Come From Away

So you're coming to the Rock. Lovely. Let's make sure you don't answer "whadda ya at?" with a list of your plans.

If you weren't born in Newfoundland, you're a come from away. A CFA. It's not an insult, no matter how it sounds — it's just a fact, the same as the fog. The label sticks for life, and so does the welcome. Newfoundland might be the only place on earth where being from away becomes part of how you belong.

Newfinese isn't a different language, exactly. It's English that got on a boat four hundred years ago, settled into five hundred outports, and stopped checking in with the mainland. What follows is the starter kit — the sayings you'll hear in your first forty-eight hours, what they actually mean, and how not to give yourself away answering them.

"Whadda ya at?"

This is the greeting. You will hear it at the airport, at the gas station, and from someone's nan before you've got your coat off. It looks like a question — what are you at?, what are you doing — but it isn't really asking anything.

There is one correct answer, and only one: "This is it."

That's it. That's the whole exchange. You're not being asked for a status update. Answer with your actual plans for the afternoon and you've outed yourself before you've said your name. "This is it" means nothing much, same as ever, good to see you — all in three words. Say it back and watch the conversation open right up.

"B'y"

You'll hear this word more than any other, and it's doing more work than you think. "B'y" (rhymes with eye, more or less) comes from "boy," but it stopped meaning boy generations ago. It's punctuation. It's emphasis. It's for everyone — men, women, your aunt, the dog.

"Yes b'y" is where it gets interesting, because it means two opposite things depending entirely on tone. Delivered flat and warm, it's agreement: yes, absolutely, I hear you. Delivered with a raised eyebrow, it's the most efficient expression of disbelief in the English language: sure it is. Go on with ya. You'll learn the difference by getting it wrong once or twice. Everyone does.

"Stay where you're to till I comes where you're at"

The full sentence, and it's always the full sentence — don't go shortening it. It means: stay put, don't move, I'll come find you. Every nan from St. John's to Port aux Basques has said it, usually to a child halfway out the door.

Yes, the grammar is doing something your English teacher wouldn't approve of. That's the point. Newfinese kept old West Country and Irish constructions the rest of the English-speaking world sanded off centuries ago. "Where you're to" for where you are is one of the oldest and best of them. It's not broken English. It's older English.

"I dies at you" / "I dies for"

Two of the warmest things a Newfoundlander can say to you, and both involve dying.

"I dies at you" means you're hilarious. You kill me. If someone says this, you've made it — that's genuine delight, not politeness.

"I dies for" means I love this thing beyond reason. I dies for a cup of tea. I dies for toutons. It's craving and devotion rolled into one, and once you start saying it you won't stop.

"Some" and "right" — the intensifiers

Where the mainland says very, Newfinese says some or right. It's some cold out, not very cold. That was a right good time, not a very good one. And when something is truly excellent, it's best kind — the highest compliment available. A meal can be best kind. A person can be best kind. If someone calls you best kind, you're doing fine.

While we're at it: wicked means excellent, and it travels with deadly, which also means excellent. That concert was wicked. Deadly, b'y. Nothing died. Everything was great.

"Mauzy"

A weather word, because of course there's a weather word. Mauzy is that damp, grey, foggy, close sort of day where the mist hangs around and everything feels a bit heavy. Don't let anyone tell you it's cozy — there's no warmth in mauzy. It's the weather equivalent of a wet wool sweater. You will experience it. Probably on your first morning.

Getting screeched in

At some point, someone will offer to make you an honorary Newfoundlander. Say yes. The screech-in is a ceremony — a shot of Screech rum, a short recitation, and the kissing of a cod (a real one, usually). It sounds like a prank. It's actually one of the most genuine welcomes you'll ever get: a whole culture formally deciding you're one of theirs now.

Once you're screeched in, you're still a come from away. You'll just be our come from away. That's the best kind.

A few words of advice before you land

Don't attempt the accent. Newfoundlanders can hear a fake accent from three bays over, and there isn't one accent anyway — there are dozens, and they change cove to cove. Use the words; leave the accent to the locals.

Don't answer rhetorical questions literally. "Whadda ya at?" — this is it. "Some weather, wha?" — agreement, not a forecast request.

Do accept the tea. And whatever comes with it. Refusing hospitality is the only real way to offend anyone here.

Do ask what things mean. Nobody minds. Explaining Newfinese to a come from away is one of the island's favourite pastimes, and it usually comes with a story.