My first introduction to Dominican slang was, well, a
greeting – “¿Qué lo que?” This
translates roughly to “what that which?” – in other words, it makes no sense
whatsoever. It is, in fact, an example of word-cutting, in which either parts
of words or entire, lesser, words are omitted from a phrase because they are
deemed useless. In this example, the entire “phrase” would be “¿Qué es lo que hay?” (“what is it?” –
literally, “what is that which is?”) or “¿Qué
es lo que pasa?” (“what is happening?” – literally, “what is that which is
happening?”) Evidently, it was decided that these phrases had to be cut down to
size, and where better to start than those useless verbs.
Another popular favourite is the “vaina”. A vaina is the shell of any sort of legume, the kind of
thing that you discard to get to the goodness within. It makes sense, then,
that in the common parlance a “vaina”
is something useless or burdensome. When giving workshops or presentations, I
usually track my success or lack thereof by how often the subject matter is
referred to as a vaina – which is usually.
 |
| ¡Que vaina! |
Knowing is important in the Dominican Republic. Well, knowing
is pretty important anywhere, but whether you are “one who knows” around here
determines your place in the social order. “Él
que sabe” or “Ella que sabe”
(he/she who knows) is the one who gives the orders. Knowing is what separates
the movers and shakers from the vaina. “Tú
no sabes” is usually used to bar someone from an activity which they are
obviously incapable of, such as riding a motorcycle, making a table, or
hammering a nail. Any interaction is a transfer of knowledge, and this is
codified by the traditional closure of a conversation – “ya tu sabes” (now you know). This is important; because unless you
have become “él que sabe”, you’ll
never get to do anything fun.
We have, until this point, limited our discussion to the
verbal. This leaves out by far the best part of the language, the written word.
You see, Spanish as a language has a number of minimal pairs – letters that
have interchangeable sounds, essentially. It is minimal pairs that cause
confusion in Indian languages between v and w, or in some Asian languages
between r and l.
In Spanish, b and v generally have the same sound, although
there are some conventions as to when one is used as opposed to the other. The
same goes for y, i, and the double-l. In Cibaeño, the dialect that is spoken
throughout the Cibao region of the Dominican Republic, r and l are often given
the same sound – not only that, but the sound they are given is neither r nor l
– but rather y. This also only happens when the r or l falls at the end of a
syllable. Finally, the letter s is usually not pronounced when it falls at the
end of a word.
Now, this wouldn’t be so confusing usually, since Spanish
usually has strict rules on spelling – however, the written word in the Cibao
region goes by the rule that if you can use them interchangeably in the spoken
word, you should be able to use them interchangeably when writing, too. Let’s
see some examples:
Bienvenidos –
welcome – can be spelled any of the following ways: Vienvenidos, Bienbenidos,
or Vienbenidos (the hotel next to our
apartment also has, inexplicably, ‘Biembenidos’)
Bachillerato – high
school – could also be spelled vachillerato
or bachiyerato
The phrase “se alquila”
(for rent) has been spelled in almost every variant imaginable: “se arquila”, “c alquila” “se alkila”
and so forth.
 |
| "Proibido bajar la silla a la arena" |
For a non-native speaker coming to Cibao, the language can be
a bit of a rollercoaster ride. The first reaction is usually despair, since
whatever language skills you may have possessed before arriving will be of
limited use in understanding what people are saying. Next, upon understanding
the way Cibaeño is spoken, some newcomers get a little cocky. They realize that
their Spanish, refined in university classes and summers abroad in Barcelona,
is far more 'advanced' than the common person’s, what with their correct usage of
the subjunctive and conditional moods and pronunciation of each and every
letter in the correctly-spelled word. These hoity-toity airs, however, are
quickly blown away by the blank stares that meet any phrase such as “pudiera darme una cerveza” (would you be
able to give me a beer), when the persona was clearly expecting either “dame una” (give me one [beer]) or,
better yet, the gesture that indicates a large bottle of Presidente. Finally, one begins to fit in, noticing the s’s slowly
dropping away from their words, “¿cómo
estás?” gradually becoming “¿cómo
e’tá’?” and forgetting that there ever was any difference between an r and
an l.
