maga persona nuay pamilya. here ipfv bury pl person neg family ‘People without a family are buried here.’

b. Chenebes ta ayuda lang yo kunele. sometimes ipfv help just 1sg 3sg.acc ‘Sometimes I just help him out.’ c.

El pulis ya ase abaha suyo pantalon y ya checkia el hita’. art police pst caus lower his pants and pst check art thigh ‘The police lowered his pants and checked his thigh.’

d. Sila todo ta roga ke ay tene buen salud el alkalde. 3pl all ipfv pray comp fut have good health art mayor ‘They all pray that the mayor will have good health.’

Various grammatical phenomena that exist in the indigenous Austronesian languages carry over into the Creole. A predicate-initial structure predominates, especially for clauses where the arguments are already established; newly introduced referents will often precede the predicate, mirroring a presentation construction common in the Austronesian languages of the region. Copula verbs do not exist in the Creole, and the inclusive/exclusive distinction in the first person plural pronouns is faithfully preserved from the indigenous contact languages. Some rather peculiar features particular to Zamboangueño Creole include the use of the particle era, borrowed from the imperfect form of the Spanish copula ser to denote counterfactual, hypothetical or desiderative situations,3 as well as the particle dol, possibly borrowed from the Philippine reported speech particle daw, which is used with counterfactual metaphors. (2) a.

Bonito era mira adentro sila na kalaboso! good cf see inside 3pl loc prison ‘It would be nice to see them in prison!’

b. Si chene era el doctor pistola, if have cf art doctor gun

ya puede era ele depende su kuerpo. pst can cf 3sg defend 3sg.gen body ‘If the doctor had a pistol, he would have been able to defend himself.’

c.

Dol chene tu mesklao Filipino na dituyo kombersada. as.if have 2sg mixed Filipino loc 2sg.gen talk ‘It’s as if you are mixing Filipino in your conversation.’

.  This usage corresponds to the Tagalog particle sana or the Cebuano particle unta’.

 Carl Rubino

d. Taki lang ele dol chonggita gato. here just 3sg as.if shy cat ‘He’s just (hanging around) here like a shy cat.’ e.

Ta sinti yo man maluya=le dol ta tene= le huya’. ipfv feel 1sg part weak 3sg as.if ipfv have 3sg shame ‘I feel he is dispirited, as if he were ashamed.’

Like the neighboring Visayan languages, but unlike Tagalog, Chavacano has three negative particles; nuay is used to negate existential, locational and perfective predicates; no is used with negative imperatives and certain modal verbs, and hende’ is used with non-verbal predicates and non-past verbal predicates. (3) a.

Na, ansina rabyaw man= le, nuway yo kosa puede ase. dp like.that mad dp 3sg neg 1sg thing can do ‘Well, he was so mad, there was nothing I could do.’

b. Na, no kompra tu sigarilyo na hende’ tu puma. dp neg buy 2sg cigarette dp neg 2sg smoke ‘Well, don’t buy cigarettes as you don’t smoke.’ c.

Hende’ serka-serka komo ara; apiki-apiki el maga kasa neg near-red like now close.together-red art pl house



diaton. 1pl.incl.gen

‘[Before] they (weren’t) close together like (they are) now, our houses are very close together.’

The particle amo, cognate in Tausug and Hiligaynon, and equating to the particle maú in Cebuano, is used to predicate a specific noun, usually highly topical or contrastive (Rubino 2006: 187). There is no Tagalog equivalent. (4) Kada bes ke el korte ta man-dulug kon-ese desisyon, el pueblo each time comp art court ipfv verb-linger acc-med decision art people de Zamboanga amo el kien ta sale desbentahao. of Zamboanga ip art who ipfv leave disadvantaged ‘Each time the court lingers on that decision, the people of Zamboanga are the ones that come out disadvantaged.’

Common to all the Philippine contact languages that have contributed to ZC, is the use of the conditional particle with interrogative pronouns, introducing subordinate interrogative clauses. ZC does not employ a Philippine particle for this purpose, but the Spanish conditional counterpart si ‘if ’. (5) a.

No sabe kita si kien ay sale biktima. neg know 1pl.incl if who fut leave victim ‘We don’t know who will end up a victim.’



Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

b. Kabar no sabe yo si kosa yo ase. then neg know 1sg if what 1sg do ‘In the end, I don’t know what I’m doing.’ c.

No puede pa siempre determina maga otoridad si onde neg can still always determind pl authority if where



ya puede saka el bata’ kuneste explosibo. pst can get art child this.acc explosive



‘The authorities still can’t determine where the child got this explosive.’

Zamboangueño Chavacano is a vibrant language constantly evolving. Two common phenomena not usually present in grammatical descriptions include the use of the Philippine enclitic = ka as a second person pronoun, replacing its more formal equivalent tu and the use of the Tagalog predicate marker ay which sometimes marks predicates in non-initial position, normally translated as an English copula. (6) a.

Onde ka puede encontra maestra ansina? where 2sg can find teacher like.that ‘Where can you find a teacher like that?’

b. Dimi nombre ay si Raffy. 1sg.gen name pred pa Raffy ‘My name is Raffy.’

Today speakers of ZC are proficient in Tagalog, the national language taught in the primary years of schooling, and most have been exposed to a formal education in English. Some will also know a regional Philippine language as well, Cebuano and Tausug being the dominant languages of the surrounding areas. Spanish does not play a prominent role in the Philippines; only a handful of native ZC speakers are fluent in Spanish. Few Spanish speakers are found who cannot claim a Spanish-born relative at least two generations in the past and few true Spanish speakers under the age of forty exist in the country (Lipski 2001: 125). Because of this, the developing language now looks mostly to English as the source of its new loans (sometimes via Tagalog), or it will devise Hispanicized variants of English words, e.g., capabilidad ‘capability’ (Sp. capacidad); populasion ‘population’ (Sp. población); dolyár ‘dollar’ (Sp. dólar); maskulado ‘muscular’ (Sp. musculoso); memoriado ‘memorized’ (Sp. memorizado); notorioso ‘notorious’ (Sp. no near equivalent); sureptisioso ‘surreptitious’ (Sp. ­subrepticio); luxurioso ‘luxurious’ (Sp. lujoso); serioso ‘serious’ (Sp. serio). For a better understanding of ZC, the most detailed grammatical description of the language is Forman (1972), and Riego de Dios (1989) provides the most comprehensive dictionary to date.

 Carl Rubino

2.  Philippine verbal modes A pervasive feature of Philippine verbal morphology is the morphologically explicit distinction of at least three modes: dynamic, potentive and stative. The dynamic mode is semantically the unmarked mode where all transitive action verbs and many intransitive verbs signal some sort of intent or control on the part of the actor. It is a morphological feature present in all the indigenous language variants that contributed to the formation of Zamboangueño Chavacano. I use the term potentive here as first established in Rubino (1997) with further exemplification and elaboration for the Tagalog language available in Himmelmann (2004). The potentive and stative modes are often collapsed in linguistic descriptions because they share very similar, if not identical, morphology in their non-­causative formations for most Visayan languages, using the prefixes maka-, ma- or ka-. Potentive verbs are those with dynamic counterparts that specify that the action of the verb is either abilitative, noncontrolled, nonvolitional, accidental, or incidental. Stative verbs are those that typically do not involve an agent; when translated into English, they often appear as adjectives. The following sentences in English should clarify the distinction: Dynamic: Potentive: Stative:

I burned the food. (on purpose, with intent) I was able to burn the food. (abilitative) I managed to burn the food. (potential) I accidentally burned the food. (non-intentional) I happened to burn the food. (coincidental) The food is/was burnt. (agentless)

This modal distinction will be illustrated from Cebuano, the largest Visayan language which has impacted Zamboangueño Chavacano. With the roots bangga’ ‘crash’ and buak ‘break’ the intentional dimension can be seen between the potentive and dynamic verbs (cf. 7 and 8). With the root dagan ‘run’, the potentive form usually expresses the abilitative (cf. 9): (7) a. Gi-bangga’ naku’ ang sakyanán sa akong igsúun.4 real:dyn-crash 1sg.gen nm vehicle gen 1sg.lig sibling ‘I crashed my sibling’s car (on purpose).’ (dynamic) b. Na-bangga’ ku sa kutsi sa akong igsúun. real:pot-crash 1sg loc car gen 1sg.gen.lig sibling ‘I accidentally hit my sibling’s car.’ (potentive)

.  The ZC counterparts are Ya puede yo manbangga’ dimiyo kotse na pader ‘I accidentally crashed my car into the wall’ vs. Ya ase yo bangga’ dimiyo kotse ‘I crashed my car (on purpose).’



(8) a.

Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

Gi-buák naku’ ang iyang pakwán. real:dyn-break 1sg nom 3sg.gen.lig watermelon ‘I broke her watermelon (stole her virginity).’ (dynamic)

b. Na-buák naku’ ang akong baso. real:pot-break 1sg nom 1sg.gen.lig glass ‘I broke my glass (accidentally).’ (potentive) (9) a.

Mi-dágan ku pa ingun sa simbahán. real:dyn-run 1sg to toward loc church ‘I ran to the church.’ (dynamic)

b. Maka-dágan ku hangtud sa simbahán. pot-run 1sg until loc church ‘I can run to the church.’ (potentive)

Stative verbs in Cebuano occur with the prefixes maka- or ma-, and can also take the prefix ka- for their nominal and imperative forms. Stative and potentive verbs may share similar morphology in some of their formations, e.g., with the prefix ma-, but they are separate categories with distinct morphological properties. Stative verbs, unlike potentives, do not take genitive agents or experiencers, nor do they inflect for voice (transitivity). (10) a.

Dili’ ku ma-suku’ niya. neg 1sg stat-anger 3sg ‘I am not upset with him.’ (ma- stative)

b. Ayáw ka-suku’ kanaku’. don’t stat-anger 1sg.obl ‘Don’t get angry with me.’ (ka- imperative) c.

Sa ka-suku’ ni Roger, gihingínlan niya ang iyang asáwa. nm stat-anger nm Roger exiled 3.gen nom 3sg.gen.lig spouse ‘Because of Roger’s anger, he exiled his wife.’ (ka- nominalization)

3.  V  isayan stative and potentive morphology employed in Zamboangueño As far as Creole languages go, Zamboangueño exhibits a rather rich morphological system with productive use of some Spanish and many Philippine affixes. Due to the fact that the Austronesian contact languages are morphologically rich with a highly prefixing typology, a number of affixes employed in Zamboangueño are derivational prefixes borrowed from neighboring Philippine languages. However, the prefixes ma-, maka-, and ka- associated with stative and potentive formations in the neighboring Philippine languages are not fully productive in Zamboangueño with stative or potentive meanings.

 Carl Rubino

3.1  The prefix maStative verbs in neighboring Philippine languages are most likely borrowed into ZC as whole units that can be classified as adjectives in the Creole. The stative prefix ma- does not seem to be used productively with new loans as it is in the substrate Visayan languages since the number of word formations with ma- is minimal in the corpus. Examples (11a–c) illustrate the use of various ma- adjectives in Zamboangueño. (11) a.

dol ma-pait man gayod. as.if ma-bitter cep emph ‘as if it were really bitter (instead).’

b. Depe si Lando dakel diya ma-luya~maluya ele. then pa Lando that day ma-weak 3sg ‘Then (afterwards), Lando was quite weak that day.’ c.

Na sichempo ulan ben ma-lisud gayod kay el kamino well iftime rain very ma-difficult emph because the road



ben ma-lodo pa, depe chenebes aga ulan pa. very ma-muddy add then sometimes morning rain add

‘In the rainy season, it’s really a mess because the road is very dirty, then sometimes it even rains early (in the morning).’

The number of ma- adjectival formations may be minimal in Zamboangueño when compared to neighbouring Philippine languages, however, due to extensive contact and borrowing with Visayan languages, ZC speakers may maintain the notion of the affix and appropriately use it when coining new terms in Zamboangueño. I would like to show an example where the prefix ma- is uttered before the speaker has access to the full adjective. Whether this should be attributed to a tip of the tongue phenomenon or the highly productive use of ma- as an adjectival prefix is open to debate. In the following example, the speaker substitutes the empty placeholder root kuan ‘whatchamacallit’ for the root buling ‘dirty’ as it appears in the Zamboangueño adjective mabuling ‘dirty.’ (12) Abla si Doctor Iturralde, ma-kuan daw dimiyo sangre… mabuling daw. say pa Dr. Iturralde, ma-er seems 1sg.gen blood dirty seems ‘Dr. Iturralde said, my blood seems … whatchmacallit … seems dirty.’

Example (13) illustrates how the affix ma- may be used with a Chavacano5 root, so although it is minimally productive, it is not completely fossilized. .  The term chismis is a Filipinized variant of the Spanish chisme and it occurs in a number of Philippine languages. The word machismis could have been borrowed as a whole unit from a neighboring Visayan language.



Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

(13) Dimiyo mga bisinos ki bueno man, 1sg.gen pl neighbors here good part nuway man mga kwan ta uwi neg.exist part pl er ipfv hear ma-chismis-chismis kanila. ma-gossip-gossip 3pl.acc ‘My neighbors here are actually quite good, one doesn’t hear gossip about them.’

3.2  The prefixes maka- and kaThe prefix maka- in Visayan languages, aside from expressing intransitive potentive verbs is also used in nonvolitional/non-instigated causative formations, as the following examples from the Tausug language show: (14) a.

Maka-buga’ in piya-guwa’ ha sini kabii. caus-fear nom caus.real-out obl theater last.night ‘The movie shown last night was scary (caused fright).’

b. Maka-sipug kaniya bang ku hi-guwa’ in giyamus niya. caus-shame 3sg.obl if 1sg.gen theme-out nom secret 3sg.gen ‘It would shame him if I reveal his secret.’

Maka- has been borrowed in Zamboangueño to form nonvolitional causatives only, e.g., makalyura ‘sad, causing one to cry’, makapara ‘sexually arousing, causing to stand’, makapara pelo ‘causing goosebumps (causing the hair to rise)’, makahuya’ ‘shameful, causing shame,’ makadurmi ‘tiring, causing sleep’, makabusug ‘filling, causing one to be full’, makaispanta ‘frightening’, makaugut ‘frustrating’, makadolor ‘painful, hurtful’, makabungul ‘deafening’, makasu’mut ‘irritating’, makarabya ‘annoying’, makaestranya ‘amazing’, makakunsumision ‘upsetting’, makaapa’ ‘stupefiying’, etc. Its use in neighboring Visayan languages as an intransitive potentive affix has not transferred to the Creole. (15) a.

Byen maka-risas gat si talya si Sir Teddy ba. very maka-laugh emph if there pa Sir Teddy emph ‘It’s really funny if Sir Teddy is there.’

b. Poreso nukyere sila man-huntu, maka-diri! that’s.why not.want 3sg verb-together maka-disgust ‘That’s why they don’t want to go together, it’s disgusting!’

We can be certain that the Creole has borrowed the affix, and not just a number of words that employ the affix, because maka- is used with Zamboangueño roots that are foreign to the neighboring Philippine languages.

 Carl Rubino

(16) a.

Hende’ ba maka-risa, chenebes maka-peste. neg interrog maka-laugh sometimes maka-annoy ‘Isn’t it funny, sometimes (he’s) annoying.’

b. ben muchu gat mga kosa ya sosede kumigo very many emph pl thing pst happen 1sg.acc

maka-risas, maka-lyurar, maka-triste. maka-laugh maka-cry maka-sad



‘Very many funny, tearful and sad things happened to me.’

Unlike in Cebuano, the stative/potentive prefix ka- which is associated with stative nominalizations and imperatives, and many verbs of cognition have not been borrowed into Zamboangueño morphology. ZC has employed the affix paka- for abstract nominalizations, e.g., pakahambug ‘boastfulness’, paka-seloso ‘jealousy’. ZC has no explicit imperative morphology.

4.  Zamboangueño expression of the potentive mode The potentive mode is not a morphologically established category in Zamboangueño, and the various semantic distinctions associated with the mode are certainly not shared by the lexifier language. Zamboangueño speakers, however, did not fail to adopt the category in their Creole, using a periphrastic construction employing the stative verb puede ‘can’, which exists in Chavacano and the neighboring Visayan languages, as a loan from the third person singular present tense indicative inflected form (puede) of the Spanish verb of ability poder ‘can, be able to’, which can also be used to express capability, possibility or permission. This section will detail the various uses of this highly versatile verb, as well as illustrate uses that would carry a potentive interpretation in the substrate languages but do not employ puede. 4.1  Abilitative constructions with puede In Spanish puede ‘able to, can’ serves as a modal verb denoting ability, capability, possibility or permission. It may also carry this meaning in ZC. (17) a. Alegre gat yo se liga Dumingo kay ta puede kame huga. happy really I if arrive Sunday because ipfv can 1pl.excl play ‘I’m really happy when Sunday comes because we can play.’ b. Na nuay ma yo kanila puede manda istudia kay iyo un pobre yo well no.longer I them can send study because I indf poor I ‘I could no longer send them to school because I’m a poor man.’



c.

Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

Nuay le puede manda ri konel elepante. neg 3sg can make laugh acc elephant ‘He wasn’t able to make the elephant laugh.’

d. … …

puede ka mira shembra, puede ka resulya inbuenamente, can you see plant can you breathe well

hende’ yede el aire. not stink art air

‘(in the provinces) you can see foliage, you can breathe well, the air does not stink.’ e.

Ele tamen mismo nuay puede enkontra konel disuyo tiyo asta ora. he also self neg can find acc his uncle until now ‘He himself was not able to find his uncle until now.’

f.

Mga ladron, mga bata’ duru pl thief pl child hard



disiplina tamen konel, na mga bata’… discipline also acc nm pl children

kabesa, ta puede kita head ipfv can we.incl

‘The thieves and stubborn children, we can also discipline them… the children…’ puede kusi? g. Kosa-kosa tela tu ta what-red cloth 2sg prog can sew ‘What kinds of cloth can you sew?’ h. Puede sila sale sin lyebar el diila maga armas. can 3pl leave without carry art 3pl.gen pl weapons ‘They may leave without taking their weapons.’

4.2  Visayan calques using puede The verb puede in ZC does much more than express ability. To completely understand its use in non-abilitative constructions, it is of great help to survey how the potentive category is used in the Austronesian contact languages. In the following sentences, the use of puede reflects a direct calque from Visayan in which the potentive form of Cebuano speech verb sulti ‘speak’, masulti (or ikasulti), is employed as a verb of cognition. Compare the Cebuano use in (18) with the Zamboangueño counterparts in (19–21). (18) Únsa-y imo-ng ma-sulti ana’?  what-lig 2sg-lig pot-say that ‘What do you think of that?’ (lit: ‘What can you say about that?’) (19) Kosa tu puede abla na dituyu maga bisinos alya? what 2sg can say obl 2sg.gen pl neighbors there ‘What can you say (do you think) of your neighbors there?’

(Cebuano)

 Carl Rubino

(20) Kosa tu ara puede abla konel diaton nuebo padre? what 3sg now can say acc 1pl:incl:gen new priest ‘What do you think of our new priest?’ (21) Kosa tu puede mira kumigo? what 2sg can look 1sg.acc ‘What do you think of me?’

Other verbs of cognition such as pensa ‘think’ likewise can take the modal verb puede, reflecting the pattern found in Cebuano that modally separates cognitive verbs from those which denote volitionally instigated actions. (22) Kosa tu ta puede pensa kanila? what you ipfv abil think 3pl.obl ‘What do you think of them?’

In Visayan languages, verbs of discovery appear in the potentive mode, and their dynamic counterparts would signify active searching. Contrast (23) with (24–26), where the target verbs are translated in bold text. (23) Largo tiempo ya buska el hombre konel muher. long time pst search art man acc woman ‘For a long time, the man searched for the woman.’ (24) … ya puede buska pondo alya na city. … pst can find funds there loc city ‘…(he) was able to find funds there in the city.’ (25) Kuando ya sabe si Manuel el berdad, ya pidi perdon si Pedro when pst know pa manuel art truth pst request pardon pa pedro y ya despidi ya para puede buska otro trabaho. and pst bid.farewell already so can search other work ‘When Manuel found out the truth, Pedro asked forgiveness and bid farewell so he could find other work.’ (26)

El dos diutay isla ke ya puede sila enkontra art two small island that pst can they find amo ahora el dos diutay isla del Santa Cruz. ip now art two small island of Santa Cruz

‘The two small islands that they discovered6 (without intent) are now the two small islands of Sta. Cruz.’

.  Compare Tagalog nahanap ‘found, potentive’ vs. hanapin ‘look for, dynamic’; both meanings are derived from the same root.



Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

Cognitive verbs offer another glimpse at the use of puede to express non-intent. The verb konose ‘know’ is most often used without the auxiliary to express knowledge of a person. However, the auxiliary is used when expressing the act of making acquaintance. (27) Chene gad yo na konose maga hente ansina. exist emph 1sg linker know pl person like.that ‘I really do know people like that.’ (28) Akel maga chempo ya puede yo konose un bunita muher that pl time pst can 1sg know indf beautiful woman na diamun eskuela, ke amo ya ase pitik el dimiyo korason. loc 1pl.excl.gen school that ip pst make beat art 1sg.gen heart ‘Those days I got acquainted with a beautiful girl from our school, she’s the one who captivated my heart.’

Now let us take a look at the ZC verb man-pansin ‘notice’. In Philippine languages, the verb root pansin used in the dynamic mode means ‘to pay attention to (deliberately)’; in the potentive mode it means ‘to notice.’ (29) a.

Ya puede ustedes man-pansin? pst can 2pl verb-notice ‘Did you guys notice (referring to the earrings)?’

b. Man-pansin gat yo kombo? Kien ba gat bo?! verb-notice intens 1sg 2sg.acc who interrog intens 2sg ‘Pay attention to you? Who do you really think you are?!’

4.3  Potentive-type constructions with puede It is important to note here that, although in the substrate languages where all verbs can be categorized into three distinct classes by their morphology (dynamic, potentive and stative), Chavacano verbs that are either involuntary or potential are not necessarily explicitly marked as such. However, in the ZC corpus, there are a substantial number of cases where “potentive” verbs are explicitly marked with the auxiliary puede, especially in ambiguous cases where the speaker chooses to indicate lack of volition, control, or a conscious exertion of effort to perform an action. Sentences (30–36) illustrate how puede can be used to indicate the accidental nature of the action. The verbs taking puede are rendered in the English translations in bold. (30) El diila botas rompido buslut pakimodo si ya puede pisa klabo? art their boots torn hole how if pst can step nail ‘Their boots are torn and holy, what if they (accidentally) step on a nail?’

 Carl Rubino

(31) Si iyo gat puede emperma na nusabe mas yo if I intens can sick excl not.know any.longer 1sg.nom pakichura dimiyo mga apu. how 1sg.gen pl grandchildren ‘If I get sick, I don’t know what will become of my grandchildren.’ (32) Dol ya puede yo poko traga laway. Dol ya puede poko resulya. as.if pst can I little swallow spit as.if pst can little breathe ‘As if I swallowed a little saliva, as if I could breathe.’ (33) Nusabe yo, kosa era abla pobre gat bo si iyo don’t.know I what cf talk poor intens 2sg.nom if 1sg.nom gat puede muri. Pobre gat bo Deng, intens can die poor emph 2sg.nom Deng nuway gat kombo kien kuida. not.have intens you.acc who take.care ‘I don’t know what would happen, poor you if I die. Poor you, Deng. You won’t have anyone to care for you.’ (34) Si yo puede muri enterra kamo kumigo aki na presioso sitio. if 1sg can die bury 2pl 1sg.acc here loc precious site ‘If I die, bury me here in this precious site.’ (35) Ese enkuentro ya sosede del Lunes kuando ya that encounter pst happen of Monday when pst puede kolumbra el maga soldao konestos maga bandido can sight the pl soldier acc.pl pl bandit abordo de un banka alli na Talisayan. aboard of indf outrigger there in Talisayan ‘That encounter occurred on Monday when the soldiers sighted7 (without intent) the bandits aboard a boat there in Talisayan.’ (36) Ya puede yo pensa kay suerte yo, porkausa nuay pst can 1sg think that luck 1sg because neg yo puede experiencia konakel klase de malisud bida. 1sg can experience dist.acc kind of difficult life ‘I thought (to myself) I have been lucky because I haven’t experienced that kind of difficult life.’

.  This use of puede reflects the Philippine use of the potentive mode with verbs of sight. The verb ‘see’ is usually rendered in the potentive mode with a dynamic counterpart ‘to look at’.



Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

(37) Chenebes hinde tamen kita puede diskulpa konel maga bata’ sometimes neg also 1pl.incl can excuse acc pl child si ta puede ase kosa el mal. if ipfv can do thing art bad ‘Sometimes we can’t excuse children if they (accidentally) do something wrong.’ (38) El hente ta kombersa mucho ta puede ase malo. art people ipfv talk much ipfv can do bad ‘People who talk too much (end up) doing something bad.’ (proverb) (39) Na su selda si Agustin ya admiti na ABS-CBN News loc 3sg.gen cell pa Agustin perf admit loc ABS-CBN News kay ele ya puede mata kun su ermano si Elvie. because 3sg perf can kill acc 3sg.gen brother pa Elvie ‘In his cell, Agustin admitted on ABS-CBN News that he (accidentally) killed his brother Elvie.’ (40) … y el bata’ ya puede kaga na bariga del nana. … and art child perf can defecate loc stomach gen mother ‘… and the baby defecated on his mother’s tummy.’

The next set of utterances further demonstrate how the verb puede can be used for coincidental actions, events that suggest a state of affairs that came into being from the circumstance. Non-intentional actions that do not require a great deal of effort on the part of the actor often appear with the auxiliary puede. (41) Uno del diamun uban ya puede man-tirada bien one gen our companion pst can verb-shoot well mapait gayot muher! bitter emph woman ‘A companion of ours got lucky with a gorgeous woman!’ (42) Akel noche ya puede kunila mira el nobio ke that night pst can 3pl.acc see art boyfriend that ta baila sila pichido na unuy-otro. ipfv dance 3pl presssed loc one-another ‘That night they were caught dancing tightly together by the boyfriend.’ (43) Si hinde kuntigo ta puede asekaso despensa lang tu. if neg 2sg.acc ipfv can pay.attention excuse just 2sg ‘If I am (accidentally) not paying attention to you, forgive me.’

In the following examples, puede is used to express non-volition, with inanimate causers. Inanimate agents in the substrate languages often occur with potentive or stative verbs.

 Carl Rubino

(44) Ya puede pasa kanila el granada ke ya rebenta pst can pass them art grenade that pst explode adentro del un sinehan. in of indf theater ‘The grenade passed them that exploded inside a movie house.’ (45) El alibio ta puede ase un ladron. art ease ipfv can make a thief ‘Ease makes a thief.’ (proverb)

Spontaneous reflexes are often expressed using puede, where more volitional renditions would employ the same verb without the auxiliary. In (40), the verb ri ‘laugh’ carries a more intensive interpretation, with considerable effort and duration. In (41–42), the same verb is used with puede to indicate a spontaneous reaction, not planned and not necessarily durative. (46) Ri ke ri lang kame dos na su broma. laugh what laugh just we.excl two prep 3sg.gen joke ‘We just laughed and laughed at his joke.’ (47) Na huya, ya puede lang tamen kami ri. prep shame pst can just also we.excl laugh ‘Out of shame, we just broke out laughing.’ (48) Ayer tarde kwando ta sinta iyo na dimiyo kulumpio, yesterday afternoon when ipfv sit 1sg in 1sg.gen rocking.chair ta puede yo ri! Kay ya puede ya tamen rakecha ipfv can 1sg laugh because pst can pst also flash el maga memoria de antes na dimi pensamiento. art pl memory of before in 1sg.gen thought

‘Yesterday afternoon while I was sitting on my rocking chair, I just broke out laughing. Because memories of the past started to flash once again in my thoughts.’

Similar uses of puede can be seen with the verbs lyura ‘cry’ and grita ‘scream’ where exertion of effort does not take the auxiliary, but a spontaneous reaction does: (49) Talya le na kasa ta lyura ke lyura. dist.exist 3sg loc home ipfv cry what cry ‘He’s at home crying and crying.’ (50) Kabar talya ele ara na kuan, na Manila. Ta puede then exist 3sg now loc er loc Manila ipfv can ba yo lyura ba kay nuay ma ele kumigo. conf 1sg cry conf because neg more 3sg 1sg.acc ‘Now he’s in what’s the name of that place, Manila. I broke out crying because he is no longer with me.’



Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

(51) Si ta grita yo kabar hinde kumigo ta asekaso if ipfv yell 1sg then neg 1sg.acc ipfv pay.attention chenebes ta pega yo. sometimes ipfv hit 1sg ‘If I yell (at my son) and he doesn’t pay attention to me, sometimes I hit (him).’ (52) Bien rabyaw gayot el nana de Juan y puede grita intens angry intens art mother of Juan and can yell “Dios.mio Juan, kosa man bos ya ase?” My.God Juan what part 2sg perf do ‘Juan’s mother was so angry that she screamed “My God Juan, what did you do?”’

It is important to note here that not all unambiguously potentive-type verbs will appear with the verb puede. ZC speakers have a choice if they wish to convey the additional meaning of non-intent or less control. Verbs such as ginda ‘end up, result’, perde ‘lose’ and uwi ‘hear’ which would be rendered potentive in Visayan languages appear in the corpus with and without puede: ginda (result): (53) Porkausa kuneste ya ginda daw na peligro el disuyu bida y because acc.this pst end.up hrsy in danger art his life and su entero pamilya. his entire family ‘Because of this his life and that of his entire family ended up in danger.’ (54) Ya puede ginda el bola na medio. pst can end.up art ball in middle ‘The ball ended up in the middle.’

perde (lose): (55) …kay ya puede perde kosa porkausa kanila. …because pst can lose things because them ‘…because one loses things because of them.’ (56) Na, na monte, nuway man, amo ya sale ya sila dp in mountain neg part ip pst leave already they kamina-kamina ya perde ya sila kamino. walk-red pst lose already they road ‘In the mountains, there are no … so they went walking and lost their way.’

uwi (hear): (57) ya puede yo uwi, ta uwi yo disuyu boses ta kay lang dimiyo luha. pst can I hear ipfv hear I his voice ipfv fall just 1sg.gen tear ‘I could hear, I hear his voice (and) my tears just fell.’

 Carl Rubino

As stated earlier, stative morphology used to express the passive in Philippine languages is often identical in form to potentive morphology. In the following examples, it appears that puede is used to mirror the Philippine passive construction which employs a stative verb, usually without an overt agent in Philippine languages. (58) Ya tene kami trahedya kuando ya puede mata kon dimiyo perf have 1pl.excl tragedy when perf can kill acc 1sg.gen un anak. one child ‘We had a tragedy when my one child was killed.’ (59) Asegun na report na mas de dies mil perro according loc report comp more than ten thousand dog ya puede mata el siudad. perf can kill art city ‘According to the report, more than ten thousand dogs were killed by the city.’ (60) Si chene mal notisya entonses el puede bende if exist bad news then fut can sell enbuenamente konel periodiko. well acc newspaper. ‘If there’s bad news, then the paper sells (is sold) well.’ (61) Manada ya sila puede kompra na sien pesos. many already 3pl can buy loc 100 pesos ‘Many of them (pirated items) can be bought for 100 pesos.’ (62) Ya puede kuhi singko notorioso drug pushers na siudad. perf can catch five notorious drug pushers loc city ‘Five notorious drug pushers were caught in the city.’ (63) Ya puede lyeba kon Ambian na hospital, pero perf can take acc Ambian loc hospital but mientras grabe el tupada del maga bala ya while serious art hit gen pl bullet perf puede lang kon-este kura el maga doktor. can just acc-this cure art pl doctor ‘Ambian was taken to the hospital, but even with the serious bullet wounds, the doctors were able to cure him.’



Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

(64) El maga suspechao ya puede konose8 komo sina Ernie y si Bert. art pl suspect perf can know as pa.pl Ernie and pa Bert. ‘The suspects were identified as Ernie and Bert (names changed).’

There are also possibly ambiguous cases where one cannot discern whether the puede construction is used to mark ability or non-controlled action. This ambiguity exists to speakers of English who inherently differentiate the two categories. In Visayan languages, there are ways to express ability via a periphrastic construction with an ability verb to differentiate an abilitative versus a non-controlled predicate. However, these categories collapse into one in Philippine morphology. (65) Ta puede tamen akorda si P si porke ya rabia kunele si Godo. ipfv puede also remember pa P if why pst mad 3sg.acc pa Godo ‘P(aeng) also remembers why Godo got mad at him.’ (66) Kosa pa tu otro ya puede experiensia? what add 2sg other pst puede experience ‘What else have you experienced?’ (67) Alya kosa tu ya puede obserba? there what 2sg perf puede observe ‘What have you observed there?’

5.  Conclusion Zamboangueño Spanish Creole is a vibrant language with a rich history of borrowing from a diverse set of typologically similar languages, English and Spanish. Two important things that the indigenous languages spoken around the Creole have in common is that they exhibit a morphologically complex verb system, and they each possess a morphological mechanism to differentiate abilitative or involuntary verbs from their non-abilitative or +control counterparts. While ZC does not possess such a mechanism, the potentive verbal category, may be grammaticizing via a periphrastic construction involving the verb puede, most often used to express ability. Only the future can tell whether the verb puede will fully grammaticize to mirror the category it is starting to portray, by a semantic bleaching of its lexical meaning, or morphologically by turning into a prefix or proclitic.

.  In many Philippine languages, the transitive version of the verb associated with knowing a person means ‘to identify.’

 Carl Rubino

Special abbreviations abil abilitative add additive particle (more, still, even) caus causative cep counter-expectation particle cf counterfactual particle conf confirmatory particle distal distal deictic dp discourse particle dyn dymamic mode emph emphatic er empty root (whatchamacallit) excl exclusive (excluding addressee) exist existential hrsy hearsay

incl inclusive (including addressee) intens intensifier interrog interrogative intr intransitive verbalizer ip identificational particle (amo) lig ligature (linker) nm noun marking particle pa personal article prep preposition part particle pot potentive mode real realis red reduplication stat stative theme theme voice (expressing conveyance)

References Forman, Michael. 1972. Zamboangueño texts with grammatical analysis. Ph.D. Dissertation, Cornell University, Ithaka NY. Himmelmann, Nikolaus. 2004. On statives and potentives in western Austronesian (mostly Tagalog). In Law, Paul (Ed.), Proceedings of Austronesian formal linguistics association 11: 103–19. (ZAS Papers in Linguistics Nr 34, October 2004, Berlin). Lipski, John. 1992. New thoughts on the origins of Zamboangueño (Philippine Creole Spanish) Language Sciences 14 (3): 197–231. Lipski, John. 2001. The place of Chavacano in the Philippine linguistic profile. Estudios de Sociolingüística 2 (2): 119–63. Riego de Dios, Maria Isabelita O. 1976. A composite dictionary of Philippine Creole Spanish. Ph.D. Dissertation, Ateneo de Manila University, Manila. Riego de Dios, Maria Isabelita O. 1989. A composite dictionary of Philippine Creole Spanish [Studies in Philippine Linguistics 7.2]. Manila: Linguistic Society of the Philippines, and Summer Institute of Linguistics. Rubino, Carl. 1997. A reference grammar of Ilocano. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of California, Santa Barbara.



Zamboangueño Chavacano and the potentive mode 

Rubino, Carl. 2006. Intensive Tausug: A pedagogical grammar of the language of Jolo, Philippines. Springfield VA: Dunwoody Press. Warren, James F. 1981. The Sulu zone 1768–1898. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Whinnom, Keith. 1956. Spanish contact vernaculars in the Philippine Islands. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Worcester, Dean C. 1930. The Philippines past and present. New York NY: Macmillan.

Between contact and internal development Towards a multi-layered explanation for the development of the TMA system in the creoles of Suriname* Bettina Migge

University College Dublin & CNRS-CELIA (Paris) and

Laurence Goury

Institut de Recherche pour le Développement & CNRS-CELIA (Paris) This paper proposes a new analysis of the formation of the tense-mood-aspect (TMA) system of the Surinamese Maroon creoles based on a wide range of both contemporary and historical sources. The paper first provides a brief synopsis of the socio-historical context in which the creoles of Suriname emerged and developed, and a broad overview of the TMA systems of those creoles and of varieties of Gbe. It then discusses four processes that were involved in the emergence of the creole TMA system: substrate influence, internal change from a substrate calque, superstrate influence, and shift of form and category correlated with innovation. The paper then concludes that creole formation is to be considered as a gradual and multi-layered process (Arends 1993; Bruyn 1995), involving processes of language change that also operate in other so-called “normal” contact settings (Thomason & Kaufman 1988).

1.  Introduction The tense, mood and aspect system of creoles has been at the center of much of the debate on creole genesis. Over the years, different kinds of explanations have been

*The research on the contemporary Creole and Gbe varieties was funded by NSF grant # SBR – 930635 and NSF grant BCS-0113826. We would like to thank the numerous informants in Benin and Suriname/French Guiana who generously provided information on their native languages. We also thank two anonymous reviewers and Susanne Michaelis for comments on an earlier version. All remaining errors are the responsibility of the authors.

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

offered for its origins. Bickerton (1984), for instance, appealed to innate linguistic knowledge, the so-called bioprogram, to explain the structure of creole tensemood-aspect (TMA) systems. Lefebvre (1996), and Siegel (1999) in somewhat different ways, on the contrary, argue that the structural makeup of these languages, including their TMA categories, emerged due to substrate influence. Superstratists, instead, argue that the grammar of creoles can be, in large part, traced to the European language involved in their formation (Chaudenson 1992) while the first languages of the slaves would have only played a limited role in their emergence (DeGraff 2002). Finally, in recent years evidence has also been brought forward to demonstrate that at least some of the elements in creole TMA systems emerged due to internal change (Detges 2000; van den Berg 2001; Kriegel, Michaelis & Pfänder 2004; Fattier 2003). Together the findings from these different approaches clearly argue against a monocausal explanation for the formation of creole grammars and creole TMA systems in particular. However, little of the current research investigates how the different sources conspired to give rise to specific contemporary creole grammars. The aim of the present paper is to demonstrate the multi-layered nature of the process of creole formation. Investigating in detail the processes and sources that were involved in the emergence and development of the TMA system of the creoles of Suriname, we show that the contemporary TMA system of the creoles of Suriname emerged due to contact-induced language change, language internal change, and universal processes of second language acquisition. Our analysis draws on a range of data sources. Natural and elicited data were collected from relatively conservative varieties of four contemporary creoles of Suriname (Sranan Tongo, Ndyuka, Pamaka, Saamaka) and their main substrate, varieties of Gbe.1 The Gbe data were collected from varieties belonging to the main subclusters of the Gbe continuum (Capo 1988). The elicitations for all these varieties employed a modified version of Dahl’s (1985) questionnaire (for details, .  A range of terms are used to refer to the creoles of Suriname. Terms differ according to various social factors. For instance, in out-group settings the term used depends on interlocutors’ (assumed) knowledge about the Surinamese creole linguistic space and/or the social identity that the speaker wants to display. Thus, while people use Pamaka or Nenge in in-group settings, they employ terms like Djuka (Suriname), Takitaki or Businenge (French Guiana) in out-group settings to display a pan-Maroon identity and/or to mark the fact that their interlocutor is ignorant about the local linguistic situation. Moreover, in out-group settings, term selection is also influenced by the main European language of the speaker (e.g., Paramaccan (Dutch) versus Paramacca/Paramaka (French/English)) and whether or not s/he wants to display a local (Pamaka) versus a non-local (Paramacca(n)) identity in the interaction. For more details on naming conventions, see Léglise and Migge 2006. In this paper we use the most widely used (distinctive) in-group terms to refer to the different varieties.



Between contact and internal development 

see Migge 2006). The historical data for Sranan Tongo and Saamaka come from the following sources: the Court Records from 1607 until 1667 (in van den Berg 2000); Herlein 1718; van Dyk 1765; Nepveu 1770 (in Arends & Perl 1995); the Saramaccan Peace Treaty in Sranan (1762) (Arends & van den Berg 2004); Schumann’s 1783 dictionary of Sranan (Kramp 1983); a Saamaka dictionary and grammatical sketch by Riemer (1779) (in Arends & Perl 1995) which was based on Schumann’s (1778) dictionary published in Schuchardt (1914); the translation of the story of the Apostles by Wietz 1805 (in Schuchardt 1914); the Neger-Engels – Nederlands Woordenboek from Focke (1855). The paper is organized as follows: Section 1 presents a brief synopsis of the sociohistorical context in which the creoles of Suriname emerged and developed. Section 2 provides a broad overview of the TMA systems of the creoles of Suriname, their main substrate input, varieties of Gbe, and English. Section 3 discusses the different sources and processes that were involved in the emergence of the TMA system by investigating in detail specific areas of the TMA system. The last section summarizes the findings and discusses their implications for theories of creole genesis.

2.  The historical context 2. 1  Overview of the contact settings Analyses of the early history of Suriname (Arends 1995, Migge 2002, 2003) suggest that it can be subdivided into three distinct contact settings. The first contact setting (1651–1679) spans the founding of the English colony in 1651 and its handover to the Dutch in 1667 following the Anglo-Dutch war. This period was characterized by relatively high ratios of Europeans to Africans (1:2 to 1:3) and old slaves to new slaves (less than 1:2). Initially, the Europeans were mainly speakers of English. In 1670s they were replaced by speakers of different European languages such as Dutch, Swedish, German, French. Starting in 1665 Jewish migrants from Cayenne and various Sephardic communities in Europe (Arends 1999) and/or from Brazil (Goodman 1987) introduced varieties of Portuguese and Spanish. The Africans were native speakers of Gbe, Kikongo and Akan (Arends 1995). Some of the early Europeans and slaves would also have been speakers of (non-native) varieties of English and English-lexified creoles current in other British possessions. In this early period, the European indentured labourers, owners of homesteads, and African slaves lived and worked in close contact with each other (Rens 1953). This situation dramatically changed with the onset of the plantation economy (1680–1695). The massive importation of African slaves led to a change in the

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

makeup of the population. It now consisted primarily of slaves from Africa speaking Gbe and Kikongo while the Europeans and the early slaves were clearly in the minority. The ratio of Europeans to Africans dropped from 1:2/3 (1679) to 1:12 and during the 1680s the ratio of old to “new” slaves decreased from nearly 1:2 to nearly 1:7 (Arends 1995). The plantation setting involved a much greater number of manual labourers per agricultural unit, and its population was subdivided into three social groups with different positions in the social hierarchy of the plantation. The European planter family and their European assistants were at the top of that social hierarchy, the new slaves were at the bottom, and the early slaves occupied an intermediate position. The new slaves were the largest group and were responsible for the planting, harvesting, transporting, etc. of the plantation’s main cash crop. The elite slaves made up about 15% of the population and performed more skilled jobs. The Europeans consisted of one or two people and organized and supervised the work. Due to this stratification, the members of each social group now primarily interacted among themselves and much less with members from other social groups. The latter interactions took on a hierarchical nature and became restricted to relatively non-complex work-related matters, while the former had a less hierarchical character and also involved a wide variety of social functions. Moreover, while the early slaves and the Europeans had and shared common social and linguistic conventions established during the previous period, the new slaves did not. They had to forge them based on their native conventions and those they encountered on the plantations. Access to the latter must have been quite restricted, though, due to absence of close contact with the other two social groups. Between 1695–1720 the importation of slaves continued at a somewhat lower rate, and the new arrivals were no longer the numerically dominant group. The ratios of Europeans to Africans continued to decrease and the ratios of old to new slaves increased continually. At this time, about 70% of all the slaves brought to Suriname were speakers of Gbe and only less than 20% were speakers of Kikongo varieties. During this period the varieties of Gbe and, more importantly, varieties of the plantation creole that had emerged in the second period must have gained considerable prominence. This brief discussion suggests that “the creole” was formed around the end of the 17th and the early 18th century during the transition from the homestead to the plantation economy. The linguistic inputs to the initial formation of the plantation creole were (reduced) L2 varieties of English and to a lesser extent of ­Portuguese, and the L1s spoken by the slaves, mainly varieties of Gbe and Kikongo. The main process of contact was interference through shift. Essentially, speakers of Gbe and Kikongo varieties acquired reduced English structures and partially or completely



Between contact and internal development 

reinterpreted them according to linguistic patterns and structures from their linguistic background, including their native languages, other languages they were familiar with and universal strategies of contact. The varieties that emerged during the transition period became the main means of communication and served as targets of acquisition for both new arrivals and children born during the third setting. Following its initial emergence, the plantation varieties came into contact with a range of other languages that would have been spoken by the slaves brought to ­Suriname in the period between 1720 and 1863, when the slave trade officially ended. They included Kwa languages spoken in modern-day Ghana, e.g., Gã, Twi, Ashante, but also languages found in the region ranging from modern-day Ivory Coast to Sierra Leone (Arends 1995). After the end of the slave trade and particularly following the abolition of slavery, the impact of the African languages slowly diminished. Dutch hardly played an important role in 17th and 18th century Suriname (de Kleine 2002). It was only during the 18th century that Dutch started to be more widely diffused in the colony. The main agents in this process were descendants of mixed Afro-Surinamese-European unions who were quite wealthy, well-educated and occupied important social positions. They adopted Dutch as their main language to distinguish themselves from the slave population (de Kleine 2002: 211). However, Dutch existed in close contact with Sranan (Tongo), the coastal creole, and was much influenced by it, see for example the Dutch used in the translations of van Dyk’s manual (de Kleine 2002: 211). Sranan was the main interactional language in both Paramaribo and on the plantations and was learned as a first language by most Surinamese. Dutch was rapidly gaining in importance during the nineteenth century. According to de Kleine (2002), well-situated families increasingly sent their children to Holland for their education, and a growing number of non-white intellectuals and members of the middle class adopted Dutch as their main means of expression, teaching it also as a first language to their children. The vast majority of Afro-Surinamese, however, remained dominant in Sranan and had little opportunity to learn Dutch until 1876 when it was made the obligatory medium of instruction in Surinamese schools. Due to their long term close coexistence in the capital Paramaribo and coastal region of Suriname, a range of L2 varieties of Dutch that show varying degrees of influence from Sranan emerged and Sranan was subject to increasing influence from Dutch. The differences between the Bakra and Nengre varieties of Sranan posited by Schumann (1778) and Riemer (1779) may be largely due to differential Dutch influence. The majority of the Surinamese population, and especially the Maroons and Amerindian populations residing in the interior of Suriname, however, have traditionally had little or no access to Dutch. The Maroon creoles have therefore been little influenced by Dutch. Most of the mainly lexical influence from Dutch seems to

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

have until very recently been mediated through Sranan; due to its use as a regional lingua franca and its close relationship to the Maroon creoles – it descends from the same early plantation varieties (Figure 1) – all Maroons generally have at least some passive competence in Sranan. Early Plantation varieties, formed app. 1680-1720 Saamaka, split off app. 1690 Matawai, split off app. 1690 Ndyuka, split off app. 1710 Aluku, split off app. 1720 Pamaka, split off app. 1750 Kwinti, split off app. 1740 Sranan, continuation of the early varieties

Figure 1.  The relationship of the different modern Creoles of Suriname to the early plantation varieties and to each other.

