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Blog Post #6: Waving Through a Window

During my last week in Costa Rica, I thought to myself how strange it will be to return to a world surrounded by English—where I will no longer be encased in Spanish chatter and road signs on the street, where I will speak English to waiters and shopkeepers. Now, three weeks later, my time abroad feels a bit surreal. So much happened in just five weeks that remembering and unpacking it all feels overwhelming.

The most important change I see post-study abroad is in myself and my attitude toward speaking Spanish. In the beginning of my trip, I was shocked to discover an intense feeling of jealousy in my language learning process. I felt envious of anyone who spoke better than me: other people in my class, other people in my SLA program. Learning Spanish felt like a competition rather than an individual journey—of who has a better accent, of who knows more vocabulary words, of who speaks with more fluidity. Throughout my time in Costa Rica, these feelings lost strength; however, it was still difficult not to compare myself to others. I have noticed that now, upon return, they have abated. 

This realization washed over me during a dinner my family hosted for my dad’s business partner and his girlfriend, the latter only able to speak Spanish. To my own surprise, I spoke easily and with no hesitation. I felt confident, armed with my weeks of practice abroad. I shed the anxiety I had carried for so long about speaking Spanish to native speakers. There was no one to compare myself to, no sensation that I was better or worse than someone else. It was only me connecting with other people, sharing stories and laughs. 

Sometimes it is easy to forget why we learn languages. Sometimes I lose the passion that led me to take Spanish beyond the four semester requirement of the College of Arts and Letters. Sometimes speaking Spanish feels like work, or like a competition. But then I have moments like this, where I feel truly connected to others, and I remember why I love language. It is a window, and I can see other people smiling through the glass.

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Do Cheerleaders Really Exist?

I interviewed my friend Sara, who is from Spain, but now lives in France. Sara and I get along well in part because we are both Spanish speakers and also because she, like many people who are language teachers, is fascinated by my ability to speak English and Spanish in a way that feels natural. Our teacher on one of our first days even pointed out how she has visited my hometown and it was the first time, even as a European, she had seen people who were equally comfortable in both languages. As Sara puts it: “Your body language is the same! It’s so strange!”

         When I told her about this assignment, she was excited to talk about it because she wanted to ask me questions that she says she would have otherwise withheld. Sara’s number 1 question about Notre Dame was “Do the cheerleaders really exist?” She had seen them on movies and TV but could not actually believe that there were, as she put it, “women who wore short skirts and cheered men on.” I of course slightly corrected the idea that cheerleading was just a supporting sport and not, in its own right, a sport and an art, but that was not relevant to her question because she had only seen cheerleaders on TV at football games. Her number 1 stereotype of American universities, and in fact, in particular Notre Dame, was that all men play football and all women are cheerleaders. Of course, cheerleaders do exist, I explained, but the vast majority of people are only spectators in these sporting events.

         Sara also explained that she has the idea or perhaps stereotype that people who get to go as far as I have in the American academy are wealthy. She is from Spain but went to France to do a second Master’s in language acquisition and fell in love with the city and stayed. As she saw it, the American system was difficult and only the wealthy could crack into it. This she had from her own personal experience where she said that it was not the most intelligent, but the wealthiest of her classmates who went on to study at Harvard, MIT, and Duke. For her, the American university system is based more on wealth than on merit. As someone who has come to the PhD on full rides since beginning college, I know this is not fair to say about everyone. However, I cannot fault her for thinking this and I myself share the sentiment that elite schools in the US are run by economics more than genuine search for truth and the common good.

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Blog Post 3: Bhuail mé le daoine nua agus an-suimiúil!

My second week here at Oideas Gael, in remote Gleann Cholm Cille, Donegal, began with a very interesting experience.

My housemate from Week 1, Anastasia, who is a musical theatre director from San Francisco, left on Friday, and I was joined by Catherine, a Spanish language writer of Irish descent. After having a wee chat at the shared house, I showed Catherine the shortcut down to the school (it is quite normal here to cut through your neighbours’ yards to get from point A to B; an understanding of private property that was so lovely to me!), and headed out for a walk.

An hour passed, I saw the fair sights and green glens of Gleann Cholm Cille, and was enjoying a lazy stroll back to the school when I felt someone staring at me from across the street. It was a woman I had not seen at the school before. She stared at me with a little frown, crossed the road, and said, “Are you the Indian girl, then?”

Gleann Cholm Cille has a population of 200. It was a fair assumption to say that I was the Indian girl. And I said as much to the woman.

“Do you have a housemate named [let’s call her] Catherine?” she goes. “Tall, old woman?”

At this point, I began to get an inkling of what had happened. “Yes,” I said.

“Oh good!” went the woman. “She got lost on her way back home from the school, and was asking around for the wee Indian girl she lives with! And there are not a lot of Indians in remote Donegal, so I thought it might be a fair shot to ask you.”

And it was. 

This humorous incident led to an interesting conversation with the woman, named Tasneem, who is of mixed Irish and Lebanese descent, and who shared some of my initial concerns about not being an obvious speaker of the language—and who was also very pleasantly surprised at how very welcoming and open this remote corner of Donegal had been.

