Frenchlish

“So there I was, dressed in black. The tension was palpable. The man on the radio kept trying to tell me what which wire to cut to defuse the bomb, but his words sounded exactly alike to me. O-dessoo, o dessooo sound exactly alike to my untrained ear, but I knew one meant over and one meant under. This wasn’t looking good.”

The good news is that this didn’t really happen, but this was the scene in my head as we attempted to learn and understand the subtle differences in pronunciation between “over” (au dessus) and “under” (au dessous).

I am prone to this kind of Ally McBeal Moment”, which are those times when I have a whole scene play out in my head, with only a small link to what is actually happening. I actually did giggle in class as I pictured the trouble I could imagine if I couldn’t grasp this French language nuance and as I wondered, are there many other things as humbling as learning a language as an adult?


The Lanugage

I just finished my “French Boot Camp”—two weeks of four hour a day French lessons and I absolutely think that taking the class was one of the best decisions we’ve made so far.

I was a bit sad, to be honest, in leaving the class yesterday because I really learned a lot. Though I had studied in the States, I was almost entirely mute beyond “Oui”. And, in two weeks of lessons, I went from a near total lack of French, to at least the vocabulary of a toddler. Now, that’s progress if you ask me.

I now can explain: what my name is, what my husband’s name is, where I am from, how old I am, where I live, what my phone number is, what my address is, what I like, what I don’t like and I can even ask some important questions like “where is the bathroom” and “how much does that cost”.

With my new found knowledge, Josh has even considered removing the bi-lingual “Please return me to 75, rue Broca” note I have pinned to my jacket. [and no, I don’t actually have a note like this]


The Class

And aside from the French, I really enjoyed my classmates and I think that was the icing on the cake. There were 16 of us ranging in age from 16 to 42 and from countries as far and wide as Indonesia, Iran, Macedonia, Canada, Turkey and South Africa. I was one of only two Americans (and she is from the South, so maybe we aren’t even from the same country—sorry Carey.).

I also learned a lot about these people in a short period of time. It’s a natural side effect of the verbs we were learning. When “I am” and “I have” and “I speak” and “I love” and “I detest” are some of the only phrases you know, you get right to the good stuff fast.

The one Chinese student smoked, but she loved the clarinet. The 16 year old Brazilian had a (gasp) 22 year old boyfriend named Patrick. The South African guy, who moved here for his fiancée, trains horses and has chickens and goats back in South Africa. The Iranian doctor hopes her son is a doctor one day too. The charming and funny Canadian woman learned that pharmacies had to let you use the bathroom if you say you are pregnant and the Korean student with funky red glasses only watches television on Sunday.

Learning what languages everyone spoke was particularly interesting and made me wonder why on earth we wait until high school to learn other languages in the States. My sentence was humble: Je parle anglais. I didn’t even claim Spanish on the chance that this was the only language I might have in common with someone. My classmates spoke at least two of the following languages: Russian, Persian, Zulu, Chinese, Portuguese, Spanish, Macedonian, Arabic, German, Korean, Czech, and English—which everyone spoke and it was the unofficial language of the classroom. I calmed myself the first few days by thinking, “Well, they may be able to speak a LOT more languages than I can, but they don’t speak French yet, so at least we are in the same boat on that front.”

I also have a renewed appreciation for “being in the same boat”. We all laughed with and kindly (at) our own mistakes. The Turkish journalist had a great French accent and helped me learn a specific form of question. The Macedonian math professor had trouble with remembering his numbers, which made us all feel better. The other Chinese girl would just freeze sometimes when the teacher asked her a question and start giggling because she had no idea what the question or the answer was.

Our teachers was a 35 year old woman originally from a small town about an hour from Paris. She really did a great job (which is why I am continuing to study with her). She seemed to know exactly when to make us say it in French and when an occasional English question was ok.

Josh said that the “recognized term” for a combination of French and English is Franglais, but I think that term applies to those lucky ones who actually claim to speak some French. I think for now, I am really speaking Frenchlish---my own crazy, mixed up, basic marriage of two languages: one I know and one I hope that I can crack (at least a little) in the next year.

sPg