2.2  Marronage The Surinamese context is unique in that it has given rise to a family of creole languages. To date seven different creoles survive. Sranan Tongo (literally ‘Suriname tongue’) is the direct continuation of the early plantation varieties since “historically [it is] the language of the slaves inhabiting the plantation zone of the coast and the lower reaches of the major rivers” (Smith 1987: 3). Today, it is the mother tongue of the Afro-Surinamese population living in the coastal region and functions as a lingua franca in multiethnic Suriname. The other creoles Aluku, Ndyuka, Pamaka, Kwinti, Saamaka and Matawai split off from the plantation creole at different times during the late 17th and 18th century as a result of marronage by the founders of the communities who speak these languages. However, both linguistic and sociohistorical evidence strongly suggest that they all descend from one common ancestor, the creole varieties that developed on the plantations of Suriname between roughly the 1670s and 1720 (Migge 2003: 59). Figure 1, amended from Migge (2003), presents the relationship of the modern varieties to their ancestor and provides approximate dates when the different Maroon creoles most likely split off from the plantation varieties as the result of their founders’ flight from the plantation area. Note, however, that the actual dates of their flight are difficult to establish, since marronage was typically



Between contact and internal development 

hidden from the colonizers, and the emergence of actual groups typically took a relatively long time (cf. ­Hoogbergen 1983, 1990). Marronage is a form of resistance to slavery and can be defined as desertion of the plantation with the aim of living out of the reach of the planters and the institution of slavery (Hoogbergen 1983: 75). The most common form was step-by-step marronage. First, individual slaves migrated to the secondary forest around the plantations, established a shelter and tried to make a living off the crops growing on the old fields (kapuweri) and from the things they obtained from the slaves from nearby plantations (Hoogbergen 1983: 78). After a while, several such runaways joined forces and formed a small group. They continued to depend on the plantations but also generally established fields and semi-permanent houses further away from the plantations. Once the planting grounds supplied sufficient food for the whole group, the hiders permanently settled close to their fields and established fully-fledged communities. A primary activity consisted of attracting new members, particularly women and children, through either relocating family members or abducting women from the plantations (Hoogbergen 1983: 80). This scenario suggests that the early slaves spoke the language varieties practiced on the plantations. Their varieties also would not have quickly diverged significantly from the plantation varieties because of continued contact between slaves and Maroons. However, since runaways were generally African rather than locally born (van den Putte 2005), it is quite possible that, at least initially, the African L1s would have had a more significant influence on the Maroon varieties. Since the end of the 18th century, Maroons have been in contact with the Amerindians living along the Maroni River and in the forest, like the Trio in Suriname, or the Wayana in French Guiana.2 They developed exchange partnerships that gave rise to the creation of contact languages such as the Ndyuka-Trio Pidgin (see Huttar & Velanti 1997; Carlin 2002: 25). The Eastern Maroon Creoles (EMC), namely Ndyuka, Pamaka and Aluku, also borrowed much of their vocabulary for fauna, flora and ­traditional techniques of hunting and fishing from Carib languages.

3.  B  road Overview of the TMA system in the creoles of Suriname and in Gbe Overviews of the TMA systems in the creoles of Suriname (Tables 1 and 2) show that there are significant similarities between these four creoles.

.  The Aluku, for example, made contact with the Wayana in the 1790s, in the Tumuc-Humac mountains (Dupuis 2005).

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

Table 1.  Tense and aspect in the contemporary creoles of Suriname (Winford & Migge 2007: 78) Forms

Category

SN Tense ben

PM ND

SM*

be

be

bi

o

o

o

o

Aspect ø ø e e

ø e

ø ta

k(a)ba kaba kaba kaa

Meanings

Relative Past Past events “distanced” from S. Background past or “framepast” especially in narratives. Past in relation to another reference point in the past. Future Later time reference; Intention or prediction. Predictability. Perfective States or events seen as unanalyzed wholes. Imperfective Situations (both states and occurrences) seen as ‘‘unbounded’’ and ongoing at reference time, which encompasses situations that are repeated, habitual, in progress or continuous. Completive3 Situations seen as completed. Conveys the meaning ‘already.’ Expresses the sense of a ‘perfect of result’ with non-statives, and the sense of a state beginning in the past and continuing to the reference point with statives.

*SN: Sranan Tongo, PM: Pamaka, ND: Ndyuka, SM: Saamaka.

First, TMA distinctions are generally expressed by preverbal forms with the exception of kaba (Completive Perfect) which occurs post-VP in all varieties.4 Second, for the most part, the creoles share the same TMA categories and generally also employ the same forms to express them. There are three types of differences. First,

3.  The category we have labeled Completive might just as well be labeled Perfect. In any case, we regard it as a subtype of the crosslinguistic category perfect (Dahl 1985). .  One of the reviewers argued that it is not appropriate to include both grammaticalized TMA markers and modal and aspectual verbs in a discussion on TMA systems. Arguing from a traditional syntax-based approach to TMA systems, she maintains that only the former elements are properly part of TMA systems. Our analysis of TMA follows a cross-linguistic pragmatics-based approach (Dahl 1985; Bybee et al. 1994); we investigate the kinds of TMA categories that exist in a language, the forms that express them and the kinds of primary and secondary meanings that they express in discourse. A discussion of the categorial status of the elements under investigation is provided along with the discussion of the uses of each element.



Between contact and internal development 

Table 2.  Modality in the modern creoles of Suriname (based on Winford 2000a: 70ff; Migge 2006: 34ff, Migge & Winford to appear) Forms

Category

SN PM ND SM Learned Ability sabi fu sabi sabi sá Potential man/kan sa sa sa Positive man poy sa Negative kan sa sa sa Positive man poy sa Negative man/kan sa sa sa Positive man poy sa Negative kande* sa sa sa Positive sa sa sa Negative kande kande kande Necessity musu/sa mu mu musu musu musu musu musu (stronger) fu u sa musu musu musu musu Desire wani wani wani kε Need a(bi) fanoudu (fu)** fanoudu *Note: Kande is an adverb. ** Note: This construction is found in all four creoles.

Meanings

Ability or skills acquired through learning or training physical ability (Deontic) Ability subject to physical or natural law. deontic (root) possibility Ability/possibility subject to moral or social law, involving situations under the agent’s control permission Deontic possibility imposed by authority (social, legal, etc.). epistemic possibility Possible situations, or situations to the certainty of which the speaker is not committed. deontic necessity or obligation “Existence of external, social conditions compelling an agent to complete the predicate action.”Bybee et al. (1994: 177) epistemic necessity Inference based on sound evidence (prior knowledge, experience, etc.). Expresses a high degree of certainty on the speaker’s part about some situation. Expresses speaker’s desire and need. Expresses speaker’s need

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

in some cases the forms used differ somewhat phonologically. For example, the Past time-marking element is ben in Sranan Tongo, be in the EMCs and bi in Saamaka. Second, in a few cases different forms are used to express the same meanings. For instance, Imperfective aspect is expressed by the element ta in Saamaka which is unrelated to e in Sranan and the EMCs. Finally, the distribution of the element sa (potential modality) differs somewhat in the different creoles. Table 3.  Tense and Aspect categories in Gbe languages (Winford & Migge 2007: 80) Category

Form

Tense Future á V lá V ná V Aspect ø Perfective Completive Pattern (1) kò V (Maxi-, Fongbe) mf` V (Xwelagbe) nf` V (Xwlagbe) Pattern (2) VP + vf` (Aja-, Gen-, Wacigbe) Progressive Pattern (1) (lé) VV (kf`) (Ajagbe) (lә) VV ŋ` (Wacigbe) (le) VV nù (Xwlagbe) (&ò) VV wè (Maxigbe) Pattern (2) lé XP V (kf`) (Ajagbe) lә XP V ŋ` (Wacigbe) le XP V nù (Xwlagbe) &ò VV wè (Maxigbe) Pattern (3) nf´ V (Xwelagbe) leé (Gengbe) Habitual Pattern (1) V ná (Gen- Wacigbe) V nf´ (Ajagbe) Pattern (2) nf´ V (Maxi- Xwlagbe) Pattern (3) High tone on V (Xwelagbe) Prospective Pattern (1) &ò (XP) nà V (Maxi Fongbe) Pattern (2) lè (XP) V gé/gbé (Ewe-, Gengbe) Pattern (3) lә (XP) já V (Wacigbe)

Meanings/uses Later time reference

States or events seen as unanalyzed wholes. Simple past with non-statives, present with statives (when reference point is S). Situations seen as completed. Conveys the meaning ‘already.’ Expresses the sense of a perfect of result with non-statives, and the sense of a state beginning in the past and continuing to reference point with statives. Events in progress In cases where the prog. element immediately precedes the verb, e.g. intransitives or transitive verbs taking a pronominal object (SVO order). In other transitive sentences.

With intransitive and transitive verbs. Customary or habitual situations.

Events about to occur.



Between contact and internal development 

Studies of TMA in Gbe (Lefebvre 1996, 1998; Lefebvre & Brousseau 2002; Winford & Migge 2007; Migge 2006) also reveal significant similarities among the Gbe varieties in terms of the overall structure, the categories involved and the ­elements used to express them (Tables 3 and 4).5 Table 4.  Modality in varieties of Gbe (Migge 2006: 35) Forms

Category

Aja Gen Waci Learned ability nya nya nya Potential teŋu teŋ tiŋ sεnŋu teŋ tiŋ teŋu teŋ tiŋ sεnŋu teŋ tiŋ

Xwela

Xwla Maxi

nyf

nyf

teŋu sεnŋu teŋu Necessity &o a &o a Subjunctive ne Desire ji

teŋ(u) hεn tεŋ kpego su kpeji teŋ tεŋ

teŋ teŋ teŋ

tiŋ tiŋ tiŋ

nyf

hεn teŋ (u) tεŋ sixu6 Pos. physical ability kpego su kpeji sixu Neg. hεn tεŋ sixu Pos. deontic tεŋ (u) (root) kpego su kpeji sixu Neg. possibility sixu Pos. permission sixu Neg. sixu epistemic possibility

&o la &o la &o la &o la

&o la &o la

&o a &o na &o a &o na

deontic necessity epistemic necessity

ne

n´

ni

nε

optative, hortative, jussive

ji

ji

din ka jro

jlo ba

hya din

ba

Need &o wudo

Meanings

hya hinya ji

ka

ni

.  Although both Gbe and Kikongo slaves were present during the emergence and early development of the Creoles of Suriname, this paper will focus on Gbe for several reasons. First, there is still very little data on Kikongo available. Second, the few comparative analyses of CreoleGbe-Kikongo structural features (cf. Migge 2002) clearly show that the Creoles of Suriname more closely resemble Gbe. However, this is obviously subject to further investigation. Third, most of the elements with a Kikongo origin in the Creoles are lexical (content) morphemes (cf. Huttar 1985, 1986). Given the strong presence of Kikongo slaves again at the end of the 18th century, it seems likely that they are in fact due to later substrate influence, i.e., they are borrowings. .  Besides sixu, the conversational data from Maxi also contain the element sika. It occurs much less frequently than sixu in the conversational data. The native informant never employed sika in the elicitations.

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

A comparison of TMA in Gbe and the Surinamese creoles equally reveals important similarities but also some differences. The two systems resemble each other in the following respects: First, they distinguish broadly similar TMA categories. Second, these categories are expressed in similar ways (e.g., Perfective is unmarked, Progressive and Completive Aspect are marked by forms that are semantically similar). Third, the forms have the same positioning within the VP. The Gbe system differs from the Surinamese TMA system in the following respects. First, the Gbe varieties encode a temporal opposition between Future and Nonfuture while the creoles make a distinction between Future and Past.7 Second, in the area of aspect, the Gbe varieties have distinct Habitual and Progressive categories while the creoles of Suriname have one Imperfective category that covers both meanings. Finally, several of the Gbe varieties have a Prospective aspect category but the creoles of Suriname do not. In the area of modality, the most important difference is that the Gbe varieties have a Subjunctive category while the creoles of Suriname, with the possible exception of Saamaka (cf. Lefebvre & Loranger 2006), generally do not. This broad comparison then suggests that the Gbe varieties clearly contributed to the emergence of the Surinamese TMA system. However, other sources and processes must have also played an important role since the Surinamese TMA systems are clearly not exact copies of the Gbe TMA systems. Based on the sociohistorical context, English and to a much lesser extent Dutch would have been the most likely sources for such an influence. However, even a brief comparison of TMA categories and the means to express them in English and in the creoles of Suriname reveals important differences. English distinguishes between three temporal categories, Present, Past and Future while the Surinamese creoles distinguish only two, Future and Past. In English, later time reference and intention and prediction are expressed by different preverbal forms (will, going to), the Past is obligatorily expressed on the verb by means of a suffix or other vocalic changes in verb form, and the Present is mostly unmarked. The preverbal tense forms in the Surinamese creoles (o ‘Future’, be(n)/bi ‘Past’) are not related to the English tense-marking elements and they also differ in their overall semantics (e.g., o expresses both later time reference and intention and prediction, and be(n)/bi conveys relative past). In the area of aspect, English distinguishes between progressive and continuous aspect conveyed by to be + V–ing construction and a Present Perfect Aspect expressed by an auxiliary have + past participle form that

.  Note, however, that Lefebvre (1996) and Lefebvre & Brousseau (2002) argue that Fongbe has a past time marker (ko). My own research on a closely related variety, Maxigbe, did not confirm this analysis. In Maxigbe ko seems to function as a Completive aspect marker (Winford & Migge 2007).



Between contact and internal development 

denotes an event or state begun in the past with relevance for the present while the Surinamese creoles have an Imperfective, a Completive Perfect and Perfective category. In relation to modality, English does not have a potential category like most of the creoles; Ability and Root Possibility are expressed by the element can while permission and epistemic possibility are expressed by may. Moreover, unlike the Surinamese creoles, English does not distinguish between learned ability and physical ability. Similarities between the creoles and English are of two sorts. First, modality categories are all expressed by preverbal forms. Second, some of the elements used to express TMA categories in the creoles are most likely derived from equivalent English elements but their meanings only overlap in part. For instance, mu(su) and must both express strong obligation but mu(su) also expresses weak obligation, unfulfilled past obligation, admonition etc.

4.  Th  e origin of the TMA system of the creoles of Suriname: A multi-causal approach When comparing the contemporary TMA systems of the creoles of Suriname with those of their input varieties (Gbe and English), and with available data on earlier stages of Sranan and Saamaka, it is possible to draw conclusions about the sources and social and linguistic processes that played a role in the formation and development of the TMA system of the Surinamese creoles.8 Below we discuss four such processes: (1) substrate influence, (2) internal change from a substrate calque, (3) superstrate influence and (4) leveling. The discussion suggests that creolization was a gradual rather than an abrupt process (Arends 1993). However, it was clearly not a homogeneous or linear process but seems to have been multi-layered; different kinds of changes took place at different moments in the history of these creoles. 4.1  Substrate influence: The perfective aspect category Previous research on the creoles of Suriname strongly suggests that substrate influence played an important role in their emergence (cf. Migge 2000, 2002, 2003, 2006). Substrate influence (in the context of creole formation) is here defined as a process whereby the creators of a creole fully or partially functionally ­reinterpreted

.  Elicited and natural data on the Gbe varieties was drawn from representatives of the five main subclusters (Aja (Dogbo), Ewe/Vhe (Wacigbe), Fon (Maxigbe), Gen (Anexo), Phla-Phera (Xwelagbe & Xwlagbe) identified by Capo (1988). Since it is common to refer to Anexo as Gengbe or Mina and to Dogbo as Ajagbe, we also use these names in this article.

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

constructions they encountered from the European superstrate language(s) in the setting (and the elements that make them up) according to the principles and patterns of their first language (cf. Migge 2003).9 A good example of this in the area of TMA is the Perfective Aspect category (Winford & Migge 2007). Semantically, the Perfective Aspect category presents a situation as an unanalyzed whole without regard to its internal structure (Comrie 1976: 16). Its exact meanings differ depending on the context and the predicates involved (Winford 2000b). In both the Surinamese creoles and in Gbe varieties, it is realized by the unmarked verb form and expresses a similar range of meanings. When the discourse context establishes speech time as the point of reference, the default interpretation of the unmarked verb conveys “present” time reference with stative verbs (1) and property items (2).10 Property items in the creoles of Suriname and Gbe are process-denoting verbs. When they are unmarked by TMA-marking elements, their interpretation is ambiguous between a current state and a completed process reading (for details, see Winford 1997; Migge 2000). (1) Ajagbe a. Nsuvi lf jewi nyfnuvi lf. boy det know girl det Pamaka b. A boy sabi a det boy know det ‘The boy knows the girl.’

meyse. girl

.  There are no hard and fast criteria for exhaustively determining whether some property emerged due to either substrate influence (i.e., external) or language-internal change because the two often work in tandem. According to Thomason & Kaufman (1988: 57), it is clear “that historical linguists [and typologists] have traditionally been strongly prejudiced in favor of internal explanations for linguistic change. In particular, the methodological inclination has been to consider the possibility of external causation only when all efforts to find an internal motivation for some change have failed […]. Aside from the fact that a weak internal motivation is less convincing as a cause than a strong external motivation, the possibility of multiple causation should be kept in mind.” They further maintain that “some scholars have argued that a claim of external causation should be made primarily (or only) for changes that are demonstrably not “natural,” or common. […] However, though adopting this criterion is useful as a methodological strategy for convincing sceptics, it is not promising as a general theoretical approach to the analysis of linguistic change, because […] there is every reason to suppose that external causation is responsible for common and natural changes as well as for uncommon changes.” (ibid 59–60). They propose that one possible criterion could be to consider a whole language rather than isolated features. “If a language has undergone structural interference in one subsystem, then it will have undergone structural interference in others as well, from the same source.” (ibid 60) .  Stative verb is used here to refer to a verb that may denote a “state (…) characterized by absence of change, of discontinuity; all phases of the static situation are the same” (Desclés 1989: 172). It is a semantic property that does not correspond to any morphological class of verbs in the Surinamese creoles.



Between contact and internal development 

(2) Gengbe a. Esi a fa. water det cold Saamaka b. Di wata aki koto. det water here cold ‘The/this water is cold.’

With activity verbs, it generally has a “simple past” time reference (cf. 3). (3) Xwelagbe a. E kplf eyi xfmε. he clean his room Pamaka b. A kiin/seeka en kamba. he clean/arrange his room ‘He cleaned his room.’

Gbe differs from the creoles in that the unmarked stative verb may also have past time reference. In the creoles the verb is generally preceded by the past timemarking element. The unmarked verb is also used to convey the sense of current relevance and successiveness of actions in the past in both languages. The Perfective Aspect category has also been remarkably stable over time in the creoles. In the early texts it is also expressed by the unmarked verb and presents a situation as an unanalyzed whole (cf. 4). (4) Early Sranan Mi kom fo takki joe gran odi van wan zomma. I come to talk you big regards of one people ‘I came to give you someone’s regards.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 147)

State-denoting verbs and property items (cf. 5) usually have a present time reference while activity verbs receive a past-time reference (cf. 6). (5) Early Sranan

Mi membre hem. I think him ‘I think of him.’ (Schumann (1783) in Kramp 1983: 189)

(6) Early Sranan

A poti alle dissi santi deja na inni gi dem. he put all these thing here loc inside give them ‘He wrote all these things down for them.’ (Peace Treaty (1762) in Arends & van den Berg 2004: 1)

Stative verbs with past time reference are preceded by ben (cf. 7): (7) Early Sranan

Mino ben zabi. I.neg pst know ‘I didn’t know that.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 136)

Moreover, in the early texts, the unmarked verb form is also already used to express successiveness (cf. 8).

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

(8) Early Sranan Mastra Aurora de go na koekeroe kaba voete missi, master Aurora ipfv go loc kitchen and foot miss

a brokke da pletti metti fadom na dotti. she break det plate meat fall_down loc floor

‘Overseer, Aurora was going to the kitchen, but she stumbled, broke the plate and the meat fell down on the floor.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 181)

Together, these data strongly suggest that the Perfective Aspect category emerged at the time of creole formation and that it arose as the result of substrate influence. 4.2  Internal change: The imperfective aspect category Language-internal change is a cover term for linguistic changes that were not ­motivated by an external linguistic model. There are two main mechanisms of ­language internal change, reanalysis and extension (Harris & Campbell 1995: 50–51). A third mechanism that has received much attention in the literature is grammaticalisation. Its status as an independent mechanism of change is still subject to discussion (cf. Joseph 2001). An example of internal change in the area of TMA in the creoles of Suriname is the emergence of the imperfective-marking element e. Imperfective is conveyed by e in Sranan and the Eastern Maroon Creoles (Aluku, Ndyuka, Pamaka), and by ta in Saamaka (cf. 9). E derives from the locational copula de and ta derives from the verb tan ‘to stay’ and/or the Portuguese form esta ‘to be’. [A: What is your brother doing right now?] (9) Pamaka a. B: Saamaka b. B:

A e seeka en osu. he ipfv clear his room A ta seekε hεn kamba. he ipfv arrange his room ‘He is cleaning his room.’

In the Gbe varieties different strategies exist to mark Progressive Aspect (cf. Table 3). In most varieties of Gbe the verb ‘be-at’ selects a nominalized VP, either a reduplicated verb (cf. 11) or XP-V construction (cf. 10a) marked by a particle (Fabb 1992). In Gengbe and Xwelagbe, as in the creoles (cf. 9), the verbs ‘be-at’ (10a, b) and ‘stay’ (10c) respectively, precede the unreduplicated/inverted verb. (10) Wacigbe a. ә` lә` wo`ma´ hlәn (ŋ). he be-at book read part ‘He is reading a book.’ Gengbe b. é le´ wlfn nu´. he be-at write thing ‘He is writing something.’



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Xwelagbe c. E nf xlε wema. he stay read book ‘He is reading a book.’

In Gbe, the progressive construction expresses a sense of an event or activity in progress. However, with property items and certain psychological state verbs, an inchoative or “in-process” meaning is conveyed (cf. 11–12; also Migge 2002). In combination with motion verbs, the progressive construction expresses a future sense. (11) Gungbe a.

Sìn lf´ tò fífà.  water det prog red-cold ‘The water is getting cold/hot.’

Pamaka b.

Den dey ya den manyan e lepi. det day here det mango ipfv ripe. ‘These days the mangos are ripening.’

(12) Wacigbe a.

Me le nu nyá-ŋ le sukulu fifia. I prog thing know-part loc school now ‘I am now understanding lessons at school.’

(Aboh, p.c. 2004)

Pamaka b. A: En seefi e go? he self ipfv go B: Den e tya en go, a e sabi a pasi. they ipfv carry him go he ipfv know det path ‘A: Does he go [to the toilet] himself? B: They bring him, he is getting to know the way.’ (PM 11)

There is also another similarity: e in the creoles is derived from the locational verb de (Arends 1986) and the initial element in the progressive construction in Gbe is also a locational verb (Jondoh 1980; Fabb 1992). The evidence suggests that the emergence of de as a locational and existential verb in the early plantation varieties on the model of the Gbe locational and existential verb also gave rise to de’s use as a Progressive aspect-marking element since in a number of Gbe languages this verb is also involved in the progressive construction, see Table 3 (Winford & Migge 2007). Essentially, when the slaves established an interlingual identification between de and le, lé, &o etc. in Gbe in existential contexts, all the semantic and syntactic information of the Gbe elements was automatically projected onto de.11 As a result, de came to function in the same

.  This is of course unless these properties clashed with properties that it already expressed such as certain properties that are inferable from the (existential) construction in which de was initially reinterpreted

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

contexts and expressing the same meanings (i.e., existential, locational and progressive) as the Gbe elements with which it had been identified (Migge 2002). However, e and ta differ from their Gbe counterparts in that they are also used to express habitual and generic meanings (cf. 13) besides Progressive Aspect (and general existence and existence in a location). Habitual refers to events that take place frequently or regularly and generic refers to properties or activities that are naturally associated with a particular class of entities. In Gbe, habitual and generic meanings are conveyed by a separate habitual element (cf. 14). (13) Ndyuka a. [What does your brother do after dinner?] A e leysi wan buku. he ipfv read one book ‘He (usually) reads a book.’

b. [What do dogs do?) Den e bali. they ipfv bark ‘They bark.’

(14) Maxigbe a. E nf xa wema. he hab read letter ‘He usually reads books.’ b. Afun/cuku f ee nf hu. dog det pl hab bark ‘Dogs bark.’

The progressive elements, though, may appear in contexts that have a habitual reading, usually due to the presence of adverbs that convey habituality (cf. 15). (15) Gengbe Kòfi nf` xèvi´ lé m´ γe`si´a´γi. Kofi stay bird catch part all the time ‘Kofi is always catching birds.’ (Jondoh 1980: 39)

In the early texts de/tan have mostly a progressive meaning (cf. 16) and a continuous meaning (cf. 17), while the habitual meaning is not widely represented (cf. 18).12

.  Continuous refers to an on-going event or activity that stretches over an extended period of time.



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(16) Early Sranan

O goedoe gado masra, koudemaas de foen mi misjie o good God master, Koudemaas ipfv rape my woman ‘O my God, Koudemas is raping my woman.’ (Court Records (1607–1667), in van den Berg 2000: 94)

(17) Early Sranan

Mi blibi no wan zomma de go lange da boote. I think neg one someone ipfv go with det boat ‘I don’t think anybody’s going with that boat.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 214)

(18) Early Sranan

[the manager is talking about “the good life” of the housemaids]: Den kiesi zwiti jamjam kaba den de slibi lange mi they catch sweet food and they ipfv sleep with me ‘They get nice food and (then) they sleep with me.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 186)

De/tan are also used to convey a generic meaning in the early texts but they do not appear to be obligatory in all the contexts where a generic meaning is expressed. Van Dyk presents generic constructions without de (cf. 19), whereas Focke’s dictionary includes many proverbs that employ de (cf. 20). The data do not really allow us to conclude that the meaning of de (gradually) broadened during this period to include the sense of ‘generic’. (19) Early Sranan

Mastra da worke wawan no myki pranasie. master det work alone neg make plantation ‘It’s not just the work that makes a good plantation, master.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 208)

(20) Early Sranan Bérgi-nánga bérgi no de míti makándra, mountain-with mountain neg ipfv meet together

ma sóema nánga sóema sa míti. but people with people fut meet



‘Mountains do not meet, but people can meet each other.’ (Focke (1855), see at ‚Bergi’)

Overall the evidence suggests that de first emerged as a locational and existential verb and Progressive aspect-marking element in the early plantation varieties due to substrate influence (Migge 2002). Although it is conceivable that its use as a Progressive-marking element was reinforced by universal tendencies since grammaticalization from a locative verb to Progressive aspect-marking element is a well-attested process cross-linguistically (see Bybee et al. 1994; Heine & Kuteva 2002). Once thus emerged, de’s specific meaning, progressive, extended to a more general value of unbounded or general situations that nowadays allows a generic and ­habitual interpretation due to a language-internal process of extension. The

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

phonological reduction from early de to present day e completed this process of internal language change that originated with a calque on a substrate structure.

4.3  Superstrate influence: The relative past time category Superstrate influence (in the context of creole genesis) generally refers to the full or partial adoption of elements and structures including some or all of their pragmatic functions that come from the European language(s) in the setting. In the case of TMA in the creoles of Suriname, the past time-marking element is a good instance of this. The relative past time-marking element in all the creoles derives from the English past participle been: ben in Sranan, be in the EM varieties and bi in Saamaka (cf. 21). In its prototypical function, it “locate[s] some situation as occurring prior to the time reference point under focus in the discourse” (Winford 2000b: 400), which is either the moment of speaking (21) or another event (22). (21) Saamaka A bi wasi wosu eside. he pst wash house yesterday ‘He cleaned his house.’ (22) Pamaka [regarding a window that is now closed: You OPEN the window (and closed it again?)] Iya, mi be opo en. yes I pst open it ‘Yes, I opened it.’

Ben/be/bi is optional when past time reference is indicated by other means. In such contexts it usually indicates a past before past (cf. 23) or backgrounded information (see for example Winford 2000b: 401). (23) Pamaka [Q: Did you know my father, who died last year?] Iya, mi be sabi en, mi be si en wan leisi. Yes I pst know him I pst see him one time ‘Yes, I knew him, I met him once.’

When ben/be/bi precedes verbs expressing requests and invitations, it may also convey hypothetical meaning (cf. 24) to mitigate the effect of a face threat. (24) Pamaka Mi be wani kon luku i moo lati. I pst want come look you more late ‘I wanted to come visit you later on.’

In conditional clauses it also expresses counterfactuality in the if-clause, and, in combination with sa or o, an unrealized event in the consequent clause (cf. 25).



Between contact and internal development 

(25) Pamaka Efu mi án be luku bun, mi be o naki a pikin. if I neg pst look good I pst fut hit det child ‘If I had not been careful, I would have hit the child.’

Gbe does not have a relative past time marker. Verbs that have past time reference usually appear in the unmarked verb form and the past time reference is established through the discourse context or by an adverbial form. All varieties of Gbe, however, employ a post-verbally occurring adverbial form meaning “before” to indicate a past before past state or activity (26a) or simply a state that no longer exists (26b). This form is still subject to further investigation. (26) Ajagbe [regarding a window that is now closed: You OPEN the window (and closed it again?)] A: E hu´n sε`flε lf sa´ a`? you open window det before Q B: O`o`, n-hw-in sa go`. no I-open-it before neg ‘No, I did not open it.’

Sa(n) in Gbe also regularly occurs in conditional clauses to express counterfactuality in the if-clause (cf. 27). (27) Ajagbe N´f mi` da e`k f` n lf sa f, n teŋu xw`´i. If we throw fist det before part I can beat-him ‘If we’d hit each other, I could have beaten him.’

These data then suggest that although there appears to be some overlap between the creole relative past category and past marking strategies in Gbe, i.e., the fact that it expresses overlapping meanings, the creole category does not seem to have been directly modeled on Gbe strategies. In the early texts, past time reference was from the beginning marked by ben/bin in Early Sranan and by bi in Early Saamaka. It conveyed two principal meanings: (1) a situation occurring prior to the moment of speech: (28) Early Sranan

Tide da jarri den ben myki mi Mama. today cop year they pst make my mother ‘Today’s my mother’s birthday.’ (van Dyk 1765, in Arends & Perl 1995: 160)

(2) a situation occurring prior to a past event: (29) Early Sranan

Hoe tem joe kom Disi mino ben de. Q. time you come rel I.neg pst be ‘What time did you come … when I wasn’t home?’ (van Dyk 1765, in Arends & Perl 1995: 136)

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

Ben is generally used to indicate past time reference with state-denoting verbs (see 7). In hypothetical clauses, ben can appear in the protasis (if-clause) or in the main clause, and when it is combined with sa, the construction conveys a meaning of counterfactuality: (30) Early Sranan

Effi mi no ben takki gi ju, ju no ben sa sabi. if I neg pst talk to you you neg pst fut know ‘If I had not told you, you wouldn’t have known.’ (Schumann (1783), in Kramp 1983: 60)

Schumann attested the hypothetical meaning of bi in Saamaka even in clauses not introduced by if and explains that bi is a “conjuntivi et optativi” (cf. 31): (31) Early Saamaka

A bi bun, effi a bi wakka. it pst good if he pst walk ‘It would have been good if he had gone.’ (Schumann (1778), in Schuchardt 1914: 53)

Another function of ben/bin in Early Sranan is to mitigate a demand: (32) Early Sranan

Mi ben hangeri fo takke lange joe. I pst hungry for talk with you ‘I would have liked to talk to you.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 132)

The early texts show that the past category and its secondary meanings were already well established at the end of the 18th century. These data suggest that both etymologically and functionally, ben/be/bi derive from the English past participle been. The slaves most likely encountered the form in English (regular) present perfect (I’ve been here before.), polite (I’ve been wanting to see you.), past perfect (I’d been there …) and counterfactual (If I’d been there …) constructions in which the auxiliary (have/had) was contracted and thus not perceptible to them. They therefore identified been rather than Aux + been with past time reference, past before past, polite and counterfactual meanings.13 Its distribution in past contexts, i.e., the fact that it usually does not occur when past time reference has been contextually established, is probably due to substrate influence; the Gbe past time adverbs generally only occur in constructions where the temporal reference has not been clearly established otherwise.

.  Since, unlike English, the Gbe languages do not have a Present Perfect category and the slaves’ contact with English was relatively minor, they would have only inferred the past temporal references of English Present Perfect constructions and not the durational aspect of it.



Between contact and internal development 

4.4  Leveling: The case of o and sa Dialect leveling refers to a process whereby in a situation of competition between pragmatically overlapping elements characteristic of different varieties of the same language one of the elements disappears from the language due to the selection and generalisation of the other feature (Siegel 1997). In the area of TMA, an instance of leveling took place in the expression of future time reference. In the contemporary Surinamese creoles, later time reference (33), intention (34) and prediction (35) is conveyed by o, while uncertain future is generally expressed using the Potential mood-marking element sa (cf. 36) in the Maroon creoles or the Future element in combination with an adverb expressing uncertainty (cf. 37). (33) Ndyuka A o kon ya tamaa. he fut come here tomorrow ‘He’ll come tomorrow.’ (34) Ndyuka Te mi (o) kon gaandi, mi o bay wan gaan osu. when I fut come old I fut buy a big house ‘When I am old, I’ll buy a big house.’ (35) Ndyuka Ef(u) i poti wan siton a ini a pikin tasi, a o if you put a stone loc in det little bag it fut

piiti en. rip it ‘If you put a stone in this bag, it’ll rip.’

(36) Ndyuka

J. sa go a Faansi taa wiki. J. may go loc France other week ‘J. may go to France next week/it is possible that J. will go to France next week.’

(37) Ndyuka

Kande, J. o/sa go a Faansi taa wiki. maybe J. fut go loc France other week ‘J. may go to France next week/ it is possible that J. will go to France next week.’

The same distribution is also found in several of the Gbe varieties (Fon varieties, Aja, Phla-Phera) where lá, ná or á is used to mark predictive future and the potential modality elements such as sixu (Maxi) and tεn (Xwla) convey uncertain future (Migge 2006). In other varieties, such as Gen and Ewegbe varieties, lá, á seem to have strong overtones of potentiality. Essegbey (2004) argues that á in Anlo is a potential rather than a future-marking element because it conveys epistemic possibility by itself (cf. 38a) and contributes an uncertainty or potential meaning when it is combined with the ability-expressing element (cf. 38b).

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

~ (38) Anlogbe a. (ewoh i ) John â-nf aƒeme fifia. maybe John pot-be_located home now ‘John may be at home now (= It’s possible that John is at

home now).’ b. Tsi â-teŋu á-dza le za~ sia~ me. water pot-be_able pot-fall loc night this in ‘It may rain tonight ( = It’s possible it will rain tonight).’

In the early texts, by contrast, future tense is marked by several markers: zal/ za/sa, de go in van Dyk, and go, de go in Schumann. Za/zal, which seems to have a Dutch origin, generally conveys a sense of ‘later time reference’:14 (39) Early Sranan

mi za myki da merki morre bikki I fut make det mark more big ‘I’ll make (the mark) bigger.’ (van Dyk 1765, in Arends & Perl 1995: 176)

(40) Early Sranan

na abra dina mi sa kom. loc over diner I fut come ‘I will come in the afternoon.’ (Schumann 1783 in Kramp 1983: 84)

Uncertain future is expressed by the meaning of the adverb zomtem15 ‘perhaps’ combined with the marker sa (cf. 41). (41) Early Sranan

Zomtem mi no za zi joe wan trom more. perhaps I neg fut see you one time more ‘I may never see you again.’ (van Dyk 1765, in Arends & Perl 1995: 144)

The contemporary future marker of the creoles of Suriname, o, however, seems to have developed from the construction de goV. There is no progressive future (de go) construction in Dutch as attested in Early Sranan, and the be going to construction in English emerged only at the end of the 17th century. However, there is a possible model in the Gbe varieties, namely the Prospective Future construction (see Table 3). In the latter construction, the verb is juxtaposed with the locational copula and a particle expressing progressive aspect (see Table 3). It seems quite

.  zal/ za/sa are different orthographic forms of the same element. In modern writings, the form is always presented as sa. .  Zomtem disappeared in the Maroon creoles and Sranan. It was replaced by kande ‘perhaps’ which conveys a meaning of ‘epistemic possibility’ when combined with o or sa. This form is not attested until the second half of the 19th century (see Focke 1855).



Between contact and internal development 

likely that when the slaves reinterpreted the adverb de as a locational and existential verb on the basis of the locational and existential verb in their native Gbe (Migge 2002), de also came to be extended to both progressive environments (see §3.2) and constructions expressing prospective future. The model for this would have been the Gbe locational and existential verbs that also appeared in these contexts. Since unlike the Gbe varieties, the creole construction did not involve a postposed Progressive or Prospective aspect-expressing particle, the locational and existential verb de came to function as the sole marker of Progressive and Prospective Aspect in the creoles. The development of de go expressing Prospective future to modern o conveying general future time reference was due to gradual language-internal change. The following pieces of evidence support this analysis. First, grammaticalization of a “movement towards a goal” construction (I’m going to…) to a future construction is a well-attested path of development (Bybee et al. 1994; Heine & Kuteva 2002). Second, the early texts suggest that the use of de go/go gradually increased throughout the 18th century. While van Dyk (1765) includes only one example of the go V future construction and four of the de go future construction, they are already much more frequently attested in Schumann (1783). In the entry for go he also notes: “Auch wird go sehr häufig als nota futuri anstatt sa gebracht” (Kramp 1983: 110). (42) Early Sranan

a de go passa abra he ipfv go pass over ‘It will overflow.’ (Schumann (1783), in Kramp 1983: 45)

Third, in Schumann the go – de go constructions also already appear with a greater range of subjects. The fact that they occur with inanimate, non-controlling subjects, in particular, suggests that go/de go were fully grammaticalized as future markers at the end of the 18th century and had already lost their specific meaning of ‘movement towards a goal’ and ‘prediction’. Fourth, Riemer in his 1779 Saamaka dictionary, inspired by Schumann’s 1778 Saamaka dictionary, writes that sa is a possible future marker in Saamaka but is not the most common one which is tann/tan go. This is the exact replica of the de go construction in Early Sranan. He adds that sa has a modal meaning of ‘obligation’, which is also sometimes found in the other texts (van Dyk, for example): (43) Early Sranan da bassia takki mi za go na mastra det overseer talk I fut go loc master

fo locke koekeroe worke. to look cook work



‘The overseer said I should come to you to work in the kitchen.’ (van Dyk (1765), in Arends & Perl 1995: 185)

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

Together, these facts suggest that modern o emerged along the developmental path discussed by Bybee et al. (1994: 266ff) for other languages. Essentially, de go first emerged as an “immediate future” (I’m on my way doing it right now) due to substrate patterns and later gradually became a general future reducing to a simple form go V. It then underwent phonological reduction to present-day o V. However, the question is why Early Sranan, which already had the future marker sa, developed the de go V/go V construction. Two hypotheses suggest themselves. According to Hypothesis One, the de go V/go V construction emerged because sa was acquiring modal meanings. Initially, the sa V future construction, which was modeled on the substrate construction (Winford & Migge 2007) and had been in existence since creole formation, was used to express a predictive future by itself and uncertain future when combined with the adverb zomtem. However, later, during the later 18th century, sa started to take on mainly modal meanings. To fill this gap left behind by the semantic change/extension of sa, the de go V/go V construction developed at the end of the 18th. Initially, it was a “movement towards a goal” construction combined with the progressive form and expressed immediate future. It then reduced to a simple future construction (go + V) and extended its meaning to conveying predictive future. Although it is well-attested in the literature that future markers can gradually become epistemic modality markers (see Bybee et al. 1994; Heine & Kuteva 2002), this analysis does not explain how sa spread to all the meanings in the “potential” category such as root possibility and physical and mental ability in the Maroon creoles (Migge 2006). According to Bybee et al. (1994: 205ff), the attested developmental path goes from ability to root possibility and then epistemic possibility, and not the other way round. Moreover, it does not help us to explain why sa disappeared from several potential categories in Sranan, but was kept in the Maroon creoles. Hypothesis Two maintains that the sa V and the de/tan go V future constructions each belong to different creole varieties. The variation in the early texts is then due to contact between these two varieties. Since the beginning, at least two varieties of creole existed: Nengre Tongo (Black’s speech) and Bakra Tongo ­(European’s speech). The latter was spoken by Europeans (and possibly as a stylistic variant by some of the slaves that were close to the Europeans) and much influenced by Dutch while the former was the language of the plantation slaves. According to Schumann and Riemer, the Nengre Tongo variety employed the tann go (Saamaka) and de go – go (Sranan Tongo) construction to mark future and sa had a modal value. In Bakra Tongo, however, sa was the main future marker. The variation found in the future domain between sa/de go and go in some of the early texts, which most likely mainly reflect mostly Bakra Tongo usage, then occurred because the Nengre Tongo forms (de go, go) were beginning to spread



Between contact and internal development 

to Bakra Tongo. The go v construction – the Nengre variants – finally generalizes (at the expenses of the Bakra Tongo construction involving sa as a future marker) probably due to the overwhelming numerical strength of the slave population as opposed to the Europeans. At the time, the number of slaves was growing rapidly clearly outnumbering the existing slaves – in 1783 the black-to-white ratio in Suriname was 24: 1 (Arends 1995: 260). Following that period, go phonologically reduced to o and came to show a high degree of cliticization in the contemporary creoles (Goury 2003: 225ff). Unlike the Maroon creoles, Sranan Tongo retained the two future constructions (Winford 2000b). The de go V construction conveys an aspectual value of “prospective” while the o V construction conveys a temporal value of future time reference and prediction. Sa is retained as a modality marker though with only partially similar values in Sranan and the Maroon creoles (Migge 2006; Winford 2000a).16

5.  Conclusion Our sociohistorical analysis showed that several linguistic inputs played a role in both the initial emergence and development of the creoles of Suriname. L2 varieties of English and to a lesser extent L2 varieties of Portuguese, and varieties of Kikongo and Gbe were crucially involved in the initial formation of the early creole varieties. Once the creole varieties had emerged, they were influenced by other West African languages, Cariban languages and by Dutch because of changes in the social makeup of the setting. Our comparative linguistic analysis largely supports these findings. First, the overall makeup of the creole TMA system resembles that of Gbe in many respects. Second, some categories that have been in existence since the beginning such as the Perfective category are either clearly modeled on Gbe counterparts or the emergence of categories and the elements that express them were at least in part triggered by substrate models (progressive). Third, other areas that also date from the initial formation of the creole varieties were largely based on English models (Past marker), Dutch models (Future sa in Bakra Tongo), or Portuguese models (Completive marker kaba (Winford & Migge 2007: 83ff)). Comparison of modern and early textual data also revealed that some aspects such as the use of the progressive marker to express habitual and generic meanings only emerged later, possibly due to a process of semantic extension. Other categories such as the predictive future that, based on an analysis of just synchronic

.  For more details on the origin and development of sa, see Migge & Winford (to appear).

