“Lingi Mi Mama” (my mothers’ tongue)
The Journey to perserve identity and legacy.- By Ayra A. Kip

I recently returned home, the island of Aruba. For four weeks, I found myself enveloped by the warmth of family, completely disconnected from the noise of the outside world and deeply attuned to the rhythms of the island. It was a pause, a much-needed break from everything beyond its shores. Before my trip, I had shipped to the island, a few copies of a book my publishing company, Waldemar publishing, released earlier this year. Afirmashon pa Mucha (Affirmations for Kids) written by Curaçaoan debut author Marie Louise Klijn, held a special significance. To Marie Louise, the book symbolised the affirmations she had grown up with as a child in Curaçao, and thus it is a tribute to her upbringing and a heartfelt gift back to her country. For me, it was the perfect first book to launch as a publisher. The book, written in Papiamentu, felt like a bridge between the past and the present, between generations and a way for me to contribute to the country where part of my roots lie.

We knew that Afirmashon pa Mucha had a special journey ahead. The plan was to release it not just in Papiamentu, but also in English and Dutch, making its message of affirmation accessible to a broader audience. To my surprise, the book became an instant hit in the Netherlands. With the release in Curaçao, demand has soared to the point where people are joining waiting lists to get their hands on a copy. It felt like the beginning of something much bigger, and I couldn’t have imagined a better start for Waldemar’s publishing journey.

During my holiday, I decided to retrieve the books I had shipped ahead, as I wanted to ensure they would also be available for sale in Aruba. Determined to get them out there, I came up with a straightforward plan: visit local bookstores and the library, and convince people on the spot to include the book in their catalogs. But before I embarked on that mission, I wanted to share the book with someone special to me, my elementary school teacher, Juf Mirella. I thought she could offer valuable insight, both from an educational perspective and in helping to determine the appropriate age demographic for the book on the island. When I handed her the book, she flipped through the pages with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. Then she looked up, smiling. “Ayra, this is fantastic! Starting next school year, Papiamento is going to be reintroduced into the educational system as the instruction language.” “You mean children will be taught in Papiamento again?” I asked, a bit surprised. She nodded, explaining that a few “pilot” schools would begin this transition, starting in kindergarten. “And I’m one of the teachers involved,” she added with pride. “It would be great to have more Papiamento books in the schools, now that we’re returning to our mother tongue.”Her words filled me with excitement. This was exactly the kind of moment I had hoped for when publishing Afirmashon pa Mucha.

As she continued flipping through the book, she paused at the last pages and said, “I’d say it’s perfect for a 5th-grade level, around seven or eight years old.” This was spot on as my daughter who is a 5th grader herself is only now getting to read and truly understand what she’s reading. Juf Mirella closed the book gently and said,”But Ayra, this book needs to be translated”. I paused, taking in her words. “Of course”, I answered with a smile. She nodded but returning a knowing smile with a side eye, noting that I wasn’t going to get away with introducing a book on Aruba that looks like but most definitely is not in Papiamentu and not written in our native language; Papiamento.

She doubled down, ”You can’t introduce or sell a Papiamentu book to kids on Aruba, not in the schools and not now that we are finally getting our language back”! Papiamentu being the language spoken on Curaçao and Bonaire, and Papiamento the language being spoken on Aruba. I had to agree with everything she said. I could probably get away with selling a Papiamentu book in the local stores on the island, but the educational system? That was indeed a different story. Papiamento, Aruba’s own version of the language, needed to be represented, especially in schools. The nuances mattered, and I had to respect that.

As she continued talking, her voice drifted into the background, explaining the process. She mentioned translators, potential contacts, people I could reach out to, all the steps that lay ahead. I listened, nodding along, but my mind was racing. Translating the book into Papiamento seemed inevitable now, not just for the children of Aruba, but for the integrity of the work itself. It wasn’t just about the words; it was about giving Arubans access to their own language, their own voice, just like juf Mirella said. I realised that I got myself caught in a conversation not just about language but a about identity. “Nos linga”, nos idioma, nos cultura”.

