Trevor Joyce sent me a link to Danica Salazar’s Guardian piece on an OED update a couple of years ago, but it slipped to the unseen recesses of my inbox before I got around to it, and I hereby abashedly retrieve it for your delectation. After an introit on how “English spread across the globe,” we get to the good stuff:
The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) has documented many of the words that these new communities of English speakers have added to the vocabulary. Many of these words are borrowings from other languages with which English is in constant contact, such as lepak (to loiter aimlessly) from Malay, deurmekaar (confused, muddled) from Afrikaans, kaveera (a plastic bag) from Luganda, and whāngai (an adopted child and the adoption itself) from Māori, which may be unfamiliar to British English speakers but are words characteristic of Malaysian English, South African English, Ugandan English and New Zealand English respectively.
Speakers of world varieties of English are remaking its vocabulary to better express their identities, cultures and everyday realities. In Hong Kong, people exclaim add oil as a show of encouragement or support, an expression literally translated from the Cantonese gā yáu, with reference to petrol being injected into an engine. In the Philippines, many houses have a dirty kitchen, which is not actually a kitchen that is dirty in the sense you think, but a kitchen outside the house where most of the real cooking is done – a necessary convenience in a tropical country where it is best to avoid trapping heat and smells indoors. In Nigeria, a mama put is a street-food stall, and its name comes from the way that its customers usually order food: they say “Mama, put …” to the woman running the stall, and point to the dish they want so it can be put on their plate.
Meanwhile, the Japanese have invented, and South Koreans have popularised, the word skinship, a blend of the words skin and kinship that refers to the close physical contact between parent and child or between lovers or friends.
What great expressions! (Yes, I know some of you feel strongly that such terms are not part of English as you conceive it; we can take the objection as read.) The etymology for kaveera (East African English /kaˈvera/) actually provides a morphological analysis in Luganda, though it would have been nice if they’d ventured a guess as to where ‑veera comes from:
< Luganda (a)kaveera < (a)ka-, singular class prefix + ‑veera (single-use) plastic bag (plural (o)buveera buveera n.).
Compare buveera n. (which is also used as a plural of kaveera n. in English).
Belated thanks, Trevor!
Is Luganda kaveera simply from English cover, with the initial syllable reinterpreted as the Luganda class VI singular noun marker? If so, it’s a pity that the Oxford English Dictionary overlooked this… (For the reinterpretation, compare Swahili kinara, built on mnara, from Arabic منارة manāra.)
Googling the spelling cavera together with Uganda gets some hittage.
GT gives Luganda obuveera for “plastic.”
The ka- singular is Bleek-Meinhof class XII, apparently diminutive (sometimes) in Luganda, and certainly so elsewhere in Bantu.
Of interest, in that the presumably cognate singular suffix *-ka is (often) diminutive in Oti-Volta too. (It also turns up in e.g. Kusaal biig, Mbelime bīìkɛ̀ etc etc “child.”) The affix is also used for tools and instruments in Oti-Volta and in some Bantu.
Swahili kitabu “book”, plural vitabu is another example of this kind of reanalysis. Even better is Lingala motuka “car”, plural mituka.
Oti-Volta languages do this thing of fittlng loans into the noun-class system by analogy pretty much routinely, though as the languages use class suffixes rather than prefixes it doesn’t look quite so outlandish. Thus e.g. Mooré lórè “car”, plural loaya.
Victor Mair is a fan of “add oil!” and has blogged on it several times at Language Log, first in 2016, then in 2018 after the OED added it, and a couple times after that.
Ah, I thought it sounded familiar!
I’m not convinced kaveera is from English: you’d have expected “cover” to end up as something like kava – both the r and the long ee are odd. (Anglophone African English is non-rhotic.)
According to
https://learnluganda.com/combo
luveera o- (lu/n) arch, garment of goatskins; current thin/flimsy/transparent wrapper or cover. oluveera lw’ekiteeteeyi a flimsy, transparent dress; a long, flowing dress.
Dunno what sources underlle this.
Yes the word means that. And it is indeed customary practice to share out the nurturing of kids around the family.
But I wouldn’t say that’s the familiar word for English speakers in NZ. Rather ‘whānau out’, where whānau means (extended) family.
luveera
That is excellent! It’s John D. Murphy (1972), Luganda–English Dictionary, p. 305.