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury

data, appeared to be substrate calques were found to have emerged due to internal development. The variation apparent in the early written sources (and differences between the modern and diachronic data) in the area of future tense marking was found not to be due to gradual language-internal change. Instead, it appears to have emerged due to contact between different varieties of creole, namely Nengre Tongo and Bakra Tongo, that had been in existence since the beginning. Towards the end of the 18th century the latter variety spoken by the Europeans and their associates was increasingly merging with the dominant variety, Nengre Tongo, giving rise to linguistic variation and change. Our investigation then challenges views that see creolization or creole formation as a separate, unitary and abrupt process of language creation (cf. Thomason & Kaufman 1988) and supports views that conceptualize creole formation as a gradual and multi-layered process (Arends 1993; Bruyn 1995) involving processes of language change that also operate in other so-called “normal” contact settings (Thomason & Kaufman 1988). Our discussion suggests that the present-day TMA system emerged in several stages involving first, interference through shift − speakers of African language reinterpreted strings and elements from L2 English according to L1 models − and retention of superstrate models. Second, other elements, categories and functions emerged later either as a result of processes of gradual language-internal change (and contact) affecting elements that had previously emerged due to interference through shift or retention, or due to processes of contact between partially different creole varieties that coexisted in the same context.

Special abbreviations hab part pot

habitual particle potential

References Arends, Jacques. 1986. Genesis and development of the equative copula in Sranan. In Muysken, Pieter & Smith, Norval (Eds), Substrata versus universals in creole genesis. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 103–28. Arends, Jacques. 1993. Towards a gradualist model of creolization. In Byrne, Francis & Holm, John (Eds), Atlantic meets Pacific. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 371–80.



Between contact and internal development 

Arends, Jacques. 1995. Demographic factors in the formation of Sranan. In Arends, Jacques (Ed.), The early stages of creolization. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 233–85. Arends, Jacques. 1999. The origin of the Portuguese element in Surinam Creoles. In Huber, Magnus & Parkvall, Mikael (Eds), Spreading the word. The issue of diffusion among the Atlantic Creoles. London: University of Westminster Press. 195–208. Arends, Jacques & van den Berg, Margot. 2004. The Saramaka Peace Treaty in Sranan: An ­edition of the 1762 text (including a copy of the original text). Creolica 2004–03–16 (www.creolica.net) Arends, Jacques & Perl, Matthias. 1995. Early Surinamese Creole texts: A collection of 18th-­century Sranan and Saramaccan documents. Frankfurt: Vervuert; Madrid: Iberoamericana. Bickerton, Derek. 1984. The language bioprogram hypothesis. Behavioral and Brain Sciences 7. 173–221. Bruyn, Adrienne. 1995. Grammaticalization in creoles: The development of determiners and relative clauses in Sranan [Studies in language and language use 21]. Amsterdam: IFOTT. Bybee, Joan, Perkins, Revere & Pagliuca, William. 1994. The evolution of grammar: Tense, aspect, and modality in the languages of the world. Chicago IL: University of Chicago Press. Capo, Hounkpati B.C. 1988. Renaissance du Gbe: Réflexions critiques et constructives sur l’Eve, le Fon, le gen, l’Aja, le Gun, etc. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Carlin, Eithne & Boven, Karin. 2002. The native population: Migrations and identities. In Carlin, Eithne & Arends, Jacques (Eds), The atlas of the languages of Suriname. Leiden: KITLV Press. 11–45. Chaudenson, Robert. 1992. Des îles des hommes, des langues. Paris: L’Harmattan. Comrie, Bernard. 1976. Aspect: An introduction to the study of verbal aspect and related problems. Cambridge: CUP. Dahl, Östen. 1985. Tense and aspect systems. Oxford: Blackwell. DeGraff, Michel. 2002. Relexification: A reevaluation. Anthropological Linguistics 44: 321–414. de Kleine, Christa. 2002. Surinamese Dutch. In Carlin, Eithne and Arends, Jacques (Eds). The atlas of the languages of Suriname. Leiden: KITLV Press. 209–30. Desclés, Jean Pierre. 1989. State, event, process and topology. General linguistics 29. 159–200. Detges, Ulrich. 2000. Two types of restructuring in French creoles: A cognitive approach to the genesis of tense markers. In Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid and Schneider, Edgar (Eds), Degrees of restructuring in creole languages. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 135–62. Dupuis, Francis. 2005. Enjeux territoriaux dans le Haut Maroni. In Guyane: Le renouveau amérindien [Ethnies 31–32]. 62–71. Essegbey, James. 2004. The potential morpheme in Ewe. Ms. Fabb, Nigel. 1992. Reduplication and object movement in Ewe and Fon. Journal of African languages and linguistics 13: 1–40. Fattier, Dominique. 2003. Grammaticalisation en créole haïtien: Morceaux choisis. Creolica 2003–04–23 (www.creolica.net) Focke, Hendrik C. 1855. Neger-Engels Nederlands woordenboek. Goodman, Morris. 1987. The Portuguese element in the American creoles. In Gilbert, Glenn G. (Ed.), Pidgin and creole languages: Essays in memory of E. Reinecke. Honolulu HI: University of Hawaii Press. 361–405. Goury, Laurence. 2003. Le ndyuka : Une langue créole du Surinam et de Guyane française. Paris: L’Harmattan.

 Bettina Migge & Laurence Goury Harris, Alice C. & Campbell, Lyle. 1995. Historical syntax in cross-linguistic perspective [Cambridge Studies in Linguistics 74]. Cambridge: CUP. Heine, Berndt & Kuteva, Tania. 2002. World lexicon of grammaticalization. Cambridge: CUP. Hoogbergen, Wim. 1983. Marronage en marrons, 1760–1863: De niet-gepacificeerde marrons van Suriname. In Willemsen, Glenn (Ed.), Suriname, de schele onafhankelijkheid. Amsterdam: De Arbeiderspers. 75–110. Hoogbergen, Wim. 1990. The history of the Suriname maroons. In Barna-Shute, Gary (Ed.), Resistance and rebellion in Suriname: Old and new [Studies in Third World Societies 43]. Williamsburg VA: The College of William and Mary. 65–102. Huttar, Georges. 1985. Sources of Ndjuka African vocabulary? New West Indian Guide 59: 45–71. Huttar, Georges. 1986. Kikongo, Saramaccan, and Ndjuka. In Elson, Benjamin F. (Ed.), Language in Global Perspective: Papers in Honor of the 50th Anniversary of the Summer Institute of Linguistics, 1935–1985. Dallas TX: Summer Institute of Linguistics. 563–86. Huttar, Georges & Velanti, Frank. 1997. Ndyuka-Trio Pidgin. In Thomason, Sarah G. (Ed.), Contact languages: A wider perspective. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 99–124. Jondoh, Edina. 1980. Some aspects of the predicate phrase in Gengbe. Ph.D. Dissertation, Indiana University, Bloomington IN. Joseph, Brian. 2001. Is there such a thing as ‘grammaticalization’? Language Sciences 23: 163–86. Kramp, André. 1983. Early creole lexicography: A study of C.L Schumann’s manuscript dictionnary of Sranan. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Leiden. Kriegel, Sybille, Michaelis, Susanne & Pfänder, Stephan. 2004. Modalité et ­grammaticalisation: Le cas des créoles français. In Kriegel, Sybille (Ed.), Grammaticalisation et réanalyse: Approche de la variation créole et française. Paris: CNRS Editions. 165–91. Lefebvre, Claire. 1996. The tense, mood and aspect system of Haitian Creole and the ­problem of transmission of grammar in creole genesis. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 11: 231–313. Lefebvre, Claire. 1998. Creole genesis and the acquisition of grammar: The case of Haitian creole. Cambridge: CUP. Lefebvre, Claire & Brousseau, Anne-Marie. 2002. A grammar of Frongbe. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Lefebvre, Claire & Loranger, Virgine. 2006. On the properties of Saramaccan FU: Synchronic and diachronic perspectives. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 21: 275–336. Léglise, Isabelle & Migge, Bettina. 2006. Language naming practices, ideologies and linguistic practices: Toward a comprehensive description of language varieties. Language in Society 35: 313–39. Migge, Bettina. 2000. The origin of property items in the Surinamese Plantation Creole. In McWhorter, John H. (Ed.), Language change and language contact in pidgins and creoles. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 201–34. Migge, Bettina. 2002. The origin of the copulas (d/n)a and de in the Eastern Maroon Creole. Diachronica 19: 83–136. Migge, Bettina. 2003. Creole formation as language contact: The case of the Suriname Creoles. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Migge, Bettina. 2006. Tracing the origin of modality in the creoles of Suriname. In Deumert, Ana & Durrleman-Tame, Stephanie (Eds). Structure and variation in contact languages. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 29–59.



Between contact and internal development 

Migge, Bettina & Winford, Donald. To appear. The origin of possibility in the Creoles of Suriname. In van den Berg, Margot et al. (Eds), Gradualist approaches to Creole genesis. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Rens, Lucien. 1953. The historical and social background of Surinam’s Negro English. Amsterdam: North-Holland. Riemer, Johann A. 1779. Wörterbuch zur Erlernung der Saramakka-Neger-Sprache. In Arends, Jacques & Perl, Matthias. 1995, Early Surinamese Creole texts: A collection of 18th-century Sranan and Saramaccan documents. Frankfurt: Vervuert; Madrid: Iberoamericana. 251–374. Schumann, Christian L. 1778. Saramaccanisch Deutsches Wörter-Buch. In Schuchardt, Hugo. 1914. Die Sprache der Saramakkaneger in Surinam. Amsterdam: Johannes Müller. 44–120. Siegel, Jeff. 1997. Mixing, leveling, and pidgin/creole development. In Spears, Arthur K. & Winford, Donald (Eds), The structure and status of pidgins and creoles. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 111–149. Siegel, Jeff. 1999. Transfer constraints and substrate influence in Melanesian Pidgin. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 14: 1–44. Smith, Norval. 1987. The genesis of the creole languages of Surinam. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Amsterdam. Thomason, Sarah G. & Kaufman, Terrence. 1988. Language contact, creolization, and genetic linguistics. Berkeley CA: University of California Press. van den Berg, Margot. 2000. Mi no sal tron tongo: Early Sranan in court records 1667–1767. MA Thesis, University of Nijmegen. van den Berg, Margot. 2001. Mingo, joù no man: Oud-Sranan in verhoren en verslagen van rechtszaken. Oso 20: 241–53. Winford, Donald. 1997. Property items and predication in Sranan. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 12: 237–301. Winford, Donald. 2000a. Irrealis in Sranan: Mood and modality in a radical creole. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 15: 63–125. Winford, Donald. 2000b. Tense and aspect in Sranan and the creole prototype. In McWhorter, John H. (Ed.), Language change and language contact in pidgins and creoles. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 383–442. Winford, Donald & Migge, Bettina. 2007. Substrate influence on the emergence of the TMA systems of the Surinamese Creoles. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 22(1): 73–99.

The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole Morpho-phonological and morpho-syntactic processes* Paula Prescod

Université de Paris III This paper attests that (non-)transparent derivational processes operate in Vincentian Creole (VinC), an Atlantic creole that draws its lexicon extensively from English. We demonstrate that speakers of VinC use suffixation, conversion and phonological alternation in much the same way as the lexifier. We also establish that VinC allows for some remarkable combinations of English affixes with base forms in ways that the superstratum does not. The examples we provide show that speakers of VinC do not simply calque English affixes to VinC base words, neither do they merely transpose fossilized affixes to base forms. On the contrary, functional and phonological shifts operate with English affixes in the derivation of nouns from verbs.

1.  Introduction 1.1  Sociohistorical profile of St Vincent and the Grenadines St Vincent and the Grenadines (SVG), located in the south of the Caribbean ­Archipelago, gained political independence from Great Britain in 1979. Towards the 17th century, people referred to as Carib by European visitors, explorers and missionaries alike, were identified as the inhabitants of the mainland (Moreau 1990; Rochefort [1658]1665; Labat 1722). The missionaries who sought to evangelize

* The author thanks the audience at the 2005 Creole Language Structures between Substrates and Superstrates workshop hosted by the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology, Leipzig. A debt of gratitude is owed to two anonymous reviewers and to Susanne Michaelis for their suggestions for improving initial drafts of this contribution. The usual exculpations apply.

 Paula Prescod

the Caribs reported that there were at least two linguistic groups. Breton [1667] (1892) and Labat (1722), who arrived in SVG in 1693, provided evidence in favour of linguistic duality by observing that the men and the women spoke a different language. What this points to is that language contact on SVG was not triggered by the arrival of Europeans. Accounts of the same period have asserted that the language spoken by the men was Galibi (Carib or Karina) and that of the women Igneri (Arawak) (cf. Pelleprat 1655). The commonly held theory originating from these early contacts posits that the Galibi men journeyed up from their Amazonian settlements to trade with and conquer the Igneri-speaking people who had established themselves on the islands. Once the Igneri men had been destroyed, the Galibi took possession of the women. The latter were reported to have kept their language (Pelleprat 1655: 68). Given the fact that there was minimal contact between the first settlers and those who documented the early history of the country and people of SVG, much of what has seeped into the general literature is engulfed in stereotypes, myths and legends, making it difficult to corroborate this theory (Prescod & Fraser 2008). These inhabitants, who became known as Island Caribs, spoke a language that combined true Carib or Karina affixes with Arawakan grammatical morphemes (Taylor 1977: 98). Alleyne (2004: 13) argues for language mixing, noting that speakers of Island Carib incorporated not only lexical morphemes from Carib, but also functional grammatical morphemes as well. People of African descent joined the Island Carib population during the latter part of the 17th century. The provenance of the black population is a subject of disagreement among historians and ethnologists. To explain how Africans first came to SVG, the early chroniclers focused largely on a shipwreck for which different dates were provided. Moreau (1988: 119) states that a French slaver, transporting 400 blacks between St Vincent and Grenada ran aground in 1611. Bastide (1971: 77) in Ellis (1991: 176) contends that two Spanish vessels transporting Efik and Ibo people of the Niger Delta were wrecked off St Vincent in 1635, and an English slaver sank in 1672. Shephard (1831: 22) cited yet another date, 1675. Other accounts claim that maroon slaves from neighbouring Barbados settled among the Island Caribs (cf. Report of Intendant Roberts1). The mixed race which is said to have resulted from the cohabitation of the Island Caribs and Africans, the Garifuna, was conveniently called “Black Caribs” by the British as the latter had no desire to acknowledge their Arawakan temperament. The Arawaks were said to have been less aggressive and less combative towards the Europeans than the Caribs. Besides, the term “Black Caribs” gave

.  National Archives of Paris: Colonies C10-a, 12, 1700.



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

legitimacy to the plantocracy’s call to deprive the Island Caribs and Garifuna of their lands. These two groups were successful in keeping large populations of European settlers at bay and in resisting assimilation. It is believed that St Vincent remained virtually unsettled by Europeans until 1719, when French planters arrived with African slaves (Regnault et al., 1849: 134; Shephard 1831: 23). The English followed suit in 1723 and ultimately gained a foothold. However, they could not prevent the French population from expanding. Consequently, prolonged contact between the French and the non-European inhabitants of SVG did not go unnoticed linguistically. On the other hand, British contact with the population was sparse until 1763 when the Treaty of Paris ceded St Vincent, Dominica, Grenada and Tobago to the English Crown (Shephard 1831: 27; Williams 1970: 95). The slave population increased drastically while that of the whites tripled. Tension heightened between the Island Caribs, the Garifuna and the English in 1768, when the English stipulated the sale of the Carib lands (Shephard 1831: 25). In 1783, the Treaty of Versailles granted the island to the British; needless to say this caused discontent among the Garifuna and their allies. In 1795, during the final Carib War, the Garifuna intended to expel the English (Howard & Howard (1983: 84); Shephard (1831: 61); Duncan (1955: 13); Craton (1997: 131)). The war resulted in the assassination of Chatoyer.2 The subjugated Garifuna were forced to retreat to the northern mountains then to surrender shortly after. In 1796, they were shipped to Balliceaux,3 from whence they were deported to Roatan4 then to Honduras on 5 April 1797. This expulsion sought to ensure peace for the British colonists and an uneventful expansion of the sugar trade. The few Island Caribs who remained withdrew to the north of St Vincent (cf. Ralston 1985: 25) but were unable to preserve their linguistic heritage on SVG beyond the 19th century. Subsequent visitors referred to them as “the dying race” and few could speak the Island Carib language. According to Fenger (1917), by 1911 only 3 senior members of the community at Point Espagnol5 spoke the “natal language”. A new sociolinguistic identity was shaped. The arrival of slaves in the latter part of the 18th century indubitably contributed to linguistic rebirth. It is difficult to make any clear-cut claims about the linguistic situation during the cohabitation of different ethnic groups. There may have been groups who communicated fluently in

.  The Garifuna chief Chatoyer was proclamed the first national hero of SVG in 2002. .  Balliceaux is a Grenadine islet located just off the south coast of St Vincent. .  Roatan is an island off Honduras. .  Point Espagnol is part of the Carib Territory on mainland St Vincent.

 Paula Prescod

French (Howard & Howard 1983: 57). Even more obscure, is the process of transition from the “distant French past” (Le Page & Tabouret-Keller 1985: 49, 55) to the present-day English-lexicon creole. From Carmichael’s account (1833: Vol. 1: 5),6 we know that slaves spoke a variety of English. Nevertheless, French had some influence on the mores of the populace as regards health and cultural practices. Carmichael made mention of mal d’etomac (ibid. Vol. 1: 210) < mal d’estomac Fr. ‘stomach-ache’, French quadrille (ibid. Vol. 2: 293), Garcon Volage (ibid.) < Garçon volage Fr. ‘fickle male person’, pas de deux (ibid.: 296). The slaves also had linguistic influence on the Europeans. Carmichael (1833, Vol. 2: 76–77) complained that the white children had acquired the drawl, which was characteristic of the blacks’ speech. While the Europeans imitated the blacks phonologically, the latter assimilated European cultural practices (cf. Mc Donald 2001: 132): “A nasal beetling drone sometimes comes from their huts on a Sunday evening, and this is an attempt at a hymn: any profane airs they try are Scottish or Irish – but in so sharp a key, as to be unpleasant to the listener.” We surmise that this assimilation was relatively conscious and that some Africans counterbalanced it linguistically. Bush (1990: 158) sees the use of a creolized version of the European language as “a vital aspect of cultural pre­ servation (…), for it protected the rich linguistic traditions of Africa”. The appropriation of creolized English was justified once its speakers realized that they could meet their linguistic and communicative needs through this form of expression and as loanwords became established in the language with succeeding generations. Today the inhabitants of SVG have daily contact with English, through a number of institutions. Yet, the different forms of language usage are closely entwined without resulting in a fusion of both languages. This does not mean that there is no degree of affinity between them especially in sociolinguistic contexts that require it. However, there are very few attempts to abandon creole structures in favour of structures that are wholly influenced by the superstratum. What we do observe is a firmer appropriation of creole forms. The rest of this article will exemplify how morphological features of the superstrate are incorporated into creole features in word formation. We make specific reference to the varieties of English spoken on SVG. This means, therefore, that no one register is being singled out here. The reader may need to take into consideration that other varieties of English in the Caribbean use some of these word-formation processes and may have similar morphological results, sometimes with phonological and semantic differences.

.  Mrs Carmichael resided in St Vincent and Trinidad for a little over 5 years from 1820.



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

2.  Derivational morphology in creoles 2.1  Overview and implications A number of scholars have commented on the impoverished morphology of creole languages. Seuren & Wekker (1986) claim that morphology is essentially inexistent in creoles. Other noteworthy contributions by McWhorter (1998) and Thomason (2001) postulate that when morphology is present, it is only evidenced by fossilized affixes or restructured morphemes derived from superstrate varieties. According to McWhorter (1998), creole speakers resort to semantically regular and transparent derivational processes. Thomason (2001), too, sees creoles as being void of irregularly derived lexemes since they display limited morphological processes vis-à-vis their input languages. In the light of the first tenet, one should not expect speakers of Vincentian creole, hereafter VinC, to draw on derivational processes to form nouns from verbs. Yet, we show in example (4b) that the VinC noun sheika referring to a member of the “Shaker Faith” is derived from the lexical root sheik ‘shake’ The morpheme is also attested in the wider Caribbean region (Allsopp 1996: 502), with a broader meaning than that which is accepted in the Vincentian variety. The latter use is also a good example of metaphorical extension.7 Furthermore, the current approaches mentioned in the previous paragraphs tend to suggest that irregular and unpredictable deverbal formations will not be attested in VinC. The foregoing position implies that the unpredictability observed in English with regard to derivational morphology will be lacking in VinC. Interestingly though, derived forms like harass+ment are transferred from English to VinC. VinC possesses other complex words formed from the base ‘harass’. A case in point is harasin from English ‘harassing’, which may function as a modifier, and which may also be considered a transfer from English. However, there are no formal constraints that can satisfactorily explain why ‘harass’ takes the formative -ment and not -al (*harass+al) based on the pattern arrive – arriv-al. The phonological constraint discussed in Plag (2003: 61) that base verbs taking the formative -al obligatorily have final stress does not account for this split since ‘harass’ satisfies the condition. Finally, in English there are a number of formatives such as the agentive -er, that can be affixed to a wide range of verb roots to form nouns in an ordered manner. Nevertheless, there are formations, which would appear unprincipled, suggesting that generalizations can be applied only to a certain point. The resulting irregular .  The Shakers of SVG are part of the Spiritual Baptist Faith. It is distinct from the millenarian sect, Shakers, originating in England towards 1747.

 Paula Prescod

morphological constructions often attested in English generally yield metaphorical or opaque extensions: there is no clear match between meaning and form (Bauer 1988: 189). Based on the predictions outlined above, one would not expect metaphorical extensions and idiomatizations to be attested in VinC. Instead, one should find only semantically transparent affixation where derived nouns are clearly analysable in constituent morphs. Clearly, the aforementioned claims have noteworthy implications in the area of derivational morphology in creoles. We will address some of these with specific reference to VinC. Speakers of English-lexified creoles use derivational processes akin to those used in English but the outcome is different i.e., the derivatives exhibit a fair amount of innovation. Innovation is not used to mean that these are unique to VinC. As it turns out, a number of these formations are attested in other varieties spoken in Caribbean territories where English is the official language. One can speculate on the reasons why some outcomes are shared in creole varieties throughout the wider Caribbean region. This may have to do with the fact that the borrowed base words and, for that matter, the affixes lend themselves to new word formations in the creoles. In other words, the base words and affixes we will examine have the potential to create the meanings attested in the creole varieties. All the suffixal formatives under consideration in this study were transferred from English. Therefore, we cannot make a strong claim for substratal influence. What we observe, however, and this is where the notion of innovation comes in, is that deverbal nouns are not mere transfers of remnant affixes from the superstratum to the creole. The derivatives may be attested in English, but their original meanings are not systematically transferred into the creole. The next section outlines the derivational processes observed. 2.2  The formation of deverbal nouns in VinC: Our claims For the purpose of this paper, a deverbal noun will refer to any noun that has been derived from a base verb via one of the following processes: i. Suffixation (§ 3.1): an affixational process where an overt form is suffixed to the base verb. A number of VinC suffixal formatives have been appropriated from the superstratum. Based on the evidence provided in this paper, one of two things results from this appropriation: either the English usage is copied or the suffix develops an idiosyncratic function. In the former case, the derived nominal and suffix conserve the English meaning notwithstanding morphophonological differences. In the latter case, the resulting word is not necessarily attested in English. ii. Conversion (§ 3.2): a non-combinatory process where a lexical base verb is simply converted into the grammatical category of noun. There is ­therefore



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

no morphotactic change (i.e., change in form). The functional shift in word class may be unaccompanied by any phonological shift whatsoever. In some cases, however, speakers of the creole may have recourse to morphemeinternal phonological changes in monosyllabic and disyllabic lexemes to signal the categorial shift. iii. Inversion (§ 3.3): a pseudo-syntactic process at work in compound deverbal nouns. Inversion may be similar to conversion in only one respect: in both processes, no element external to the verbal morpheme is affixed to the derived nominal. Even so, it is necessary to account for both processes separately. Whereas in conversion, there is a change in grammatical function with no concomitant formal change, in inversion, the functional shift is concurrent with formal syntactic change. 2.3  Substantiating directionality Our definition of deverbal nouns is based on the assumption that the base lexemes under examination were first attested as verbs before the derived nouns were attested. A very relevant question arising is how to verify that a noun is derived from a word that originally functioned as a verb. To substantiate that we are in fact dealing with deverbals it is necessary to compare when verbs and nouns of the same family entered the language. Dictionary entries can help in the case of English words. In VinC, things are not so straightforward. Firstly, no lexical compendium is available for VinC. Secondly, the paucity of historical documentation of the creole makes it difficult to establish when words entered the lexicon. Given the historical affiliation between English and VinC, it is reasonable to assume the same directionality for VinC words when the meanings of their bases are analogous with English bases. More concretely, we suggest that in trying to decide whether the verbal use of tiif ‘thieve’ is attested before the nominal tiifri ‘thievery’, we assume the same directionality for VinC as for English.8 Admittedly, as Plag (2003: 108) observes with reference to directionality in conversion, complex semantic changes may cancel out original meanings. This is what appears to have happened in the case of buhga ‘bugger’, which will be discussed under example (9). In section 3, we will examine the three deverbal noun-formation processes separately. Data will be taken from our oral recordings, compiled between 1999 and 2004. The orthography adopted was proposed in our 2004 thesis. It was studied and adjusted during a two-day workshop aimed

.  The OED dates the first use of the verb thieve to 1530. The noun thievery was attested in 1568.

 Paula Prescod

at designing a writing system for VinC.9 English examples will be taken from the Oxford English Dictionary, henceforth the OED. 3.  Derivational processes 3.1  Suffixation This process can be formally represented as in (1) below. X is a variable, a base verb in this case, to which a suffix is joined to form a derived nominal.

(1) [X]V →[XV + [suf.]]N

The suffixes under consideration denote semantic functions of events or actions, results of actions and agents of actions. 3.1.1  Deverbal nouns of events/actions

(2)



verb

gloss

suffix

derived noun

gloss

a. b. c. d.

hed tiif reip bash step

head thieve rape bash step

-az -ri -ri -ment -shan

hed-az tiif-ri reip-ri bash-ment step-shan

head dive theft rape big party departure

The noun header is attested in English with a different though slightly related meaning: the act of hitting a ball with the head. According to the OED, the colloquial use referring to “a plunge or dive head foremost” was first recorded in 1849. This may well have been the source of the VinC term, which bears paragogic -z. Neither Cassidy & Le Page [1967] (1980) nor Allsopp (1996) have recorded this word. However, two anonymous reviewers suspect that the word may not be unique to SVG. In English, the suffix -ry is a reduced form of -ery, used to form nouns from noun bases. For instance, one finds jewel > jewelry and jewel > jewellery. In VinC, -ri is also affixed to verbs. The VinC examples tiifri and reipri suggest that the formative denotes vices. (Cf. also treachery < treche, Old English). .  Teachers of English in primary and lower secondary classes in SVG attended this workshop, which was facilitated by the author. Dr Nicholas Faraclas of the University of Puerto Rico at Río Piedras and Dr Peter Roberts of the University of the West Indies, Cave Hill Campus also addressed participants on issues relating to language planning and literacy. The working sessions were held on October 31 and November 1, 2006.



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

In English, the suffix -ment denotes an action or a result of V + -ing, or a condition of being V   +  past participle (e.g., enjoyment). The case of bashment shows an interesting appropriation of this suffix. In VinC, bash denotes an onomatopoeia meaning “strike with a heavy blow”, much like in English. By extension, a bashment refers to any event with very loud music and where lots of people are expected to turn up. It may have entered VinC through the influence of Jamaican creole (JC).10 The -shan suffix may be a reflex of English [š(ә)n] also realized as [eiš(ә)n]. It is affixed to verbs to form nouns as in (2d). However, -shan may also be used to form words that function as adjectives. A case in point is chuhkshan ‘aggressive’ based on the English verb chuck, meaning ‘give a blow under the chin’. In VinC, chuhk has come to mean ‘push someone in the chest aggressively’. 3.1.2  Resultative deverbals

(3)



verb

gloss

suffix

derived noun

gloss

a. b. c. d.

wiiz ruhn huht kech grab draaguhp

wheeze run hurt catch grab drag+up

-in -inz -inz -inz -ezim -si

wiiz-in ruhn-inz huht-inz kech-inz grab-ezim draaguhp-si11

wheezing diarrhoea localized pain ball game material greed poor education

All the base verbs in example (3) are attested in English but some rather innovative examples resulting from affixation show up here. Whereas wheez-ing is attested in English, the other derivatives are not. This is certainly not because of the phonological realization of /z/, associated with plurals in English. Quirk et al. (1985: 1551) observe that some English deverbal nouns are obligatorily plural (cf. savings). However, this is open to doubt, for /z/ does not necessarily signal pluralization (cf. an innings). In VinC, -inz adds figurative semantic content to “run”: it brings into play a metaphorical function. Note also that huht-inz denotes localized pain, e.g., belli huhtinz ‘stomach ache’. In English -ism indicates an attitude or ideology associated with the base word (Plag, 2003: 187). It is affixed not only to simple and derived personal nouns like snob – snob-ism but also to non-personal concrete nouns like .  We thank Norval Smith (pc, 2005) for this observation. .  It is uncertain whether /si/ selects a verbal base. Draaguhpsi may well be a deadjectival noun: braatuhp-sin ‘good education’ is derived from braat+uhpADJ and not from bring+uhpv. However, this example would be relevant if we made the claim for the verbal status of adjectives in creoles following Bickerton (1981: 67).

 Paula Prescod

animal – animal-ism and to abstract processual nouns, many of which are complex: perfection – perfection-ism (cf. Lieber 2005: 163). In VinC, besides incorporating these semantic features, -ezim also selects a verb base: grabezim is by extension any attitude associated with the practice of grabbing i.e., avarice. 3.1.3  Agentive deverbals

i. Deverbal nouns with a single suffix (4)



verb

gloss

suffix

derived noun

gloss

a. b. c.

tiif kuhs sheik wash chap wach chrein

thief curse shake wash chop watch train

-man -oman -a -a -ii -ii -ii

tiif-man kuhs-oman sheik-a wash-a chap-ii wach-ii chrein-ii

thief quarrelsome woman Shaker12 washer (woman/man?) cutlass watchman bra

The examples in (4a) and (4b) are straightforward, although one can postulate a compound status for the morphemes man and oman. For Quirk et al. (1985: 313), the English cognates man and woman form appositional compounds. VinC nouns may have dual gender properties but they can also be specified via the gender [±male] affixes man/oman. Usually these are preposed to professions man dakta /oman dakta ‘male/female doctor’ and flora and fauna man trii/oman trii ‘man/woman tree’ (cf. Prescod 2004: 78) but suffixed to base verbs or agentive nouns (cf. (6) below). Since ‘man’ and ‘woman’ function either as prefixes or suffixes it is possible to account for them as affixes rather than compound elements (compare with footnote 13). The formative -ii deserves some attention. Rappaport & Levin (1992) propose an argument structure analysis for the English cognate. In their terms, nouns bearing -ee refer to entities which, though often sentient, lack volition, e.g., employee. Barker (1998), however, shows that this approach fails to account for cases (i)–(iii) below where the -ee noun refers to different entities. In (iii), the entity referred to is indeed sentient although not inherently non volitional. i. indirect object, addressee: someone who correspondence is addressed to; ii. object of a general preposition, experimentee: something that is experimented on; iii. subject-oriented entity, escapee: someone who escapes a disaster. In VinC, the deverbal noun wachii ‘watchman’ unmistakably receives a subjectoriented interpretation and the idea of volitionality may be present: a wachii is .  Cf. footnote 7.



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

someone who guards a property. However, neither volitionality nor sentience can be established for chapii, an instrument that chops and chreinii, an upper undergarment for girls in their early stages of puberty. The action contained in trainv does not have a transparent relationship with the derivative. This formative is polyfunctional. It may have a hypocoristic function when suffixed to common or proper nouns much like -ie and -y in the superstratum (cf. Marchand 1960: 237–238).

ii. Deverbals with double suffixes or complex reversed stems

Complex deverbal nouns may be formally represented in two ways, under (5) or (7). In (5), the base verb is affected by double suffixation: the first forms a complex word with the base; the second obligatorily denotes gender. The examples in (6) show the agential formative –a occupying initial position. This is because -a must be directly attached to a base verb since it has less syntactic and semantic autonomy than the gender affix. On the other hand, man ‘man’, oman ‘woman’, bwai ‘boy’, gyel ‘girl’ have entered the lexicon as independent units.13

(5) [X]V →[[[XV]+ [suf 1]]+[suf 2]]N

(6) a.  sheik+a+man ‘male Shaker’ b.  wash+a+(w)oman ‘washerwoman’ c.  laim+a+bwai ‘limer boy’14

In (7), the verb+noun morphemes that serve as the base for the derived noun are reversed before suffixation. Unlike in the pattern given in (5), (7) concerns derivatives where -a is attached to the second element. This is predictable as -a usually selects a base verb (cf. (8)). In (8a), a carpenter is an artificer in wood. By extension the VinC term denotes someone who assembles wood: literally a ‘wood-locker’. The syntax parallels that of English endocentric (8b) and bahuvrihi (8c) compounds.

(7) [X]v + [X]n →[Xn]+ [[Xv+[suf]]]n

(8) a.  lakv+ wodn ‘work as a carpenter’ → wodn+lakv+a ‘carpenter’ [x]v + [x]n → [xn] +[[xv+[suf]]]n b.  tendv+barn → ‘bartender’n (Standard English) c.  peckv+woodn → ‘woodpecker’n (Standard English)

.  Consequently, VinC deverbal nouns with the −a+[±male] suffixes may be considered compounds, as opposed to nouns bearing only [±male] affixes, which could be prefixes or suffixes. As regards other creoles, Braun & Plag (2002: 87) and van den Berg (2003) make a claim for the derivational status of the person-forming morpheme -man in deverbal examples in early Sranan: helpi-man ‘helper/midwife’, nai-man ‘tailor/seamstress’. .  Occurrences of lime meaning “sit, loaf or hang around with others” have been recorded by Allsopp (1996) for other Caribbean varieties of English. (Cf. (13e) for the use of laim ‘lime’ in VinC.

 Paula Prescod



iii. One-to-one mapping between form and meaning

The deverbals bearing the agentive suffix discussed above show a uniform mapping of form and meaning. However, there may be defective cases. The verb buhg, attested in VinC, probably comes from English bug. Nevertheless, it has a wider semantic range in English. According to the OED, English bug comes from bog recorded in 1564, meaning ‘provoke’. Other senses have since developed. In VinC, buhg means ‘bother’. It is not clear, however, if this meaning served as the base for the agential buhga which, in VinC, denotes a despicable person who gets what he/ she deserves (9a). The semantic relationship is as obscure as the 1719 offensive dialectal English term bugger (9b), meaning ‘fellow’. (9) a.  Buhgv → Buhg+an  VinC b.  Bugv → Bug+g+ern Dialectal English 

With regard to directionality, therefore, some indeterminacy reigns. There is a semantic relationship between buhgv and buhgan but this is not diachronically related to the lexifier. The morphosemantic relationship established between buhg and buhga does not exist in the case of broila ‘broiler’. Whereas broilv and broilern are diachronically related in English: a broiler is a young chick suitable for broiling (10), in VinC the presence of the -a suffix (11a), does not necessarily mean that we can extract a base verb ‘broil’ to denote the method of preparation (11b). In other words, VinC broila is a young chick. Whether or not it is suitable for broiling is irrelevant. (10) Broilv < Broil+ern Contemporary English  (11) a.  Broilan ‘young chick’ VinC  b.  Broilv < Broilan VinC 

In the previous example, it is clear that although similar forms may exist in the creole and the superstratum, the word formation process may not necessarily follow the same path. This is why we refer to such examples as defective cases. 3.2  Conversion Let us consider verbs that become nouns by conversion, i.e., transcategorial change without formal change. This can be formalized as in (12). We have hinted at the importance of establishing the directionality of deverbal nouns via dated attestations and we have stated that semantic differences between the superstrate entries and their VinC cognates must be considered. We will see to what extent determining directionality becomes problematic in the absence of historical records. (12) [X]v →[X]n



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

3.2.1  Monosyllabic conversions The examples provided in (13) concern monosyllabic lexemes. (13)

Verb/noun

verb gloss

noun gloss



a.  fiid b.  chrok c.  kongks d.  kok e.  laim f.  buhs

feed prod hit head with flip of finger cook lime fail one’s attempt

animal feed prod/poke flip of finger on head meal hang out, idle bad performance

The words chrok and kongks are not attested in English. Allsopp (1996) claims that chrok comes from the Fulani lexeme jukka. Kongks may be a mere ideophone. These examples may indicate straightforward cases of action – result movement. To produce a kongksn one must first do the action, i.e., kongksV someone. However, there may be simultaneity between action and result, in which case any attempt at resolving directionality would be futile since the verb and the noun may not have been formed independently. The OED has recorded konker as referring to a blow on the nose. It states that this nominal is possibly a figurative application of ‘conch’, from the French word conque ‘shell’ to mean ‘nose’. If we admitted that VinC kongks were a transfer from English konkerN then, here again, it would become clear that the transfer is accompanied by phonological reanalysis. In one respect, there is epenthesis of the -er suffix, substituted by the paragogic -s. In another respect, the creole term takes on a dual verbal and nominal function. In many cases, speakers of VinC may appropriate base verbs that previously existed in the superstratum and operate a semantic shift. Laim may have come from Old English ‘lime’ meaning ‘to be coupled to’ (cf. example (6c) and the corresponding footnote). Similarly, buhsV, which is also attested in other Caribbean varieties (Allsopp 1996: 123–124), has a slightly related meaning to that of English bustv or burstv denoting failure. 3.2.2  Onomatopoeic deverbal nouns Another category of transposed nouns can be classified as onomatopoeic (14). Here too, it is difficult to justify directionality. We can surmise that one needs to perform an action before obtaining the result. Failing this, it may be less awkward to assume that the action and the result, or product, are simultaneous.

 Paula Prescod   (14)

verb/noun

verb gloss

a.  tuhmp hit in chest or back with fist b.  butu rebuke severely c.  vuups swipe d.  struups make sound through teeth showing disapproval

noun gloss hard blow in chest or back with fist severe rebuke strong swiping movement made by a batsman in cricket sound made when air is drawn in through the teeth to show disapproval

Semantic narrowing has operated in the case of tuhmp, which comes from English thump. Whereas the latter refers to the act of striking hard, the VinC term narrows this meaning down to a localized blow. The term butu once referred to a short stick used as a war club by the Caribs. The reference made here is not literal, but is obtained by metaphorical extension since, today, the “short stick” plays no part in the rebuke received. Examples (14c) and (14d) are not unique to VinC. The meaning of (14c) may be transparent in most cricketing nations (cf. Cassidy & Le Page [1967] 1980 and Allsopp 1996). With respect to (14d), Allsopp (ibid.) records different spellings based on how the sound is articulated: streups in Barbados, cheups in Trinidad and choops in other varieties. The common occurrence of these sounds has a lot to do with them being ideophones or words based on the sounds associated with them. The ideophone struups is associated with a body sound. 3.2.3  Phonological alternations In Standard English, conversion may trigger phonological change (cf. Chomsky & Halle 1968). This may appear in one of three ways (15): the stressed syllable is underlined. (15) a. as a change in vowel quality: /grædjueit/v - /grædjuәt/n b. as stress shift: /tf:rment/v - /tf_:rment/n c. as both: /rikf_:d/v - /rek^d/n

‘graduate’ ‘torment’ ‘record’

In VinC, the functional shift may be concomitant with phonological alternations: a change in vowel quality where a glide becomes a pure vowel (16a), or a change in vowel length (16b). In both types of vowel change, devoicing is obligatory like in English. There may also be a difference in pitch prominence in disyllabic morphemes similar to the way English disyllabic verb/noun pairs display stress variation. Some VinC examples appear under (16c)–(16d). Apart from ‘torment’, recorded as verb and noun in 1300, the disyllabic examples provided are all denominal verbs and, as such, are peripheral to the analysis. Although these forms are similar to those found in the superstratum, they bear no similarity with the English phonological patterns. In VinC, the first syllable of these verbs tends to



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

be more prominent than the second syllable whereas both syllables of the corresponding noun are equally prominent and bear high-falling tone (HL.HL.). The initial syllable of the noun also tends to be lengthened. (16)

verb

a.  beid b.  briid c.  pikcha    kaana    hanglo d.  taament

noun

verb gloss

noun gloss

baat bret pikcha kaana hanglo taament

bathe breathe picture corner handle torment

bath breath picture corner handle torment

3.2.4  Boomerang deverbal nouns These concern nouns whose base verbs were originally obtained after conversion from base nouns. In any case, this is how they have been accounted for in English (Quirk et al. (1985), Huddleston & Pullum (2002) among others). The term boomerang was borrowed from Tournier (1988: 105) who illustrated the effect rendered by this process with the example (cigarette) smoken > to smokev > (have) a smoken. This group of deverbal nouns can be formally expressed as in (17) and exemplified in (18). (17) n1 → v → n2 (18)

derived noun gloss verb gloss suffix noun gloss



a. kein b. kok c. hed d. kuhf e. loof

cane cook head cuff loaf

flog with cane-like object cook for social in open air strike with head strike jaw with clenched fist beg for food

-in -Ø -az -Ø -a

keinin kok hedaz kuhf loofa

beating, flogging meal for a social head dive in water blow with fist beggar

In VinC, the noun may have denoted a concrete entity before being converted via processes that result in varying degrees of transparency, and then finally referring to an action associated with that object (18a). It may also denote a result. In English, the agent noun cook, first recorded in [1200] served as the base for the verb to cook [1387]. In VinC, the verb underwent a further shift to signal the result of the action of cooking, not just the agent noun (18b). Finally, there are cases where the base noun may designate a body part and, by extension, the action associated with that body part. The deverbal noun then refers to the result of this action. An interesting case is hedaz (18c), which differs from the OED entry in that the /z/ is part of the formative and not a pluralizing morpheme. Compare with examples in (3b). The same

 Paula Prescod

can be said for cuff, which, in English, originally referred to part of the sleeve or glove encircling the wrist. Interestingly, today, a cuff refers to a blow with the hand especially when open, i.e., a slap. In VinC, this is yet another instance of semantic narrowing since the creole differentiates between a slap, rendered with the palm, and a cuff, rendered with the fist on the jaw. Lastly, in English, the term loafer refers to a lazy person. The verb to loaf meaning ‘to laze around and waste one’s time’ is a back formation. In VinC, a different, though related, meaning is attested. An individual is said to loaf, if (s) he goes to someone’s home looking for food. Here, deciding directionality is problematic. Given the way it is used in VinC, we will assume that loofa comes from the English noun loaf denoting bread in its entirety, from which the verb was derived by conversion. The meaning has nothing to do with bread but with sustenance in a broad sense. This in turn served as the base for the agential noun. 3.2.5  Analysing transcategorial change We may have made it appear as though affixational derivation can account for nouns that are homographic with verbs. All morphologists do not agree that a zero affix must be posited where there is morphosemantic change without morphotactic change. The term conversion is often preferred to zero affixation since the process of categorial change does not affect the morphological structure (Huddleston & Pullum 2002). On the other hand, the zero suffixation hypothesis is justified in English if there is complementary distribution between the zero morpheme and other morphemes with the same meanings (Bassac 2004: 274). This implies that if the noun is obtained by means of overt suffixation there is generally no noun with the same meaning obtained via conversion. It is not clear how this transcategorial analysis justifies the zero affixation hypothesis. Before Bassac, Sanders (1988) had posited an equivalent or partially equivalent distribution between zero and other morphs to account for conversion. Plag (2003: 111–114) argues that by applying the overt analogue criterion (cf. Sanders 1988) one can demonstrate that no meaningful case can be made for a zero morph with regard to converted words. He illustrates how semantic properties of the base verbs can explain their conversion to nouns and the existence of other deverbal nouns with overt analogues (cf. drawing/draw discussed in Plag (ibid.) and Cetnarowska (1993: 113)). The case of rationing/ration is also quite interesting: the -ing noun conveys an element of dynamism, not present in the converted form whereas the noun resulting from conversion denotes a substance, result or instance. This analysis does not consider directionality. Sometimes, if a form created through conversion is attested alongside an overtly derived deverbal noun, it could signal a [±concrete] distinction as in estimaten [+concrete] estimationn [–concrete].



