I just finished reading a book about “story”. It talked all about how stories are important and humans love stories more than anything else and we must place ourselves in a good story to have a good life. This was rather depressing for me since I’ve realized that I cannot tell good stories in French. My host family likes me well enough, but 90% of what they know about me comes from what I do, not what I say.
On top of that, all of my stories are rooted in my own culture. We all know that in stories, setting the context is the most important thing. Well, it’s practically impossible to do. And without knowing the context, and what my culture values, and how my cultures sees people, my family can’t grasp the real meaning of my stories. And I don’t get most of their stories either, to be honest.
The best form of stories is comedy. However, my sense of humor has been reduced almost exclusively to making fun of myself, which gets old after about a day. I only get to belly-laugh when I’m talking with my real family or my American friends here.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve given up, and my family here won’t really know me, and I will live as a semi-human here because I can’t communicate and participate in life fully. It feels like after 3 months that my family should know me and everything should be peachy-keen. But adjusting to living in another cultures takes a lifetime and is really never complete. So I have to stay humble, because my French is still bad, I still don’t wash my laundry very well, and I still am lost when it comes to Senegalese culture sometimes. And even if I did understand, parts of my stories and myself that are American could never be fulfilled here because they require the American context.
Stories are the way we connect to one another. Heck, all forms of communication and language were created because we live in this world with other people who we want to know and love and hug. So I am missing out, in a way, by not being able to story with my family here. But having a shared life together and shared experiences does make up for my muteness in some cases. My family knows that I like to eat, which is a good start. My personality comes out through my actions, as does theirs.
So we are building our own new story together. It’s a strange story that is usually awkward and sometimes has to be repeated many times to be understood, but it is still meaningful. It just doesn’t flow as naturally and the plot turns aren’t as obvious as they would be in a quality American film. But I’m trying to believe that my Senegalese story is still worth living in and participating in, even if I’m tongue-tied half the time and don’t feel like my American self.
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Feast Your Eyes (And Ears)
Must sees of this week (All of them! I promise!):
1. Photos of Senegalese wrestlers that were awarded by World Press Photo. I will have to write another post on wrestling here, it is hard core and dripping in cultural differences.
2. Akon (Senegalese rapper who made it big in the US) was chosen to compose a song for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. The video below has a traditional Senegalese beat, paired with the Soweto Gospel Choir. It also features my favorite African footballer, Drogba!
3. Salagne Salagne by Youssou Ndour- the most famous Senegalese singer. This song is played everywhere here and it's rhythm feels almost ingrained in my life here. It's beautiful.
1. Photos of Senegalese wrestlers that were awarded by World Press Photo. I will have to write another post on wrestling here, it is hard core and dripping in cultural differences.
2. Akon (Senegalese rapper who made it big in the US) was chosen to compose a song for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. The video below has a traditional Senegalese beat, paired with the Soweto Gospel Choir. It also features my favorite African footballer, Drogba!
3. Salagne Salagne by Youssou Ndour- the most famous Senegalese singer. This song is played everywhere here and it's rhythm feels almost ingrained in my life here. It's beautiful.
Merci, Larousse
In my spare time, I've been browsing my "All French Verbs" book. Here's some gems.
klaxonner- to sound one's horn (literally or figuratively?)
apponter- to land on deck
inféoder- to indenture (what?)
larder- to lard (in what sense?)
rempoissonner- to restock with fish (rrrright)
yodler- to yodel (I will use this verb. My host brother confused yodeling with bagpipes- cornemuse en français. Our task for tomorrow is finding Sound of Music online.)
vulcaniser- to vulcanize (as in star trek?)
zyeuter- to stare at (fun to say if nothing else.)
klaxonner- to sound one's horn (literally or figuratively?)
apponter- to land on deck
inféoder- to indenture (what?)
larder- to lard (in what sense?)
rempoissonner- to restock with fish (rrrright)
yodler- to yodel (I will use this verb. My host brother confused yodeling with bagpipes- cornemuse en français. Our task for tomorrow is finding Sound of Music online.)
vulcaniser- to vulcanize (as in star trek?)
zyeuter- to stare at (fun to say if nothing else.)
Monday, February 15, 2010
Drama: Food
All of the drama in my life for the past few weeks has been centered around food. (And you’ve been wondering why I haven’t been writing on my blog.) I’ll give you a little recap.
