Further Education

Luck had it that our first expatriation landed us in Gabon, a French speaking country, and I had some French education behind me.  Even so, when we arrived, it had been years since I'd spoken a word of French and several more years since I had to use much other than simple conjugation, ABC's, 123's and classroom vocabulary.  For the first several months, I cowered behind my language skills scared to make mistakes, stumbling over words that had long buried themselves in the depths of my brain and fearful that if I did respond and pass off my French, I'd be rewarded with a flurry of words that I couldn't keep up with.  Yet, when you move to a country where 99% of the population does not speak English, it becomes a sink or swim scenario.

Eventually, things started to connect again in my mind and soon I was spending much less time pre-formulating sentences well ahead of any communication.  I credit a lot of my confidence to speaking with our guards and our housekeeper - they were consistent relationships who were patient and understanding as I tried to piece together what I needed.  They didn't correct me or walk away when I wasn't making sense; they worked with me until we were both in complete understanding.

While this was happening, I could feel my grammar slipping away.  No longer was I worried about saying something perfectly, I just wanted to be understood and generally, I was.  I knew I was making a plethora of mistakes and I felt frustrated that while my oral communication had improved tenfold, I wasn't improving on the details of the language.  With French teachers few and far between, I continued to bump along, conversing haphazardly yet fairly confidently.

Of course, the move to Stavanger brought my French language use to a halt.  I had aspirations of meeting a couple of French expat wives who I could meet for coffee once a week but it didn't happen.  A year passed and aside from a couple of jaunts to French speaking countries, I did not utter a word of French.  Some days, I'd translate my day in head to see if I could still do it or I'd turn the TV to France 24 but would quickly lose interest.  Come June, I stumbled across a French language teacher in Stavanger and before I could talk myself out of it, I composed my best email in French detailing that I'd like lessons in the Fall.

Since the end of August, I've met with a lovely French woman once per week for 1.5 hours at her home.  During my first lesson we completed a placement test where my teacher remarked that my oral communication was strong but my written was lacking.  I found this interesting as my entire French education, I felt the reverse, a fairly common notion for anyone who has learned a language in a classroom with more pen to paper than anything else.

From "Bonjour" to "À la semaine prochaine" we do not speak a word of English.  It is exhausting.  One on one, we work through grammar and vocabulary; we'll do fun things like make crêpes and play games or we'll watch adverts on youtube.  Sometimes the words flow easily and the lessons are quickly grasped whereas others are more of a struggle as I try to wrap my head around le girondif and curse the masculine/feminine forms.  I've come home laughing that my teacher had reprimanded me for not answering in full sentences which unexpectedly sounded as if I'd been listening to myself several years prior with my FSL students in Canada.  The tables had turned and now I found myself une étudiante once more.

It's been good.  It's been good to flex my brain a little more.  It's been good to polish up my language skills and it's been good to feel the slightest bit more productive.


{On that note, tonight is Joe's first Norwegian lesson.  His company finally got around to arranging lessons at the office.  We asked if I could also attend but unfortunately, they wouldn't allow it so I've instructed Joe to pay extra special attention so that he could teach me afterwards.}