Otisil is a language I began creating in February 2023, from which ideas about a small but friendly island-dwelling culture also formed.

If you'd like to read about the language then my work-in-progress documentation is linked below. Otherwise, feel free to keep reading to learn more about the culture.

The following is an imaginative journey through this culture and these people.

Welcome to daixwí ("the black place"), a little archipelago so named for the dark colour of the mountain peaks that abound here. The people of this island, who mostly live in small rural communities, are immediately friendly and greet you as if you are family. They're speaking otisil ("the community mouth").

On a stone circle atop the hill

You clamber up a small hill, giving you a view of a village. This hill is called ríkái ("god's look").

From here you can see that the village is small but spread out over the narrow coast of this part of the island. You see silhouettes of various other islands belonging to the archipelago in the waving mist of the blue horizon. The island's tall mountains are still towering behind you.

A small stone circle is laid out on the floor. The stones look as if they were pushed into the ground many generations ago. An older woman from the village, who introduces herself to you as korgí ("the wise woman"), places a small ríroxoi ("offering") of dwar ("peach") within the circle. She says it's for the many rí ("gods") that watch over the village from this hill.

You now notice, as the sun begins to lower in the sky, the thoughtful way that shadows dance around the stones. A lot of care was clearly put into their placement as they sit, shining and clean but still overcome with the growth of beautiful small vines and flowers at their edges.

Down in the village

Wandering down from the hill into the village you saw, you make your way into a small farmhouse. The walls are made of many large stones piled into thick walls and the low roof is thatched.

Inside, a small fire marks the centre of the house with wooden and bamboo shelves lining the perimeter. One side of the house's interior, however, contains a small mat on the floor laid with straw and leaves for sleeping.

The house is being gently filled with a sweet-smelling smoke rising from a pile of herbs laid over a shallow clay lattice that hangs over the fire. Two women in the house tell you that the herbs are zaí and the smoke fills you with a pleasant relaxed feeling.

On the shelves by the walls of the farmhouse you see a whole collection of lidded jugs, all marked by scratches on the widest parts of their form. The women tell you they are zwoíháí ("fermenting pots"), each anywhere between a few days and a few weeks old.

Looking to the ceiling, you see small yellow-brown bricks hanging from a bamboo beam, tied on with small reeds that surround it like a parcel. The women tell you these are kwóimar, made from mar ("soybeans") and that in a few weeks they will go into zwoíháí pots to make zwoímar, a fermented paste, later in the year.

The friendliness and cosiness of the farmhouse fills you with inevitable comfort, as does the relaxing smoke of the zaí and the subtle aroma of vegetable brine and aromatic leaves and vegetables which pile at various edges of the building.

Beside the farmhouse

Leaving the farmhouse, you notice there is a small fenced area directly adjacent to the little stone-and-thatch farmhouse. You see a collection of gwáigwai ("hens") roaming. One of the women from inside the farmhouse spots your curiosity and tells you they are déígwai ("egg-laying hens") whose déí ("eggs") are a core component of this village's day-to-day cuisine.