After the all-important discovery of the beignets, my host-sister, smart girl that she is realized how much I like desserts, or any food that is bad for you, really. I knew that she was coming to understand me when she said, “Emily et son ventre, une grande histoire d’amour.” Which means, Emily and her stomach, a great love story. True words.
But this love story is in the midst of a battle. This battle takes place every time we eat fish for dinner. My sister, again, noted that I am constantly engaged in combat again fish bones. It amazing how many there are, and usually I resort to using my hands. Every once in a while my family has pity on me and removes them for me.
Yesterday was the newest chapter in this epic of love and war. I was going to be the only woman in the house at dinner time, so my host father said, “You are the woman. You make the dinner.” (So that’s how it works, I guess.) So I embarked on a mission to make French toast- in French it’s called “pain perdu” or lost bread (I was holding out for American toast, but no luck there). Road block one: no cinnamon. Okay, we’ll use sugar. My sister ended up being at home when I started and she said that we couldn’t mix sweet bread with salty eggs. She then proceeded to put tons of salt and seasoning in the dip for the toast, pour oil in the frying pan, and fry the pour suckers. This, she explains, is Senegalese pain perdu. Well, shucks. It was a far cry from any French toast I’ve ever had, but it was fried, so I ate it.
Again, it comes down to having the right materials. We have no spatula. There is no sliced bread, only baguettes. Stores close on Sundays. I am intent on making an “American” meal for my family at some point, which will require boxing out my sister and mother from the spices and stove top. I’ll have to do some conditioning before that, and search the city for cinnamon, sliced bread, and spatulas. Like I said, drama.
After the all-important discovery of the beignets, my host-sister, smart girl that she is realized how much I like desserts, or any food that is bad for you, really. I knew that she was coming to understand me when she said, “Emily et son ventre, une grande histoire d’amour.” Which means, Emily and her stomach, a great love story. True words.
But this love story is in the midst of a battle. This battle takes place every time we eat fish for dinner. My sister, again, noted that I am constantly engaged in combat again fish bones. It amazing how many there are, and usually I resort to using my hands. Every once in a while my family has pity on me and removes them for me.
Yesterday was the newest chapter in this epic of love and war. I was going to be the only woman in the house at dinner time, so my host father said, “You are the woman. You make the dinner.” (So that’s how it works, I guess.) So I embarked on a mission to make French toast- in French it’s called “pain perdu” or lost bread (I was holding out for American toast, but no luck there). Road block one: no cinnamon. Okay, we’ll use sugar. My sister ended up being at home when I started and she said that we couldn’t mix sweet bread with salty eggs. She then proceeded to put tons of salt and seasoning in the dip for the toast, pour oil in the frying pan, and fry the pour suckers. This, she explains, is Senegalese pain perdu. Well, shucks. It was a far cry from any French toast I’ve ever had, but it was fried, so I ate it.
Again, it comes down to having the right materials. We have no spatula. There is no sliced bread, only baguettes. Stores close on Sundays. I am intent on making an “American” meal for my family at some point, which will require boxing out my sister and mother from the spices and stove top. I’ll have to do some conditioning before that, and search the city for cinnamon, sliced bread, and spatulas. Like I said, drama.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
What I do all day.
I thought that I might give you, my readers, something steady to stand on when it comes to understanding where all of my ranting and raving comes from. That would be, my schedule (in a vague sense).
Each week I take classes at WARC, the West African Research Center, which hosts several study abroad programs in Dakar, and from IFEE- L’Institut de Français pour Etudiants Etrangères., which is a section of L’Université Cheik Anta Diop, or UCAD. All my classes except Wolof are 3 hours once a week.
My classes consist of the following:
WARC
French Grammar Review
History of Islam in Senegal
History of the Senegambia
Gender and Development in Senegal
Wolof
IFEE
French-English Translation, Level 3
I had planned to take at least one course at UCAD proper, along with the other, normal, Senegalese students. Unfortunately, the system proved too difficult to navigate for an outsider. I would venture to guess it’s difficult for most insiders as well. I made a good effort to attend a African Literature course, and two weeks in a row the professor did not show up, although both time hundreds of students sat waiting for the entire length of the class. The first time that this happened, I learned when I got home that there was a strike at the University that day. But the second time is still unexplained.