Being in Oideas Gael as an Indian citizen currently residing in the States is an experience an-súimiúil; at the beginning of every week, I introduce myself as “Is mise Tirna. Is as India me, ach, tá mé i mo chónaí in Indiana anois” (I’m Tirna. I’m from India, but I live in Indiana now). As such, this is often followed by someone going “Ah, why are you learning Irish, then?”—a question Tasneem receives as well.

My answer, where I try to explain my intellectual curiosities and why learning the language is critical to my doctoral work (in halting, but gradually improving Irish), is well-received, and is sometimes followed by a polite and puzzled frown, and a “Do you have any Irish connections at all?”

“None at all,” I explain. “I’m just here because I love the language.”

A lot of the Irish people I have met in Donegal have the assumption that if one is American (or from the U.S.), and is partaking in Irish language or cultural activities, it must stem from a personal, genealogical connection to the land. While not being a stereotype, I found this to be an interesting assumption; the idea that personal, familial connections are the usual motive for Americans to try to learn the Irish language—and by and large, this is an accurate assumption; a third of the participants at Oideas Gael are American, and the vast majority of them have Irish roots. This puts me in an interesting position, where people are often politely unsure of how to categorise me.

Reflecting on this instability of category led me to realize that I myself have internalized this assumption; upon my first encounter with Tasneem, I had taken her to be a tourist, and not a student at Oideas Gael. Without me being aware of it, I had internalized a stereotype of who could be an Irish speaker, and excluded myself from it in the process. However, being here at Oideas Gael, and slowly gaining competency in the language, has been a transformative experience; it has made me realize that there is no such thing as an ‘obvious’ speaker of a language.

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Post 4 – Am I Improving?

With less than a month left in Jordan, I’m facing a question that simultaneously discourages and encourages me. Is my Arabic improving? My answer changes almost daily. Certainly, I know a lot more vocabulary now than before, and if I measure improvement according to how my skills in writing, reading, and listening have developed, then certainly yes. My dad also said something to me which gave me a new perspective, which is that if I find myself thinking in Arabic, this is a good measure of improvement and enhanced familiarity with the language. This gave me renewed hope because often I will find myself thinking in Arabic.

My biggest excitement and indication of tangible improvement is finally being able to read Middle Eastern Literature. One of my favorite books of all time is called “Season of Migration to the North” by Tayeb Salih. I got a copy in Arabic and found that I know most of the words and have been able to read the book at a decent pace. There are so many expressions and words that lose their meaning and effect in translation. Being able to read the original is for me a huge coup and incredibly enjoyable.

On the other hand, if I measure success and improvement by speaking, I don’t think I would be able to tell much of a difference. While I definitely see a little improvement, have more confidence speaking, etc … I still have not crossed the threshold to complex speech, rapid speech, or reached a level of confidence to get to that point. It’s strange because when given a topic, I can write quickly and accurately what I want to say, but I seem to need that step – without the writing, I am unable to speak directly from my head on any advanced topic. This will just take practice, and I see improvement, but am making slow progress.

I feel like this one is partly my own fault and potentially a lack of jumping in with both feet, but in many ways, I am limited by the fact that I am a woman and the cultural norms that surround this. For example, in any taxi situation, most of the time it is culturally inappropriate for a driver (always male) to engage women in conversation. Thus, my male classmates have far more experience using Ammiyah in these kinds of exchanges. Another of my male friends has been using Facebook groups to find speaking partners and connecting with random people online, something I am not comfortable doing. Other male friends were spontaneously invited to tea by the man who operates the SIM card store. None of this would be appropriate if a woman stood in the same situation, and if an invitation was extended, it would not be wise to accept. I have had to think more creatively of ways to practice speaking, and besides RC Camp, have honestly been largely unsuccessful.

One thing to take away from this is that when I come back to the Middle East (Inshallah) for any future study programs, I need to put myself in a position where I cannot fall back on English at all, potentially staying with a host family or going to an area with fewer English speakers or no English speakers at all.

Another small thing is that this experience has definitely shifted my inclinations toward certain career aspirations. I’ve known for a long time that I’ve had little interest in creating policy or working in a diplomatic/governmental sphere. But this dislike has only increased since being here. I’ve really enjoyed the interactions that I’ve been able to have, especially with the kids at camp and the other coaches and volunteers. I think that if I really want to use my skills to make change and do good, I need to work directly with people. It’s been really interesting to observe the sentiment around certain political issues in this region, but more than that to see their long-term effects and see how people adapt and respond to them. Jordan is a country that takes in a lot of refugees from many different areas of the Middle East. I want no part of any kind of work that further exacerbates these kinds of situations for people.

Other Notes:

  • It is actually HOT now, and I honestly have so much respect for my teachers and many of the women in this country, who walk around outside completely covered in 100-degree temperatures.
  • The natural beauty in Jordan is unlike anything I have ever seen. I lack the words to describe it but I am continuously blown away and moved by each place I visit.