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

Given these remarks, we can compare verbs that take the following formatives denoting action, -shan; event, -ment and result, -inz. Ø denotes an absence of morphotactic change. (19)

  base verb   verb gloss

noun derived using -inz

-Ø

a. bash bash

*bashshan bashment

*bashinz

*bash-Ø

party

b. fiid

*fiidshan

*fiidinz

fiid-Ø

animal feed

feed

-shan

-ment

gloss for attested

*fiidment

deverbal nouns

c. ruhn run

*ruhnshan *ruhnment

ruhninz

ruhn-Ø

diarrhoea, run

d. step

step

stepshan

*stepment

*stepinz

step-Ø

movement, step

e. kok

cook *kokshan

*kokment

*kokinz

kok-Ø

feast

The examples under (19) show that if two derivatives are admitted, a distinct semantic interpretation is applied. This is the case of (19c) ruhn, ruhninz and (19d) step, stepshan. Formally speaking, ruhn and step can be premodified by the indefinite a, whereas the deverbals ruhninz and stepshan cannot. Among the well-formed complex words recorded in (19), only ruhningz has been recorded by Allsopp as occurring in other Caribbean varieties. As we have seen, analysing transcategorial change is no easy task. In addition to the approaches discussed above, Lieber (1992) argues for a relisting analysis. She purports that the converted word is listed a second time in the lexicon this time with different categorial information than that contained in the original lexical term. Leiber’s (1992) analysis does not view conversion as a morphological process, but as a result of creative coinage since it is claimed that speakers of English, are aware that they are resorting to conversion (Lieber 1992: 162). All theoretical approaches adopted by linguists seek to provide analyses that could satisfactorily account for morphosemantic changes. Creole languages seldom form words belonging to one grammatical category. We refer the reader to Voorhoeve’s (1981) idea of multifunctionality and the relevant examples provided in that study. The VinC samples provided suggest that we are dealing with cases of heterosemy, i.e., multiple meanings for the same forms. A more detailed study of transcategorial change in creole varieties could be the subject of some future research. 3.3  Inversion and deverbal compound noun formation The final set of deverbal nouns we will analyse can be referred to as deverbal compound nouns derived from verb-centred lexemes. The non-verbal element may function as an adjective. This first category of compound deverbals may be formally expressed as in (20).

 Paula Prescod

(20) [X]Adj/v+[X]v/Adj →[[XAdj]+[Xv]]n

This means that the verb may be either in initial or final position in the verb-phrase but it must be in the final position in the derivative. If an adjective shows up in the final position of the verbal expression but in the initial position of the derived nominal, it means that some sort of inversion must have occurred (cf. 21b). (21)

base verb

a. hai faal   lang stap b. kuht shaat   ansa bak

gloss + interpretation

noun

high fall: use one’s legs as an impediment haifaal to make s.o. fall backward long stop: assault s.o. usually when langstap (s)he is walking in the street cut short: take a short route instead of shaatkuht the normal route to get somewhere answer back: give a curt reply to a bakansa comment that should not be responded to especially to one deserving respect

noun gloss trip assault shortcut insolent reply

Entries under (21a) show juxtaposition of both elements whereas entries under (21b) show inversion of the base elements. Inversion is also attested in English. ‘Shortcut’ is analysable as the result of ‘cutting something short’. The same analysis holds for the verb phrase ‘call the roll’, which gives the noun ‘roll-call’. VinC also extends the inversion process to non-adjectival combinations. The examples in (21) show we are dealing with entries that are specific to non-standard varieties of English since non-speakers of these varieties may not easily guess their interpretations. They may even be idiosyncrasies of VinC, for whereas shaatkuht and bakansa in (21b) are attested in other Caribbean varieties, the entries under (21a) have not been recorded elsewhere. Based on phonological criteria, these deverbal compounds must be treated as single units. It can be observed that whilst the elements in the verbal entry are produced as separate prosodic words, the stress pattern of the deverbal noun is similar to that of other compounds in the creole. Consequently, the deverbal nouns in (21) display compound stress, i.e., there is no breath pause between the constituents. The second category of compound deverbal nouns combines a verbal element with a body part. This can be represented as in (22). (22) [X]v+[X]n(body part) →[[Xv]+[Xn]]n

Since the relationship between form and meaning is not directly established (cf. (23)), the deverbal noun generally turns out to be a metaphorical extension of the action mirrored in the verb phrase.



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

(23)

base verb + complement gloss + interpretation

a.  kuht ai   kuht aas b.  bom to c.  bang beli

compound noun

cut eye: look daggers at s.o. kuhtai cut ass: flog s.o. on the buttocks kuhtaas boom toe: bang one’s toe while bomto not wearing shoes bang belly: make one’s stomach bangbeli develop a paunch

noun gloss hostile glare flogging injured toe paunch displayed by some men

These deverbals should also be treated as compounds based on phonological criteria. Both elements in verb+complement base are equally stressed and there is a short break between both constituents. This accounts for a longer transmission than in the deverbal noun. The stress pattern of the deverbal noun shows a single phonological unit. Structurally, both forms are quite distinct. The elements of the base expression can fit into the pattern in (24) whereas the deverbal nouns fit into the structure in (25). (24) I(i) bom i(i) to 3.sbj verb 3.poss complement ‘(S)He banged her/his toe.’ (25) I geh bomto 3.sbj got/has.got deverbal noun ‘(S)He has got an injured toe.’

The final examples combine a verbal element and a particle often of a prepositional nature. This can be formalized as in (26). (26) [X]v+[X](Prep) →[[Xv] + [X Prep]]n

The result can be deverbal compounds of varying degrees of opacity, depending on the listener’s knowledge of the creole (cf. the examples in (27)). Allsopp (1996) also makes mention of entries (27b) and (27c) for other Caribbean varieties. (27)

verb

prep

base gloss

derived noun gloss



a. bail b. kuul c. kok d. buhz

iin out uhp duhng

boil+in cool+out cook+up buzz+down

bailiin kuulout kokuhp buhzduhng

broth relaxation stew phone call

This process is widespread in English. Similar phonological differences operate between the syntactic constructions and the verb-centred compound much like

 Paula Prescod

­ omographs such as importv and importn. The clausal construction bears stress on the h preposition (break throughv) and the compound noun on the verb (breakthroughn). 4.  Summary and conclusions We have given a comprehensive sociohistorical analysis of the contact situation existing in SVG. This may seem lengthy to the reader who is driven by a thirst to tackle linguistic matters. It was essential to provide this analysis for a number of reasons. Firstly, as one of the lesser-studied varieties, VinC is often assumed to have followed the same historical paths as creoles that developed in territories where large-scale plantation slavery started as early as the 17th century. Secondly, it was necessary to account for the interactions between speakers of European and non-European varieties. We have also elucidated the development of an Englishlexicon creole in SVG, as the preference for French waned following the expulsion of the Garifuna and as a result of the linguistic pressures exerted on the remaining population for “slaves [were] compelled to speak English” (Duncan 1955: 35). With respect to the morphological properties of nouns in VinC, we have established that VinC allows for unusual combinations of English affixes with base forms in ways that the superstratum does not. Many of our examples reveal that deverbal nouns are neither mere calques of superstrate forms nor are they analysable as static constructions formed from the affixation of fossilized English formatives to transparent base verbs. Functional and phonological shifts operate with English affixes to form deverbal nouns. The logical representation in (28) and the corresponding scheme summarize our findings. (28) ∀ Y  {Suf, Conv, Comp}, [X]v →[X+[Y]]n

Y belongs to the set of phonologically realized suffixes, converted forms or conjoined verb variables and non-verbal elements; a verb X combines with any member of this set to form a deverbal noun. ∀ Y ∈ {Suf, Conv, Comp}, [X]V →[X+[Y]]N

Concatenation

Ø Concatenation

Suffixation

Conversion

Ø Phonological alternations

Compounding

Inversion of elements Phonological alternations



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

Two major derivational processes operate to form deverbal nouns in VinC: suffixation and conversion. A third minor process, inversion, has also been accounted for in the formation of compound deverbal nouns. In inversion, syntactic considerations come to the fore, ahead of morphology. Although suffixation in VinC may have an effect on pitch prominence as in the lexifier, we have not expounded on these cases. Nonetheless, it would be fitting to have identical branching from suffixation as we have done for conversion. Inversion may also affect phonological structure as the broken or dotted arrow is intended to show. As regards the claims addressed in §2.1, it has been shown firstly that VinC is not deprived of morphology and secondly that derivation does not exclusively produce transparent deverbal nouns. A number of our examples suggest that opacity may result from the processes discussed. Consequently, the argument, developed in McWhorter (1998) and Thomason (2001), that deverbal noun formatives operating in creoles are fossilized remnants of the superstratum, is reductionist as their investigations fail to capture the morphological intricacies of creole varieties.

References Alleyne, Mervyn. 2004. Indigenous Languages of the Caribbean [Society for Caribbean Linguistics. Popular Series 3]. St Augustine: Trinidad & Tobago. Allsopp, Richard. 1996. Dictionary of Caribbean English usage. Oxford: OUP. Barker, Chris. 1998. Episodic –ee in English: A thematic role constraint on a new word formation. Language 74: 695–727. Bassac, Christian. 2004. Principes de morphologie anglaise. Pressac: Presse Universitaire de Bordeaux. Bastide, Roger. 1971. African Civilisations in the New World. New York: Harper and Row. Bauer, Laurie. 1988. Introducing linguistic morphology. Edinburg: Edinburgh University Press. Bickerton, Derek. 1981. Roots of language. Ann Arbor MI: Karoma. Braun, Maria & Plag, Ingo. 2002. How transparent is creole morphology? A study of early Sranan word-formation. In Booij, Geert & van Marle, Jaap (Eds), Yearbook of morphology 2002. Dordrecht: Kluwer. 81–104. Breton, Raymond. 1892 [1667]. Grammaire caraïbe. Auxerre. (New edition. Paris: L. Adam & Ch. Leclerc). Bush, Barbara. 1990. Slave women in Caribbean society 1650–1838. Kingston: Heinemann. Carmichael, A.C. 1833. Domestic manners and social conditions of the white, coloured and negro population of the West Indies, 2 vols. London: Whittaker, Treacher. Cassidy, Frederic G. & Le Page, Robert B. (Eds). 1980 [1967]. Dictionary of Jamaican English. Kingston: UWI Press. Cetnarowska, Bożena. 1993. The syntax, semantics and derivation of bare nominalisations in English. Katowice: Uniwersytet Śląski. Chomsky, Noam & Halle, Morris. 1968. The sound pattern of English. New York NY: Harper and Row.

 Paula Prescod Craton, Michael. 1997. Empire, enslavement and freedom in the Caribbean. Kingston: Ian Randle; Oxford: James Currey; Princeton: Markus Wiener. Duncan, Ebenezer. 1955. A brief history of St Vincent with studies in citizenship. Kingstown: St Vincent Reliance Printery. Ellis, Cynthia. 1991. Garinagu of Belize. In Civilisations précolombiennes des Caraïbes: Actes du Colloque du Marin. PUC/GEREC: l’Harmattan. Fenger, Frederic A. 1917. Alone in the Caribbean. (10 May 2006). Howard, Richard A. & Howard, Elizabeth S. (Eds). 1983. Alexander Anderson’s geography and history of   St Vincent, West Indies. 1800? Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press; London: Linnean Society of London. Huddleston, Rodney D. & Pullum, Geoffrey K. 2002. The Cambridge grammar of the English language. Cambridge: CUP. Labat, Jean-Baptiste. 1722. Nouveau voyage aux Isles d’Amérique 1693–1705. Paris: Giffart. Le Page, Robert B. & Tabouret-Keller, Andrée. 1985. Acts of identity: Creole-based approaches to language and ethnicity. Cambridge: CUP. Lieber, Rochelle. 1992. Deconstructing morphology: Word formation in syntactic theory. Chicago IL: University Press. Lieber, Rochelle. 2005. Morphology and lexical semantics. Cambridge: CUP. Marchand, Hans. 1960. The categories and types of present-day English word-formation. Wiesbaden: O. Harrassowitz. McDonald, Roderick A. (Ed.). 2001. Between slavery and freedom: Special Magistrate John ­Anderson’s Journal of St Vincent during the apprenticeship. Philadelphia PA: University Press. McWhorter, John H. 1998. Identifying the creole prototype: Vindicating a typological class. Language 74: 788–818. Moreau, Jean-Pierre. 1988. Guide des trésors archéologiques sous-marins des Petites Antilles d’après les archives anglaises, espagnoles, françaises des XVIe, XVIIe, XVIIIe siècles. Clamart: Ed. J-P. Moreau. Moreau, Jean-Pierre. 1990. Un flibustier français dans la mer des Antilles 1618–1620. Paris: Seghers. OED. 1998 [1933]. The Oxford English dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pelleprat, Pierre. 1655. Relation des missions des P.P. de la Compagnie de Jésus. Paris: S. and G. Cramoisy. Plag, Ingo. 2003. Word formation in English. Cambridge: CUP. Prescod, Paula. 2004. Une description grammaticale du syntagme nominal dans le créole anglophone de St-Vincent-et-les-Grenadines. PhD Dissertation, Université Paris III. Prescod, Paula & Fraser, Adrian. 2008. A demolinguistic profile of St Vincent and the Grenadines, or a successful attempt at linguistic disenfranchisement. Anthropos 103: 99–112. Quirk, Randolph et al. 1985. A comprehensive grammar of the English language. London: Longman. Ralston, Lenore. 1985. A historical account of ‘Country Talk’ on St Vincent Island: Problems and new directions. In Hancock, Ian (Ed.), Diversity and development in English-related creoles. Ann Arbor MI: Karoma. Rappaport, Malka & Levin, Beth. 1992. -er nominals: Implications for the theory of argument structure. In Stowell, Tim & Wehrli, Eric (Eds), Syntax and semantics 26. San Diego CA: Academic Press. 127–53. Regnault, Elias et al. 1849. Histoire des Antilles et des colonies françaises, espagnoles, anglaises, danoises et suédoises. Paris: Firmin Didot Frères.



The formation of deverbal nouns in Vincentian Creole 

Rochefort, Charles de. 1665 [1658]. Histoire naturelle et morale des Iles Antilles de l’Amérique. Rotterdam: Arnour Leers. (The author’s name appears in the 2nd edition in 1665). Sanders, Gerald. 1988. Zero derivation and the overt analogue criterion. In Hammond, Michael & Noonan, Michael (Eds), Theoretical morphology: Approaches in modern linguistics. San Diego CA: Academic Press. 155–75. Seuren, Pieter & Wekker, Herman. 1986. Semantic transparency as a factor in creole genesis. In Muysken, Pieter & Smith, Norval (Eds), Substrata versus universals in Creole genesis. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 57–70. Shephard, Charles. 1831 [1997]. An historical account of the Island of Saint Vincent, West Indies. London: Frank Cass and Co. Taylor, Douglas. 1977. Languages of the West Indies. Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Thomason, Sarah G. 2001. Language contact: An introduction. Washington DC: Georgetown University Press. Tournier, Jean. 1988. Précis de lexicologie anglaise. Paris: Nathan. van den Berg, Margot. 2003. Early 18th century Sranan -man. In Plag, Ingo (Ed.), Phonology and morphology of creole languages. Tübingen: Niemeyer. 231–51. Voorhoeve, Jan. 1981. Multifunctionality as a derivational problem. In Muysken, Pieter (Ed.), Generative studies on creole languages. Dodrecht: Foris. 25–34. Williams, Eric E. 1970. From Columbus to Castro: The history of the Caribbean 1492–1969. London: André Deutsch.

A la recherche du “superstrat” What North American French can and cannot tell us about the input to creolization*1 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh University of Regensburg

Within the field of French creolistics it is above all Robert Chaudenson who, in various publications, has emphasized that a better knowledge of the “marginal Frenches” in North America may help to answer certain questions concerning the European input into creolization. On the basis of data collected for a research project on the varieties of Acadian French I will try to show that a closer investigation of Acadian French does indeed shed light on the language spoken by the settlers, one major component of the “feature pool” (Mufwene) accessible to the slaves, and thus provides the source of numerous specific creole forms and structures. Apart from being a linguistic “window to the past”, the varieties of North American French enable us to discern areas within French grammar that are particularly prone to intrasystemic changes. The question, however, remains as to what extent the phenomena observed in Acadian French can be usefully applied in explaining the creolization process, especially since some of the developments that are particularly interesting from a creolist’s point of view are rather recent. On the basis of some examples, I will show that the heuristic value of a close examination of marginal Frenches lies above all in retracing the source of specific

*I am grateful to an anonymous reviewer of this article, and to Susanne Michaelis for their helpful suggestions on the analysis and presentation of this article. .  The word superstrate is put in quotation marks for good reasons. Both terms substrate and superstrate were originally used within Romance linguistics to denote the languages in contact with Latin, substrates being those languages first spoken and finally given up by the people conquered by the Romans and superstrates being the languages first spoken by the Germanic invaders and then also gradually given up in favour of Latin (von Wartburg 1950). However, since both terms are frequently used in creole studies – they were also part of the conference title –, the term superstrate in the sense of ‘the varieties of French the slaves were exposed to in the colonies’ has been kept, although this does not mean the same as it does in diachronic Romance linguistics.

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

formal, functional and semantic peculiarities of creole languages; creolization itself, however, implies restructuring processes that go far beyond those that marginal Frenches have undergone in the course of time.

1.  Introduction It is a well established fact in French diachronic linguistics that research on the varieties of North American French (NAF) may provide information about the spoken French of the 17th and 18th centuries (Mougeon & Beniak 1994). As to the relevance of the NAF varieties for creole studies, it is the French creolist Robert Chaudenson who has repeatedly emphasized the interest that the overseas varieties of French have for this discipline.2 The French varieties of North America – in particular the “marginal” varieties like Louisiana Cajun French, Missouri French and the patois of St. Barthélemy – constitute the state of French that is closest to the terminus a quo of creolization, which “actually lay in varieties of non-standard French from the north and west of France” (Chaudenson 2001: 146) and can thus be considered an open window to the French spoken by the settlers at the time of colonization – i.e., the European “input” into French creoles.3 To gain an impression of the linguistic competence of the French colonists, about which our knowledge is limited, the analysis of NAF varieties provides a good research tool. On the basis of data from Acadian French I will try to show that a closer look at NAF can indeed be helpful in understanding the French input, but that its importance should not be overestimated.

2.  The role of North American French in the study of creolization Why do NAF varieties constitute a critical reference point in the study of creolization?

.  Cf. Chaudenson (1973, 1998, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005a, 2005b), Chaudenson & Mougeon & Beniak (1993), Brasseur (1997) as well as Bollée & Neumann-Holzschuh (1998, 2002). .  For the crucial issues of the terminus a quo of creolization, cf. also Chaudenson (2001: 151–152, 163–164; 2003: 145f.). It was Chaudenson who coined the term ‘français marginal’, which will be kept here, although ‘français périphérique’ might be another option.



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i. These varieties, which go back to popular and dialectal French of the 17th and 18th centuries, provide some clues as to what Robert Chaudenson calls the “construction material” of the French creoles (2003: 177),4 or, in Mufwene’s words, the European part of the “feature pool” that slaves were exposed to in a multilingual society (2005: 71). Since the NAF varieties have always been essentially oral and were never exposed to normative pressure, they still show considerable variability and thus – according to Chaudenson – allow several hypotheses concerning both the highly variable European linguistic input into French creoles, as well as those areas of French grammar that are particularly susceptible to linguistic variability.5 ii. Again according to the French scholar, these varieties also help us to better understand what he calls “self-regulating processes” (processus autorégulateurs, Chaudenson 2003: 183), i.e., a bundle of internal language change processes that were going on primarily in the French spoken by the colonists during the early stages of the homestead phase, i.e., before creolization proper. Leaving aside for the moment the epistemological reservations that may arise from the term “self-regulating processes”,6 it becomes apparent that this scenario incorporates two processes that should initially be kept apart: – universal processes of internal language change such as reanalysis, grammaticalization, or analogy, which produce certain language-specific internal changes;7 – contact-induced changes such as dialect levelling and koineization. With regard to the first set of changes, it is tempting to assume that NAF varieties have undergone certain processes of language development, which may

.  Chaudenson’s definition of the term is wide: “The bulk of the linguistic material, word order, and semantic values, is common to all regional and/or older folk French varieties, marginal French varieties, and creoles” (2001: 180). .  Chaudenson (2003: 199) speaks of “zones of weakness”, an unfortunate metaphor in my view. .  Cf. Alleyne (1996: 38): “L’ expression de ‘processus auto-régulateurs’ suggère une activité propre à un organisme autonome, encore beaucoup plus intentionnelle et téléologique que l’activité suggérée par le terme modeste de ‘tendances évolutives’.” Cf . also Chaudenson (2001: 167). .  Cf. Chaudenson (2001: 158) and also Chaudenson & Mougeon & Beniak (1993: 16), who speak of ‘restructurations à caractère présumé optimalisant’ and refer to Frei’s universal “needs” for brevity, expressiveness and invariability (Frei 1929).

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

also have operated similarly within the language of the colonists during the initial phase of colonization. It should, however, be kept in mind that these varieties have been in contact with English for a long time, and that Cajun French especially has been exposed to a language attrition process. Both factors certainly had effects on the specific evolution of these varieties. As far as the main external cause of language change, language contact, is concerned, it is very likely that dialect levelling took place in early colonial times that led to a reduction in differences between the different French dialects and hence a gradual homogeneization of the vernacular speech in the colonies.8 It cannot be assumed with any certainty, however, that within the colonies a stabilized contact variety developed, let alone a koiné characterized by a certain degree of uniformity (Kerswill 2002). For that, the demographic conditions on the individual islands were much too diverse.9 iii. It is important to separate from those restructuring processes that French underwent during the homestead phase a second set of “self-regulating” processes which took place after the emergence of the creole languages and which were responsible for making French creoles new, autonomous systems with respect to their base language, “an autonomy that American French varieties do not have” (Chaudenson 2001: 148). According to Chaudenson, creolization is thus essentially the result of the complex interplay of three sets of overlapping processes: 1. The “radicalization” and “transmission” of restructuring processes for which ‘marginal’ French varieties offered variants and provided the direction. These varieties are, in some ways, the missing links in the reconstruction of an

.  With respect to our Acadian data, it is interesting to note that most of the specific Acadian features are not attested in the French creoles (je-collectif, the demonstrative pronoun c’ti, the interrogative pronoun quoi). This is not really surprising since the settlers leaving for Nova Scotia at the beginning of the 17th century came from a rather restricted area in western France (cf. Massignon 1962), while the colonists leaving for the colonies in the Indian Ocean and the Caribbean came from all over northern and western France. .  The questions which naturally arise here are that of distinguishing between regional dialect levelling and koineization on the one hand, and on the other, that of the interrelatedness of language-internal and/or universally induced change and change resulting from substrate influence, this latter being far more complex methodologically (cf. Heine & Kuteva 2005: 243).



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evolution that goes from French to creoles, affecting some aspects of the system but not the whole system.10 2. The emergence (outside of français zero11) of structures not attested in French varieties spoken in communities where French is transmitted as a native language. These new structures are due to readjustments tied to language learning and linguistic contact […]. 3. Internal evolution linked to the system’s own dynamics […] ( 2001: 171). It is generally accepted that creolization occurs through a complex interplay of universal processes of language change, contact-induced changes as well as strategies of Second Language Acquisition (SLA), which took place at different points in time. More controversial, however, is the question of to what extent these “selfregulating processes” within the French input could have actually been “transmitted” into the new languages and to what extent they could “radicalize”. Can there actually be “the continuation of forms and processes (my italics), which were, and occasionally still are, present in certain French varieties” (Chaudenson 2001: 182)?12 I shall return to this problem at the end of my article. At this point, I would simply like to claim that NAF varieties do provide data on non-standard French that were previously unknown. A better knowledge of these varieties may help to evaluate the degree of material and functional continuity in the French creoles with respect to their European base language (Detges 2002), and they may also help to identify those creole phenomena for which vernacular French does not provide an explanation.13 If it should turn out (and it will in fact) that certain varieties of French have “creole-like” restructurings in their morphosyntax that are not necessarily due to recent language erosion, the debate on the role of the “superstrates” within creolization will have to take that into account.

.  “It is evidently in this area that the slaves’ languages can be claimed to have influenced their appropriations of the target language” (Chaudenson 2001: 183). .  The term français zero (F0) is a variation model that refers to variability within French. According to Chaudenson, it is the “set of variables , which depending on place and time, will be recognized as variants […] Of course, for a given variety of French, not all the variables will necessarily be involved. […] creolization begins when variability extends to parts of the system located outside” (2001: 170). .  According to this theory, the tendency toward invariability, the tendency to prefer salient or expressive forms are “possibilités d’évolution du français qui s’est pleinement réalisé en créole parce qu’elles n’ont jamais rencontrés aucun obstacle en chemin” (Fattier 2000: 117). .  Or as DeGraff (2005: 300) puts it with respect to Haitian Creole: “Notwithstanding pervasive etymological and structural continuities between Haitian Creole and French, there exist striking and robust morphosyntactic differences between the two languages”.

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

3.  Sociohistorical background on North American French This article is based on data collected within a research project whose aim is a comparative grammar of the varieties of Acadian French still spoken in Canada in the Maritime Provinces of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince-Edward-Island and on the Peninsula of Port-au-Port on Newfoundland as well as in Louisiana.14 Like other varieties of North American French – as for example the French spoken in the New England States and Missouri and like the French of St. Barthélemy – these varieties have developed ever since the 17th century without any normative pressure in relatively isolated and very distant regions. Being perfect representatives of what Chaudenson calls “marginal Frenches”, their description promises interesting insights into the French spoken at the time of colonization and – at least tentatively – the “feature pool”. The Acadian diaspora has its origin in the “Great Migration” (Grand Dérangement, 1755–1762), one of the first instances of ethnic cleansing in modern times. In the course of the colonial wars between France and England, the Acadians, whose ancestors came from the Poitou region in Western France and had settled in Nova Scotia ever since 1604, were expelled by the British for political and religious reasons. This happened more than fifty years after this part of La Nouvelle France had become part of the British colonies in the Treaty of Utrecht 1713.15 While only some of the Acadians sought refuge in the woods of today’s New Brunswick and in Quebec, most of the refugees fled to the New England States. Others sought refuge in Newfoundland, on the West Indies or in France. After an odyssey of several years’ duration, about 3,000–4,000 Acadians found a new home in Louisiana, where they have been living as “Cajuns” since 1765. Those Acadians who returned

.  Financed by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, this project is directed by Raphaële Wiesmath (Munich) and myself in collaboration with Patrice Brasseur (Avignon). We use the following abbreviations after the examples: NB = Nouveau Brunswick (New Brunswick), NE = Nouvelle Écosse (Nova Scotia), IPE: Île du Prince Édouard (Prince-Edward-Island), TN = Terre Neuve (Newfoundland), LOU = Louisiana. Several corpora collected by ourselves or made available to us by other researchers constitute the data base. For New Brunswick we have had access to the corpus of R. Wiesmath, for Newfoundland to the corpus of P. Brasseur (cf. also Brasseur 2001). As far as Louisiana is concerned, we have worked with the data of Stäbler (1995a), Guilbeau (1950), Smith (1994) and Rottet (1995, 2001) as well as with the corpus of A. Valdman and his research group (L(ouisian)F(rench)L(anguage)D(atabase)). In addition, we have relied on already existing analyses of Acadian French. .  For an introduction to the history, culture and language of the Acadians, cf. Kolboom & Mann (2005), Neumann-Holzschuh (2003b, 2005a) and Neumann-Holzschuh & Wiesmath (2006).



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to their homelands from New England and Quebec after 1764 are the ethnic basis of today’s Franco-Canadians in the Maritime Provinces. The contemporary situation of the Acadians may be described thus: In the Maritime Provinces of Canada, most francophones live in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Prince-Edward-Island in a non-compact settlement structure. While the Acadian population has special cultural and linguistic rights in New Brunswick the situation of the Acadians in Nova Scotia is less favorable. In this province, French is still spoken in four non-connected regions (Baie Ste. Marie, Pubnico, Île Madame and Chéticamp), but here the vitality of French is much weaker than it is in New Brunswick.16 The situation of the Acadians in Newfoundland is precarious (King & Butler 2005). The situation in Louisiana has always been even more complex. From the very beginning the Acadian refugees were in close contact with other francophone groups who spoke different varieties of 18th century French, one of the consequences being dialect levelling. In those parishes especially where Acadians and non-Acadians lived in close proximity to one another, language contact caused the early loss of characteristic Acadian features, for example, the so-called je-collectif (i.e., the use for the pronoun je instead of the 1pl pronoun nous). Other Acadian features, however, continue to coexist with “standard” forms in certain parishes even today.17 Contemporary Cajun French – some scholars try to avoid this term and prefer Louisiana French instead – thus appears as the variety of Acadian French that has been at least partly “deacadianized”. In spite of the so-called Cajun Renaissance, Louisiana French is an endangered language today: with the exception of a few older speakers, all francophone Louisianians are bilingual (Dubois 2001). The loss of language is drastic, especially among the young; but even among speakers of other generations, the number of semi-speakers is high.18

.  New Brunswick is the only officially bilingual province in Canada since 1968. The percentage of monolingual French speakers is 2% in New Brunswick and 0.1% in Nova Scotia (Wiesmath 2006: 41). .  A good example is the coexistence of the inanimate interrogatives qui and quoi, both meaning ‘what’. While the latter is the truly Acadian form, inanimate qui was frequent in other varieties of 18th century French and seems to be the basis of the corresponding Louisiana Creole pronouns (Rottet 2004). .  A semi-speaker is “someone whose competence in the minority language was flawed from the very outset, because of incomplete acquisition due to the interruption of language transmission; i.e., the semi-speaker has not learned his or her language by way of normal acquisition processes (…) but rather “by chance”, by interacting more than usual with elderly members of the community” (Rottet 1995: 36–37). The linguistic consequences of language erosion in Louisiana have been described by Rottet (1995, 2001) and Dubois (2001, 2005).

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

In Louisiana as well as in the Maritime Provinces language attrition is closely connected to the English influence on Acadian French. Apart from code-switching and intensive lexical borrowing, interferences can also be observed on the structural level (Perrot 1995; King 2000). The methodological problem which presents itself here has already been indicated: An analysis of the varieties of North American French must distinguish carefully between the respective traditional varieties, which may indeed be something like an “open window” to the terminus a quo of creolization, and the contemporary varieties, such as the Cajun spoken by semi-speakers for example. Since some of the developments in the varieties of North American French that are particularly interesting from a creolist’s point of view have only recently been observed, especially in moribund Louisiana Cajun, it would be unwise to draw any hasty conclusions with regard to the possible European input into creolization.

4.  Three case studies On the basis of our Acadian French data base (see n. 14), three examples will be analyzed in this section in order to illustrate the interest that the varieties of North American French can have for creole studies: the subject pronouns (§4.1), the object pronouns (§4.2), and the syntax of pour (§4.3). 4.1  The subject pronouns Personal pronouns are of special interest for our purpose, since it can be shown not only that the different creole pronouns can easily be traced back to the regional French forms still alive in the NAF varieties, but also that the pronoun paradigms of NAF have undergone certain restructuring processes which have close parallels in the French creoles such as the generalization of tonic pronouns and the abandonment of the gender distinction.19 The inventory of pronominal forms is complex in Acadian French, especially as far as the plural is concerned. In the 3rd person plural, polymorphism is especially marked: while the atonic standard form ils (and its allomorphs) is rare in all three varieties, the forms eusse [øs], ieusses [jøs], ieux [jø(z)], eux-autres and

.  Chaudenson, too, repeatedly uses the pronominal system to illustrate his theory (2001: 175f., 2003: 396f., 2005b), Chaudenson & Mougeon & Beniak (1993: 103f.).



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zeux [zø],20 all going back to French tonic forms, show a regional distribution (Neumann-Holzschuh et al. 2005).21 (1) quand même eusse comprend, eusse veut pas parler although they.sbj understand they.sbj want.sg/pl neg speak.inf ‘Although they understand, they don’t want to speak.’ (LOU – Rottet 2001: 127) (2) si ieux pouaient le ramasser dans ène bouteille if 3pl.sbj can.3pl.ipfv it collect.inf in a bottle ‘If they could collect it in a bottle.’ (TN – GT 109209) (3) nous-autres on haïssait pas les Anglais we 3sg.indf hate.3sg.ipfv neg the English.pl coumme/coumme que zeux les haïssont hein as 3pl.sbj them hate.3pl dm ‘We didn’t hate the English as much as they hate them.’ (NB – 3 D492) (4) les autres comprend’ mais eux-autres peut pas le parler. the others understand.sg/pl but 3pl.sbj can.3sg neg it speak.inf ‘The others understand but they can’t speak it.’ (LOU – R 2001: 120)

The pronouns of the 1st and 2nd person plural are predominantly nous-autres and vous-autres in Louisiana and Newfoundland; in the Maritime Provinces on, nous, je (1pl) and vous (2pl) occur frequently as well. While the substitution of tonic for atonic pronouns is particularly advanced in the plural, the same phenomenon can be observed in the singular, especially in the 3rd person singular. (5) mon père mangeait ça, lui aimait ça my father eat.3sg.ipfv this 3sg.sbj love.3sg.ipfv this ‘My father ate this, he loved this.’ (NB – 1B285)

As far as the 1st and 2nd person singular are concerned, the rule conflict between tonic and atonic seems to be a recent phenomenon. It is only in the speech of the Louisiana semi-speakers, that the tonic forms moi/mon et toi can replace (moi) je or (toi) tu.22 .  [øs] has been attested in popular French since the 17th century (cf. Thurot vol. II 1881: 35). The pronoun eux [ø] is rare in Acadian French. For a dialectological comment on ieux and zeux, see Brasseur (2001). .  As in the singular, ça, ç’ can replace the other 3rd plural pronouns with animate and nonanimate referents, especially in New Brunswick and in Louisiana. .  Cf. Rottet (1995, 2001). Dubois (2001) shows convincingly that there is in fact an agecontinuum as to the use of je (older generation) – moi je (middle generation) and mon (young people with reduced exposure to traditional Cajun).

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

(6) Moi a deux ‘tits enfants. 1sg.sbj have.3sg two little.pl child.pl ‘I have two little children.’ (LOU – Dubois 2001: 150) (7) Mon a déjà acheté zen. 1sg.sbj aux.3sg already buy.pp adv ‘I have already bought of them.’ (LOU – Rottet 2001: 194) (8) Toi peux donner du gombo à eusse? 2sg.sbj can.2sg give.inf part okra to them ‘Can you give them some okra?’ (LOU – Rottet 2001: 212)

Discussion If the hypothesis is accepted that the inventory of forms we find in marginal Frenches provides a certain idea of the “feature pool” which was available to the slaves, then Chaudenson is right when he claims that 〈non seulement les créoles peuvent, dans leur émergence, choisir dans le “feature pool” du français ou dans le français zéro […] des variantes différentes pour une même variable, mais ils peuvent aussi, pour une même variante, opter pour des traitements différents〉 (2003: 401).23 Thus the 3rd person plural Acadian French pronouns can easily be correlated with their corresponding creole pronouns: yo/ye (creoles of the American-Caribbean region) go back to a dialectal form ieux as attested in Newfoundland; the forms zot (Indian Ocean creoles, old Haitian Creole) derive from eux-autres.24 As far as the 1st and 2nd person singular pronouns are concerned, however, the loss of the atonic pronouns is a recent development in the speech of semi-speakers of Cajun. In the language of the early settlers, the current forms were undoubtedly moi je and toi tu.25 Nevertheless, with regard to the importance of NAF for the research on creolization, this means first of all only the following:

.  “During their emergence, the creoles may not only choose different variants for one and the same variable in the “feature pool” of French or français zéro, but they can also opt for different treatments of one and the same variant.” .  I do not believe, however, that “koineized French” had just the form yé zot, from which the Caribbean creoles took the first element yé and the Indian Ocean creoles the second part zot (Chaudenson 2005b: 21). .  Chaudenson (2001: 176) states with respect to the colonial society: “In such contact settings, the native speaker has a tendency to over-use the person markers, as for example in the distribution of tasks: Toi tu fais ça, moi je fais ça, eux (or rather eux-autres) i font ça, etc.”



A la recherche du “superstrat” 

i. If we want to know what the settlers spoke, we should look at the traditional Cajun or the speech of today’s fluent speakers; ii. Language attrition has apparently led to similar selections that can be observed in creolization.26 Apart from these conclusions it is impossible to ascertain from the Acadian data: i. what determined the selection of the different forms in the different areas; ii. what brought about specific developments in the creole languages such as the fact that the second- and third-person plural forms of the subject pronouns are identical in the Indian Ocean creoles, i.e., zot, which can also be the possessive determiner 3rd person plural (cf. Chaudenson 2001: 176–177, 183–184) or that the 1st and 2nd person plural pronoun is identical in Haitian Creole (nou). It is precisely at this point that explanatory parameters must be brought to bear which take into account the particular language acquisition situation in the colonies and in the African substrate languages. i. As far as the generalization of the tonic pronouns is concerned, research on language acquisition has shown that stressed, expressive and phonologically salient forms are learnt preferably, a development that was reinforced in the process of non-guided SLA such as we find it in the plantation society.27 ii. With regard to the use of zot as subject pronoun for the 2nd and 3rd person plural, the fact that the element [zot] appears both in vous-autres as well as in euxautres may have favoured the generalization of zot in the Indian Ocean creoles, but most likely because Malagasy provided the structural model (Chaudenson 2001: 183–184, 2003: 307–308). Otherwise it would be difficult to explain why

.  The preference for nonclitic over the traditional clitic pronouns in enclave language settings and situations of language erosion is described by Rottet (2001: 220f.) for Louisiana and by King (1983) for Newfoundland. King assumes that this change may be partially due to influence of English. From a more general point of view Siewierska (2004: 281) however notes that “it is not always easy to determine whether a particular change in person marking is due to the influence of another language or to language internal factors”. .  For the acquistition of French L1 cf. Clark (1985: 714); cf. also Mather (2006). Chaudenson’s description is based on a metaphor: “How does language appropriation proceed (in acquisition and learning)? The acquirer or learner proceeds by identifying perceptible elements in utterances of the target language to which he/she has been exposed. He/she grasps them, rather as a shipwrecked person holds on to floating driftwood or other objects and organizes these elements into a communication system. Understandably, the individual appropriating the language will identify elements that are frequent, salient, meaning bearing, etc.” (2001: 158).

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

the French creoles of the Caribbean have different 2nd and 3rd person plural pronouns (2pl zot, 3pl yé). iii. The European base language cannot easily provide an explanation for the use of subject pronouns as possessive determiners or for the formal identity of 1st and 2nd person plural in Haitian Creole.28 Apart from that, it should be kept in mind that the development of the inventory of pronominal forms was gradual in each individual creole and that more diachronic research is necessary in order to fully understand the interplay of substrates and superstates in this area.29

4.2  The object pronouns The cooccurrence of atonic and tonic forms is also characteristic of the object pronouns in Acadian French. Although the pattern with preverbal clitics is still the most frequent one, examples of the postverbal tonic pronouns in the function of a direct or indirect object (with and without a “redundant” preverbal clitic) can be found in all varieties of Acadian French. Other phenomena to be observed are the weakening of gender and the weakening of case in the 3rd person plural. It cannot be excluded that these patterns were widespread in the settlers’ language that thus provided the model for analogical patterns in the emerging creoles. “It is also quite possible that the French varieties that were fed into the genesis of H[aitian] C[reole] were more like Cajun French and Missouri French than Standard French vis-à-vis cliticization possibilities” (DeGraff 2005: 334).30 (a) with preverbal clitic (9) Y a un qui m’ a attrapé moi adv have.3sg someone who 1sg.obj aux.3sg catch.pp 1sg.obj par en arrière. from behind ‘There was someone who caught me from behind.’ (LOU – Stäbler 1995a: 37)

.  Cf. Lefebvre (1998: 141f.) and Fattier (2002) for a possible substratal explanation of this phenomenon. We have, however, found the following examples in Acadian French: amenez vous-autres bébelles en-dedans pour eusse pas être trempés ‘Bring in your toys that they don’t get wet’ (LOU – Rottet 2001: 202) and ieux poisson ‘their fish’ (TN – Brasseur 2001: 254). .  Thus, the generalization of zot was not yet given at the end of the 18th century in Reunion Creole according to A. Bollée (personal communication). Cf. also Fattier (2002) for the gradual evolution of the Haitian Creole pronominal system. .  Cf. also DeGraff (2000), Syea (2000) and Fattier (1994, 1996). According to Highfield (1979: 75) the position of the object pronouns is not fixed in St.Thomas.



A la recherche du “superstrat” 

(10) Ҫa fait moi j’ allais avec mon prétendu la rejoindre elle. dm I I go.1sg.ipfv with my fiance 3sg.obj meet.inf 3sg.clpr ‘Well, I went with my fiancé to meet her.’ (LOU – LFLD, Evangeline, Chataigner) (11) Elle l’ aimait à lui. she 3sg.obj love.3sg.ipfv prep 3sg.obj ‘She loved him.’ (LOU – Guilbeau 1950: 159) (12) Ils nous a assisté nous-autres. they 1pl.obj aux.3sg help.pp 1pl.obj ‘They have helped us.’ (LOU – Stäbler 1995a: 212) (13) C’ est là-dessus qu’ elle les nourrissait, ieusses. that is above this that she 3pl.obj nourish.3sg.ipfv 3pl.obj ‘It’s more than this that she gave them to eat.’ (TN – AC 059206) (b) without preverbal clitic (14) mais il dit a moi but he say.3sg prep 1sg.obj ‘but he says to me…’ (LOU – LFLD, Evangeline) (15) Mon père i parle à elle. my father he talk.3sg prep 3sg.obj ‘My father talks to her.’ (LOU – Corpus Dubois)31 (16) Son amie venait ici trouver ielle. her/his friend.f come.3sg.ipfv here find.inf 3sg.obj ‘Her/his friend came here to get her.’ (TN – Corpus Brasseur) (17) Je gardais tout le temps zeux. I take care.1sg.ipfv all the time 3pl.obj ‘I was taking care of them all the time.’ (NB – Motapanyane 1997: 41)

Some Missourian and Ontarian data confirm that object pronoun position in the marginal Frenches may differ considerably from the French patterns:32 (18) Quand j’ leur parle là, i comprend moi en français. When I them talk.1sg dm he understand.3sg 1sg.obj in French ‘When I talk to them, he understands me in French.’ (ONT – Nadasdi 2000: 72) (19) M’ as manger lui. I aux.1sg eat.inf 3sg.obj ‘I will eat him’. (MIS – Thogmartin 1970: 67) (20) La pollution commence à détruire nous-autres. the pollution begin.3sg to destroy.inf 1pl.obj ‘Pollution begins to destroy us’. (ONT – Nadasdi 2000: 71)

31.  I am grateful to Sylvie Dubois who gave me access to her Cajun database in 2005. 32.  Cf. also Mather (2006: 260) for the same structures in L2 French in Togo.

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

(21) Chips … il a payé eux-autres. chips he aux.3sg pay.pp 3pl.obj ‘Chips… he has paid them.’ (ONT – Nadasdi 2000: 71)

Although it can be assumed that these structures occur more frequently in the speech of semi-speakers, the postverbal object pronoun is nevertheless not a recent phenomenon in Acadian French. Its appearance in many varieties of NAF as well as attestations from the 17th century French33 permits the conclusion that these constructions belonged to the linguistic repertoire of the French settlers in the 17th century. The fact that they are more frequent in the speech of bilinguals may, of course, be due to the prolonged contact with English, where object pronouns are placed postverbally. In negative imperative constructions, the object pronouns can follow the verb in the Acadian varieties like in popular French (Riegel et al. 1994: 204): (22) Demande -moi pas. ask.2sg.imp 1sg.obj neg ‘Don’t ask me.’ (TN – Brasseur LI) (23) Frappe -nous pas. hit.2sg.imp 1pl.obj neg ‘Don’t hit us.’ (LOU – Papen/Rottet 1996: 244)

Discussion As far as the syntactic behavior of the object pronouns is concerned, French creoles, which consistently place the object pronoun behind the verb, differ considerably from their French input. As in other creole structures, the generalization of the V-ObjPro pattern was certainly due to the interplay of several causes. i. Even if we admit that the postverbal object position is a structural option in the varieties of overseas French, our contemporary data, for which the influence of English cannot be completely excluded, does not allow any hasty conclusions as to the “feature pool” accessible to the slaves. The language of the settlers certainly contained non-standard V-ObjPro-constructions, but still and all, hypotheses on the settlers’ language remain vague without more diachronic and dialectological research in this domain.

