A bit of backstory: My country on Nationstates is a small Malaysian island that was colonized and civilized by British explorers in the 19th century. This account was written by Edward G. Gray, one of the very first visitors to the region. I tried to create a true, fleshed-out person in this entry, and I was wondering if I could get some critique (or praise. I like praise, too. lol). By the way, he keeps using weird words. When I create a character, I have to follow through with his/her thought process, and Edward decided normal words are too mainstream.My Encounters with the Malaysian People of the Sunset
By Edward G. Grey
My name is Edward G. Grey. I live in the Southern half of London, England, and I am 46 years of age. More to the point, I was an explorer of the islands of Malaysia, as a linguist and historian ten years ago. My job was to learn the language of the natives and teach them English in return. It was a daunting task, but I was asked directly if I could take the job, so I supposed they must have seen me as worthy.
The voyage to the islands took many weeks, down the Atlantic, around the tip of Africa, and across the Indian ocean. Fortunately, it largely went without any trouble. At one point, a disease spread across the ship, likely from our stop in Africa. Nearly everybody, including myself, got the sickness, and it was miserable. However, everybody quickly recovered, and we were set back on course.
The initial sight of the Malaysian islands invoked a great sense of success in the crew and passengers. Cheers erupted across the deck, and more than one wine bottles were popped to celebrate. I was at my own private desk when the sailor called, "Land ho!", studying languages like Chinese, Japanese, and others around the region. I threw my books on the desk as my heart was lifted. Then, my stomach dropped at the idea of being the first means of communications with the people. I was as nervous as a schoolchild performing a poorly rehearsed play to an audience. However, I knew that I still had time to finish preparing, and I would have still more time on the island.
As we grew closer, I stepped onto the deck to see a crowd of people starting to build on the shore of the island. The first thing I noticed was how few of them wore clothing. Many of the adults, and nearly all of the children, were bare, and those that did wear clothing wore it sparsely. I supposed this was a sign that these people needed to be civilized and trained out of their animalistic ideas. The next thing I saw was the color of their skin. It was especially yellow, even more than that of other peoples around the area. I went back to my desk to grab a book containing images of people of the Oceanic region. I compared the men and women on the shore to those in the book and was amazed at the differences. Their bodies were built similarly, but the colors were so much sharper on the island people.
Once I could see their faces more clearly, I saw that they were inspecting us just as we inspected them. One small boy, around the age of 8, with eyes wide open and nearly as round as a coin, was staring directly at me. I waved at him and gave him a smile. I know from experience that these are two of the most universal signs among people, displaying that you are friendly and not a threat. The boy recognized my welcoming spirit and smiled back. He nudged the old man next to him and pointed in my direction, excitedly jabbering. The old man squinted to see what the boy pointed to, but apparently gave up and turned back away from the shore. He grabbed the boy's hand and tried to bring him, too, but the boy pulled back, and the old man left by himself.
It was an interesting ordeal, but it revealed to me that the natives did, in fact, use verbal language to communicate. I've heard of other linguists having trouble with peoples who only communicated through hand motions, or even whistles. It is much simpler to spread English to those who already speak.
As we finally hit the shore, the people on the beach stepped back, staring at the ship in total awe. Some began to murmur to each other, but, try as I might, I could not hear any of their words to try to get a sense of their language.
The sailors started to line up next to the ship's exit as two men put down a board to the land. I didn't know what to do, personally, so I lined up with the sailors. None of them tried to send me back, so I supposed this was fine. The captain came across the deck of his ship and nodded to his men. Then, he beckoned for me to go in front of him and lead the way to the new island. My hands suddenly became very sweaty, though I don't know if it was from the heat or the nerves.
I nodded with a shaky smile and started down the plank to the beach. I tried as hard as I could to appear confident and cool without stumbling and falling all the way down. At one point, my foot hit the wood, and I had to catch my balance before I fell. Behind me, one of the sailors laughed. I smiled and snickered timidly. When I looked back up, I noticed that the boy from before was staring straight at me with eyes and mouth open from fear. I gave him another smile and finished walking down.