Of all the abundance of the 70-ish languages of California, only three words made it into English AFAIK, and two mostly locally: abalone, from Spanish aulón, from Rumsen Ohlone ’awlun ‘red abalone, Haliotis rufescens’; toyon, from some (northern?) variety of Ohlone, ‘Heteromeles arbutifolia’; and islay, through Spanish, from Migueleño Salinan sle’y, ‘hollyleaf cherry, Prunus ilicifolia’.
I retain from somewhere—probably the 2nd edition of the Random House Dictionary— the etymology of chuckwalla from Cahuilla. What Random House says:
But now the Wiktionary, Wikipedia, etc., say that chuckwalla could also be from ‘Shoshone’, whichever of several varieties is intended by that. Jon Philip Dayley Tümpisa (Panamint) Shoshone Dictionary gives tsakwatan, tsakawatan with /ts/ (the stops being voiced and lenited intervocallically), and the other Numic languages have similar words. I am certainly not qualified to evaluate the choice between a Cahuilla and a Numic etymon. (But Spanish ch- does sometimes replaces Nahuatl initial tz- : chicle (Nahuatl tzictli), chapote ‘Texas persimmon (Diospyros texana)’ (doublet of Spanish zapote; Nahuatl tzapotl), chinchayote ‘edible root of the chayote plant’ (a virtual Nahuatl *tzinchayohtli : tzintli ‘butt; base, foundation’ + chayohtli ‘chayote’), chinaco…)
Merriam Webster includes wokas. Would you allow that to squeak by as Californian? Of course, I don’t know whether the Modoc word was basically the same as the Klamath. M.A.R. Barker (1963) Klamath Dictionary has the following entry:
Hawaiian hānai is used like Maori whāngai for adoptive or foster relatives, but also for close family friends, who might also be addressed or referred to as Uncle or Auntie in English. Keiki hānai ‘foster child’, makua hānai ‘foster parent’. Hawaiian hānai is also a verb meaning ‘to nourish or support (or suckle)’.
Hānau ‘birth’ is most commonly heard in Hau’oli Lā Hānau ‘Happy Birthday’!
https://www.trussel2.com/HAW/haw-h.htm#hana
I first heard ja you! (‘add oil’) at an athletic event at the junior college we taught at in Zhongshan in 1987-88.
Mamaput reminds me of how my bilingual twin toddlers named streaming videos “howbouts,” after the way I’d offer them options in my southern US accent: “How ’bout this big truck one? No? Ok, how ’bout one about trains?”
That turned into: “We want a howbout! Let’s watch a howbout ’bout monster machines!”
(Also, old houses in the South used to have “dirty kitchens” too, but we called them “summer kitchens.”)
Xerîb: good call on the chuckwalla! I checked Bright and Gudde’s California Place Names (4th ed.), whose etymologies are excellent, when available. It says, “The name of the lizard is borrowed from California Spanish chacahuala, or directly from Cahuilla cháxwal, perhaps with influence from Chemehuevi chagwara (Munro); this is one of the few animal names that have entered English from California Indian languages. Chuckwalla Wells is mentioned in the 1870s as a stopping place of stagecoaches.”
I wouldn’t include wokas, though. Likely the name was indeed used by the Klamath harvesting the lower Klamath River marshes, but as far as I can tell the name never was adopted into English, except in the specific context of what Indians called their traditional food.
Speaking of Klamath, M.A.R. Barker’s dictionary and grammar of the language are the most complete available, and are good. He, however, was a piece of work, and not in a good way.
I recognize Barker’s name, albeit dimly, from being familiar with Empire of the Petal Throne during my long-ago period of adolescent D&D obsession, which did not long survive the presidency of Jimmy Carter. I didn’t know about his work on Klamath, or the non-Klamath “not in a good way” other interests to which Y alludes.
My copy of Robins’ The Yurok Language used to belong to him.
Perhaps I should have it exorcised.
His Klamath grammar is impressive but weird. Idiosyncratic …
(I had no idea about the D&D stuff.)
Yeesh. A holocaust denier who is secretly pushing for a holocaust. The line in wiki about his Islamic conversion is a brilliant send-up of his intellectual dishonesty.
I dunno. “Seemed like a more logical religion” seems legit to me. None of the Christological paradoxes. I can see that.
Horrible people can be perfectly sincere believers.
Not that I was ever a Tékumel guy, but I had managed to forget about Barker’s scumminess.
Y wrote:
and islay, through Spanish, from Migueleño Salinan sle’y, ‘hollyleaf cherry, Prunus ilicifolia’.
There is a street in Santa Barbara named “Islay”.
How is it pronounced?
