However, there is something about thickness that is tricky andfor that matter important to decipher. On one hand, there is no way an accent could be “thicker” how do you measure thickness of the accent? An accent is different and an accent is just an accent. You have a British accent, an American accent, an Angolan accent, a Nigerian accent, a Dutch accent, an Indian accent, a Brazilian accent etc.

I don’t have any problems with people who don’t sound this or that because the truth is that the human story is one of diversity. What I have a problem with though is when we have created a construct that is subjecting many to try to sound like the master because we have been conditioned to believe that assimilation is superior over diversity.

Most of the masters or their assimilated apprentices who choose to utter this line tend to have a shallow understanding of accents in the first place. An attempt to insinuate their dislike for other accents to the point of lumping hugechunks of accents painted by different strokes into a single canvas is insulting

What is interesting is that opportunities in terms of employment in certain factions of societies have been available to apprentices with the master’s accent. It is because there is an expectation that the master’s accent comes with better education, job knowledge and performance. Apprentices with the master’s accent are more listened to because they have a “sweet language” or because they appear more sophisticated.

I ended up pointing out that one apprentice in the group had a British accent. He said, “thank you” to which I replied that it was not a compliment. He was puzzled. I explained to him that accents are not signs of superiority but nuances of socialization, that him speaking as the master didn’t carry anything intrinsically superior but it was an indication of the environment he grew up in

They are what others have: British and Americans don’t have accents because they are the norm from which everything else can be perpendicularly or horizontally placed. They are the masters and everyone else is an apprentice.

“How does the accent from the Horn of Africa sound like?” I inquire. Now, he is the one who is caught speechless as he ponders my question. I feel the difficulty of answering my question but I let it linger there, like a scent of a cheap perfume in the air

Again, I am caught speechless, coffee in my mouth. The first thing I realize is that I don’t know how the accent from the Horn of Africa sounds like. I am puzzled to how the flight attendant and the young man both, who are Dutch, seem to be aware of thisparticular accent

the flight attendants are serving dinner. The one who is serving us is a plumb, red-faced, with a head of blond hair supporting a Christmas decoration of a small Santa hat on the right side.

have occupied the window seat and beside me a blond young man is perusing the inflight magazine. I can see him from the corner of my eye —his long batting lashes, freckled face with a heavy red sweater. We haven’t greeted each other.