Strikes in the universities here are frequent, usually in response to the inadequate number of classes for the volume of students enrolled. I feel like U.S. universities haven’t had a good strike since the 60’s, but apparently it’s still commonplace in other Western countries, like France, as well. I’m not sure if Senegal picked up the practice from France or if the system here works poorly enough to incite students’ anger time and again.
After sitting through a couple of classes with no professor, I thought that I might like a little striking too, especially if I was paying for that class specifically and needed it to advance to the next level of my degree program.
Why the university works the way it does is a mystery to me still, and I won’t venture a guess into its inner workings. Let’s just say that the final product isn’t a well-oiled machine and there appears to be more organization within departments than throughout the university as a whole.
If this entry is any evidence, my English spelling is slowly disintegrating. I hope that means my French is getting better.
Each week I take classes at WARC, the West African Research Center, which hosts several study abroad programs in Dakar, and from IFEE- L’Institut de Français pour Etudiants Etrangères., which is a section of L’Université Cheik Anta Diop, or UCAD. All my classes except Wolof are 3 hours once a week.
My classes consist of the following:
WARC
French Grammar Review
History of Islam in Senegal
History of the Senegambia
Gender and Development in Senegal
Wolof
IFEE
French-English Translation, Level 3
I had planned to take at least one course at UCAD proper, along with the other, normal, Senegalese students. Unfortunately, the system proved too difficult to navigate for an outsider. I would venture to guess it’s difficult for most insiders as well. I made a good effort to attend a African Literature course, and two weeks in a row the professor did not show up, although both time hundreds of students sat waiting for the entire length of the class. The first time that this happened, I learned when I got home that there was a strike at the University that day. But the second time is still unexplained.
Strikes in the universities here are frequent, usually in response to the inadequate number of classes for the volume of students enrolled. I feel like U.S. universities haven’t had a good strike since the 60’s, but apparently it’s still commonplace in other Western countries, like France, as well. I’m not sure if Senegal picked up the practice from France or if the system here works poorly enough to incite students’ anger time and again.
After sitting through a couple of classes with no professor, I thought that I might like a little striking too, especially if I was paying for that class specifically and needed it to advance to the next level of my degree program.
Why the university works the way it does is a mystery to me still, and I won’t venture a guess into its inner workings. Let’s just say that the final product isn’t a well-oiled machine and there appears to be more organization within departments than throughout the university as a whole.
If this entry is any evidence, my English spelling is slowly disintegrating. I hope that means my French is getting better.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Immersion? An Analysis of Wifi Coverage, Hairstyles, Poverty and Globalization.
I’m having trouble being so connected. Trouble might not be the right word. I feel like I’ve never travelled and been so in touch with my family and friends at home. Why does this trip feel easier, maybe, less distant from home than the others?
In Dakar I spend the majority of each day at the West African Research Center, which has glorious Wifi (pronounced weefee en français). I was surprised to see the new(ish) laptop computer that my host family owns, in addition to an older desktop. And they have DSL internet in their home that they use almost daily to talk to their oldest son, who is studying in France, or multiple other relatives who live in Europe. This is a huge change from the talk of shipping in huge satellites to get slower-than-molasses connections in Kenya. Here people are connected. Gmail, skype, excel, internet-ready phones, they’ve got it and my family, a “middle-class” family, uses it all.
This raises several questions for me. The first being, how will I ever learn French if the World Wide Web in English is at my fingertips? So far, self-discipline is the only solution. It is difficult, however, to regimen oneself to the extent that I refuse to communicate in my “mother-tongue” with other American students. That’s almost impossible to prevent. And as a woman, it would be very hard to be a loner in this city and make friends on my own. So immersion feels elusive, despite being in another country. (Bubble in French is boule.)
Connectivity in Senegal has raised other questions for me about relative poverty, globalization, and the relation between the two. If we’re talking about relative poverty the best gauge I know of is observing mention women’s hair styles. Women in Dakar almost universally get their hair braided or have weaves, which displays an investment of time, money, and perhaps a relatively high value of aesthetics (but describing Senegalese fashion will have to wait for another post), or even the empowerment of women. In Kenya, all girls had very short hair. Only older women or richer women got their hair done. Even in Durham a lower percentage of black women had their hair done than in Dakar. So in that respect also, Dakar feels “richer” to me.
