I am a Polyglot

My friend e-mailed me yesterday to ask how 'my polyglot self was doing'. Being a lover of words, I instantly checked this one out in the dictionary:

Polyglot:

1. one who is polyglot
2. a book containing versions of the same text in several languages (especially : the Scriptures in several languages)
3. a mixture or confusion of languages or nomenclatures

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/polyglot

Though some days I wish (and aspire to one day reach again, in all my languages) that I was definition #2; but alas, most days I feel like I am closer to definition #3. In Québec while studying French, I occasionally felt like I was losing my English grammar - my English sentences were often inter-spersed with French words and grammatical structure. Well, again, I feel sometimes that I am losing language, but now a bit of French! A friend has told me each time you learn a language, you have to lose some of your others to make room . . . not sure what that means for me as I have now started (offically learning) learning my fifth! Yet, this makes sense as my German and sign language are fastly disappearing; though I do wish that I would lose more of what I am not using (the above two) and less of my English and French.

The professor of my linguistics course in Toronto spoke of some languages which add groupings of letters into words (in-fixes) to add-on to the meaning. He gave us an example of one word in Turkish (note each infix is a different colour, 'x' represents a letter I forget):

kanadaliastinilxxxlaedsunusx

Each infix added different nuances to the word: causative, interrogative, plural, past tense etc... Until this one word means: Are you (plural) from among us, those who were caused to become Canadians?

I remember thinking in class that was crazy huge and hoping that my language did not have such things to learn . . .

and . . .

you guessed it!! This week, I learned that Fulfulde has infixes!!! to add into verbs, changing how said action is done.

Though, thankfully, not as many, nor the capabilities of stringing this many together. There are 7 various infixes and not all can even be used together in one word. I am also, thankfully, having fun trying to mesh these into words to find the longest word (ie: the one with the most infixes) that I possibly can. Not sure my prof is having as much fun as I am, but he patiently corrects all my attempts! So far, I have been able to string together 3 and my current goal is to succeed with 4!

My infixes:

id: with someone

an: for someone, in the name of someone, to

in: cause someone to do said action (eg: to study = janngude, to teach = jannginude)

ir: with something or in a certain manner

odir: with each other

ow: to go somewhere to do said action

it: repeating of said action

My longest word so far, and thus shortest sentence, is:

Miden kaalodirowa Teppe. (We are going to Teppe in order to speak with each other.)

I will keep you posted if I ever succeed at 4 or more!

I have also learned the number system (counting) and money system this week. A somewhat perturbing and yet challenging occurence.

First off, the systems for counting numbers and counting money are completely different, yet slightly entwined. To top it off, both systems are majorly dependant on math skills!! (Not my strength - okay, I did okay in Grade 1 math, when all involved was 1 + 1 = 2 and 2 + 2 = 4).

The math here is slightly more complicated. When learning French, way back in high school, I remember being frustrated that language and math had to be mixed (eg: 99 is 4 x 20 + 19). Well, in comparison to Fulfulde, that is simple!

The counting numbering system goes as high as five and then starts adding and multiplying these numbers (though there are words for major dividing points: 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 . . . up to 100; and then 1000, and 1,000,000).

The part I try to make fun, is trying different numbers (which I will never likely use) to try and make the longest speaking number I can. My current favourite is:

561,376

ujuere keme joy e ujunere laasoji e tati e go'o e keme tati e laasoji tati e sapo e jeego'o

= 5,000s x 5 500s and 5,000s x 3 20s and (5 + 1) and 1 and 3 500s and 3 20s + 10 and (5 + 1)

I have decided to make this the number of camels that I am worth, as it is sort of fun to say. (Though, can anyone working with the Fulani verify that this number is unachieveable before I get myself in trouble??!?)

The money counting system is even more complicated. Every number builds of the smallest denomination - the 5 franc coin. This is called buudu - pluralized, it is buudi. Each number amount is based on a multiple of this coin - using a few of the numbers from the counting system. Small amounts - fairly simple: 10 francs is 5 francs x 2 (buudi didi) and 25 francs is 5 francs x 5 (buudi joy).

It gets slightly more complicated with the larger numbers as you have to divide the amount by 5 and then determine by which of the larger above numbers (10, 100, 1000) or major money numbers (500, 5000) you are going to multiple the 5 franc coin.

Hence the math . . . and my sincerely confused brain!!