“ How is it pronounced? “
When speaking English, I’ve always heard “is-lay” as in Lays Potato Chips (sorry, I can’t do IPA). When people are speaking Spanish I’ve heard a mix of two pronunciations, one like in English (“is-lei” or “ees-lay”) and another pronounced as the word would be in Spanish (“is-lai” or “ees-lie”) but I’ve probably heard the first pronunciation more often.
Also, growing up in Santa Barbara its pretty common to have one or more abalone shells lying around the house and it wasn’t unusual to see one being used as an ashtray.
But not pronounced /ˈaɪlə/ like the island in the Inner Hebrides with the same spelling (a spelling designed to baffle outsiders).
There is an Islais Creek in San Francisco, now mostly culverted. I would have guessed “is-ley” as well, not having heard it pronounced, but now, upon checking Bright and Gudde and some videos, I find that it’s traditionally /ˈɪslɪs/. However, young ‘uns in recent videos pronounce it /ˈɪslə/ (a newscaster!), /ɪzˈleə/, /ɪsˈla.ɪs/ and no doubt other ways. Won’t someone do something about it?
The only time I have seen abalone shells on the beach was on one with no public access. People can’t resist them.
But not pronounced /ˈaɪlə/ like the island in the Inner Hebrides
That pronunciation is reserved for Isla Vista, near Santa Barbara.
Whose street names are the topic of this complaint.
Whose street names are the topic of this complaint.
‘“Del Playa” appeared to her an incorrect version of “de la playa,” which means “to the beach” in Spanish.’ Ow! Ow!
From the linked news artcle:
” Cerrato was born in Sonora, Mexico, and moved to a Mexican-American neighborhood of Oxnard, Calif. at 14. She now notices when people pronounce “El Colegio” with a hard “g” instead of the “h” sound used by native Spanish-speakers.
“Everyone knew how to pronounce things in Spanish” in Oxnard, Cerrato said. “People here don’t try whatsoever to pronounce the names correctly.”
Keep in mind that Isla Vista is right next to the University of California at Santa Barbara which draws people from all over California and beyond who might not be familiar with proper Spanish pronunciation ( even among Californians of a certain age) plus I.V. ( as locals call it ) is located near a number of companies that also draw people from all sorts of places. Raytheon used to employ a lot of people in the area and it was located not far from Isla Vista.
I can’t remember the last time I heard someone say El Colegio Road with a hard g but it’s been a very long time since I hung out in I.V.
Ms. Cerrato is from Oxnard which has a huge Mexican-American community ( including a Mexican neighborhood known as La Colonia which is located literally on “the other side of the tracks”*) and lived in Isla Vista with all its undergrad and grad students from somewhere else. If she lived in or near the Mexican neighborhoods** of Goleta and Santa Barbara she would have met plenty of people who know how to pronounce things in Spanish ( although admittedly there are plenty of locals who hold on to English and/or quirky pronunciations of Spanish and Chumash words, like saying “luh coom-bruh” instead of “lah coom-bray” for La Cumbre.)
*In Sant Barbara the train tracks run close to the ocean past Downtown. I had an Anglo friend from a nice neighborhood above the old Mission who once jokingly told me, “well at least you can’t say that you’re from the other side of the tracks!”.
**There used to be more Latinos and more non-students of other backgrounds living in Isla Vista but in the 90s, as the university expanded and drew even more students, a lot of the apartment buildings there were bought by new landlords who evicted the tenants to remodel the buildings, raise the rents and cater to UCSB students and their needs. This pushed out a lot of poorer and non-student Isla Vistans.
And yet another California Indian word in English, along with the aforementioned abalone, chuckwalla, islay, toyon, wokas, and hitch.
Ookow, that is Dichelostemma congestum, is attested as early as 1895 but unidentified, in a list of wildflowers collected by Oakland school children. In 1897 it is properly listed in Parsons and Buck’s Wild Flowers of California, and has appeared since then in the botanical literature for California, Oregon, and Washington, including the many editions of Jepson’s manual, the standard flora of California. There are many videos showing the word in contemporary usage throughout the plant’s range, along the west coast.
Nevertheless, the word is not in the OED, or Merriam-Webster, or Wiktionary, or the Century Dictionary. Where the etymology is brought up, it is never more specific than “Indian”. However the source is transparently ʼokʼaw in Nisenan (spoken in the southern Sacramento Valley and the adjacent Sierra Nevada), as recorded from Lizzie Enos by J. W. Duncan, Maidu Ethnobotany, p. 36 (here).