In 2007, Senegal was ranked 166 out of 182 countries on the human development index- in the group of the least developed countries. So why can I not see the poverty? How might the poverty here look different than that of the southern United States or a village in western Kenya? And, I must question my expectations as well, must immersion in Africa be immersion in poverty? Certainly not. Africa suffers from the problem of “poverty porn” in the United States, where the image of starving children is synonymous with the continent. Check out these other blogs for a discussion of this topic. I plan to continue learning about and reflecting on this subject.
The final issue that makes me feel, shall we say, less immersed than expected is the similarities between Dakar and the United States. There are far more similarities than I would have expected. Most of these are cultural phenomenon related to music, dress, food, and entertainment. But the question with globalization is whether it is a two way street. Yes, I’d argue, I’ve heard of Akon, who is a Senegalese rapper now popular in the United States. But I never knew he was Senegalese. The reach of the American media giants (YouTube, Google, but NOT Starbucks, MacDonald’s, or movie theatres) here is convenient for my comfort, but seems to my water down my experience of Senegalese culture. As a professor from Paris said in a lecture yesterday, the United States is dominant in all spheres except soccer. It also feels ironic that I am trying to become more Senegalese during my time here while many others are trying to become more “American”.
In short, my question is why doesn’t Senegal feel more drastically different than the U.S.? Is it my bubble in class with other American students and Wifi? Is it the constant comparison to my hut sans water and electricity in rural Kenya? Is it because Senegal is relatively rich and therefore I am comfortable? Or is it the invasion of American culture? Or just the uniformity of urban culture worldwide? Maybe I’ve begun to undervalue cross-cultural experiences, or am beginning to live like an experienced traveler. Or something else?
It’s hard to know, but it could all be because I’m in a bubble. Maybe Senegal is so different and I just don’t see it yet. I’m just hoping that I can shut up enough to appreciate Senegal for what it is, not what I make of it.
I apologize for the overuse of parenthetical statements in this post, but it was worth it to be able to use the word parenthetical. Twice.
In Dakar I spend the majority of each day at the West African Research Center, which has glorious Wifi (pronounced weefee en français). I was surprised to see the new(ish) laptop computer that my host family owns, in addition to an older desktop. And they have DSL internet in their home that they use almost daily to talk to their oldest son, who is studying in France, or multiple other relatives who live in Europe. This is a huge change from the talk of shipping in huge satellites to get slower-than-molasses connections in Kenya. Here people are connected. Gmail, skype, excel, internet-ready phones, they’ve got it and my family, a “middle-class” family, uses it all.
This raises several questions for me. The first being, how will I ever learn French if the World Wide Web in English is at my fingertips? So far, self-discipline is the only solution. It is difficult, however, to regimen oneself to the extent that I refuse to communicate in my “mother-tongue” with other American students. That’s almost impossible to prevent. And as a woman, it would be very hard to be a loner in this city and make friends on my own. So immersion feels elusive, despite being in another country. (Bubble in French is boule.)
Connectivity in Senegal has raised other questions for me about relative poverty, globalization, and the relation between the two. If we’re talking about relative poverty the best gauge I know of is observing mention women’s hair styles. Women in Dakar almost universally get their hair braided or have weaves, which displays an investment of time, money, and perhaps a relatively high value of aesthetics (but describing Senegalese fashion will have to wait for another post), or even the empowerment of women. In Kenya, all girls had very short hair. Only older women or richer women got their hair done. Even in Durham a lower percentage of black women had their hair done than in Dakar. So in that respect also, Dakar feels “richer” to me.
In 2007, Senegal was ranked 166 out of 182 countries on the human development index- in the group of the least developed countries. So why can I not see the poverty? How might the poverty here look different than that of the southern United States or a village in western Kenya? And, I must question my expectations as well, must immersion in Africa be immersion in poverty? Certainly not. Africa suffers from the problem of “poverty porn” in the United States, where the image of starving children is synonymous with the continent. Check out these other blogs for a discussion of this topic. I plan to continue learning about and reflecting on this subject.