For example: 18,500 becomes

buudi ujunaji didi e buudi kemi jeedidi

Thankfully, the buudi (5 franc coin word does not need to be repeated for each multiplication phrase, as it is understood to be the base). So this spoken, is essentially:

5 francs x 2 thousands (=10,000) + 5 francs x 7 500s (=3,500).

Yes, my confuzzled polyglot self is definitely a: mixture or confusion of languages or nomenclatures!

A Fulani Baby Naming Ceremony

In the Fulani (and many other African) cultures, the parents of newborn children will hold a baby-naming ceremony on the 7th or 8th day following the birth. Though some parents will name their child before the ceremony, the name is closely guarded until the ceremony. Following the ceremony, is a day of partying.

I had the privelege of attending my first Fulani baby-naming ceremony last week, at the home of my night guard Karim. His wife had twin boys!! This event has added to my Fulfulde vocabulary as I learned that they do not have a word for 'twins'; however, they have a word that means 'multiple children' and then you add the number (2, 3, etc...). So, twins is actually 'multiple children times 2' - funebe didi.

The other part I have learned of this culture is the expectation that goes into this event - for a people group that is among the poorest of the poor, they spend at least $200 for the party to feed all the guests who come and give food gifts (cola, dates, kola nuts, popcorn). Feeding the guests includes slaughtering at least 1-2 sheep or goats. This is done for every child born (not just the first) and these twins are the seventh children born to my guard (the first child died) and his wife is only 29 years old!

I headed to the village also prepared with some cultural cues from my language tutor. Under no circumstance was I to do any of the following actions:

touch a child on the head (this is not permitted even amongst their culture, but should I do this, the family will think that I want to eat their child!)

point at children or animals - any animal really, but especially cows (again, if I point at children while counting them, the villagers will think that I want to eat them!)

if I do not know people, do not ask how many children they have (same implication??!). This was a disappointing cue to learn as it is one of the few questions/topics I can converse in using Fulfulde.)

do not say the baby is big - our cultural norm. (Again, this gives the impression that I want to eat the baby.)

(hmm, sensing an overall theme to their fears regarding white people? - no wonder why the children ofttimes seem hesitant to approach us! and some run away crying?)

do not say that the baby is beautiful, cute (or generally anything nice). In their cultural superstition, the bad spirits are looking exchange a good baby for their own babies. Instead, I should say that the baby is ugly or a 'villain like his father'.

The naming ceremonies generally start at 7:30 am!! As my guard lives out of town, I left Niamey at 6:45! A huge sacrifice - those who know me well know that I am not a morning person - add to this the sacrifice of no coffee to aid my morning confuzzled brain! (As bathroom situations are sketchy in the villages, I decided not to compound the potential of needing a toilet with extra coffee!)

I headed off to the village with my friend Cecilia and three of my guard's friends. Once we arrived in the village, Cecilia and I were hustled off to the ladies hut and the guys went to hang out with all the village men. In the Fulani culture, the women and men are culturally separate for many activities - religious activities (at the mosque), parties, eating, etc...

As such, we were not expecting to actually view the naming ceremony per se; however, Karim ventured into the hut at one point to say that we would be expected at the mosque in five minutes. Cecilia and I were quite unsure what to do, yet followed the group of ladies when they headed out and seemed to signal for us to follow. Had he spoke to me in Fulfulde, despite my lack of vocabulary, it would have been more clear - for in Fulfulde there are two words for 'we' (the French nous). One which indicates 'me and this group, including you to whom I speak' and the other which indicates 'me and this group, excluding you to whom I speak'.

We show up at the mosque and are quite relieved to see that the women are leading us into a side room (read: wood walled enclosure) beside where the man are gathering. We realize that we are now sitting on the women's side and are still culturally appropriate.

A few minutes later, Karim walks over and asks me to take a few pictures for him. This involves walking back to the hut to gather my camera and when I entered, the ladies are praying; but quickly grab my bag and head back. In my quick entry and exit however, I notice that there is now sitting in the hut a chair with a bowl and a knife. Upon returning to the mosque, I inform Cecilia that I hope we are not going to be party to watching a circumcision!

I take a few photos of the men gathering outside the mosque, feeling very conspicuous that Karim motioned where to take the photos and promptly disappeared leaving me there along with all these guys watching every move I make!

As I made my way back into the ladies side of the mosque, the ladies hosting Cecilia and I indicated that I should sit just inside the men's entrance so I could take more photos . I could not have felt more awkward, but felt I needed to follow my hosts' instructions.

