iewi: models in a store window (model)
Icairi: 1: no. An phublyaț, pholyațakånasț apeyån år staițmaț foțațe tua tupholyațakån. 2: no. Phaipålasț. Wuțogħi apeyån.
Ichairi: 1: noun. A public, political opinion or statement held by a politician. 2: noun. Popular. Any opinion.

It was that time of the nine-year cycle again. Half the news pieces on Ada Collier were political. Marai had never been one for politics. If voting hadn't been compulsory, she wouldn't have done it. So she was surprised when her boss told her to talk to some reporters about the galactic mapping and exploration they were doing at Lockwood and Al-Hajj.

The reporters—both female, and whose names were of the popular style 25 years ago—came the next day at ten to interview her. They all sat down in a conference room and started. Marai was prepared, in part due to a quick study session sandwiched between a date and sleep last night. The interview went well. Marai didn't embarass herself or the company, which she counted as full success.


 

"...asaț fåme fåicairi ve va axtlåraihån wekånțeyuț..." Marai Shaus, 18/5/2804.
"...it's my ichairi that the exploration will continue..." Marai Shaus, 18/5/2804.
 
Marai was proved wrong the next day. When she got into work, the first thing she always did was check her email. She normally only had one or two emails, often departmental ones, or ones from coworkers asking a question. This morning, she had nine. One departmental one, and the rest from email addresses she didn't know, with subject lines either relating to her interview yesterday, or the word ichairi, or had a wording like "Bad Eglyash", "Grammatical Error", etc.

The departmental one was easy to read and acknowledge. It was just a request to tweak the formatting of the .gnmap files a little. The rest she was a little apprehensive to read. She had prided herself on her excellent Eglyash throughout secondary school, and while that wasn't how she identified herself now, it would still sting to learn she had made a mistake.

The first one, from an Amabilis Deyålsu, entitled "Your interview":
 
 
Dear Ms. Shaus,
I watched your interview with Ms. Shosu and Ms. Țolmåhur, and found you very eloquent until the end where you said, and I quote "It's my ichairi that the exploration will continue". I have to say, I was very disappointed that such a seemingly well-educated woman as yourself could fall prey to a dullard's error.
You see, an ichairi has a three-point definition: it is public, it is political, and it is held by a politician. One such as yourself cannot have an ichairi because you are not in the political realm.
You should be ashamed of yourself.
Sincerely,
Amabilis Deyålsu, esq.
 
And another, this time from a Flora Qoța, entitled "Ichairi does not mean opinion!":
 
Ms. Shaus, I am disappointed in you and whatever schools you went to, because they certainly did not teach you proper Eglyash! Ichairi does not now, and never has meant opinion! You cannot have an ichairi because you are not a politician! It is people like you who are ruining the Eglyash language and making it merely a shade of its former self! If you take as much care for your work as you do for you language, I expect to hear of starships being lost because of your shoddy work!
Flora Qoța

Marai wasn't sure what to do about this. She told herself that it wasn't that imporant; she was an astronomer, not a writer. Ships wouldn't be lost because she misused the word "ichairi". It still stung though. For a girl who had gotten the highest marks possible in pre-modern Eglyash, any accusation of misusing the Eglyash language hurt.



"Ve yus sicairi tumai apeyån asaț es auld es ve yus sicairi tumai foț pholyațakånasț. Asaț we țe newåmädmi fåve fångoxi sgrema, baikus af deda vair fåfoțas, wai shotsețus ngiau spaica fåPhrauțou-Wuld." Ursula Shaus, ngia ngiblog, 5/2/2804.
"The use of ichairi to mean opinion is as old as the use of ichairi to mean political stance. That's why I ignore the grammar nazis, because if they had their way, we would be sitting at home speaking Proto-World." Ursula Shaus, on her blog, 5/2/2804.

Marai had some coworkers who poked fun at her misuse of "ichairi". Some of them were self-professed grammar nazis. Her boss had told her that she received some recommendations to fire Marai because of what was now referred to variously as "the incident" or "how Marai doesn't know how to use 'ichairi' right".

Marai never could have guessed how much vitriol such a simple mistake could bring. At first, she had felt ashamed, like she had failed the Eglyash language somehow. But the tone of the continued responses made her pause. Why would anyone think it would be okay to fire someone because they said something grammatically incorrect?

Her brother-in-law translated documents from a couple dialects of pre-modern Eglyash into modern Eglyash. Whenever she worried about making some grammatical error, he always said "Don't worry about it. Eventually, everyone will die and that grammatical error will be a standard part of Eglyash." He said that he translated part of a grammar guide from the 22nd century in university, and that half the grammatical corrections it proposed were obsolete the next century.

Marai on her part ignored the criticisms of her language that continued. They rehashed the same message over and over again. She decided not to be bothered by such a trivial mistake. If her brother-in-law was right, it wasn't even a mistake. It was progress.



"Ve leqash asȚeglyash yusțuqogħațe tu-'English', ed baho tuveț tu-'Ænglisc'. Baho tuveț, hånț asaț fål fåleqash. Aulyi asaț fån fåäpohaas. Sau spaicu o lețu, baikus leqashas ågħais shaishaț" Ursula Shaus, ngia ngiblog, 20/5/2804.
"The Eglyash language used to be called 'English', and before that 'Ænglisc'. Before that, it isn't a language. It's only a hypothesis. So, speak how you like, because languages always change." Ursula Shaus, on her blog, 20/5/2804.
iewi: models in a store window (ladies)

So I'm making a superhero-kinda story and it's set in a fake African country called Kambike. I kinda wrote something about the history last night, so I'll post it here. Enjoy the half-edited semi-incoherent writing.

