THE SMELL OF MARMITE

Samer, my new cousin, had taxied in from Abu Dhabi to spend the New Year with us in Dubai. He stayed for two nights in luxurious comfort on sofa cusions on the floor, which parted whenever he moved and dropped him gently onto the cool tiles beneath.

I had met Samer before in a restaurant in Beirut and had been struck at the time by his ability to talk; He holds an opinion on everything; not a scant, ill-conceived set of notions but properly reseached and thoughtful opinions ranging from the supremely sillly and frivoulous through to the wise and ponderous. Samer will bombard you relentlessly with high good humour, a quick turn of phrase and a speedy delivery. He has an avid interest in everything and so, as a companion, he is never boring but a deep shaft of information to be mined. His twin brother, on the other hand, is almost silent unless directly questioned. I wondered then if there had been some mis-appropriation of the DNA of speaking while in the womb.

I had brought a book of Black Country dialect with me (lest we forget) as I find it hilarious when Kamel tries to speak with a Midlands accent, and I wanted to extend his repertoire (for my own amusement) with a book that showed our variety of language and its pronounciation in phonetic form. Normally, his accent is utterly charming; pronouncing English correctly but with a soft Lebanese burr that is a delight to listen to. For most of our relationship I have communicated with him using R.P. and B.B.C. pronounciation with little to hint at my shameful Midlands roots. I find it makes for clearer understanding.

One day, though, I was desperate for the toilet and couldn't see one anywhere. After hopping about and turning a funny colour he asked what was wrong. Foolishly and without thinking, due to the pressing nature of my need, I squeaked in agonises tones, "I need to go to the loo for a wee." A phrase which is common enough 'round our end'. He replied with a blank look, shook his head to clear this gobbledy gook out and asked me to repeat. I realised the problem immediately. "I need the toilet." I said slowly and with gravid meaning.

"what is a low?"

"Loo".

"Low".

"Loo, looooo, looooooo". I was seriously in need of one at this point and possibly over-emphasisng the 'oooo'.

Upon my return he was intent upon mastering this new phrase. so, after much practice, he said, with a sweet smile, "I NEED to GO to the LEOU for a WI wi".

Samer, spotted the book on New Years' Day and launched into rapaciously, and was soon joyfully mis-pronouncing words and needed taking in hand. "Let's start with something easy. Now, we usually say, 'that's lovely,' but in B.C. they say, 'luvlaaay'". We went through; shoes; shooo wers, hospital; 'ospicul, my;mi, pinching;pinch ING, in order to produce the sentence:

I went to the 'ospicul but mi shooers was pinch ING. To hear the pair of them seriously practicing this new found wealth of language had to be heard to be believed. Kamel correcting Samer; me correcting both of them, "No, Shoo WERS", while inwardly crying and in pain with the sheer incongruity of it all. Why would any sane person desire to gain an accent abhorred buy the rest of England?

Samer failed to sound like a convincing Black Country inmate, for which he should be thankful. He mangled the vowel sounds as he persisted in his efforts all the way through breakfast, until he was confronted with a jar of Marmite.

He put down the book and turned his attention to the buttered toast. Spurning marmalade, he picked up the open jar of Marmite and sniffed the contents with a slightly suspicious frown. He fell completely silent and nodded his assent to try it on the toast. He took the toast and again sniffed the black sticky substance; a frown of perfect concentration
puckering his smooth brow. He took a tentative bite and rolled the morsel around his palate to gain the full flavour, rather as a wine taster; indeed, the movement of jaw, the slapping sound of the tongue and the breathing down the nose took so long I did, in fact, cast my eyes around for a suitable spittoon, should one be needed.

Finally, he swallowed, shook his head slightly, sniffed the toast and Marmite deeply and bit again. Throughout the process, Samer did not speak and neither did we. We merely watched, fascinated, while crunching our way through the same delicacy but clearly with far less appreciation; signally failing to savour the rich, yeasty and exotic flavours of this foreign but classic condiment.

When the final crumbs of toast has vanished, Samer sat in deep thought; tongue, lips and palette ablaze with a new flavour, "It reminds me of the first taste of Gorgonzola". he finally said.