My friend Mary asked me to come up with twelve languages I'd like to learn and where I'd like to go to learn them. It's taken me a while to get back to her, but I think I've finally got it. My strategy was to get as many etymologically and structurally different kinds of languages as possible, while at the same time trying to get the most out of my efforts. Hence, learning Hindi so that I could later 'claim' Urdu, and learning Serbian so that I could immediately claim Croatian. I also played it pretty conservatively on the phonological systems, opting for the non-tonal language in a family of mostly tonal languages, and preferring languages with fewer vowels. I've found I enjoy learning a language so much more when I can actually hear the words from early on.
Without further ado and in no particular order, 12 months, 12 languages:
1.Portuguese, Brazil
a.It sounds like fun, and would be interesting to compare to Spanish.Plus, I secretly want to be a bossa nova lounge singer.
2.Romanian, Romania
a.A lifelong dream.
b.The Romance language with heavy Slavic influence.
c.It was the only Romance language crazy enough to retain the case system.
3.Turkish, Turkey
a.Mary made it sound so fun, and I'm excited to look for Arabic cognates.
b.Vowel Harmony sounds like something I want to try.A real challenge.
4.Quarani, Paraguay
a.I’ve heard good things about the ‘guays.
b.It’s HIGHLY AGLUTINATIVE!
c.Nasal Harmony, but otherwise close to the Spanish sound system
d.Along with Spanish, the official language of Paraguay.88% of the population speaks it, INCLUDING a large portion of non-indigenous people- socio-politico-linguistic anomaly in South America and, arguably, the world.
e.A Tupí language… a cute word that lends itself well to many jokes.Now excuse me, I have to pee.
5.Haitian Creole, Haiti
a.My students are all Haitian and they are lovely people.
b.It sounds like so much fun to speak.
c.I want to learn a creole.
d.This way, I don’t have to learn French.Awesome.
e.I feel like everyone should do something for Haiti, so maybe this would open up that path for me.
6.Tamazight, Morocco
a.The only known language with no limit on consonant clusters!!!
b.Syllables don’t need to contain a vowel!!!!
c.There are only 3 vowels.
d.The Tifinagh looks like top secret ancient code.
e.It’s a minority language.
f.It has a root system.
7.Hindi, India
a.I’d like to learn the alphabet
b.Since I already know the Arabic alphabet, with a little work I could tag Urdu onto the language list.
c.It’s an Indo-Iranian language, and I secretly dream of becoming a world-renowned Indo-European Linguist.
d.Good food, and my friend Mary Carroll made it look like a lot of fun.
e.Non-verbal communication.It has distinguishing gestures that I want to learn how to do, like the head roll.
8.Russian, Russia
a.Aside from the Cyrillic Alphabet, the TV looks pretty good (We get a Russian channel at my gym).
9.Tswana, Botswana
a.I read the Ladies’ First Detective Agency book that Andy left after he visited Morocco, and the author made Botswana sound fascinating.
b.Subsequent online research confirmed that Botswana is fascinating.
c.It’s a tonal language, but only has two tones, so I think I can handle that.
d.It’s a Bantu language.
10.Serbian
a.AKA Croatian.Two! Two languages for the price of one!Yes, I want to learn this language just because I can turn around and count it as two.
b.Cyrillic Alphabet
11.Ainu, Hokkaido, Japan
a.Two birds with one stone: a language isolate and an endangered language.
b.Generally simple sound system (5 vowels) but they do have pitch accent.
c.Written in Japanese Katakana and/or Latin alphabet.
12.Korean, Korea
a.Unique alphabet
b.Similarities to Japanese (Jap: ichi, ni, san, shi, go= Kor: il, e, sam, sa, o).I love discovering patterns, so I think this would be a real treat.
Runners Up: Finnish, Wolof, Khmer, Pennsylvania Dutch (Because you have to recognize the local)
If you were given the option of sacrificing time or money, which could you chose? We usually think of the two as being inextricably linked, that you can't have one without other, and that if you have one, you have the other. Lately, I've been seeing these two concepts as different personal resources. I can have lots of money if I give up all my time. Or, I can have lots of time if I give up ever having any money. So my questions isn't really a rhetorical one. It's one I've been asking myself a lot lately as I try to figure out what I want my life to look like. Do I want time, or do I want money? My answer is always time, but, for fear of collection agencies and starvation, I usually pick money.
But then there's another problem. I want my time to be all mine, but even I can't decide how I want to spend it. Sometimes I want to do great things and save the world, and other times, honestly, I just don't want to get up that early in the morning.
...without which you could not spell the word, 'procrastination'.
and by the number 6
... which is about the number of months it's been since I've written.
