The Gift That Keeps on Giving (Silverton Style)
February 23, 2012
ABC’s Wide World of Roof Jumping!! (Silverton Style)
March 9, 2012
Parts of this essay bring back some great memories of my days in the U.S. Peace Corps-Kenya back in the early 80’s. Here’s hoping you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.
Word Count: 987
Sympathy for The
Linguistically Challenged
I’m starting to believe that maxim the other 85% of the humanity on this planet says about Americans. That we’re speech resistant to an extreme. We will not speak any language other than English. Of course this is a total and complete generalization, as I’ve got lots of American friends that are quite adept when it comes to speaking another language. They show their proficiency as they speak about current events and in-depth politics with a foreign speaker. Needless to say, I am not one of these types. More like I’m firmly entrenched in the 15% camp.
Is it the structure of my brain that makes it resistant to learning other languages? Possibly. Or maybe the fact that I’m linguistically challenged because I’m not getting enough oxygen? Another possibility since I live at high altitude.
Then again a buddy of mine theorizes that my body chemistry actually works in reverse of most people. At higher altitudes I function better because I’m getting less Oxygen. He claims he’s got documented evidence that I once displayed extreme lunatic fringe skills while at sea level. On the other hand, he also teases me that I display lowered mental capacity at all altitudes and times. In order to scientifically test his theory, I’m one day planning to return to Nepal and Tibet in order to write my PhD dissertation on the subject.
Whatever the cause is of my language incompetence, we can categorically agree that examples like this have existed throughout my existence here on earth. The first is my mother’s valiant attempt to teach my sisters and I French when we were kids. This noble gesture on her part fell by the wayside when we quit after lesson #four. My excuse? I needed to read my latest “Howard The Duck” comic book. It was vitally crucial for my mental development to find out whether “The Beaver” was indeed the most heinous villain Howard had ever come up against.
Next I was challenged in my freshman year at the People’s Republic of Boulder where I actually got somewhat proficient at speaking one or two things in German as the result of language classes. Like most Americans I never pursued advanced skills beyond my sophomore year so that quickly fell by the wayside. Nowadays watching a German movie becomes an exercise in laughable nostalgia.
The first real attempt at learning to speak another language was during my training to become a U.S. Peace Corps volunteer. Swahili, being the national language of Kenya, our group of ten foresters and three rural extension volunteers were separated into two groups when we started language training. A week after going through with our initial set of classes in the capital city of Nairobi, we then traveled to the Peace Corps-Kenya Language Training Center out in Lugari, western Kenya.
My roommate at the time liked to mercilessly keep me up till 3:00 am every night by recollecting his exploits as a hooligan growing up in Ohio. For some odd reason I will never know, he referred to me with the ignominious nickname “Gu”. Soon after we arrived in Lugari they separated us into two classes again. I’m sure it was the 3:00 am bull sessions, but also because of other factors, my roommate wasn’t much better than yours truly when it came to picking up alternate forms of verbal communication.
His first comment to me upon the two of us moving into the hut that would be home for the next six weeks?
“Damn Gu, they stuck all the dumb guys in the same class.”
Lugari language training became an exercise in futility as I worked my way two steps forward one day, then followed that by going one step back 24 hours later. I was bound and determined to learn the language though, and results were promising. Six weeks later I took my buddies’ advice when it came to sitting through the stress of the Foreign Service Language Exam in order to become a full fledged volunteer.
“Whenever the tester asks you a question, just keep bullshitting them until they’re forced to shut you up.”
When final test results came out, I actually scored a 2+, considered two steps above minimal competence. I felt pretty confident as now I was on my way to becoming a bi-lingual speaker. Swahili was just the language to speak in these situations.
This feeling of superiority quickly passed as I ended up being assigned to a site in the central highlands of Kenya, Nyeri. The main tribe, and most educated in this area is Kikuyu. Result being? Whenever I tried to practice my Swahili by speaking to one of the Kenyan workers at our tree nursery, they’d inevitably answer me back in English.
During my next two years as a PCV I never did get very competent at speaking Swahili. Although I did pull off a passable job of appearing to be speaking the language quite proficiently when my folks came to visit. At least they thought I was pretty good. Used my old roommates’ bullshit advice to the fullest extent during my native language exchanges while in their presence.
Thirty years down the road the only Swahili I still remember with authority is selected cuss words and other gratuitous phrases. “Use it or Lose it” being a very true quote.
All these years later I’m making a momentous attempt to learn Spanish. Gotten all the books, taken all the Adult Outreach Classes, listened to numerous tapes while mindlessly driving down the road. The most effective method for improving my Spanish Language skills? Visiting that same buddy with the oxygen/altitude theory. His two kids are being nurtured in a bi-lingual environment with their mother (who grew up in Madrid) speaking Spanish at all times to them. The twins are eight years old and semi-immersion and guilt are always effective tools in these situations.
