Instead of a Tricolor, we have a Sesmmala

FRIDAY’S essaytjie on sub-editors came up a fortnight ago – evening time, as I was going out, a little late, Murphy’s prescribed time for immediate-attention emails to arrive.

Sub-editor Jean sent a gentle note asking if “Sesmmala” has a private meaning. I’d used it about our flag, for the next day’s column. She – legitimately and politely – meant two things: (a) have I said this word by mistake? (b) if not, why am I inflicting private jokes on innocent readers?

Thanks, Jean, and thanks for letting it go when I replied to trust me but I had no time to explain. Here we go:

Technically, Sesmmala was introduced to the world long ago, on this very page. That’s why I felt licensed to use it on this page, despite knowing that hardly anyone would have read the first incarnation (and would have forgotten anyway).

That article had been victim of a weird sub-editorial nightmare, much embarrassing Alan Dunn, then officer-in-charge of Leader Page and now retired as editor of the Mercury (or Tribune?) in Durban. So I think we’re talking around 2000.

Anyway, its point was: we loved the flag, we give names to things we love. Many nations’ flags have names – Union Jack, Old Glory, several others, plus scores of names à la Tricolor, meaning The Two-Colour, The Three-Colour, etc.

For 17 years from 1994, only one country could have said The Six-Colour. Several have a tiny dash of a sixth, or even seventh, colour, but six big bold colours sharing the space was our property until 2011. Then up came poor benighted South Sudan, fighting on arrival and sneakily borrowing our flag’s approach (though cluttering its cleanness).

Still, the standout natural name for our flag lies in its six colours; but not, please, in boring English that every-

I took that liberty… because I want it to be a word we all know

body has. We’re a country with 11 official languages. That’s a status to be proud of, and it brings vulnerabilities to be alive to. Brutal honesty says that 10 of those languages are terminal. That doesn’t mean imminent. It does mean that each successive generation produces more people who grow up in English, and fewer people who can talk to their grandmother.

Plus there are inequalities in those 10. Some feel slighted. Afrikaans was cock-of-the-walk and now fields indignities daily. Sotho is as populous as Nguni but gets a fraction of the public acknowledgement – Rea Vaya and what else?

You may say that the other six get even less (though Venda has been nicely consoled with the presidency), and that could be a good discussion.

For me, though, Ses as in Afrikaans’s “six” plus “mmala” as in Sotho for “colours” add up to a great name for a great flag. It’s recognition, it’s inclusive, it’s eminently us. It has an extra touch, too: mmala’s double-mm, which should have a mini-hum between m and m, like a sheep’s bleat.

Some say that only Sothos, including Pedis and Tswanas, can ever get that right. I picture lots of fun and prospective togetherness in the rest of us having a go.

One more thing about our flag, Sesmmala – to me, its place on SAA’s tail is big. In 2000, SAA was brightening world airports with gorgeous planes projecting a strong go-ahead nation. Then we imbecilically kicked Coleman out and the rot began. I support any kind of symbolising that might help get that tail, and that airline, back where they should be.

So, Conscientious Sub Jean, I took that liberty with that word because I’d wanted it to be a word we knew. I still do. One day, maybe. Meantime, forgiveness, please?