Translation Notes: Lessons on Praxis from the Translation Lab, Part One
This two-part series offers an in-depth look at The Translation Lab’s approach to translating Chapter 14 of Ama Ata Aidoo’s Changes: A Love Story (1991).
The Translation Lab enacts diasporic solidarities and witnessing through a translation practice rooted in Afro-feminist ethics, African intellectual traditions and knowledge ways, and decoloniality. The Translation Lab is part of the Community Knowledge Lab in The Diaspora Solidarities Lab (DSL). The following conversation unfolds among members Awa Diagne Lô, Chinese Calhoun and Afua Baafi Quarshie, who held space for the exchange in St. Louis (Senegal), New Orleans, and Minneapolis, respectively. In Part One, they discuss the first of three lessons they’ve gathered along the way: Translation happens in community.
Over the Spring 2025 semester, the Translation Lab has been reading and slowly translating Chapter 14 of Ama Ata Aidoo’s Changes: A Love Story. Changes is set in 1980s Accra, Ghana, and follows the story of Esi, a young, professional woman navigating the tensions between societal expectations and personal ambitions. These tensions are thrown into sharp relief during a conversation between Esi and her elders, particularly her grandmother, who struggles to understand Esi’s life choices. Particularly baffling to the old woman is Esi’s decision to remarry and become her lover Ali’s second wife after divorcing her husband, Oko. We’ve been making our way through the first 300 words of the chapter, which read:
“While Ali was trying to sort himself out in Accra, Esi had decided to go home one weekend and be with Ena her mother and Nana her grandmother. She had set out very early from the city and arrived to find them getting ready to go to church. So she was thinking that after the usual commotion that greeted her arrival had died down and everybody had gone she would just go and get some sleep. But that’s not how things worked out. When her grandmother was all dressed in her starched cloth that made the most intriguing noises when she walked, she came to ask her, ‘Please let us sit down, my lady.’ Esi’s heart sank. She realised that her grandmother had decided that this was the morning to get some confessions out of her. And she was not going to wait until after the morning service was over. She was familiar with the line. So exactly what was it about Oko that repelled her so much, and what was it about Ali that attracted her? So far, she had succeeded in not yielding much at interrogations. Not because she hadn’t thought those issues through. Deep down in her being, she feared that whatever her reasons were, they would not be considered respectable enough to tell anybody else about. But then, throughout her reasonably long life, Nana had never before given up on anything. She was determined to get something out of Esi, and this morning she did. Esi told her that Oko had been the only man in his home, or at least, one of the few men there. So there were too many women around him who did not like her. They hated her, she told the old lady. Who were these women, her grandmother wondered? According to Esi, it was his mother, his other mothers, his sisters.”
Over many conversations about the text, we have ruminated on the cultural specificities of language, the differences in translating genres, and the richness of linguistic expressions. As Changes is a literary work, we have found that beyond the words written on the page, the emotions, imagery, and essence of Aidoo's message are even more critical to understand. In other words, the textural depth of the story demands a corresponding depth of engagement. Individually and communally, we have engaged and wrestled with the text, sometimes painfully, sometimes humorously, and always enthusiastically. Here is the first of three lessons we’ve learned.
Translation happens in community: At the Translation Lab, we approach all text communally. While we engage with our chosen text individually and asynchronously, we cement our translations in our weekly discussions, where we share the unexpected challenges and joys of translating texts that include language and cultural subtext and textures that are sometimes familiar and unfamiliar. Translating in community provides space for us to broaden and deepen our thinking about the text, walk through the ethical and practical aspects of translation, and learn the specificities of the languages in which we work—Swahili, Twi, and Wolof. Ultimately, we translate in community, recognizing and respecting the nature of language as constructed and embedded in communities and cultures. The excerpts from our meeting notes below serve as a testament to the richness of the exchanges and learning that occur within our community.
Awa: I had a question about the segment where the grandma said she was not going to wait until after the morning service was over. And then “she was familiar with the line.” The “line” part was creating issues for me on how to translate it.
Afua: That was hard for me, too, because I was like, does she mean she knows that if she doesn't get the answers now, Esi is going to evade later, or she's going to miss her chance. Which is how I eventually was like, yeah, I think that's what she's saying. And again, this is something that Ghanaians often say. And they say things like, oh, mi nim saa line no. You know, like I know that line. So it's basically like I'm onto you.
