This project is a growing corpus of texts in the Berber variety of Jerba, in southern Tunisia, written by its speakers themselves. The texts are not elicited: rather than answering a researcher’s questions, speakers write, on their own initiative, about whatever they judge worth recording.
Each text carries its own date. Kept up regularly, the collection accumulates into a record of ordinary life on the island: over time it becomes possible to follow what people do and what occupies them, almost as a diary kept by a community.
In this the corpus sits between linguistic documentation and cultural anthropology. As language data it supports the description of a variety that remains only partly documented; as first-person testimony it offers an internal picture of how its speakers see their world — one fuller, and less mediated, than elicited material usually allows.
Below is one entry, given in the original — a slash marks each line break — alongside its English translation.
A sample text — the olive harvest
Jerba Berber
assuh ta raħəɣ a ʕawənnəɣ ənna=nnəɣ g asrəm n uzəmmur / əkkərrəɣ bəkri əjriɣ iman=iw ð tˤarwa=w uyiɣ əlli yəktəb s rəbbi / fəlləɣ af utma uyiɣ tašləmt i məmmi aməškun / əggiɣ əltalifun i bava uwiɣ=as mani təllim / əxsəɣ a d=asəɣ a kən=ʕawənnəɣ / yuwa=ið ərr əlbalim af tˤarwa=m əltˤaqs uyəħli w=d=as=š / w=l=yuši=š ul=iw ɣəlfəɣ tˤarwa=w yəqʕað / wa nəqsˤəð rəbbi / məmmi aməqqar fərħan xatˤər w=yəlmið=š / mani njəffəɣ am əlmadinəθ / nəlqa taksi nuwa=as əsˤsˤəl=nəɣ al rugu / utma təssən mani / waqt nusˤəl tuwa=as sˤəzˤwa=anəɣ dah / ɣir əzrˤan=nəɣ bava ð yəmma fərħan əggəθ / nuf=in aʕmal uðəllən sərmən / bava yəzˤwa səg tzəmmurt wa yərni isɣarən i lʕafit / yəmma təlqa fəlla tašləmt / wa bʕad ma təzˤra məmmi tuwa=as i bava / aɣ=d təllili əgg=it=d g tzəmmurt baš a ʕalqəɣ tašləmt n məmmi / mašaʔallah azəmmur xirat / nuli af tsˤərrat nətši ð utma / wa bava isərrəm g amas=is / wa yəmma təssərɣa g uməkli ð əttay af isɣarən
English
Today I'll go to help my family with the olive harvest. I got up early, got myself and my children ready, and took what was needed. I stopped by my sister's and took a sling for my little son. I phoned my father and asked him how things were. (I said:) I want to come and help you. He told me: look after your children, the weather is bad — don't come. But my heart stayed with him; still, I dressed my children warmly. And we put our trust in God. My eldest son is happy, because it's all new to him, [because] the place where we live is like a city. We took a taxi and told him: take us to Rugu. My sister knows where it is. When we arrived, she told him: drop us off here. The moment mom and dad saw us, they were overjoyed. We found them already at work harvesting. Dad climbed down from the olive tree and added firewood to the fire. Mom took the sling from me. And after she saw my son, she said to dad: bring a rope and fix it to the olive tree so I can hang up my son's sling. Māshāʾallāh — the olive crop is abundant! My sister and I climbed up the ladder, while dad was harvesting in the middle, and mom was cooking lunch and tea over the firewood.