In Niger for at least three years, I decided to learn a local language, one that speaks most to Niamey, zharma. My ambition is, as quickly as possible, understand the conversations around me, whether to participate. This is, frankly not really a need since everyone speaks French, but I think it will be useful when, in my future life in New York or London or even to Tours, I would meet a Nigerian. Hello! And the family? And health? Can you tell me where is the 5th Avenue, where-you-please? To learn
two strategies. The first was given to me by a Nigerian, and is to sit on a bench in the street, with people who are there, and let things come. The second is more common, it is enroll in courses zharma to go, and do homework between classes. I chose the second because it's easier, or more Western, I do not know.
These courses take place in the most banal of all. The teacher is nice and warm, she explains things, gives you the vocabulary, grammar point (the zharma grammar is not complicated issue, especially if you stop five minutes and you compare it with the French grammar) . And then whenever we gauntlets as knowledge in small conversation style fly high I'm Basil, I'm 26 and I wear socks black. It's relaxed, there is no issue, things are gradually returning and you realize shortly after people you meet on the street in zharma when you got to squeeze the sentence you have learned. It's not so easy, it takes very special circumstances to talk about your socks.
But now, we do not draw a line under their past like that. From the moment the teacher, quite naturally, begins to ask how it is called zharma well being told patiently every week, I suddenly lost 15 years and earns the same time an uncontrolled anxiety. Here I am returned to college, and I do not want to return. It is Monday morning, 8.30 am, the German teacher asks us questions, namely, and I have not done my homework. I do not understand what she said to me, and I see his head should have understood. I'm bewildered glances, I'm sweating happily, she thought me repeat the question more slowly and louder, nothing comes out. However, I tried to learn the vocabulary, not to brutalize me because I was still a profound lack of interest towards anything that was not French, but still, I tried. Only when sitting for twenty minutes before your vocabulary list that you can not remember a single word about the five you had to learn, and this word is so precious and so fragile, you will have forgotten within one hour follow, there is no need to persevere. It is better to give up, do not worry if languages are not for you, you moultes equally interesting qualities, such as that of a very good cook pâtés. It has nothing to do, I know, but we must take people as a whole, there are people piano virtuosos, others are very strong in ship models. The first gift that I have mentioned is more socially accepted than the latter is true, but I try to prove the superiority of mastering the piano on that of the model. Oh and stop interrupting me, I did not finish.
Soon, the 6th, in the second hour of class, I knew that German was not for me. I retreated quickly and curled myself hoping that this is neither too long nor too painful. Alas, this was the long and painful.
Never mind, I was no German, it did perhaps only the language itself. I came in 4th, the age of the second language, full of hope, ready to erase the bitter defeat and conquer these new lands. I gauged the forces in the English course, have noted the similarity of behavior, these questions become harder and more slowly but in a different language again, and I beat a retreat piteously.
Everything else was only cuts and bruises, strategies ridiculous to hide my ignorance, humiliation almost daily, visit parents-teachers of languages in which, to my amazement, it was supposed to protect myself from the world since I was the flesh of his flesh, namely my mother, the mother, against all odds was siding with the enemy to overwhelm me, which I did not need that to feel I lost miserably.
I have carried this burden until adulthood, where everyone knows you become another person.
This new individual, naively, thought that the time of the recovery came, it was going to show everyone who he was, he could be someone who spoke a foreign language and who made very good pies campaign. This new individual is not only party in a country where nobody speaks their language (Sweden), but even decided to learn the language (Swedish for those who are really not good at geography). Alas, it took only a few minutes of class only to find they do not draw a line under the past like that. The same question repeated, although less aggressively (I'm still here of my own), bringing the same effects: anxiety, sweating, desperate cries for help. I still paint all over my five words to learn. I'm still puzzled by the tiny texts that I had, stopped abruptly by the second word, yes, that word that I managed to find yesterday. The defeat was especially bitter that I had sought the battle.
So is there anyone can explain to me why I put myself in the same galleys?
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