I left the meeting with a wave of emotions excitement for the possibilities ahead, but also a creeping sense of embarrassment. I had to consider the weight of language in full spectrum. And this wasn’t just a minor detail; this was a Curaçaoan book, written in Curaçao’s Papiamentu by a Curaçaoan author. I couldn’t overlook the importance of the language’s differences. Later that day, I recounted the conversation with Juf Mirella to a family member. They didn’t
hesitate. “Of course you have to get it translated,” My aunt, shaking her head. Then, with a smirk, she added, “Besides, I don’t understand how the Curaçaoan people made their language so ugly.” Her words were blunt, she continued, “I don’t know how they fucked up Papiamento so much and made it so difficult’. It was a harsh critique.

That evening, I spoke to my mother, who, being the daughter of a Curaçaoan father and an Aruban mother, had her own insights. “Si bo sa,” she began, “the Curaçaoan people kept their Papiamentu as original as it is, very colonial.” My mother paused, reflecting, “We changed it. We made it easier.” What stood out to me was the way my mother said “we,” clearly identifying more as Aruban.
I found myself thinking about the complex layers of identity woven into something as simple, yet powerful, as language. These Curaçaoan and Aruban versions were not dialects, they are languages that carried the history, culture, and soul of two places that, while close in proximity, are worlds apart in how they viewed their language and the identity that is tied to it.

Now I’m sure your wondering what some of these differences are.
Let’s begin with the history and colonial influences that shaped the linguistic divergence between Curaçao and Aruba. Curaçao, where Papiamentu (with a U at the end) is spoken, was a major hub in the Dutch transatlantic slave trade during the 17th century. This role as a key center for slavery deeply influenced the island’s culture and language. Papiamentu emerged as a Creole language, heavily influenced by Portuguese and African languages, spoken by enslaved Africans brought to the island. In addition, Dutch settlers and Sephardic Jews from Portugal left their linguistic imprints, which contributed to the evolution of Papiamentu as a unique fusion of these influences. Aruba, where Papiamento (with an O at the end) is spoken, shares a similar colonial background but with notable differences. The island’s involvement in the transatlantic slave trade was less direct, and this shaped the evolution of its language in distinct ways. Aruba’s Papiamento developed with stronger Spanish influences, a reflection of the island’s closer historical and cultural ties to neighbouring Spanish-speaking countries like Venezuela and the broader Latin American region.

This proximity to Spanish-speaking cultures played a significant role in Aruba’s linguistic identity, making Papiamento lean more toward Spanish in both vocabulary and syntax. These linguistic differences reflect the broader colonial and cultural histories of the two islands, where the same Creole roots took different paths due to the distinct social, political, and economic forces at play. Besides the significant differences, I also realised that Aruba is currently, with the introduction of Papiamento as an instruction language, reclaiming its cultural identity. It was a long road ahead to even get both languages officially recognised as languages and not merely identified as dialects, Aruba in 2003 and Curaçao and Bonaire in 2007.

From Aruba.nu
The Catholic Church played a crucial role in educating the enslaved population in their own language. It was the dutch government that decided and persisted that they shouldn’t. And so the government decided that funding for education was conditional on the condition that education was taught in Dutch, a 1907 legislation. The first textbooks in Papiamento however, date back to the early 19th century, but with the 1907 legislation introducing state funding for education, Dutch became the compulsory language of instruction. This decision marked a significant shift in educational policy in Aruba, pushing Papiamento into the background. As you can assume, the introduction of Papiamento as an instruction language on Aruba in 2024 is a monumental. It emphasises that the struggle to recognise Papiamento as a language of instruction is emblematic of the broader challenges faced in preserving languages and promoting cultural identity. Afirmashon pa Mucha in Papiamento therefore represents much more than a children’s book written in a local language. It embodies a critical effort to ensure access to mother tongue education, and to preserve cultural values, identity, and legacy.

To have Afirmashon pa Mucha in Papiamento and many other educational text books, symbolises a step towards reclaiming and valuing our linguistic heritage, reflecting a deeper commitment to maintaining the connection between language and culture. It underscores the importance of teaching in the language that holds our history, traditions, and collective memory, and highlights the broader significance of language preservation in nurturing and sustaining cultural identity. My aspiration, as I mentioned earlier, was to come to the island for the summer and truly reconnect with all the warmth it brings me. That goal has been more than fulfilled. Not only did I find myself deeply in sync with the rhythm, I found myself in the very essence of it.