33.  Note, however, that the postverbal position of the tonic pronoun is only described for the indirect object (cf. Haase 1965: 26f.; Nyrop 1925: 224f.; Brunot/Bruneau 1949: 277).



A la recherche du “superstrat” 

ii. The postverbal object pronoun position is in line with the dominant V-ObjPro pattern in some African languages such as Fon (Lefebvre 1998: 149f., Fattier 2003: 13). “[C]urrent results in acquisition research make it quite likely that VO patterns in the substratum would have favored the adoption by L2 learners of congruent VO patterns into the incipient creole” (DeGraff 2005: 336).34 iii. It must also be taken into account that the specific communicative situations on the plantations favoured certain types of speech acts. In the colonies, speech appeared almost exclusively in its pragmatic mode, i.e., in functionally restricted utterances, closely linked to the situational context and nonverbal communication. In view of the fact that the speech act of commanding was particularly frequent in colonial societies, imperatives and their formal and syntactic peculiarities may be an additional factor in the explanation of certain creole structures such as the postposition of the object pronouns (Bruyn & Muysken & Verrips 1999; DeGraff 2005).35

4.3  The syntax of pour In Acadian French pour can be used in two ways: i. as a preposition that corresponds to standard French pour, à and de.36 (24) Là la mère restait avec cinq z- enfants pour elle there the mother stay.3sg.ipfv with five liais child.pl prep 3sg ‘The mother was left behind with five children.’ (LOU – LFLD, Acadia) (25) Ils ont raison pour ça. they have.3pl right prep this ‘They are right there.’ (LOU – LFLD, Évangéline, Mamou)

.  Cf. Fattier (2002: 116): “Les apprenants africains ont mis fin à l’exception que les pronoms constituaient en régularisant la langue-cible”. Furthermore, “the avoidance of clitics in L2 French may be a general SLA strategy” (Mather 2006: 260). .  DeGraff (2000: 105): “Si B[ruyn], M[uysken]& V[errips] ont raison, alors les impératifs positifs de FR, qui présentent des objets pronominaux post-verbaux, ont sans doute aussi incité l’apprenant engagé dans la genèse de CH à faire l’hypothèse que la grammaire émergente devait présenter uniformément des pronoms objets post-verbaux” (FR = français, CH = créole haïtien). The importance of certain speech-acts for the explanation of creole structures has also been underlined by Koch (1993), Fattier (1994: 61), Chaudenson (2001: 176) and Neumann-Holzschuh (2003a). .  Cf. Chaudenson & Mougeon & Beniak (1993: 27).

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

(26) Je serai ici pour midi. I be.fut.1sg here prep noon ‘I will be here by noon.’ (LOU – Ditchy 1932: 171) (27) Quoi il parlait pour dans ce chanson? what he talk.3sg.ipfv prep in this.m song ‘What was he talking about in this song?’ (LOU – LFLD, Acadie Churchpoint)

This last example is a case of preposition stranding after a wh-interrogative, a phenomenon quite frequent in all the varieties of Acadian French. Although “orphan prepositions” are not unknown to colloquial French as well, King (2000: 136) is probably right in claiming that constructions with stranded prepositions are the result of language contact.37 The same structures are attested in various French creoles: (28) Li fin aste sa pu mua. he ant buy this prep 1sg ‘He bought it for me.’

(Mauritian Creole – Véronique 1999: 201)

(29) Mo di li pu asi I tell 3sg comp sit.down ‘I told him to sit down.’

(Louisiana Creole – Neumann 1985: 305)

(b) pour is part of the Acadian French verbal periphrases être pour ‘to be on the point of doing something, être sur le point de’ (inchoative), and avoir pour ‘to have to do something’. It should be noted, however, that these periphrases are surprisingly rare in today’s Acadian French (Wiesmath 2005).38 (30) J’ étais pour partir là, chez mon garçon -là. I be.1sg.ipfv prep go.away.inf there to my son det ‘I was about to go to my son.’ (LOU – LFLD, Terrebonne, Isle Jean Charles) (31) J’ avais pas pour travailler dans le clos. I have.1sg.ipfv neg prep work.inf in the field ‘I didn’t have to work in the field.’ (LOU – LFLD, Evangeline)

.  According to King, however, these structures are not the result of direct syntactic borrowing. “Rather, I shall argue that lexical borrowing has triggered reanalysis of the Prince Edward Island French preposition system” (King 2000: 136). .  Cf. Wiesmath (2005), Bollée & Neumann-Holzschuh (1998), Stäbler (1995b: 76f.). Note that avoir pour does not exist in New Brunswick and Newfoundland but is attested in St. Thomas (Highfield 1979: 117); être pour is very frequent in Newfoundland and Nova Scotia, rare in Louisiana and non-existent in New Brunswick. Cf. Chaudenson (2003: 153): “Contre toute attente, les périphrases sont très peu présentes dans les textes de français populaire du XVIIe et du XVIIIe siècles”. A well known example for être pour is found in Molières Dom Juan (act II/2): je sommes pour estre marié ensemble.

A la recherche du “superstrat” 



In the French creoles, the modal marker pou can express obligation and/or futurity.39 (32) Mwen pou marye semèn pwochèn. I fut get.married week next ‘I have to get married next week.’

(Haitian Creole – Fattier 2003: 7)

(33) Tut sòlda pu vini laplas kunyè a. all soldier oblig come square now det ‘All the soldiers must come to the square now.’  (Haitian Creole – Koopman & Lefebre 1982: 71) (34) Li pu vini si li kapav. he fut come if he can ‘He will come if he can.’

(Mauritian Creole – Véronique 1999: 201)

(c) pour is part of the purpose subordinator pour (pas) que, which can lose the element que especially in Louisiana French. (35) Ça nous a été donné pour on écoute. this us aux.3sg be.pp give.pp comp 3sg.indf listen.3sg ‘That was given to us so that we listened to it.’ (LOU – Stäbler 1995a: 216) (36) […] pour pas que la mer peuve rentrer. […] comp neg conj the sea can.subj.3sg enter.inf ‘[…] so that the sea cannot enter.’ (NB – m, 57)

As in popular French, an infinitival sentence can replace a purpose or consecutive subordinate clause with subjunctive.40 According to Rottet (2001), the emergence of non-finite subordinate clauses stands out as a significant pattern in the speech of semi-speakers. In Louisiana the complementizer que is usually omitted, and the pronoun of the subordinate is usually tonic. (37) Eusse i a donné de l’ argent pour lui aller they him aux.sg/pl give.pp part money comp him go.inf au magasin. to the store ‘They gave him some money so that he went to the store.’  (LOU – Guilbeau 1950: 223)

.  In Louisiana Creole, the auxiliary gen pou (Neumann 1985: 227) expresses obligation and futurity (with a strong nuance of obligation). .  Cf. Neumann-Holzschuh (2003a, 2005b). The identity of the subject in the main and the subordinate clause is not a constraint in semi-speakers’ Cajun French.

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

(38) Mom elle faisait du thé de sassafras pour Mum she make.3sg.ipfv part tea gen sassafras comp nous-autres boire ça. us drink.inf this ‘Mum made some sassafras tea or another kind of tea to make us drink that.’  (LOU – LFLD, Evangéline)

These purpose constructions, apparently rare in New Brunswick and Newfoundland, were well known in Old French and are still used in popular and dialectal French.41 It is therefore wrong to assume an exclusively English influence here, even though the analogous English patterns (as in examples (41) and (42): for him to go, for us to drink) naturally contributed to their reinforcement. The same constructions with pou as a purpose subordinator can be found in different French creoles and in St. Thomas. (39) Tchê �n tit béké pour èl pa têbé hold a little bit comp she neg fall ‘Hold her a little so that she won’t fall.’ (St. Thomas – Highfield 1979: 118) (40) Frem la port pu pa li wa nuzot. close the door comp neg he see us ‘Close the door so that he won’t see us.’ (Louisiana Creole – Neumann 1985: 348) (41) Li pran so bisiklet pu li vini. he take his bicyle comp he come ‘He takes his bicycle to come.’ (Mauritian Creole – Véronique 1999: 201) (42) Mo g õ baay pu m montre u. I have a chose comp I show you ‘I have a thing to show you.’ (Haitian Creole – Koopman & Lefebvre 1982: 70)

In the speech of the semi-speakers of Cajun, however, pour also appears in non purpose constructions (Rottet 1995: 274–5, 2001: 255–257). (43) J’ aimerais pour toi manger en tit brin. I like.cond.2sg.ipfv comp you eat a little bit ‘I want you to eat a little bit.’ (LOU – Rottet 1995: 275) (44) Il vous avait euh demandé pour vous se […] marier. he you aux.3sg.ipfv dm ask.pp comp you refl.3sg […] marry.inf ‘He had asked you to get married.’ (LOU – LFLD, Évangeline, Mamou)

.  Cf. Bauche (1946: 123: Il lui a donné ce jouet pour elle s’amuser), Frei (1929) and Grevisse (1975: §1027).



A la recherche du “superstrat” 

(45) Eusse veut pour nous-autres aller pour 7h. they want.3sg comp us go.inf prep 7 o’clock ‘They want us to be there by 7: 00.’ (LOU – Rottet 2001: 255)

Note also that beside the pour + SubjPro + Infinitive constructions, there are SubjPro + pour + Infinitive constructions in semi-speakers’ Cajun French. (46) Qué magasin tu veux mon pour aller. what store you want.2sg me prep go.inf ‘What store do you want me to go to?’ (LOU – Rottet 1995: 275)

As Rottet (1995: 274) convincingly states, we can observe a first step towards the grammaticalization of Cajun pour as a general subordinate marker devoid of any particular semantic interpretation. In Haitian Creole as well, pu can function as a general conjunction; in Seychelles Creole, Michaelis (1994: 141f.) observes the evolution of pou as a subordination marker for non-finite forms.42 (47) Li bòn [pou m t a pati]. it good comp I ant fut leave ‘It is good for me to leave’ [lit.: ‘It is good that I leave’]  (Haitian Creole, Lefebvre 1998: 188) (48) I vreman fer lapenn pour mwan tir tou ledan en zanfan. it really make pain prep me pull.inf all tooth a child ‘It makes me sad, when I have to pull out all the teeth of a child.’  (Seychelles Creole – Michaelis 1994: 144 )

Discussion i. A comparison between the use of pour in the varieties of Acadian French and its use in French creoles illustrates that in this case material continuity goes hand in hand with an astonishingly large measure of functional continuity in so far as its use as a preposition and a future and obligation marker is concerned.43 Although this limits to a certain extent the hypothesis stated by Detges, who speaks of an almost total functional discontinuity between the French creoles and their base language with respect to grammatical paradigms (2002: 71), the “superstrate data”

.  Cf. Michaelis (1994: 145), Véronique (1999), Koopman/Lefebvre (1982: 81f.), Lefebvre (1998: 187–193). .  Lefebvre (1998: 119) does not mention the French periphrasis avoir pour, which perfectly explains the oblihation value that pu has in Haitian Creole.

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

do not answer the questions why pou has become so prominent in some creoles, why it has the semantics it has today, or how the innovative combinations of pou with other markers can be explained.44 ii. As far as the use of the subordinator is concerned, the parallels between the non-standard varieties of French and the creole languages are obvious. However, similar to the subject pronouns of the 1st and 2nd person singular, this is a question of relatively recent developments in the speech of semi-speakers especially in Louisiana, so that substrate influence cannot totally be excluded here. Nevertheless, the fact that pour can perfectly well introduce complements of verbs of the want-class in NAF should be taken into account (cf. Lefebvre 1998: 189).

5.  Conclusions In view of what has been stated so far, the following conclusions can be tentatively drawn: First, the value of a comprehensive data base of New World French lies primarily in providing material to reconstruct at least part of the possible European “input” and its intralinguistic variation – no more and no less. I am aware, of course, that there is a risk involved in drawing conclusions from the contemporary varieties of North American French about the language of the colonists; nevertheless, creolists should look here not only for the “construction material” as far as lexical and grammatical forms are concerned but also for specific functional patterns – there are not too many other sources. Second, the developments that the “marginal Frenches” have gone through until now have been diverse. The extent of these developments differs not only from variety to variety, but also from category to category. The above-mentioned examples have shown that, in addition to the specific changes that French goes through when not under any normative pressure, there are also changes that are triggered by contact with English as well as by language attrition. That language attrition, creolization and non-guided second language acquisition may partially yield similar linguistic outcomes – all three favour elements that are regular,

.  Cf. the descriptions of the different reanalysis and grammaticalization processes as provided by Detges (2000, 2002), DeGraff (2005) and Fattier (2000, 2003). For the functions of pour in the French creoles cf. Lefebvre (1998), Véronique (1999), Detges (2002), Fattier (2003), Chaudenson (2003: 359–361).



A la recherche du “superstrat” 

frequent, transparent, information-bearing and salient – creates a methodological problem, for the question is clearly one of completely dissimilar language contact situations.45 Third, although I am convinced that a better knowledge of the specific structures of non-standard Frenches provides important information on the type of French the settlers spoke, I doubt whether these varieties provide any clues as to the evolutionary mechanisms effective during creolization. There is no doubt that a comparison of the French creoles with the “marginal” varieties – even with the most “progressive” ones – may help to locate specific restructurings that are outside the realm of changes that French undergoes under specific sociolinguistic conditions such as isolation, a lack of normative pressure, intensive language contact, or language death. However, it is less evident whether creolization is to a certain extent based on “the radicalization and transmission of restructuring processes, for which ‘marginal’ French varieties offered variants and provided the direction” (Chaudenson 2001: 171). Can universal processes of language change and language-specific internal changes – and it is this combination that the “self-regulating processes/evolutionary tendencies” are about – be “transmitted” or “continued” in the very special context of unguided second language acquisition as it presumably existed in plantation society (cf. Chaudenson 2001: 182)? Or as Alleyne (1996: 37) puts it: Est-ce qu’une langue peut posséder de telles tendances d’une façon tellement inéluctable qu’un autre peuple, en adoptant cette langue, se voie obligé de les continuer? Cela impliquerait qu’une langue est un organisme autonome existant hors des mentalités et des comportements des gens qui la manient et hors des contextes sociaux dans lesquels elle se parle. Evidemment, ce n’est pas le cas. Autrement dit, comment pourrait-il se faire qu’un peuple, en adoptant une langue, perçoive ces tendances et les continue? 46

.  Chaudenson repeatedly points out that “la créolisation reproduirait, en quelque sorte à l’inverse, les processus de l’attrition ou de l’étiolement linguistiques” (2005a: 23, cf. also 2003: 206). Alleyne (1996: 39) as well notes that internal language change and second language acquistion share certain features: “l’acquisition d’une langue seconde, surtout là où il n’existe pas de pression correctrice, peut produire des effets tout à fait parallèles à ces tendances évolutives (perte de flexions, structures syntaxiquement transparentes etc.)”. .  “Can a language have such unavoidable tendencies that another people, upon adopting that language, finds itself forced to continue them? This would imply that a language is an autonomous organism that exists outside of the minds and the behaviour of the people using it, and outside of the social contexts in which it is spoken. This is evidently not the case. In other words, how could a people that adopts a language perceive these tendencies and continue them?”

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh

One must certainly be careful not to take the terms “transmission” and “continuation” too literally nor should one deduce an uninterrupted chain of language evolution. The fact that some creole-specific restructuring processes look like “transmissions” or “radicalizations” of analogous processes in French does not mean that this scenario makes sense linguistically. While the “transmission” of specific internal developments may be plausible for the francophone regions in North America,47 the situation was completely different on the islands of the Caribbean and the Indian Ocean, where language transmission was not “normal” (Thomason & Kaufman 1988). Here, there was at most a certain continuity with regard to the universal strategies at work in the evolution of oral languages in general, which, however, is now somewhat tautological insofar as these processes are always active anyway.48 And fourth, creolization itself is a specific case of language change coupled with uncontrolled second language learning under unique social, historical and demographic conditions.49 The restructuring processes that in the course of time led to the emergence of new languages comprises various universal processes of language change such as reanalysis and grammaticalization as well as contactinduced changes such as grammatical replication (Heine & Kuteva 2005: 242–243) or selections based on convergence.50 Two recent definitions of creolization as “an interesting division of labor between universals and substratum influence”

.  “La notion de continuation des tendances est plus pertinente là où la langue continue d’être parlée par ces locuteurs originels et ce sont eux, aidés sans doute par les nouveaux apprenants, qui font progresser ces tendances évolutives” (Alleyne 1996: 39). .  This view, shared by Manessy (1985), is doubted by Chaudenson (2001: 167), who underlines the importance of intrasystemic changes. .  According to DeGraff (2005: 339): “[T]here is no precise and operational structural litmus test, and no coherent theoretical framework, that consistently and reliably discriminates where ‘language change’ ends and where ‘creolization’ begins”. Although in my opinion the NAF data do not permit the conclusion that there was a sharp break in transmission between the lexifier language and the French creoles (Thomason & Kaufman 1988: 206), Chaudenson’s view is equally too exclusive: “L’étude socio-historique me semble démontrer qu’il n’y a pas de rupture dans la transmission de la langue, mais plutôt […] un changement de structure sociale […] et de cible linguistique pour les bossales” (2003: 204). ����������������������������������������������������������� Une autre piste également fructueuse (…) et celle de l’in.  Cf. Fattier (2002: 110–111): “���������������������������������������������������������� fluence qu’ont pu exercer les langues africaines de substrat dans la sélection entre variantes de la koinè d’oïl: au cas où plusieurs variantes étaient employées dans la langue d’oïl à quoi ils étaient exposés, les locuteurs se sont approprié plus facilement celle qui avait un équivalent proche dans les langues de substrat”. According to Fattier only those “substrate” structures that were common to various African languages could have had an influence on the emerging creole languages.

A la recherche du “superstrat” 



(Mather 2006: 268) or as “the conspiracy of both factors” (Plag 2002) tries to take into account that the emergence of creole languages can only be explained by a multicausal approach. It should not be ignored, however, that the interplay between substrates and the highly variable “superstrate” differed from area to area, and that creolization as a gradual phenomenon did not affect all categories at the same time and in the same way.51 After all, each creole possesses its own distinct history.52

Special abbreviations apr conj dm ant part prep tpr pp adv

atonic pronoun conjunction discourse marker anteriority partitive article preposition tonic pronoun past participle adverbial

NAF NB NE IPE TN LOU

North American French Nouveau Brunswick (New Brunswick) Nouvelle Écosse (Nova Scotia) Île du Prince Édouard (Prince Edward Island) Terre Neuve (Newfoundland) Louisiana

References Alleyne, Mervyn. 1996. Syntaxe historique créole. Paris: Karthala – PUC. Bauche, Henri. 1946. Le langage populaire. Paris: Payot. Bollée, Annegret. 2007. Every Creole has its own history. In Bollée, Annegret. Beiträge zur Kreolistik (edited by Ursula Reutner). Hamburg: Buske. 173–187.

.  Cf. Neumann-Holzschuh (2000: 387): ������������������������������������������������������ “����������������������������������������������������� Ce ne sont pas des langues entières qui sont restructurées, mais des catégories grammaticales individuelles”. This view is shared by Fattier (2002: 116): “���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� tout ne change pas au même rythme, y compris à l’intrérieur d’une même classe syntaxique, y compris au cours du processus historique particulier baptisé créolisation”. .  This view is very clearly taken by Mufwene (2001) and more recently by Bollée (2007) and Mather (2006).

 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh Bollée, Annegret & Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid. 1998. Français marginaux et créoles. In Brasseur, Patrice (ed.), Français d’Amérique. Variation, créolisation, normalisation. Avignon: Université d’Avignon, Centre d’Études Canadiennes (CECAV). 181–203. Bollée, Annegret & Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid. 2002. La créolisation linguistique: Un processus complexe. Études Créoles XXV/1. 87–104. Brasseur, Patrice. 1997. Créoles à base lexicale française et français marginaux d’Amérique du Nord: quelques points de comparaison. In Hazaël-Massieux, Marie-Christine & De Robillard, Didier (eds), Contacts de langues, contacts de culture, créolisation, Mélanges offerts à R. Chaudenson. Paris: L’Harmattan. 141–66. Brasseur, Patrice. 2001. Dictionnaire des régionalismes franco-terreneuviens. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Brasseur, Patrice & Falkert, Anika (eds). 2005. Français d’Amérique: Approches morphosyntaxiques. Paris: L’Harmattan. Brunot, Ferdinand & Bruneau Charles. 1949. Précis de grammaire historique de la langue française. Paris: Masson. Bruyn, Adrienne, Muysken, Pieter & Verrips, Maaike. 1999. Double object constructions in the Creole languages: Development and acquisition. In DeGraff, Michel (ed.), Language creation and language change. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. 329–73. Chaudenson, Robert. 1973. Pour une étude comparée des créoles et parlers français d’outre-mer: Survivance et innovation. Revue de Linguistique Romane 37: 76–90. Chaudenson, Robert. 1993. De l’hypothèse aux exemples. Un cas de créolisation: La formation des systèmes de démonstratifs créoles. Études Créoles XVI/1:1993. 17–38. Chaudenson, Robert. 1998. Variation, koïnèisation, créolisation. In Brasseur, Patrice (ed.), Français d’Amérique. Variation, créolisation, normalisation. Centre d’Études Canadiennes (CECAV), Université d’Avignon 1998. 163–80. Chaudenson, Robert. 2001. Creolization of language and culture. Revised in collaboration with Salikoko S. Mufwene. London: Routledge. Chaudenson, Robert. 2002. Une théorie de la créolisation: Le cas des créoles français. Études Créoles XXV/1: 25–44. Chaudenson, Robert. 2003. La créolisation: Théorie, applications, implications. Paris: L’Harmattan. Chaudenson, Robert. 2005a. Français d’Amérique et créoles français: origines et structures. In Valdman, Albert, Auger, Julie & Piston-Hatlen, Deborah (eds). (2005). 505–16. Chaudenson, Robert. 2005b.   Français marginaux et théorie de la créolisation: Les cas des marques personelles. In Brasseur, Patrice & Falkert, Anika (eds). 15–25. Chaudenson, Robert, Mougeon, Raymond & Beniak, Édouard (eds). 1993. Vers une approche panlectale de la variation. Paris: Didier. Clark, Eve V. 1985. The acquisition of Romance, with special reference to French. In Slobin, Dan Isaac (ed.), The crosslinguistic Study of Language Acquisition, Vol.1. Hillsdale NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. 687–782. DeGraff, Michel. 2000. À propos de la syntaxe des pronoms objets en créole haïtien: Points de vue croisés de la morphologie et de la dialectologie. In Véronique, Daniel (ed.), Syntaxe des langues créoles. Langages 138: 89–113. DeGraff, Michel. 2005. Morphology and word order in ‘Creolization’ and beyond. In Cinque, Guglielmo & Kayne, Richard S. (eds), The Oxford handbook of comparative syntax. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 293–372. Detges, Ulrich. 2000. Two types of restructuring in French Creoles: A cognitive approach to the genesis of tense markers. In Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid & Schneider, Edgar W. (eds), Degrees of restructuring in Creole languages. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 135–62.



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 Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh Lefebvre, Claire. 1998. Creole genesis and the acquisition of grammar. The case of Haitian Creole. Cambridge: CUP. LFLD = Louisiana French Lexical Database, coord. by Valdman, Albert. Indiana University Bloomington. (A la découverte du français cadien à travers la parole/Discovering Cajun French through the spoken word, CD-ROM 2004). Manessy, Gabriel. 1985. Français, créole français, français régionaux. Bulletin du Centre d’étude des plurilinguismes 7–8. 1–24. Massignon, Geneviève.1962. Les parlers français d’Acadie. Enquête linguistique. 2 Vols. Paris: Klinksieck. Mather, Patrick-André. 2006. Second language acquisition and creolization: Same (i-) processes, different (e-) results. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 21(2): 231–74. Michaelis, Susanne. 1994. Komplexe Syntax im Seychellen Kreol. Verknüpfung von Sachverhaltsdarstellungen zwischen Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit. Tübingen: Narr. Motapanyane, Virginia. 1997. Acadian French. München: Lincom. Mougeon, Raymond & Beniak, Édouard. (eds). 1994. Les origines du français québécois. SainteFoy: Presses de L’Université Laval. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 2001. The ecology of language evolution. Cambridge: CUP. Mufwene, Salikoko S. 2005. Créoles, écologie sociale, évolution linguistique. Paris: L’Harmattan. Nadasdi, Terry. 2000. Variation grammaticale et langue minoritaire: Le cas des pronoms clitiques en français ontarien. München: Lincom. Neumann, Ingrid. 1985. Le créole de Breaux Bridge, Louisiane – Étude morphosyntaxique – textes – vocabulaire. Hamburg: Buske. Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid. 2000. Restructuration dans un créole conservateur: Le cas du créole louisianais. In Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid & Schneider, Edgar W. (eds), Degrees of restructuring in Creole languages. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 382–407. Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid. 2003a. Formes verbales invariables en créole – un cas de réanalyse. In Kriegel, Sibylle (ed.), Grammaticalisation et réanalyse: Approches de la variation créole et française. Paris: CNRS. 69–86. Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid. 2003b. Externe Sprachgeschichte des Französischen in den Vereinigten Staaten. In Ernst, Gerhard, Gleßgen, Martin D., Schmitt, Christian & Schwei­ ckard, Wolfgang (eds), Romanische Sprachgeschichte, Vol. 1. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 911– 21. Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid. 2005a. Si la langue disparaît…. Das akadische Französisch in Kanada und Louisiana. In Kolboom, Ingo & Mann, Roberto (eds), Akadien: Ein französischer Traum in Amerika. Heidelberg: Synchron-Wissenschaftsverlag der Autoren. 773–99. Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid. 2005b. Le subjonctif en français acadien. In Brasseur, Patrice & Falkert, Anika (eds), 125–44. Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid, Brasseur, Patrice & Wiesmath, Raphaële. 2005. Le français acadien au Canada et en Louisiane. In Valdman, Albert, Auger, Julie & Piston-Hatlen, Deborah (eds), (2005). 479–503. Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid & Wiesmath, Raphaële. 2006. Les parlers acadiens: un continuum discontinu. In Papen, Robert A. & Chevalier, Gisèle (Eds). Les variétés de français en Amérique du Nord. Evolution, innovation et description. Revue canadienne de linguistique appliquée 9.2/ Revue de l’Université de Moncton 37.2: 233–239. Nyrop, Kristoffer. 1899–1930. Grammaire historique de la langue française, Vol. I-VI. Kopenhagen: Gyldendalske Boghandel Nordisk Forlag.



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Personal name index

A Abaglo, Poovi  142 Aboh, Enoch  31, 213, 317 Adam, Lucien  31 Adone, Dany  232, 234 Agbidinoukoun, Cosme C.  205 Agheyisi, Rebecca  261 Alber, Birgit  124, 135, 141 Allen, Richard B.  226f Alleyne, Mervyn C.  16f, 20f, 23, 334, 359, 377f Allsopp, Richard  337, 340, 343, 345f, 349, 351 Ameka, Felix  215 Andersen, Roger W.  78 Anderson, S.H.  185f Anonymous  1, 37, 42, 71, 83, 206, 253, 301, 333, 340, 357 Ansaldo, Umberto  69 Anttila, Arto  139 Apostol, Ricardo  279 Aranda  37, 46 Archangeli, Diana  142f Arends, Jacques  2, 4, 21, 29, 36, 43, 45, 50f, 56, 84, 141f, 156, 164, 213, 301, 303–05, 313, 315–17, 319, 321f, 324f, 327f Aronoff, Mark  84f, 89f Ashton, Ethel O.  245–47 Atchia-Emmerich, Bilkiss  170, 172 Aylmer, Whitgift  19 Ayscough, Thomas  19 Azevedo, Milton M.  71 B Baissac, Charles  176, 183, 186 Baker, Mark C.  217 Baker, Philip  51, 170, 172–77, 182, 189, 227 Bakker, Peter  29f, 43, 51, 54f, 59, 84, 107, 110

Bakovic, Eric  143f Bally, Anne-Sophie  214 Baptista, Marlyse  84, 103 Barbarossa, Khair-ed D.  32 Barker, Chris  342 Barrios, Aireen  279 Bassac, Christian  348 Bastide, Roger  334 Bauche, Henri  374 Bauer, Laurie  338 Becker, Angelika  75, 86, 109f Beckford, Peter  19 Beckman, Jill  140 Bélanger, Andrée  197 Beniak, Édouard  358f, 364, 371 Bentley, William H.  143, 161 Bernabé, Jean  218 Bickerton, Derek  59f, 62f, 70, 76, 155, 232, 249, 302, 341 Bilby, Kenneth M.  1f, 13, 15, 18, 21, 155 Böhm, Günter  166 Bollée, Annegret  226, 231, 245, 358, 368, 372, 379 Bosman, Willem  4 Bossong, Georg  236 Bragg, William  19 Brasseur, Patrice  358, 362, 365, 368–70 Braun, Maria  84, 343 Breton, Raymond  334 Broselow, Ellen  147 Broughton, Elizabeth B.  37, 41f, 44, 46 Brousseau, Anne-Marie  146, 198, 202, 205–08, 210, 212, 217, 311f Bruneau-Ludwig, Florence  171, 179, 181 Bruneau, Charles  171, 179, 181, 370 Brunot, Ferdinand  370 Bruyn, Adrienne  232, 301, 328, 371

Bubberman, F.C.  166 Buisseret, David  5 Burnard, Trevor  1, 4, 18f, 22 Bush, Barbara  336 Butler, Gary  363 Bybee, Joan  308, 319, 325f C Cabral, Jason D.  64, 66 Cadely, Jean-Robert  217 Calligaris  46 Campbell, Lyle  316 Capo, Hounkpati B.C.  143, 201, 302, 313 Cardoso, Hugo  83, 87f, 96, 98, 100, 106, 110f, 117, 154, 157 Carlin, Eithne  307 Carmichael, A.C.  336 Caronni  46 Carr, Elizabeth B.  70, 271 Carter, Hazel  21 Cassidy, Frederick G.  16, 20, 146, 340, 346 Cataluna, Lee  63 Cervantes, Miguel de  34f, 38, 43 Cetnarowska, Bożena  348 Charlier, Françoise D.  266f Chaudenson, Robert  31, 226, 302, 357–62, 364, 366f, 371f, 376–78 Chevalier, Gisèle  37 Chock, Eric  72 Chomsky, Noam A.  201, 346 Cifoletti, Guido  34–38, 45f, 48, 51, 53 Cintra, Luís F.L.  100, 266, 268, 273 Clark, Eve V.  367 Clements, George N.  127, 136, 138 Clements, J.C.  83, 86–88, 96, 98, 100–02, 107f, 110–15, 117f

  Personal name index Comrie, Bernard  65, 67, 249, 314 Cope, John  19 Corne, Chris  176, 227 Coronel, David  166 Couto, Hildo H. do  51, 55 Craton, Michael  5, 7, 335 Creissels, Denis  257 Croft, William  236 Crothers, John  116 Cunha, Celso  100, 266, 268 Curtin, Philip D.  12, 17 D D’Arvieux  37 D’Ans, André-Marcel  205 D’Costa, Jean  22 Daaku, Kwame Y.  4 Dahl, Östen  67, 302, 308 Dallas, Robert C.  17, 21 Dalton, Thomas E.  146 Dan, Pierre  37, 39f, 43f, 46, 53, 175, 180, 182–84, 186f, 190, 236, 238–40, 242–44 Dapper, Olfert  36f, 40, 43f Davies, Kenneth G.  4, 11f Davis, Robert C.  33, 34–36, 46, 52, 54 de Kleine, Christa  305 de Lavaux  166 DeGraff, Michel A.F.  84, 107f, 111, 205, 215, 217, 302, 361, 368, 371, 376, 378 Demuth, Katherine  127 Den Besten, Hans  31 Déprez, Viviane  217 Desclés, Jean P.  314 Detges, Ulrich  302, 361, 375f Díaz, Norma  175 Dijkhoff, Marta G.  84 Dillard, Joey L.  59 Ditchy, Jay K.  372 Domingue, Nicole  171f, 174 Downing, Laura  1, 142 Dubois, Sylvie  363, 365f, 369 Duncan, Ebenezer  335, 352 Dunn, Joseph  71 Dunn, Richard S.  5f, 11 Dupuis, Francis  307 E Ehrhart, Sabine  241 Eisenberg, Daniel  38 Elbert, Samuel H.  70

Ellis, Cynthia  334 Ellis, Rod  74 Eltis, David  9f, 12f, 15 Enfield, Nicholas J.  50 Essegbey, James  180, 215, 237f, 323 Étienne, Gérard  206 F Fabb, Nigel  316f Faine, Jules  205, 212 Faraclas, Nicholas G.  230, 340 Farquharson, Joseph  20 Fattier, Dominique  302, 361, 368, 371, 373, 376, 378f Fenger, Frederic A.  335 Férère, Gerard A.  206 Ferraz, Luís I.  253f Focke, Hendrik C.  303, 319, 324 Forman, Michael  283 Fournier, Robert  205, 212 Fraser, Adrian  334 Frei, Henri  359, 374 G Gair, James W.  112 Gamiao, Myrna  279 Gass, Susan M.  74 Gbéto, Flavien  145 Geggus, David  5 Gilbert, Glenn G.  185 Goffman, Erving  3 Goldrick, Matt  143 Good, Jeff  84, 155 Goodman, Morris F.  31, 55, 205f, 212, 303 Gordon, Raymond G.J. Jr.  170f Gougenheim, Georges  202 Goury, Laurence  134, 301, 327 Greene, Laurie A.  148 Grevisse, Maurice  374 Grierson  172 Grijzenhout, Janet  147 Guilbeau, John  362, 369, 373 Gultiano-Destua, Maritoni  279 Guy, Richard  19 H Haabo, Vinije  167 Haase, Albert  370 Haedo, Diego de  29, 33, 34–40, 43–46, 53

Halle, Morris  169, 346 Handem, Diana L.  264 Harris, Alice C.  316 Hart, Richard  18 Haspelmath, Martin  103, 186, 225, 230–33, 236, 249 Hawkins, Emily A.  65, 70 Hayes, Bruce  147 Hazaël-Massieux, Guy  180 Hazoumê, Marc Laurent  212 Hees  37, 46 Heine, Bernd  319, 325f, 360, 378 Helms-Park, Rena  74 Henri, Fabiola  169, 171, 175, 181 Herlein, J.D.  124, 128f, 132–34, 140, 142, 303 Hermann, Tanja  64 Hess, Susan  143 Heuman, Gad  1 Highfield, Arnold R.  368, 372, 374 Hilaire, Jeannot  201 Himmelmann, Nikolaus  284 Holm, John A.  73, 83f, 107, 110, 263, 275, 277 Hoogbergen, Wim  307 Hookoomsing, Vinesh Y.  171, 173 Howard, Elizabeth S.  335f Howard, Richard A.  335f Huber, Magnus  249 Huddleston, Rodney D.  347f Hulk, Aafke  217 Hume, Elizabeth  127, 136, 138 Huttar, George L.  21, 47, 202, 307, 311 I Idjilani, Nur-Ainie  279 Issur, Kumari  175 Italiaander, Rolf  36, 40 J Jackendoff, Ray  238f Jaeggli, Osvaldo A.  217 Jennings, William  165 Jensen, De L.  33 Johnson, Kyle  217 Jondoh, Edina  317, 318 Joseph, Brian  316 Joseph, Frantz  205f Jourdan, Christine  29f, 47f, 51f, 56

Personal name index  K Kaapu, Myrtle K.  62 Kager, René  135 Kahane, Henry  45 Kahane, Renee  45 Kasper, Gabriele  74 Kaufman, Terrence  31, 86, 108, 110–12, 176, 276, 301, 314, 328, 378 Kearns, Yokanaan  64, 68, 71 Keesing, Roger M.  31, 44, 202f Kerswill, Paul  360 Kihm, Alain  84f, 102, 118, 268 King, Ruth  363f, 367, 372 Kinyalolo, K.K.W.  214 Klein, Thomas  146, 149 Klein, Wolfgang  86, 106, 108–10, 112f, 117 Klooster, Wim  11, 13 Koch, Peter  371 Kolboom, Ingo  362 Koontz-Garboden, Andrew  83, 86f, 96, 98, 100–02, 108, 113, 115, 117 Koopman, Hilda  202, 216, 373–75 Kopytoff, Barbara  15 Kouwenberg, Silvia  1f, 6f, 13, 20, 24, 84, 155 Krämer, Martin  143 Kramp, André A.  303, 315, 322, 324f Kriegel, Sibylle  169, 175f, 181, 302 Kuteva, Tania  249, 319, 325f, 360, 378 L Labat, Jean-Baptiste  333f LaCharité, Darlene  24 Lalla, Barbara  22 Lang, Jürgen  281f, 293–96, 350 Lappe, Sabine  128 Larson, Richard  207 Law, Paul  42f, 217, 263 Lawrence, Helen  64 Le Page, Robert B.  16f, 20, 49, 146, 336, 340, 346 Leclerc, Jacques  170 Leeman, Danielle  266f Lefebvre, Claire  31, 49, 197, 198–202, 204–18, 302, 311f, 368, 371, 374–76

Léglise, Isabelle  302 Lehmann, Christian  178, 238f Levin, Beth  342 Lieber, Rochelle  342, 349 Lionnet, Guy  226 Lipski, John  280, 283 Lombardi, Linda  127, 143 Loranger, Virginie  202, 208f, 312 Ludwig, Ralph  169, 171, 175, 179, 181 Luís, Ana R.  83f Lum, Darrell H.Y.  63, 68, 70, 73 Lumsden, John S.  200, 202, 205f, 214, 217f Lyons, Christopher  207 M Manessy, Gabriel  378 Mann, Roberto  362 Manning, Patrick  1, 4f, 21 Marchand, Hans  343 Markey, Thomas L.  47 Marott  54 Marquese, Rafael de B.  166 Masica, Colin P.  111 Massam, Diane  205 Massignon, Geneviève  360 Masuda, Barry  68 Mather, Patrick-André  367, 369, 371, 379 Matthews, Peter H.  84, 89, 115 Matthews, Stephen  65, 67, 69, 73, 76 Maurer, Philippe  161, 249, 253f Mazo, Precious  279 McCarthy, John J.  123, 135 McWhorter, John H.  100, 118, 209, 337, 353 Meade, Shelly A.  169 Mesthrie, Rajend  171–74, 178, 187f Meyerhoff, Miriam  225 Michaelis, Susanne  83, 176, 178, 180, 197, 225, 230f, 233, 238, 241, 245, 249, 277, 301f, 333, 357, 375 Migge, Bettina M.  2, 141f, 202, 213, 301–03, 306, 308, 310–14, 317–19, 323, 325–27 Mira Mateus, Maria H.  266f, 272

Montbrand, Danièle  179, 181 Moreau, Jean-Pierre  333f Morgan, Kenneth  5, 18f Motapanyane, Virginia  369 Mougeon, Raymond  358f, 364, 371 Mufwene, Salikoko S.  1f, 7, 22f, 29f, 49, 51f, 56, 59, 78, 200, 205, 214, 357, 359, 379 Mühlhäusler, Peter  43, 146 Muusse, Esther  43, 45, 50f Muysken, Pieter C.  199, 202, 207, 217f, 371 N Nadasdi, Terry  369f Naro, Anthony  263 Nassy, Cohen  166 Neerputh, Naving C.  170–74, 177 Neto, Adriano  253 Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid  357f, 362, 365, 371–73, 379 Ngonyani, Deo  232, 246 Nwulia, Moses  226 Nyrop, Kristoffer  370 O O’Malley, Greg  1, 11 Odlin, Terence  67 Odo, Carol  63 Olufs, Hark  36–38, 40, 54 Ormsby, John  35 Osborne, F.J.  11 P Pak, Gary  63f, 68 Pallaud, Berthille  186 Palmer, Colin  11 Pananti, Filippo  35, 37, 41f, 44, 46 Papen, Robert A.  370 Parkvall, Mikael  76, 248 Patrick, Peter L.  1, 146f Patterson, Orlando  7, 18 Pelleprat, Pierre  334 Perdue, Clive  86, 106, 108–10, 112f, 117 Perl, Matthias  303, 315f, 319, 321f, 324f Perrot, Marie-Ève  364 Pfänder, Stefan  175, 302

  Personal name index Plag, Ingo  83f, 86, 100, 107–09, 111f, 123f, 128f, 134f, 141f, 144, 146, 148f, 248, 337, 339, 341, 343, 348, 379 Platt, John  69 Plummer, Nicole  1 Poiret  37, 47 Pollock, Jean-Yves  217 Postma, Johannes  12–14 Poullet, Hector  179, 181 Prescod, Paula  225, 333f, 342 Prévost, Philippe  108 Price, Richard  154, 163 Prince, Alan  123, 135 Prista, Alexander da R.  70f Pukui, Mary K.  70 Pulleyblank, Douglas  143 Pullum, Geoffrey K.  347f Pye, Michael  277 Q Quirk, Randolph  341f, 347 R Ralston, Lenore  335 Ramnah, Amarnath  170, 172–75, 177 Rappaport, Malka  342 Regnault, Elias  335 Rehbinder, J. von  34, 37, 40f, 44, 46f Reinecke, John E.  60, 70 Renaudot  37, 46 Rens, Lucien  303 Rheinheimer, Martin  36, 38, 40, 53f Riegel, Martin  370 Riego de Dios, Maria I.O.  280, 283 Riemer, Johann A.  303, 305, 325f Ritter, Elizabeth  205 Roberge, Yves  217 Roberts, Julian M.  60 Roberts, Peter  340 Roberts, Sarah J.  60–62, 73, 75, 77 Robertson, Ian E.  2, 214 Robertson, James  1 Rochefort, Charles de  333 Romaine, Suzanne  146 Rosalie, Marcel  228, 231, 238, 242, 243–45, 247 Rose, Fulke  19

Rose, Sharon  142f Rose, Yvan  127 Rottet, Kevin J.  362f, 365–68, 370, 373–75 Rubino, Carl  279, 282, 284 S Sacerdoti  54 Sakoda, Kent  65, 68, 70, 72 Sanders, Gerald  348 Scantamburlo, Luigi  273 Schang, Emmanuel  254 Schramm, Mareile  134, 146, 148f Schuchardt, Hugo  35, 45, 47, 49, 51, 96, 98, 117, 275, 303, 322 Schuler, Monica  18 Schumann, Christian L.  124, 128, 130–33, 135, 140, 142, 145f, 157f, 164, 303, 305, 315, 322, 324–26 Segal, Gabriel  207 Segurola, R.P.B.  206 Selbach, Rachel  29 Sells, Pamela  296 Serrano, Bartolomé  37, 48 Seuren, Pieter  337 Sewtohul, Goswami K.  177 Shaw  37 Shephard, Charles  334f Sheridan, Richard B.  11 Shinohara, Shigeko  147–49 Shukla, Shaligram  171, 173, 177, 188 Siegel, Jeff  49, 59, 60, 67, 68, 70–74, 76–78, 83, 86, 107–09, 111, 112, 117, 237, 302, 323 Siewierska, Anna  367 Singler, John V.  7, 79, 112f, 201 Sloane, Hans  5 Smith, Ian  83, 112f Smith, Jane S.  362 Smith, Jennifer  64 Smith, Norval  2f, 6f, 13, 29–31, 51f, 125, 127f, 134, 153–157, 163, 165, 167, 202, 213, 306, 341 Smolensky, Paul  123, 135, 147 Snader, Joe  35f Song, Jae J.  15, 64f, 372 Spencer, Andrew  84, 103 Stäbler, Cynthia  362, 368f, 372f

Stassen, Leon  246 Steele, Jeffrey  198 Steinkrüger, Patrick  84 Stewart, Robert P.  1, 7–12, 18, 23 Stump, Gregory T.  85, 115f Swartenbroeckx, Pierre  261 Swolkien, Dominika  277 Syea, Anand  368 Sylvain, Suzanne  205f T Tabouret-Keller, Andrée  49, 336 Tagliamonte, Sali  64 Talmy, Leonard  178 Tamayo  37, 46 Tardo, Day  279 Taylor, Douglas  334 Taylor, John  5 Telchid, Sylviane  179, 181 Tesar, Bruce  147 Therrien, Isabelle  49, 197 Thogmartin, Clyde  369 Thomason, Sarah  31, 45, 47, 86, 108, 110–12, 176, 276, 301, 314, 328, 337, 353, 378 Thornton, John  3–5, 166 Thurot, Charles  365 Tinelli, Henri  148f, 206 Tokimasa, Aiko  70 Tournier, Jean  347 Toussaint, Auguste  172 Trubetzkoy, Nikolai S.  194 U Uffmann, Christian  123, 127–30, 132, 134–36, 139–45, 150 V Vaillant  37 Valdman, Albert  202, 205f, 211f, 218, 362 van de Vate, Marleen  155 van den Berg, Margot  302f, 315, 319, 343 van Dyk, Pieter  124, 128–30, 132f, 135, 140, 142, 145, 303, 305, 315f, 319, 321f, 324f van Rooij, Bertus  147 Vaughan, Megan  172 Veenstra, Tonjes  75, 84, 86, 107, 109f

Personal name index  Velanti, Frank  307 Veloso, Glenn  279 Véronique, Daniel  372–376 Verrips, Maaike  371 Vincent, D.  212, 333, 334–36 Virahsawmy, Dev  182, 185 von Wartburg, Walter  357 Voorhoeve, Jan  202, 349 W Wakama, Carol  155 Wälchli, Bernhard  241 Walker, Rachel  142f Wangui, Alice  228, 235, 242f, 247

Warren, James F.  280 Weber, Heidi  69 Wekker, Herman  337 Westermann, Diedrich  205 Whinnom, Keith  32, 45, 51, 280 White, Lydia  6, 108, 305, 327, 336 Wiesmath, Raphaële  362f, 372 Williams, Eric E.  335 Williamson, Kay  2, 155 Willis, R.C.  71 Wilner, John  124f, 132f, 140 Wilson, William A.A.  269f, 273

Winford, Donald  308, 310–12, 314, 317, 320, 326f Wolf, John B.  33f, 36 Woodward, Herbert W.  229 Worcester, Dean C.  280 Wullschlägel, H.R.  135 Y Yip, Virginia  65, 67, 69, 73, 76 Youssef, Valerie  67 Yussuf, Sidi  42 Z Zahedieh, Nuala  6, 11–13 Zúñiga, Fernando  241

language index

The Language index, the Place and peoples index, and the Subject index have been compiled by Sergej A. Krylov (Moscow).1 These indexes are organized on nesting principles. The nest heading is marked bold. Its repetition in the initial position of the entry is indicated by the symbol ~. The symbol #  denotes that the nest heading term fulfills a non-heading (subordinate) position in the corresponding NP, and that the term following #  plays the heading role in the corresponding NP. The symbol * indicates repetition of the nest heading in a non-initial position in the NP. A Acadian French  357, 358, 362n, 368n, 371, 372, 381‑382 ~ French # data base  364 ~ ~ influence on *  364 ~ ~ investigation  357 ~ ~ periphrases, verbal  372 ~ ~ preposition  372 ~ ~ pronominal forms  364 ~ ~ pronouns  365n, 366 ~ ~ pronouns, object  368, 370 ~ ~ varieties  357, 362, 363, 368, 370, 372, 375 Acadians # language of *  362n African continuities  21, 25 ~ etyma  47n ~ etymologies  20 ~ languages  5, 278 Afro-American  24 ~ language varieties  24, 26, 57, 222 Afroportuguese Creole  168, 261 Aja  310, 313n, 323 Aja-Ewé  219

Ajagbe  212, 310, 313n, 314, 321 Akan # elements, non-*  15, 20 Aluku  153, 306, 307, 316 Aluku # contacts  307n ~ lexical Africanisms  21n Amerindian # etyma in Ndyuka  47n Anexo  313n Antillean Creole  176n Antillean Creole # constructions, serial  193 ~ ~ prepositions  193 Arab-French # list  42 Arabic xiv  38-40, 42-44, 46–48, 51n, 53, 54n, 201 Arabic # borrowings  48 ~ forms  48 ~ items  45, 48 ~ numbers  48 ~ speakers  49 ~ terms  47 ~ terms, derived  48 ~ words  41, 42, 44, 47, 48 Arabic, proper  53 ~ Maghreb  43n Arabic-derived # vocabulary  48

Arawak  334 Arawakan # morphemes, grammatical  334 Atlantic creoles  27, 79, 82, 168, 222, 233, 234, 241, 246, 329, 333 ~ creoles, Englishlexifier  146 ~ languages  xv, 201, 264, 276, 263 Austronesian contact languages  285, 289 ~ language area  xvi, 279 ~ languages  281 ~ linguistics  298 Austronesian, western  298 B Bakra  305, 328 ~ Tongo  134, 326, 327, 328 Balanta  xv, 263, 264, 268, 271, 274‑276, 278 Balanta # adjectives  264, 273, 276 ~ concord  269 ~ demonstrative  275 ~ determiners  264, 269, 270

1.  In compiling these indexes, Sergej A. Krylov used the STARLing software created by the late Prof. Sergej A. Starostin (Moscow) and he uses this opportunity to express his deep gratitude to him.