The final issue that makes me feel, shall we say, less immersed than expected is the similarities between Dakar and the United States. There are far more similarities than I would have expected. Most of these are cultural phenomenon related to music, dress, food, and entertainment. But the question with globalization is whether it is a two way street. Yes, I’d argue, I’ve heard of Akon, who is a Senegalese rapper now popular in the United States. But I never knew he was Senegalese. The reach of the American media giants (YouTube, Google, but NOT Starbucks, MacDonald’s, or movie theatres) here is convenient for my comfort, but seems to my water down my experience of Senegalese culture. As a professor from Paris said in a lecture yesterday, the United States is dominant in all spheres except soccer. It also feels ironic that I am trying to become more Senegalese during my time here while many others are trying to become more “American”.
In short, my question is why doesn’t Senegal feel more drastically different than the U.S.? Is it my bubble in class with other American students and Wifi? Is it the constant comparison to my hut sans water and electricity in rural Kenya? Is it because Senegal is relatively rich and therefore I am comfortable? Or is it the invasion of American culture? Or just the uniformity of urban culture worldwide? Maybe I’ve begun to undervalue cross-cultural experiences, or am beginning to live like an experienced traveler. Or something else?
It’s hard to know, but it could all be because I’m in a bubble. Maybe Senegal is so different and I just don’t see it yet. I’m just hoping that I can shut up enough to appreciate Senegal for what it is, not what I make of it.
I apologize for the overuse of parenthetical statements in this post, but it was worth it to be able to use the word parenthetical. Twice.
Heureuse
My favorite moments from Senegal thus far are the following:
1. My mother telling me that if I whistled at night Harry Potter would come for me.
2. My first French spoonerism: pot de masse. (In place of mot de passe- password.)
3. Learning Alhumdililah, which is the equivalent of Hallelujah in Arabic and Wolof.
4. The juxtaposition of the following phrases. “Je suis la folle. Je suis la foule.” They mean, respectively, I am the crazy person, and I follow the crowd. Je me demande, pourquoi le français me deteste?
I’m sorry that the blog posts for the past couple of weeks have consisted of disjointed thoughts and reactions. I plan to continue, dutifully, TWTW Dakar 2010 (Sounds sort of like an MTV show) and a thorough review of Senegalese history and culture in the weeks to come. Also planning on more pictures presented in a more thematic manner.
1. My mother telling me that if I whistled at night Harry Potter would come for me.
2. My first French spoonerism: pot de masse. (In place of mot de passe- password.)
3. Learning Alhumdililah, which is the equivalent of Hallelujah in Arabic and Wolof.
4. The juxtaposition of the following phrases. “Je suis la folle. Je suis la foule.” They mean, respectively, I am the crazy person, and I follow the crowd. Je me demande, pourquoi le français me deteste?
I’m sorry that the blog posts for the past couple of weeks have consisted of disjointed thoughts and reactions. I plan to continue, dutifully, TWTW Dakar 2010 (Sounds sort of like an MTV show) and a thorough review of Senegalese history and culture in the weeks to come. Also planning on more pictures presented in a more thematic manner.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Week 2 Blues
Well folks, it’s time to take off the rose-colored glasses. I am living in Senegal, not in Disney World. And just like anywhere else in the world, there’s junk I gotta do and people that I gotta deal with.
I started feeling a little whiny yesterday, while I was on an island, on the beach, when it was 80 degrees and sunny. I figured that my current circumstances could not possibly be causing my state of mind. Instead, I realized that I’ve hit the wall in terms of being excited about the newness of life here. In other words, I don’t feel like washing my own underwear is an adventure anymore.
It’s a tease, really, because I’ve figured out life and French enough to live here and do okay. But I also know now how far I have to go. I’ve been in the culture enough to not offend someone’s socks off. But I also know that I don’t fit in. And I’ve gotten to know the people in my program enough to get along, but also just enough to know what might bother me about them eventually, or immediately (not talking about you C&C!).
Last year in Kenya it took me half the trip to readjust expectations. Here it might take some time, but at least I’ve started this early. It’s so hard to know what you’re up against when going abroad, so readjusting expectations is a daily ritual. C’est la vie. I can finally say that and not feel corny, being in a francophone country. I just try to remember that I am me no matter where I am and life isn’t so drastically different that I’m a fish gasping for air. The water’s just murky and the other fish act funny.
What is making me feel better at this point is that my little brother (not my real or favorite little brother, who are one and the same) has decided to improve his English by speaking to me in English all the time, while I will continue to respond in French. His accent is horrendous and he speaks slowly. At least I know someone is feeling my pain, and I his. There, they’re and their!
