Shukran Jon’g: A Story of Linguistic Fusion in South Sudan

Language evolves in multicultural societies through the blending of linguistic influences, reflecting each region’s unique history, culture, and diversity. Different languages borrow from each other to create distinct dialects or vernaculars, serving as living symbols of cultural identities and historical experiences.

Nestled in North Africa, Morocco showcases a vibrant linguistic tapestry where Arabic and Berber coexist. These languages borrow from each other, creating a unique Moroccan dialect – a testament to the nation’s rich cultural heritage. Across the Indian subcontinent, the fusion of Hindi and English in urban centres gives rise to Hinglish, a vernacular reflecting the subcontinent’s colonial history and modern cosmopolitanism. In the bustling city-state of Singapore, a symphony of Mandarin, Malay, Tamil, and English culminates in ‘Singlish,’ a creole language that mirrors the nation’s multicultural fabric.

In South Sudan, the dynamic interplay between local languages like Dinka, Nuer, and Bari with Arabic reveals a complex network of linguistic connections. This fusion not only shapes communication but also reflects the nation’s historical journey and evolving cultural identity. I recall my childhood and early adolescence in Khartoum, Sudan, listening to “Fi Madina Juba” (In Juba City) by the iconic singer, the late Mahmoud Abdul Aziz with a special focus on the stanza, ‘Salam bita itakum’. Moreover,  It was through this song that I started gaining insight into the unique form of Arabic spoken in South Sudan.

The intersection of Arabic and local languages in South Sudan narrates a story that extends far beyond mere words; it’s a narrative of people, history, and identity. As a nation shaped by resilience and cultural richness, South Sudan bears the imprint of Arabic influence, interwoven with indigenous languages, creating a dynamic and intricate linguistic dialogue.

‘Garman’ is a word signifying craving in English. Predominantly used in the western region of Sudan, it exemplifies the exchange and coexistence between the people there and those of Western Bahr Ghazal. This is but one instance in a multitude of cultural dualities. It transcends singular heritage, enduring even in the face of political fragmentation and conflict. This hybridity embodies a profound truth: the capacity of language to adapt without sacrificing its origins.

Arabic’s presence in South Sudan predates our independence, arriving through trade routes and religious exchanges along the Nile. But in South Sudan, language is never static. When Arabic encountered local dialects, it didn’t just occupy space; it adapted and transformed, integrating into everyday life in ways that mirrored the character of our communities. Arabic loanwords found a comfortable place in Dinka, Nuer, and Bari vocabularies. One can often identify individuals by their distinctive accents. The permeation of language integration became especially apparent within the Faratit ethnic group (located in Western Bahr Ghazal, notably the Balanda tribe). For instance, the Balanda integrated the Arabic word ‘Shukran’, meaning ‘Thanks’ in English, into their language, transforming it into ‘Shukran jon’g’, signifying ‘thank you very much.’ Furthermore, Arabic in South Sudan began to acquire the rhythm and texture of our indigenous tongues – unique pronunciations, local idioms, and even grammatical shifts.

However, language in South Sudan is also a political matter. For many, Arabic carries the weight of historical tension, having been used both as a tool of connection and, at times, of control. Today, our local languages, vibrant and diverse, serve as symbols of identity and resistance, a way of reclaiming narratives that have been historically marginalised. Yet, the interaction between Arabic and indigenous tongues is less about competition and more about survival, a testament to how communities adapt and persevere through adversity. In markets and classrooms, on streets and in homes, this linguistic exchange persists. It manifests in phrases, poetry, and music, representing the multifaceted identity of the South Sudanese, our history and present, and the language we choose to forge for the future.

500WM Columnist Butros Nicola Bazia, born in Khartoum, Sudan in 2001, is a South Sudanese independent writer and storyteller currently based in Juba, South Sudan. He began his content creation journey with Young Black Voice Podcast in 2022 and transitioned to creative writing in 2023, driven by a deep interest in arts, culture, and society. His work reflects resilience and creativity, even amidst the challenges posed by ongoing conflict in the region. Nicola now runs his own blog, Autide Me, and has published works in Sudans Post and 500 Words Magazine, where he currently serves as a columnist.