After the group leader spoke the name of the twin boys, we all headed back to the area in front of Karim's hut - Cecilia and I back into the hut and the men back to their party area. I was thankful to see that the chair, bowl and knife were being used for food preparation!! We did, though, get to witness another Fulani tradition at a naming ceremony - the shaving of the child's head. This is an essential component to the naming ceremony - be the child boy or girl - and given the cultural restrictions around touching the head of children, the family carefully selects a village 'granny' whom they trust to do this task and whom they trust to touch the head of their child.

We were happy to notice that they used a new (and therefore clean) blade for each of the twins; however, it was hard to keep a neutral face while watching them scrape the razor blades over their little heads. I noticed that the hair was being gathered in a dish to the side - all pieces that fell on the sand were gathered up. These were set aside for the family to dispose of, as this culture will hold to the supersitition that someone could use the hair to curse the baby. The following pictures are unfortunately the only ones of the twins - as the twins spent the day in the hut with the mother, the lighting was not the best to take pictures in.

After the shaving ceremony, the babies are bathed. This was interesting to see, as the soap was laid on the sand between use; and following the bath, the baby was again wrapped in the same cloth - that had been laying in the sand during the bathing!! Also following the bath, the women circled the baby over the tub of water and gently threw him in the air to catch over the water - repeating this action three times. While this is done, the mother (or bather) speaks a blessing to the baby.

Following all this, Cecilia and I again were passed the babies to hold. They were indeed so cute and we determined that they are fraternal twins. The babies are named:

Hassani Abdoulaye (Hassan for short)

Husseini Abdoulaye (Seini for short)

which are quite typical names for twins as they go well together. We chatted with a few of the women. Hassan peed on me (there are no diapers here!). One lady shook her breast at me (apparently to indicate that the woman who had just walked in was the mother of the Karim's wife). And we wandered outside thinking to leave. However, we discovered the meal was at noon(-ish) and not in the evening, so we stuck around for the feast.

At the time the food was ready to serve, Cecilia and I were brought a plate of food and two spoons. This one plate piled higher than we thought the two of us could eat. This plate was shortly joined by another plate, indicating that we each were expected to eat that much food! Then, before we could start eating (though we were waiting for the other ladies to join us, knowing it was impolite to eat infront of others) the ladies indicated that they would like for us to move into the chicken hut! We assured them that we were quite fine eating with them (this I could even say in fulfulde! - and I was quite careful to use the 'we' word that included the ladies with whom we were speaking); however, they were insistent . . . so we made to move and the ladies carried our plates into the hen hut.

We discovered within a few minutes that we had been moved into the hen hut (essentially out of sight) due to the cultural restraints of not eating in front of others. For as we looked out through the straw poles we could see that none of the other women were eating! As best we can determine, as guests, we were fed at the same time as the men and thus with no women eating at that time, it was not culturally appropriate that we sat with them to eat while they were not also eating.

Shortly after eating, we joined up with Karim's friends who came looking for us as they were ready to then leave. The day was full of informal cultual learning! I also discovered, after arriving home and reading my notes, that my day was also full of a few (at least 3 that I know of) language blunders - but, thankfully, not horrendous 'I-can-never-return-to-this-village' blunders!

Living in Two Worlds: Western Mind meets Eastern Mind

If I remember correctly, this satellite dish if for one of the phone companies that covers Niger. What a striking contrast!

The Muslim saying: 'Inch Allah'

Inch Allah means If Allah wills it. This is what the Muslims will say after every statement with a future ramification. In their view of fatalism, all they do & all that happens is by Allah's will. So, in making any plans for the future (later that day, the next day, etc...) this phrase is added to the end to indicate that they will do said activity if allah wills.

Though I do not hear this phrase as often as I anticipated, I am getting used to hearing it in certain circumstances:

at the veggie stand - when I say good-bye and 'à la prochaine' (until next time) . . . the response of the veggie guy is Inch Allah

on the bumpers of cars and trucks (though it is still disconcerting when I am passing a truck on the highway which is overloaded to the point of looking like the Leaning Tower of Pisa . . . and the front of the truck is painted with Inch Allah)

when I leave a friend's house for the night and greet the guard and say 'see you tomorrow' and he responds Inch Allah

However, I received this reponse one day and I wasn't quite sure what it meant:

The other week, one of my guards was unable to make it to work for two days; so I started phoning around the numerous other swing guards on my team to find a replacement. I finally got a hold of Sa'Air who said: 'I will come Friday and Saturday, Inch Allah'.

Ummm .....