Today the war of the tongue twisters started. Neither woodchuck or chuck are in my dictionary. Try explaining that in French.
I started feeling a little whiny yesterday, while I was on an island, on the beach, when it was 80 degrees and sunny. I figured that my current circumstances could not possibly be causing my state of mind. Instead, I realized that I’ve hit the wall in terms of being excited about the newness of life here. In other words, I don’t feel like washing my own underwear is an adventure anymore.
It’s a tease, really, because I’ve figured out life and French enough to live here and do okay. But I also know now how far I have to go. I’ve been in the culture enough to not offend someone’s socks off. But I also know that I don’t fit in. And I’ve gotten to know the people in my program enough to get along, but also just enough to know what might bother me about them eventually, or immediately (not talking about you C&C!).
Last year in Kenya it took me half the trip to readjust expectations. Here it might take some time, but at least I’ve started this early. It’s so hard to know what you’re up against when going abroad, so readjusting expectations is a daily ritual. C’est la vie. I can finally say that and not feel corny, being in a francophone country. I just try to remember that I am me no matter where I am and life isn’t so drastically different that I’m a fish gasping for air. The water’s just murky and the other fish act funny.
What is making me feel better at this point is that my little brother (not my real or favorite little brother, who are one and the same) has decided to improve his English by speaking to me in English all the time, while I will continue to respond in French. His accent is horrendous and he speaks slowly. At least I know someone is feeling my pain, and I his. There, they’re and their!
Today the war of the tongue twisters started. Neither woodchuck or chuck are in my dictionary. Try explaining that in French.
Friday, January 22, 2010
P Words
Why french is bad.
Puce= SIM card
Puce= Flea
Pouce=Thumb
Pouce=Inch
Pousse= Push
Pêche=Peach
Péche= he/she/one sins
Peche= he/she/one fishes
If you can come up with an equivalent list in English, I will be impressed. That should be enough incentive for you to try.
Puce= SIM card
Puce= Flea
Pouce=Thumb
Pouce=Inch
Pousse= Push
Pêche=Peach
Péche= he/she/one sins
Peche= he/she/one fishes
If you can come up with an equivalent list in English, I will be impressed. That should be enough incentive for you to try.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Learning a New Tongue
While preparing to go to Senegal, I told people that I enjoy learning languages. I’m feeling now that this is statement must be revisited. While I like learning languages in theory, in practice the exercise is endlessly frustrating. And while it’s frustrating constantly, it’s also full of rewards. Let me explain.
Language and the act of living are inextricably intertwined. In America I think that we overuse the word indescribable. Very few things in life are indescribable. In fact, language is developed and evolves to fit every experience that we might face so that we can communicate it to others.
Now suppose that the English language was constrained to one tenth of the words that exist now, and it could not grow. How would we describe the discovery of new biological processes or a new sport? Every conversation would be one long process of describing one object and then describing another using simple language.
This is my life right now. It feels sometimes that because the way I can describe my experiences is limited, my experiences are also limited. Somehow not sharing them devalues them. One perspective is not enough to learn and grow. (Not to mention it’s hard when I average 1 word/2 seconds.)
I’ve also been thinking about memory and language. If I experience a conversation in French, will I remember it in French? At some point in learning a language, you begin thinking in the new language. But what if you forget it, like I’ve lost most of the Spanish I learned 2 years ago? Do I also lose those memories? I don’t think I have, but I wonder if they’ve been recast in the English words that describe them differently than Spanish would, thus changing my memory.
In the great debate over the merits of immersion versus grammar in learning a language, I doubt I have anything new to say. I’d only note that I’m trying to use a mix of the two. Learning new vocabulary or new words in immersion is difficult and slow because you do not have an English translation for the word. But maybe that is best so that in your mind the word is categorized by experience rather than letters. Perhaps this sticks better in the brain goop.
To end, I’ll note that I think I hit a low point in my French when I mistakenly said yes when someone asked me if I liked Lady Gaga. This mistake led to a Franco-Senegalese accented rendition of Poker Face. I then tried to recover by telling the joke “How do you wake up Lady Gaga?” It took about 5 minutes for them to understand the correct answer. (Poke her face.) It’s all up from here folks.
Language and the act of living are inextricably intertwined. In America I think that we overuse the word indescribable. Very few things in life are indescribable. In fact, language is developed and evolves to fit every experience that we might face so that we can communicate it to others.
