To begin, press your tongue against the bottom ridges of your upper front teeth, making sure that the tip of your most magnificent mouth muscle is extended slightly beyond your pearly whites. [a pause: I understand that this may sound crazy, but please don’t question my instructions until the act is over.] Holding your tongue and teeth as such, I now ask that you exhale forcefully.
DID YOU SEE THAT? no? good. there is nothing to see. BUT, did you hear that? That delightful whooshing noise? That magnanimous TH-? To that muffled beauty we owe our THanks, our THoughts, our THeses, and our THursdays. Our birTHs, our deaTHs and our breaTHs. Without TH-, English would be lost and ugly (lacking paTHs and aesTHetics) and I fear that all BeTHs and THeodores would be nameless children.
Now now, please hold your applause until the end of the show. I still have SH- and CH- to demonstrate…
Teaching English to impressionable tots has turned out, strangely, to be something like a magic act. It requires the same deft hand, casual coercion of captivation, and impressive finales. Let me elaborate.
Starting Friday, I was given free reign to review the alphabet with my class of 5 year olds. I began by singing the ABC’s with them – a skill they mastered long ago - and then moved on to examine each letter individually. As I “B-buh”ed and “K-kuh”ed, I discovered that the five year olds of Kamogelo have never before been prompted to connect the letters and their associated sounds, and that they seemed transfixed by my strange noises. I also realized (based on the dropped jaws and slightly awe-struck glances) that the two permanent teachers I work with had never done this either.
Taking a moment to recover from a moment of paralyzing shock, I began the lesson again. Out of the 35 kids in my class, there are only one or two who can sit at attention for more than a minute, and that’s usually because these select few are too nervous or shy to speak anyways. This time, things were different. As I moved slowly through those glorious 26, casting the English spell, their eyes gleamed but their fingers remained un-fidgeting. Even with the troublesome G (here, it sounds like H) all gave a valiant effort.
The rush from this long-awaited moment of connection and comprehension had me floating on air. I think I got a little over-excited, as I began to launch into TH-, SH-, and CH-, and even encouraged them to sound out the words CAT and DOG, but I had too much momentum to stop abruptly. However, Sisca did not, and after about a half hour of instruction she told me to save it for the next week.
It is hard to pinpoint the precise origin of my elation, but I think I can list a few contributing factors.
1) I adore English l. It makes me giddy. A good sentence is like a ripe piece of fruit. Language is the trees, words are the leaves, life is the breeze. You understand.
2) Finding myself in an English speaking nation that doesn’t really seem to speak English, I cannot help but grimace over the jumbled mess of grammar that I find discarded in daily conversation. The way it has been explained to me is that Setswana is usually learned at home, and English is learned in schools as a semi-second language. Consequently, I sometimes find English here to be completely unrecognizable: the fractured fusion of English/Setswana sentence structures and the thick accent of rolling R’s leaves me feeling deaf. There have been instances when it takes me a full minute to realize that someone is speaking to me in English. To teach my beloved letters is to feel like I have some friendly influence over the tongue of this nation (in a non-colonial sense of course. the questions of “what right do I have to impose my pronunciations” and “who made me the end-all expert” and “why is American English any more correct than Botswana English” and “hey don’t I make mistakes too” pop up of course, but that is a matter for another meditation).
3) They finally listened. I had been feeling rather dejected over my continuing status as the Charlie Brown teacher (you know, “WAH WAH WAH” ) and praying for some of Aretha’s Respect. The few moments of silence that the children bestowed upon me were just enough to get me re-energized.
4) I have been reflecting a lot on Language and Communication since I arrived in Gaborone. Between my difficulties with public transactions, our trip to the open mic night, my sudden abundance of time to write and blog, and the various books, articles, signs, and faces I’ve been reading, I must say that I have come to a definite conclusion: I cannot imagine a completely illiterate life.
It is strange for my ears to be experiencing simultaneously sensations of both the greatest understanding and the most base incomprehension. When I’m on the playground with the kids, I can’t understand a word they’re saying and often feel frustrated and lost. Conversely, when Abby and I are holding a conversation and one of the other teachers joins in, I find that I have to slow and simplify my speech in order to make myself understood. Every few minutes I feel my brain flip from a position of embarrassed vulnerability to one of confident control, and back again.
So much of what I know about the world and myself has been developed through countless hours spent decoding, molding, and marveling over words and the puzzles they compose. I truly believe that one of the greatest gifts I ever received was alphabet instruction and books to read, and it fills me with a special sort of satisfaction to now be in a position to return the favor.
...
Ladies and Gentlemen, at the end of the day, I cannot perform the great feat of pulling rabbits out of my hat, or making a woman disappear. However, I believe that the one trick I have up my sleeve is certainly as magical.
A few notes on the weekend:
Friday: As expected, things quickly cheered up. Abby, Becca, Jen and I started the night early with dinner at Primi (our apartment gets hit by blackouts at six on Fridays, so it was kind of necessary.) Following pasta and outrageous storytelling [thanks, ACE] we sampled drinks at Linga Longa and ran into the UB IT guy and a clerk from the tech store (I am being completely serious when I tell you that meeting someone once, at random, is perfect grounds for friendship here.) We then grabbed Rajiv and Pratik (they were dining with a local group of Indian girls – more on that community later) and headed over to Bull and Bush.
Bull and Bush was…wild. We had heard that Friday nights were “groovy,” and expected a big turn out. However, we were not quite prepared for the thumping music and intensely friendly advances. Abby was in full out warrior mode and more than once rescued Jen, Becca, and I from unwanted arms. Despite the fact that someone stole 300 Pula from deep in my pocket (please don’t ask how, I have no idea) and that Abby started crying/laughing/crying over our string of bad luck, we had a splendid time.
The final stop of the night was Lizard Lounge – an insane venture considering that I had absolutely no money. In the greatest caper of my life (assisted financially by a kind fellow named Dan, and with encouragement from our cab driver Max) I pleaded a tipsy “ROBBERY” and weaseled my way into the club. There, I promptly began hiccupping, grabbed a couch, and called it a night. Abby, on the other hand, continued to dance the circle dance using moves the kids had taught us [I present to you, my heroine.]
Saturday: Cotton-mouth and re-hydration.
Sunday - I didn’t know he was looking at me. As I pet the black spotted fur, rough in a way but surprisingly soft, I concentrated on the low rumble of his purr and the rise and fall of his chest and it was only when I glanced to the left that I caught his huge, orange, luminous, gaze and felt something close to awe and closer to fear.
Our eyes remained locked for a few seconds, and it was I who broke the connection and stepped skittishly back. I don’t know exactly what I felt in that moment, or why my heart picked up pace and my breathing became quicker. Duma and Latotse (the Swahili and Setswana words for “cheetah”) have been raised from infancy in captivity and have felt countless hands upon their heads before mine came along. However, despite their credentials of “tame” and “playful,” I found myself instinctually intimidated by their musculature and confidence.
The two cheetahs, along with a pair of elephants, some warthogs, the casual springbok, two ostriches, two hyenas, and a large antelope with twisted horns were the extent of our sightings at Mokolodi Nature Reserve. Located just fifteen minutes outside of Gabs proper (beyond the dam and bulging slums), Mokolodi seems a small space for such a variety of wildlife. With a tour and petting time, we covered its grounds and were satisfied to finally see some “African animals.” [Our first game drive had been far less successful]
jumbled and fumbled, this post concludes.
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