 Language index ~ noun phrase  263, 265, 275 ~ nouns  270, 271, 273, 276 ~ prefix  264 ~ prefixes  271 ~ pronouns  273-6 ~ word formation  276 Bambara  20, 241 Bantu # studies  251 ~ substrate  xv, 246, 247 Bantu, Eastern  228, 229, 241, 244, 248 Bantu, Eastern # patterns  226 ~ ~ substrate  xv, 225, 236, 237, 242, 247 Bantu, West Central  155 Batticaloa Creole Portuguese  112, 112n, 113, 113n Belizean Creole  148, 151 Benue-Congo  201 Berber  39, 43n, 49 Berber # speakers  43, 44 Berber languages  53 Berbice Dutch  23, 25, 27, 155, 167, 214, 222 Bhojpuri  169, 170–172, 174–177, 186–190, 193–196 Bhojpuri # ~ ablative markers  187 ~ allative markers  187 ~ contacts  v, 169, 174, 176, 194, 195 ~ influence of *  xv, 169, 176, 176n, 193 ~ influence on *  174, 180, 192 ~ influence on Creole  169, 175, 187, 189, 191 ~ interference  189 ~ items  175 ~ lexical items  175n ~ lexical traces on Creole  175 ~ numerals  176n ~ particles  187, 193 ~ reduplication  176n ~ role  170 ~ speakers  170, 172, 187, 189 ~ speakers, non-*  194 ~ spoken register  170 ~ traces  175, 176n ~ varieties  171, 173, 178, 187 ~ verbal system  177, 196 ~ words  175 Bhojpuri, ~ as an adstrate  xv

Bhojpuri, Continental  174n Bhojpuri, Indian  172, 173, 187n, 188 Bhojpuri, Indian # adjective  172 ~ ~ agreement  172 ~ ~ forms  177n ~ ~ person  173 ~ ~ postpositions  187 ~ ~ varieties  172 Bhojpuri, Mauritian  172–7, 188‑90, 194, 195 Bhojpuri, Mauritian # adjectives  172 ~ ~ contacts  182 ~ ~ convergence  178 ~ ~ influence of *  170, 178 ~ ~ influence on *  178 ~ ~ influence on Creole  190 ~ ~ markedness  173 ~ ~ markers  188 ~ ~ nouns  174n ~ ~ person  173 ~ ~ postpositions  187, 189 ~ ~ pronouns  173, 176, 177 ~ ~ speakers  174 ~ ~ transfer of lexemes  174n ~ ~ use of borrowings  174 ~ ~ verb  172 ~ ~ words  174n ~ South African  174n, 178, 187, 188 ~ exported  178 Bhojpuri-Hindi  196 Bhojpuri-influenced # variety  182 Brazilian Portuguese  71n Businenge  302n C Cajun  363‑7, 374, 375 Cajun French  358, 360, 363, 368, 373n, 375, 382, 383 Cantonese  62, 63, 67, 69, 70, 73, 75‑9, 81 Cantonese # acquisition  67 ~ aspect  69 ~ influence of *  69 ~ speakers  78 Cape Verdean Creole  119, 269, 275 Cariban languages  327 Caribbean  368 Caribbean # creoles, French  368

Caribbean Creole languages  24n, 26, 21, 366n Caribbean Creoles, Dutch-/ English-based  214 Caribbean Creoles, Englishbased  209n, 213 Caribbean Creoles, Frenchbased  209n, 214 Caribbean English  353 Caribbean varieties of English  336, 343n, 345, 349‑–51 Catalan  45 Cebuano  279n, 280, 283, 284, 289 Cebuano # particles  281n, 282 ~ verbs  280, 285, 288–290 Central African elements  15n Chavacano  279n, 280, 282, 286, 288, 291, 298 Chavacano, Zamboangueño  vi, xvi, 279, 280, 283, 284 Chinese  62, 67n Chinese, as a substrate  69 ~ languages  69, 70 Chinese Pidgin English  60, 76 Chingoni  251 Chinook Jargon  30 Coromanti (Coromantee)  17, 17n, 18, 21 D Daman Creole Portuguese  84–6, 95–7, 100–02, 105n, 106, 111–15, 117, 298 Daman # Indo-Portuguese creole of *  85 Delaware Pidgin  30 Diu Creole  84 Diu Indo-Portuguese  119, 120 Diu # Indo-Portuguese creoles of *  85 Dju-tongo  163 Djuka  302n Dogbo  313n Dominican Creole  180, 181 Dravidian languages  112n, 172 Dutch  67n, 127, 129, 132, 214, 215, 302n, 303, 305, 324 Dutch # consonants  163 ~ etyma  131, 132 ~ influence on creoles  305, 312, 326, 327

Language index  ~ loans in Saramaccan  163 ~ models  327 ~ origin  125, 132, 155, 324 ~ varieties  163 ~ varieties, L2  305 Dutch, as a first language  305 ~ as a lexifier  233 ~ as a superstrate language  233 Dutch Pernambuco  153, 165, 166 Dutch, Berbice  23, 27, 155, 214, 222 ~ ~ creole  25, 167 Dutch, Standard, West  163 Dutch, Surinamese  329 Dutch-/English-based creoles  214 Dutch-/English-based creoles, Caribbean  214 E Early Surinamese Creole  329, 331 East African # Bantu  225 Edo  xv, 261 Efik  20, 241 English  10, 62, 64, 73n, 80, 125, 154, 155, 160, 161, 208, 209, 213–15, 233, 234, 236n, 239, 240, 280, 283, 303, 313, 333, 337, 338, 341, 344–348, 351, 352 English, as L2  328 ~ as a superstrate  xvi, 65 ~ as an official language  170, 227 ~ creolized  336 ~ dialectal  344 ~ dialects  81, 344 ~ dialects, of Hawai’i  82 ~ in Jamaica  25 ~ in Malaysia  82 ~ in Singapore  82 ~ pidginized  60 ~ present-day  354 ~ spoken  81, 170 ~ written  81, 170 English # ablative  238, 239 ~ adjectives  284 ~ adverbs  68 ~ affixes  333, 352 ~ allative  238, 239 ~ anaphor  215 ~ acquisition  67

~ aspect  312 ~ bases  339 ~ borrowing from *  297 ~ categories, aspectual  78 ~ ~ temporal  312 ~ clause, relative  67 ~ compounds  342, 343 ~ constructions  71, 230, 236, 324 ~ constructions, double-object  233 ~ ~ morphological  338 ~ contacts  360, 376 ~ copula  283 ~ derivatives  338, 341 ~ devoicing  346 ~ dialects  63 ~ dialects, non-standard  66, 77 ~ dictionary  340, 344 ~ etyma  131, 132 ~ formatives  337, 352 ~ formatives, suffixal  338 ~ grammar  354 ~ history  vii ~ holders of *, slave  31 ~ influence of *  21, 312, 364, 367n, 370, 374 ~ inversion  350 ~ lexicon  215 ~ loans from *  283 ~ marker, past  327 ~ ~ perfective  70 ~ modality  313 ~ modifier  214, 337 ~ morphemes  348 ~ morphology derivational  337 ~ nominals  339 ~ noun phrase  215 ~ nouns  340, 347, 348 ~ nouns, deverbal  341 ~ onset in a stressed vowel  160 ~ participle, past  320, 322, 341 ~ patterns  xvi, 249, 374 ~ patterns, phonological  346 ~ phrase, adjectival  72 ~ plurals  341 ~ prepositions  237 ~ Present Perfect  322, 322n ~ pronominal forms  203 ~ pronouns, object  370

~ pronouns, relative  63, 64 ~ relativization  67 ~ role of *  170 ~ sentence  284 ~ sound pattern  353 ~ speakers  44n, 228n, 297, 303, 349 ~ stress  346 ~ structure, argument  342 ~ ~ reduced  304 ~ subject  73 ~ suffixes  338, 340, 344 ~ syllable, stressed  160 ~ ~ unstressed  159 ~ teachers of *  340n ~ tense-marking elements  312 ~ terms  203n ~ time reference  312 ~ TMA system  312, 313 ~ translations  35n, 56, 291 ~ varieties  64, 74, 303, 304, 336, 343n, 350 ~ varieties, L2 327 ~ verb forms  103, 312 ~ verbs  233, 341, 347 ~ verbs, base  341 ~ word formation  336, 353 ~ words  164, 283, 338, 339, 345 English Caribbean  6, 14n, 353 English Caribbean Vincentian Creole  339 English, American  80 English, British, dialects  81 English, Colloquial  69 English, Colloquial, Singapore  69 English, Creole, Hawai’i  82 English, Hawaiian  80 English, Jamaican  20, 25, 150, 353 English, Negro  331 English, Old  222, 340, 345 English, Oxford  340 English, Pidgin, Chinese  60, 76 English, Pidgin, Hawai’i  60 English, Pidgin, Melanesian  44n English, Pidgin, Pacific  60, 76 English, Singapore  80 English, Standard  80, 343, 346 English-based creoles  17, 209n, 213, 215

 Language index ~ ~ # lexicon  215 English-based creoles, Caribbean  209n, 213 English-derived # nouns  155 ~ words  159, 164 European # non-*  47 ~ non-* substrate  225 ~ non-* varieties  352 Ewe  17, 20, 223, 241, 310, 313n Ewe # determiners  213 ~ morphemes  329 ~ object movement  329 ~ reduplication  329 Ewe-Gen-Aja-Fon # dialectology  219 Ewegbe  205, 323 F Fanagalo  30 Fiji  58 Filipinized # variants of terms  286n Filipino languages  62, 281 Finnish  150 Fon  151, 155, 160, 161, 164, 165, 219, 220, 313n, 329 Fon # pronouns  371 ~ varieties  323 Fongbe  201, 206, 208, 214, 221, 310 Fongbe # TMA markers  207 ~ affixes  207 ~ aspect  207 ~ auxiliaries  207 ~ case markers  206 ~ clause structure  205 ~ clauses  208 ~ clitics  217 ~ complementizers  209 ~ complex tenses  207 ~ conjoining tensed clauses  208 ~ conjunctions  207 ~ constructions, coordinating  221 ~ deictic terms  206 ~ demonstratives  204 ~ determiners  204–6, 212, 213 ~ functional categories  204 ~ lexical entries  199 ~ marker, habitual  207n ~ markers  207, 209 ~ mood  207, 209

~ morphemes  207 ~ nominal structure  204, 205, 219 ~ nouns  204 ~ null subject  217 ~ plural marker  204 ~ possessor  204 ~ prepositions  209 ~ pronouns  202, 219 ~ self-anaphor  214 ~ syntax  219 ~ tense  207 ~ terms  206, 212 ~ time markers  312n ~ verbs  207, 215 ~ vowel harmony  145 ~ wh-phrases  211 ~ wh-words  210, 211 Fongbe vs. French  xv, 198n, 217n, 219 ~ ~ Haitian  204, 205 hablar franco  38, 39 Franconian  xvi French  39, 40, 44, 45, 47, 170, 176–8, 186, 190–92, 199, 202, 204, 206, 208‑3, 215, 215n, 227–29, 232, 237–39, 241, 245–47, 302n, 336, 358‑369, 378, 380, 383, 229 French # ablative  193, 238, 239 ~ ~ markers  xv, 238, 241, 242, 244 ~ ablative-marking  238, 242, 243 ~ acquisition of *  367n ~ adjectives, possessive  211, 212 ~ adstrate  192 ~ affixes  207 ~ agent marker  246n ~ allative  238 ~ as an adstrate  187 ~ as a null-subject language  217 ~ as a L2  110n, 369n, 371n ~ as a lexifier  186, 233 ~ as a donor language  39 ~ as a native language  361 ~ as a superstrate language  xv, 225, 232, 233, 241, 242 ~ auxiliaries  207 ~ clitics  217n ~ concord, negative  220 ~ conjoining NPs  208

~ ~ clauses  208 ~ conjunctions  207, 245 ~ construction types  239 ~ construction, double-object  232 ~ constructions  236, 241 ~ constructions, ditransitive  235 ~ ~ prepositional  235 ~ creolistics  357 ~ creolists  358 ~ deictic terms  205 ~ determiners  204, 206, 212, 213 ~ determiners, possessive  206 ~ diachronic linguistics  358 ~ grammar  357, 359 ~ influence of *  186, 187, 193, 336 ~ input  358, 361, 370 ~ lexical entries  199 ~ lexicon  215 ~ morphosyntax  361 ~ nominal structures  204 ~ noun  204 ~ numerals  229 ~ orthography  48 ~ past  336 ~ patois  174n ~ periphrasis  375n ~ person  202 ~ phonology  223 ~ prepositions  179, 182, 186, 235–7, 241, 245, 246, 372n ~ pronominal forms  206 ~ pronoun position  369 ~ pronouns  364, 366 ~ pronouns, disjunctive  273 ~ ~ object  370 ~ ~ possessive  229 ~ relators  245, 247 ~ restructuring  247 ~ sentence  243 ~ simplexes  209‑211 ~ slave holders of *  31 ~ sociolinguistic conditions  377 ~ speakers  201, 228n, 303 ~ speakers, monolingual  363n ~ syntactic patterns  229 ~ syntax  228

Language index  ~ terms, deictic  206 ~ tonic forms  365 ~ transitive/intransitive match  235 ~ varieties  xvi  202n, 247, 357–61, 363, 368, 370, 377 ~ varieties, American  360 ~ ~ L2 110n ~ ~ North American  xvi ~ ~ marginal  359n, 377 ~ ~ non-standard  376 ~ verbs  207, 215 ~ vs. Seychelles Creole  239, 240 ~ wh-modifiers  218 ~ wh-words  210 ~ word order  218 ~ words  184, 345 French creoles  xvi, 187, 194, 329, 358–361, 364, 370, 372–378 French creoles # dialects  220 ~ ~ modal markers  373 ~ ~ tense markers  380 French creoles, Indian Ocean  225, 247 French creoles, of the Caribbean  368 French, 17th-/18thcentury  198n ~ 18th-century  363n ~ colloquial  48n, 372 ~ contemporary  186 ~ dialectal  359, 374 ~ dialects  360, 381, 383 ~ in Nova Scotia  363 ~ koineized  366n ~ non-standard  236, 358, 361 ~ of St. Barthélemy  362 ~ popular  213, 365n, 370, 373 ~ spoken  194, 358 ~ spoken at the time of colonization  358, 362 ~ spoken by the colonists  359 ~ spoken in Lafourche Parish, Louisiana  381 ~ spoken in the New England States  362 ~ vernacular  361

French, Acadian  357, 358, 362–6, 368n, 368, 370‑372, 375, 382, 357 French, Cajun  358, 360, 363, 368, 373n, 375, 382, 383 French, Caribbean  222 French, Creole  107 French, Creole, Mauritian  84 French, Haitian  148, 220 French, Louisiana  363, 373, 382 French, Missouri  358, 368 French, New World  376 French, Newfoundland  381 French, North American  vi, xvi, 357–359, 361–364, 366, 370, 376, 378n, 379 French, Old  374 French, Prince Edward Island  372n, 381 French, Standard  246, 368, 371 French-based creoles  17, 110n, 176, 209n, 214, 215, 248, 250 French-lexified Creoles  119, 176n, 181, 178 French-like patterns  237 French-related creoles  80 Frenches, marginal  357, 358, 362, 366, 369, 376 ~ non-standard  377 Fulani  20, 345 G Galibi  334 Gaulish  xvi Gbe  2, 20, 21, 26, 141, 142, 150, 151, 205, 220, 222, 302, 303, 304, 311n, 317, 318, 321, 327, 329 Gbe # codas  141, 142 ~ construction, progressive  317 ~ continuum  302 ~ counterfactuality  321 ~ definite determiner  213 ~ dialects  201, 212 ~ habitual and generic meanings  318 ~ markers  321 ~ modality  311 ~ past  322 ~ ~ marking  321 ~ speakers  2n, 21, 142, 145, 201, 215, 304

~ syllable  141 ~ ~ structure  141 ~ TMA  307, 311–13, 327 ~ varieties  xvi, 301‑04, 311‑314, 316, 321, 323‑25, 327 ~ verbs  219, 315-17, 325 ~ vowel harmony  145 ~ vowels  141, 143 Gbe languages  2n, 17, 160, 161, 165, 195, 200n, 213, 214, 250, 310, 317, 322n ~ lects  2, 142, 143 Gbe, as a substrate language  141, 214 Gen  310, 313n, 323, 329, 310 Gengbe  150, 212, 310, 313n, 315, 316, 318, 330 Genoese  45 German  40, 47, 67n, 303 Germanic # invaders  357n ~ lexifier  233 ~ superstrate  233 Germanic languages  53 Guadeloupean Creole  180, 181, 187, 195, 219 Guadeloupean Creole # constructions, serial  181 ~ ~ prepositions  181, 193 Guinea-Bissau African languages  277 Guinea-Bissau Creole Portuguese (//Guinea-Bissau CP)  119, 263‑65, 268, 270‑8 Guinea-Bissau CP # adjectives  264, 272, 276 ~ ~ adstrate  xv, 263 ~ ~ adstrate languages of *  264 ~ ~ articles  268, 276 ~ ~ demonstratives  270 ~ ~ determiners  268, 269, 275 ~ ~ development  276 ~ ~ formation  276 ~ ~ gender  276 ~ ~ inflection  271 ~ ~ influence from adstrate  263 ~ ~ influence from substrate  263 ~ ~ modifiers  271 ~ ~ noun phrase  vi, xv, 263, 265, 271, 275

 Language index ~ ~ nouns  271, 276, 277 ~ ~ number distinction  277 ~ ~ oppositions, phonemic  264 ~ ~ phonology  264 ~ ~ plural  275 ~ ~ pronouns  271, 273–6 ~ ~ substrate  263, 276 ~ ~ substrate influence  276n, 277 ~ ~ substrate languages of *  264 ~ ~ syntax  263 ~ ~ word formation  276 Guinea-Bissau CP, standard  264 Guinean  278 Gujarati  112 Gujarati # suffixes  111 ~ verb forms  116 ~ verbs  111, 115–18 Gullah  214, 222 Gun  329 Gungbe  212, 317 Gur  201 Guyanese Creole  176n, 195 H Haitian Creole  23, 148, 176n, 199, 201, 202, 205–07, 209n, 210, 211, 213, 219, 220, 373–5, 382 Haitian Creole # NPs  208 ~ ~ accentual system  150 ~ ~ acquisition  220–2, 330 ~ ~ adjectives  212 ~ ~ case markers  206 ~ ~ clitics  217 ~ ~ clusters  149 ~ ~ compounds, nominal  209 ~ ~ conjoining NPs  208 ~ ~ conjoining clauses  208 ~ ~ conjunctions  207, 208, 375 ~ ~ constructions, coordinating  221 ~ ~ constructions, serial, instrumental  220 ~ ~ corpus  195 ~ ~ demonstrative  204 ~ ~ determiner, definite  204, 205, 212

~ ~ determiners  206, 212–14, 218, 221 ~ ~ determiners, possessive  368 ~ ~ dialectology  380 ~ ~ dictionary  223 ~ ~ emphasis  215n ~ ~ form classes  220 ~ ~ forms  202 ~ ~ forms, pronominal  368 ~ ~ functional categories  204, 216 ~ ~ genesis  220–2, 330, 368 ~ ~ grammar  220, 221, 330 ~ ~ grammaticalization  381 ~ ~ lexical entries  212 ~ ~ marker, plural  204, 205 ~ ~ markers  207n ~ ~ morphemes  207 ~ ~ morphology  380 ~ ~ nominal structure  204 ~ ~ nouns  199, 204 ~ ~ person  202, 202n, 368 ~ ~ phonology  223 ~ ~ phrase  211n ~ ~ plural  202, 368 ~ ~ plural markers  204, 205 ~ ~ possessor  204 ~ ~ pronominal system  368n ~ ~ pronouns  202, 212, 367 ~ ~ pronouns, object  380 ~ ~ pronouns, personal  202 ~ ~ pronouns, subject  368 ~ ~ relexification  221 ~ ~ self-anaphor  214n, 216 ~ ~ sound system  220 ~ ~ speakers  206n ~ ~ structure, nominal  204, 205, 222 ~ ~ subject  217 ~ ~ substrate  168, 368 ~ ~ substrate languages  206n ~ ~ substrates  xv, 198n, 213 ~ ~ superstrate  368 ~ ~ superstrate features  218 ~ ~ syntax  220, 221, 380 ~ ~ TMA markers  207 ~ ~ TMA system  221, 330 ~ ~ tenses, complex  207 ~ ~ terms  206

~ ~ terms, deictic  206 ~ ~ terms, demonstrative  221 ~ ~ verbs  215 ~ ~ wh-phrases  210, 211, 218 ~ ~ wh-words  210, 211 ~ ~ word order  218 Haitian Creole, vs. Fongbe  xv, 198n, 204‑208, 210‑212, 220 ~ ~ vs. French  xv, 198n, 204, 206–08, 212, 218, 361n, 375n, 198n ~ ~ vs. Gbe  201, 205 ~ ~ vs. Niger-Congo  201 ~ ~ vs. Saramaccan  214, 222 Haitian Creole, old  366 Hawai’i Creole  v, xiv, 58–60, 62-68, 70-79 Hawai’i Creole # adjectival phrase  72 ~ ~ adjective markers  74 ~ ~ adjectives  72 ~ ~ articles  72 ~ ~ clausal complements  73 ~ ~ complementizers  73, 74 ~ ~ constructions  73 ~ ~ copula  70 ~ ~ determiners  64 ~ ~ existentials  72, 74, 76 ~ ~ gapping  64 ~ ~ grammar  63 ~ ~ marker, locative  77 ~ ~ morphosyntax  59 ~ ~ negators  72 ~ ~ origins  60 ~ ~ perfect aspect  68, 71 ~ ~ perfect markers  70, 79 ~ ~ possessives  72, 74, 76 ~ ~ preverbal particles  78 ~ ~ progressive markers  75 ~ ~ relative clause  64–67 ~ ~ relative pronouns  63 ~ ~ relativization  63, 67, 79 ~ ~ speakers  61 ~ ~ speakers, first  62 ~ ~ speakers, monolingual  62 ~ ~ speakers, original  62 ~ ~ structure, grammatical  60 ~ ~ SVO  67n ~ ~ VO  65

Language index  Hawai’i Creole English # emergence  82 Hawai’i Creole English # substrate influence  82 Hawai’i Pidgin English (// HPE)  60-63, 75, 76 HPE # lexical items  70 ~ markers  78 ~ speakers  61, 62, 75, 76 ~ as the first language  61 ~ as the primary language  61 ~ vs. Hawaiian  62 Hawaiian  60, 62, 63, 65-68, 70, 72, 75, 77-82 Hawaiian # articles  72 ~ aspect  70 ~ determiners  66 ~ influence of *  66, 72 ~ relative clause  65 ~ sentence  81 ~ words  70 Hawaiian English  80 Hawaiian English # TMA system  82 ~ ~ genesis  82 ~ ~ nativization  82 Hawaiian, Pidgin  60 Hebrew  53 Hiligaynon  280 Hindi  109, 171, 174, 176n, 189, 195 Hindustani  174 Hiri Motu  30 I Iberian  45 Ibero-Romance creoles  280 Igbo  20 Igneri  334 Ijo  27, 222, 241 Ijo, Eastern  2 Ijoid  201 Ilocano  61, 78, 298 Indian Bhojpuri  172, 173, 177n, 187, 188 Indian Ocean French creoles  247 Indian Ocean creoles  85n, 194, 225, 233, 234, 241, 250, 366, 367 Indian languages  171 Indic languages  171n

Indo-Aryan  xv, 112n, 119, 120, 169‑171, 175, 195 Indo-Mauritian # speakers  193 Indo-Mauritian Creole  191, 193 Indo-Portuguese  88n, 97 Indo-Portuguese creoles  83, 95, 99–113, 118–20 Indo-Portuguese creoles # affixes  84, 100, 107, 109, 112 ~ ~ allomorphs  85, 97, 118 ~ ~ allomorphy  111 ~ ~ alternations  118 ~ ~ conjugation  97, 100, 105, 114, 118 ~ ~ context, sociohistorical  87n ~ ~ context, sociolinguistic  87n ~ ~ genesis  86 ~ ~ grammar  108n ~ ~ homophony  105 ~ ~ inflection  83, 85–8, 95, 96, 98–100, 107, 109, 110, 117, 118 ~ ~ markers  104 ~ ~ morphology  v, xiv, 83, 111, 112 ~ ~ paradigms  83–86, 95, 99, 103, 105, 113, 117, 118 ~ ~ roots  102 ~ ~ speakers  86 ~ ~ stems  97, 102, 105, 111, 118 ~ ~ suffixes  95, 97, 99, 103, 107, 111–13, 118 ~ ~ survival  88n ~ ~ theme vowels  96, 97, 102–105, 118 ~ ~ verb forms  97 ~ ~ verbal template  99 ~ ~ verbs  97, 112 Indonesian creoles  233 Irish  336 Island Carib  334, 335 Isle de France Creole  194, 195 Italian  34, 38–45, 50 Italian # Arabisms in *  48 ~ dialects  41, 45n ~ numerals  48 ~ terms  48

Italian-lexified # language  45n J Jamaica # patois in *  26 Jamaica Talk  25 Jamaican Creole  v, 1, 6, 21, 23, 24, 26, 146 Jamaican Creole # clusters  146 ~ ~ coda  146 ~ ~ formation  13n ~ ~ forms, consonant-final  21 ~ ~ forms, vowel-final  22 ~ ~ grammar  23 ~ ~ influence of *  341 ~ ~ influence on *  22 ~ ~ lexicon  19n, 22 ~ ~ reduction  146 ~ ~ sibilants  146 ~ ~ stops  146 ~ ~ substrate for *  1, 3 ~ ~ substrates  3, 23 ~ ~ words  20 Jamaican Creole, early  6 ~ ~ in the late  17th century  7n ~ ~ modern  22 ~ ~ urban  151 Jamaican English # dictionary  20, 25, 150, 353 Jamaican Maroon language  21, 24, 167 Jamaican language  10, 16, 20 Japanese  62, 78 Japanese # syntax  81 K Kikongo (// Kongo)  xv, 2, 141, 142, 155, 161, 162, 164, 261, 303, 304, 311n Kikongo (// Kongo) # clusters  142 ~ codas  141 ~ consonants  141, 161 ~ contacts  167 ~ dictionary  261 ~ speakers  142, 145 ~ syllable  141, 142 ~ tones  261 ~ varieties  304, 327 ~ vocabulary  161 ~ vowel harmony  143, 144 ~ vowels  143

 Language index Kikongo-dominated  xv, 153, 163 Kikongo/Kimbundudominated  163, 165 Kikuyu  228n Kimbundu  20, 161, 162, 165 Kimbundu # contacts  167 ~ items  162 ~ vocabulary  161 Kimbundu-dominated # social context  153, 163 ~ substrate  xv Kirikeni-Igbonaye  155 Kishikongo  161 Kongo (// Kikongo)  150, 167 Kongo (// Kikongo) # forms  21n Korlai # Indo-Portuguese creole of *, 85 Korlai Creole Portuguese  84–6, 95–7, 101, 105n, 106, 111–15, 117, 119 Kreol seselwa (Seychelles Creole)  227 Krio  155 Kriyol  102 Kriyol # syntax  278 Kromanti (Coromanti)  15, 21, 22 Kwa  2, 151, 201, 305 Kwaio  203 Kwinti  153, 306 L Latin  45, 83, 87–90, 92, 95, 117, 357n Latin # conjugation  90 ~ stems  90n ~ verbs  90 Lesser Antillean Creole  180, 181 Lesser Antillean Creole # expressing directionality  181 Lesser Antillean Creole # prepositions  181 Lesser Antillean Creole # verb constructions, serial  180 Lingua Franca  v, xiv, 29, 30, 32, 34‑38, 40‑51, 52–4, 56–8, 263, 279, 280, 306 Lingua Franca, nonBarbary  35n

Louisiana Cajun French  358, 364 Louisiana Creole  176n, 218, 363n, 372–4 Louisiana French  363, 373, 382 M Magadhan group  171n Magahi  171, 172 Maghreb Arabic  43n Makonde  228 Makua  228, 229, 251 Malagasy  176n, 248n, 367 Mandarin  69 Mandarin # particles  69 Mande  201 Mande # non-* languages  269 Mandinka (Mandingo)  15n, 20, 205, 264 Marathi  112, 114 Marathi # suffixes  111 ~ verb forms  114, 116 ~ verbs  111, 114–18 Maroon Creole, Western  153 Maroon Creoles, Eastern  153, 307, 316, 330 Maroon language  20–22 Martinican Creole  218 Matawai  306 Mauresque  43n mauresque, petit  29, 42, 43 Mauritian # texts, old  xv Mauritian Bhojpuri  172, 177, 195 Mauritian Bhojpuri # adjectives  172 ~ ~ borrowings in *  174 ~ ~ contacts  182 ~ ~ convergence  178 ~ ~ forms  173 ~ ~ influence of *  190 ~ ~ influence on creoles  170 ~ ~ influence, reciprocal  178 ~ ~ interaction  178 ~ ~ markedness  173 ~ ~ markers  188 ~ ~ nouns  174n ~ ~ person  173 ~ ~ postpositions  187, 189 ~ ~ prepositions  193 ~ ~ pronouns  173, 176, 177 ~ ~ registers of *  172 ~ ~ simplification  173n ~ ~ speakers  174

~ ~ words  174n ~ ~ writing  173n Mauritian Bhojpuri, vs. Hindi  174 ~ ~ vs. Indian Bhojpuri  173 ~ ~ vs. Mauritian Creole  194 ~ ~ vs. South African Bhojpuri  174n ~ ~ vs. Urdu  174 ~ ~ modern  172 Mauritian Creole  xiv, xvii, 169, 170, 175–8, 180, 182, 186, 188–90, 194, 372–4 Mauritian Creole # ablative  169, 180, 187, 193 ~ ~ adstrates  xv, 180 ~ ~ allative  180 ~ ~ constructions, serial  181 ~ ~ contacts  v, 169, 174, 182 ~ ~ convergence  178 ~ ~ dictionary  195 ~ ~ directionality  180 ~ ~ distinctions on the sociolectal level  193 ~ ~ forms  176 ~ ~ genitive  195 ~ ~ influence on *  170 ~ ~ influence, reciprocal  178 ~ ~ interaction  178 ~ ~ lexicon  194 ~ ~ markers  181, 182 ~ ~ offshoots  228 ~ ~ person  176 ~ ~ prepositions  179, 182 ~ ~ pronominal system  176 ~ ~ reduplication  176n ~ ~ social functions of *  194 ~ ~ speakers  170, 174n ~ ~ substrate of *  180 ~ ~ substrates  227, 248n ~ ~ texts  196 ~ ~ varieties  180, 189, 228 ~ ~ varieties, IndoMauritian  183, 187, 189, 191, 193 ~ ~ words  175 ~ ~ writing system  195 Mauritian Creole French # argument structure  84, 107 Mauritian Creole, Frenchlexified  170 Mauritian Creole, early  xii ~ ~ stabilized  227

Language index  Mauritian languages  178 Maxi  310, 311n, 323 Maxigbe  310, 312n, 313n, 318 Melanesian # words  47n Melanesian Pidgin  57, 58, 79, 82, 120, 220, 331 Melanesian Pidgin ­English  44n Melanesian creoles  233 Mende  20 Mina  313n Missouri French  358, 368 Missourian # data  369 Mobilian  30 Morisco  43n Mwera  228 N Ndyuka (Ndjuka)  25, 26, 57, 153-155, 202, 222, 302, 306, 308, 316, 318, 323, 329 Ndyuka # etyma, African, in *  47n ~ etyma, Amerindian, in *  47n ~ influence of Portuguese  156 ~ maroon society  6 ~ vocabulary  307 Ndyuka proper  153 Ndyuka-Trio Pidgin  307, 330 Negro English  152 Negro English, Surinam’s  331 Nenge  302n Nengre  135, 305, 327, 328 Nengre # forms  134 Nengre Tongo  134, 135, 326, 328 Newfoundland French  381 Ngoni  228, 232 Ngoni # argument marking  232 ~ class markers  232n ~ constructions  232 ~ passive agent  246n ~ verbs  232 Niger-Congo # syntax  222 Niger-Congo languages  xiv, 1, 2, 24, 26, 201, 276 Nigerian # sources  17 Nigerian Pidgin  230, 250 North American French  vi, xvi, 357, 358, 362, 364, 376, 379

Norwegian  61 O Oceanic  80 Oceanic # substrate  57, 220 Oceanic, Eastern  79 Old English  222 Ontarian French  369, 370, 382 P Pacific Pidgin English  76, 60 Pacific creoles  241 Pamaka  302, 306–08, 314‑317, 320, 321 Pan-Asiatic # linguistics  80 Papiamentu  57, 221 Papiamentu # wordformation  119 Paramacca (n)  302n Paramacca/Paramaka (French/English) 302n Paramaccan  153 Paramaccan (Dutch)  302n Philippine # affixes  285 ~ construction, passive  296 ~ enclitics  283 ~ morphology  284, 297 ~ particles  281, 282 ~ substrate  xvi ~ verbal modes  284, 292n Philippine Creole Spanish  279, 298 Philippine contact languages  282 Philippine languages  280, 283, 285–87, 291, 296, 297n Phla-Phera  313n, 323 Pig Latin  81 Pidgin English, Chinese  60, 76 Pidgin English, Hawai’i  60 Pidgin English, Melanesian  44n Pidgin English, Pacific  60 Pidgin Hawaiian  60, 82, 60 Pidgin, Nigerian  230 Portuguese  38, 39, 44, 45, 62, 63, 70, 71, 73, 75, 77, 78, 80, 82, 83, 88, 91, 96n, 102, 105n, 107, 110n, 111, 115, 153–65, 167, 233, 257, 261, 263, 264, 268, 269, 272–278, 303, 304 Portuguese # NPs  272

~ acquisition  110n ~ adjectives  264, 272, 276 ~ alternations  95 ~ articles  266 ~ conjugation classes  93, 95 ~ constructions  73, 233, 275 ~ contact varieties  86, 118 ~ contacts  167, 253 ~ creoles  164 ~ demonstratives  275 ~ determiners  266, 276 ~ elements  168, 329 ~ gender  271 ~ gerund  97 ~ grammar  80, 82, 119, 278 ~ inflections  88, 271 ~ lexical base  119 ~ ~ elements  155 ~ ~ items  155, 161 ~ linguistics  119, 167, 168 ~ loans  161 ~ masculine vs. feminine  271 ~ models  158, 327 ~ morphological patterns  83 ~ morphology  87 ~ noun phrase structure  263, 265, 275 ~ nouns  270, 271, 276 ~ paradigms  xiv, 91, 99, 100, 111 ~ participle  97 ~ pidgin  119 ~ ~ varieties  110 ~ plural morpheme  277 ~ pronouns  273, 274, 276 ~ stems  117 ~ syntax  263 ~ theme vowels  92, 96, 102, 115 ~ verbs  70, 71, 316 ~ words  v, 105n, 153, 156, 157, 162 Portuguese, as a substrate  73, 75, 79 ~ as a superstrate  xiv, xv ~ contemporary  119, 278 ~ standard  110 ~ varieties  154 ~ varieties, L2  110n, 327 ~ ~ non-standard  110 Portuguese, Brazilian  71n Portuguese, Creole  156

 Language index Portuguese, Creole, Batticaloa  112, 113 Portuguese, Creole, Daman  84, 85 Portuguese, Creole, Diu  84 Portuguese, Creole, GuinéBissau vi  263, 268, 275, 272 Portuguese, Creole, Korlai  84 Portuguese, Daman  84, 85 Portuguese, European, colloquial  94n Portuguese, Korlai  119 Portuguese, Sri Lanka  120 Portuguese, Standard  111n, 157 Portuguese-based creoles  84n, 102, 106, 112, 119, 120, 168, 275, 278 Portuguese-derived # etyma  157 ~ items  158 ~ lexical items  158 ~ lexicon  xv, 153 ~ words  156 Portuguese-lexifier # creole  161 Prince Edward Island French  362n, 372n, 379, 381 Principe Island # Afroportugese Creole of *  261 Principense  254n Proto-Sranan  6, 7n Provençal  45 Q Quechua  221, 222 R Reunion Creole  368n Roman # transcription  48 Romance  55, 380 Romance # doublets  45, 48 ~ forms  47 ~ labels  47 ~ languages  xiv, 29, 47, 48, 50, 53, 89, 382, 383 ~ languages, superstrate  233 ~ lexicon  45 ~ lexification  52 ~ lexifier # Lingua Franca  51 ~ ~ creoles  233 ~ lexifiers  44, 45

~ linguistics  xvi, 119, 357n, 380, 382 ~ linguistics, diachronic  357n ~ non-*  47, 48 ~ origins  45 ~ philology  57, 58 ~ pre-koiné  49 ~ scope  53 ~ sources  50 ~ speakers  47, 49 ~ syntax  383 ~ terms  47, 48 ~ terms, derived  48 ~ words  46 Romance lexified Lingua Franca  43 Romance-based Creoles  118 Romance-derived # nouns  46 ~ numbers  48 ~ verbs  45 Romance-lexified # code  45 Romance-lexified languages, contact  32, 51n Réunion Creole  248n S Saamaka (//Saramaccan)  302, 303, 306, 308, 313, 315, 316, 320, 326 Saamaka # aspect, imperfective  310, 316 ~ conjunctive  322 ~ dictionary  325 ~ future markers  325 ~ modality  312 ~ optative  322 ~ time-marking elements  310, 320 Saamaka, Early  321, 322 Sambuwangan  280 Santomense  v, xv, 253, 254, 257, 259, 261 Saramaccan (//Saamaka)  6, 153‑164, 167, 168, 202, 209, 213, 218, 221, 222, 330, 331 Saramaccan # accent  159, 167 ~ complementizer  208, 209 ~ consonants  167 ~ determiners  213, 214, 216, 218 ~ dictionary  168, 303, 331 ~ documents  329, 331

~ etyma  157 ~ formation  164 ~ implosives  168 ~ influence on *  157 ~ lexical entries  209 ~ ~ items  154, 158, 208 ~ lexicon  xv, 153 ~ morphology  119 ~ nasality  168 ~ phonology  xiv, 119, 164, 167 ~ precursors  163 ~ prosodic system  155 ~ prosody  167 ~ records  158 ~ sociohistory  v ~ sociolinguistic situation  154 ~ substrate languages for *  161 ~ texts  303, 329 ~ tone  167 ~ varieties  151 ~ velars  163 ~ vocabulary  153, 160, 161 ~ words  153, 156, 157, 159, 162 ~ words, Europeanderived  155 Saramaccan group  163 Saramaccan, modern  157, 213 Scottish  336 Seychelles Creole  180, 195, 228, 229, 231–9, 241–8, 250, 251, 375, 382 Seychelles Creole # distance  246 ~ ~ path  241, 243 ~ ~ place  241 ~ ~ ablative  238, 239, 241, 243, 244 ~ ~ adstrate languages for *  228 ~ ~ allative  238, 239, 241, 244 ~ ~ arguments  231 ~ ~ construction types  226 ~ ~ constructions  229, 232, 238, 241, 243–7 ~ ~ constructions, ablative  244 ~ ~ constructions, allative  244 ~ ~ constructions, causedpath  242, 244

Language index  ~ ~ constructions, ditransitive  231, 235, 234 ~ ~ constructions, doubleobject  234 ~ ~ constructions, experiencer  234, 235, 237, 244, 248 ~ ~ constructions, experiencer, prepositional  236 ~ ~ constructions, intransitive  236, 242 ~ ~ constructions, path  244 ~ ~ constructions, transitive  235 ~ ~ contacts  226, 244 ~ ~ convergence  229 ~ ~ corpora  228n ~ ~ determiners  218 ~ ~ dictionary  228n ~ ~ ditransitives  231 ~ ~ forms  178 ~ ~ forms, non-finite  375 ~ ~ function, agent, passive  246 ~ ~ grammar  xv, 228n ~ ~ markers  245 ~ ~ noun compounding  237 ~ ~ numerals  229 ~ ~ objects  231 ~ ~ patterns  236–8, 241, 243, 245-7 ~ ~ patterns, transitive  236, 237 ~ ~ predicates, experiencer  237 ~ ~ pronouns  229 ~ ~ relation, ablative vs. allative  180 ~ ~ relators  245, 247 ~ ~ sentence  242 ~ ~ sentence, ungrammatical  242 ~ ~ speakers  228n, 243 ~ ~ stimulus, not marked  235 ~ ~ structures, transitive  237 ~ ~ subordination marker  375 ~ ~ substrate  241 ~ ~ ~ languages for *  228 ~ ~ substrates  234 ~ ~ superstrate  232, 234 ~ ~ syntactic patterns  229

