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Pidgin, which evolved from the many different cultures all living together in the early days of the plantations, is a part of what makes Hawaii special. Pidgin binds us together in unique ways, with its rich vocabulary and clever phrases that can only be found in the islands.
Last week I wrote about some of our readers’ favorite pidgin expressions. The response was great. In fact, it looks like we barely scratched the surface. So, here are some more pidgin favorites.
Howzit?
Debora Joyce wrote, “You forgot ‘Howzit!’ How could you? LOL.”
You wan haole
Martha Lee Mullen said: “My favorite da kine is from when I was a tutor in a Kalihi elementary school during the 1970s.
“The kids I worked with were mainly from Samoa, the Philippines and Korea. Pidgin was rife as the common denominator. One day I had to take a boy to task for swearing at a girl in our little group. I asked him how he thought I would feel if he called me ‘a damn haole.’
“He looked at me in surprise and asked, ‘You wan (one) haole, Mees (Mrs.) Mullen? I nevah knew!’
“I was one of two haoles in the school and couldn’t help feeling good that he nevah knew!”
Baa-choom
Chuck Nakagawa in Mililani said that in the early 1970s he was a flight attendant working a trip from Honolulu to Los Angeles.
“My California-based flying partner came up to me. She said, ‘Please talk to that passenger, I don’t know what he wants.’
“So, I walk up to this local Hawaiian teenager and ask him, ‘Can I help you?’ He answers, ‘Way da baa-choom?’
“So, I pointed to the back of the plane where the toilets were.”
Befo time
Gary Kikuchi said, “To indicate to my kids things that were in my past, I’d say ‘Befo time, nevah had Ala Moana Center.’ They jus’ crack up hearing me say that.“
If can, can
Elizabeth Yamada said her favorite pidgin expression is, “If can, can; if no can, no can!”
Citizen Ka-ne
Guy Lee wrote, “Your da kine stories reminded me of an only-in-Hawaii moment at Saint Louis High School in the 1970s.
“During the morning P.A. announcements, a student read this notice from the film teacher: ‘Students are invited to come to Room 60 after school to see the classic film ‘Citizen … Ka-ne.’”
Try wait
Hiroshi Kato said “try wait” and “try come” are his favorites.
“I don’t know the origin, but I think it really is a reflection of our local culture. Instead of saying ‘wait’ or ‘come,’ which are commands, ‘try wait’ and ‘try come’ are polite ways of asking someone to wait or come.”
Culture, not race
Jerry Takesono believes, “Pidgin is about culture, and culture is not always based on race.
“Growing up on Kauai, one of us boys was this tall haole kid, Sevath (Pete) Boyum. He towered over everyone. He did everything we did: ate crack seed, ran around barefooted, cracked jokes, spoke pidgin, etc.
“On May Day 1955, we were in fifth grade and danced the hula. After the May Day pageant, we were treated to Hawaiian food at the cafeteria. All of us were seated there, chowing down. Pete’s parents came up and asked him if he would like to have ice cream for dessert.
“He responded in perfect English, ‘Yes, I would like that very much.’
“We all turned to him and said, ‘Hey Pete, we nevah know you could speak good English.’ He only spoke pidgin with us, ever! Not even to the teachers! We never thought of him as haole. He was just one of the boys!
“Pidgin and the culture of growing up in Hawaii was not based on race. It’s based on understanding and loving what we had here in the islands.
“Pete grew up to be a colonel and piloted helicopter Marine One. Can you imagine a local boy flying all the U.S. presidents and other countries’ heads of state? My friend Pete. Bless you for showing me what racism isn’t!”
Undahneat my peecha
An anonymous reader said, “During our senior year of high school, we were able to choose a quote to appear under our picture in the school yearbook. Using a variation of ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover,’ for mine, I made up ‘No can judge coconut by da’ husk.’
“Yep, da kine stay eensai da 1968 yearbook undahneat my peecha.”
Sankakabeach
Henry Kanda wrote, “My Okinawan-born Baban owned an okazuya on Kukui Street from the 1940s to the 1960s. Whenever she got angry at her customers, she would say, “Sankakabeach.”
“I always thought she was speaking Okinawan. Later, I came to realize she was trying to say ‘son of a bitch.’”
Son-aka-bitchee
Gere Best said she had a similar experience growing up. “We were my paternal grandma’s ‘son-aka-bitchee kids.’ Whenever we heard Grandma yell, “You …’ we headed for the house exits; no one stuck around to find out who grandma was mad at.
“Usually, the nearest exits were the windows, which didn’t have screens because the grandkids bailed out from them so frequently. Survival skills from Grandma’s temper meant that we got out of her way posthaste.
“We climbed the window ledge, flipped over and jumped for the ground — taking off at full speed kept us alive and well. We’d let Grandma settle down, then slowly and safely crawl back to the house and eat her good Korean food.
“Grandma was Korean and epitomized the Korean description of being fiery for starters. The neighbors loved our family as we would provide quite a bit of entertainment for them — running like hell to get away from Grandma, who chased us down Wela Street in Kapahulu yelling, ‘You no good son-aka-bitchee kids!’
“Unbeknownst to us, Grandma taught us survival skills so we made it to adulthood in good form … with loads of Grandma stories to tell.
“When she passed, we all agreed that Grandma was just too mean to let a germ get started in her. She died peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of 87.”
No more
Georgia Tien said, “I moved here in the 1970s having grown up in New England. For income while I job-hunted, I worked as a cocktail waitress at the Crouching Lion Restaurant in Kaaawa.
“This young wide-eyed wahine got a fast and furious introduction to local culture. One night a guest asked for ginger ale, and I presented the order to the bartender, who was always short-tempered, especially with me. Her reply was, ‘No more.’
“To me that meant that it was normally available, but she had run out. I asked when there would be more, and she repeated, ‘No more.’
“I asked again and this time she was enraged, I was confused, and from then on my drink orders would go to the end of the line. Later I learned ‘no more’ means ‘never had it, never will.’”
Same-same
Bob Leinau observed, “‘Same-same’ seems to pop up frequently when discussing all sorts of current issues — the status quo or a close comparative situation.
“The replication implies emphasis added … like a verbal exclamation mark. But, and in reality, things no stay ‘same-same!’”
Gunfunit
Bryant Ching added, “Another local saying when my family’s elders wanted to swear in mixed company: ‘Gunfunit!’”
Cool head main t’ing
Former Gov. George Ariyoshi spoke to a group of veterans in 1973. He urged them to consider the pidgin expression “Cool head main t’ing.”
Calling it a “crisp island-ism with profound meaning,” Ariyoshi said, “It means we judge things by their content, not their packaging.”
Pidgin is one of the most humorous languages I know. It’s fun to use and playful much of the time. Some readers, though, feel its use is diminishing. Is this another thing that millennials are leaving by the side of da road?
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Bob Sigall’s “The Companies We Keep 5” book contains stories from the past three years of Rearview Mirror. “The Companies We Keep 1 and 2” are also back in print. Email Sigall at Sigall@yahoo.com.
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