While it’s sometimes still hard to understand locals when they talk to each other, working in the coffee shop has helped me grasp the island accent, lingo, and speech patterns more quickly than I might have otherwise.
The island language is loose and easy—ending consonants are often dropped and words run together or are left out entirely, especially when stateside people don’t need to understand. The pitch of the words flows up and down, as if tracing the hills and valleys of the island’s topography. Th’s are replaced by “t” or “d” as in “tick” for “thick” or “da” for “the.” Often a couple words are rearranged from ther formal English order. I notice this more in interrogative statements. As in, “What time it is?” or “What dis is?” For instance, I often hear in the coffee shop, “I could have a dumbread and cheese?” At first, this flip flop seems just plain wrong, but it soon grows charming. Especially because t’s are pronounced very sharply, adding a graceful staccato to the melody of words.
And, as in any local dialect, there are rules to be followed.
I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s an important enough part of local etiquette to be mentioned again. And that is greeting people according to the time of day: Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Evening, Good Night, and Good Day are the proper salutations. Though people often drop the “Good” and just go with the “Morning” or “Afternoon.” It’s quite nice when someone walks into a doctor’s waiting room, and says “Ahfta-noon,” to the group gathered, and most people respond, “Afternoon,” in a harmony of accents.
It takes some time to get used to doing this constantly, but after a bit of practice it becomes second nature. I must say, I have come to enjoy this social custom. Greeting the people you approach, to acknowledge their existence on this planet, rather than averting eye contact to avoid having to say anything, is a rather pleasant and connecting experience.
Another lovely aspect of the local dialect is the abundance of affectionate terms such as, “hon,” “sweetheart,” or the Spanish-influenced, “mame'”. It makes you feel just plain cared for and valued when someone tacks “honey” or “baby” on the end of a sentence directed toward you. People also tend to use the titles Ms. and Mr. more frequently than I hear in the Midwest.
Here’s an example from my life:
A taxi driver—one of our regulars—approaches the counter.
“Good Morning, Mr. J-----,” I say, “How are you today?”
“I am blessed, sweethawt, tank you. An’ I can tell dat you ladies are blessed as well from da smiles on yah beauttiful faces.”
And if he’s feeling generous, he will buy coffee for the ladies sitting up front. The ones who commune at R&J’s every morning before going to work in one of the jewelry stores downtown.
There’s an affectionate quality to the interactions that I don’t remember experiencing back home.
It’s funny that I’m writing this because when I first moved to the island, I was bothered and intimidated by how rude people can be. This is a complaint made by many who live here, transplants and island-cultivated alike. Sometimes clerks won’t make eye contact or even speak to you at places like Kmart or Pueblo. This doesn’t bother me as much as it used to because I’ve found that if you speak to people as if they’re real people and not just the roles they play (cashier, receptionist, etc.), they will often respond in kind. And if they don’t, you can’t take it personally because it’s just one of those things about living on St. Thomas. And the hospitality that can occur here is so genuine and generous that it makes up for any rudeness you may encounter.
Safari Bus Wisdom.
