Learning the Language

My Swahili is gradually improving.

At this point, I know a lots of greetings, I can introduce myself (or somebody else!), and buy stuff from people without getting completely ripped off. I’ve learned lots more words, grammatical strucutres, and expressions of course, but the trick is using them at the right time (duh). In conversation where I’m at a loss, I usually get a couple seconds’ grace period to stare blankly and search for words before the other party takes pity (either on themselves or me) and switches to English. English is the language of government and higher education in Tanzania, and most people on the UDSM campus can speak it. I can’t get into any real linguistic pickle unless I leave campus, and even then you can find people who speak kiingereza fluently. Some of the Tanzanians I’ve met indicated there can be some degree of prestige taken in fluency, and many strangers at the University cafeteria, on buses, and around Dar have taken the opportunity to curiously interrogate me in my native language.

I should mention that I do try and use Swahili everywhere I go. A couple people have given me the fish eye when I start serving them their butchered national language in a stew of “um”, “er” and “Oh wait, I know this one!”, but the vast majority of Tanzanians I’ve met have been willing, if not downright amused, to help me learn and practice. Learning a language is pretty fun when native speakers don’t eat you alive.

Kiswahili class is kind of blast. It’s long – four hours per day, consecutively – but our professor and our diligent language tutors are pros. Dr. Mutembe has taught in the USA, and is quite familiar with American students. His knowledge of both Tanzanian and American idiosyncrasies can make class pretty amusing. He also possessives considerable euphemistic powers, and has a knack for figuring out which mistakes we’re most likely to make. The dangers are manifold: an English speaker learning Swahili is quite prone to counting from 1 to [a really nasty gender-specific epithet] instead of ten, and can easily make a trip to the porcelain shrine instead of drinking a glass of water.

While my knowledge of Kiswahili has grown, my concept of personal space has shrunk. After a few rides on a daladala (minibus), my bubble has been burst for all time. These things aren’t much bigger than a Honda Odyssey, and the drivers start getting antsy if there are less than 20 people riding. Of course, they also work on commission, so I guess I can’t blame ‘em.