The similar-looking and better known blue dicks (Dipterostemon capitatus) supposedly got its name as an abbreviation of Dichelostemma, in which genus it was once placed.
Wow, that’s a great find. So many words are hardly noticed by lexicography…
Excellent! You should create a Wiktionary entry for the word, Y!
How is it usually pronounced? The speaker here around the 7:30 mark would seem to have /ˈugoʊ/ (judging from his plural ookows), but the speaker here has /ˈukaʊ/.
Thank you! I hope someone else does, but if not, then maybe I will.
I confess I haven’t heard it pronounced, and I don’t know which of the people who do pronounce it learned the pronunciation verbally or from guessing according to written sources. I would be one of the latter, and would guess /ˈukaʊ/. Of the two videos, I would be apt to guess that the old guy from the California Native Plant Society had heard it spoken, and that the first one is using an overcorrect spelling pronunciation.
would guess /ˈukaʊ/.
Same here.
So many words are hardly noticed by lexicography…
DARE includes ookow, but without a pronunciation, unfortunately (at least in the print version; online here if you have access). All the cites are from printed sources. The etymology is given as [Etym uncert]. I wonder if that could be updated? Is anyone around to do digital updates of DARE? George Goebel?
The link is not letting me look inside. In the print edition ookow only appears under blue dicks, in a list of synonyms (which is incorrect but understandable).
The main entry for ookow is on page 886 of volume 3 (letters I-O) of the print edition of DARE, defined as follows:
Duncan even says of ookow, “Mrs. Enos confuses it with Ithuriel’s Spear: bədək.”
What an odd name Ithuriel is!
According to Wikipedia, Ithuriel is the name of an angel in Paradise Lost, probably coined by Milton himself, although there are those who claim a cabbalistic origin.
Here is the somewhat confused annotation to book IV, verse 788, by Patrick Hume in the 1695 edition of Paradise Lost, in which the name Ithuriel is discussed:
So… the problematic Biblical Hebrew יתור ⟨ytwr⟩ (Job 39:8) taken here as ‘discovery’, from תָּר tār ‘seek out, spy out, explore, search’, I guess, with the pattern of יְקוּם yəqûm ‘existence’ beside קָם qām ‘to stand up, rise’. (Hume leaves the suffix pronoun -î ‘my’ out of it.) I wonder where Hume got this interpretation—it looks like it must have been Milton’s own, considering Ithuriel’s role in Paradise Lost.
From the popular work, Gustav Davidson, A Dictionary of Angels:
I would like to know the spelling in Isaac’s work. It looks like there is an association with עֲטָרָה ʿăṭārāh ‘crown’. Alas, I have no more time to look into this matter.
About the interpretation Davidson attributes to Isaac ben Jacob ha-Cohen, I wonder if it reflects something like an עִטּוּרִיאֵל ʿiṭṭûrî-ēl, ‘my crowning is God’, ‘my adornment is God’.
Xerîb, it seems that latter interpretation is right. Verman, The Books of Contemplation (here, p. 229, line 51) transcribes a text by Moses of Burgos (attributed to a lost book by Isaac Ha-Cohen, Maʿəyan haḥoḵmâ ‘Fountain of Wisdom’, in turn quoting the theories of one R. Ḥammai.) I know nothing of Kabbalah, but as I read it, there are three antechambers leading to God’s throne, which are also identified (personified?) with angels. The middle one is named עיטוריאל ʿiṭṭûrîʾēl, ‘so named after the great crown (ʿăṭārâ), which brings to mind gold which is an emblem of the attribute of justice’ (probably inaccurate translation but you get the idea.) Where Milton got it, I don’t know. The spelling with th instead of t was probably him making it look extra Hebrew.
The earliest mention of the plant by that name that I can find is in a bulb catalog from 1896.
Thanks so much for finding this for us, Y! Now I can rest easy. This is far enough for me. I will leave angelology to others.
For the curious, emerging scapes of Ithuriel’s Spear here (scroll down).
Would Yituriel ( יתוריאל ) mean “God is my abundance”?
It wouldn’t. There is no such word as יִתּוּר yittûr.
@Y
Klein’s etymological dictionary has: יִתּוּר m.n. PBH 1 excess, superfluity. NH 2 remainder. [Verbal n. of יִתֵּר (= he added), Pi. of יתר.]
Alcalay’s Hebrew-English dictionary of 1965 translates the word as ‘superfluity, excess, superfluousness, superfluous addition, redundancy, remainder’.