It's not like I haven't wanted to. I have, in fact, come up with many witty comments about my new surroundings. In August, right after Koichi and I arrived to our new home in Massachusetts, I thought of posting an open letter to the people of this town. It went something like this:
Dear citizens of Massachusetts: Please keep you hands and feet inside the car at all times while driving. Love, Alaina
I seriously say like 3 people in the period of a week who somehow managed to operate a vehicle with their foot hanging out the window. One man was zipping down the highway. Another woman was driving down Center Ave. of downtown Wellesley, wiggling her toes (and waving an American flag) to the hipster music blaring from her car stereo. Mildly dangerous. Extremely obnoxious.
In about September, as I began to settle in and discover my neighborhood, I thought of posting the following:
This town is so over-the-top wealthy that the closest store to my house is a Baby Gap.
But it's a good thing I didn't post that, because it turned out to be wrong. First of all, it was a very large Gap with clothes for men, women and children. Second of all, the closest store to my house is actually called Dover Saddlery. Perfect. I no longer have to drive long distances to buy a saddle for my thoroughbreds. What a lifesaver.
In October and November wanted to write about my new job and my awesome students. I also wanted to write about how weird it was to go so far away from home on a daily basis. I realized that while in Tetouan, I pretty much only went where I could walk. I remember one day, while riding the train to downtown Boston, I realized how far I was traveling, just to turn around and come back a few hours later. It was overwhelming. But I also wanted to write about fall, and Halloween, and how much I had missed this season the year before. October-November were hard times in Tetouan. There was the swine flu, the changing weather, homesickness, swine flu... this year was nice. But I missed my roommate, Mary.
And that brings me to December, where I finally get the guts to write a post-Morocco blog.
.... also brought to you today by the colors, red and green.
I don't write about my students enough. And they can be really funny. In my beginner 3 class, we are learning the simple past regular and irregular verbs. For example: clean= cleaned, make= made, go = went. It's super useful, and I have enjoyed being able to have my students tell me stories about their weekends, childhoods, etc. Last week, while checking the homework, one of my students almost had me in stitches. Here's what happened:
Directions:Read Jenna's planner. Then complete the sentences below. Use the simple past of the verbs in the box.
[buy do go have make (etc.) ]
6. On Friday, Jenna ________ to a party. She __________ out with Mike.
The correct answer was : Jenna want to a party. She didn't go out with Mike. Can you guess what my student innocently said?
I dream of the day when I don't have to skype anymore, when all of my loved ones are around me, like a warm blanket. I dream of this day knowing fully that it will never come, accepting that this place I am in now will be a place I will miss. How does one live this way, already missing the present? Lately, time moves so quickly I feel I can't see what's around me. The world spins so fast I am already seeing what's to come in an hour, but it blurs with what's present before me. I'm blinded, and I no longer try to focus my eyes. What's the point? It's been like this since I got here. Staring at the calendar, hashing off the days as they pass. Reviewing my journal, every page seems to reference time or waiting in some way. The waiting isn't strange in and of itself. What's strange is the fact that I waited so long to get here, that to get here and wait is absurd. It's cruel, in fact. One knows subconsciously that the future also brings one closer to one's death. So to wish an end to what one wished for is doubly depressing. An end of the desire, a desire for the end. At the rate I'm going, which is at least one hour if not several months ahead of myself, pretty soon I'm going to start wishing for an end to the things I am still wishing for. And where does one go from there?
Whenever I feel homesick, I head to Rabat, Morocco's capital. I spent my Christmas break there and with every trip thereafter, I have come to appreciate the familiarity of the trip more and more. Wake up before sunrise, make coffee during the call to prayer, throw on some clothes and head out to the bus station. Find my window seat, plug in my i-pod and fall asleep gazing at the sun rise over the Rif Mountains. Dozing in this way, I am semi-conscious of the changing landscape as we move through the mountain pass on the Mediterranean to the flat lands on the Atlantic outside Rabat. We make two stops; one in Larache to pick up more passengers, the other at a rest stop about an hour and a half outside of Rabat. I order a coffee with milk from the same busy water and swat the same flies that buzz around my head. Back on the bus and revived by the coffee and excitement of a prompt arrival, I read, or gaze at the yellow fences that indicate our proximity to Rabat. The same McDonald's billboard reminds me I'm hungry, but soon we arrive at the station, and the journey's almost done. I wait on the long dusty road outside the station. I flag down a cab. "Aghdal, Jama3 Badr." "Abtal?" the taxi driver asks. "Iyeh," I respond, in the Tetouani way. We chat about the weather, I pay 13 DH and walk in the late morning sun to my friends house, looking out for the street cat we call the "Simeon" for it's ugly, ape-like appearance. The same rickety elevator, the same broken glass, door bell rings, then welcome words.
