The language of…well, not much of anyone, really

August 5, 2010 at 9:11 pm (Uncategorized)

What. A. Stretch. Tidbits from the last two weeks for the next few days, I think. We find out our sites tonight, which is nerve-wracking and exciting. But first I think it’s important to cleanse myself of this stint at homestay. More language, learning field crops, learning about the miracle of moringa trees (and then giving a presentation on it in Bomu!), tailor experiences, scorpions in my room, raging storms, American time, chicken killing, long bike rides, getting closer to the family, beautiful birds, and Christmas carols.

So, first, a reflection on the language itself. Bomu, anyway, although I think my observations stretch to Bambara as well. It’s a bizarre experience (particularly as an English major and general collector of language) to be attempting to learn a language that is almost entirely oral, unless you happen to be an American trying to learn it, in which case it’s written, which is of dubious help. Not only do words and sounds mean at least eight different things, but there are also quite simply just fewer words. English is a language that prides itself on having just the right phrase, the bot mot, for every occasion. I think that’s a function of the far-reaching valuation of the written idea, the paragon of language that goes far beyond the current moment. And so it becomes incredibly frustrating when, knowing to say ‘I slept a lot’ is ‘un duman ma pa’a,’ but asking how to say ‘I slept great,’ ‘I slept like a log,’ ‘I rested well,’ ‘my night was good,’ ‘my night was beautiful,’ ‘I’m rested’ all come back with puzzled expressions and ‘un duman ma pa’a.’ So I guess I won’t be writing the great bomu novel. Or even oral epic. Sorry Homer. It’s sort of a trip to be reading Mansfield Park here.

The other interesting thing about the language, however, is the response that a learner draws. Although there are very few Bomu speakers in my village, they tend to congregate at my family’s house. Apart from being infinitely delighted and breaking into peals of raucous laughter every time I say something even semi-intelligible, any time I ask a question about a word (‘stars,’ for example, which may or may not be ‘muman’), I set off a ten minute flurry of discussion about what the word actually is. And this moment I love. A debate about language. A discussion about something that seems so innate, intuitive, and shared. Predicated by my ignorance, of course, but the process of ‘It’s this,’ ‘No, it’s this,’ ‘No, that’s Bambara,’ ‘No, Bomu,’ ‘Where are you from?’ and the final winding down to no real answer for me is fascinating. Even if I don’t really get anywhere.