This isn't like French class. The teacher isn’t talking to me slowly reciting phrases from my book that I have open in front of me. I’m not just waiting for 45 minutes of semi-uncomfortable confusion to be over hoping that the answers written in my book from the past three generations of owners are correct.
This is Gikuyu, and I have no idea how to speak it. In fact, I have no idea how to tell when one word stops and the other starts.
I do however know how to appear like I’m learning it. Granted this strategy won’t last me very long. At some point people are going to start to think “She’s been here for 14 months. What’s wrong with her?”
The first rule for appearing to be learning a language is try to avoid having a confused look on your face. Gikuyu is “soooooo easy” according to all the fluent Gikuyu speakers. In fact it’s so easy that there aren't any actual books written in it. It’s just simply spoken and heard. So great for me. The way they talk about it, one day it will simply just click for me and I’ll understand everything. In the slim chance that that actually happens, don’t look confused. Look inquisitive.
I “zone out” a lot. This is inevitable. When surrounded by quick conversations that I have absolutely no reference in where to begin discerning what they are talking about, it just turns into white noise. This is also a time that I train my face not to look completely confused or detached. I don’t want to look like I’m being completely disrespectful. But really, I’m thinking about what I’m going to cook for dinner, how I want to burn all my skirts and whether I should buy a bucket to pee in.
When someone takes the time to recognize a phrase that I probably should know they take a few seconds to slow down their conversation from 105kph to 80kph. Then they say my name very loudly as if my lack of understanding stems from volume, they look me in the eye and repeat the phrase. We both take turns repeating the phrase. This goes on until I've recited it at least seven times. Nothing cracks a Kenyan up more then hearing a white person recite “What time is it?” in their mother tongue over and over. Then I walk away repeating the phrase to myself, but loud enough for people to hear, convincing myself and my impromptu teacher that this time it will really stick. And just as soon as I find a pen I’ll write it down so it really plants some roots in my damaged brain. I never do, and it never does.
Ni wega.
This is Gikuyu, and I have no idea how to speak it. In fact, I have no idea how to tell when one word stops and the other starts.
I do however know how to appear like I’m learning it. Granted this strategy won’t last me very long. At some point people are going to start to think “She’s been here for 14 months. What’s wrong with her?”
The first rule for appearing to be learning a language is try to avoid having a confused look on your face. Gikuyu is “soooooo easy” according to all the fluent Gikuyu speakers. In fact it’s so easy that there aren't any actual books written in it. It’s just simply spoken and heard. So great for me. The way they talk about it, one day it will simply just click for me and I’ll understand everything. In the slim chance that that actually happens, don’t look confused. Look inquisitive.
I “zone out” a lot. This is inevitable. When surrounded by quick conversations that I have absolutely no reference in where to begin discerning what they are talking about, it just turns into white noise. This is also a time that I train my face not to look completely confused or detached. I don’t want to look like I’m being completely disrespectful. But really, I’m thinking about what I’m going to cook for dinner, how I want to burn all my skirts and whether I should buy a bucket to pee in.
When someone takes the time to recognize a phrase that I probably should know they take a few seconds to slow down their conversation from 105kph to 80kph. Then they say my name very loudly as if my lack of understanding stems from volume, they look me in the eye and repeat the phrase. We both take turns repeating the phrase. This goes on until I've recited it at least seven times. Nothing cracks a Kenyan up more then hearing a white person recite “What time is it?” in their mother tongue over and over. Then I walk away repeating the phrase to myself, but loud enough for people to hear, convincing myself and my impromptu teacher that this time it will really stick. And just as soon as I find a pen I’ll write it down so it really plants some roots in my damaged brain. I never do, and it never does.
Ni wega.
Just keep swimming. just keep swimming
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