Fanabla do Céu

When I was in kindergarten or first grade, my inquiry, "Wheh's the bubbleh?" was met with confusion from teachers and classmates. I wanted to ask where I could find the water fountain, but the word I knew was a bubbler, unique to Rhode Island (and Wisconsin, I believe). However, the /r/ is dropped, resulting in the sound, "bubbleh," a word completely unfamiliar anywhere down south. I grew up in Maryland, in a suburb of Washington, D.C., picking up a bit of unusual English from my parents, who were from Rhode Island. It was something I quickly learned to drop in public, but make fun of at home.

You may have heard of the joke about the Bostonian accent in the expression, "Pahk the cah in Hahvahd yahd," (Park the car in Harvard Yard--which is impossible, because Harvard Yard is the green of the university and there is certainly no parking there). While old-time Massachusetts dwellers with their British roots may have gotten fame for a nasal sound in the /a:/ while dropping the /r/ in such words, Rhode Islanders say something more like "Pawk the caw."

Both the Rhode Island accent and some unusual vocabulary flavored my childhood. I grew up with a taste for hot wienehs (wieners) or gaggehs (gaggers), a greasy, scrawny, orange hotdog that is best served "with the pants on," with meat sauce, mustard, onions, and celery salt. These were well known in the neighborhood of Olneyville, Providence. Then there's a coffee cabinet, which is not a piece of furniture, but a coffee flavored milkshake. There are numerous foods unique to that region, with names adapted from Italian, French and Portuguese folks who settled in the area long ago.

Though once looked down on as foreigners, these immigrants brought a culture that has since been embraced and assimilated into the wider local culture. (Americans seem to have embraced white immigrant history with pride, but, shamefully, not that of people of color, but that's another discussion.) You'll still find Rhode Islanders making the joke that in Woonsocket, with its French-Canadian history, people park their cars "side by each," an amusing translation of "side by side" from French. And you'll find lots of Italian-American slang such as fuggeddaboudit ("forget about it,") especially in the town of Johnston, where my French-Canadian grandmother, my Mémère, used to live.

That leads me to my favorite Rhode Island slang word, an exclamation, often of anger or frustration, but not incredibly serious--more in the vein of "get out of here!" The word is fanabla, which I understand is an Italian-American semi-swear word, meaning, "Go to Naples," kind of like saying "Go to hell!" (I once explained this to my Napolitano friend, in Italy, and he thought it was hilarious! When I learned Italian, I realized that the fa is actually do or make, and Naples would be Napoli, but, of course, it's an Americanized expression. The guy from Naples loved it nonetheless.)

When I was little, I remember my Mémère and my mother saying this at every little thing--when the phone rang at an inconvenient time, when the cat threw up on the carpet, when something fell. I picked it up, but, as a child, I was told not to say it in public. (Can you imagine what the reaction at school might have been had I said, "Fanabla, yooz guyz, I'm tryin'a find the BUBBLAH!"--but I was well-behaved, and shy, so this didn't happen!)

I still catch myself saying fanabla in frustration, but only when I'm home in Maryland with my family (or in the past when I was visiting my Mémère in Rhode Island). In true Johnstonian form, it's usually preceded by a drawn-out, "aaaaaaeee..." Whenever I say it, my frustration usually turns into laughter.

The last time I was in the U.S. visiting family, I was taking an excellent online pronunciation course for teachers offered by the ELT rockstars, Thiago Veigga and Mark Hancock. I laughed a lot as I realized I have trouble with my vowels, especially distinguishing between /a:/ and /ӕ/--perhaps from stretching and twisting them the Rhode Island way. Then I started to learn about consonants, and as I studied fricatives (consonants that create friction, such as /s/, /z/, and /f/, to name a few), I started laughing again, because, to my East-Coast ears, fricative sounds like a frickin' swear word! When I was explaining this to my family, and mentioned another kind of consonant, affricates (which start with a plosive--a burst of air, and end with friction), we started laughing and swearing with it the Rhode Island way, saying, "aaaaaaeee...FRICATE!" instead of "aaaaaaeee...FANABLA!" I can only imagine my Mémère's mischievious giggles if she were still around to laugh at this.

Different places of Brazil have their own slang words, too, of course. The equivalent to fanabla that I hear--at least from my husband--is toma banho--"take a shower." We have plenty of immigrant history and borrowed words that have shaped the culture here as well, but perhaps the biggest influence that manifests itself in the local culture is religion. Exclamations of surprise include things like gente do céu (people of heaven/the sky), or a reference to Mary, Our Lady of Aparecida, "Nossa Senhora!" or "Nossa Senhora Aparecida!" This may seem impolite, but it's actually not, as this Brazilian saint is particularly revered with strong affection here, not too far away from the site of her appearance. I remember the first time I heard this expression was while watching a Turma da Mônica cartoon in the U.S., and Mônica exclaimed "Nossa!" at a beautiful star. Somehow, I knew it referred to Nossa Senhora, but was shortened to the possessive adjective, "our." This is common, and, though I'm not Catholic, I find myself saying "Nossa," or just "Noss..." at surprising or shocking things here, just like everyone else. The other reference to the Virgin Mary is a shortened version of virgin, "vish." That must be why I catch myself exclaiming "ish!" in astonishment every once in a while. I used to say a good old-fashioned East Coast "Oh, my gosh," but those days are rare.

Protestants and Catholics alike here say "Deus me livre!" ("God forbid," but with the root from the word for free.) I hear this most often when I offer people hot pepper, which I like on my food but is not common here, or when it's getting cold by Brazilian standards. And then, with a similar meaning, there is the exclamation, "Creio em Deus Pai" ("I believe in God the Father," the first line of the Apostles Creed, recited in the mass every week.) I wonder what response I'd get if, religious nerd that I am, I replied with the next line, "e em Jesus Cristo seu único filho, nosso Senhor," but I won't go there. It just makes me smile how a reference to spicy food or temperatures in the 60's F (teens C) brings out such a devout recitation of an ancient statement of faith. The other one that makes me smile is "Misericórdia!" ("Mercy!") I'm not even sure why it makes me smile. Maybe it's the weight of the word to my ears (with my Protestant background) paired with a situation of moderate surprise and embarrassment. I guess it does make sense, though.

I couldn't stop laughing when I came across this in a Chico Bento Moço comic. His caipira (country bumpkin) father exclaims "Jabuticaba abençoada!--Blessed jabuticaba!" Jabuticaba is a berry, kind of like a grape, with a tough skin and a tart inside. I can't imagine why it's blessed, but the rhyming of the unlikely word combination had me laughing for a long time! 

My identity is made up of a combination of different cultures that have intersected in my life. Every once in a while it's helpful to unpack them and think about why I say what I say or do what I do. The English language is an eclectic mix, as well. Whenever a new group of students think they've struck gold by getting an American teacher, I tell them that every speaker of English, from whatever language or cultural background, brings something important to offer, and that "native speakers" are no better than "non-natives--" terms I try to avoid anyway. My North American experience, as well as my accent, is mostly limited to the East Coast, and that's what I bring. The goal, however, is not to develop Rhode Islanders or people who speak with an East Coast accent, but rather, speakers of English as a global language. That's why it's not only fun, but important to ask ourselves who we are and why we think and say things the way we do. In doing so, we'll discover and maybe question underlying assumptions, beliefs, and intersections that have made our local culture unique.

What special expressions come from your part of the world? What is your fanabla do céu?