Now suppose that the English language was constrained to one tenth of the words that exist now, and it could not grow. How would we describe the discovery of new biological processes or a new sport? Every conversation would be one long process of describing one object and then describing another using simple language.
This is my life right now. It feels sometimes that because the way I can describe my experiences is limited, my experiences are also limited. Somehow not sharing them devalues them. One perspective is not enough to learn and grow. (Not to mention it’s hard when I average 1 word/2 seconds.)
I’ve also been thinking about memory and language. If I experience a conversation in French, will I remember it in French? At some point in learning a language, you begin thinking in the new language. But what if you forget it, like I’ve lost most of the Spanish I learned 2 years ago? Do I also lose those memories? I don’t think I have, but I wonder if they’ve been recast in the English words that describe them differently than Spanish would, thus changing my memory.
In the great debate over the merits of immersion versus grammar in learning a language, I doubt I have anything new to say. I’d only note that I’m trying to use a mix of the two. Learning new vocabulary or new words in immersion is difficult and slow because you do not have an English translation for the word. But maybe that is best so that in your mind the word is categorized by experience rather than letters. Perhaps this sticks better in the brain goop.
To end, I’ll note that I think I hit a low point in my French when I mistakenly said yes when someone asked me if I liked Lady Gaga. This mistake led to a Franco-Senegalese accented rendition of Poker Face. I then tried to recover by telling the joke “How do you wake up Lady Gaga?” It took about 5 minutes for them to understand the correct answer. (Poke her face.) It’s all up from here folks.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Maangi fi rekk.
Maangi fi rekk is "I am here only" in Wolof, which is the typical response to "How do you do?".
We had our first Wolof class yesterday at WARC, where I'll be taking most of my classes this spring. Our professor's name is CD, which I don't know how to spell in Wolof, but his nickname, given to him many years ago, is Q-Tip. (He's super skinny.) All our other classes will start next week.
For now, I'll just give you my favorite slip-ups en français.
1. Instead of saying I caught a cold from my father, I said that I caught my father.
2. Instead of saying I like Lebanese food, I said that I like Lebanese cousins.
But, everyone is very pleasant when I say that in French, I sound stupid. They don't say that I don't sound stupid, they just say that it's okay and that it will come. Luckily, my host family speaks decent English in case I don't understand.
We had our first Wolof class yesterday at WARC, where I'll be taking most of my classes this spring. Our professor's name is CD, which I don't know how to spell in Wolof, but his nickname, given to him many years ago, is Q-Tip. (He's super skinny.) All our other classes will start next week.
For now, I'll just give you my favorite slip-ups en français.
1. Instead of saying I caught a cold from my father, I said that I caught my father.
2. Instead of saying I like Lebanese food, I said that I like Lebanese cousins.
But, everyone is very pleasant when I say that in French, I sound stupid. They don't say that I don't sound stupid, they just say that it's okay and that it will come. Luckily, my host family speaks decent English in case I don't understand.
Monday, November 30, 2009
That's all I've got right now...
Today's phone call to the embassy. Hopefully more will come out next time.
Woman in Senegalese Embassy: Embassy of Senegal. Bonjour.
Me: Bonjour. Uh... I'm calling because...
Woman in Senegalese Embassy: Embassy of Senegal. Bonjour.
Me: Bonjour. Uh... I'm calling because...
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
What's in a name?
There are several things wrong with the name of this blog, which I feel I must acknowledge before I go any further. If it is any comfort, the mistakes are purposeful.
Let's just say that Sénégalə is the correct French spelling with schwa along for a ride. This name has an unintentional double entendre (quelle surprise! français!). Schwa is both my nickname and a phonetic letter, used in linguistics, and I am going to Senegal to learn a language. Voilá.
If it was possible I would have put the schwa in Senegal, instead of on the end, but I haven't found a way to type that. So, in summary, I am sorry. The title, I know is incorrect and insufficient, but perhaps that is the troisième (third) entendre- when learning a language through immersion, failing is the best way to improve.
To make reading this worth your time, here's a link on how to type French accents on a Mac.
Let's just say that Sénégalə is the correct French spelling with schwa along for a ride. This name has an unintentional double entendre (quelle surprise! français!). Schwa is both my nickname and a phonetic letter, used in linguistics, and I am going to Senegal to learn a language. Voilá.