Awa: Okay. Well, that confirms my suspicion.
Afua: Because if you also link it to the fact that Esi felt like she could sleep, they'd go to church, and then they'd come back, and then maybe they'd talk. And consider that up until this time, when they asked a question, she'd been evasive and hadn't answered questions. And so the old woman thinks, 'Okay, I know this is your plan, and I'm on to you.' So we're talking right now. That's how I read that.
Awa: I also had the idea cross my mind about who was saying she was familiar with the line. Who's the she? I also thought for a second that it was Esi who was familiar with the line. If you go up to the line “please, let's let us sit down, my lady,” one can tell that she's familiar with that line, which means that she's gonna get a verbal beating. I couldn't tell who the “she” was. The other thought I had was what you said, as in the grandma can sense that she might evade. So I don't know which one it is. Who's the subject?
Afua: That's interesting, because I hadn't thought about the second possibility at all.
Awa: I may need to see it in the book because my translation management system divides it into segments. So, that disconnect is sometimes in my head. Maybe in the book, it shows a different iteration.
Afua: No, it doesn't, it's the same. It's the same thing because I used the book.
Chenise: I'm rereading it because I'm like, wait, how did I interpret this before? And I think for me it read: “She was not going to wait till after the morning service was over. She was familiar with the line.”
Afua: Because she's on Esi now, because she says “Esi’s heart sank. She realized that her grandmother had decided that this was the morning to get some confessions out of her, and she,” the grandmother, “was not going to wait after the morning service was over. She was familiar with the line.”
Chenise: Also, realizing that in my translation, that sentence is just not there. I jump over it. And then I'm talking about Oko. Because I really missed that whole sentence.
Afua: Because I think right afterwards, the grandmother is asking, okay, so what is it about Oko that repels you so much? What don't you like about him? Who is the object?
Awa: It's so ambiguous to me. I think my gut is telling me Esi is familiar with the line. And that line here is “sit down, my lady”. It is possible that I'm also projecting. Because in my culture, if an older person tells you, “Come, I need to talk to you,” you're done for! Your heart would sink immediately. So when I read it the first time, that's what came to my mind because that line meant that, yeah, Esi knows her time of reckoning has come and she needs to provide explanations to her grandmother, she needs to account for her actions.
Chenise: So you think the ‘she’ was the grandma? I guess what I was thinking was, what is she familiar with? Like what was happening on repeat. And so when she said she was not going to wait till after the morning service was over, it made me think maybe she's used to waiting until this morning service is over. She's [Esi’s] used to just being able to arrive and sleep, right?
Awa: That line, that line. What is that line? That's why it makes me think it might be that. That was the sentence the grandma told her.
Afua: So I don't think “that line” refers to “Please let us sit down, my lady.”
Awa: Which one do you think it refers to?
Afua: See, I sort of detached it, but the minute I just said this, I'm like, oh, I get what you're saying. But then I feel like if she were saying that, wouldn't she have written it differently?
Awa: If it's an inner thought of Esi, it would be written like this, because, depending on where I start reading, the interpretation changes. If I start with, “but that's not how things worked out.” And then, when Nana came and asked her, “Please let us sit down, my lady.” Then, I am Esi, and I hear that, so my heart sinks, and I'm realizing my grandma had decided to do this this morning, and she's not going to wait.
Afua: I agree with you. Do you know why I agree with you? Now, this part, “she realized that her grandmother had decided that this was the morning to get some confessions.” And I think that sentence is because of the line, “Please let us sit down, my lady,” because it's a benign sentence. So why would her heart sink? And then she's like, oh yeah, this one is not going to let me go until she has gotten all of the tea out of me. So then it's like okay, she knows this is what's going to happen because she's heard this before.
Awa: Yes.
Afua: I agree with you.
Awa: The challenge is that she changed the point of view (POV). One is third person, and I was so confused reading it because when you say “when her grandmother Nana,” that's the narration voice, right? And her narration voice, she realized that it's a narration voice in relation to Esi. And then it was not going to wait. That's a P.O.V. of the grandma.
Afua: But is it though? Because if you're reading it the way you're saying, then “she was not going to wait until the morning” is Esi's perception of what her grandmother is doing.
Awa: What is meant here is that her grandma was not going to wait until the morning. But Esi herself was familiar …
Afua: … is familiar with the line.
