In a small fishing village on the coast of Nigeria, people spoke in a blend of languages that told stories of history, trade, and survival. It was a language called Pidgin English.
Every morning, Bayo, a young fisherman, would head to the shore to prepare his boat. As he worked, he would greet the other fishermen in Pidgin, a language that connected them all no matter their tribe. “O boy, how body?” he would call out. “Body dey inside,” they would reply with a smile, meaning they were doing fine.
One day, a stranger arrived in the village, a businessman from the city, speaking fluent English. He needed fish for his market but struggled to understand the fishermen’s language. He approached Bayo, asking, “Do you speak proper English?”
Bayo smiled and replied in Pidgin, “Oga, English na English. We fit understand, na di important tin.”
The businessman hesitated, confused but intrigued by the simplicity of the language that bridged gaps between the many tongues spoken in Nigeria. He quickly realized that though Pidgin was different from the English he knew, it carried the heart of the people—straightforward, vibrant, and full of life.
As the days passed, the businessman began picking up bits of Pidgin. He learned that it wasn’t about being ‘proper’ but about connection, understanding, and making do with what you had. And in the village, everyone had a way to make themselves understood.
By the end of his stay, he greeted Bayo with a confident, “How you dey?”
Bayo laughed, impressed, and replied, “I dey kampe, Oga!” Which meant, “I’m doing great!” The two shared a smile, knowing that language is more than just words—it’s a bridge between worlds.
KRACHOUSE IN PIDGIN 