Dialect figures memorably in Ness’s chapter as she navigates the social scene on Allan Stockham’s plantation. When her fellow women slaves make a stir over Pinky’s silence, she orders them to settle down:
Ness addressed the room. “Lord, I don’t know what kinda foolishness I done walked into at this here plantation, but y'all need to leave this girl alone. Maybe she don’t want to speak cuz she know just how crazy it make you or maybe she ain’t got nothin’ to say yet, but I reckon she ain't gon’ start tonight just because y’all makin’ like you actors in a travelin’ show.”
This scene is among the novel’s first instances of dialect but not its last. “Y’all need to leave this girl alone,” Ness commands her fellow slaves in sentences laid thick with southern drawl. Shortened words—“travelin’,” nothin’,” and “gon’”—replicate the texture and cadence of her speech on the page. Like many other moments, Homegoing plays on syntax and spelling to distill the quirks of spoken word. Four generations later, Ness’s great-granddaughter chides Sonny, telling him that “you’s a hardheaded fool.” Across the ocean, African boys coax Marjorie to pay “juss five cedis” for tours in Ghana. The novel showcases language as language mutates and morphs.
In this constant linguistic evolution, Ness’s words take the first step. Her southern accent signals a decisive break from a people and tradition that had previously called Africa home. The dialogue in Effia and Esi’s chapters follows a distinctly formal register. “Send word to my father,” Abronoma orders an Esi who longs for her company. Just one generation later, Ness fends off the other women from Pinky in speech that feels both homespun and sassy. Homegoing’s command of dialect allows it to underscore the expansiveness of the Black experience.