Awa: But this is very awkward. I'm going to say, if I were the editor on the English translation, I'd be like, this is so confusing. Let's remove this everywhere, but maybe the author did it on purpose. And that's a linguistic tool.
Afua: I mean, this being her, I can see why it's like that because, until I was translating it, I've never actually clocked it. You know, like I, you just sort of go over it like okay, fine, they’re about to have a chat.
Awa: All of it depends on how we interpret the following line. After she was familiar with the line. “So exactly what was it about?” This is the inner thought again of the grandma. But from the POV of Esi, right?
Afua: No, actually. So this was confusing for me as well, right? Because it sounds like she asked the question. It's not in quotation marks, right? But yeah, but then at some point Esi tells her.
Chenise: I see what you're saying, though. Because it goes into the dialogue back and forth when she starts saying, like, you came to me with a question. Yeah, that's when you say in quotes. But all before then.
Awa: Oh, my God. I just reread it, and it removed everything in my head. I'm as confused as I was before.
Afua: Awa, after I agreed with you? Stop it!
Awa: But really, I do. My heart is divided over the issue because, just by reading it, there's no text indication for us.
Afua: I will ask two friends who studied English literature in Accra and are very familiar with Ama Ata Aidoo’s work. I'm going to ask them what they think about it. And I'll tell you what they say, because I was pretty convinced, because people say it a lot: oh mi nim saa line no. Just trying to tell people like, “I'm on to you.” So, I immediately translated it that way. But then once you started, actually breaking it down, I'm thinking, I'm wrong. It's Esi who's onto her grandmother instead of the other way around. Or maybe we are meant to see that they are both onto each other.
Awa: Yeah, yeah, maybe that's the intention.
Afua: It's a chess match, and both of them know what the other is doing, and we're just not supposed to really know for sure.
Awa: To be honest. It crossed my mind that it might have been a linguistic tool used by the author. Authors do these things sometimes, and they choose ambiguity carefully. But also sometimes people just don't clarify. It happens, too.
Afua: I actually just translated “she” as “ɔno,” like “the person,” and I didn't try to break down who it was.
Awa: Yeah. Me neither. It doesn't show in the translation, but depending on who it is, I might say it differently. If it's the grandma, I would say something like, she was familiar with the line. I would say she maybe suspected, or felt a sense of foreboding, like when you're set up for something, or it's loaded with meaning, or something. I would phrase it differently. That's why I wanted to know.
Afua: But I think it's curious. Because the decision any of us could make at some point is to just leave the ambiguity in the translation. Like, okay, it's ambiguous, we don't know why it's ambiguous. So then, do we just leave the ambiguity in the translation so that anybody picking up the translation has to sit with that ambiguity too? Because if we straighten this out for the reader, the Swahili reader, the Wolof reader, the Twi reader, we've interpreted it for them in a specific way. Whereas if we don't know what this author was thinking, why it's this way … Because, to your point, it went through edits.
Awa: And I'm sure because the author is big, too, you know, it's not like they cheapen out on these things.
Afua: So I mean, I'll ask my friends what they think about it, but I think in the end I'll probably just leave the ambiguity and keep the ambiguous pronoun.
Chenise: I'm now picking up the scene that's being created in this particular part of the chapter. I feel like this metaphor with yielding an answer and interview and things like that. I feel like with the scene that's being created, somebody is getting a sit-down and somebody's going to have a talking-to. Mhm. But at the end of the day, I do agree with you, Afua, that the conversation starts in this paragraph. But even in their speculation, I don't know what's actually being said out loud because that question after she says everybody in Oko's family hates her, “Who were these women her grandmother wondered?” In Swahili, the verb is uliza: to ask yourself. Like in French, when you say, Je me demande? Like you're posing yourself a question. So, it's like, is she asking why? So it's almost like they're talking …
Awa: Like, different narrators are being presented. But you don't know whose brain is being presented at some moments. That's what it felt like to me. Like, whose POV is it? … It's funny how the cultures are almost the same.
Part two of this series will explore lessons two and three. Check back with us on September 15th for more on joyful synergies and the cultural specificities of emotion!
The Translation Lab is part of the Diaspora Solidarities Lab, which is part of the LifexCode ecosystem. Learn more at dslprojects.org.