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“You see, language is culture. Language is culture, right, so we don’t say habari ya usiku?… How is the night” (he raised his eyebrow at the translation of the word ‘night’ and we both laughed)
As in any language there are certain words one does not say in polite company. What is more, there are certain such words that closely resemble common every day words. Learning a new language is like walking through a minefield. For example, when getting off the matatu, the term for “getting off” has the same double meaning as it does in English. One of my friends learned this the hard way when she insisted, in front of the driver, conductor and a few of their friends, that she was “getting off, right here, right now”. The word for the number ten (kumi), comes perilously close to kuma, a particular part of the female anatomy… Similarly kulewa (to get drunk) seems impossibly close to the foreign tongue as kuelewa (to understand). Kunywa (to drink) bears uncomfortable congruence to kunya (to do in the bathroom what Kenyan’s refer to as a “long call”).
Despite the wide margin of error, I am learning a little at a time. I practice often with my office mates who are entertained no end by my attempts. Unlike speaking French in Montreal where the pressure and expectation to be perfect can be enough to discourage one all together, wazungu are infrequently expected to learn Kiswahili. When one shows interest, it is often to the delight of native speakers. More like speaking French in Paris, where well meaning and humble foreigners do their best to parler.
Despite that end of the day feeling that my brain can absorb no more, I force myself to sit with the book and audio tracks so generously bestowed upon me by my endlessly thoughtful sister. I learn new words and verbs and try them out at work or on my friends. I carry flash cards in my purse and test myself while riding the matatu. And on Wednesday mornings (although my fitness routine is taking a hit during Ramadhan) I go to an aerobics class before work conducted entirely in Swahili. (I am grateful for my sister again here and for all those Sunday mornings we dragged ourselves out of bed to leap around with a roomful of middle-aged women in tights. While the words for “grape vine” or “V-step” aren’t the same, most of the basic moves seem to transcend linguistic barriers). Furthermore, this frees up my Wednesday evenings to devote an hour in a coffee shop to concerted studying rather than the adhoc fast forwarding of grammar lessons punctuating music on my iTunes.
Part of this interest springs from the very opportunity of being in a place where such a skill can be acquired. Here there are people to talk to, signs to read and jokes to laugh at (although humour is always the last linguistic frontier). But beyond the geographic advantage are the intertwined desires to connect with people and to make a life here.
Speaking in one’s native tongue feels good. It allows nuanced expression not available in second or third or fourth (or…) languages. Of course there will always be emotions and experiences not quite possible to describe in any words, but, I hazard to state, the native tongue comes closest. Surely there are millions (billions?) who speak multiple languages with great ease and finesse never skipping a beat or a preposition. And yet, there is something about the language through which one comes to recognize and define one’s self and surroundings. To be able to understand the self and surroundings of Kenyans in their own words seems integral to working here in the long term. And that is something I think I want to do.
My impression of Kenya is not a product of a tourist’s rose-coloured sunglasses. Some things are very difficult here. A visiting friend called me brave to live here. There are many features of my life that colour my experience making it easier or harder, more natural or less; sometimes the same features work for and against me simultaneously.
Of course, this happens at home too. But it is thrown into stark relief here; I am reminded that being away from the familiar makes one far more self-aware. And as I endeavour to analyse this awareness, I can not deny a draw to be here.
Last weekend I went to Elangata Wuas where I spent three indescribable months in the summer (Kenyan winter) of 2007. Being in EWuas made me feel more whole, like being with a good friend.
I will likely begin my Masters studies next October, consuming my life for the following year. I have a variety of other plans and degrees to pursue after that. But still, as my colleagues at work would encourage me to say, nitarudi Kenya tena na tena (I will return to Kenya again and again).
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