I sit by the window overlooking Kimbuntema, which used to be called Victoria. I know this through the stories of my grandparents, who were alive during the Falling Apart and the First Gathering Together. My father's parents had chosen to flee Ng'oma across the lakes to Mbuaga, while my mother's parents lived in what was then known as Victoria, so close to freedom, and yet prevented from reaching it.

I live in Victoria, though it is now called Kimbuntema, through the rampant nationalism of Kondo Bo Mombutama, who is now known by what those closest to him had always called him: Patrick Mombutama. I was thankfully born after his terrible regime, and I was born into a new country that was ready to start again after a century nearly of false starts and regressions.

My country, Kambike, is not a perfect country. Many would claim it is one of the worst countries to live in on the planet. I will tell you that for many here, it is. I have the opportunity to leave, and I know that if I take it, I will always nostalgically remember Kambike, my mother.

Many agree with me. There are many Kambikeans who live in other countries, like Sanyatia, America, and so many more. They say that at least eight million Kambikeans tried to leave the Two Kambikes during Mombutama's regime, but that of those, at least one out of every twenty was killed.

My family was not one of the ones that left. My father's parents came back from Mbuaga to the Second Kambike: what used to be known as the Kondo-Yale Free State. There, at least, it wasn't so horrible as what was happening here.

Mombutama was a born executioner, my grandfather tells me, and a sociopath as well. My grandmother tells me she watched carefully every soldier and every policeman who walked down the street, fearing they would rape her, or arrest her, or kidnap her children, or kill her.

Mombutama's regime would most accurately be called an nepotism, or an oligarchy. I can't remember which. In it, there was so much blood shed. For diamonds, for gold, for uranium. In the name of wiping the face of the Whites from our country, in the name of patriotism. It was, in reality, senseless violence. Mombutama's men hurt and killed whomever they chose.

Mombutama authorized a law in 1976 that would become the base for almost all of these killings. It was called something along the lines of the Patriotism Act. It authorized the police to use deadly force when they thought it prudent. It took the right to a trial away from some. And the worst of all, it authorized, with a judge's approval, the use of capital punishment against those who weren't patriotic enough.

It was the last clause that was the most frightening, but it was the first clause that the majority of killings occurred under. They killed all who stood in their way. Journalists, terrorists, rioters. So much blood shed. And no justice.

It would take any person eons to recover from such injuries as those inflicted by colonialism, the short-lived but cruel Empire of the Biké, the Falling Apart, and the Two Kambikes. But we expect a country, a country made of millions of people, to be done with it as soon as the dictator is deposed. That's what I think is wrong with Kambike. We as a collective community suffer from PTSD.

But no matter what I think is wrong, life here is not what we hoped. The government, while not condoning random acts of violence, still is corrupt. A popular saying here is that it takes three bribes to get to school: one to the policeman who pulled you over, one to the driver who backed his car into yours, and one for the headmaster, for the privilege of going to school. It is audacious to those who are not from around here, but is close to the truth for those who are.

There are, of course, good people here. Not all headmasters require bribes, and some policemen refused to be bribed. But we are a poor country, and we are a country with problems.

iewi: trees on sky (ghosty)
Meg Teague is a 15-year-old girl in a tiny town in Western Maryland. The most defining characteristic about her for others is that she is biracial (white/black). She has frizzy hair that she keeps cut short-ish and is a classic pear-figured person, except for the fact that she runs all the time and is therefore kinda muscular.
Running is the main way she de-stresses, and there are plenty of stressors in her life. Her mother is gone for significant portions of time, she has the whole casual racism thing going on for her, and she has a bad tendency to drive friends away. She can be petty, and has a short temper.
She doesn't really like school, but she does quite well, mostly to her determination to not be her mother in any way. She mostly bikes to get around.
She lives with her grandmother, uncle, aunt, cousin, and sometimes mother. Her best friend is James McConkey.

Ta-ta!
iewi: models in a store window (model)
This is very general, just me thinking out loud. If you see anything
factually incorrect, feel free to correct me.

Gabriel Andrews: né Gabriel Jordan Johnson
age: 19, going on 20 (born June 12, 1995)
sex/gender: male
place of birth: Louisville, Kentucky
current residence: just outside of Oxford, Maryland
He has black-brown hair and hazel eyes. Tall-ish (6'1"). His nose is kinda
large.
He's *very* quiet and observant. He's oftentimes polite and loyal, but not
ambitious. He tends on the pessimistic side, and isn't terribly trusting.
He can be impulsive and curious, and is prone to mood swings (not to the
point of it being clinical, though), and is neither logical nor
self-controlled. He is *not* romantic, though sometimes he can be flirty.
He isn't terribly inclined to tell the truth, and doesn't sympathize with
other's misfortunes. He can, however, be altruistic and, to a certain
extent, nurturing. He's very easily startled and is sometimes aggressive
when provoked. His attention span is not good.
He is good at calligraphy (and likes it), but doesn't really like other
forms of art. He reads almost constantly, and likes spy novels and
westerns. He recently discovered he likes watching foreign films. He likes
history and opera. He crochets.
He has two sisters and a brother: Maya (16, 17 in Dec.), Daniel (12), and
Jane (8, 9 in Oct.) His father is in jail for child abuse. He and his
family moved to the Carrolls' house/estate when he was 11-ish. He has C-PTSD.


Researching child abuse and PTSD is nasty stuff. Also, I lost my earbuds.

Signing off,

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