It's nice to know home doesn't stay home when you're away. If you're lucky (and I guess I am), you can find it anywhere.
Before coming to Morocco, I admittedly did not know a lot about the history, the culture, the politics or the cuisine. Being a linguist, I did, however, know a bit about the linguistic situation. That being said, my entire perception of the country and what was in store for me hinged on that perception. As it turns out, those other things, like history and politics do have an effect, so my preconceptions have thus far proved to off target. But yesterday, after over 7 months in country, I finally had a day like I had imagined I would be having before coming to Morocco. It was perfect and blissful and insanely multilingual. Here's how it went:
8 am: Aerobics, in Derija (Moroccan Arabic) 10 am: French Lesson 1 p.m.: Research at the Cervantes Institute's library, in Spanish 2 p.m.: Derija Lesson 4 p.m.: Nap and Dinner 6:30 p.m.: Teach English 8 p.m.: Spanish/Arabic Poetry reading at Cervantes 9:30 p.m.: Chat with my roommate in English 10 p.m.: Skype with my boyfriend in Spanish and Japanese
I teach a class of 12 year-olds every Saturday, from 10 a.m. to 12 noon. While I appreciate my students on an individual basis, the experience has taught me that I really don't want to teach 12 year olds.
Last term, I had my students make their own TV shows. They picked the genre, wrote the scripts and acted it out while I filmed everything on my digital camera. They were pretty into the project, and some of them turned out quite nice. Anyway, while the students were busy working, I decided to snap some pictures for my my own posterity. Right as I snapped a picture of a group of girls, the wildest of the boys decided to throw his marker in front of the camera. The result? Priceless.
Refer me back to this picture if I ever say I want to go back to teaching kids.
A little-known fact about me: I once acted in a murder mystery dinner theater in Philadelphia. I had to act, sing, serve food and drink, and arrest the murderer at the end of the show.
Now, Morocco has it's own murder mystery. Actually, it's a double homicide.
I woke up Saturday morning to a repeated thumping noise. It was very early, so I thought it was weird that my roommate would be awake at all, let along banging doors and knocking things around. I snoozed until I had to get about a half hour later. When I opened the door, I saw a bird swoop around and disappear into the living room. Then a heard a familiar thump. Once I mustered up the courage to leave my room, I found two dead or stunned birds lying underneath the living room window, belly up.
Here's the mystery: There were definitely no birds in the house when Mary and I went to bed. And all the doors and windows were closed tight.
Another shout of overwhelming kindness and generosity rises over the general din of 'crappybehavior'.A friend of a friend (of arguable, a friend) went to Casablanca and bought me two very nice books on the Amazigh language, as well as a nice, hardback daily planner, after hearing that I was interested in learning Shelha.He refused to accept any compensation from me.
I thanked the friend of a friend profusely, and was touched by his thoughtfulness.But the truth is, I find this kind of senseless kindness to be uncomfortable and frustrating.I can’t repay the man.And if I do, I fear I will enter into a strange gift-giving debt. I feel like I already have.As I was walking away with my books in hand, I also felt a little angry.It just felt like too much kindness after so much crap from other people.I wanted to write an open letter to Moroccan men saying that you wouldn’t have to do such overwhelmingly nice things if you weren’t such intolerable jerks all the time.I would trade my three books for three days without an “hola, guapa!” or kissy noises or “hungry eyes” following me as I walk to work or the bakery.
It’s a failed attempt at balance… like the litter strewn river leading to the most breathtaking, wild-flower strewn countryside I saw between Fez and Taza.So much ugliness next to so much beauty doesn’t even the score.On the contrary, it’s confusing.It doesn’t make sense.It’s not balance.You don’t have to give up the rainbow of wildflowers to get rid of the trash.And you shouldn’t have to despise acts of unexplained, unrecriprocated kindness because of the prevalence of rude behavior.
I do think this zealous generosity is a cultural phenomenon, and that I just don’t understand it.I’ve seen it before in other friends from other areas of the world, and I found it just as confusing and frustrating.Maybe in North America we have a limit on culturally-acceptable generosity.I want to understand it though, so if anyone has any insights, please, by all means, share them with me.
In the meantime, I’ll enjoy my books on Amazigh and focus on the wildflowers.
believes in the multiplicity of truths, the beauty of ambiguity, the power of the human spirit, that "language diversity is a treasure and not an inconvenience", and that "specialization is for insects". She also likes to cook.
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