What might (?) or would (?) disqualify that Hebrew word as being the first morpheme of the angel’s name is its meaning.
@Y:
There’s disagreement about what Strong’s 3491 means, but I am baffled at the blunt claim that it does not exist.
@M:
I think there’s enough semantic slack in the base concept of moreness that it’s at least plausible that surplus or abundance could be intended by yitur. For now, anyway.
“What I seek out is God” seems a possible name …
The יְת֣וּר in Job 39:8, despite the Masoretic pointing, looks in context more like a 3rd Sg masculine Qal imperfective of תור “seek out” (the subject being the פֶּרֶא “wild donkey” of verse 5, just as it’s the subject of יִ֭שְׂחַק “he mocks” in verse 6.)
[The Kusaal version goes ba gɔɔndnɛ zuoya zuti ieed yam “they wander the mountain tops seeking fodder”; plural because the antecedent is mɔɔgin bʋmis “bush donkeys.” Unlike Hebrew and Hifalutin English, Kusaal does not usually do the Generic Singular thing.]
The Masoretes presumably took the word as the construct of the passive participle of יָתַר, but that misses the parallel with the previous verses, and “gleanings” (as a semantic extension of “remnant”, not in itself implausible) really doesn’t fit the context as well.
Joüon-Muraoka* p235 cites several noun forms made with a preformative yod, like יריב “adversary”, and indeed suggests that they might have originated in 3rd masculine sg imperfective forms. Some of their examples from hollow verbs have schwa in the first syllable, some qametz. So it seems to me to be at least possible that there could have been a יתור yāṯūr/yəṯūr “seeking.”** (I don’t think it occurs in Job 39:8, where the original text surely had a finite verb; though a mediaeval Jewish scholar perhaps could have taken it that way.)
*Muraoka died just last month, as Hebraistic Hatters will doubtless already know:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Takamitsu_Muraoka
** That would have the happy consequence of making Milton’s th in “Ithuriel” correct, too.
I’m not discounting the “seek/explore” sense for Job 39:8, btw. I am just noting the possibility that a hypothetical coiner of a name like Yituriel could have had something else in mind.
It just struck me that the common Modern Hebrew word for tourist, tayyar (תייר), in fact derives from the t-w-r root.
“God is my tour guide”?
Well, life is a ball game …
https://youtube.com/watch?v=pR4r7tjQZLs
(No idea what the baseball references actually mean, but the song does go a long way toward convincing me that God did not, in fact, make a mistake in creating Americans.)
There does indeed seem to be no Biblical Hebrew yittūr, though.
@Owlmirror: My apologies. I was too rash and didn’t check carefully before posting the comment. yittūr is attested, but quite rare. In pre-modern times it is apparently only attested in two verses in Eruvin tractate in the Mishnah, 103b:9–10 (here), plus later sources where those are quoted. That noun, meaning ‘excess, superfluity, extra’, as mentioned, derives from the root ytr, which is found throughout Semitic with that sense; see detailed discussion of the root’s history and uses in the OT here. It is distinct from the root twr, ‘to reconnoiter’, of unclear etymology (the entry here discusses Job 39:8 as well.)
תור reminds me a bit of the Kusaal verb laŋim “wander about, looking for something”, with its pleasing conjunction of an activity with an end in view nevertheless carried out quite unsystematically. “Browse”, I suppose.
It would have done nicely in the translation of Job 39:8. Possibly it’s not known to all speakers (it’s not in Naden’s dictionary.)
The earliest reference I could find to the plant under the name Ithuriel’s Spear is from 1860, here. The author did not know its origin, but it might be modeled after another asparagoid called the King’s Spear (called there “Missouri Hyacinth”; now the name is used for an Old World plant.)
Also, a bunch of them have budded in a pot in my back yard, but haven’t opened yet.
When I first heard the Modern Hebrew word tayyar (many years ago), I honestly and naively thought that it was a borrowing from lo’azit, like radyo, or televizya, or shoko (chocolate), or rentgen (Roentgen/X-Ray). Some sort of modification of “tourist”, not necessarily from the English word.
I was quite surprised to find that there is an ancient Hebrew word that is phonetically and semantically similar to “tour”. It is just a coincidence, right?
Right?