Is he coming for sure, but has to add Inch Allah as part of his culture??

Is he maybe coming??

Is he not coming, but can't say no??

Is he planning to come, but if something comes up, then he won't??

I hung up the phone in a slightly bewildered state. Not sure if I should arrange for someone else to come or not.

Sense of Humour

As I was coming back from the village on Thursday, one of the Africans in the back of my truck indicated that he wanted to disembark at a certain area - in the middle of a huge roundpoint, after I had passed the point of being able to turn in to the outer ring to let him out. I jokingly said 'Here?! You will have to jump!!'. I then indicated that I would turn around at the next round point and head back to let him out where he needed.

Harouna thought it was funny.

Another guy in the truck (Nene) thought I didn't know what the word 'jump' was. So for the rest of the trip, he tried to explain the word to me! When I did pull over, and Harouna got out of the truck, Nene pointed out that his stepping out of the vehicle was the action he had said. He then said the word jump and made an action for it. Later on, when I pulled over to by a cell phone card (credit of minutes) the seller of cards came running from a distance and jumped over a fence to be the first guy to reach our vehicle. Nene again pointed out that what we just saw was jumping!

It would have been too difficult to explain that I knew quite well the meaning of the word 'jump' and that it was meant to be a joke, so I just let it slide!

Canadian grasshopper, meet African locust

Descriptive Language

This difference comes out mostly in restaurants. Though I am thoroughly adventurous with my food, sometimes I like to know in advance what the adventure will hold (or will the adventure be worth the extra money). Following are two restaurant conversations with a waiter:

Restaurant 1:

Me: On the menu there are two hamburgers. What is the difference between the hamburger and the super burger?

Waiter: Well the hamburger is just a hamburger and the super burger is really super!

Me: Uh, huh. Well, does the super burger have extra toppings; like lettuce and tomatoes?

Waiter: Yes, it is super!

I did not ever really figure out the physical difference between the two, and ended up buying the hamburger - unwilling to pay more money for a burger whose only distinguising difference was that it was really super!!.

Restaurant 2:

Me: The beef shwarama is listed on sandwich menu and on the dinner plate menu. What is different about the plate option?

Waiter: The sandwich is just the sandwich, but the plate is the sandwhich plus a whole meal.

Me: Okay. And what is on the plate with the sandwich?

Waiter: All sorts of food.

Again, hmmm . . . As the plate cost more than a sandwich plus fries, was the all sorts of food worth the extra money? I went with the sandwich that day, but still aim to try the plate when my stomach has room to eat all sorts of food. Whatever that may be!

Another Day of Life in Niger . . . Government Offices

Today, after my Fulfulde lesson, I headed out to Ministry offices of Niger to gather some of my official paperwork. I discovered yesterday that my vehicle registration expired on August 4th - thankfully I was not pulled over in this time!! Normally, this temporary registration is valid for 3 months and I was told to return in mid-October; however, on reading my paperwork yesterday, I discovered that the rules changed and the paperwork expired 1 month after I had received them.

This I discovered when my teammate Paul came to get my paperwork so he could pick up my license plate with his yesterday afternoon (yes, the license plate took 3 months to print!). He headed off to get our license plates but soon called to tell me that I had to take my actual vehicle down so they could rivet the plate to my truck themselves. This makes a modicum of sense - they want to ensure that the plate is going on the actual vehicle that is registered for that plate.

So, as my truck was 'illegal', Brenda drove me down to the Ministry of Transport and Communication. The building itself is a sight to see - as the Ministry is located in a run-down house and there is no parking lot (in fact, parking lots are rare here - so you park your vehicles all over the road and hope that no one hits it - this building is also where the Auto-School students write their exams, so here you really hope that no one hits your vehicle). You then walk around the building and enter from the backside. There is one main building and two smaller buildings on either side of the courtyard:

I went into the first small building where I had been told to renew my registration, and found 1 lady sitting at a desk with a typewriter . . . doing nothing; but, wrong building. I was then directed to the other small building on the other side of the courtyard.

I walked into this building and found one lady sitting at a desk covered with boxes full of these registration forms. The filing system was the floor - piles after piles of file folders covered in dust. Her sole job was to hand out the registration papers that the lady across the courtyard had typed. As my form was incorrect (my vehicle was registered for 5 seats and not 6) . . .

I was directed into the large building to speak with the Director of the Ministry. I explained the problem to him and . . .

was directed back to the first building - where the lady was sitting and waiting . . . still doing nothing. She then whited-out the mistake, typed the number 6, and sent me back to the Director of the Vehicle Registration to verify her correction.