~ ~ syntax  228, 229, 237, 245, 247 ~ ~ unmarked expressions  180 ~ ~ valency patterns  v, 225, 226, 237, xv ~ ~ valency syntax  225 ~ ~ varieties  227, 244 ~ ~ verbs  180, 231n, 241–4 ~ ~ verbs, ditransitive  231n ~ Creole vs. English  239–41 ~ ~ vs. French  235, 239–41, 243–5 ~ ~ vs. Mauritian Creole  178n ~ ~ vs. Swahili  240, 241, 243–5 Seychelles Creole, as official language  227 Singapore English  80 Sinhala  112, 113 Sinitic  69 Solomon Islands Pijin  47n Solomon Pidgin  202, 203 Solomon Pidgin # pronouns  203 ~ ~ pronouns, personal  203 ~ ~ superstrate of *  203 South African Bhojpuri  174n, 178, 187, 188 Spanish  39–47, 50, 125, 222, 283, 286n, 297 Spanish # affixes  285 ~ conditionals  282 ~ constructions  233 ~ copula  281 ~ dictionary  298 ~ lexicon  280 ~ role  283 ~ speakers  283 ~ varieties  303 ~ verbs  288 ~ vocabulary  38 ~ words  39, 41, 44 Spanish contact vernaculars  299 Spanish, Creole  279 Spanish, Creole, Manila  280n Spanish, Creole, Philippine  279, 298 Spanish, Creole, Zamboangueño  297 Sranan  144, 146, 153, 154, 159, 202, 303, 305, 306, 310, 323n, 326, 329

Sranan # aspect  331 ~ changes  124 ~ clusters  124 ~ codas  142 ~ competence in * 306 ~ consonantal assimilation  136 ~ consonants  124, 133 ~ contacts  305 ~ copula  328 ~ corpus  125 ~ deletion vs. epenthesis  124 ~ determiners  329 ~ dictionary  124, 128, 164, 168, 303, 330 ~ dissimilarities between * and its substrate languages  124 ~ documents  329, 331 ~ early  18th century, 355 ~ epenthesis  123–5, 128, 132, 136, 140, 141, 144–6, 149, 151 ~ formation of *  24, 150, 167, 219, 329 ~ harmony  143-146 ~ history  xiv ~ imperfective  316 ~ influence from *  305 ~ influence from Dutch  305 ~ influence of Portuguese  156 ~ influence of Twi  141 ~ influence of substrate  144 ~ influence on *  141 ~ irrealis  331 ~ L2 acquisition  136 ~ lexical forms  134 ~ ~ items in *  155 ~ loanword adaptation  136, 145 ~ modality  327, 331 ~ mood  331 ~ morphology, analytic  145 ~ NoCoda  144 ~ paragoge  125, 132, 133, 151 ~ paragogic vowels  125 ~ phonology  146 ~ phrasebook  128 ~ predication  331 ~ ranking  144 ~ substrate influence  141 ~ substrate influence on *  2

 Language index ~ substrate languages of *  141, 145 ~ syllable structure  141, 142, 146, 151 ~ syllables  141, 149 ~ tense  331 ~ TMA systems  313 ~ time-marking elements  320 ~ use  306 ~ varieties  134, 135, 305 ~ verbs  219 ~ vowel epenthesis  xiv, 123 ~ vowel harmony  xiv, 136, 137, 143–5, 149 ~ vowel system  143 ~ vowels  125, 127, 142 ~ words  125 Sranan Tongo  152, 302, 303, 306, 308, 326, 327 Sranan Tongo # Past timemarking elements  310 Sranan, Early  315, 316, 319, 321, 322, 324-326, 331, 343n Sranan, Early # constructions  325 ~ ~ corpora  124 ~ ~ past time reference  321 ~ ~ sources  134 ~ ~ word formation  119, 353 Sranan, Modern  126, 130–2, 135, 137, 140 Sranan, Modern # corpus  124 ~ ~ epenthesis  124, 133, 140 ~ ~ paragoge  126 ~ ~ rankings  137 ~ ~ vowel epenthesis  124, 132 ~ ~ vowel harmony  127, 130 ~ ~ vowels  142 St. Barthélemy # French of *  358, 362 St. Barthélemy # patois of *  358 Surinamese Creole, early  329, 331 Surinamese creoles  xvi, 2, 6, 13n, 23, 123, 133, 141, 146, 151, 215, 237, 302, 303, 311n, 312, 320, 323, 324, 327, 330 Surinamese creoles # construction, locative  195, 250 Surinamese Dutch  329 Surinamese Maroon creoles  301

Surinamese Plantation creoles  26, 222, 238n, 302n, 312–14, 330, 331 Surinamese Plantation creoles # TMA systems  312 Swahili  228, 232, 235, 240–7 Swahili # ablative  238, 240 ~ allative  238, 240 ~ constructions  235, 242, 245, 247 ~ Grammar  250 ~ markers  240, 241 ~ object, direct  235, 236 ~ speakers  236 Swedish  303 São Tomé # The Creole of *  261 T Tagalog  280, 282, 283, 290n, 298, 284 Tagalog # particles  281n ~ predicate markers  283 ~ speakers  283 Takitaki  302n Tamil  112n, 113, 172 Tausug  279n, 282, 283, 287, 299 Tayo  241, 250 Telugu  172 Tofingbe  212 Tok Pisin  146, 151 Turkish  38–40, 43, 51n, 53, 54n Turkish # items  45, 47 ~ speakers  43, 49 Turkish, as a superstrate language  xiv Turkish-derived # vocabulary  48 Twi  141–3, 241, 305 Twi # codas  141 ~ influence of * 141 ~ phonology  145 ~ speakers  141, 142, 145 ~ syllable structure  141, 142 ~ vowel harmony  144 ~ vowels  143 Twi-Asante  17, 20, 21 Twi-like # syllable structure constraints  141 U Urdu  174 V Vai  205 Venetian  45

Vincentian Creole  333, 337–341, 343, 344-346, 348‑350, 352 Vincentian Creole # affixes  333, 352 ~ ~ derivational patterns  xvi ~ ~ derivational processes  333 ~ ~ formatives  338, 340 ~ ~ forms  337 ~ ~ influence on *  341 ~ ~ morphology  353 ~ ~ nouns  337, 338, 342, 343n, 347, 352, 353 ~ ~ nouns, deverbal  vi, 333 ~ ~ speakers  333, 337, 345 ~ ~ suffixation  353 ~ ~ suffixes  344 ~ ~ verb bases  342 ~ ~ verbs  337, 340, 344, 346, 347 ~ ~ word formation  xvi ~ ~ words  333, 339 Visayan languages  xvi, 279, 280, 282, 284, 286‑290, 295, 297 W Wacigbe  310, 313n, 316, 317 West African languages  xv, xvi, 19n, 23, 79, 142, 143, 205, 219, 220, 228, 233, 253, 327, 246 West African # , constructions  233 ~ ~ contacts  253 ~ ~ dictionaries  19n ~ ~ harmony  143 ~ ~ influence on creoles  327, 378n ~ ~ substrate  246 ~ ~ syntax  220 ~ ~ vowel harmony  143 Wolof  143 X Xwelagbe  310, 313n, 315–17 Xwla  323 Y Yao  228 Yoruba  20, 21, 143, 144, 150, 205 Yoruba # vowel harmony  150 Yukatek  195, 251

Language index  Z Zamboangueño  285–87, 289 Zamboangueño # adjectival formations  286 ~ adjectives  286 ~ affixes  279, 285 ~ corpus of *  280 ~ development  280

~ modes  279, 288 ~ morphology  285, 288 ~ origin  298 ~ roots  287 ~ speakers  288 ~ texts  298 Zamboangueño Chavacano  279–84, 286, 288, 289, 291, 295, 297, 279

Zamboangueño Chavacano # formation of * 284 ~ ~ modes  xvi, 279 ~ Creole  280, 281 ~ Spanish Creole  297 Zulu  241

Places and peoples index Part 1. Place index A Africa  8, 10, 12, 26, 27, 33, 40, 57, 241, 263, 304, 336 Africa, Central  17, 19, 164 ~ East  227, 228 ~ North  29, 40 ~ South  171 ~ South-East  10n ~ South-Eastern  8, 9 ~ West-Central  8–11, 14, 15, 166 ~ southern  228 ~ sub-Saharan  246 African # Affairs  196 ~ continent  4 African contract laborers  21 Algiers  34 Amazonian settlements  334 America, Spanish  11, 13, 14, 26 American # intra-* slave trade  26 American-Caribbean region  366 Angola  9n, 14, 23, 165, 166, 253 Angola, northern  165 Antilles  354, 355 Antilles, Lesser  354, 25 Arabia  53 Atlantic  31 Atlantic # region  155 ~ slave trade  25, 26 ~ world  27, 168 Australia, viii, 59 B Barbados  6, 13, 14, 27, 334, 346 Barbary Coast, v, xiv, 29, 30, 32, 33, 35, 36, 38n, 43, 50–54, 57, 58 Basilan Island  279, 280 Belize  354 Benin  23, 151, 160, 301n Benin, Bight of  4, 8–10, 14, 15, 17, 19, 23

Berbice  2, 23, 25, 27, 155, 167, 214, 222 Bhojpūr  171n Biafra, Bight of  5n, 8–10, 14–17, 19, 22, 23 Bombay  171 Brazil  21, 163, 165, 167, 303 C Cameroon  9n Canada vii  362, 363, 382, 383 Cape Lopez  9n Cape Mount  9n Cape Verde  263 Cape of Good Hope  9n Caribbean xvi, xii  1, 4, 21, 25, 26, 353–5, 360n, 368, 378, 354 Caribbean # Linguistics  26, 353, 354 ~ French colonies  222 ~ intra-* trade  11–14 ~ islands  14n ~ region  14n ~ region, wider  337, 338 ~ society  353 ~ territories  338 Caribbean Archipelago  333 Caribbean, British  27 Caribbean, English  6 Caribbean, French  201 Cayenne  153, 154, 163, 165, 167, 303 Central African # context  166 Congo  9n Curaçao  12–14 D Daman  84, 85, 87, 88, 107 Diu  84, 85, 87, 88, 107, 119, 120 Dominica  335, 354 E East African # coast  228 England  12, 40, 337n, 362

English Crown  335 English Jamaica  3–7, 10–11, 13–15, 18–19, 23, 26, 27 English West Indies  25 English contact areas  17 Equatorial Guinea  9n F Fiji  171 Frisia  40 G Gabon  9n, 264 Genoa  51 Germany, vii, 36n, 40, 60 Ghana  9n, 305 Goa  88 Gold Coast  2, 3, 8–10, 14, 16‑19, 22, 23, 25, 27, 142 Grenada  334, 335 Grenadines, the  333, 335n, 354 Guiana, French  154, 301n, 302n, 307, 329 Guinea  165, 261, 263, 278 Guinea Coast  24, 26, 263 Guinea, Gulf of *  161, 253, 261 Guinea, Portuguese  269, 278 Guinea-Bissau  263, 264, 276n, 278 Guiné-Conakry  264 Gulf of Guinea  161, 253, 261 Guyana  171, 329 H Haiti  201 Hawai’i  59, 60–62, 75, 77, 78, 80–82, 329 Holland  33n, 40, 305 Honduras  335, 335n Honolulu  60, 80–82 I India  84n, 87, 106, 107, 110n, 171, 172, 188, 233 ~ northern  189

 Places and peoples index Indian  25 ~ government  88 ~ sub-continent  172n Indian Ocean  194, 225–7, 233, 234, 241, 247, 250, 360n, 366, 367, 378 ~ ~ islands  226 Indonesia  233 Italian city states  51 Ivory Coast  9n, 305 J Jamaica, vii, 5‑14, 16, 17, 19, 22‑27, 155 Jamaica # Akan ethnicity in *  27 ~ Akan legacy in *  15 ~ Twi-Asante people in *  17 ~ creole formation in *  7n ~ linguistic heritage  25 ~ linguistic practices in *  22 ~ multilingualism, xiv Jamaica’s maroons  15 Jamaica, English, early  3‑11, 13‑20, 22‑27 Japan  60, 61 Jews’ Savannah  156 Jolo  279, 299 K Kongo  21 Korea  61 Korlai  84, 85, 87, 88, 107, 119 L Liberia  9n Loango coast  16 Louisiana  362–5, 367n, 372n, 373, 376, 381–383 Luanda  165 M Madagascar  227, 228 Madras  171 Madrid  38, 56, 57, 329, 331 Maghreb  32, 43n Malaysia  82, 233, 279 Maritime Provinces  362–5 Maroni River  307 Mauritian # Constitution  170 ~ censuses  172n Mauritius  169, 171, 172, 174, 175, 182, 188, 190n, 192, 194–6, 226–8

Mauritius # Indian immigration in *  172, 178n ~ Indianization  172 ~ contacts in *  174, 176 ~ immigration of Indians to *  169, 172n ~ linguistic ecosystem in *  170 ~ linguistic interference  195 ~ multilingualism in * 170 ~ slave trade  227 ~ slave trade to *  250 ~ slavery in *  251 ~ slaves in *  227 Mauritius, colonial  194 Mediterranean  29, 32, 35n, 42, 44, 48–51, 57 Mediterranean, Eastern  50 Mediterranean, Western  50 Mediterranean, northern  33n Melanesia  52, 233 Missouri  362, 383 Mongala  15n Monrovia  9n Mozambique  228 N Negros  280 Nepal  171 Netherlands viii, 168, 219 Nevis  6 New Brunswick  150, 362, 363, 365n, 372n, 374, 379 New England viii, 41, 59, 362, 363 New Mexico  221 Newfoundland  362, 363, 365–7, 372n, 374, 379, 381 Niger Delta  9n, 334 Nigeria  9n, 16, 253 Nigeria, Southern  16 North African “Barbary Coast” , xiv North African-European # contacts  47 Norway viii, 60 Nova Scotia  360n, 362, 363, 372n, 379 O Ottoman empire  32–4, 40, 53 P Pacific  31, 81, 195, 328

Pacific Islands  60 Paramaribo  152, 153, 167, 168, 219, 305 Paramaribo, Pre-Dutch  153 Pernambuco  27, 153, 165–168, 165 Pernambuco, Dutch  153 Pernambuco, Pre-Dutch  153 Petite Riviere Noire  191 Petites Antilles  354 Philippine # census  279 Philippine Islands  298, 299 Philippines  61, 279, 283, 298, 299 Port-au-Port  362 Portugal, vii, 106, 107, 263, 276n Prince Edward Island  362, 363, 362n, 372n, 379, 381 Principe Island  261 Puerto Rico  61, 340n Q Quebec  362, 363 R Réunion  226, 227, 368n Rio Nun  9n Rio Nunez  9n Rio Volta  9n Romania  195, 381 S San Diego  354, 355 San Salvador  150, 167 São Tomé  161, 253, 261 Senegal  9n Senegambia  9, 10n, 16, 19, 228 Seychelles  182, 226–8, 238n, 247, 250, 251 Seychelles # colonization  228 ~ population  227 ~ slavery  251 Sierra Leone  9, 10n, 16, 24, 167, 305 Slave Coast  14, 164, 165, 228 Solomon Islands  47n South-east Africa  9n Spain  32, 33n, 38, 61, 53 Spanish # colonies  14n Sri Lanka  84n, 112, 113, 120 St. Vincent  333–6, 340, 352, 354, 355 St. Louis  250

Places and peoples index  St. Barthélemy  358, 362 St. John  19, 47 St. Kitts  148, 151 St. Matthew  194 St. Thomas  368n, 372n, 374, 381 Suriname, vi, 2n, 4, 7n, 13, 14, 21, 22, 301–09, 311n, 312–4, 316, 320, 324, 327, 330 Suriname # cartography  167 ~ interior  305 Suriname River  154, 156, 163, 166 Suriname/French Guiana  301n T Tanzania, Southern  232

Tobago  335, 353 Togo  9n, 369n Trinidad  26, 171, 336n, 346, 353 Tripoli  32, 33 Tunis  32, 33, 37, 39, 42, 43, 50, 54n Tunisia, xiv Turkish empire  32 V Venice  51 Volta River  9n

West India Company  13, 14n West Indian # Guide  24, 25, 57, 167 ~ ~ islands  12n ~ ~ territories  14 West Indies vii, 1, 4, 17, 19n, 25–27, 340n, 353–355, 362 West-Central Africa  8‑11, 14, 15, 19, 166 Western Mediterranean  50 Windward Coast  8, 9, 16, 17, 142

W West Africa  8, 26, 150, 167 West African ports  14 West India  13, 14n, 24, 25, 57, 167

Z Zamboanga  280, 282 Zamboanga City  280 Zamboanga Peninsula  280 Zanzibar  228

Part 2. peoples index

A Acadian refugees  363 Acadians  362, 363 ~ in Newfoundland  363 ~ ~ Nova Scotia  363 Acadians # non-*  363 African # descent  32, 190n, 334 African culture  22 ~ cultures  5 ~ ethnic groups  17 Africans, enslaved  4–7, 9–11, 14–16, 18 Afro-American  24 ~ language varieties  24, 26, 57, 222 Afro-Surinamese  305 Afro-Surinamese # population  306 Afro-Surinamese-European # unions  305 Akan  15, 27 American # Speech  82 Amerindian # populations  305 Amerindians  307 Arab Moslems  29 ~ invasions  34 ~ regime  53 Arab-Christian # contacts  48 Arabs  52 ~ of Arabia  53 Arawaks  334 B Balantas  264 Barbadian # planters  13 Berber # settlement  34 Berbers  52 Bhojpuri  195 C Cantonese-speaking  61 Caribbean slave society  27, 353 Caribbean French # population  201

Chinese  60, 62 Chinese # immigration  77 ~ laborers  60 Christians # non-*  32, 53 D Dutch  12–14, 26, 156, 165, 167, 303 Dutch # Company  14n ~ West India Company  13, 14n ~ activities  26 ~ nation  31 ~ possessions in India  107 ~ ships  13 ~ slave traders  26 ~ trade  14, 15, 25 ~ trade, slave  164 Dutch, colonies  2, 14, 131, 165, 166 Dutchmen  156 E Efik  334 English  5n, 6, 10‑13, 16, 18, 41, 60, 154, 163, 322n, 335, 336 English # colonies  131, 156, 303 ~ colonization  154 ~ trade  14 English planters  6, 7n, 13, 14 ~ population  156, 163 ~ privateers  13 ~ ships  10 ~ slave trade  11 ~ slavers  334 ~ soldiers  6 ~ trade  10‑12, 14 ~ vessels, 12 European slaves  34 ~ non-*  inhabitants  335 F Fijians  109 Franco-Canadians  363

Franco-Mauritian community  227n Francophone # non-*  immigrants  194 French  14, 25, 39, 41, 165, 226, 227, 335, 352, 370 French # colonists  227, 358 ~ conquest  33, 42 ~ diplomacy  57 ~ planters  335 ~ population  335 ~ settlers  226, 370 ~ slavers  334 ~ troops  42 French Caribbean slaveexport population  201 French-speaking  201, 383 Fula  264 G Galibi  334 Garifuna  334, 335, 352 Gbe  15n ~ slaves  311n Gold Coast Africans  19 Gold Coast captives  18 ~ ~ slaves  9, 17 Guinean slaves  165 H Haitian African population  201 Hawaiians  60–62 Hindus  87, 88 I Ibo  15n, 334 Igneri  334 Igneri-speaking # people  334 Indian caste system  87, 110, 113 ~ immigration in Mauritius  172, 178n ~ servants  88 ~ workers  171

Places and peoples index  Indians  87, 169, 172n Indians, converted  87, 88, 107, 110, 111n ~ lower caste  87, 113 Indians, Christian  87 Indo-Mauritians  190n Indo-Portuguese # settlements  113 Island Carib population  334 Island Caribs  334, 335 Italians  41, 42, 44, 53 J Jamaica’s slave population  18 Jamaican  25 Jamaican # culture  22, 24 ~ folk speech  16 ~ plantation society  22 ~ religious cult  21 ~ texts  25 Jamaican Maroons  15‑18, 21, 22, 25, 155 Jamaican Negroes  16 Jamaican Windward Maroons  15n Jamaican owners  13 ~ slaves  16 Japanese  60, 61 Jewish # community  166 ~ families  153, 166 ~ immigrants  154 ~ individuals  153, 166 ~ involvement in Pernambuco  167 ~ migrants  303 ~ (plantation-)owners  157, 163, 165 ~ refugees  34 ~ settlers  53 Jewish, Portuguese  156 Jewish-owned # plantations  163 ~ slaves  165 Jews  43n, 52, 156, 163–5 K Kikongo  165 ~ slaves  311n

Kromanti  15n, 17n ~ nation  15n ~ slaves  18 M Malagasy  228 Marathas, Hindu  88 Marathis  172n Maroon societies  26 Maroons  7n, 15n, 17, 20, 21, 24, 25, 153, 305–07 Maroons, Eastern  155 Maroons, Jamaican  15, 16, 18, 21, 155 Maroons, Suriname  330 Maroons, True-Born  24 Maroons, Western, Trelawny  155 Maroons, Windward  15n Maroons, Windward, early  18n Matawai  154, 306 Mauritians  170, 171 Mexican  280 Muslims  32–34, 40, 46, 52, 54n, 57, 88n, 268, 269, 279 N Ndyuka # maroon society  6 Negro  5 ~ population  353 negroes  16, 135n, 165 O Ottoman Turks  57 P Pacific Islanders  61 Papa  15n Portuguese  60, 75, 87, 88, 107, 165, 263 ~ nation  31 ~ sailors  107 ~ settlements  87 ~ settlers  110n ~ soldiers  107 ~ travelers  264 Portuguese Christians  87 Portuguese Colonial Empire  119

Portuguese Jewish immigrants  154 Portuguese Jews  156 Portuguese-speaking population of Surinam  156 R Romans  357n S Saramaccan # clans  163 ~ group  163 ~ tribe  154, 164 Saramaccans  158 Senegambians  19 Spaniards  6, 11n, 32, 53 Spanish  6, 11n, 32, 280 Spanish # ex-slaves  7 ~ military base  280 ~ possessions  14 ~ reconquista  32 ~ vessels  334 Suriname slaves  13n Surinamese  305 Surinamese # context  306 ~ population  305 ~ schools  305 T Tamils  172n Telugus  172n Trelawny Western Maroons  155 Trio  307 Turkish # Moslems  29 ~ descent  32 ~ rulers  32, 34, 43, 33 ~ superordination  53 Turks  32, 37–39, 42, 43n, 52, 58 Turks, Ottoman  57 Twi-Asante people  17 V Vietnamese  81 Visayan # immigration  280 W Wayana  307 Western Maroons  155 Windward Maroons  7n, 15n, 18n

subject index

A ablative  169, 178–81, 181–3, 187, 189, 193, 238–40, 240n, 241–4 ~ # constructions  243, 244 ~ # contexts  191 ~ # denotation  193 ~ # marker  xv, 169, 184, 187, 191n, 193, 194, 241, 244 ~ # marking  238, 239, 242–4 ~ # postposition  189 ~ # relation  170, 178–80, 193 accent  159, 167 accent, stress-cum-pitch  155 action  279, 284, 291, 315, 340, 343, 345, 347, 349, 350 ~ # agent  340 ~ # product  345 ~ # result  71, 340, 341, 345, 347 ~ # verbs, transitive  284 action, abilitative  279 ~ future  280 ~ instigated  290 ~ iterative  280 ~ non-controlled  297 ~ non-intentional  293 ~ predicate  309 actions, coincidental  293 adaptation, loanword  136, 144, 145, 152 adjectives  70, 72, 74, 172, 212, 217, 258, 263, 264, 270, 272, 273, 284, 286, 341, 341n, 349, 350 adjectives, Balanta  273, 276 ~ Guiné-Bissau CP  272 ~ full  286 ~ possessive  211, 212 ~ salient  47 ~ Zamboangueño  286 adpositions  207n, 217 adstrate xv, 43, 53, 186, 187, 263

~ # influence  276 ~ # language  xv, 106, 111n, 118, 180, 228, 263, 264 adstrate, French  192 adverb  47, 68, 78, 318, 323–6 adverb, locative  212 ~ postverbal  78 ~ time  322 adverbials, temporal  195 affixation  84, 85n, 338, 341, 352 affixation, zero  348 affixes  84, 102, 198, 338, 342 affixes, [male]  343n ~ English  333, 352 ~ formal  117 ~ gender  343 ~ inflectional  85n, 89, 100, 106, 108 ~ meaningful  84 ~ meaningless  84 ~ superstrate  107 analysis, acoustic  151 ~ classification  125, 130 ~ comparative  311n ~ demographic  142 ~ diachronic  123, 133 ~ formal  128, 147 ~ grammatical  298 ~ linguistic  327 ~ morphosyntactic  383 ~ optimality-theoretic  135, 143n ~ relisting  349 ~ sociohistorical  26, 327, 352 ~ statistical  124, 125 ~ synchronic  51 approach, cognitive  219, 329, 380 ~ creole-based  57, 354 ~ cross-linguistic  249 ~ gradualist  26, 331 ~ item-based  50 ~ methodological  xv, 225

~ modular  198 ~ morpheme-based  115n ~ multi-causal  313 ~ multicausal  379 ~ multidimensional  86 ~ optimality-theoretic  123, 147 ~ pragmatics-based  308n ~ rule-based  147 ~ SLA-based  109 ~ socio-religious  52 ~ substratist  xiii, 2, 111, 113 ~ syntax-based  308n ~ typological  249 ~ typologicalcomparative  24 Arabicization  52 Arabisms  48 article, ix, 72, 170, 256, 276, 280n, 298 article, definite  66, 266–70, 275, 276 ~ indefinite  266, 268–70, 276 ~ personal  298 assimilation  127, 336 assimilation, consonantal  131, 132, 136, 139 ~ local  137, 138 ~ resisting  335 B borrowability  47 borrowing  47, 49, 50, 102, 115, 115n, 116, 145, 175, 286, 286n, 287, 307, 311n, 338, 347 borrowing, from English and Spanish  297 ~ ~ French  246n ~ ~ Marathi  114 ~ ~ Philippine  281, 285 ~ ~ Spanish  281 ~ grammatical  381

 subject index ~ into Zamboangueño 286, 288 ~ lexical  364, 372n ~ structural  111n ~ syntactic  372n borrowings, Arabic  48 ~ Creole  174 C case # markers  200, 206, 207, 207n ~ # markers, null  206 case, genitive  217 ~ ~ # markers  207, 212 ~ locative # markers  240 ~ objective  206 categories  xvi, 10, 57, 158, 216, 285, 288, 297, 301, 308n, 312, 321, 326–8, 345, 349, 350, 354, 376, 379 ~ # emergence  327 categories, adjectival  84 ~ aspectual  69, 78 ~ functional  200, 200n, 201, 202, 204, 206, 216–18, 221, 222 ~ grammatical, ix, 196, 338, 349 ~ Habitual and Progressive  312 ~ inflectional  120 ~ lexical  200, 200n, 202, 217, 218 ~ mixed  221 ~ modality  313 ~ morphosyntactic  275 ~ new  216, 291 ~ semantic  31n, 169, 178, 238, 269 ~ syntactic  250, 257 ~ temporal  312 ~ tense-aspect  82 ~ TMA  302, 308n, 309, 311–13 category, aspect  310, 312–16 ~ Imperfective  312 ~ past  321, 322 ~ Perfect  322n ~ Perfective  313, 327 ~ potential  313, 326 ~ potentive  289 ~ Subjunctive  312 ~ time, past  320 ~ verbal  297 causation, external  314n

~ multiple  314n ~ transitive  236 causative  298 ~ # serial verbs  81 causative, nonvolitional  287 change, categorial  348 ~ contact-induced  359, 361, 378 ~ demographic  6 ~ diachronic  148n ~ diastratic  50 ~ internal  xvi, 195, 301, 302, 313, 316 ~ intrasystemic  357, 378n ~ morphosemantic  348 ~ morphotactic  339, 348, 349 ~ phonological  xv, 114, 142, 153, 346 ~ semantic  339 ~ syntactic  339 ~ transcategorial  348, 349 ~ vocalic  312 changes, internal  229, 377 ~ morphosemantic  349 ~ phonological  111, 339 class  273 ~ # markers  249, 273 ~ # prefixes  269 classes, conjugation  83–87, 89–93, 93n, 94, 94n, 95, 97–100, 102–05, 105n, 106, 111, 114–18, 232n ~ morphological  314n ~ noun  269 ~ word  339 classifier, ix, 67 clause  100, 101, 205n, 208, 212, 214, 251, 281, 322 ~ # modifying  80 ~ # structure  205, 219 clause, conditional  320, 321 ~ consequent  320 ~ factive  200n ~ hypothetical  322 ~ interrogative  282 ~ main  322 ~ noun-modifying  80 ~ postnominal  64 ~ prenominal  64 ~ relative  63–67, 74, 77, 80, 81, 205, 329 ~ second  231n ~ subordinate  373, 373n

~ tensed  207, 208 cluster # reduction  146, 152 ~ # simplification  146, 148, 149 clusters  148, 149 clusters, coda  146–8 ~ coda-onset  142 ~ final  152 ~ marked  148 ~ nasal  158, 160 ~ nasal-stop  148, 158 ~ obstruent  148, 149 ~ word-medial  124 communication  3, 6, 34, 42, 47, 53, 76, 181n, 257, 305, 367n communication, basic  75, 118 ~ interethnic  43, 61 ~ interreligious  52 ~ nonverbal  371 complement  199, 272, 351, 376 complement, clausal  73, 75 complementizer  ix, 73, 208, 209, 298, 373 complementizer, VP  74 ~ null  209n compound # deverbals  339, 349, 350, 353 ~ # elements  342 ~ # noun  352 ~ # stress  350 compound, verb-centered  351 compounding  84, 237, 352 compounds  3n, 198, 209, 210, 210n, 342, 343, 343n, 350, 351 compounds, appositional  342 ~ deverbal  349–51 ~ nominal  209 conditional  ix, 282 ~ # clauses  320, 321 ~ # particles  282 conjugation  70 ~ # classes  83–9, 89n, 90–93, 93n, 94, 94n, 95, 97, 98, 100, 102, 104–06, 105n, 111–18 ~ # table  177 ~ # vowels  89 conjugation, first  93, 105 ~ third  93 conjunction  207, 245 conjunction, Fongbe  207 ~ general  375 ~ Haitian  208

subject index  ~ phrase  251 conjunctive  245 ~ # function  245 ~ # marking  245, 246, 248, 249 consonant # deletion  124 consonant, coda  124 ~ final  124 ~ input-final  124 ~ preceding  125–7, 133 consonants  125–7, 129, 131, 136, 137–40, 152, 161, 270n consonants, coronal  127, 127n, 128, 132, 133n, 138, 140, 144, 148, 151 ~ dorsal  125, 127, 128, 131–3, 139, 140, 148 ~ labial  125–7, 127n, 131, 132, 133n, 138, 144 ~ liquid  127–9, 131, 133, 158 ~ nasal  124, 141, 142, 148, 149, 151, 158, 160, 162, 275, 336 ~ prenasalized  141 ~ Saramaccan  167 ~ voiced  148 construction  71, 73, 180, 181, 181n, 201, 230–32, 236n, 238, 240n, 241, 243, 309, 322, 324, 370 ~ # member of *  242 ~ # origin of *  246 ~ # parts  234 ~ # reinterpretation  314 ~ # semantics  xvi ~ # types  180, 226, 229, 237–9, 241, 242, 244, 245, 247 construction, de go v  324, 325, 327 ~ de go / go, v  326 ~ depuis...jusqu’а, 186 ~ go, v  327 ~ go – de go  325 ~ pour + SubjPro + Inf  375 ~ take-serial  220 ~ abilitative  288 ~ ablative  243, 244 ~ caused-path  226, 230, 237, 241, 242, 244 ~ clausal  352 ~ coordinating  221 ~ creole  226, 235 ~ ditransitive  230, 230n, 231–3, 233n, 234, 235, 249–51

~ Double-Object  217, 230–35, 248–50, 380 ~ Dutch  324 ~ English  324 ~ entrenched  237 ~ existential  317n ~ experiencer  226, 229, 234–7, 244, 248 ~ expressing prospective future  325 ~ expressing Recipient and Theme of ditransitive verbs  230 ~ future  324–7 ~ generic  319 ~ goal  325, 326 ~ grammatical  226, 242 ~ imperative  370 ~ Indirect-Object  230, 231n, 232–4 ~ intransitive  235, 236 ~ lexifier  233 ~ locative  195, 237, 250 ~ morphological  338 ~ non-abilitative  289 ~ noun phrase, conjunctive  245 ~ passive  296 ~ path  226, 229, 237, 238, 241, 242, 244, 248 ~ periphrastic  279, 288, 297 ~ Portuguese  275 ~ potentive-type  291 ~ prepositional  235 ~ Present Perfect  322n ~ presentation  281 ~ progressive  317 ~ ~ future  324 ~ purpose  374 ~ self-movement, intransitive  238 ~ serial  181, 187, 193 ~ ~ verb  231n ~ serial, predicative  181 ~ Seychelles Creole  229 ~ source  236 ~ static  352 ~ SubjPro + pour + Infinitive  375 ~ substrate  234, 326 ~ Swahili  242 ~ syntactic  244, 351 ~ transitive  235, 241 ~ unmarked  249 ~ verb  230, 231

~ verb, ditransitive  226, 229 ~ ~ serial  180 ~ verb, serial  230, 231n ~ with pou as a purpose subordinator  374 ~ ~ stranded prepositions  372 ~ ~ the polysemous marker (av)ek  226 ~ ~ ~ verb donn-en ‘give’  231 ~ ~ two overtly expressed objects  231 ~ ~ verbs of transfer  230 ~ with only one overtly expressed object argument  231 ~ without a second subject pronoun in the second clause  231n ~ XP-V  316 contact, language   xi, xv– xvii, 24, 32n, 51, 58, 67n, 76, 82, 84, 107–10, 117, 121, 151, 176, 180, 183, 193, 194, 196, 226, 229, 237, 244, 278, 330, 331, 334, 360, 363, 377, 383 copula, ix, 68n, 70, 75, 222, 244, 281, 283, 330 copula, equative  328 ~ locational  316, 324 creolization  vi, xiii–xvii, 1, 6, 24, 26, 31, 51, 58, 84, 86, 95, 100, 108, 109, 113, 119–21, 150, 152, 154, 167, 168, 173, 173n, 174, 179, 186, 194, 196, 222, 237, 238, 241–4, 251, 261, 278, 313, 328, 329, 331, 357, 358, 358n, 359–61, 361n, 364, 366, 367, 376–9, 382, 383 D declension # markers  84 deictic  298 ~ # markers  212 ~ # terms  205, 206 deletion  124, 150, 272 deletion, consonant  124 ~ vowel  86 demonstratives, ix, 204, 221, 256, 266–70, 270n, 275, 276, 360n

 subject index derivation  46, 48, 84, 219, 333, 353 derivation, affixational  348 ~ zero  355 derivatives  338, 341, 343, 349, 350 description, grammatical  80, 283 ~ linguistic  284 determiners, definite  204– 206, 212–14, 216, 269 ~ possessive  66, 206, 213, 218, 367, 368 device, emphatic  253 ~ stylistic  46 diffusion  27, 50, 76, 82, 168, 198n, 221, 329 diphthong  94, 94n diphthong, falling  94n directionality  180, 181, 186, 339, 344, 345, 348 discourse  81, 82, 165, 268, 308n, 320 ~ # context  314, 321 ~ # marker  212 ~ # particle  298 discourse, spoken  169, 244 distinction, [±concrete]  348 ~ explicit  284 ~ formal/informal  176, 178 ~ inclusive/exclusive  281 ~ tripartite  105 distinctions, aspect  111, 112n ~ class  83, 91, 93, 94, 106, 111, 116, 117 ~ formal  118 ~ gender  364 ~ inflectional  85, 97, 117 ~ lexical  253 ~ meaningless  117 ~ modal  284 ~ number  211, 277 ~ semantic  203, 288 ~ tense/aspect  100 ~ tense/mood/aspect  101, 309 ~ tonal  257 distribution  10–12, 24, 31, 105, 127–30, 161, 162, 205n, 208, 211, 213, 221, 234, 246, 310, 322, 323, 366n distribution, complementary  266, 348 ~ cross-linguistic  248 ~ equivalent  348

~ regional  365 ~ worldwide  xv, 225, 234, 248 ditransitive # constructions  230, 230n, 231–3, 233n, 234, 235, 249–51 ~ # verbs  226, 229, 230, 231n, 232, 232n, 233, 235 ditransitives  231 diversity, ethnic  3, 18 ~ typological  24, 79, 228 dorsals  125, 127, 128, 131–33, 139, 140, 148 Double-Object Construction  230–35, 248–50, 343, 380 E epenthesis  123–5, 127, 128, 132, 134–6, 140, 141, 145, 146, 150, 345 ~ # patterns  134, 135, 144 ~ # patterns, Sranan  123, 124, 140 epenthesis, after /a/ 127, 129, 132 ~ default  132, 133n, 135, 136, 137 ~ loanword  145 ~ Sranan  133, 141, 149 ~ vowel  v, xiv, 123, 124, 128, 133, 134, 137, 140, 152 ~ word-final  125, 151 ethnography  58 ethnolinguistic  3, 142 ~ # groups  4, 23 ~ # origins  14, 23 ~ # variety  18n ethnologists  334 etyma  133 etyma, African  47n ~ Dutch  131, 132 ~ English  131, 132 ~ Portuguese  158 ~ Portuguese-derived  157 etymologies  19n, 20, 49 etymologies, African  20 ~ Akan  20 ~ multiple  20 explosives  283 F feature # generalization  323 ~ # selection  323

~ association, multiple  137 ~ geometry  136 ~ pool  49 ~ selection  82 ~ spreading  124, 140 features, aspect  112 ~ contact  76 ~ contextual  100 ~ creole  248 ~ diffused  xiv, 59 ~ distinctive  264 ~ grammatical  xv, xvi, 62, 172 ~ inflection  100 ~ inherent  100 ~ isolated  314n ~ linguistic  74, 77, 79, 109, 112, 118, 248 ~ marked  145 ~ morphological  284, 336 ~ morphosyntactic  95, 97, 105, 114 ~ of Indian Bhojpuri  187 ~ ~ Zamboangueño  279 ~ parallel  77 ~ place  127, 136, 137, 144 ~ privative  143n ~ semantic  342 ~ structural  187, 248, 249n, 276, 311n ~ substrate  xvii, 59, 60, 78, 79, 111n, 225, 248 ~ superstrate  77, 218 ~ tense  95 ~ transferred  75, 78, 111 ~ universal  234 formative  6, 10, 15, 22, 23, 141, 142, 227, 337, 340, 342, 343, 347, 349, 352, 353 formative, agential  343 ~ suffixal  338 fricatives  148, 163 function # words  111 function, agent  246 ~ comitative  245 ~ conjunctive  245 ~ definitizing  276 ~ demonstrative  276 ~ grammatical  270, 339 ~ hypocoristic  343 ~ identity  51 ~ idiosyncratic  338 ~ koiné 49 ~ local  185

subject index  ~ metaphorical  341 ~ morphological  116 ~ nominal  345 ~ nontemporal  184 ~ pragmatic  320 ~ principal  182 ~ prototypical  320 ~ semantic  340 ~ social  194, 304 ~ superstrate  84 ~ syntactic  246 G gender  81, 172, 202, 202n, 204, 211, 263, 266, 268, 271–3, 276, 342, 343, 364 ~ # affix  343 ~ # agreement in * 272 ~ # weakening  368 gender, feminine  270 ~ masculine  270 ~ natural  271, 276 glide  346 grammar1., comparative  81, 362 ~ formal  135 ~ generative  152, 220 ~ universal  222 grammar2., Afroportugese Creole  261 ~ Belizean Creole  151 ~ Berbice Dutch creole  167 ~ Bhojpuri  196 ~ Cantonese  81 ~ Chingoni  251 ~ Edo  261 ~ English  354 ~ Fongbe  221, 330 ~ Hawaiian  81 ~ Ilocano  298 ~ Jolo  299 ~ Kongo  150, 167 ~ Lingua Franca  42 ~ Makua  251 ~ Pidgin  82 ~ Portuguese  80, 82 ~ Seychelles Creole  228n ~ Sranan  128 ~ Swahili  228n, 250 grammar3., 2n, 31n, 67, 76, 135, 137, 139n, 144, 147, 198, 201, 216 ~ # acquisition  57, 330, 382 ~ # developing  120

~ # evolution  329 ~ # rise  56 ~ # shaping  109 ~ # source  30, 31 ~ # transmission  221, 330 ~ # typology  30 ~ of a pidgin  75 grammar3., core, xii ~ creole  xv, xvii, 100, 198, 220, 221, 302 ~ creole’s  74 ~ Finnish  150 ~ French  357, 359 ~ HC  63 ~ HPE  76 ~ Indo-Portuguese  108n ~ JC  23 ~ L1  149 ~ L2  83 ~ native  111, 113 ~ of creoles  302 ~ own  198 ~ phonological  135 ~ Seychelles Creole  231 ~ simplest, xii ~ substrate  124, 149, 150 ~ substrate-derived  31 ~ superstrate  124 ~ transferred  150 grammaticalization  193, 195, 198n, 200, 214, 216, 218, 221, 229, 251, 316, 319, 325, 329, 330, 359, 375, 376n, 378, 381, 383 H hierarchies, markedness  124, 139n, 140, 141, 147, 148–50 homophony  105 hypothesis, affixation  348 ~ bioprogram, xii, 80, 329 ~ lexicalization  104 ~ motivation  58, 168 ~ relexification  223 ~ substrate  222, 261 ~ suffixation  348 I imperative, ix, 116 ~ # constructions  370 ~ # forms  285 ~ # morphology  288 imperatives  282, 288, 371 implosives  168

indicative  ix, 89, 91, 93, 176n, 288 inflection  100, 115n inflection, contextual  100 ~ overt  99, 108, 110n, 113 ~ plural  268, 271 ~ superstrate  109, 120 ~ surface  120 ~ verbal  83, 86–8, 95, 106, 107, 109, 110, 112, 113, 113n, 116–118 interlanguages  81, 86, 88, 108, 111, 113, 117, 120, 123, 124, 147, 149 interlanguages, adult  108, 113 ~ conventionalized  108 iterative  280 L language # acquisition  147 ~ # change  xii, 108, 119, 195, 220, 221, 222, 229, 237, 250, 301, 302, 320, 328, 329, 359–61, 377, 377n, 378, 380 ~ # change, normal  xii ~ # contact  v, xi, xv, xvi, 24, 32n, 51, 67n, 76, 82, 84, 107–10, 117, 151, 169, 176, 180, 183, 193, 194, 226, 229, 237, 244, 330, 331, 334, 360, 363, 372, 377 ~ # learners  109 ~ # learners, adult  86, 107, 109, 110, 112 ~ # shift  86 ~ # source  45 ~ # transfer  xiv language, adstrate  xv, 106, 111n, 118, 180, 228, 263, 264, 275 ~ ancestral  61, 62, 75, 172n ~ autonomous  44 ~ base  180, 233, 360, 361, 368, 375 ~ borrowing  145 ~ contact  29, 30, 52, 55, 56, 282, 285, 307 ~ contributing  xi, 65, 69, 112, 115 ~ daughter  155 ~ deep  21 ~ default  34 ~ developing  283

 subject index ~ dominant  55, 63, 279, 283 ~ donor  39, 44 ~ enclave  367n ~ ethnic  264 ~ first  61, 75, 263, 276n, 302, 305, 314 ~ foreign  52, 81 ~ heritage  174 ~ home  170 ~ indigenous  279, 284, 297 ~ input  337 ~ interactional  305 ~ lexifier  154, 186, 187, 288, 378n ~ local  113 ~ main  170, 305 ~ minority  363n ~ mixed  168 ~ national  280, 283 ~ native  86, 88, 110, 113, 117, 227, 301n, 305, 361 ~ natural  120, 151, 220, 221 ~ neighbour  161 ~ neighbouring  275 ~ non-nativized  110 ~ official  227, 280, 338 ~ oral  378 ~ parents’ 60 ~ prestige  41, 55, 174n ~ ritual  160 ~ rulers’ 31 ~ second  74, 120 ~ ~ # acquisition  xi, xiv, 80, 81, 82, 106, 108, 109, 113, 119, 120, 150, 302, 361, 376, 377, 377n, 382 ~ ~ # learning  83, 108, 378 ~ ~ # phonology  150, 151 ~ ~ # research  80 ~ ~ # use  xiv, 59, 237 ~ ~ # variety  134 ~ settlers’ 368, 370 ~ slaves’ 361n ~ source  38, 162, 201, 202, 217 ~ specific  50 ~ spoken  169, 170 ~ substrate  xii, xiv, xv, xvi, 1, 2, 23, 59, 60, 62, 63, 65, 67, 67n, 69, 71, 74–79, 83, 111, 112, 112n, 115, 118, 124, 141, 142, 144, 145, 147, 149, 155, 160, 161, 180, 197, 200, 200n, 201–203, 205, 206n, 209, 213, 215n, 216,

