South Africa, where I’ve lived for more than 12 years, has 11 official languages. One of those, Afrikaans, is a direct descendant of Dutch. This makes sense as the Dutch East India Company had a major hub in South Africa: a logical stop on the trading routes to Southern Asia.

When people here hear I’m from Belgium, one of the questions I get regularly is: “Oh, so you speak Flemish?” While I probably should say “yes”, and most Flemish people would do so, the real answer is “no.” And unfortunately, it’s one of my pet peeves that I cannot just let slide, much to the irritation and eye-rolling of my family. Having taught academic writing at university with a focus on correctness in language most likely damaged me for life.

So, what’s the deal?

Seven, but actually six governing bodies

Belgium is a confusing country. It started as a breakaway from The Netherlands in 1830. English is confusing in that it still speaks of “The Netherlands” as a country. In Dutch, we speak of “De Nederlanden” as the country that existed before 1830 — with Belgium being the Southern Netherlands, and “Nederland” (Netherland) as the currently existing country.

Back to Belgium, the region had always been a buffer region between bigger empires. The main reason that France, England, and the Prussian Empire in 1830 allowed the detachment of Belgium from the rest of the Netherlands was for this very reason: having a buffer between them and the other big forces in Europe. Over the centuries, our region has had many rulers: the French, the Dutch, the Spanish, and most recently: the Germans (though they only stayed for about 4–5 years). On top of that, its capital, Brussels, is home to the European Union, meaning that the city is flooded by foreign nationals.

Belgium’s history and current function has resulted in a weird composition of language and territory. We have one federal government. Next to that, we have three regions, each with its regional government: Flanders, Wallonia, and Brussels. Finally, we have three communities: Flemish, French and German-speaking, who roughly coincide with the three official languages in the country: Dutch, French, and German. Again, each of these communities has its own governing body, with the only exception that the powers of the Flemish Region are entirely exercised by the Flemish Community.

This means that we have a total of six governing bodies: one federal, three communities and three regions. That of course adds up to seven, but the Flemish community and the Flemish region joined into one body resulting in six. (The map on the Wikipedia page is really helpful to understand the complexity better.)

So, when someone asks me if I speak Flemish, the answer really is “no”. I live in the Flemish Region, and I’m part of the Flemish community, but my language is Dutch. “Flemish Dutch” would not even be the correct way to name our accent, the official term used is “Belgian Dutch”. And it’s much closer to the Dutch spoken in the Netherlands than people think. For one, we have the same Language Union, and by consequence, the same grammar and dictionary. It’s for example much, much closer than U.S. English and British English are to each other.

So how are Flemish Dutch-speakers different?

So what are the differences? The pronunciation is definitely different. The clearest example is probably that Flemish people have a much softer “g” than most people in the Netherlands. I say “most” because some of the more Southern Dutch provinces use a “g”-sound closer to the Flemish pronunciation.

Afrikaans speakers tend to understand the Dutch of Flemish people more easily. At least, that’s what I’m told. In my experience, their pronunciation actually sounds closer to that of the Netherlands, and I’ve wondered if it’s more of a cultural preference.

Case in point, during our honeymoon in Durban over a decade ago, Kim and I overheard a conversation in the restaurant about how much easier to understand “Flemish” is than Dutch. To my great amusement, the guy said something along the lines of: “It’s so much easier to read a Flemish newspaper.” While I totally understand a remark regarding the pronunciation, the writing language is only marginally different, and that’s due to some difference in vocabulary rather than it being a different language.

When Dutch ≠ Dutch

Those differences in vocabulary can lead to hilarious moments. When I studied theology in Leuven (Belgium), about 70% of my classmates — if not more — were from the Netherlands. Let me share two funny encounters that still make me smile. One of the Dutch students went to the flower market. While on her haunches smelling a flower, the vendor behind her shouted: “Careful, your bum is in the flowers” (in Belgian Dutch: “Pas op, je zit met je poep in de bloemen”). “Poep” as a noun in the Netherlands is however only used for “poop”, so this student got a massive fright and was worried that she had poop on her bum.

The second case is closely related. The Dutch verb “poepen” means “to poop”, however in Belgium, it’s only used for “getting laid.” Not quite as negative and harsh as “to f***”, but also much less gentle than “having sex” or “making love”. So, when in the dorms, a Dutch student — as loud as they have the reputation of being — shouted “Ik moet poepen” (“I have to poop”), the Belgians all burst out laughing.

So, while I am not Dutch, I speak Dutch. While I do not speak Flemish, I am Flemish. Let it be known.

P.S. Even while sharing the Wikipedia example, both ChatGPT and Nano Banana Pro got so confused about the setup in Belgium, that I gave up trying to generate a “1950s infographic” as it kept hallucinating.