I think this is likely to be a case of phono-semantic matching
https://www.zuckermann.org/pdf/cultural_hybridity.pdf
Kusaal has a number of cases, too, e.g. tì’eb “prepare”, which has acquired the additional sense “heal” via Arabic طب ṭibb “medicine”, or sɔb “darken”, which now also means “write” via a roundabout route from Dyula sɛ́bɛ́ “book, paper, specimen of writing”, ultimately from Arabic صفحة ṣafḥah “page.”
Ultimately, indeed so. Already Ben-Yehuda in his dictionary noted that the older sense of ‘explorer’, ‘reconnoiterer’ was adopted for the meaning ‘visitor’ under the influence of tourist.
Tour and tourist ultimately come from an Early Modern French word meaning ‘to go around, make a circuit’, which goes back to Latin tornāre ‘to turn on a lathe’, via Greek from PIE *terh₁- ‘to rub, turn; to drill, pierce’ (quoting WAry).
The Hebrew root twr is of unclear etymology (as the article I linked discusses, cautiously) but the Akkadian târu (Chicago Assyrian Dictionary 18:250) ‘to return from a journey’, ‘to turn around’ (plus a dozen other secondary meanings, exemplified and discussed for 20 pages) could be cognate to the Hebrew, for all I know.
*terh₁-
Slavic https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/торить#Russian (a bunch of words having to do with roads, linking this Russian word because others are listed in “Etymology”) seems to come from this root as well
And yet another California Indian word in English
DARE, Merriam-Webster, and Random House all have a word mahala mats ‘a prostrate evergreen shrub, Ceanothus prostratus, of the buckthorn family, native to the Pacific coast of the United States, having wedge-shaped, spiny-edged leaves and blue flowers’ (RH). DARE and Merriam-Webster also enter mahala ‘an Indian woman or wife’ (DARE), and the DARE entry has a citation from Mary Elizabeth Parsons (1897) The Wild Flowers of California: Their Names, Haunts, and Habits, p. 328:
I wonder if mahala can still be heard anymore anywhere in English. Is it considered offensive like squaw? Has the term mahala mats fallen out of use therefore?
Here is the etymology given for mahala mats in RH (with editorial approval from Ives Goddard, I assume):
Victor Golla (2011) California Indian Languages, on mahala (some references omitted):
The footnote continues:
The English–Yowlumni dictionary here from 2002 gives mō’kē for ‘wife’ (contrast kʰī’na(?) ‘woman’ [entry not perfectly legible] on the next page); note also the words for ‘woman’ on the Wikchamni dictionary page here. What could the element -lo that shows up in the forms quoted by RH be then?
For lagniappe, an article of Mark Twain’s from the time when he worked as a journalist for the Territorial Enterprise newspaper in Virginia City, Nevada, illustrating the former currency of mahala (25 February 1863):
I think this is likely to be a case of phono-semantic matching
Indeed; other likely examples that come to mind are masikha “mask” and semel “symbol”.
Thank you, Xerîb!
— It’s odd that a Yokuts word was used for a plant growing mostly in the Sacramento Valley and north, out of Yokuts range. That suggests that the word became widespread in local English anyway, like squaw.
— In her book Flutes of Fire, Leanne Hinton discusses the effort to rename Pinus sabiniana, formerly known as digger pine, the word having been a pejorative and offensive term for California Indians. It is now usually called gray pine or ghost pine. At the end of that chapter she notes that the older offensive term squaw mat was replaced by mahala mat. Apparently the term is not offensive, nowadays anyway.
— You can find many comparanda for the Yokuts word in Kroeber’s comparative vocabularies here, p. 187 (p. 19 of the pdf). N.B. <c> = /ʃ/.
— The -la may be a fossilized suffix, but there’s no definitive explanation at the moment. Silverstein (in the referenced dissertation, obtainable through here) reconstructs Proto-Yokuts *mukʰ-l-, and argues for it being a regular cognate of Mutsun mukur-ma (with an honorific plural suffix). Callaghan links a Utian root *mi·kʷ~mikʷ·y- ‘person’ (> Miwok) with various Yokuts words for ‘man’, ‘woman’, etc. She reconstructs Proto General Yokuts *mukʼes ‘woman and argues for Mutsun mukur-ma < *mukuš, and that in turn a Yokuts loan. Silverstein’s analysis is a bit deeper, Callaghan’s broader. Both of them recognize that theirs are initial steps and that much more can and remains to be done, even with what’s available.
The English-Yowlumni dictionary’s <k*īʼna> would be /kʼain̓a/. Cf. <gaaʔinʼa> in the vocabulary in the appendix to Weigel’s dissertation.
Thanks for all those links, Y!