French Lessons

I have been seriously studying French now for twelve weeks, which is really the same as saying, “I’ve been attempting to communicate desperately and with limited success for 1,008 hours” (which equates roughly to the number of hours each day that I wish I could speak better French since I have arrived, leaving out some time for sleeping and conversations that would make more sense in English), or “I’ve been attempting to dig a hole the size of a Grand Canyon and I’ve been working hard, but this spoon just doesn’t make a good shovel.”

There is no way around it—French is hard, damn hard. I do continue to study with my teacher, named Eloudie, which has been a great help (she’s pictured her with my friend Angie who I take lessons with) and having a husband who is fluent is more of a gift than I can explain (As I write this, Josh is en route to the butcher to see if it is necessary for us to reserve a leg of lamb ahead of time for Easter, which is clearly beyond my vocabulary). [PS: “En route” is French, see, I can’t help myself!]

And I’ve made progress. I now can breathe when people talk to me on the street (I can’t usually answer them, but at least I’ve stopped turning blue) and I can now, honestly, conduct most basic things in French. I can buy a chicken, vegetables and ask simple questions without too much trouble. I mailed four letters all by myself last week, in fact. But, as they say, a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing, which is exactly what I am finding with my French.

Just last week, I was in two work-related meetings, which were conducted nearly entirely in French. I am proud to say I understood a solid 25% of the content, but imagine being in a work meeting, and only understanding one of every four words being spoken and being nearly completely unable to respond in kind. I was still able to add a few seemingly worthwhile comments, in English, but it’s a humbling moment—no question.

My colleagues are so generous with their patience and we all consider it a step in the right direction that I can at least say with confidence “A demain” (or “until tomorrow) or “A lundi” (or “I’ll see you Monday). They also aren’t shy about inviting me to meetings (I guess they aren’t worried I’ll say something out of line) and as a result I’m learning more than I would, even if I studied 10 hours a day. The French speakers who I interact with are also kind in their responses. I find most people usually say, “I’m so sorry, my English isn’t as good as I would like” to which I reply, “No, no! I understand you perfectly. I am so sorry I don’t speak French yet.”

It is also really true that 60% of communication is nonverbal. [side note: there are limits to what you *should* communicate nonverbally. At times, I have probably over expressed, “I understand you” hoping that I would figure out the words, but the verbal understanding never came and I had to out myself that I really didn’t know what was going on.] Still, skepticism, trust, joy, disdain, uncertainty and fondness are not spoken emotions. Even without words, it’s not hard to communicate basic things that really matter.

As I stumble and trip and gasp and laugh my way through French, though, I am more grateful than I can explain for the patience and encouragement I have felt from Josh, from my colleagues, from the butcher, from my teacher, from the café owner and from our French-speaking friends who do whatever they can to honestly include me as a temporary, but real, part of Paris.

It isn’t true that “They all speak English” as I was told, but “They do all speak human”. When words aren’t always an option, I speak human really well and the French speakers that I’ve met do too.

- sPg