218, 225, 227, 228, 232–4, 237, 248, 248n, 253, 261, 275, 288, 291, 293, 367 ~ substratum  198n ~ superstrate  v, xi, xiv, xvi, 31, 75, 109, 148, 197, 198, 200, 200n, 201, 202, 209, 212, 214–18, 233, 314 ~ superstratum  218 ~ target  xiv, 83, 86, 88, 109, 367n ~ third  17, 39, 198 ~ trade  50, 51 ~ traditional  62 ~ transplanted  195 languages, affix-less  95 ~ contact  xiiin, 29, 30, 32, 45, 50, 51, 51n, 53, 56, 120, 281, 289, 330 ~ impoverished  83 ~ indigenous  353 ~ inflecting  83, 85, 87, 97, 102, 106 ~ mixed  59, 155 ~ non-creole, xvi ~ non-harmonising  145 ~ non-tonal  261 ~ null subject  217, 220 ~ pro-drop  219, 220, 273 ~ SVO  65, 67 ~ tonal  253, 261 ~ tone  xv, 253, 254, 257, 261 ~ two-tone  257n ~ verb-initial  67n lexeme  31, 45, 47, 49, 88, 89, 89n, 90, 91, 94, 94n, 95, 97, 102n, 104–06, 116, 175n, 239 lexeme, base  339 ~ creole  174n ~ derived  337 ~ disyllabic  339 ~ Fulani  345 ~ monosyllabic  345 ~ Non-Romance  47 ~ verb-centered  349 lexicalization  104, 196 lexicography, creole  168, 330 lexicology, English  355 lexicon  xiv, xvi, 2, 23n, 30, 31, 45, 54, 56, 154, 161, 196, 201, 216, 250, 251, 333, 339, 343, 349 ~ # intermixture  155

~ # knowledge of *  198 ~ # openness  49, 50 ~ # origin  261 ~ # relabelling of *  215 ~ # source  31, 44 ~ # strata in the *  167 ~ # theory  56 lexicon, areal  49 ~ creole, v, 197, 198, 215 ~ Jamaican Creole  19n, 22 ~ Kumina  25 ~ Lingua Franca  29, 30, 45 ~ Mauritian Creole  194 ~ Portuguese-derived xv  153 ~ Romance  45 ~ Spanish  280 ~ substrate  212, 216 ~ superstrate  30, 31 ~ Suriname creoles  2n lexification  30, 44, 52, 55 lexification, nonsuperstrate  51 ~ Romance  52 ~ superstrate  55 lexifier  v, xiv, xvi, 29–31, 31n, 32, 36, 41, 44, 44n, 45n, 48–51, 54, 55, 67, 97, 124, 154, 186, 187, 192, 233, 288, 333, 344, 353, 378n lexifier, European  xvi ~ Germanic  233 ~ Romance  44, 45, 51, 233 linguistics, areal  57 ~ creole  56, 120, 168, 195, 251, 379, 383 ~ descriptive  vii ~ diachronic  358 ~ formal  298 ~ general  xii ~ genetic  xvii, 58, 121, 196, 278, 331, 383 liquids  127–9, 131, 133, 158 loanword # adaptation  136, 144, 145, 152 ~ # phonology  145, 152 loanwords  145, 148n, 152, 336 locative  ix, 186, 190, 191, 240–2, 244, 249, 293, 315, 316, 324, 325 ~ # adverb  212 ~ # case  240 ~ # construction  195, 237, 250

subject index  ~ # marker  77 ~ # postposition  189 ~ # sentences  70 ~ # verb  319 M markedness  116, 147, 151, 152, 173, 222 ~ # constraint  144 ~ # hierarchies  139n, 140, 141, 147, 148 ~ # hierarchies, universal  124, 134, 139, 147–150 ~ # reduction  173 ~ # scale  138, 148 ~ # values  150 marker, obligatory  32n ~ overt  241, 245 ~ polysemous  226 ~ predicate  249 markers, ablative  xv, 169, 184, 187, 191n, 193, 194 ~ adjective  74 ~ agent  246n ~ agreement  94, 100 ~ allative  187 ~ aspect  70, 78, 114, 207, 312n ~ case  200, 206, 207, 207n, 212, 240 ~ class  84, 85, 97, 100, 102, 114, 116, 117, 232n, 249, 273 ~ completive  97, 104, 105, 106, 111, 116, 327 ~ declension  84 ~ definite  268 ~ deictic  212 ~ discourse  212, 379 ~ distinctive  169 ~ equation  66 ~ existential/possessive  74 ~ feminine  172 ~ future  280n, 324–7 ~ gerund  93, 97 ~ habitual  207n ~ identity  193 ~ infinitive  243 ~ locative  77 ~ modal  209, 373 ~ modality  326, 327 ~ obligation  375 ~ participle  93, 97 ~ past  106, 115, 327 ~ path  182

~ perfect  70 ~ perfective  69, 70, 74 ~ person  366n ~ place  240 ~ plural  204–06, 218, 229, 273 ~ possessive/existential  72 ~ postverbal  68 ~ predicate  283 ~ prepositional  181 ~ preverbal  68 ~ progressive  68n, 71, 75, 97, 104, 111, 116, 327 ~ quotative  208 ~ relative  77, 249 ~ “saying”, 208 ~ sequential  249 ~ subordination  375 ~ tense  75, 86, 93, 94n, 106, 329, 380 ~ time  312n, 321 ~ TMA  134, 207, 218, 308n ~ zero  187 marking  46, 60, 187, 238, 248 ~ comitative  247 ~ perfect  68, 71 ~ perfective  78 marking, ablative  239, 244 ~ allative  239, 241 ~ alterity  194 ~ argument  232 ~ aspect  78, 79 ~ case  250 ~ conjunctive  245, 246, 248, 249 ~ distance  246 ~ identity  194 ~ inflectional  84 ~ lectal  187, 192 ~ morphological  118, 271 ~ non-canonical  250 ~ noun  298 ~ past  321 ~ perfective  82 ~ person  367n ~ plural  118, 268 ~ predicate  298 ~ tense  v, 83, 114, 117, 328 meaning, adverb  212 ~ counterfactual  322 ~ generic  318, 319, 327 ~ habitual  318 ~ hypothetical  320, 322 ~ in-process  317

~ lexical  96, 297 ~ lexico-semantic  84 ~ modal  326 ~ morphosyntactic  85, 88, 89, 94n, 95 ~ onomatopoeia  341 ~ potential  323 ~ potentive  285 ~ progressive  318 metaphor  281 mixing, language, v, 59, 60, 334 modifier  264, 267, 269, 270–72, 337 modifier, adjectival  272 ~ post-nominal  265 ~ pre-nominal  214, 265 monophthong  94n morphemes  78, 189, 207, 211, 337, 342, 348 ~ # boundaries  102 morphemes, content  311n ~ disyllabic  346 ~ free  214 ~ functional  108 ~ grammatical  78, 108, 334 ~ inflectional  109, 117, 271 ~ L1  78 ~ lexical  311n, 334 ~ person-forming  343n ~ plural  270, 277 ~ pluralizing  275, 347 ~ potential  329 ~ restructured  337 ~ substrate  78 ~ verb+noun  343 ~ verbal  339 ~ zero  348 morphology1. 118, 119, 177, 353, 355, 380 morphology3. 82, 84, 119, 155, 284, 337, 353, 354, 380 morphology3., analytic  145 ~ Balanta  269 ~ concatenative  145 ~ creole  xvi, 30, 84, 118–121, 151, 223, 353, 355 ~ derivational  111, 337, 338 ~ English  353 ~ impoverished  337 ~ inflectional  v, xiv, 56, 80, 83, 84, 86, 87, 109, 110, 112, 115n, 118–21, 217 ~ non-Mande languages of Portuguese Guinea  269

 subject index ~ Philippine  297 ~ pidgin  30 ~ salient, communicatively  95 ~ tonal  119 ~ verbal  121, 284 ~ Vincentian Creole  353 ~ Zamboangueño  288 morphology4., 279, 285 morphology4., dynamic  291 ~ imperative  288 ~ potentive  285, 296 ~ stative  285, 296 morphosyntax  2, 59, 134, 175, 176, 361 morphosyntax, creole  xiv N names, proper  46 nasal # clusters  158 ~ # codas  146 ~ # context  162 nasal-fricative # sequences  148 nasality  158, 168 nasality, final  160 nasalization  141, 148, 155 nasals  124, 141, 142, 146, 148, 149, 151, 158, 160, 162, 275, 336 negation, ix, 101, 311, 319, 322, 324 negator  73 negator, preverbal  72 norms, linguistic  276n ~ urban  276n noun # gender, natural  276 noun, base  347 ~ head  65, 80, 271 nouns, agentive  342 ~ compound  349, 351, 352 ~ concrete  341 ~ derived  338, 339–42, 347, 351 ~ deverbal  338–45, 347–53 ~ ~ # stress, compound  350 ~ deverbal, complex  343 ~ ~ compound  350 ~ ~ English  341 ~ ~ Vincentian Creole  vi, 333, 338, 353 ~ disyllabic  254, 257, 260, 261 ~ mass  204

~ person-denoting  271 ~ personal  341 ~ processual  342 ~ proper  343 ~ trisyllabic  257 numerals  176n, 229, 256, 268 numerals, derived  48 ~ distributive  195 O object # argument  231, 231n ~ # movement  329 ~ # position  220, 370 ~ # pronouns  273, 364, 368, 368n, 369–71 ~ # pronouns, postverbal  370, 371 ~ ~ prepositional  275 ~ # relative clauses  64, 65 object, direct  64, 235, 236, 256 ~ double  380 ~ indirect  231n, 342, 368, 370n ~ non-emphatic  274 ~ postverbal  370 ~ prepositional  64 ~ pronominal  310 opposition  176, 176n, 177, 257n opposition, binary  194 ~ formal-informal  177 ~ phonemic  264 ~ temporal  312 ~ tonal  254n, 258 P paradigm  105, 106, 116, 206, 210, 211 ~ # structure  121 paradigm, complete  212 ~ defective  212 ~ indicative  91 ~ Participle  92 ~ preterite  92, 94 ~ Progressive  92 paradigms, grammatical  375 ~ inflectional  xiv, 83, 84, 86, 89, 99, 109, 113, 117 ~ pronoun  364 ~ verbal  83–87, 90, 91, 95–97, 100, 102, 103, 105, 111, 115, 116, 118 paragoge  125, 126, 129–34, 151 particle  69, 101, 187, 281, 282, 298, 316, 324, 351

particle, linking  80 ~ additive  298 ~ aspect-expressing  325 ~ conditional  282 ~ confirmatory  298 ~ counter-expectation  298 ~ counterfactual  298 ~ discourse  298 ~ future  101 ~ identificational  298 ~ negative  282 ~ noun marking  298 ~ predicate marking  298 ~ preverbal  78, 101, 280, 280n ~ question  ix ~ speech  281 ~ tense-aspect  260 ~ verbal  69 pattern, causation  236 ~ epenthesis  140, 144 ~ low-vowel  133 ~ sound  353 ~ transitive  236, 237 ~ V-ObjPro  370, 371 patterns, analogical  368 ~ construction  233 ~ derivational  xvi ~ epenthesis  123, 124, 134, 135, 141 ~ functional  376 ~ grammatical  74 ~ harmony  141, 144 ~ inflectional  88, 95, 103, 111, 111n, 113 ~ lexicalization  196 ~ morphological  83 ~ phonological  346 ~ productive  131, 132 ~ reduction  152 ~ semantic  206 ~ stress  350, 351 ~ substrate  67n, 225, 232, 237, 242, 247, 326 ~ superstrate  229, 237 ~ syntactic  229 ~ tonal  257, 259, 261 ~ tone  254, 255 ~ typological  74 ~ universal  237 ~ valency, v, xv, 225, 237, 247 pharyngeals  127, 127n, 138–40, 148

subject index  phoneme  102 ~ # inventory  111 phoneme, segmental  272 phonetics  151, 195, 251 phonology1., general  80 phonology2., comparative  150 ~ generative  223 phonology3.,   xvi, 31n, 134, 135, 147, 151, 155, 161, 264 ~ L2 150 phonology3., autosegmental  136 ~ creole,   xv, 123, 124, 146, 149–52 ~ interlanguage  149 ~ learner  223 ~ native  145 ~ of pidgin  30 ~ ~ Saramaccan  167 ~ second language  151 ~ segmental  134 ~ substrate  119, 146 ~ superstrate  124 phonology4., loanword  145, 152 phrase  41, 67n, 78, 175, 198, 211n ~ # nominalizer  280n phrase, adjectival  72 ~ noun  vi, xv, 212, 245, 251, 263–5, 270, 271, 275, 276 ~ number  222 ~ predicate  330 ~ verb  350 pidginization  31, 49, 173n, 222, 278 plural, ix, 173, 202, 202n, 203, 203n, 211, 270, 271, 275, 277, 341, 364–8 ~ # forms  271, 273, 367 ~ # indefinite article  276 ~ # inflection  268, 271 ~ # markers  204–06, 218, 229, 273 ~ # marking  118, 268 ~ # morpheme  270, 277 ~ # pronouns  203, 206, 281, 365n, 367, 368 ~ # subject  273 plurality  271 pluralization  341 pluralizing # morpheme  275, 347 ~ prefix  264

polysemy  246 position  124, 368n position, coda  124, 141 ~ determiner  269 ~ final  350 ~ foregoing  337 ~ initial  343, 350 ~ intermediate  304 ~ non-initial  283 ~ object  220, 370 ~ onset  124 ~ postnominal  269 ~ postverbal  370n ~ prenominal  269 ~ pronoun  369, 371 ~ relative  267 ~ second  22 ~ sentence-final  256 ~ subject  255, 260 ~ surface  200 ~ syntactic  77, 78 post-determiner  266 post-formative  6, 16 postposition  187, 187n, 189, 371 postposition, ablative  189 ~ locative  189 pre-determiner  266 predicate  281, 283, 314 ~ # action  309 ~ # marker  283 ~ # marking  298 ~ # phrase  330 predicate, experiencer  237 ~ non-controlled  297 ~ non-verbal  282 ~ perfective  282 ~ verbal  282 predication  331 predication, adjectival  72 prefix # concord  270 prefixes  269, 270, 277, 284, 285, 286, 287, 297, 342, 343n prefixes, adjectival  286 ~ class  269, 277 ~ class-marking  271 ~ derivational  285 ~ pluralizing  264 ~ singular  270 ~ stative  286 ~ stative/potentive  288 preposition  179, 181, 183, 192, 193, 208, 209, 230, 236,

237, 239, 240, 240n, 241, 242, 244–6, 249, 274, 275, 298, 342, 352, 371, 372, 375 preposition, Creole  182 ~ French  372n ~ oblique  235 ~ overt  236 ~ path-denoting  179 ~ quasi-grammaticalized  243 processes, acquisition  363n ~ affixational  338 ~ cognitive  xv, 197, 198, 199 ~ creolization  154, 237, 238, 241, 243, 357 ~ decreolization  106 ~ derivational  333, 337, 338, 340, 353 ~ formation  xvi, 344 ~ frequently-occurring  194 ~ grammaticalization  376n ~ inversion  350 ~ language-internal  319 ~ leveling  78 ~ linear  313 ~ linguistic  313 ~ morpho-syntactic, vi, 333 ~ morphological  84, 120, 337, 349 ~ multi-layered  301, 328 ~ non-combinatory  338 ~ noun-formation  339 ~ of contact  328 ~ ~ language change  301, 328 ~ ~ ~ development  359 ~ ~ markedness reduction  173 ~ ~ reduplication  176n ~ optimality-theoretic  150 ~ overlapping  360 ~ phonological  271 ~ pidginization/creolization  222 ~ pseudo-syntactic  339 ~ psycholinguistic  75 ~ reduction  237 ~ reduplicative  24n ~ relexification  50 ~ restructuring, xvi, 358, 360, 364, 377, 378 ~ self-regulating  359–61, 377

 subject index ~ simplification  173, 173n ~ SLA  109 ~ surface  149 ~ universal  302, 359, 361, 377, 378 ~ word-formation  336 pronouns  41, 177, 178, 202, 214, 215, 220, 260, 363–5, 365n, 373 pronouns, 1pl  363 ~ atonic  365, 366, 379 ~ clitic  367n, 381 ~ Creole  275, 363n, 364, 366 ~ demonstrative  360n ~ disjunctive  273 ~ emphatic  275 ~ French  176, 202, 366 ~ genitive  177 ~ interrogative  249, 282, 360n ~ monosyllabic  254, 259 ~ non-emphatic  275 ~ object  273, 275, 364, 368, 368n, 369–1 ~ person  283 ~ personal  173, 176, 177, 202, 203, 205, 206, 212, 263, 264, 271, 273–275, 364 ~ plural  203, 206, 281, 365n, 367, 368 ~ possessive  64, 229 ~ relative  63, 64, 65, 249 ~ singular  366 ~ subject  231n, 259, 273, 275, 276, 364, 367, 368, 376 ~ tonic  364, 367, 368, 370n, 379 properties, anaphoric  213 ~ distributional  206, 213 ~ formal  86, 88, 90 ~ gender  342 ~ grammatical  74 ~ inflectional  84, 88, 95, 117 ~ linguistic  108, 111 ~ morphological  114, 115, 285, 352 ~ morphosyntactic  89 ~ phonetic  116, 200 ~ phonological  200 ~ semantic  212, 314n, 348 ~ specific  236 ~ structural  107 ~ substrate  23

~ syntactic  199–202, 209, 214, 263 ~ tense  95 ~ tense/aspect  105n ~ typological  24n property items  314, 317, 330, 331 R reduplication  26, 84, 120, 143, 176n, 298, 329 relabelling  49n, 197, 216, 218 relation, ablative  170, 178–80, 193 ~ allative  180, 183 ~ essive  179 ~ partitive  185 relations, constraint  147, 149, 150 ~ grammatical  207n, 250 ~ race  119 ~ semantic  247 ~ social  55 relationship, complementary  193 ~ form-function  96 ~ form-meaning  84 ~ genetic  82 ~ grammatical  269 ~ morphosemantic  344 ~ semantic  344 ~ temporal  155 ~ transparent  343 relexification  49n, 197, 216, 218 resultative  ix root + theme vowel  85, 90, 91, 93, 96, 97, 104, 106 root, bare  93 roots  45, 54, 83, 85, 85n, 89–93, 94n, 95, 97, 99, 102, 103, 103n, 105, 106, 115, 116, 144, 145, 198, 284, 286, 290n roots, borrowed  115 ~ Chavacano  286 ~ empty  298 ~ Kriyol  102, 102n ~ lexical  337 ~ superstrate  116 ~ verb  85, 96, 97, 102–04, 111, 115n, 291, 337 ~ Zamboangueño  286, 287 rules  54n, 67n, 125, 147, 151, 198, 261, 270, 277

rules, epenthesis  134 ~ grammatical  43 ~ inflectional  105 S sentence  188, 189, 238, 242, 256, 284, 289, 291 ~ # structure  81 sentence, Creole  242 ~ French  243 ~ infinitival  373 ~ locative  70 ~ transitive  310 shift, xi, xiv, xvi, 14, 62, 75, 78, 86, 113, 117, 135, 142, 145, 201, 301, 304, 328, 347 shift, categorial  339 ~ functional  339, 346 ~ language  xvi, 86, 88, 111n, 117, 383 ~ phonological  333, 339, 352 ~ semantic  345 ~ stress  346 situation1., acquisition  367 ~ ~ communicative  371 ~ ~ contact  xii, xiv, xvi, 24, 32n, 51, 110, 169, 182, 226, 229, 237, 244, 261, 352, 377 ~ ~ creolization, xiv ~ ~ social  xi ~ ~ sociohistorical  141 ~ ~ sociolinguistic  154 situation2., experiential  234 ~ future  260 ~ habitual  310 ~ local  178, 183, 239, 240 ~ possible  309 ~ static  314n SLA  81, 82, 106–09, 110n, 361 ~ # strategies  371n SLA, adult  86, 108n, 117 ~ ~ # processes  109 ~ ~ # strategies  107, 110, 117, 118 ~ naturalistic  86, 109 ~ non-guided  367 ~ untutored  108 socio-linguistic # context  86 sociolinguistic # commentary  38 ~ # conditions  377 ~ # context  87n, 154, 336 ~ # ecologies  55

subject index  ~ # evidence  38 ~ # factors  175 ~ # history  58, 82, 196 ~ # identity  335 ~ # information  62 ~ # level  193 ~ # makeup  43 ~ # motivation  36 ~ # reality  55 ~ # situation  154 ~ # structures  30 ~ # study  381 speech  62, 67, 75, 76, 134, 135, 254, 314, 321, 365–7, 370, 371, 373, 374, 376 ~ # communities  xiv ~ # sounds  151 ~ # varieties  229 speech, Black’s  326, 336 ~ European’s  326 ~ folk  16 ~ immigrant  119 ~ oral  194 ~ plantation  22 ~ reported  281 ~ vernacular  360 speech-acts  371, 371n stative  279, 284, 285, 288, 291, 298, 308, 310 ~ # modes  284 ~ # morphology  296 ~ # nominalizations  288 ~ # prefix  286 ~ # verbs  284–6, 288, 293, 296, 314, 315 stem  83, 85, 85n, 88, 89n, 90, 90n, 91, 93, 94n, 95, 97, 102, 103n, 104–06, 116, 118, 125, 126, 131, 237, 343 ~ # allomorphs  112, 117, 118 ~ # allomorphy  111 ~ # alternations  106 ~ # vowel  126, 129, 131 stem, completive  105 ~ complex  95 ~ default  90, 93, 104, 105 ~ final  105 ~ participle  104 ~ past  105 ~ root  93, 94n ~ theme-less  93, 105, 117 ~ verbal  85 ~ vowel  126, 129, 131

stem-allomorphs  85 stem-allomorphy  86, 90, 105, 106 stem-alternations  105 stops  125, 146 stops, velar  163 ~ voiced  148 ~ voiceless  148, 159 stress  227, 254n, 273, 352 ~ # assignment  111 ~ # pattern  350, 351 ~ # shift  346 ~ # variation  346 stress, compound  350 ~ final  337 ~ initial  160, 162 structure, argument  84, 107, 342, 354 ~ autosegmental  136 ~ clause  205, 219 ~ conceptual  183, 190 ~ covert  151 ~ creole,   i–iv, xi, 149, 249, 336, 370, 371, 371n ~ default  111 ~ grammatical  23n, 59, 75, 225 ~ illicit  124 ~ internal  67n, 314 ~ language  120, 197n ~ linguistic  113, 118 ~ morphological  85n, 95, 102, 106, 348 ~ nominal  204–06, 217, 219, 222 ~ paradigm  121 ~ phonological  353 ~ phonotactic  97 ~ phrase  263, 264 ~ predicate-initial  281 ~ semantic  196, 220, 238 ~ sound  102, 105n ~ substrate  320, 378n ~ superstrate  149 ~ surface  135 ~ syllable  v, 111, 123, 124, 141, 142, 146, 147, 149, 151 ~ syntactic  200n ~ target  149 ~ transitive  237 ~ unmarked  150 ~ utterance  120 structures, grammatical  xv, 225

~ substrate  149 study, comparative  118, 220, 238n ~ cross-linguistic  247, 249, 380 ~ data-based  xiii ~ historical  56 ~ quantitative  26, 27 ~ sociohistorical  xi, 82 ~ sociolinguistic  381 ~ typological  221, 248 sub-paradigm, inflectional  117 subject  ix, 63–66, 71, 73, 155, 207, 250, 273, 305, 309, 325, 342, 349, 373n ~ # clitics  220 ~ # extraction  220 ~ # position  255, 260 ~ # pronouns  273, 364, 367, 368, 376 ~ # pronouns emphatic  276 ~ ~ monosyllabic  259 ~ ~ non-emphatic  273, 276 ~ ~ plural  273 ~ # relative clause  63, 77 subject, emphatic  274 ~ non-controlling  325 ~ non-emphatic  274 ~ null  217, 220 ~ postnominal  65, 74 subjunctive  ix, 93, 93n, 100n, 207, 312, 373 subordination # marker  375 subordinator, purpose  373, 374 substitution  272, 365 substitution, intervocalic  164 ~ phonological  165 substrate  i–iv, xi, xiv, xv, 2, 23, 29, 55, 106, 108n, 111, 113n, 115, 118, 120, 124, 133, 141, 142, 145–9, 197n, 214, 226, 228, 234, 237, 238n, 241, 244, 248, 263, 286, 333n, 357n, 368, 379 ~ # allophony  168 ~ # calques, xvi, 301, 313, 328 ~ # community  109, 113 ~ # constraints  142, 144, 149 ~ # constructions  234, 326 ~ # determiners  149, 206, 212–14

 subject index ~ # effect  141, 168 ~ # entries  200, 209, 216 ~ # explanation  xiii ~ # features  59, 60, 78, 79, 111n, 225, 248 ~ # forms  203n, 216 ~ # framework  31 ~ # grammar  124, 149, 150 ~ # hypothesis  222, 261 ~ # influence  xv, xvi, 2, 22, 58–60, 62, 72, 73, 79, 82, 111, 120, 123, 135, 141, 149, 180, 225, 226, 232, 237, 246–9, 277, 301, 302, 311n, 313, 314n, 316, 319, 322, 331, 360n, 376 ~ # language  xii, xiv, xvi, 2, 59, 60, 62, 67, 67n, 69, 71, 74, 75, 77–9, 83, 111, 112, 112n, 115, 118, 124, 141, 144, 145, 147, 149, 161, 197, 200, 200n, 201–03, 205, 206n, 209, 213, 215n, 216, 218, 225, 227, 233, 234, 248, 248n, 253, 261, 288, 291, 293 ~ # language, African  xv, 155, 160, 367 ~ ~ Bantu  237 ~ ~ Chinese  69 ~ ~ contributing  63 ~ ~ dominant  xiv, 1, 65, 77, 142 ~ ~ Indo-Aryan  112n ~ # levelling  xv, 145, 150 ~ # lexical entries  200, 206, 209, 212, 214, 215 ~ # lexicon  212, 216 ~ # models  327 ~ # morpheme  78 ~ # origin  86, 246 ~ # patterns  67n, 225, 232, 237, 242, 247 ~ # phonology  119, 146 ~ # properties  23 ~ # reinforcement  xiv, 59, 76, 77, 79 ~ # research  24 ~ # speakers  55, 83, 86, 107, 108, 108n, 109, 110, 110n, 111, 113, 117, 210, 211, 213 ~ # speakers, adult  xiv, 86, 107, 109

~ # structure  149, 320 ~ # system  146, 208 ~ # transfer  xv, 124, 135, 144, 150 ~ # verbs  215, 216 substrate, African  2n, 21n ~ Bantu  xv, 236, 246 ~ Cantonese  73 ~ dominant  1, 3 ~ Oceanic  57, 220 ~ Philippine  xvi ~ political  45 ~ Sinitic  69 substrate-induced  123 substrate-motivated  xv, 123 substrate/adstrate  96n ~ # influence  275 ~ # languages  228, 275 ~ # origin  97n, 114, 115 ~ # suffix  116 substrates, different  248 ~ dominant  1 ~ multiple  v, xiv, 1, 23, 24 substratist # approach  2, 111, 113 ~ # research  1, 23, 24 ~ # researchers  2 substratists  xii, xiii, 3 suffixation  333, 340, 343, 352, 353 suffixation, double  343 ~ overt  348 ~ zero  348 suffixes, tense  95 ~ tense/aspect  85, 89, 97, 104, 108n superstrate  i–iv, v, xi–xiii, xv, xvi, 29–32, 32n, 44, 51, 53–56, 67n, 69, 72, 73, 75, 77, 78, 78n, 84, 87, 96, 97, 99, 106, 107, 111–114, 116, 117, 118, 120, 123, 124, 146–149, 197n, 200, 203, 208, 212, 214, 215, 218, 226, 228, 234, 238n, 244, 248, 272, 333n, 336, 357n ~ # affixes  107, 112 ~ # entries  344 ~ # epenthesis  134 ~ # features  77, 218 ~ # forms  78, 200, 209, 212, 216, 352 ~ # functions  84

~ # grammar  124 ~ # inflection  109, 120 ~ # influence  xv, xvi, 111, 134, 135, 146, 150, 301, 313, 320 ~ # language  v, xi, xiv, xvi, 31, 75, 109, 148, 197, 198, 200, 200n, 201, 202, 209, 212, 214–18 ~ # language, European  314 ~ ~ Germanic  233 ~ ~ Romance  233 ~ # lexical categories  218 ~ ~ entries  49n, 200, 209 ~ ~ forms  212 ~ # lexicon  30 ~ # lexification  55 ~ # models  328 ~ # origin  96n, 106, 111n ~ # patterns  229, 237 ~ # phonology  124 ~ # ranking  150 ~ # roots  115, 116 ~ # structures  149, 150 ~ # suffixes  100, 106, 107 ~ # theme vowels  85, 102, 115 ~ # varieties  337 ~ # verbs  115n superstrate, creole  xvi, 275 ~ English  xvi, 65 ~ European  225, 233 ~ French  225, 232, 241, 242 ~ Portuguese  xiv, xv superstratists  31, 302 superstratum  55, 333, 336, 338, 343–6, 352, 353 ~ # languages  218 syllable  253 ~ # typology  151 ~ structure  123, 146, 147 ~ ~ constraints  123, 124, 141, 142 ~ ~ constraints, creole  123 ~ structure, creole  v, 111, 123, 146, 149, 151 ~ ~ Sranan  141, 146 syllable, first  256, 260, 261, 346 ~ high  256 ~ initial  347 ~ open  124, 141, 146, 149 ~ optimal  150

subject index  ~ preceding  160 ~ prominent  347 ~ second  256, 347 ~ stressed  160, 346 ~ unstressed  159 syntax1., comparative  119, 380 ~ comparative, creole  xvii ~ creole  250 ~ historical  330 syntax3.  xvi ~ # aquisition  220 ~ vs. semantics  219 syntax3., Balanta  263 ~ Bantu  245 ~ creole  119 ~ ~ 250 ~ Eastern Bantu  248 ~ Fongbe  219 ~ French  220 ~ French-based creoles  248 ~ Guiné-Bissau Creole Portuguese  263 ~ Haitian  220 ~ ~ Creole  221 ~ Japanese  81 ~ Kriyol  278 ~ Niger-Congo  222 ~ pidgin  80 ~ Portuguese  263 ~ Romanic  383 ~ Seychelles Creole  225, 228, 229, 237, 245, 247, 251, 382 ~ valency  225 ~ West African languages  220 T terminology  30, 149 terminology, superstrate  55 terms, deictic  205, 206 ~ demonstrative  221 tone  v, xv, 155, 253, 254, 254n, 256, 257, 257n, 259–61, 270n, 275 ~ # languages  xv, 253, 254, 257, 261 ~ # patterns  254, 255 ~ # raising, morphosyntactic  119 tone, grammatical  258, 259 ~ high  253, 310 ~ high-falling  347 ~ HL  254

~ Kikongo  261 ~ low  253, 256, 260 ~ neutral  259–61 ~ Santomense  253, 261 transcribing  158 transcription, Roman  48 transfer  67, 75–82, 111, 120, 134, 135, 143, 144, 146, 149, 150, 174n, 230, 337, 345 ~ # constraints  58, 78, 82, 120, 124, 331 ~ # paths  153 ~ # scenarios  xv transfer, direct  149 ~ functional  74, 75, 78n ~ inflectional  113 ~ language  xiv, 59, 74, 75, 80, 219 ~ morphological  106 ~ substrate  xv, 124, 135, 144, 150 ~ word-order  81 transitivity  285 transitivity, grammatical  236 typology  xi, 30, 82, 119, 151, 152, 195, 222, 251, 285 U units  97 units, formal  85 ~ independent  343 ~ inflectional  83, 89, 103, 115 ~ meaningful  103 ~ meaningless  89 ~ minimal  103 ~ monomorphemic  85, 103 ~ morphological  97, 104, 106, 116 ~ phonological  351 ~ separate  94n ~ single  350 ~ stem-forming  85, 92, 97, 103, 104, 105 ~ syntactic  267 ~ whole  286, 286n universals  xii, xvii, 119, 120, 194, 220, 222, 250, 328, 355, 378 universals, creole  xi, 249 ~ language  60, 155, 195 ~ linguistic  65 ~ phonetic  116 ~ syntactic  xvii

V variants, grammatical  77 ~ lexical  50 ~ stylistic  326 variation  58, 78–80, 101, 130, 134, 135, 140, 142, 150, 151, 157, 205, 222, 257n, 260, 326, 328, 330, 380, 382 ~ # model  361n variation, geographic  50 ~ inflectional  98n ~ intralinguistic  376 ~ language  xiii, 82, 381 ~ linguistic  328 ~ regional  171 ~ stress  346 ~ synchronic  195 ~ syntactic  xvii ~ typological  79 velars  275 velars, voiced  163 verb # forms  231n ~ # shape, inflectional  106 ~ forms, completive  97, 101 ~ ~ imperative  116 ~ ~ imperfect  93 ~ ~ infinitival  116 ~ ~ inflected  85, 89, 96 ~ ~ participle  101 ~ ~ progressive  97 ~ ~ subjunctive  93n ~ ~ suffixed  101, 111, 111n ~ ~ synthetic  100, 101 ~ ~ unmarked  98, 314, 315, 321 ~ system, complex  297 verb, base  337, 341, 342, 345, 347, 348, 352 ~ basic  45 ~ suffixed  101 verbs  108 ~ # classes  93, 116, 230, 291, 314n ~ # complement  376 ~ # morphology  291 ~ # origin  96n, 115, 117, 155 ~ of the want-class  209 ~ vs. nouns  155 verbs, abilitative  279 ~ abilitive  xvi ~ ability  297 ~ action  284 ~ activity  315

 subject index ~ aspectual  308n ~ borrowed  115n ~ BREAK  219 ~ Chavacano  291 ~ cognitive  290, 291 ~ CUT  219 ~ denominal  346 ~ disyllabic  258 ~ ditransitive  226, 229, 230, 231n, 232, 232n, 233, 235 ~ dynamic  284, 291 ~ English  341 ~ existential  317, 319, 325 ~ experiencer  234, 235 ~ Fongbe  215 ~ inflected  85n, 97, 113 ~ intransitive  284 ~ involuntary  291, 297 ~ Latin  90 ~ Lingua Franca  45 ~ marked explicitely  291 ~ mental  250 ~ modal  282, 288, 290 ~ motion  317 ~ of cognition  290 ~ ~ cutting  216 ~ ~ movement  193 ~ ~ pushing and pulling  242 ~ ~ saying  231n ~ ~ the say-class  208 ~ potential  291 ~ potentive  284, 285, 287, 291 ~ potentive-type  295 ~ process-denoting  314 ~ reduplicated  316 ~ serial  81, 180, 217, 219, 222, 230, 231n ~ state  317 ~ state-denoting  315, 322 ~ stative  284–86, 288, 291, 293, 296, 314, 314n, 315 ~ substrate  215, 216 ~ suffixed  100, 101, 106, 111, 112 ~ superstrate  115n ~ transitive  ix, 310 vocabulary  21, 30, 38, 45, 153, 154, 261, 307 vocabulary, African  25, 57 ~ Kikongo  161 ~ Kimbundu  161 ~ Saramaccan  160

~ Turkish-derived  48 vocative  ix, 273 voice (transitivity) 285 voiced  148 ~ # stops  148 ~ # velars  163 voiceless  148, 159 vowel, epenthetic  xiv, 124, 125, 127–30, 132, 135, 136, 143, 143n, 144, 151, 152 ~ final  135n ~ paragogic  125, 128, 129, 130, 135 ~ preceding  126, 136, 148 ~ stem  125, 126, 129, 131 ~ stem-final  115n ~ stressed  160, 161 ~ theme  xiv, 83, 85, 85n, 86, 88–90, 92, 93, 94n, 95–100, 102, 102n, 103–105, 105n, 106, 111, 112, 115, 115n, 116–118 ~ word-internal  105n vowels, back  129, 132, 143n ~ back/round  124, 127, 128, 133 ~ front  127n, 128–133, 140, 143n, 151 ~ front/coronal  130 ~ high  140, 143, 143n ~ low  127n, 132, 133, 138, 139 ~ mid  140, 143, 143n ~ nasalized  141 ~ round  127n W word  133, 144, 159, 171n, 271, 340 ~ # borrowing  286n ~ # derivation from *  73, 339 ~ # element, initial  269 ~ # etymology  20 ~ # frequency  133 ~ # function  341 ~ # grammaticalization  70, 71 ~ # list  42, 48, 211n ~ # meaning  84 ~ # nucleus  253 ~ # origin  20, 22, 132, 155, 156, 157, 159, 160, 164, 175 ~ # source  50, 154, 162 ~ # spreading  27, 82, 168, 329

~ classes  339 ~ formation  xvi, 276, 336, 344, 353, 354 ~ formations  286, 338 ~ order  67n, 119, 210n, 211, 217–19, 221, 229, 380 ~ order, basic  67n ~ ~ creole’s  201, 217 ~ ~ wrong  218 word, resulting  338 ~ source  184 word-formation  119, 120, 336, 353, 354 word-list  19n, 48, 125, 157 word-order # transfer  81 words  21, 31, 32, 48, 52, 54, 133, 154, 156–59, 175n, 339, 340, 345 ~ # borrowing  50 ~ # categories  257, 349 ~ # change  154 ~ # concatenating  210 ~ # confusion between *  189 ~ # inventory  49 ~ # mixture  39 ~ # relationships between *  269 ~ vs. compounds  198 ~ with a back/round vowel  133 ~ ~ affix  287 words, Akan  20 ~ Arabic  41, 44, 47, 48 ~ base  333, 338, 341 ~ Bhojpuri  175 ~ complex  102, 337, 343, 349 ~ converted  348, 349 ~ creole  118, 151, 168, 174n, 175 ~ disyllabic  261 ~ English  70, 164, 283, 339 ~ English-derived  159, 164 ~ European-derived  155 ~ feminine  271 ~ French  345 ~ function  111 ~ Hawaiian  70 ~ Jamaican English  20 ~ Jamaican Creole  20 ~ lexifier  124 ~ Lingua Franca  38n ~ low tone  256 ~ masculine  271 ~ Melanesian  47n

subject index  ~ monosyllabic  253 ~ non-Romance  46, 48 ~ Portugese  39, 156, 157 ~ Portuguese V, 105n, 153, 156, 157, 162

~ prosodic  350 ~ Romance  46 ~ Santomense  257 ~ Saramaccan  156, 157, 159 ~ Sranan  119, 125, 164

~ trisyllabic  257 ~ Vincentian Creole  339 ~ with a front vowel  133 ~ ~ affixes  198 ~ ~ epenthetic vowel  128

In the series Creole Language Library the following titles have been published thus far or are scheduled for publication: 33 Michaelis, Susanne (ed.): Roots of Creole Structures. Weighing the contribution of substrates and superstrates. 2008. xvii, 425 pp. 32 Huber, Magnus and Viveka Velupillai (eds.): Synchronic and Diachronic Perspectives on Contact Languages. 2007. xii, 370 pp. 31 Baptista, Marlyse and Jacqueline Guéron (eds.): Noun Phrases in Creole Languages. A multi-faceted approach. 2007. x, 494 pp. 30 Siegel, Jeff, John Lynch and Diana Eades (eds.): Language Description, History and Development. Linguistic indulgence in memory of Terry Crowley. 2007. xv, 514 pp. 29 Deumert, Ana and Stephanie Durrleman-Tame (eds.): Structure and Variation in Language Contact. 2006. viii, 376 pp. 28 Clements, J. Clancy, Thomas A. Klingler, Deborah Piston-Hatlen and Kevin J. Rottet (eds.): History, Society and Variation. In honor of Albert Valdman. 2006. vi, 304 pp. 27 Escure, Geneviève and Armin Schwegler (eds.): Creoles, Contact, and Language Change. Linguistic and social implications. 2004. x, 355 pp. 26 Mous, Maarten: The Making of a Mixed Language. The case of Ma’a/Mbugu. 2003. xx, 322 pp. 25 Migge, Bettina: Creole Formation as Language Contact. The case of the Suriname Creoles. 2003. xii, 151 pp. 24 Mühleisen, Susanne: Creole Discourse. Exploring prestige formation and change across Caribbean English-lexicon Creoles. 2002. xiv, 332 pp. 23 Smith, Norval and Tonjes Veenstra (eds.): Creolization and Contact. 2001. vi, 323 pp. 22 Neumann-Holzschuh, Ingrid and Edgar W. Schneider (eds.): Degrees of Restructuring in Creole Languages. 2001. iv, 492 pp. 21 McWhorter, John (ed.): Language Change and Language Contact in Pidgins and Creoles. 2000. viii, 503 pp. 20 Rickford, John R. and Suzanne Romaine (eds.): Creole Genesis, Attitudes and Discourse. Studies celebrating Charlene J. Sato. 1999. viii, 418 pp. 19 Spears, Arthur K. and Donald Winford (eds.): The Structure and Status of Pidgins and Creoles. Including selected papers from meetings of the Society for Pidgin and Creole linguistics. 1997. viii, 461 pp. 18 Escure, Geneviève: Creole and Dialect Continua. Standard acquisition processes in Belize and China (PRC). 1997. x, 307 pp. 17 Thomason, Sarah G. (ed.): Contact Languages. A wider perspective. 1997. xiii, 506 pp. 16 Clements, J. Clancy: The Genesis of a Language. The formation and development of Korlai Portuguese. 1996. xviii, 282 pp. 15 Arends, Jacques, Pieter Muysken and Norval Smith (eds.): Pidgins and Creoles. An introduction. 1994. xv, 412 pp. 14 Kihm, Alain: Kriyol Syntax. The Portuguese-based Creole language of Guinea-Bissau. 1994. xii, 310 pp. 13 Arends, Jacques (ed.): The Early Stages of Creolization. 1996. xvi, 297 pp. 12 Byrne, Francis and Donald Winford (eds.): Focus and Grammatical Relations in Creole Languages. Papers from the University of Chicago Conference on Focus and Grammatical Relations in Creole Languages. 1993. xvi, 329 pp. 11 Byrne, Francis and John Holm (eds.): Atlantic Meets Pacific. A global view of pidginization and creolization. 1992. ix, 465 pp. 10 Winford, Donald: Predication in Caribbean English Creoles. 1993. viii, 419 pp. 9 Byrne, Francis and Thom Huebner (eds.): Development and Structures of Creole Languages. Essays in honor of Derek Bickerton. 1991. x, 222 pp. 8 Bailey, Guy, Natalie Maynor and Patricia Cukor-Avila (eds.): The Emergence of Black English. Text and commentary. 1991. x, 352 pp. 7 Fabian, Johannes (ed.): History from Below. The “Vocabulary of Elisabethville” by André Yav: Text, Translations and Interpretive Essay. With the assistance of Kalundi Mango. With linguistic notes by W. Schicho. 1990. vii, 236 pp. 6 Singler, John Victor (ed.): Pidgin and Creole Tense/Mood/Aspect Systems. 1990. xvi, 240 pp. 5 Jackson, Kenneth David: Sing Without Shame. Oral traditions in Indo-Portuguese Creole verse. 1990. xxiv, 257 pp.

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Lipski, John M.: The Speech of the Negros Congos in Panama. 1989. vii, 159 pp. Byrne, Francis: Grammatical Relations in a Radical Creole. Verb Complementation in Saramaccan. With a foreword by Derek Bickerton. 1987. xiv, 293 pp. Sebba, Mark: The Syntax of Serial Verbs. An investigation into serialisation in Sranan and other languages. 1987. xv, 218 pp. Muysken, Pieter and Norval Smith (eds.): Substrata versus Universals in Creole Genesis. Papers from the Amsterdam Creole Workshop, April 1985. 1986. vii, 311 pp.