When I reached the sand, I moved out of the way for the captain, and then the line of sailors. As they got organized, the crowd in front of us began to separate, and, from the middle of the group, an older man, perhaps and few years older than myself, stepped towards us. He wore pure white cloths across his body, hanging around his waists, his arms, his hair, and even his toes. He wasn't weak or frail, but rather muscular, and noticably taller than many of the other men around. His eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion and heavy with bags, but he gave a simple, welcoming smile. He looked at each of us one at a time. I supposed he was looking for some distinguishing feature that showed a leader among us. I thought that he would certainly realize that the captain, with his strapping red coat and hat, was in charge, but, instead, he stepped towards a sailor in a white cap. He put his hands together and bowed slightly, and then stared at the man as if he expected him to do the same. The sailor, who looked around in confusion and stress, instead pointed at me. The old man scrunched his eyebrows and turned instead towards me. He did the same bowing motion, and I repeated it. He smiled more widely now, but gave no speech. He seemed to be waiting for me to do something, as the people behind him shuffled nervously.
I began to wrack my brain for something to do or say. I realized that I should prove that we are just like them using another universally human idea: music. I took in a small breath and began to whistle "Blow the Man Down," a sea shanty I'd heard the sailors sing a few times. One of the sailors laughed, and began to whistle with me. The native man turned his head to look at the sailor, and then turned back to me. He gave a short guffaw and started to slap his thigh to the beat of the song. A few other sailors joined in, and, by the last notes, which I whistled alone (as is tradition. The one who starts the shanty ends it), many of the native people and all of the sailors were grinning.
The native man guffawed again and started to speak in his language. I let him finish, but, as I obviously didn't understand, I said, in English, "I don't understand what you're saying." He was taken back, and he blinked his eyes in confusion. He started to speak again, but, realizing that I was not comprehending him, he stopped. I looked around at something I could use to communicate with him. I stooped to the ground and picked up a handful of sand. I then stood up and said, "Sand."
The man looked at the sand, and then at me, with his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. He pointed to the sand and said, "Foru."
"Foru?" I asked.
"Foru," he repeated.
"Foru," I said, nodding my head.
I let the sand slip through my fingers and pointed towards the water. "Sea," I said.
"Mowus," he said.
"Mowus?" said I.
"Mowus," said he.
It was a very tedious process, but it is often the only means to break through language barriers. So far, I'd learned that "foru" was their word for sand, and "mowus" was sea. For the first few minutes of contact, this was very productive.
I pointed to a few other objects and learned their words, like how "sky" was "gosei", "tree" was "leanobus", and "sun" was "ecrivor". He looked especially confused when I asked him what "sun" was. It was as if, of all words, we should at least know what the "ecrivor" was. He certainly seemed to think that. After he repeated "ecrivor" twice, he pointed to me and said, "mecrivor". "Mecrivor?" I asked, pointing to myself. He confirmed. Did they see people as related to the sun? It wouldn't have been the first time the idea arose. I pointed to him and asked, "mecrivor?" He pointed to his own chest and said, "meteronu."
This was beginning to get overwhelming, but I continued with the question. Over time, I discovered the sailors, the captain, and I were "mecrivor", and the native people were "meteronu." I had a suspicion that, because we were foreigners, the natives saw us as somehow related to the sun. I had no idea, however, if their name had any association with anything, like the moon or stars. Perhaps they called something else in the sky "eteronu" or "teronu", just as they had put an "m" sound before "ecrivor" to make "mecrivor."
The captain began to get restless and told me to ask them where their home was. I told him we weren't able to directly speak with each other yet, but the captain said, and I quote, "Try."
I rolled my eyes. I faced the native again, who, at this point, I assumed to be the leader, and tried to communicate that we wanted to see their camp. First, I said, "meteronu," to indicate that I was talking about them, not us. I then pretended to fall asleep, and then eat food. A very small child in the native audience gave a giggle at my silly motions.
The leader also gave a small chuckle and said, "sora". He turned around and began to lead the way, with his people starting to follow him. I beckoned to the sailors to follow them as we went deeper into the island.
