I Never Knew There Was a Word for It - Adam Jacot De Boinod [1]
The Meaning of Tingo
My interest in unusual words was triggered when one day, working as a researcher for the BBC programme QI, I picked up a weighty Albanian dictionary to discover that they have no less than twenty-seven words for eyebrow and the same number for different types of moustache, ranging from a mustaqe madh, or bushy, to a mustaqe posht, one which droops down at both ends.
My curiosity rapidly became a passion. I was soon unable to go near a bookshop or library without sniffing out the often dusty shelf where the foreign language dictionaries were kept. I started to collect my favourites: nakhur, for example, a Persian word meaning ‘a camel that gives no milk until her nostrils are tickled’; Many described strange or unbelievable things. How, when and where, for example, would a man be described as a marilopotes, the Ancient Greek for ‘a gulper of coaldust’? And could the Japanese samurai really have used the verb tsuji-giri, meaning ‘to try out a new sword on a passerby’? Others expressed concepts that seemed all too familiar. We have all met a Zechpreller, ‘someone who leaves without paying the bill’; worked with a neko-neko, the Indonesian for ‘one who has a creative idea which only makes things worse’; or spent too much time with an ataoso, the Central American Spanish for ‘one who sees problems with everything’. It was fascinating to find thoughts that lie on the tip of an English tongue, crystallized into vocabulary. From the Zambian sekaseka, ‘to laugh without reason’, through the Czech nedovtipa, ‘one who finds it difficult to take a hint’, to the Japanese bakku-shan, ‘a woman who only appears pretty when seen from behind’.
In the end my passion became an obsession. I combed over two million words in countless dictionaries. I trawled the internet, phoned embassies, and tracked down foreign language speakers who could confirm my findings. I discovered that in Afrikaans, frogs go kwaak-kwaak, in Korea owls go buung-buung, while in Denmark Rice Crispies go Knisper! Knasper! Knupser! And that in Easter Island tingo means to borrow things from a friend’s house one by one until there’s nothing left.
Luckily for my sanity, Penguin then signed me up to write the book that was to become The Meaning of Tingo, which meant I had an editor to help me decide which of the thousands of great words should make it into the final book but, goodness, it was hard to leave some out. The book came out in 2005 and was an instant hit. It has since been published in eleven different languages and Tingomania spread all round the globe.
Toujours Tingo
I was delighted when the book’s fans demanded a sequel as I felt like I was only just getting started. This time I found such delights as okuri-okami, the Japanese word for ‘a man who feigns thoughtfulness by offering to see a girl home only to molest her once he gets in the door’ (literally, ‘a see-you-home wolf’); kaelling, the Danish for ‘a woman who stands on the steps of her house yelling obscenities at her kids’; and belochnik, the Russian for ‘a thief specializing in stealing linen off clothes lines’ (an activity that was supposedly very lucrative in the early 1980s). And how could I have missed the German Kiebitz, ‘an onlooker at a card game who interferes with unwanted advice’ or the Portuguese pesamenteiro, ‘one who habitually joins groups of mourners at the home of a deceased person, ostensibly to offer condolences but in reality to partake of the refreshments which he expects will be served’?
In this book I ventured into over two hundred new languages. The Ndebele of Southern Africa have the word dii-koyna, meaning ‘to destroy one’s own property in anger’, an impulse surely felt by most of us at some time or another, if not acted upon. From the Bakweri language of Cameroon we have wo-mba, a charming word to describe ‘the smiling in sleep by children’; and from the Buli language of Ghana the verb pelinti, ‘to move very hot food around inside one’s mouth in order to avoid too close