Language ought to be nourishing

we    therefore     learnt to value words
for their meaning/nuances
“language” waz not a mere string of words/it haz a suggestive power
well beyond the immediate n lexical meaning
our appreciation of the suggestive/magical power of language waz reinforced
by the games we played w words
through riddles/proverbs/transpositions of syllables
or through (nonsensical but) musically arranged
words
So we learnt the music of our language on top of
the “content” (Ngugi wa Thiong’o 11)

Language ought to be nourishing. The shadows of its content feed the memories of a people’s history; its rhythm underscores the music behind morals and symbols. When I think of Shange’s writing, I imagine language that is nourishing through its movement and musicality. In this quote from Ngugi’s Decolonizing the Mind, he writes of the necessity of music/the magic of nuance. Without either, language sits undercooked and static. I felt inspired to re-arrange this passage in the style of Shange because I think the subject resonates with the heart of her writing—language that is good for the mouth, the body and the soul.
I wrote out my interpretation while listening to Charles Mingus’s “Mode D—Trio and Group Dancers”. The rhythm of the piece changes gradually, but sometimes swiftly. Its company helped me imagine when Shange might leave space for a gesture at the end of a phrase. I wanted “words” to be the only word to have its own line. Rhythmically, it felt like a place for a gesture/to exhale. What are “words” (nourishing words) but gestures that symbolize what we value/where we come from/how we want to be remembered?
The original quote reads, “Language was not…It had…” I left the “was” (implicitly) past tense, but changed the “had” to reflect the present. I’d imagine that language was never just “content” for Shange; but language is alive, and has/has always had the “suggestive power” that nourishes a particular experience of culture and history in its vital rejection of colonialist language/narrative.
Later in the chapter “The Language of African Literature”, Ngugi writes, “Learning, for a colonial child, became a cerebral activity and not an emotionally felt experience” (17). This brings to mind a quote from If I can Cook: “Speaking American ain’t necessarily nourishing.” Shange makes her words dance in the spirit of protest. Like Ngugi describes, Shange plays games with the structure and rhythm of language—leaving the audience with food for thought. What is good for the body/what heals the body is a language that rejects colonialist English, and relies on intuition/the sensical nonsensical/the music “on top of the content”. This is a language that nourishes history and culture.