If it was possible I would have put the schwa in Senegal, instead of on the end, but I haven't found a way to type that. So, in summary, I am sorry. The title, I know is incorrect and insufficient, but perhaps that is the troisième (third) entendre- when learning a language through immersion, failing is the best way to improve.
To make reading this worth your time, here's a link on how to type French accents on a Mac.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Neo-Post-Old-School-Colonialism. Also, maps.
Why are there no websites on Senegal in English? This question could begin a long history lesson, but I'll try to make it simple.
Look at a map of Africa. See which country names you have heard or have not heard. I bet those you've heard are mostly former colonies of Great Britain, or the oddball Liberia, a resettled slave colony with closer ties to the U.S. I'd also take a gander that you haven't heard of many of the 16 former French colonies. Gabon, for example. Where in the world is Gabon?
Part of the reason I'm going to Senegal is because I'm interested in Africa as a whole, not just the part that speaks my language or has closer ties to my country. Some would call the current reality neocolonialism. I guess this is an issue I'll have to poke around while I'm there.
Check out this awesome map of Africa that shows the progression of the continent through history. Here's a screen shot.
If you're into maps, you'll also love Gap Minder, another tool that moves across time and uses great visuals. This map is a great visual of the history of the HIV pandemic.
Lastly, if your eyes aren't tired yet, World Mapper is a must see. Below is a visual of infant mortality burden by country, which is a great proxy for poverty. Try looking at other indicators- demographic, economic, health, education, it's all there.
Look at a map of Africa. See which country names you have heard or have not heard. I bet those you've heard are mostly former colonies of Great Britain, or the oddball Liberia, a resettled slave colony with closer ties to the U.S. I'd also take a gander that you haven't heard of many of the 16 former French colonies. Gabon, for example. Where in the world is Gabon?
Part of the reason I'm going to Senegal is because I'm interested in Africa as a whole, not just the part that speaks my language or has closer ties to my country. Some would call the current reality neocolonialism. I guess this is an issue I'll have to poke around while I'm there.
Check out this awesome map of Africa that shows the progression of the continent through history. Here's a screen shot.
If you're into maps, you'll also love Gap Minder, another tool that moves across time and uses great visuals. This map is a great visual of the history of the HIV pandemic.
Lastly, if your eyes aren't tired yet, World Mapper is a must see. Below is a visual of infant mortality burden by country, which is a great proxy for poverty. Try looking at other indicators- demographic, economic, health, education, it's all there.
Monday, November 9, 2009
But of course, parapluie!
On Friday, I randomly said parapluie, the French word for umbrella. Needless to say, I was quite proud of my subconscious. I took French in middle school and the first two years of high school. After that I took Spanish and traveled to Argentina. I know that somewhere deep inside my brain all the French is still there and parapluie is just the beginning of that. I've also been making bad stereotypical French puns hoping that will motivate subconscious schwa.
Some great sites that have helped me in practicing my French:
1. Word Reference: The internet's best language dictionary, complete with verb conjugator.
2. UT French Grammar Site: Everyone's favorite subject explained by an armadillo.
3. UT French Verb Practice Site: Conjugate the night away.
In starting to plan the details of my trip, I've realized that there is no information (renseignements) on the internet about Senegal in English. It's all in French. That has definitely forced me to pick up the pace in my self-guided relearning. It also is indicative of the colonial divide still present in Africa, which I'll talk about next post.
Here's the best travel site I've found thus far, titled Routard, French for backpacker. Also check out the language center I'll be studying in, named after Senegal's famous tree, the Baobab.
Some great sites that have helped me in practicing my French:
1. Word Reference: The internet's best language dictionary, complete with verb conjugator.
2. UT French Grammar Site: Everyone's favorite subject explained by an armadillo.
3. UT French Verb Practice Site: Conjugate the night away.
In starting to plan the details of my trip, I've realized that there is no information (renseignements) on the internet about Senegal in English. It's all in French. That has definitely forced me to pick up the pace in my self-guided relearning. It also is indicative of the colonial divide still present in Africa, which I'll talk about next post.
Here's the best travel site I've found thus far, titled Routard, French for backpacker. Also check out the language center I'll be studying in, named after Senegal's famous tree, the Baobab.
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