Back to the main building. Now, this Director only has the large stamp; so upon verifying the correction . . .

he sent me down the hall to another guy who has the small stamp. He was not in the office.

My 'escort' searched for the stamp in another room, but did not find it - so I was told to return later with my card:

"maybe tomorrow morning he would be in"

1 gov't office for 1 and naught gained.

Off I head to the second office - Surveillance de la Territoire (Territory Security) - I had applied for my Residence Permit in July and was told to return in 3 months for the permanent card. So now, mid-October, I figured that as I was in the neighbourhood I would stop in and see if it was ready. The gentlemen indicated that it was ready aside from the signature and stamp so I could return at 3 o'clock to receive the paperwork - but I had to leave him my temporary VISA. (I highly suspected that nothing was done, but he waited for 3 months until I came back and then he typed it up - possibly not, but that's my hypothesis!)

2 gov't offices for 2 and naught gained.

So Brenda and I returned to their house after picking up the mail, I recuperated my truck and headed out to get some school supplies (notebooks, pens, highlighters) for my language studies. I also stopped by a bakery to grab some bread (yesterday, she told me whole grain bread would be available today). However, the whole grain bread had not yet been delivered, so she told me to come back after the siesta time - around 4pm.

I stopped for truck gas on the way home and when I arrived, I had enough time to eat lunch and then head over to pick up Paul so he could show me how to find the license plate office.

Plan of Attack:

1. Surveillance de la Territoire for my Residence Permit:
   a. He said come back at 3pm and it was already 2:50.
   b. He had my temporary VISA - so I was technically an illegal alien with no documentation should the police have pulled me over!

2. Ministry of Transportation & Communication:
   a. This office closes at 4pm.

3. Office of the License Plates:
   a. This office is open until 5pm.

First stop, drum roll please, and . . . Success! My Residence Permit card was ready. Woohoo!! I am Resident of Niger! (Literally translated, my Permis de Séjour is Permision to Stay)

1 gov't office for 1 and 1 paper gained!!

We then headed straight through the crazy intersection with no lights (it's a free-for-all: you slowly inch out until your car is far enough in that the opposing directions have to stop for you! - okay, sometimes the lights work. I have seen them on at 9pm when there is no traffic) and over to the Ministry of Transport and Communication (How do those two seem appropriate together??). I was working my way to the counter (there are no lines - you all cram up to the counter, hold your paperwork over the edge and speak loud enough until some takes your form - and then you hope they finish helping you before taking the paperwork of someone else) when I saw a gentleman in the office with the little stamp leaving the building.

I figured I could likely just walk around the side entrance again, so went back to the office of the Director of Vehicle Registration. I explained that the man with the small stamp had not been in that morning and inquired if he was in now. The Director seemed surprised that my form had not been stamped that morning and took it himself - to the room where my escort had looked for the stamp - found the stamp and stamped it himself!

2 gov't offices for 2 and 2 papers gained!!

Can I go 3 for 3?

We drive into the ANNP Parking Lot (WooHoo a Parking Lot, albeit a dirt courtyard!) and line up beside the one vehicle receiving it's license plates. I pass over my papers to a guy outside - the guy who has just washed his hands from a plastic teapot (meaning that he has just gone to the bathroom, washed his hands and wiped them on his t-shirt - though they are still slightly damp). He heads inside to find my plates after offering me a bench-seat in the hallway. He comes out with my license plates - two beautiful matching green plates declaring my vehicle as an ONG (Non-Government Organization) vehicle. I am lucky to have received two matching license plates (much to Paul's jealous surprise as his are not the same shape or size!). They are quickly installed - and thankfully on the bumper where they should be! (Another teammate's plates were installed on the back door of his truck and I did not want mine drilled into the tailgate!).

3 gov't offices for 3 and 3 papers gained!!

Despite having to return to each of the 3 offices 2 times, this is quite the record! (Someone call the Guiness Book of World Records, please!!)

So, as Cecilia says, I am now a Legal Illegal Alien!! My truck is fully and finally completely legalized! And I am happy to have all this paperwork finally complete!

Oh . . . and about the bread? I drove by the bakery after the license plate office at 4:15, and the whole grain bread had still not yet been delivered.

So techncally, I am 3 for 4 . . . but she is going to put 2 loaves aside for me when it comes and I can pick it up tomorrow morning at 11 o'clock after my language class.

Hmmm . . . What will tomorrow hold?