After typing the last entry I said I would start to work on the other ones I have planned for this update, but I didn’t get around to it until three days after I started the other one. Oops. The days just keep flying by, and by the time I get home in the evening I’m too tired to do anything. I could have said a few brief sentences about Kinyarwanda in the first entry, but because I am so passionate about languages in general I had to give it its own entry.
At this point, people can see the love that I have for learning the languages of others. I speak French at every opportunity I get (very many Rwandans still speak it, though it’s very different from France French), there are two guys on the program who speak German so from time to time I’ll speak it with them, and there’s the girl from Panama with whom I can speak Spanish. Actually as I was leaving the library after typing that other entry, a woman on another table in the café started speaking German into her phone and I actually got kind of emotional, smiling longingly to myself. I have yet to meet any Filipinos, but I have a feeling I might find some. (I actually saw a couple who looked like they could be Filipino at the grocery once and I could have sworn I heard the word, “Bakit?” but was afraid it might just be me wanting to hear something so badly my mind was making things up.) So yeah, my languages follow me wherever I go, sometimes even in my dreams, so what about this very new and different one I’m trying to deal with now?
Little by little, I’m becoming more comfortable with using the little Kinyarwanda I know. I’m pretty confident forming sentences with what I do know, except sometimes I’m lazy and will revert to French. One of the things I love the most about learning a new language is those minor interactions which are usually nothing, but if they happen in a new language are such major events. One evening, I went home and the house was quiet. I asked one of the house ladies, who speaks only Kinyarwanda, where the girls were, and she told me that they went to the doctor. I also tell the house ladies that they cook well, the food is good, and when I would like some water for the bath and to mix cold and hot water. Admittedly, I also tell them when I see a cockroach in my room or the bathroom so they can kill it because I am squeamish.
As I’ve done with other languages I learned, whenever my host family is having conversations around me I’ll sometimes repeat words or phrases that I do understand and they praise me for it. With my Rwandan friends, I’ll also use sentences whenever I can and they’re all very happy about it, understandably. I’ll also text in Kinyarwanda whenever I know what I want to say, and they often reply in it. I always ask for clarification whenever I don’t understand what they’re saying, of course. I’ve even made very basic and lame jokes in Kinyarwanda with them. I was eating some snacks with my friend Xavier, and he showed me a picture of his dad, and called him an old man (umusaza). Then I said to Xavier, “You’re an old man.” (Uri umusaza.) (He’s 24.) What’s more, the cakes we were eating were shaped like hearts, so I made a joke about me eating hearts. I know, I’m so good.
Of course, there are some funny misunderstandings, as there always are with any language that isn’t mine (then again, I also make absurd mistakes in English from time to time). I asked Sunday, one of the SIT staff members, what he had for lunch in Kinyarwanda. He replied to me, “nta cyo,” which is pronounced “nacho." I got excited and asked where there were nachos, and then he proceeded to clarify that “nta cyo” actually means “nothing.” Oops, not the outcome I wanted.
The Rwandans have amazing faith in my ability to learn their language, which is an honor because their language is hard. Except I think it’s mainly hard for me not because of noun classes, not because of tone, not even because of grammar, but because memorizing new words is a struggle. My host dad even told me that if I were to be in Rwanda for a year, he’s sure I would be fluent. That’s a nice thing to say. As we all know though, I won’t be here for a year; I have around 11 weeks left. I’m excited to see how much I’m going to learn and how confident I’ll be with the language by the end of my stay.
At this point, people can see the love that I have for learning the languages of others. I speak French at every opportunity I get (very many Rwandans still speak it, though it’s very different from France French), there are two guys on the program who speak German so from time to time I’ll speak it with them, and there’s the girl from Panama with whom I can speak Spanish. Actually as I was leaving the library after typing that other entry, a woman on another table in the café started speaking German into her phone and I actually got kind of emotional, smiling longingly to myself. I have yet to meet any Filipinos, but I have a feeling I might find some. (I actually saw a couple who looked like they could be Filipino at the grocery once and I could have sworn I heard the word, “Bakit?” but was afraid it might just be me wanting to hear something so badly my mind was making things up.) So yeah, my languages follow me wherever I go, sometimes even in my dreams, so what about this very new and different one I’m trying to deal with now?
Little by little, I’m becoming more comfortable with using the little Kinyarwanda I know. I’m pretty confident forming sentences with what I do know, except sometimes I’m lazy and will revert to French. One of the things I love the most about learning a new language is those minor interactions which are usually nothing, but if they happen in a new language are such major events. One evening, I went home and the house was quiet. I asked one of the house ladies, who speaks only Kinyarwanda, where the girls were, and she told me that they went to the doctor. I also tell the house ladies that they cook well, the food is good, and when I would like some water for the bath and to mix cold and hot water. Admittedly, I also tell them when I see a cockroach in my room or the bathroom so they can kill it because I am squeamish.
As I’ve done with other languages I learned, whenever my host family is having conversations around me I’ll sometimes repeat words or phrases that I do understand and they praise me for it. With my Rwandan friends, I’ll also use sentences whenever I can and they’re all very happy about it, understandably. I’ll also text in Kinyarwanda whenever I know what I want to say, and they often reply in it. I always ask for clarification whenever I don’t understand what they’re saying, of course. I’ve even made very basic and lame jokes in Kinyarwanda with them. I was eating some snacks with my friend Xavier, and he showed me a picture of his dad, and called him an old man (umusaza). Then I said to Xavier, “You’re an old man.” (Uri umusaza.) (He’s 24.) What’s more, the cakes we were eating were shaped like hearts, so I made a joke about me eating hearts. I know, I’m so good.
Of course, there are some funny misunderstandings, as there always are with any language that isn’t mine (then again, I also make absurd mistakes in English from time to time). I asked Sunday, one of the SIT staff members, what he had for lunch in Kinyarwanda. He replied to me, “nta cyo,” which is pronounced “nacho." I got excited and asked where there were nachos, and then he proceeded to clarify that “nta cyo” actually means “nothing.” Oops, not the outcome I wanted.
The Rwandans have amazing faith in my ability to learn their language, which is an honor because their language is hard. Except I think it’s mainly hard for me not because of noun classes, not because of tone, not even because of grammar, but because memorizing new words is a struggle. My host dad even told me that if I were to be in Rwanda for a year, he’s sure I would be fluent. That’s a nice thing to say. As we all know though, I won’t be here for a year; I have around 11 weeks left. I’m excited to see how much I’m going to learn and how confident I’ll be with the language by the end of my stay.
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